The Fire This Time (Open)

[The Resurgent Dream]

Anbar

“God has nothing to do with Xirniumites other than casting them into the hottest fires of hell,” Abdel said as he rose, taking the sword in his hand. He felt it for a moment, running his hand along the blade. Then he took the scroll, unrolling it and reading it carefully. He shook his head and handed both sword and scroll back to Sir Vincent. “The Xirniumites think they’re much cleverer than they are. They claim to be offering surrender and yet what they offer instead is terms. The word surrender is not itself worth much to me. The substance is. If Xirnium actually intends to surrender, they must physically their vessels. If they intend to offer terms for a ceasefire, let them proceed honestly. I have little time for this sort of imbecility.”

New Amsterdam

Sarah Sacker remembered once, back when she had been an undergraduate at the University of Civic Duty, she had taken an exam which required her to relate the political with the epistemological doctrines of John Locke. Sacker had simply been stumped. She knew intuitively that there much be a connection but she hadn’t been able to identify any more fundamental principle linking both doctrines. She had spent nearly half the exam simply staring at her answer booklet. That was exactly how she felt now. The secession of the Danaan Principalities had meant the end of the Confederated Peoples. What, exactly, was she expected to be doing at this late stage?

One thing at a time, Sarah. Until and unless the Assembly formally dissolved, you still have your duties. She pulled her head from her hands and stood up. In the underground compound, dozens of highly trained men and women were working frantically to hold a center which could not hold. In this room, a formal sitting room bizarrely out of place here, Sacker was alone with her thoughts, several important decisions, and an appropriate silent aid named Adhamh Nagle.

Sacker now turned to Nagle. He was standing awkwardly, an open notepad in his hands. Sacker spoke slowly, “I’ve made some decisions. Tell the Abtians…tell the Abtians that we are at war with the Ambarans rebels but have no desire to recover the territory ourselves. Tell them that whatever they take from the rebels controlling Alekthos, Amalad, and most of Zutern, they can keep provided that they allow any loyal Confederal citizens living there to return freely to our territory. Tell them that and tell them thank you. “

“The C’tanni also…” Nagle started.

“I know. I know,” Sacker said. “Let them do what they can. But there’s a fractal reality problem. The extremely advanced alien technology doesn’t really work with us. Metaphysicians have been working on that one for decades.”

“Very well,” Nagle said. He looked back over his notepad. “Is there anything else, ma’am?”

“Not just yet,” Sacker said.

[Abt]

Abt

The Confederate responce left many officials in Abt blinking in surprise. But the surprise did not last long and the relevant orders were given. Abt was going to war for the second time so early in its existence.

To begin with, there would be no military invasion of Gandara. Instead, the local self-government authorities that remained loyal to the Confederated Peoples were offered the aid of Abtian special police units. As well as specialised anti-insurrection units of the People's Militia. The situation in Sahor was not as bad as in the seven principalities and the use of limited specialised units was favoured.

The ARDF would concentrate on the western direction, namely crossing the Estaia mountains into Selinia and Thorlund, with a thrust westward from there. All four branches of the ARDF would be involved in the operations. The Army would, of course, provide the bulk of the thrust, with the generous aerial cover provided by the ground assault units of the Air Force. The Directorate of Intelligence and Special Operations was establishing the aerial and anti-air capacities of the rebel forces, if there was any to establish, and elaborating the appropriate procedures for establishing complete aerial dominance over the region.

In the meantime, the Navy would establish itself off the northern and western shores of Ambara and liaison with the loyalist naval elements that escaped capture by the rebels. The main dent in the operation was the confused presence of Xirnium's High Seas Fleet off Abna. Its behaviour in the sight of an Abtian armada was unknown and, in the worst case scenario, the engagement of the foreign fleet was also considered. Another unknown factor in the operation were the humanitarian airships of Havensky. However, as long as the two formations concentrated on humanitarian tasks and did not meddle in the Abtian offensive operations, the ARDF would not engage into hositilities.

An important mission given to the Navy was locating and eliminating Prince Abdel of Alekthos. The Directorate of Intelligence and Special Operations was already working hard on finding his whereabouts through all means available, at which point if possible he would be eliminated through high precision missile strikes. If necessary the use of special forces was considered against the target.

The possibility of a naval assault against Alekthos was studied. But Abtian marines would only land once the Army had moved far enough on the ground as to avoid establishing a beachhead that could not be held. On the other hand, the presence of the Abtian naval elements within safe distance from the shores of Alekthos was intended to make the rebels somewhat nervous and avoid them sending the bulk of their units eastwards to face the Army. Of course, depending on the situation, the deployment of the Marines, backed up by units of the People's Militia shipped from Abt, was possible.

The loyalist forces in all regions were contacted by the ARDF and warned of the impending Abtian offensive. Their cooperation was requested in the upcoming operations, especially in the fields relevant to intelligence gathering. The locations of not only Prince Abdel, but other leaders of the rebellion were particularly important to the Abtians.

If all went well, in a series of well targetted strikes combined with an important presence on the ground, the bulk of the rebellion could be crushed in up to two weeks, depending on the level of resistance of the rebels. The rest would be mopped up once the rebellion was beheaded and splintered.

[Havensky]

Anbar

Sir Vincent took the scroll back from the agitated Prince and gave a brief sigh.

"I was afraid of this. The Xirniumites can be rather superfluous and wordy in their writings and their speech. At times, even I have trouble understanding what the point in what they say. I must admit it seems something has been...

lost in translation.", finished Sir Vincent in Arabic.

"Let me speak frankly", Sir Vincent continued in Arabic, "the Xirniumites do have a reputation for gamesmanship when it comes to international affairs.

But I am not Xirnium. I am Skyan. We wear our hearts on our sleeves and show our intentions with large banners that everyone can see. We have the diplomatic finesse of a blunt wooden stick. We have demonstrated time and time again that we mean what we say and say what we mean. We do not shy from telling other nations things they do not like to hear. We keep our promises. If we say we're going to do something, than we do it whether that be helping treat wounded in a natural disaster or sending our warships into battle against invaders.

I can tell you that the leadership of the Bright Republic does not wish to fight in Alekthos. They would be perfectly content with a ceasefire, but in order for that to be feasible the Xirniumites who reside in your territory must be allowed to go home. There is a portion of the Xirnium populace that would also be perfectly content with aiding your enemies in destroying you. Allowing the Xirniumites to go home would make it difficult to justify an action against you. On the other hand, refusing them safe passage only helps the cause of those who wish you harm. The longer they stay in Alekthos, the louder their voices become.

As a Skyan, I am deeply humanitarian. I hate to see civilians in harms way and the King of Havensky is willing to go to great lengths to ensure their safety. Our White Fleet is positioned just outside your shores, willing to treat the wounded civilians no matter who they support in this conflict. As a show of our sincerity, my ship is carrying valuable medical supplies as a gift to your people.

The evacuation will not take long, and we are prepared to begin as soon as you grant them safe passage."

H.R.A. Mecy

Lady Jessica Heart watched the proceedings through the camera located in Sir Vincent's helmet. She leaned back in her commander's chair, a bit nervous for Sir Vincent.

A young lieutenant came into the office and saluted.

"At ease, what is it lieutenatnt?" , replied Lady Jessica returning the salute.

"A large battle fleet from Abt appears to be heading this direction. They are still out-of-range, but it certainly appears that Ambara is their final destination. Shall I send them the standard message regarding our status?"

"No, I will sent them a message personally. It's getting crowded and I'd rather handle all messages between these nations personally. The last thing we want is to have the fleet in the cross-fire. Carry on lieutenant!"

The airship officer saluted and left at once. Lady Heart quickly sent a coded message to the incoming Abt fleet.

Attention Abt Fleet, my name is Lady Jessica Heart of the Havensky Republican Airship Mercy. We are here on a humanitarian mission to evacuate civilians from potential battle areas. We mean you no harm. If you require us to move our of the airspace in order to conduct operations, please let us know and we will move. In attention, please be advised that we have high-level diplomats negotiating the evacuation of civilians within Alekthos. If our diplomats are in imminent danger, a short word of warning would be appreciated. As per Skyan Law, we are obliged to treat any wounded you might have - civilian or otherwise. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me personally.

[OCC: I assume that the Prince speaks Arabic. Sir Vincent was picked for the this mission in part because he speaks many of the languages in the Holy Land including Hebrew, Arabic, and Latin. If the Prince does not speak Arabic, then assume that he spoke to the Prince in his own language.]

[Xirnium]

‘Good evening, sir. Very glad to see you back. Permit me to welcome you on your return to Holy Xirnium, home and safety.’

Guiltily, apologetically, the man to whom the Guard-Captain had spoken blinked the vacant expression from his eyes. Faúchery was just arrived in Närväryn by means of a Welkin Wherry IIB, one of those high-place new liquid-fuel rocket airliners, long, swan-white and glossy as injection-moulded plastic, with slender delta wings like paper, tailless and a beaked nose sharpened to a pencil’s point.

Having never ridden on a rocket before, Faúchery felt there was something to be said for conventional, good old fashioned turbojet aeroplanes, even if the flight from Vargárlaith did take only forty-five minutes by Welkin Wherry IIB. For one thing the hydrogen peroxide or nitric acid propellant was devilish noisy and shook the airliner violently, making it impossible to read his brought along volumes, pamphlets or papers and giving him a throbbing headache that analgesics and brandy only dulled but did not eliminate. Faúchery was given to understand that the need to operate the confounded things from specially-designed ceramic sealed tarmacs which were resistant to excessive heat and pressure gave an even worse headache, financially and logistically, especially as the recession had prompted many of Xirnium’s firms to cut their business travel allowances. Add to that the elaborate buckles and belts and Velcroed straps you had to wear whilst seated in the heavily stuffed and padded passenger seats, which was just dreadfully inconvenient.

Faúchery was approaching the headquarters of the Eternal Republic’s general staff just before dawn, as the light of a weary, bleary-eyed sun rose to dispute the senile, sleepily winking stars. Ahead was the great, gloomy three-winged Angläthmäthern Palace on some six or seven floors, fashioned of milkstone, onyx and quartz and constructed with the typical baroque flair favoured in this country, with wary gables decorated in gilded fretwork projecting from steep slate mansard roofs.

