New Day, Same Fight (Closed, ATTN Sondria)

[Crontor]

...

---

Beblis. The mere mention of this tropical colony conjures up a volatile mix of sentiments and emotions depending on whom you ask. For the native Beblians that make up nearly four percent of the overall Crontorian population this land is their home. The Crontori of the Imperial Federation administed Colonial Union of Beblis would disagree. To them, Beblis is their home, forged in the blood of their ancestors who crossed the Strait of Orange long ago to settle this fertile land. To most of the Crontori people in the Imperial Federation, Beblis is a headache, a buzzing mosquito in a dark room. It is a problem that can be heard but not eliminated.

This problem was not a new one. The roots of this problem dated back to back to the first settlers that set foot on Beblian soil. This problem, this conflict, was fueled by deep rooted racism and greed, a desire for natural resources and a general disdain for the status of the natives who inhabited the whole of Beblis. As such, it would not be as simple as having the competing factions sit down and make a compromise of some sort. Dozens of treaties had been signed over the years, and all of them had been broken by the zealous Colonial Union in their quest to advance northward and claim all of the land in Beblis.

It was only when the Crontorian Armed Forces entered the conflict was the bloody and destructive war brought to an uneasy truce. For over a hundred years, the two sides waited eagerly to begin the conflict anew, establishing armed militias and stockpiling supplies while the CAF looked on, attempting to give an impression of dominance. But the conflict did begin anew, yielding more decades of bloodshed, this time, involving the full force of the Crontorian Armed Forces, who were in effect managing the war to ensure that no side gained a true victory.

The CAF has become too good at their management, having taken over and restricting the role of the CDF, they unforeseeably allowed for a rebel resurgence, and the newly bolstered rebel militias have carried out far more brazen attacks than ever before. Their most bold attack, however, is yet to come.

Ministry of Defense Briefing; Beblis Conflict:

The Beblian Democratic Liberation Front is a coalition of tribal militia, disgruntled Crontorians, and fanatics who wish to see the end of Crontorian rule in Beblis. Crontor has expanded into Beblis for centuries, starting in 1645, when Crontorian sailors established a port there.

After 1642, both colonies, being Beblis (New Crontor) and the Anchli Isles began to expand and build up infrastructure. New Crontor, the oldest of the colonies, established a colonial government, militias, a court system, trading ports, thriving cities, and expansive roads. Beblis, engaged in a period of conflicts with the natives of the island. The Beblian Wars (1645-1711), were a series of long, bloody, and grueling conflicts that started as soon as expansive colonists began their systematic expansion into native lands, destroying native farmlands and their villages. The natives struck back, razing colonial villages and murdering the colonists. The colonial government in Beblis pleaded with the Emperor for Imperial soldiers, who were promptly deployed, and began a long campaign to effectively destroy the native population. Soldiers from the Anchli Isles were also deployed, but even their contribution did not end the native threat, as the natives reverted to guerilla tactics and carried out their campaign for decades.

Although the threat posed to Crontorian settlements was ended in 1711 following the Treaty of Naskary, this only dealt with the Crontorian settlements along the coast. As the population in Beblis expanded, the settlers pushed further inland, threatening native lands and villages. This kick started another war in 1768 which lasted until 1807. A short time thereafter, the colonial government bribed native leaders into selling off huge tracts of their land, which was met with heavy resistance by the native tribes who launched a massive uprising which actually drove back colonial armies. This rebellion continued for eleven years after 1810, only ending with the deployment of Imperial soldiers who crushed the uprising and sent the survivors scattering into unsettled areas of the island.

The Crontorian government recognized that continued expansion would only lead to more wars, and the tribes were by this point a united entity, and showing signs of central governance in order to stand against their common enemy. A treaty established in 1821, effectively cut the colony in half, with each side controlling a half, but with the whole colony officially a dominion of the Imperial Federation. This status quo actually continued for another century, despite the tense nature of the border, which was patrolled and enforced by armed militias of both sides. The status quo was upheld until 1976, when large mineral deposits were found in the northern region of Beblis. The Crontorian Engineering Corporation, the largest company in the Imperial Federation, wanted rights to the deposits, except they lay in tribal lands.
The tribes by this point had established a stable democratic system, with infrastructure, schooling, and large and bustling cities. They had a manufacturing base, and had even acquired modern technology and weaponry from other nations. Although the troops of the Imperial Federation tried to stop the influx of weapons into the Democratic Republic of North Beblis (DRNB), they could do little to stop it, and instead Vienna issued stern warnings to the DRNB to stop accepting foreign arms or face the consequences.

The CEC attempted to make a deal with the DRNB, who refused, as they were ready to allow a domestic corporation by the name of Beblian United Mining to take over the deposits. The CEC demanded that they be allowed access to the deposits, and were refused time and time again by policymakers in Vienna. Eventually, they were guaranteed support by the new Supreme Commander in 1984, Phillip Miller. Supreme Commander Miller, with the help of the Colonial Defense Forces in Beblis and the CEC, staged an assault on a CDF compound near the border, claiming it had been fired upon from militia units of the DRNB.

This was of course a hoax, but it prompted the Colonial Union of Beblis to declare war on the DRNB and begin an invasion of the unprepared nation. The official Mineral War, as it came to be known, lasted from 1984-1986, when CDF troops entered the DRNB capital of El Carbolo, with the silent backing of the Imperial Federation, and toppled the shattered democratic government. The remnants of the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Northern Beblis (AFDRNB), formed the BDLF, and declared war on the puppet government and occupying forces. The CEC moved straight into the mineral deposits they had been promised at the onset of the war, but their progress was beset by sabotage, attacks on workers camps, and kidnappings.
The CEC demanded security forces, and CDF troops were deployed to CEC worksites which began using captured soldiers and citizens as slave labor.

The BDLF enjoyed and still does enjoy wide popular support. The invasion was seen as unjust, and although to this day, CDF forces maintain control over the north, they are harried by resistance fighters whenever they leave the major population hubs, which, to some extent, are even subject to the whims of the resistance. In effect, the cities of the north have become walled fortresses, only supplied by airlift and the occasional heavily armored convoy. But the BDLF rules the countryside, and it has for decades now. That was until 2000, when newly elected President Christian Cranico, and Supreme Commander Rockepeller, who had been presiding over this war for years, declared the deployment of Crontorian forces to bring peace to the area. Four Crontorian Command Corps were deployed, around 360,000 personnel total with their vehicles and support. While the deployment was meant to bring peace to the area, it only intensified the conflict, as BDLF fighters saw the new deployment as a measure to further cement Crontorian control of the north. By this time, radical parties had formed in the BDLF, among them the United Beblian Revolutionary Front (UBRF), who wished to throw off what they saw as an evil capitalist driven occupation, and establish a communist government.
The UBRF was successful in detonating a series of simultaneous car bombings; one at the CDF Ministry in Naskary, two at the Crontorian Navy Marine Barracks, also in Naskary, and another in the Imperial Federation itself, at the Department of Education, the site of the Crontorian News Network, whose coverage of the war was seen as biased. In total, 235 civilians and 38 marines died in the attacks, prompting an enraged Cranico and Rockepeller to order Crontorian units to begin offensive campaigns against the BDLF coalition.

Since those attacks in 2002, the CAF has nationalized the CDF in Beblis, and committed all available resources in that nation to combating the BDLF. The ten years since have seen violence on a horrific scale, as Crontorian forces carried and still do carry out intense bombing and artillery campaigns against native towns and BDLF strongholds. The BDLF has responded in kind, abducting Beblian civilians, mutilating dead Crontorian soldiers, and carrying out more bombings.