The headquarters was surrounded by delicate rails of silver and dark jade that lent themselves to some of Xirnium’s worst extravagances of ornament, with a wealth of scrolling and spirally twisted supports. Behind these, at the quieter northeast entrance, was a gate of massive, deep blue obsidian, its attic statuary representing Disdain, called Elvêralda by the Angärthäns, in her triumphal marching chariot. The archway was articulated by a facade of marble columns, ornamented with cornices and adorned with relief sculpture depicting distressing and unsettling scenes of the Eternal Republic’s bleak victories and achievements. A single sentry, his bored features stiff with sleep, suppressing a tired yawn, buttoned the neck of his full-dress tunic of fine, dark woollen worsted cloth and adjusted a muffler of greyish wool. He had waved Faúchery through with a practiced salute, and now waited patiently for a reply.

‘Good evening, Félix. How’s your wife? I must say, things seem pretty quiet around here.’ Behind Faúchery came two employees from the Ministry of Defence, both handsome and well-dressed, a miscellaneous collection of topcoats covered in tweed or finely homespun shawls, umbrella or dandy pole at the side, one monocle, a tophat on the other, with dyed carnations in their buttonholes.

The sentry disagreed with Faúchery’s assessment. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t quite say that, sir.’

‘All things considered, I mean. You know, the war and all.’

‘Quite right, sir.’

Behind the gate was a wide open courtyard of gloom and sliding shadows in which, lost in morning darkness, were tall fluted columns. They bore heroic statues of such leaping, pirouetting fleet-footedness and in such dramatic poses, with hands outstretched in cruelly mocking challenge, that they must surely at a moment’s instance tumble crashing to the ground dizzyingly below.

The courtyard’s pavements were reflective black marble veined with grey. At the centre there splashed and splattered a vast, old, splotchy green bronze fountain shaped like Disdain on her horse slaying a monstrous many-headed hydra, which represented the Kraven Corporation, elongated necks, heads almost fish-like, snake-fanged, with a lance levering in its serpentine throat, spiny coils wrapped and wrapped around a horse’s hoof and leg. The fountain poured black water into a large murky pool in which could be seen carp swimming, dull reds and dark golds, ambers and ochres, silvers and dark blues, a writhing mass of life sliding and slipping and interweaving with each other, like a living arabesque. The carp-pool seemed more fish than water, reflecting the colours of extinguished and corrupted stars.

On the lawns and grounds of the Angläthmäthern Palace, searchlights had been installed in an overenthusiastic but not fully thought out gesture of moral support for the High Seas Fleet away at war. The beams clustered and hovered, then swept apart, fitful as fireflies, but the novelty had worn off and the Närväryners were beginning to complain of the nuisance. As dawn brightened they winked clattering off.

‘Very pretty, aren’t they?’ asked Faúchery.

‘Only if you’re new to it,’ disagreed one of the Ministry of Defence officials. ‘It’ll probably become a real bore if they keep it up night after night. And it’s getting to be damned dangerous too with all these mounted Horse Guards clopping all over the place.’

They caught sight of one of the ceremonial squadrons parading on the square, over by a corner near climbing roses, ivy and honeysuckle, in lacy cartwheel ruffs, high plumed helmets and carrying heavy-bladed pikes. The hoarse command of a Colour-Sergeant directed his troop’s “eyes front”. Blasé about the whole affair, officers and airmen in handsome long-skirted greatcoats trotted briskly past as Faúchery entered a hall hung with heavily embroidered regimental banners and parliamentary standards, before handing another Guard-Captain a sealed sheet. The sentry opened it and read briefly, looking indifferent, before folding the paper and saluting.

‘Has that Governor-Consul from Yallak arrived yet?’ asked Faúchery.

‘Yes, sir. Inside.’

Faúchery left his heavy suitcase and valise in an anteroom. Vermillion dado contrasted with spotless pure white plastered walls and golden strapwork, Rococo found crowning expression in carved silvered stucco friezes, and intricately decorated, gilded wooden beams spanned the tall ceiling. If the Captain-Commandant noticed his luggage, Faúchery would have to explain why he hadn’t read the regulations and sought a special move order to depart from the usual prohibition against more than one suitcase and a haversack.

‘Oh hello Faúchery. You’re back then, are you?’ asked an amiable Quartermaster who was notorious for parting with any item of military or martial focus so long as someone agreed to sign on the line for it somewhere and in triplicate. Faúchery had signed, and scored one of those smartly-cut, dark grey, 1871 pattern walking-out greatcoats that had only ever seen limited use in the Eternal Republic and was now no longer regulation, but had a stylishly detachable cape with richly gilt fastenings.

A pink-lidded, thin featured Grenadier-Captain noticed the commotion and gradually drifted over. ‘What’s going on, Vólpone? Oh hello Faúchery! Where have you been?’

‘Hello Faúchery,’ added another one, this the man who had been the other’s Drill-Sergeant in the corps. Flémalle was a show-jumper of formidable reputation in the general staff, the owner of a universally admired, clever, beautiful white-grey roan named Wellaway, but his curious, alarming method of taking first-rate NCOs and making second-rate officers out of them was of similar, if less welcome, repute. ‘Haven’t seen you about lately. Someone told me you were dead, consumption or the pox. You look well.’

‘I only just got back from Ambara this afternoon,’ Faúchery explained.

‘Odd time to choose for taking leave,’ mused Flémalle. ‘You are on leave, aren’t you? I’d have been for staying at the front, personally.’ To the old Drill-Sergeant “the front” meant a charming little square in Ambâlieva, with a coffeehouse and quaint cafes, large elm trees, and lodgings, all at the Bright Republic’s expense, at some fanciful mansion hotel, with high-peaked eaves and baroque towers, long chimneys and a fine chef in residence.

Faúchery barely knew where to begin. ‘Well you see I’ve come home under something of a cloud.’

‘Time was when we used to send soldiers to the Resurgent Dream when they were under a cloud,’ the Grenadier-Captain reflected sagely.

‘Anyway, I’m really after that Yallakian military mission.’ Faúchery strove admirably to keep the impatience in his expression concealed.

‘Best place is in the coffee room I suspect,’ explained the Quartermaster. ‘They’re about to serve breakfast at six bells so we were going to go straight up. Will you be joining us? All the best tables by the curtains get taken if you don’t look smart.’

It was hard to pass up the suggestion of open-served truffle omelettes or gaudily-painted soft boiled ostrich eggs, of thin rolled pancakes filled with wild lingonberry jelly, and tea made with dried prune brandy and caramelised sugar, all under gleaming crystal chandeliers and on white damask tablecloths. Ever since the tulip mania, the financial-markets crash that followed, and the accompanying depression, the general staff had been under insistent pressure to end its absurd if time honoured and well-established practice of separate meals for enlisted men, NCOs and officers, and since then an unseemly rush for high-backed chairs developed whenever mess was called. Suddenly nobody had work to do, no papers to move from “in” tray to “out”. It was even more common to find you had business down near the kitchens when the hour came for a repast than it was likely you needed to catch up on all the latest newsreels to keep yourself “in the picture”.

‘No, actually I think I’ll see the Adjutant.’

The Adjutant was far more concerned about a command standing order that had been left before her on her desk last evening, and that nobody yet had had the heart to tell her was stamped and dated from the first Great War.

‘Haven’t you read the military ruling? Where’s your gasmask?’

Faúchery and the two Ministry of Defence officials looked startled and bemused. Here was a grotesque nightmarish face from some triptych fantasy of Hiëronymus Bosch, a figure half-human and half-animal, intended for a setting symbolic only of sin and folly. Nowhere else in the Angläthmäthern Palace could one encounter such a creature. Its head was angular and vaguely swinish or insectoid, a mask of canvas, talc and rubber with black goggle eyes. When its muffled voice articulated it was familiarly lilting, distinctly middle class, high and cultivated, although small and as if from under linen sheets.

‘I said where’s your gasmask, Lieutenant?’

‘With the rest of my equipment, madam. On the frigate Shattered Jewel,’ explained Faúchery.

‘At my apartment at home,’ added the interpreter from the Ministry of Defence.

‘Still being sorted at the Quartermaster-General’s,’ lied the cryptologist, who suspected that the Adjutant might not find so amusing his story of how he exchanged his ugly rubber gasmask for a naval Commissary-General’s gold-braided, peaked dress cap.

‘Go and put a gasmask on.’

‘Very good, madam.’

The rest of the conversation was carried out in squeaky muted tones.

‘Lieutenant Varthênion,’ read the Adjutant on the sealed papers. ‘Attached to Third Battalion Guard Artillery Brigade. But my dear Lieutenant, this is in error, the Third Battalion is abroad.’

‘I’ve just debarked, madam,’ Faúchery explained patiently. ‘I flew in this morning on rocket airliner. Isn’t general staff expecting me?’

The Adjutant frowned. ‘We’ve heard no word. Maybe your papers went up to Narëntë to the Third Battalion?’

‘I’m from Third Battalion,’ Faúchery repeated, becoming vaguely panicked at the mounting sense of surrealism and finding it increasingly difficult to hold his patience in check.

‘Well, Second Battalion then. Or First Battalion. Or to the Staff College. Look you’ll have to go back to the High Seas Fleet and have Records sort it out from their end. Excuse me one moment.’

The two employees of the Ministry of Defence looked concerned at these developments and the interpreter suggested calling the Department “to put it all to rights”. Mercifully, the face that replaced the Adjutant’s belonged to the Sergeant-Major, an old friend.

‘Remove those bloody things, this isn’t a fancy dress ball! I keep telling people entering the orderly room that the anti-gas warning-order was counter-ordered ninety-two years ago. Why does it seem that all the dullards are entering my office? I haven’t seen people wearing gasmask anywhere else around the general staff.’

‘Very good, sir.’

The three pulled off their gasmasks and let them hang across their chests to dry, Faúchery’s in correct form and the others’ rather carelessly. When he recognised the Lieutenant the Sergeant-Major smiled.