So far, the current death toll for the war, which has been dubbed the Second Mineral War, stands at 44,897 CAF personnel, 94,261 CDF personnel, 412,854 BDLF fighters, and around 5.7 million civilians due to starvation and bombings. The entire war puts the CAF and the Imperial Federation in an awkward situation, and this has been the case for many years. Although the CAF supports the actions of the CDF in combating the BDLF and other insurgent groups, the CDF and the Colonial Union in general have developed extremely racist policies over the years, and most Crontorians in the Colonial Union advocate the extermination of the native Beblians, a people that have dwindled to about seventy million spread across the island of Beblis. Already in the Colonial Union, a society has developed with white Crontori on top and the darker skinned Beblians forming the lower rung of society.

As a result, CAF units deployed to Beblis often report that they are not only policing the island to keep it from the BDLF, but also ensuring that the CDF does not continue to commit atrocities, as they would be condemned by the international community, perhaps fostering international support for the rebels and the remnants of the Democratic Republic of North Beblis.

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Southern Zone;
Union City:

“We stand here today, united as citizens of the Colonial Union,” bellowed the microphones on top of the speaker’s platform overlooking Capital Boulevard in Union City. Standing and speaking before over a million Crontorians was newly elected Viceroy Victor Sagror. His inaugural address, on the steps of the Congressional Hall, was being watched across the Union, as Crontorians both on the mainland and throughout the colonies. All watched and waited, as quite possibly the most divisive Viceroy in Bleblian history.

It was not only Crontorians watching this speech, but billions more region wide. The Lusitanians, for obvious reasons, were paying close attention, as any war involving their closest ally had a tendency to draw them in. Other nations were more than likely interested. Marquesan had an acute interest in everything Crontorian. Nations such as the Mighty Islands were more than likely looking for any possible way to make a profit.

“Our first priority,” Sagror continued, “is to ensure that the terrorists who plague our land are brought to justice. I vow to fight until my last breath, ridding Beblis of those who wish to destroy everything our forefathers have built. Therefore, we must...”

He was never able to finish that speech, as a succession of gunshots sent the crowd into a panic and Sagror tumbling to the ground, a sniper’s bullet blasting into and through his skull. Gunfire erupted all around, as security personnel dressed in the blue armor of the Colonial Defense Force, inexplicably turned on their fellow soldiers and citizens, pumping clip after clip of ammunition from their Echeron A-4 Assault Rifles into civilians and security personnel alike.

Atop the speaker’s platforms, dignitaries and government officials attempted to run into the Congressional Hall, only to find that they were caught in the middle of a crossfire between a myriad of security officials, all firing upon one another in confusion while snipers picked off people running to cover. Before long, the distinctive pop of the AK-74M assault rifle, the preferred weapon of the BDLF, could be heard over the screams of civilians and cries of the dying.

Civil order had essentially broken down in Union City, as the entire picture had become clear to security officials. The Colonial Security Service and the Colonial Defense Force had been infiltrated to an extent never before thought possible. The BDLF had been planning this large scale operation for a long time, and the inauguration of the most aggressive viceroy in Beblian history, who pledged to put an end to the violence, was the perfect event at which to make a statement.

The statement was made, and made quite succinctly. For days after the initial attack, the BDLF ruled what was once the most secure city on the island. Looting and rioting were widespread, as security personnel and government officials were hunted down and executed in the street. The government ministries that lined the Capital Boulevard were all looted and burned, their staffs either arrested or killed. The Colonial Security Service, only lightly armed in comparison to the guerillas that had overrun Union City, had been effectively destroyed, while the CDF had pulled back to guard strategic areas at the outside of the city.

Ironically, the only area of the city left entirely untouched was the most heavily secured; the area around Fort Beblis, the largest Crontorian Armed Forces base in the colonies. While the CDF and CSS fought a desperate battle for their capital, the CAF waited and prepared to bear the brunt of the enemy attack. Units patrolled the zones around the base and security was tightened, and yet, no attack came. Instead, the CAF watched nervously as the city to their south burned.

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna;

Supreme Commander Crogden and President Christian Cranico watched silently as the drone feed from Crontorian Air Assault Force reconnaissance Predators was streamed live into the Emergency Situation Room in the Crontorian Military Pyramid. Ever since the beginning of the enemy offensive five days prior, Crogden and Cranico had barely left this room, only to use the restroom. Trays of half eaten food strewn around alongside coffee cups and stacks of papers indicated they had done just about everything in this room.

Regularly, security or intelligence officials would stop by with new information, although Crogden and Cranico were often the first to know information, watching live from a series of drones flying high over the battlefield. Ironically enough, for the two most powerful men in the Imperial Federation, they were especially powerless. At the first sign of trouble, the CAF could have been moved in to restore order, institute martial law, and propped up the regime.

But this was not the course of action chosen. The Newcastle War saw a massive withdrawal of Crontorian personnel to the mainland, leaving most of the country defended by the Colonial Security Service and the Colonial Defense Force. With this devolution came a grant of expanded power to the colonial viceroy, and first the first time, the Imperial Federation was allowing the people of Beblis to elect their own viceroy, rather than have that position appointed by the President.

The people of Beblis had elected a fiery figure in Sagror, one that was promising to continue the devastating decade’s long civil war that raged in Beblis. The CDF was to be expanded, reequipped, and bolstered by conscripts. Sagror had even hinted during the campaign that he would apply for provincial status, meaning, if granted, that the CAF would be primarily responsible for security within Beblis. For a nation still in shock from the devastating upset that was the Newcastle War, policymakers in Vienna were strongly resisting these movements in Beblis, preferring to allow the colonials to fight the rebels for them. The CAF was there to make sure that nothing got too out of hand, and as such, they were watching both sides.

“Have we received any communications or demands from the rebels in Union City?” Cranico asked Crogden, never taking his eyes off the drone feed as he stirred his coffee. He had been awake for a straight forty-eight hours, and preferred not to think about just how much coffee he had consumed.

“No,” grunted Crogden, as he thumbed through stacks of intelligence papers, “the BDLF has not made any demands. As of the last intelligence report, however, BDLF assaults continued in the cities of El Carbolo, Nelido, Forwith, Niechs, and Morke. The northernmost violence reported thus far was in Deslstro, where it appears the rail lines have been destroyed and the city is surrounded.”

“What is most concerning about Deslstro, however, is that it is a port and the Marquesans have been especially active in the northern reaches of Sondria as of late. They are more than likely sponsoring the insurgency in Tiami, therefore, it is not out of the question that they would look to supply or fund the BDLF. There are CAF troops in Beblis, at the Deslstro Naval Base, but Crontorian soldiers have not stopped them in the past. Hopefully, they will be deterred from taking action.”

[Erjunhuf]

Erjunhuf Embassy Building
Embassy Row
Suburbs of Vienna, Crontor

The sound of construction outside his window stirred Ambassador Owen Roberts from what had been a relatively peaceful sleep; leaning over to check his clock, hoping that there was still somehow enough time to fall back asleep, he somewhat depressingly realized that it was only mere minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Damn the gods, why couldn't we have just stayed a consulate? he groggily lamented to himself before finally dragging himself out of bed. There was no use complaining about it at this point, as if the process could be stopped now. Only a year ago, this outpost had been one of the only direct links to any foreign government in Sondria that the Elder Republic had had at its disposal: now, what had once been a somewhat shabby and overlooked branch of the State Ministry had quickly blossomed to become one of the key embassies Erjunhuf possessed. While it was no longer the only one - Roberts knew other embassies were quickly being built throughout the region - the one in Vienna was centrally positioned and currently acted as the main hub for the State Ministry, which meant lots of construction to bring it up to a more impressive standard.