‘Oh hello Faúchery! So you were coming today, after all. We’d sent a military dispatch-rider after you.’

Exhilarated to at last find someone who seemed to know what was going on, Faúchery pressed the Sergeant-Major for information. ‘I don’t suppose the Infinite Empire’s Governor-Consul is still around Angläthmäthern Palace?’

The Sergeant-Major blinked. ‘Probably try in the billiard room. With everyone else.’

Yallakian military envoys and their Governor-Consul were indeed in the billiard room. So also were a great number of delinquent staff officers, a handful of admirals and generals, a minority of backbench parliamentarians and even one or two air marshals. Card gamblers spilled out into the corridors, clustered around fine stuccoed overdoors, clutching their score-sheets, cigarettes and brandy. There was some confusion as the officers argued over whether they were actually playing faro or whist, and indeed both games seemed to be progressing simultaneously. Cues clicked as balls were pocketed at the billiard table. The Captain-Commandant was beating the Regimental-Surgeon.

‘Hello Faúchery! We weren’t expecting you so soon. Did you bring anything back with you?’

‘Ah, there you are Faúchery,’ said Huguétte, a senior intelligence officer. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. What will you drink? Acánthine will be around.’

A liveried footman in fluted wig and square tails bent and made as if to pour a glass. ‘Vermouth and gin for me, please, Acánthine.’

‘Two, I think. Although, Béllafront? Is that your glass empty? Make it three.’

The interpreter from the Ministry of Defence added his own request. ‘Just a black current wine for me.’

‘And a pint of milk stout, please, if you have it,’ asked the cryptologist. ‘Your darkest and sweetest malt. If it’s not too much trouble.’

Billiard room it may have been, but with all the trappings of the headquarters of the Eternal Republic’s general staff. Outside were dark mahogany panelled passages, libraries of impenetrably dense military manuals and works on operational theory, offices where perched switchboard operators at high wooden stools and desks, constantly inserting the bakalite plugs at the end of their cords in their appropriate jacks. There was the busy noise of shuffling as telephonists and typewriters relayed messages and orders. In a corner of the billiard room stood an enormous monochrome globe, almost as tall as a man, on rollers and axels and wooden rails.

Sepia toned maps laughably out of date, yet of such high-grade, contour lined precision that one could easily plot campaigns on them, were framed on several of the walls. The customary smell of chalk and ink.

‘We were just discussing the latest Admiralty wire, Faúchery,’ explained Huguétte. ‘Fustiga’s flagship Pleasant Defyings and her Second Far Atlantic Squadron lie in the surf some four thousand yards southeast of the entrance to Victoria Harbour in Amory. Apparently a timetable had been laid down for every stage of the secret operation, and the staffwork beforehand even included precise cooperation with Infelice and her High Seas Fleet for the generation of concealing squalls and low cloud-cover, with plans calculated for every direction of wind.’

The cryptologist looked amazed. ‘And they haven’t had to turn on their lights and use their sirens to keep in touch with each other?’

‘So far as I am aware, no,’ Huguétte replied. ‘That was to be the first element in the surprise.’

Faúchery was similarly impressed but wary. ‘What are to be its objectives?’ he asked.

‘There can in what we do be no thought of aggression or of selfish aggrandisement,’ said the interpreter from the Ministry of Defence, casting a glance askance at the Yallakians. ‘We seek to maintain the fullest recognition of the rights, dignity and authority of the Bright Republic only because we wish always to keep our great influence unimpaired for the uses of the Social Idea and the Ideal State, both in Xirnium and wherever else it may be employed for the benefit of humankind.’

‘Well said,’ agreed a backbencher’s private secretary, who evidently found the conversation more stimulating than watching the Captain-Commandant strike the billiard balls with too much force, having them speed and click and rebound around, and miss an easy cannon. ‘But what does that mean precisely?’

‘Well?’

‘I’m still thinking. Wait.’

A thin-lipped Post Captain broke in. ‘My understanding from higher up is that there are two plans. Plan A for Alekthos and Plan D for Danaan Ambara. Plan D is essentially a revised Plan A, allowing for a greater volume of warships to guard against intervention from the Resurgent Dream, whilst assuming Yallakian and Novan activity in the south. They both work to tight deadlines.’

‘Speaking of which,’ interrupted a Major with pallid skin and sallow, yellow eyes, ‘I’ve heard that the Infinite Empire’s offensives in Amalad and Zutern, which will synchronise with the battle of Abna, will be a more lengthy and methodical affair. And that it also has a totally different object?’

Arms folded across her chest, a long, thin spidery Lieutenant-General of the Ordinance narrowed crafty eyes behind her silk-ribboned pince-nez and said nothing.

‘I just hope that the warships of High Seas Fleet, anchored in their firing-positions far to seaward and awaiting the signal to neutralise the anti-aircraft defences along the coast, are up to the job,’ mused an Air Vice-Marshal. ‘The airmen who are to collaborate with the aerial bombardment of Abna wait somewhere in the darkness overhead. It will be no use getting decent practical experience in these newly adopted methods of artillery preparation or in the large scale combination of naval and aerial assaults if our primary object is not attained.’

Huguétte looked thoughtful. ‘Parliament intends that the war against Alekthos be considered only as a punitive expedition, we must bear this in mind. In spite of that, and in view of the general situation, some type of an offensive action could obviously be opportune. Of course, any operation we could conduct would be limited to a short intervention into the enemy’s territory, after the successful accomplishment of which it must be necessary for the Eternal Republic to return to an attitude of expectancy. Our task is to leave the enemy completely enfeebled on the field of battle.’

‘Indeed. There will be no renewal or revival of the old glories of the Newly-Modelled Navy,’ agreed a Rear-Admiral.

Faúchery spun the gleaming globe, leaving his fingerprint on the polished opalescent surface. ‘The Home Fleet remains in port. The Armies of the Northern and Western Associations quarter in their barracks.’

Outside, behind heavily brocaded and silk tasselled “blackout” curtains that served no logical purpose, as Angläthmäthern Palace was splendidly lit, with attractively lighted gardens and grounds, it began to rumble and rain. Morning storms.

[The Resurgent Dream]

Abtian Offensive

The Abtians met with very different responses in Selinia and Thorlund. In Selinia, local mayors held parades to honor the Abtians as they passed through. The Selinia Defense Force came out to salute the Abtians on their way. Often, if they had a chance to talk, the Selinian officers would be angry that they had not been authorized to go fight in Zutern themselves. The Thorlunders, on the other hand, were much more reluctant to have the Abtians among them. Many of them believed that Abtian conquests in Zutern would mean that Thorlund would, sooner or later, have to recognize Abtian rights over large sections of its own current territory. The Abtians would never agree to have their sovereign territory divided.

Anbar

Abdel shrugged. “Very well. Take the Xirniumites home. However, I want you to take their consular staff with you as well. I want no relations with that hellpit of a nation.”

[Abt]

Off the shores

The Abtian fleet did not need sail far to reach Danaan Ambara. All it had to do was to simply leave its northern ports, regroup and then sail west. The fact that Abt sat right on the border of the troubled region helped in dramatically increasing the speed of Abtian reaction to the events. Abt's "Armada" was sufficient to project power around Ambara, but not sufficient to impress a naval power of relevant standing. After all, Abt was a comparatively small nation, with a hundred million people, and a comparatively young nation, too. It's rapid economic growth and high level of prosperity was in great part due to the generous donations from its sympathisers back in the Taraskovyan Empire. Without this support lobby of various private individuals and even companies, Abt would hardly be able to field combat vessels.

HRA Mercy. You are being hailed by Vityaz, flagship of the Operational Group Archont. Abt Republic Navy. Information received and taken into account. Proceed with mission until given further security instructions, which shall follow depending on the developping situation.

After hailing the Skyans, time had come to hail the Xirniumites. Their formation off Alekthos was identified as the High Seas Fleet. But its intent was unknown, even if it was presumed by the Abtians that the formation was preparing to commence a seabourne invasion against the rebels in Alekthos. And should Abna be taken by the Xirniumites, then the Republic would see matters complicated immensely.

Xirniumite High Seas Fleet. You are being hailed by Vityaz, flagship of the Operational Group Archont. Abt Republic Navy. Archont is on a combat mission as part of Operation Sovereign Shield of the Abt Republic Defence Force. State your mission and intent.

Whilst the High Seas Fleet was clearly identified and located, the Directorate of Intelligence and Special Operations was also busily pondering and identifying another formation located in the straits between mainland Ambara and the Amory archipelago. A reconnaissance satellite that was passing over the area relayed the curious weather conditions in the area to the Centre. The information was analysed and the satellite immediately given the order to "dive" to a lower orbit to take closer up shots of the area, including a full thermal and infra red scan.

And beneath the clouds was discovered another naval formation of unknown origin and unknown intent. Unfortunately, the retrieved data did not allow to just pinpoint at the nation the ships belonged to, and so the DISO specialists began the process of deduction, trying to find the most likely owner of these ships. One of the possibilities was Xirnium, as the general specifications of the discovered formation matched those of a Xirniumite naval detachment that left port earlier. At any rate it could clearly not be Havensky, as the airships of that nation had already been pinpointed.

Sending a reconnaissance flight was complicated. A high altitude flight would not bring any additional information. And a low altitude flight was risky for the life of the pilot. As such, it was decided to shoot three scout missiles. They would travel on low altitude over Marlund until it reached the ocean, go northwards hugging the waves, then suddenly gain altitude while still at a safe distance from the formation. Then each would split into six tiny rockets. The rockets would spread out using their own thrusters and then deploy parachutes. Once in this state, the scanners integrated into the hulls will do their job, sending all sorts of feeds back to Centre. Upon which time the DISO would be able to say more on the formation. It was expected that the unidentified formation could shoot down some if not most of those scanner drones, but at least one such drone operating for several seconds was sufficient to learn more on the formation. But yet again, unless the ships waved their national flags and featured ship names prominently, immediate identification was not possible. And even if the ships did sport their national flags, the information would still need to be verified. After all, false flagging on the seas was a crime, but there wasn't exactly an international body to enforce it.

It was not possible to immediately link the scout missiles and their drones to the Abtian military. First, one would have to retrieve the drones or chunks of drones from water. And being comparatively heavy, they tended to sink rather fast. After this, the owner of the ships would have to publicly recognise that it was sneaking naval formations around Ambara trying to hide them from everyone's view and without warning any Ambaran powers on these movements.


On the ground

Abtian advance through what was still considered friendly territory was still rather cautious. Reconnaissance overflights and ground patrols preceded the movements of larger formations. The columns made little to no stops in towns and villages as they progressed further west. Behind the combat troops followed logistics and support troops, some of which established relay points for supply lines stretching from Abt. It was especially the case in Selinia, where field hospitals were established to assist the local population in dealing with the aftermath of the nuclear attack on Solomon.

In the north, Abtian forces would progress further into Carasia so as to open a northern front against Zutern. An important portion of the force would not participate in the offensive, but remain as operational reserves in case of rebel movement from Alekthos into Carasia. In which case they would move to repel it.

But the invasion of Zutern was not simply a matter of rolling in with tanks. A thorough intelligence operation was to be undertaken first. Aerial and satellite reconnaissance flights were to pinpoint the presumed locations of the rebel formations. Confirmed locations were to be taken out with precision strikes. The advance of the ground units was at all times covered with gunships from the air, ready to release their deadly missiles in a radius of ten to fifteen kilometers around them. And to guarantee the safe operations of the gunships, high altitude aviation was tasked with eliminating any long range anti-air systems the rebels might have had.

The typical operational method of a gunship was to release a small scout rocket which would release a parachute over the indicated zone and feed the targeting information back to the gunship. Upon which, the gunship would release its cluster missiles. Each such missile exploded over the targeting area, releasing small warheads that went for individual targets based on heat signature. If it unleashed its full arsenal, a single gunship could turn an impressive territory into a desert. Needless to say that such weapons would not be used against civilian population centres due to their rather indiscriminate nature. For such purposes, high precision missiles were available.

But this did not mean that the rebels would just all die in fiery inferno. First of all, a portable radar system could very well detect the incoming scout missile. The drone would, in nearly all cases, have the time to gather targeting data and send it back to the gunship's weapons systems. But it would also be a cue for the rebels. They could duck for cover. They could try and fire any portable anti-air systems at the incoming missiles, which emitted a heat signature sufficient to be targeted. Of course, shooting down one cluster rocket when you had ten aimed at you did not help much, but it was still better than nothing.

Once the area was clear, ground units would mop it up as they progressed further. Population centres would be treated with particular care. After all, Abtian soldiers did not train urban combat for nothing.

[Havensky]

Sir Vincent bowed deeply to the prince.

"My people thank you for your mercy. I will evacuate them out of your lands immeditly. They will all be gone by dawn!

With that, he placed the sword and scroll on the ground, turned and walked out of the palace without another word.

Lady Jessica, who had been monitering the situation, sent a quick missive to every Bright Republic citizen she had contact information for.

Pack 2 bags and prepare to leave at once. We are on our way

[Havensky]

H.R.A. Mercy

The moment that the Prince gave permission to evacuate the Xirniumites, the White Fleet was buzzing with activity.
Chimes sounded throughout the fleet, altering the crew that Operation Heartbeat had begun. Airmen ran though the ship, securing anything that might fall or break loose if the ship had to take a sharp turn. Defense Operators scanned the skies for threats and checked their counter-measures. Security Officers were briefing their squadrons on what to expect and what to watch for. Intake Specialists were waiting in the loading bays of various airships anxiously waiting the landing.

Evacuations were a standard procedure for the White Fleet. In practice and in real-life, these men and women had done this enough times to where the procedure was a well-oiled machine. A High-Speed Transport would fly by the drop zones about five minutes before the bigger ship landed and drop off the security team. They would check the area, and begin lining up evacuees and checking them for weapons or bombs.

Once the airship landed, Intake Specialists would board the evacuees giving them each a bar-coded wristband as they entered the airship. This helped them track people and made it much easier to notify family that they were safe and sound. They would get the person’s name, hometown, and if they were traveling with family. That was entered into a digital tablet and sent to the Mercy’s computers. White wristbands were for those without families, red wristbands were for those traveling with families. No matter what, the staff would keep families together. The consulate staff, political leaders, and anyone that may require special protection would be evacuated on the high-speed transports. The sick and the wounded would be sent to a hospital ships. And the bulk of the evacuees would go into the Evacuation Ships. The goal was to get everyone on board in less than five minutes. The less time they were on the ground, the better. Skyans did not like to stick around in hot zones.

Other high-speed transport would fly above the drop zones, catching it all on camera and broadcasting it to various news agencies. It was a controversial, yet tried and true method of discouraging attacks on the White Fleet. It was one thing to try and attack a civilian vessel, but one would have to be mad to try it on live television being broadcast to the world.

The Skybound Republic had not asked how many Xirniumites there were in Anbar. They had prepared to evacuate 200,000 people in the first iteration. The Skybound Republic did this on purpose. Skyan law declared that all airships were considered sovereign territory and all humanitarian vessels were to be treated as mobile embassies. If anyone wanted to seek asylum in Havensky, they simply had to come aboard. Lady Jessica had no idea how many people would want out of Anbar, but they were prepared to evacuate as many as possible.
A mere two minutes after Sir Vincent had left the palace, the White Fleet to head full speed towards Anbar.

Anbar

The Airship’s engines were already running as Sir Vincent left the palace. Sir Vincent quickly boarded the Shepard and made the
quick flight to the Xirnium consulate. Looking up at the startled guards, Vincent shouted out, ”My name is Sir Vincent of the Skybound Republic of Havensky. I believe you are expecting me. Let me in at once, we do not have much time!”

[Yallak]

Dreary. There was no other way to describe it decided Admiral Arisa Levrin as she sat slouched in her command chair aboard the bridge of the Karak-class battleship Iorlaas, feet propped up on the console built into the deck before it. Apart from two other Officers the bridge was empty as it had been almost every day since the battlegroup arrived at its station some three weeks ago. Arisa had recently taken to staring out the forward view screen, but the image she was afforded was nothing if not dull. The bottom of the window saw only the dark metal of her battleship’s prow and some of the vessels main batteries, while the rest was occupied by the vast flat ocean of murky-blue water that surrounded the ship in every direction for a hundred miles. And rain, constant drizzling rain for days on end.

Such was the life when posted on alert though. The Empire’s vast seas were always patrolled but in order to respond to threats of any kind without delay, especially attacks by foreign powers, there were always five battlegroups deployed on alert at various points far off the coast whose task was simply to spend a month anchored on standby ready to respond to any calls for assistance. Needless to say this was not a particularly enjoyable assignment but Arisa took solace from the fact that she only had to do it once every two years.

With boredom in full swing and half asleep in her chair, it took Arisa a good thirty seconds to release the muffled bleeping noise she was hearing was in fact coming from the communications console under her feet. She bolted upright, pushing some of her shoulder length auburn hair out of her face and then punched a few buttons on the console and accepted the incoming transmission. The consoles holographic display flickered to life and quickly resolved into an image of Supreme Commander Dagon, the most renowned naval officer in the Empire.

‘Commander, is there a problem?’ she asked, throwing up a salute.

The Supreme Commander quickly returned the gesture before speaking. ‘It seems so, Admiral. Governor-Consul Lerios has reported in from Xirnium and it seems a nearby Confederation is collapsing into violent civil war and therefore now poses a threat to the security of Xirnium and the Empire.’

‘What more could we expect from petty foreigners?’ the Admiral scoffed coldly, ‘I am the closest force to the area, am I to eradicate the threat?’

‘We’ll see,’ responded Dagon with a slight grin, ‘the area would be of significant strategic benefit to the Empire. For now though, you are to move to the objective and co-ordinate with the Xirniumite forces already present. Further orders and reinforcements will follow. Dagon out.’

The display had barely flickered from existence again and already Arisa had activated the ships alert system. Claxons blared across every deck of the vessel calling the crew to stations and a message was broadcast to the other warships of the battlegroup.

‘This is the Admiral speaking. Set Condition Two throughout the fleet.’

[Havensky]

Sir Vincent was quickly let inside. He was sure the Ambassador had a great welcome speech prepared, but Vincent would not give him time to finish it.

Your excellency, the White Fleet will be here in less than 5 minutes. I need you to have everyone in a line with two bags outside as soon as possible. Please transmit a message to every citizen or anyone else that needs evacuation that you have contact with to do the same.We are going to leave as fast as humanly possible.


Indeed, the Skyan need for speed was on full display as High Speed Transports flew into open spaces, dropped off their security teams and left just as quick.The citizens of Anbar looked bewildered, but every team had Arabic translators in place to explain what was going on.

The White Fleet had crossed into Anbar and raced across the deser transmitting this message.

We are the Humanitarain Fleet of the Skybound Republic of Havensky. Do not be alarmed. We are conducting an evacuation and will be gone soon. Questions can be directed to Captain Gullstream at channel 117

[The Ctan]

“Then the matter is settled,” Aiyana said, “I shall return forthwith to Duat and petition the committee to allow us to access the necessary funds and personnel for this operation,” she slipped her hands into the arms of her silvery radiation robe, “Vende, you shall move Isasrach to a forward position near Ambara and coordinate relief efforts in the short term relief efforts.”

The Vanyar nodded, “It’ll have to be further out than I would preffer for a safety margin, given the way some of the pre-Confederal settlements in the region are built,” she said, “but we should have no problems there in the near future.”

Aiyana nodded, “And Paul. I need you to work out what forces we can execute a military option with. We may have trouble with our own resources in this.”

“I’ve some ideas,” he said.

“Good luck, then,” the Senator said, before walking from the command chamber, “I shall contact you as soon as I have news.”