It had been mere months since Erjunhuf had declared its era of self-induced isolationism over; having watched Crontor, the closest thing to an ally the Elder Republic had, get run over by a coalition of nations that had proceeded to inflict one of the quickest and most brutal defeats in recent history, the nation was now determined to step up to face the affairs of the rest of the region and help solve them in its own best interests, rather than allowing circumstances to dictate the world they would face. Initial measures towards that goal had already been taken: Erjunite forces were in the south of Crontor, providing vital reconstruction efforts there, and new military weapons and vehicles, developed in partnership with Marquesan, were being issued to replace outdated vehicles and equipment. With the ongoing crises in both Tiami as well as Beblis, which currently stationed two divisions of Erjunite troops in a temporary base - Fort Calpe, if he was remembering the right file - it was imperative that Erjunhuf be a part of both solutions. To that end, it had fallen to him to secure permanent base rights for the armed forces of the Elder Republic across Crontor: Roberts wasn't any sort of expert on warfare, but it was obvious to him that Crontors central position in Sondria was vital to any future campaigns Erjunhuf would potentially need to undertake in the future.

The final copy of the information he needed was handed to him as he walked out of the embassy toward a waiting car: he was due for a meeting with both the President and Supreme Commander of Crontor in less than an hour at the Federal Building, and traffic could be a real pain this early in the morning. Roberts took his seat and allowed his security to do one last check before sending the car on its way: while the Newcastle War had left Vienna largely untouched, it paid to be careful. There were still millions of refugees streaming south across the sea from Beblis, seeking a less devastated part of the country to make a living; at some point in these negotiations, it would probably come up that a request for direct military aid from the Elder Republic in Beblis would be given to him. Roberts added that to his notes, and resumed looking at what he had been given: there were only three main requests from the State Ministry at this time, but it also included the option for more. Locations included a naval base in the Anchils, a permanent base south of the ruins of Alobordo, and of course, the one in northern Beblis. There was no reason to assume the Crontorians wouldn't want to give them the bases, especially with their armed forces still badly bloodied after the war, but he was well aware the government could be fickle when it chose to. Just one more thing to watch out for, he supposed before grabbing a cup of coffee his assistant had dutifully made.

About 100 minutes and a couple of coffees later, the car pulled up to the Federal Building, and the Ambassador quickly made his way out of the car and inside toward the conference. This wasn't his first time meeting the leadership, but it was certainly his most important thus far. Failure in this regard was not an option.

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna:

A group of armored security personnel met the Erjunhite delegation as they passed through the last security checkpoint and into the main hall of the Crontorian Federal Building. Other than the Military Pyramid, the Federal Building was arguably the most important in the nation, housing both the Imperial Congress and the President. As such, it was heavily guarded. Elements of the Crontorian Armed Forces, Crontorian National Police, Crontorian Bureau of Intelligence, and Crontorian Diplomatic Security were all present and on guard. Some foreign visitors found this presence uncomfortable, as they were unaccustomed to soldiers in combat gear on patrol in civilian government buildings. To the Crontorians, this was routine.

The security personnel led the Erjunhites through the ornate building, letting the foreigners soak in the very heart of the Crontorian government. The building was bustling with all manner of personnel, some uniformed, some not. Common among all, as they hurried along with folders, stacks of paper, or tablets, was that they looked on the passing foreigners with curiosity. These stares surely made the Erjunhites somewhat uncomfortable, as the Crontorians made no effort to hide that they were looking.

Roberts was finally led down a long hallway flanked with equally spaced office doors with nameplates showing the name and posting of the official whom had that office. Most of them had some sort of military title, another subtle hint about the role of the military within the Crontorian government. Then again, with the recent devastating defeat in the Newcastle War, the influence of the military had receded greatly. This hallway was surprisingly quiet and unguarded, as if it were deserted.

One of the last rooms in the hall led to a conference room, where Supreme Commander Crogden and President Christian Cranico both sat, pouring over stacks of paper that were laid out in front of them. Both of them stood as Roberts entered the room, and both came over to greet him and shake hands, then showing him to his seat.

Crogden did not waste any time getting to business, "We are glad you could meet us Roberts. We suspect that continued dealings between our two nations will be profitable for both sides. As such, we are aware of your requests for three military establishments on Crontorian territory."

"Erjunhuf is vitally important to the future foreign policy objectives of the Imperial Federation, and more importantly, the Union," noted Cranico, passing Roberts a printed political map of the region. Clearly marked were nations viewed as potentially adversaries as well as nations known to be allies of potential allies of the Union. One of the only nations marked was Erjunhuf.

"The Union finds itself in an incredibly difficult situation," Cranico continued, "our war with Marquesan involved into a regional conflict, one that has caused the breakdown of relations with many nations, including Aquilinia and Onekawa-Nukanor. As such, we view the friendship shared with your nation vital to our interests. We also understand that your geography does not allow you ease of access to the whole of Sondria, so the bases you have requested are very important to any future strategic operations. As you are well aware, we do seek two bases in Erjunhuf, as to provide for an equal exchange. What is your nation's stance on the aforementioned?"

[Marquesan]

MSV Red Queen, Pen. 1/4-XIAZ02,
Great Hawk-Class Battlecruiser.
20 NMi off the coast of Beblis.

The ship's four pumpjets made a low hum as they propelled Red Queen through the water. She was heading north, toward icy Erjunhuf, skirting the western shores of Beblis just close enough for the sailors aboard to get a good look at the wartorn island. A Great Hawk could travel unescorted according to Marquesan doctrine and certainly, with a new peace between Crontor and Marquesan, this close to the mainland, her natural enemies would be few. In this case, the sleek, low trimaran-hulled battleship was escorted by a pair of Black Harrier-class attack cruisers, MSV Imperial and MSV Reaper, together protecting two container ships that carried some very valuable cargo.

Under normal circumstances, no freighter convoy would justify such an escort but this one was special. On it was a production batch of the very latest and most advanced Marquesan armor, container after container of small arms and ammunition and generally enough ordinance to launch a war against a small third-world country. In Sondria, these were few but these ships were part of a fleet of many others going to arm Sondria's northern watchtower against the buffeting of the world's bitter political winds.

Suddenly, the container ship CCF Raccoon City emitted a clunking sound, followed by a long grinding sound and a squeal, and then silence. The sea around her aft section was suddenly colored blood red---a whale had gotten too close and struck her screws, tearing up the driven spinning blades and driveshafts and effectively destroying the ship's ability to move forward. She was crippled and would be stuck here, twenty miles from Beblis, unless something was done. A video-conference between the captains of the five ships was quick to create a solution, though it wasn't an ideal one--the three warships would push Raccoon Cty into dock in Beblis where the repairs would have to be carried out.

And so it came to pass that the right arm and the pride of the Marquesan Gendarmerie's newest Mobilized Eleventh Corps, a Great Hawk and two escorting Black Harriers appeared at port in Beblis, pushing a broken container ship whose crew looked on nervously as the shelled and war-torn port of Frigaal came into view. She would be tightly-guarded, but local workers would have to make the repairs. The three warships would stay close together at the far end of the port, their trio of Hellcat Hunter/Killer helicopter gunships out on their helipads, gleaming dully in the sun while the second container vessel, CCF Spirit of Bora Bora docked alongside the crippled one.