________

Outside the windows were flocks of wheeling white seabirds, Greater Island Gulls, native to Menelmacar, like the more widespread Great Black-Backed seagulls that thrived in many countries, though they were even larger, several inches greater in wingspan, and had substantial – though far from human – intelligence. They had been selectively bred long ago for the sound of their calls, which was astonishingly varied, and to change their behaviours and hunting capacity to prey more on fish than other birds, resembling a strange mix of gull and gannet characteristics. As Aiyana looked through the windows as she walked down to the embarkation area, she could see the birds crowding close; Isasrach had been built to support a population of them, and architectural nooks and crannies were designed to provide ideal nest spaces for the social birds. They had long ago learnt that the sound, which was subsonic to most humans, though audible to both them and to Aiyana, of the engines preparing to move the ship was a cue to return to their nests.

________

Vende nos Marwan stood in the war room of Isasrach, watching an illuminated map of the Ambara island, laying her hands on the smooth cream plastic rim of the map table, updated by live imaging from a number of satellites.

One highlighted area was predicted and actual areas of interference with developed devices, believed to be a lasting regional effect of the abrupt removal of the ‘Fae’ inhabitants who had first drawn Menelmcari interest to the nation, though Ambara was not known to have been particularly affected by them, it was nonetheless a problem.

Elaborate icons displayed positions of Abtian forces moving across the border. Good for them Vende thought. Of course, this would doubtless turn into a land-grab of sorts, but she had no particular regard there so long as they followed the terms that Sacker had outlined – the Vanya didn’t plan to hold Ambara herself; and it was better than the alternative.

Another group of icons represented lead elements of Isasrach’s contingent. One of the craft most commonly used on Isasrach were sleek, delta-winged vehicles quite capable of mundane powered flight, where needs be. The C’tani had a practical streak that foreigners sometimes didn’t notice.

She wasn’t responsible for picking their destinations, alas, for while there was a plan they could have used, they could not use it now; she didn’t know who’d drawn up ‘Ambara Evacuation Plan’ but it was probably done long ago, when the infamous Sebben ap Balor had last been suspected of mounting some kind of offensive. Fortunately, the data was reasonably current; perhaps it could be used. Now, anyone reasonably knowledgeable about C’tani cultural imperatives would know where they were going, burning fuel at a prodigious rate. To most C’tani there was only one logical destination.

She reached up to the collar of her uniform, pressing a button that put her through to the control center, “Comms, please inform the Abtian military and civil powers what we’re planning to do,” Vende said, “the last thing we want is them trying to shoot us down, “stress that we have no territorial ambitions at this time, and all personnel present are either medical or essential minimum security detachments for crowd control and similar tasks. Additionally, if we’re overwhelmed, try and ask them what medical facilities they have available and so forth to help. The same to the Selinian Defence Force – and ask them if they’ve any hospitals currently overloaded,” she added, “we may be able to take on extra work from them.”

“As you wish my Lady,” the reply came, and she released the communications device, staring at the map.

________

They were like enormous black humanoid beetles. No one had ever given much thought to the appearance of the uniforms of the Imperial Security Agency’s small military wing, except to ensure that they were suitably intimidating. They were broad, heavily armoured, and emblazoned with symbols of striking vipers and other serpents. In the elaborate stained glass cathedral like space of Isasrach’s embarkation area, they looked especially out of place; everything here was silvers, whites, creams and golds, but for the pastel windows. Their dark blue cloaks swept across cream floors with each movement, armoured boots snapping into position, turning as one. Any respectable drill sergeant would bawl the group out for their sloppiness, but they were not ceremonial soldiers. They were not soldiers at all, but rather, a security force of police with a tradition dating back to the earliest formation of the Confederacy of the C’tan – and many of them were the same individuals who had participated in the arrests of dissident terrorists and holdouts in that time, grey haired, almost universally old – though they did not look as old as they were – for soldiering the youngest seemed in their thirties, but more seemed in their forties and fifties.

They had the air of some strange creatures from an earlier age, or old men called out of retirement. They were simultaneously neither and yet in a way, both.

The design of the weapons they were using dated roughly back to that time too, not museum pieces, but newly manufactured, stout looking carbines, with bands of black silk tied around their stocks in a pre-founding tradition that had been on the decline even in the centuries before the confederacy – when such things had been stitched with silver messages by soldiers’ wives and sweethearts, bound upon the pommels of swords, the curves of bows and the shafts of spears, sealed in black wax. It was from this tradition of needlework on banners and pennants that the silver symbols of the modern C’tani flag came.

The first armed security contingent to leave Isasrach had been its own security personnel; who were adequate in their role, but not the veterans these men were. Their leader had sent for them from the windswept island that was the heart of the security establishment on Duat, with the intention to replace the island’s security teams with them. The security teams were dedicated and trained men and women but they were trained for securing humanitarian operations and protecting diplomats, not for defeating fanatics who didn’t value their own lives.

________

The bent silvery triangle of the first of the C’tani relief craft howled over the area where the remnants of the city of Solomon still endured.

There was a misconception among many who had never seen such things, that nuclear weapons were clean weapons. Though they had never been the subject of them, there was no C’tani, not even a child, who believed such. While Necrontyr were a minority among the population, it was easy to forget that, so wholeheartedly had much of the human majority embraced elements of their culture. Among the well known elements of that was a cultural - not fear, but hatred - of the damage radiation did to organic beings.

The crews of the first groups were professionals, a vast portion of Isasrach was devoted to medicine, with thousands of Doctors, a teaching hospital, and a large portion the most adept carers and talent available in the entire Necrontyr Empire. The groups aboard the craft which sped through the air southward toward Selinia were not all doctors or nurses, but mostly specialist response teams, augmented by members of the security details the governor-general had insisted upon sending with them.

Of course, this wasn’t an entirely rational move; if the terrorists responsible had anti-aircraft weapons (or if the Abtians or local forces failed to receive or accept the messages sent their way) the craft – well, their engines worked just fine, but they were defenceless.

But of course, anyone reasonably knowledgeable about C’tani cultural imperatives would know where a deliberate attack would lead. At times, they were tediously predictable; as robotic as their national stereotype.

[Xirnium]

Responses were sent to the Abtians by Aldis lamp, semaphore and wireless. For the signalmen of the High Seas Fleet it was long and tedious and repetitive work, but, as the warships were at anchor and with nothing else to do, somewhat more productive than washing down decks, tarring anchors and ironwork, or endlessly carrying out gun and fire control drill.

Her Excellency the Captain General of the North Atlantic High Seas Fleet, Admiral Infelice z’Arväthägne, and the officers of Parliament’s Newly-Modelled Navy send the Ship Captain of the Vityaz their compliments and inquire as to the Admiral’s health. His Excellency is invited to attend dinner in the great cabin of the flagship Nostalgic at eight bells in the afternoon watch.

You must forgive the North Atlantic High Seas Fleet the failure to make signal letters, for its warships and vessels have struck their colours. Their colours are the flag of the Eternal Republic. The warships and vessels of the North Atlantic High Seas Fleet are not cleared for action and have heaved to.

The standing orders of Admiral Infelice z’Arväthägne are:

To correspond with the Chief Minister of Ambâlieva and all ambassadors, envoys or ministers of the Eternal Republic in the Europe-Atlantic;
To give every assistance to the Chief Minister of Ambâlieva;
To appoint such of Parliament’s warships and vessels under the Admiral’s command to convoy the homeward bound sea-trade as is judged sufficient for their security and welfare;
To detain and keep under the Admiral’s command any warships or vessels sent out to her, except storeships, oilers and auxiliary vessels, which are to be sent back when unloaded;
To have the warships and vessels under the Admiral’s command apply for stores and provisions in Ambâlieva;
To notify the Sea Lords of the Admiralty of any stores and provisions lacking;
To conform to the established rules, customs and laws of Parliament’s Newly-Modelled Navy;
To not appoint any pursers or victualling officers on shore, but to apply to the Sea Lords of the Admiralty for permission;
To visit warships and vessels and to see that they are rated properly, to muster sailors and fencibles, and to look into the economy of the warships and vessels under the Admiral’s command;
To have the warships and vessels under the Admiral’s command refitted at Ambâlieva as required;
To order captains to take good care of stores and provisions, and to monitor the health and welfare of ship’s company;
To not allow warships and vessels under the Admiral’s command to come home except in cases of necessity;
To keep a journal, and to send regular reports to the Sea Lords of the Admiralty;
To execute all orders of the Sea Lords of the Admiralty with steadfastness and intelligence, and to use all appropriate discretion in the interpretation of these orders;
To give due obedience to all orders of the Committee of Safety for the especial and effectual care of the preservation of the peace and safety of the Eternal Republic; and
To carry out whatsoever is enacted or declared for law by Parliament for the peace, order and good governance of the Eternal Republic.

You must forgive the North Atlantic High Seas Fleet the failure to properly ensure nation speaks to nation in all courtesy, as the correct number of guns due to salute the Ship Captain of the Vityaz is not known. Good luck and good hunting.

[Havensky]

No sooner had the ambassador sent out the message, the White Fleet filled the skies above Anbar. Dozens of white ships with hearts emblazoned on their hulls landed and began taking passengers.

Each one was tagged and asked to take a seat in the large airships. If anyone wanted to come along, they were allowed. It was very quick.

The ambassador's staff had just enough time to strap themselves in before the airship lifted off again. Once reaching the required height, the engines of the high-speed transport kicked into overdrive and they were sent away from Anbar at supersonic speeds.

All across Anbar, airships were departing leaving sonic booms in their wake. They would reach the Eternal Republic by mid-morning. Sir Vincent's airship would stay with the White Fleet until everyone was safe at home.

[Xirnium]

There then occurred in the Eternal Republic one of those utterly astounding and unexpected, yet supremely powerful, heart-wrenchingly moving incidents which sometimes forever after inspires the human imagination, humbles the individual spirit, and through its influence on the common intellectual tradition shapes the course of world events for centuries afterwards. At no earlier stage in the history of the Europe-Atlantic could such an act of humbled magnanimity been considered seriously by any Government or leadership. Had it been suggested during a previous war, its author would have been ridiculed, considered lunatic, and perhaps even hauled for treason before the dread, dreary-eyed, doctrinaire justices of the High Court of Revolutionary Causes Reserved.