Frigaal had been identified as a warzone, but the convoy had little choice in picking the port and so armed watches were kept at all times, both on the warships and on the container ships. They could only hope that no Crontorian official decided to inspect the cargo of the vessels too closely and that they could go on about their business soon.

[Deusaeuri]

Office of Markus Deusaeuri
Government Complex
Varnheim, Deusaeuri

In his office, Markus Deusaeuri sat at his desk idly, sipping a cup of coffee and reading routine reports. His office was dimly let and almost universally colored a tuscan tan. Behind him and his desk, the entire wall was replaced with a window to an underground aquarium featuring numerous fish, the largest and most notable of which being a juvenile dolphin named Sarge. At his side, loyal adviser, assistant, and personal bodyguard, Lord Deux. After some time and several lengthy yawns, a man opened the front doors carrying a nondescript folder. Markus raised his head at his entrance, only to lower is back down when the folder flopped on his desk. Markus set down his coffee cup and opened the folder, pulling out it's contents. After scanning it for just a few moments, he began scratching his bald head.

"Ah, I was wondering when this day would get interesting..." After finishing reading the contents of the folder, Markus leaned back in his office chair, and began turning around a pen in his hand. "Do you have any further orders, sir." Markus shook his head, causing the messenger to nod and swiftly exit. After the door was closed, Markus reached for his phone, pressing down the "7" button, speed-dial for Admiral Nonceperint and picked up the receiver. After a few moments, the ringing stopped. Before Admiral Nonceperint even had a chance to speak, Markus began.

"Did you get the news?" The Admiral sighed for a moment.
"Yes... I assume an emergency meeting is being called?"
"Of course. For the moment, begin moving two, possibly three submarine crews on reconnaissance to the eastern coast of Beblis. Submerged the whole way, minimal contact."
"Understood. I'll see you in an hour."

---

Meeting Room D
Government Complex
Varnheim, Deusaeuri

Lord Deux, quickly followed by the High General, stepped in to the meeting room where already sitting at the table, surrounded with laptops, beverages, piles of files, and quietly observant guards, were primarily the leaders of the DAF's various branches. As he slipped in to his desk as the helm, nodding, he did a quick head count. To his left was General Supraquila of the Ground Forces, Margrave Nazjemn of the Police and Internal Security Forces, and Lord Deux. To his right was Admiral Nonceperint of the Navy, General Filiusira of the Air Force, and Director Darius of the National Intelligence Agency. After concluding that everyone is present, Markus rested his hands on the table and began speaking.

"Gentlemen, as I'm sure you've all heard, Beblis, a colony of Crontor, has rapidly begun a descent in to a state of chaos. Following the assassination of newly elected Victor Sagror during his inaugural speech, BDLF militants who infiltrated the Colonial Defence Force began firing on the crowd. I have gathered you here to discuss the appropriate military reaction we should take, if any."

And from there the military officials began their debate. It continued through the night and in to the morning. Eventually an inevitable consensus was reached. The Navy would send auxiliary logistics and surveillance ships to a secured Crontorian port, escorted by three destroyer groups, along with a Police Force Hospital Ship. Of course, all after Lord Deux made appropriate negotiations with the Crontor central government. At a later date when the BDLF was weakened, more militaristic actions could be discussed. For now though, Lord Deux sat alone in the meeting room, preparing to make a call to the Deusaeurian embassy in Vienna.

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Northern Zone;
Friggal:

Akin to many of the other cities in the Northern Zone, Friggal had been torn apart by the most recent offensive by the BDLF. Northern cities, and especially major ports, such as Friggal, were vital targets for the insurgents, as the capture of any harbors would allow them foreign aid. Although there had been no open guarantees of foreign aid from any nation, the rebels hoped that capturing a port city would display to the region that their movement was both capable and worth the attention and assistance of the major nations.

As such, the appearance of Marquesan vessels off the coast sparked a flashpoint of activity from both the CDF and BDLF. Although Friggal had not borne the brunt of any major insurgent activity thus far into the offensive, evidence of fighting here was commonplace. Bullet holes marked buildings and every so often vehicles would have to change lanes to avoid craters left over from improvised explosive devices or artillery. Most of the streets were clear of debris and vehicles, although the central square featured the still burning hulk of an Abrams tank that had been destroyed in a suicide bombing the day before.

Civilians, mostly darker skinned Beblians, went about their business as if there was not a burning main battle tank in the middle of the square. Equally, they ignored the patrols of heavily armed Colonial Defense Force soldiers, whether they came on foot or by convoy. Every so often, gunshots were heard, or a scream as CDF personnel dragged occupants out of their homes to search to contraband. Other than a quick glance in the direction of the noise, locals went about their business, quickly and without contact with anyone remotely Crontorian.

In the alleys and shanty districts, cloth banners depicted allegiance to the rebel movement, and walking into some districts, one would find security covered entirely by soldiers in mismatched uniforms carrying all manner of weapons. These would be the soldiers of the BDLF, who operated rather openly, except when CDF convoys or helicopters passed by.

These soldiers did not necessarily enjoy the support of the populace, but feared their reprisal. At the same time, they feared the repercussions from the CDF if they were found to be helping the BDLF. The result was an uneasy and tense atmosphere, which would partly explain why so many Beblians fled south or attempted to enter the mainland Imperial Federation.

Now, however, BDLF fighters were streaming into the city to attempt to capture the shipment of Marquesan weapons that word had spread so fast about. Hundreds of well armed fighters had slipped past patrols and entered the porous slum areas around the main city of Friggal. These slums were relatively new, coming shortly after the Crontorian conquest of the Northern Zone in 1986, as the Colonials had forced most of the natives out of city. Most colonials had fled south during the decades of war, and as such, the city was almost exclusively Beblian save for the security forces.

These same security forces were now arriving in full force at the docks to inspect the Marquesan arrivals. Officially, the port was closed to all but military traffic, and seeing as the ships were not of any Crontorian or Union Navy, soldiers had been dispatched to investigate. It was clear, however, to the Marquesan operators, that these were not the same soldiers Marquesan had just fought a war against. Rather than the clean cut and well organized soldiers of the Crontorian Armed Forces, these soldiers were gruffer and irregular. Although all bore CDF patches, each had taken the time to customize their weapons, uniforms, and helmets. This level of individualization would have been banned in the CAF.

Unlike the more reserved racism of their CAF counterparts, the CDF openly looked with scorn upon their Marquesan visitors, as they approached, not in rank, but in a group, carrying or shouldering their arms. Their vehicles also made their way up the dock, battle scarred and smeared with dirt. All present were the older generation of Crontorian technology; Bradley’s. Humvees, Abrams, and Strykers, all ready for a fight as they trained their guns on Marquesan operators.

The leader of this CDF detachment stepped forward with a megaphone, and addressed the Marquesans, “Send out your head officer to explain himself to the Colonial Defense Force.”

[Erjunhuf]

Federal Building
Vienna, Crontor

Typical Crontorian meeting; no formality and right to the point. Roberts thought to himself, slightly annoyed at the lack of use of his official title, but betraying nothing behind his passive stare. To a degree, it was understandable: Crontor had just been inflicted what many would call a humiliating defeat, and the pressure was clearly on for its leadership to solve both the economic and political consequences of it. The latest uprising in Beblis was only the most visible part of the damage Marquesan and her coalition had inflicted to the Imperial Federation. Owen could clearly see that one more defeat or setback could result in a complete collapse of the Elder Republics oldest ally; it was his job to ensure that Erjunhuf did all that was within her power to stop that. He took a moment to look over the sheet that Cranico had passed him; as if it served to reinforce what he'd just been thinking, there were very few allies marked for Crontor, and many more potential adversaries. It was time to ensure some good news for the Imperial Federation.