But since those days much had happened and many things had changed. Increased communication and understanding, expanded human cultural intercourse, the advent of international commerce and trade, and a prolonged, vigorous campaign for liberal cosmopolitanism had changed profoundly the mentality of the Europe-Atlantic. Fabianists in the Bright Republic spoke in the utopian liberal socialist language of the Open Conspiracy, arguing for an active, thoughtful approach in favour of a single, unified World State, or New Republic, a world commonwealth, a federation of all humanity, a new world organism, a world government. The potential for self-transcendence implicit in the projects for cosmopolitan synthesis were beginning to be recognised, here were intellectual forces at large in society that were driving mankind towards release, towards abundance, one world Pax Gentium, one world control of violence.

Thus the more idealistic members of the Progressive-Green coalition, always a Government timorously pacifist, argued eloquently in favour of the need for a supreme gesture of heroism and generosity on the part of Holy Xirnium. They should take as their example the indomitable optimism of the wing-soaring knights in the Kingdom of Fourthearts, which had lately delivered their nationals from peril and removed all cause to fight. Let idealism guide their spirit. Even so, when after lively discussion the Government determined upon peace, its ministers and backbenchers were awed by their own act.

And so strong by now was the will for restraint and compassion and a defence of the common welfare that the result would almost certainly have been a triumph for sanity and reason, for the common heritage of humanity, had there not occurred off Amory a terrible misunderstanding that tilted the whole precarious course of events in its opposite, murderously-conclusive direction.

On Sunday morning all Närväryn was electrified by the news from Victoria Harbour. The double-decker omnibuses, rattling electric-cable tramcars and ‘sit up and beg’ taxicabs in gay Art-Deco style, the cyclists in their pretty riding capes, and the innumerable ladies and gentlemen, strolling about in their most fashionable and elegant attire, in their morning wear, in their overcoats, heavy tweed suits and hats, all seemed deeply affected by the strange intelligence the newsvendors were disseminating. At street kiosks and newsstands and stalls, vendors were setting up remarkable placards and distributing still wet newspapers. ‘Flotilla attacked, truce violated!’ they called hoarsely one to another down the streets and up the boulevards. ‘Missile strike on Second Far Atlantic Squadron! Full description! Evasion of the explosive warheads! Sea lines of communication threatened!’ People had to give a half-crown for that paper.

Nobody in Närväryn knew positively the nature of the rocket assault, although there was the fixed idea that it must be the responsibility of Alekthos, or confederates of the same. ‘Sudden criminal attacks’, ‘unexpected and extraordinary aggression’, and ‘international immorality’ were expressions occurring in almost all the earlier reports, and particularly the tabloids. None could have been written by eyewitnesses to the encounter with the Abtian rocket-propelled spying devices. The Sunday newspapers printed separate editions as further details came to hand, others in default of them. But there was practically nothing more to tell people until after lunch, when the authorities released to the press agencies and news wire services the information in their possession.

First to print were the Daily Morning Post and the Sunday Herald Tribune, the latter coming off the platen press in pink sheets as thin and transparent as tracing paper, since they had run out of ordinary white paper, and with the ink still wet. Apparently one or two dozen rockets had been fired at the Second Far Atlantic Squadron, and the greater majority, by a happy chance, had been intercepted and destroyed. In the few other cases the missiles had missed their intended targets, falling harmlessly into the sea, and the fleet had immediately commenced precautionary manoeuvres under full steam, piloting a course due south in line ahead. No losses of naval personnel or warships were mentioned, and the tone of the dispatch was optimistic. All this was printed in an enormous, formal, square-text black letter type that would have been completely familiar to Johannes Gutenburg, distinguished from the more familiar roman style used in the usual contents of the newspapers, which had been ruthlessly hacked and taken out to give the necessary space, by sharp angles instead of smooth curves and lines, strong contrast between light and heavy strokes, and dazzling Baroque line endings and flourishes.

A moment’s cool thinking would have convinced the populace that this incident was no attack, that the rockets had in mind some more obscure purpose. Certainly their origin could have been disputed. But reminded, as every student of the illustrated papers was, of the obscenely mutilated bodies of naval personnel, of their pale, beautiful faces besmeared in clotted blood, and in a state of fear and excitement, the people were in no condition for sober reason or consideration. In but hours the mood of Närväryn was changed entirely, and the citizenry of the Eternal Republic succumbed to a paroxysm of outrage and murderous hate.

As the sun set at eventide, the Houses of Parliament rose grim and gaunt against a sky of gold which was barred with long, brooding stripes of reddish-purple cloud. In the dramatic lighting it was all hot reds and murky blacks, its most striking features the use of perspective to create choking vastness, infinite size, and the dwarfing of the human figure, individual or clumped together, in overawed and intimidated clusters. Dwarfed by the vast, vaguely classical Baroque palace. Though neo-Romantic in form it boasted endless lines of columns sinuously carved, emphasising massiveness and monumentality, marble friezes depicting bacchanalian scenes which evoked movement and sensual delight. Implacable September weather. Smoke issued from chimney pots and lowered out of the sky, an evil black snowfall with flakes of soot, conveying a vaguely apocalyptic impression, as though the heavens mourned the death of the sun. Gas looming through the eventide gloom at regular intervals along the streets, most of the shops lighted two hours early.

At an emergency sitting war was debated. The chamber was dim, with wasting candles here and there, the fog hanging heavy in it, as if it would never get out. Its elaborate stained-glass windows had lost their colour and admitted no light inside. In aspect it was owlish, a drawl echoing languidly to the roof from the dispatch-box where from the prime minister glanced into the balconies. Balconies that had only shadows in them. Every political party had to have a say, and the Hansard stenographers strove admirably to convey the dramatic, unprecedented scenes unfolding in the joint sitting of the National Assembly and the Council of the Estates, as the backbenchers, roused to a fever pitch by the excitement caused by ministers arguing with shadow ministers, clamoured for a chance to speak. So great was the excitement, so confusing the atmosphere, that the parliamentary leader of the Greens found herself voting for instead of against the war.

The prime minister, Heather Gilda, had never been in better form, cold, clear, persuasive, her fine speeches chaffing her parliamentary colleagues for their lack of solidarity at this critical moment, doing some very neat footwork trapping the Liberal Democrats and Centrists in an undertaking to remain in grand coalition whilst the Bright Republic was at war. A magnificent Horténse Naudriennë was at her best in her frockcoat and a silk-ribboned monocle, debating, endlessly debating, ‘sir’, ‘madam’, ‘my right honourable friends across the chamber’, in her Rococo take on the parliamentary frontbench manner. Speaking haltingly on the verge of inaudibility was Eléanor Sabelina, addressing her frilled cravat beneath constantly adjusting spectacles that were no help at all, correcting herself constantly as though she were a manuscript under revision, qualifying, making poorly-suggested asides in parenthesis. She cut one of the poorer figures, fatally given to vagueness when precision and detail were called for, shrill and denunciatory and overemphatic when it would have been well-advised to be subtle.

There was the lord speaker, invincibly dry, and the chief whip, mercurial. The minister for defence had his head down talking with a fast, bloodless lisp, in his manner bearing the most startling resemblance to an uninspiring civil servant dispensing information. The motions, the amendments, the points of order put to the chair. The calls for ‘ayes’, the calls for ‘nays’, the need for a division. And then the thunderous storm of applause.

The Newly-Modelled Navy, all too well equipped and prepared, was ordered by Admiralty to commence immediate heavy artillery bombardment of Alekthos. While the Närväryn papers were still selling out upon the news that war was declared, the first bomb fell.

[Havensky]

Närväryn

Sir Vincent Profecta had decided to visit a cathedral once the mission was over. There had been quite the fuss when he first arrived, but now that things had calmed down it was time for the Oathkeeper to pray.

He had always admired the people of this nation for the beauty in their buildings.The tall cathedral and splendid stained glass window work was truly masterful.

Sir Vincent knelt in front of the altar and begin to pray. He thanked the Lord for the safe passage of those evacuated from Anbar.

He meditated for quite some time before being interuptted with the bad news of war.

Sir Vincent looked up at the Cross confused. Had he not negotiated a cease fire?? Prince Adel may have hated the Xiriumites, but surly he wasn't crazy? Why would he have provoked such a thing?

Still confused, he went to the Shepard to send word back to Crystal City, Havensky.

[Havensky]

Crystal City, Havensky

King Drake, Prime Minister Windcharmer, and High Executor Darkwind were all gathered in the Skyan Ready Room with Sir Vincent on video phone. Sir Vincent was finished debriefing the three national leaders.

...have declared war on Alekthos. They are convinced Prince Adel has broken the truce by attacking one of their fleets.

King Drake spoke first, Does this seem plausible to you?

Vincent's voice wavered, "I'm not sure. Adel hates them, but if he wanted to provoke them why allow the evacuation? Our airships would have made great targets for attack. If they wanted to they could have done some serious damage, but we were untouched."

"Because that would have caused us to bomb them thirteen ways to hell!, retorted the High Executor.

Windcharmer spoke next, "Go visit the foreign minister, and see what you can learn. Before you go, see if the Prince will accept a phone call from you. In the meantime, I'll prepare a statement to the public. I think we should support the Bright Republic - even though we are doing some investigation behind closed doors."

"Agreed", replied the two other men.

Sir Vincent sent a quick message to Alekthos.

Prince Adel of Alekthos,

The Skyan people thank you for your good-will gesture. However, we are curious as to why you attacked Xirnium's feet so soon after a ceasefire had been declared? I would like to chat with you by phone about the incident.

Regards,
Sir Vincent Profecta
Special Envoy

From there, Sir Vincent went out onto the streets of Närväryn to request an audience with the foreign minister.

[The Resurgent Dream]

The Abtians and the Xirniumites faced no significant opposition in Alekthos. Contrary to foreign rumors, founded in ignorance, which spoke of a bloody civil war and the collapse of Danaan power, Alekthos and its fellows were not all that powerful or all that important. They were hardly in a position to fight a bloody war of any kind, at least not a war bloody for the other side. Abtian and Xirniumite forces easily crushed all in their path. There was occasional, sporadic resistance from the rebel forces but, in the end, they lacked the weaponry to inflict any kind of serious injury on the forces opposing them. Just as often they attempted retreat or surrender. Desertion was rampant. Most of Abdel's army, upon hearing Abtians or Xirniumites were near, simply ditched their uniform in a dumpster and went home.