"Mr. President, Supreme Commander," the ambassador began, "the Elder Republic is of course willing to grant you two bases within our borders. In fact, I took the liberty of ensuring prime locations for both." From his file, he pulled out two sheets of paper, each listing two locations and an aerial photo, and handed one to each man across the table from him, officially approved and sanctioned by his nations' Ministry of Defense. "For the three bases in the Imperial Federation, we will give you the following: an old shipping yard thirty miles south of the city of Edras, and a location on the southern part of the Isle of Turas. Details on each location are on the page in front of you." Roberts paused to give both men time to go over the document. After a few moments, he continued on, "Obviously, we'll want to go over troop numbers for each location, but for now, as long as this deal is approved by your government, consider both locations secure for your own bases. If you would prefer something else, I'll see what can be done, but this was deemed the optimal places for any military constructs you have planned."

"However, those bases will come with an additional caveat." Roberts stopped and paused, allowing the full importance of his words to hit before continuing on. "For this deal to proceed, my government will want a mutual defense pact between the Elder Republic and the Imperial Federation. We will come to your aid in the event of an attack, and vice versa." He didn't expect it to be too much of a sticking point: Crontor needed allies now more than ever, and Erjunhuf would need a strong ally in the future, when the Imperial Federation had sufficiently recovered. "We were allies once, long ago: the time has come, in the eyes of my President and government, to reform these bonds of friendship and cement them indefinitely. These are the final terms I have been deemed to give you." he finally concluded, leaning back in his chair and waiting for the answer. He didn't expect to have to wait long.

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna:

After pouring over all of the information, both President Cranico and Supreme Commander Crogden exchanged looks and simultaneous nods of approval. The deal was optimal and the addition of the mutual defense pact made sense. If one was to have foreign military forces in its borders, it made sense to have a formalized treaty, especially when one considered that any attack on either nation could result in direct attacks on the foreign forces stationed there. All in all, it was a profitable deal for both nations.

"We accept your offer," said Cranico, extending his hand to shake on the deal, "this deal is very profitable for the both of us, and considering the current climate, it makes sense to form a mutual defense treaty. Rest assured, the treaty will be approved here in the Imperial Congress. They recognize as I do, that the Imperial Federation, and the Luso-Cron Union in general, needs allies more than ever. Fact of the matter is, we are vulnerable, and we very much appreciate having the Elder Republic to fall back upon."

Crogden hopped in where Cranico left off, "We also understand that geography is not exactly your ally in terms of power projection. That's why we are offering the bases we are. Forward bases in the Anchli Isles and Alobordo offer you the ability to pursue campaigns in just about any nation in this region. Even better, you will have the full support and resources of the Crontorian Armed Forces in any campaign you do choose to pursue."

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Beblis;
Northern Zone;
Niechs:

The flight of Venom transport helicopters approached low and fast, skimming just above the rolling waves as they approached the battle torn city of Niechs in the Northern Zone of Beblis. Smoke billowed from points across the city and despite the fact it was early morning, the sounds of battle were clear. The distant thunder of artillery broke was followed by bright flashes and plumes of smoke, as Colonial Defense Force batteries attempted to stem the advance of BDLF fighters into the city.

Status reports from the besieged CDF detachment indicated that the insurgents had attacked from three directions, and with much heavier weapons than any previous intelligence reports had shown them to have. Meeting the quick deployment of CDF armor was a barrage of heavy artillery and anti-tank missiles, effectively breaking the back of the CDF defenders. That had been early yesterday morning. Since that point, the CDF had been pushed back into an ever shrinking pocket around their naval base, situated right on the coast.

More than likely, this base would fall, and this city to the insurgency. The CDF had been woefully unprepared for the mass of enemy soldiers that had descended on the city, making great use of their oblivious enemy to infiltrate Niechs and tear apart the defenders from the inside. The CAF would have never allowed such a gross security breach, but this was not the CAF. The CDF operated on a unparalleled level of arrogance, convinced of their superiority over the Beblian insurgents attempting to drive them out of Beblis. In the minds of most colonials, the insurgency was a minor inconvenience, a simple wasp, ready to be swatted whenever they deemed it correct to do so. What they did not realize, but the CAF did, was that they were not swatting at a single wasp, but rather a nest. And this nest was reacting.

The Crontorian Marines of the Fifth Guard Marine Strike Group were silent as they drew nearer to the sounds of battle. Their group was one of a few left in the post-war Crontorian Navy, as most of what had been known as Crontorian Marine Strike Groups had been wiped off the face of the earth. As such, the Crontorian Navy did not have the numbers to throw away forces in a hopeless battle for Niechs. They would allow Niechs to fall, if only to win the war down the line.

This was not easy to do, and far off, sitting around a Crontorian Battle Display Table in Vienna, was a group of top military officials who had just condemned the estimated 5,000 or so remaining defenders to death. It would be impossible to evacuate them and even more costly to save them. As such, they were to be left to fight and die. While they fought, Crontorian Marines would arrive to destroy anything of value at the naval base. Each Marine knew this could have terrible ramifications, and had been instructed to kill anyone who attempted to disrupt their mission. Anyone extended to the Colonial Defense Force personnel defending the base.

Tailing the flight of Venoms that were fast approaching the base were Viper attack helicopters, ready to provide air support for the stone faced Marines. Radio silence was not enforced, but understood, as no one wanted to reflect upon the situation. As the Venoms drew closer, audible cheers were heard, as CDF personnel reacted to what they had been trained to understand as reinforcements. As the Marines touched down, they did not react to these excited defenders, and the Vipers proceeded to make wide arcs overhead, not firing at anyone nor being fired upon, as it had become customary for the BDLF to avoid all contact with CAF military forces.

The Marines ignored the defenders, securing their perimeter as squads moved up into the command compound. No resistance was had entering the building, until the Marines began executing those inside. The cries of the betrayed were horrifying, as the Crontorian Marines moved swiftly through the command building destroying all manner of technical equipment. Contained in this base was information about the current, weakened state of the CAF, information that could simply not be revealed to the enemy. The CAF needed to appear, as always, a capable and potent foe.

It quickly became apparent to the defenders across the base that something was amiss, further reinforced by the Vipers, who let loose with their auto cannons on the CDF personnel now turning on the Marines at the landing zone. The colonials were gunned down without mercy, their vehicles carved apart by heavy rounds from the gunships and the mass of fire from the infantry. In all, the operation was over in less than twenty minutes, the Crontorian Marines able to surprise their targets and destroy them with minimal casualties.

The exact nature of what happened at the naval base several hours later when BDLF forces entered the smoldering gates was unclear. As all dead Crontorian Marine personnel had been retrieved, it had appeared that the CDF had attempted to destroy their equipment before they were overrun by some unknown enemy. That enemy was not apparent, as the only other force BDLF fighters had seen was CAF rescue helicopters. Whatever the enemy was, they had already taken the liberty of removing the Colonial Union flag.

[Marquesan]

Frigaal, Beblis.