[Abt]

The collapse of the rebel resistance came as a complete surprise to the Abtian soldiers on the ground. The DISO had supplied Abtian officers with plenty of recommendations and information, hinting to potentially fanatic resistance. When Zutern fell and Abtian infantry cautiously established itself throughout the strategic choke points of Zwingli, analysts back in the DISO could only scratch their heads and wonder whether they had not been overly paranoid. Regardless, the Abtian ground forces relentlessly pushed westwards, gaining further ground in one gigantic blitzkrieg wave that swept the Seven principalities.

There were casualties, of course. Whilst extremely few soldiers were killed, many more were wounded. Excellent training, weapons and body armour kept many soldiers alive. Additionally, Abtian armoured vehicles were designed specifically to protect the lives of the crews in case of damage to the vehicle. As such, if a vehicle was severely damaged as a result of a rocket attack or by rolling on a land mine, its crew would be recovered injured at worst. In most cases, the crew would be able to continue the fight by changing to a new reserve vehicle.

The prisoners were regrouped in camps, guarded by units of the People's Militia that followed in the wake of the heavy formations of the Army. Their exact status was of no particular importance to the Abtians. After all, Abt was not particularly interested in annexing exclaves to the west of the Estaia mountains. Overpopulated and already developed, they could hardly be integrated into a unitary Russian-speaking Republic with the same ease as an uninhabited chunk of land in Sahor. And expelling tens of millions of people was not envisioned by the majority of the Republic's government, even if some voices in the military deemed that such an undertaking would not be particularly hard to accomplish. The political leadership of the country was extremely preoccupied with the fact that this would not help the image of the Republic on the world stage. Moreover, the displacement of such masses would create economic and social difficulties in places where the masses would move to, difficulties Abt would be directly responsible for.

As such, just as Abtian tanks rolled through Alekthos and Amalad in their blitzkrieg, crushing enemy resistance and "liberating" territory, Sarah Sacker was communicated with the Abtian stance on these territories. Whilst Abt was apparently entitled to annex these lands, the Republic had no interest in doing so. As such, the Republic was more interested in the possibility of, once the internal crisis within the Confederated Peoples is resolved, to exchange land in Zutern, Alekthos and Amalad against land in Sahor and namely the northern parts of Gandara.

[Yallak]

All crew to battle stations. The shrill sound of claxons and the repetitive chatter over the intercom system reverberated throughout the decks of the IYS Iorlaas again as the Imperial Battlegroup arrived on scene, not far off from the Xirniumite’s High Seas Fleet’s present location off Alekthos. All crew to battle stations.

Unlike before, the battleships bridge was awash with activity now, black clad officers worked diligently over advanced terminals and high-tech controls and displays. Admiral Levrin stood sentinel over the ships Tacops display, the table sized display projecting a 3D holographic of the surrounding waters, the nearby land and all the ships and aircraft within hundreds of kilometers composed from data from all sorts of radars and satellite uplinks. So far there was no enemy presence detected but the Admiral knew they could, and given her mission likely would, arrive soon enough.

‘Captain. Alert the Xirniumite Fleet to our arrival and transmit the details of our assignment to them,’ commanded Arisa, between snapping out a stream of other orders to different officers. ‘We’ll begin when they are ready, our assault forces will be here soon.’

[Pantocratoria]

HIMS Manuel le Franc (Majesty-class aircraft carrier)
Flagship, Battlegroup Michel l'Archange
Lord First Admiral Michael II Phocas of the Bosphorous Commanding
0545 hours, international waters off the north western coast of Ambara

A group of officers awaited outside the First Admiral's cabin door, having knocked upon it already. The elderly gentleman who was the ancestral commander-in-chief of the Emperor's navy appeared in his pyjamas, and the officers could see his aides in the cabin behind him preparing the First Admiral's impressive uniform jacket and absurd hat.

"Well?" Phocas demanded. It was his customary greeting when summoned before 0600 hours.

"My Lord First Admiral," the senior officer, Line Captain Mathieu-Isaac Perzival began. He was one of the four officers of his rank who oversaw the operations of Manuel le Franc herself in shifts around the clock, the senior officer of the deck when the message for the fleet from the High Command had been received. "MATER sends her compliments and requests your presence in the Secure Comms Room."

"Hmmpf." Phocas nodded. He turned to his aides. "Trousers!" He turned back. "Sitrep?"

"My Lord First Admiral, the Yallaki Battlegroup has closed upon Confederal borders, and is making all signs of preparing for an assault." Perzival reported.

"What in Heaven's name for?" Phocas scoffed.

"Only Christ, and most likely MATER, knows, my Lord First Admiral." Perzival replied with the dry humour for which Phocas had absolutely no time.

As some aides approached carrying some trousers, boots and a jacket, Phocas pulled his cabin door shut. It opened again in a moment with Phocas wearing his uniform trousers, his splendidly polished leather boots with silver trim which ended half way up his shin, and buttoning up his jacket over his pyjama shirt. His aides only had time to pin a modest selection of medals on Phocas' jacket, but it was nevertheless blinding, so covered it was with glittering gems, silver and gold. He held his very fine but ridiculously oversized hat underneath his arm.

"Gloves, my lord?" Perzival asked, he hoped helpfully.

"To talk to a computer?" Phocas replied, screwing his face up at Captain Perzival. "What they teach in the academy now, I will never know..."

***

After receiving a briefing from the Imperial High Command via its eyes and ears, the extremely advanced artificial intelligence MATER, Lord First Admiral Phocas sent the following signal to the Yallaki Battlegroup, as Battlegroup Michel l'Archange steamed towards the coast of Alekthos at flank speed:




ATTN: Adm. Arisa LEVRIN commanding IYS Iorlaas and battlegroup

Admiral,

Whatever your intent, you are violating the sovereign waters of the Confederated Peoples of the Resurgent Dream. Unless the Confederal President authorises your deployment, therefore, I am obliged under His Imperial Majesty's obligations under the Treaties of Subeita and Lleithyen to prohibit the deployment of your forces in Confederal territory.

Failure to comply with such prohibition must, under the terms of the Treaty of Subeita, be regarded as an invasion of the Confederated Peoples of the Resurgent Dream, and thus as an act of war against the Pantocratorian Empire.

By order of the Imperial High Command and in the name of His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty, I therefore require you to make no further deployments, launch no aircraft, nor any landing vessels, and to recall all such support craft to your main fleet at your earliest possible convenience, or within twelve hours (whichever is sooner), and upon such time, to withdraw from Confederal waters. Failure to comply will result in a state of war being regarded as existing between Yallak and the Pantocratorian Empire, and the destruction of all vessels under your command.

With my compliments to you, your officers and crew,

PHOCAS
Lord First Adm. Phocas commanding Battlegroup Michel l'Archange
HIMS Manuel le Franc

[Yallak]

‘Impudent fools!’ declared the Admiral, her words filled with a vehement bite as she scorned the Pantocratorian message. To the bridge crew of the Iorlaas her anger appeared all the more fearsome because her attractive features maintained their usual serene and pleasant aspect. ‘And they’re religious fools at that, absolutely perfect! Captain Tipolaus, what is the ETA on the assault fleet?!’

‘Two hours and forty six minutes, Admiral,’ advised the Captain, stepping up to the opposite side the ships Tacops display. ‘They are a small enough obstacle, shall we be engaging?’

‘Unfortunately not,’ Arisa responded, sensing that the reply brought some disappointment to the Captain. ‘We didn’t come for them; we’re here to crush the life out of those who attacked forces of the Infinite Empire.’ Though that may well soon include the Pantocratorians she noted quietly.

‘Get me a channel open to these damn foeigners,’ she commanded the nearby Comm. Officer, who passed her the handset of the communications console with a nod after a few moments work.

‘First Admiral Phocas,’ she began, purposefully excluding the use of the title Lord. Such a title was reserved for use only to those of the appropriate positions in the Imperial Government. ‘This is Admiral Arisa Levrin of the Imperial Fleet of Yallak.

This battlegroup is here in support of the Xirniumite High Seas Fleet, so if they are authorised to be here, which if I’m not mistaken, they are, then so am I. You may stand down and there need not be any incidents here, but mark my words I will not tolerate further threats.’

Arisa returned the handset to the comm. system after finishing and returned to the Tacops display to monitor the Pantocratorian ships. ‘Contact the Assault Fleet, via Fleet Command so that they cannot trace our transmission to them, and tell them to hold outside of detection range when they arrive and keep all signal emission to a minimum.’

[Pantocratoria]

Phocas, seeing no deficiency in the language of his instructions, regarded that there was no cause for him to speak to Levrin in person to clarify his ultimatum, and thus did not receive the Admiral's call in person. Instead, a lieutenant in the communications booth would need to be offended on his behalf at the omission of the "Lord" from his rank. The lieutenant assured Levrin that her message would be relayed to the Lord First Admiral. The Pantocratorian battlegroup continued to close, and the following message was sent shortly later.

ATTN: Adm. Arisa LEVRIN commanding IYS Iorlaas and battlegroup

Admiral,

You operate under a false assumption. No authorisation has been provided for your presence by the President of the Confederated Peoples of the Resurgent Dream.

Unless such authorisation is forthcoming prior to the deadline set by the previous instructions you received from this vessel, you are required to withdraw from Confederal waters. If you fail to do so, then as a direct result of your indiscretion and ill-considered actions, a state of war will exist between Yalaak and the Pantocratorian Empire, as a result of Pantocratoria's treaty obligations to the Confederated Peoples of the Resurgent Dream. Consequent to that, your battlegroup will be destroyed.

All further correspondence on this matter, other than to signal your compliance, should be conducted through conventional diplomatic channels.