For an agonizing long moment, silence hung over the three proud warships. They were sleek and terrible-looking, their pennants and subdued-color Marquesan flags fluttering on the breeze. The few operators on the deck dressed in black tactical uniforms with Type-1101 flechette rifles over their chests stood with their feet apart, gloved hands resting on their rifles, motionless. Finally, a door opened on the Red Queen and a cadre of officers emerged. Dressed in the olive drab of combat uniforms with their kepi noir cocked low over their eyes, they stepped forward into the bright sunlight on the deck of the hulking trimaran battleship, then down a narrow gangway to meet with the CDF officers. As they stepped onto the gangway, the other sailors snapped sharply to attention, then back down to parade rest, in unison. This, while a small contingent, was a professional force, relentlessly trained and finely equipped. A brief discussion with the commander of the CDF detachment would ensue in which the need for some assistance in guarding the ships was laid out along with a request for a drydock for the injured ship and some metalworkers to repair the shafts and screws.

The five hundred operators stationed aboard the three Marquesan warships settled down to an uneasy rest as sunset fell. Regular watches of ten-man teams patrolled the docks and the ships. The injured cargo vessel was towed into drydock and secured as the water was drained away from it so that repairs could begin, but to do this, the shipping containers needed to be unloaded. In long rows, the wide, locked shipping containers stood in a freight yard off to the side of the drydock, each a brand new, heavily-reinforced container with the red logo of Myrmidon Tactical Design on every side and the doors. Not a word of the contents of the cargo ship was spoken, but the very heavy containers strained the capabilities of the dock cranes and rumors spread like wildfire of what the contents may be as the sun set over Beblis...


Elsewhere in Sondria.

The Marquesan Gendarmerie was on the move. In preparation for its annual summer wargames named "Burning Arrow" elements of the newly-christened Eleventh Corps had steamed into the Gulf of Guinness and had been launching carrier-based fighters and bombers nonstop. The heavy sealift transports closely ringed by battleships and attack cruisers, escorting carriers, themselves escorted by both hunter-killer and ballistic missile submarines were a formidable fleet, one of the finest and most modern fighting forces in Sondria. On Aquilya, Aquilinia, the expeditionary force stationed there since the Newcastle War had finally been given orders to pack up and had begun loading procedures onto their transports. In the southeast, two Expeditionary Forces had steamed out of Bora Bora heading toward the brewing conflict in Itica and word of the troubled ships in Beblis had reached La Citadelle Des Etoiles in Nuku Hiva.

The second half of XI Corps, a full two Theater Command Groups were just arriving on station off the coast of Mahina Prefecture, the first overflights from Shadowcat and Divine Wind aircraft from the carriers howling in over the beaches to the cheers of the domestic forces Lances keeping order in the newest Marquesan acquisition. The heat of the summer made for a cheery, beautiful environment, but Marquesans took their wargames seriously and this was intense training indeed. To the north, the first shipments of factory equipment in Sovetstarus from Papeete Steelworks, LTD were beginning to arrive as factories and smelters were being set up in the fledgeling nation to give it a beating industrial heart transplant as a single Expeditionary Force made its way to the far north of the Sovetstarussian state to build a small outpost and some basic defensive fortifications, an airfield and some living quarters.

The eyes of a mighty giant were opening to gaze upon Sondria as night decended.

(OOC: More to come.)

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Beblis;
Northern Zone;
Friggal:

The trickle of BDLF fighters into Friggal had quickly become a stream, as commanders had ordered their militias to divert all available resources in that sector towards the capture of foreign weapons. The BDLF knew that the tide of war was changing; the CAF appeared unwilling to further involve itself in the conflict. They were either stretched too thin, unwilling, or both, but no matter the reasoning from Vienna, their absence was the catalyst that was winning the war for the BDLF. For the first time ever, forces representing the Democratic Republic of Northern Beblis had recaptured a city, Niechs, where the CDF had been overrun and a Crontorian Navy force had sat off the coast and watched their flags be torn down.

This momentum and energy carried the BDLF to Friggal, where it became evident to the CDF that they were facing a long and bloody fight. In the days after the shipment arrived, sporadic attacks on CDF patrols became commonplace. BDLF fighters were much bolder, attacking even tank patrols with a mixed variety of collected weapons. The CDF responded with ferocity, engaging in vicious reprisals against the Beblian populace.

The CDF began conducting house to house raids, arresting all adult males. These males were unceremoniously hung from available lampposts and traffic lights and left to rot. When the roving squads of unchecked CDF personnel ran out of lampposts, they simply executed their prisoners in front of their respective houses. There was absolutely not check on the CDF. All federal buildings, including the CAF garrison, had been long abandoned by government officials and personnel. Union Broadcasting Company and foreign press had long been banned from Beblis, as such, the massacres, mass rapes, and looting went unreported. The CDF made full use of their monopoly of force.

They would use it until they lost it. The shelling was the first evidence they had lost the upper hand. The BDLF had collected an assortment of mortars and howitzers, and were now letting loose upon the city. All roads were blocked, and CDF armored advances on enemy artillery positions were mercilessly beaten back by throngs of heavily armed rebels, who pushed deeper and deeper into the city.

The CDF was a ruthless and battle hardened force. They took no prisoners and fought determinedly against an enemy they considered inferior to themselves. But with all of their firepower and the limited air support in the form of Viper and Apache helicopters, they could not beat back the overwhelming numbers the enemy had sent into battle. And with liberal use of Javelins and various MANPADS, the BDLF was able to eliminate the CDF’s only advantages: armor and air power.

It appeared that the battle would be a steady crawl towards the docks, as the CDF lines grew smaller and smaller.

[Mahdah]

Port City of Niechs[BDLF Occupied] , Undisclosed apartment complex
Crontorian Colonial Holding of Beblis

"The shipment is arriving in three hours brothers" Harun Hüseyin Badem said to his senior cell members who had been in the Beblis cell since the begining. The Order of Cultists had sent a cell group during the violence of the Beblis insurgency and had over time made allies and infiltrated the command heirarchy of the BDLF. He had watched the cell grow from 20 members to a swelling number of 300 active combatants, many native Beblians and the more radical government opposition civilians in Beblis who would love to see Crontorian rule collapse and the mainland burned to ashes. Elements of the Greater Empire had sent a cargo ship with heavy weapons including MANPADs, FGM-32 Javelins and RPGs of different varieties.

When the cell had convinced the BDLF to contact their home country for aid, they were not let down when he had personaly told them of the ship coming to bring them the heavy weapons they needed to fight the CAF. The fight with the CAF itself had been bloody with BDLF soldiers comming and going off to return in caskets or in the back of pickup trucks with horrendous injuries, sometimes even out in the streets and ruins dead. Although the BDLF were capable of giving the CAF something to fear when in combat as all the urban warfare, guerilla hit and run tactics and suicide bombings and IED attacks.

Harun sat on a cooshined pillow as did the others who sat legs crossed together their impressive beards which in Mahdavi society showed that particular person had authority or was a respected elder. Harun had decided since the apartment was only occupied by men of Mahdavi origin they should pray for the safe arrival of the shipment and that the BDLF secured overwhelming victory against the CAF and pro-colonial government.

"Come now brothers, let us join together and pray" he announced to the circle of fellow Mahdavi who all agreed and together bowed their heads and closed their eyes as Harun led the men in prayer.

"Oh Mesih benim dua ve benimle arkadaşım Brethern en dua duymak ve bize bu ateist şeytanlar mücadele için bağlantı noktasına gelen yük gemisi üzerinde bereket döküm, bize ve bizim vatandaşlarımız onların iblisler ve tasfiye beblis karşı zafer başarmak için izin günah ve böcekleri. Dualarımız oh büyük mesih duyulmasını sağlayın ve Mykhaylo bize sonsuz güç vermek ve kardeşlerimiz cennette bir yer verilecek izin izin. Senin kutsal adına, amin."

[Translation: Oh messiah hear my prayers and the prayers of my fellow brethern here with me and cast your blessings on the cargo ship coming to port to help us fight these athiest devils , allow us and our compatriots to acheive victory against the demons and purge beblis of their sins and vermin. Let our prayers be heard oh great messiah and let Mykhaylo give us eternal strength and allow our brothers to be granted a place in heaven. In your holy name, amen.]

Harun opened his eyes and so did the others as they all gave a nod to eachother and shook hands. Within the next three hours Harun would be notified by text message that the cargo ship had arrived at port.

+ + + +

Port City of Niechs(BDLF Occupied), Docks of Niechs Harbor, GICS Plentiful
Crontorian Colonial Holding of Beblis

Aboard the GICS Plentiful which is a civilian cargo ship of the 1st Merchant Fleet, whom by order from a representive of the Greater Imperial Navy had transferred heavy weapons and told them to sail to Beblis and make landfall at the port city of Niechs . Captain Tahir Çağatay had just left the captain's qaurters as the Plentiful had entered port at the Niechs harbor which was confirmed to be completely under BDLF control. This was assured when the ship safetly docked and the 50 man crew begin getting to work offloading the hundreds of crates full of MANPADS, FGM-32 Javelins and varieties of RPGs to the waiting BDLF soldiers awaiting them.

Tahir watched from the deck as he looked over the port city to the distance which was Niechs. All the while crates were being distributed to the insurgents on the dock platform.

Meanwhile Harun had recieved the text message from a cell informant that the Plentiful had safetly docked at harbor and was distributing the heavy weapons to the insurgents. He decided to show up their himself and was driven their in a SUV where he saw the spectacle before him, he exited the vehicle wearing khaki shorts and a loose buttoned short sleeved shirt. He caressed his fluffy beard adjusting his sun glasses and made his way to the ship and passed by the insurgents on the docks passing along the crates while others took some of them out and admired what they had gotten.

Tahir saw Harun approach the vessel and hastly came to the draw bridge to greet him, Harun was a well respected member of the Order and Tahir had grown to admire the group. He extended his hand to shake Harun's hand but instead got a hug from the man which he didnt expect but accepted it.

"My brother I am excited of your safe passage here!, The BDLF had needed these weapons to fight the CAF Devils. Now we can fight their tanks." Harun said as Tahir smiled feeling he'd won a medal doing this.

"Thank you brother, im glad to be of help to the Order and you anytime" he said as Harun and Tahir walked into the Captains Qaurters to have a chat. Tahmir offered Harun a chair to sit which he accepted as he himself sat across from him.

"We have certainly boosted their morale and given them more trust in us" Harun commented and Tahir nodded in agreement, this was the perfect way to extend trust to the insurgents of the BDLF and to show they had an ally abroad.

"Messiah Hakan is pleased in this achievement i am confident of that, I can go home to my family and say I did a honorable thing" Tahir said as Harun nodded in agreement,

The heavy weapons were successfully distributed to the BDLF at the harbor and Harun after saying his farewell to Tahir he left in the SUV back to his residence. While within the hour the Plentiful left the harbor and set sail for Mahdah, Harun had later informed his superiors in the Order that the shipment had arrived successfully and his prayers had been answered. The fight against the CAF would continue and surely soon see increased casualties from the new weapons brought to the BDLF insurgents.

[Marquesan]

City of St. James Gate,
Guinness, Former Brewer Union.
Local Time: 12:01 AM.

He sat with calm, collected concentration written on his face. The retinal projection helmet he wore allowed him to see below him as though it were daylight as he gently eased the flight control stick to the right, banking his Shadowcat Penetrator/Interdictor over the glittering city lights of St. James Gate. This jewel perched on the edge of a vast inky chasm through which the river Arthur ran was the capitol of the largest of the three remaining former states of the Brewer Union. Senior Marshal Baudin looked over at his co-pilot and back over his shoulder at the bomber's Weapons Officer and gave him a nod; it was time to begin the bombing run. Nosing the aircraft down and pushing forward on the throttles caused the digital airspeed reading to start ticking upward, edging toward the sound barrier. The slippery Shadowcat didn't even shudder as it rolled smoothly over and lined up on the massive hydroelectric power dam at the head of Arthur Canyon. Behind this aircraft, there were five others, all flying in radio silence that broke off and began their bombing runs. Airports, military installations, television broadcasting stations, the mansion for the country's High Commissariat, the city's air force base that served the only squadron of fighters Guinness possessed.

The city had been made defenseless--Shadowcat Electronic Warfare Officers had forced every radar in and around the city of St. James Gate to power down suddenly, as though the systems had simply faulted and shut down to cool, but when operators on the ground tried to power them up, systems had been unresponsive. A virus had been planted that filtered through the radar sites into SAM batteries and unsuspecting operators were too busy concentrating on the problem to consider that it could have been an attack; now it was too late. As bomb bay doors swung open and munitions were released, Sr. Mar. Baudin pulled back on the stick and punched the throttle forward, causing the aircraft to tick over the sound barrier as the five other pilots did only moments later. The combined sonic booms from the six shadowcats seemed to shatter every piece of glass in St. James Gate at the same time that a 1,400 kg penetrator munition rammed home into the Arthur Canyon Dam and detonated, instantly fracturing the wide concrete expanse as though it were glass, cutting power to the entire city in an instant and sending hundreds of millions of gallons of water crashing through the canyon. The earth shook as the dam failed, sending a wall of water a hundred meters high racing through the canyon, taking boulders the size of houses and chunks of concrete the size of school buses with it. All across the city of St. James Gate, hell broke loose. The six Shadowcats made for the clouds as they edged toward mach two, their engines transforming from turbofans to ramjets as the bombers flew. Simultaneously across the country, similar bombing runs were being made at the exact same time, disabling the country's ability to move or coordinate, destroying military equipment and shocking the sleeping country in a way never considered possible.

The coordination and precision displayed by the attackers was flawless. Flights of Ghost tactical bombers were already crossing the now unmonitored borders of Guinness as the country was pitched into chaos, paving the way for armored columns that were making their way in secret and in silence toward Guinness both from the sea and over the mountains of Mahina prefecture. Before the sun was up, raids like this one were conducted in Boddington and in Killian--the former Brewer Union was under siege and thousands died in silence as palls of smoke rose from nearly every major city, every military installation in three countries.

The sun rose, but the day was black as hell itself.


Frigaal Port Authority, Frigaal, Beblis,
The Imperial Federation of Crontor.

"Aw, to hell with it." said a young Monitor. The order to "Fire only when fired upon" by the BDLF had stood now for two days as the valiant men of the CDF had fought a losing battle around the port authority while Marquesan soldiers sat in a tense, sleepless reserve. Through the thermal scope of his Designated Marksman Rifle, he'd watched as Beblian rebels watched him from every window of every building surrounding the port authority. There were five hundred Marquesans holed up on these ships as repairs were desperately made to a disabled cargo ship. Now, the battle line was a block away and the concussions of explosion after explosion were too much to bear. He pressed the rifle against his shoulder, adjusting the way the barrel sat upon its bipod, lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger.