Line Captain Mathieu-Isaac Perzival
Officer of the Watch, HIMS Manuel le Franc
On behalf of the Commander of the Fleet

[Xirnium]

In the gasping airless void of outer-space, at least as the tired adage goes, there is no sound. There was thus an appearance of muted unreality, the sense of a strange trick played on the mind, as the Eternal Republic’s unmanned military satellite “Make to Shine, and Shoot Red Lightnings Heavenward” began to move, as its small thruster jets fired, tiny flames of mist, as its antennas extended and solar panels swivelled.

But if there had been one of those squat and thickset, gleaming white, wrinkled, spacesuited astronauts helplessly adrift and tethered with his umbilical to that military satellite, and if he had but touched his anonymously reflective, expressionless, gold-film visored helmet to its massive centre section, he would have heard the sudden dissonant rattling that accompanied its creaking motion, the autonomous and clockwork-sounding vibrations it produced like the ponderous heavy winding of chains around a spindle and the unhurried cranking of gears and winches. It glittered like a jewel against a dazzling field of stars, these strange suns, planets scattered across the wastes of the sky, at least when it whizzed across the terminal that separated day from night and in the sudden darkness experienced the constellations blazing forth. Then, when it hurtled back into the sun’s light, the Earth was impossibly huge and bright and deceptively peaceful above it, above not below, for in outer-space all the rules of familiarity and perception are necessarily violated, and the Earth becomes the sky and there is a disorientating, yawning, fathomless black chasm at your feet, inky black without a single star, and above white and grey wisps of cloud and deepest blue sea.

For more than three, cruel long, boring decades the military satellite “Make to Shine, and Shoot Red Lightnings Heavenward” had been a featureless-white larva in a cocoon, its development in stasis, overwintering in a state of dormancy, of sleep, which was so complete it could have been death. Now the cicada that emerged extended the still wet, long, transparent glassy wings of its solar panels, warming them in the heat of the sun. It spread its wings carefully as it rested on the bark of high orbit, revealing delicate veins. Soon the cicada would sing its shrill midsummer song.

The strategic defence programme to which both the military satellite “Make to Shine, and Shoot Red Lightnings Heavenward” and its identical sisters belonged had aroused a heated debate amongst both arms experts and public officials when it had received initial funding in the eighties. Not only its military and political implications but also its technical feasibility had been criticised. Far-fetched had seemed the requirement for the mounting of ballistic missile platforms in orbit, for the inception of offensive space-based laser battle stations. Beams of pure energy, glowing an incandescent blue brilliance in the Earth’s atmosphere but entirely invisible in outer-space, and with the power to vaporise cities. Bombs that flashed a blinding scarlet in mid-air, and fell, a descending column of blaze eddying spirally in the midst of a whirlwind, releasing the intensest forces of the atom.

These components were the first to wreak the Eternal Republic’s cruel vengeance on Alekthos. The firing began without any warning at eight. Simultaneous strikes were made on the palaces of the Prince of Alekthos and the seats of the most important organs of government and administration in Abna. Radar-directed antiaircraft defences that had failed to declare loyalist sympathies for the central government of the Resurgent Dream found themselves victims of devastatingly accurate and overwhelming surgical strikes. To these attacks were added senselessly indiscriminate bombardment of urban centres, productive capacity and coastal cities.

They would be followed up later by comprehensive, systematic, aerial carpet-bombing. Escorted by jet fighters, operating in massive “combat box” formations and soaring at well over thirty thousand feet, even the antiquated delta-winged Ozonofortresses could operate with murderous impunity.

[Xirnium]

It would be difficult to write without unbridled contempt of the Newly-Modelled Navy’s callous and inhumanly indifferent naval bombardment of that gallant little country, which neither their valour nor their cruel cunning could reduce. The blood-stained pages of human history may be scanned in vain and with tear-dimmed eyes for a record of disasters swifter in their coming, more destructive in their scope, more coolly and criminally calculated.

The dull, drawling, owlish “hear! hear!” of Parliament had hardly ceased to reverberate along the gloomy benches and balconies of that grey and morose chamber when the deadly struggle was on. It found the Newly-Modelled Navy ready. Tragically ready. The warships had their magazines filled, their bunkers and oil tanks charged, their victualing completed, and their crews prepared at a moment’s notice for aggressive action.

By the earliest light of dawn on the morning of Monday an advance guard of the Newly-Modelled Navy was sighted sweeping northeastwards off Amalad, and the news that the enemy was now within striking distance of Ada was instantly telegraphed throughout the entire continent of Ambara. As warship after warship appeared on the horizon it was soon ascertained that this advance guard was the Second Far Atlantic Squadron, comprising the flagship “Pleasant Defyings”, the aircraft carriers “Last Rose of Summer” and “Lily’s Paramour”, the cruiser “Shattered Jewel”, and the destroyers “Indolent”, “Paling Star” and “Disturbing Dream”, under the command of Fustiga. The Second Far Atlantic Squadron, in obedience to Admiralty’s orders, separated as it neared the coast, in such a manner as to effectually blockade the passage north to Abna. Its warships made no sign of antagonism, merely steaming slowly up and down, watching and waiting.

On the morning of Tuesday, the Second Far Atlantic Squadron was still ominously in sight. Not a gun had been fired, and it was hoped that the communications known to be passing between the various national Governments, between the Bright Republic and the Kingdom of Fourthearts, between Abt and the Resurgent Dream, between the Infinite Empire and Pantocratoria, might yet avert the danger. The silence of the Newly-Modelled Navy’s men-of-war was construed to mean that they had orders to await the outcome of the negotiations that were believed ardently to be only temporarily stalled if not progressing favourably. But this hope was soon dashed.

During the day funnel after russet-coloured funnel appeared in the misty offing, and before nightfall not less than a dozen warships, elements of the Seventh Southern Flotilla, had concentrated within sight of Carasia. And now all hope had fled. It was seen that the delay in action on the part of the Newly-Modelled Navy was simply to buy time to bring together an invincible force, against which resistance would be a lunatic prospect, and which could crush, if need be, the combined navy of Danaan Ambara. And as night fell this mighty fleet, in obedience to the signal rockets which could be seen plainly even from the coastal towns of Alekthos, hissing songs to themselves in the secret night, made ready for the grim work of tomorrow.

Infelice gave orders for the frigate “Disdainful” and destroyer “Autumn Song” to commence attack, and then the dread havoc began. There sounded the booming of the entire High Seas Fleet, and then there rained upon the helpless, hapless, defenceless nation such destruction as to constitute an outrage on civilisation. Delinquency and cultural vandalism.

It was the sound that was most terrible, for those who lived through it. One heard the deafening rattle of the big howitzers, the shrill whistle of the smaller mortars. There was the squeal of the shells all above, the rending crash and explosion all about, and one could only wonder when one’s turn would come.

There was no waste of shot or shell. At the beginning of the bombardment the coast escaped comparatively uninjured, the long arm of the Newly-Modelled Navy’s cruise missiles and rockets enabling Abna to be preyed on unceasingly at every point from the river valley to the desert escarpments. Extensive use was made of barrage, ripple-fired rockets from multitube launchers and launching rails. Their eerie, tremendous moaning sounded like the monstrous coo of a vast colony of mew gulls inside an echoing sea-cliff cavern. For hours this screaming symphony of reed organs added its dreadful horrors to the scene, each minute seeing the firing of a thousand rockets from every warship.

Amongst the first buildings to be comprehensively struck were the palace of the Prince of Alekthos and the major mosques and madrasas where the mujahideen were expected to be concentrated, and then the government buildings in the administrative districts, including the national ministries and civil-service departments and city halls, and all of the centres of the military establishment. The warning and acquisition radar net was extensively bombarded and all vessels in the ports of Alekthos sunk.

All major factories and most industries were indiscriminately targeted, a sample of which included textile plants, the chemical industry and cement works. Traditional artisan craft-shops and most of the population’s requirements for food, clothing, and the like were where possible spared.

Shots from the fleet were targeted to begin falling on the major highways that fanned out in all directions from Abna. Bombs were expected to explode about the standard-gauge arterial lines tying together the national railroad system, aiming to leave that vast network of infrastructure in ruins and to paralyse the call-up of reserves. The international airports and smaller aerodromes were to be remorselessly bombarded.

Worse than shot and shell, what the Bright Republic had to set against the Prince of Alekthos was its usual rigmarole of the New Republic, of Municipal Socialism, and the Open Revolution. With an air of angry surprise at the human beings who could fail to grasp anything so obvious as the inevitability of Social Revolution, they regarded the Prince of Alekthos and his romantic movement as an absurdity, a ghost from the past, a creature doomed to disappear almost immediately. The Newly-Modelled Navy considered it its revolutionary duty to hasten that end.

[Xirnium]

Declaration of the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty in Consultation with the Cabinet

All the waters surrounding Alekthos, including the relevant sea-lanes and passages of the Amory Channel, are hereby declared to be a war-zone by the Committee of Public Safety on behalf of the Eternal Republic and pursuant to all relevant Acts and regulations promulgated by the High Court of Parliament governing the conduct of armed conflict and the Laws of the Sea. From 18 September onwards every enemy merchantman or man-of-war found within this war-zone will be deemed to be in contravention of the law and will of the High Court of Parliament enforceable through paramount force and thus at risk of capture or destruction without it always being possible to ensure the safety and welfare of crews and passengers aboard.

Neutral shipping will also be exposed to some degree of residual danger whilst within the war-zone as, in view of the misuse of neutral flags which occurred on 7 August by francs-tireurs obedient to the Prince of Alekthos, and owing to unforeseen incidents to which the vagaries of naval warfare are liable from time to time, it is not always possible to avoid entirely attacks being made on neutral merchantmen or men-of-war in mistake for those of the enemy. In the light of such intelligence all marine traffic not of the Newly-Modelled Navy is advised to vacate the aforementioned war-zone with all convenient expedition.

Navigation to the north of Amory, in the western coastal sectors of the Sea of Amalad and through a zone at least thirty nautical miles wide leading to Victoria harbour is not expected to be exposed to any significant danger.

Néphéline Hyacinthe zy Veúpre
Admiral and General-at-Sea
Office of the Admiralty Committee