As the firing pin of his rifle rammed forward, its point was met with the primer of a 6.8x48mm flechette round. As the primer burned, it caught the powder inside the case of the round, which shot the light plastic sabot forward, carrying its payload. The round accelerated through the barrel, passing the sound barrier as it accelerated toward mach four, finally leaving the barrel. The razor sharp tungsten carbide dart left its sabot, flying a straight, true path as it screamed across Fleet Street, past the broken gate of the Wharfside Manor Apartments and into a building through an open window, finally finding its mark in the skull of a BDLF solider who had been manning a heavy machine gun. As the tungsten flechette pierced the frontal lobe of the man's skull, it pitched over slightly, exiting the back of his skull slightly askew, which was enough to shatter the rest of the bone structure and take a fair portion of the man's brain with it. The soldier slumped over on his machine gun as the dart flew through the wall behind him and embedded in a wooden bedpost in the bedroom behind him, leaving only the dull grey fins sticking out of the splintered wood. The wall through which it had flown was now sprayed with a fine, but foul smelling pink powder.

This was the shot, the moment when every Marquesan in Frigaal realized there was no chance that any one of them would make it out alive. Each man and woman rushed to don body armor and helmets, grabbing weapons and making their way. Hellcat Hunter/Killer Gunships aboard the three warships began to power up; the Marquesans were going to make their last stand here and they would take half of Frigaal with them, if they had anything to say about it. Gunfire broke out all around the docks as an intense firefight ensued. If one were walking down Fleet Street and made it through the Port Authority area unscathed, it would be as much a miracle as running through a torrential monsoon rainstorm and coming out dry.

A little further into Frigaal, on Mill Avenue where a desperate last stand had been taken by the CDF, the body of a Crontorian engineer lay slumped over a half-open crate of landmines. His orders had been to spread them across Fleet Street behind the row of overturned cars the CDF had been using for cover, but a sniper's bullet had stopped him. Now, in the dead of night, a single raccoon snuck up to the crate and the corpse in silence. He'd come from the Mill Ave Park where he had lived his years out feeding on what errant Frigaali threw away. The dull metallic silver of the land mines fascinated him. His articulated little paws pulled away the shredded cardboard packing around the mines as he gazed with wonder upon the disc-shaped objects within.

To be continued....

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Niechs:

The sounds of cheering and automatic gunfire filled the sky as the first of what the BDLF hoped would be many shipments of weapons to support their cause. The ship, flagged the GCIS Plentiful, came from the nation of Mahdah, a nation that detested the LCU and was willing to fund the collection of groups that made up the resistance movement. Their main motivation lay in the infiltration of these movements by religious zealots hailing from Mahdah that had spread their ideology among the uneducated natives.

This infusion of religion into the conflict had only served to further motivate many of the rebels, who fought with a newfound ferocity against the secular and largely atheist Crontorians. The problem up to that point in the war was that without major foreign support, the rebellion was hampered by lack of supplies and munitions. With the transition of power to the poorly trained CDF following the drawdown of CAF forces, the BDLF had made major gains, but still lacked the ability to face off against the armored and air forces the CDF brought to bear.

With these shipments of heavier weapons, the BDLF stood a much better chance. The insurgents prayed openly at the docks the skies clear of any CDF fighters or helicopters. Niechs was fully under the control of the BDLF. Native Beblians walked freely in the streets, experiencing freedom for the first time, for many, in their lives. Already, word had gone out that the Democratic Republic of Northern Beblis had been re-founded, its capital in Niechs.

The very fact that a section of Crontor had essentially seceded was a testament to the sorry state of the Imperial Federation following the Newcastle War. Neither the Crontorian Maritime Guard nor the Crontorian Navy, the two most important federal entities tasked with maritime security had failed to stop a massive arms shipment to an enemy entity. Beblis was falling apart.

This had worrying implications for the Imperial Federation overall. Still trapped in the post war reconstruction process, the central government in Vienna seemed to be sitting on its hand and directing its energy towards the reestablishment of the power grid rather than stopping the bloodletting occurring in their largest colony. Rumors however, were circulating among those in government that the Crontorian Engineering Corporation was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of security for CEC mining operations. Although the rebels had yet to move against the limited operations still in progress, the meager security provided by the CDF was no assurance of their safety. It was made ever the more ironic considering the same name occupied the desk of the CEO and President.

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Friggal:

The opening salvos from the Marquesans were quickly followed by fire from the BDLF forces that had effectively surrounded the port. The handful of CDF defenders that remained had been cut off and isolated from the docks, and there were being quickly slaughtered by the BDLF fighters who were going house to house to ensure that all CDF soldiers had been killed or effectively taken out of action. Blood dripped and oozed from dead bodies strewn across the streets in various, disfigured forms. Ever so disheartening for the CDF soldiers trying to fight back to the docks were that they majority of the bodies that they came across bore the uniform and emblem of the CDF.

Word traveled quickly through BDLF lines that their main target was now the Marquesans at the docks. As such, all artillery and mortar fire was redirected at the docks. The pounding of 120 mm mortars was distinctive over the gunfire and the screams of the dying as mortar rounds began to fall across the docks. Even though the insurgents were being gunned down by the dozens, for every insurgent that died at the end of of a Marquesan scope, there were two more to man their defensive position of machine gun. Fire from M2 Brownings and an assortment of small arms tore across the docks from buildings controlled by the BDLF. This was followed by a salvo of RPGs and Javelins, that, although in short supply, were key to dislodging the enemy.

It was these weapons that were responsible for the dozens of burning Strykers and Abrams littering the streets around the docks. The few remaining CDF armored vehicles were desperately fighting to defend the docks, but these crews were short on fuel, ammunition, and little did they know it, time. Reactive armor could only do so much to help and after successive hits to each vehicle, they were all destroyed. Some of the crew simply abandoned their vehicles, making a break for any semblance of cover. None of them made it.

And there was no hope of relief from the CDF or CAF. Communications had been completely cut off with Colonial Command in Fort Calpe and Colonial Defense Force Headquarters in Union City. There was no hope of air support or a well placed artillery strike or even a relief column of soldiers. In fact, the commander of the CDF contingent died relaying this somber news to the Marquesan commanders at the dock. His message was interrupted by gunshots followed closely by the screams of the dying and a guttural cry over the radio. It was all up to the Marquesans now.

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna:

The heavy footfalls of the neatly dressed intelligence analysts echoed through the bustling halls of the Crontorian Ministry of Intelligence. Despite the clamor of the normal workday, the analyst sprinting along with a pile of papers drew stares and murmurs from conference rooms, cubicles, and offices because of the sheer irregularity of the occurrence. The Ministry of Intelligence was arguably one of the most important ministries in the Imperial Federation, collecting and amassing all of the domestic and foreign information possible. Unlike many governments, the Imperial Federation had streamlined all of the data, satellite, and personnel intelligence collection agencies under a single ministry. This had effectively cut down on cross agency competition and allowed for all of the agencies to contribute to and draw from a single database.

Within the Ministry of Intelligence was the Crontorian Satellite and Reconnaissance Observation Division, more often known as CSROD. This particular agency was responsible for maintaining satellite reconnaissance on all nations of interest. More often than not this involved the movement of their armies and navies. In order to effectively defend the Union, the Crontorian Armed Forces had to be one step ahead of their potential enemies. This could only be done with the assistance of CSROD and the analysts in Crontorian Foreign Intelligence.

This particular collection of documents had been stamped and approved by both agencies and were going straight to the top, as in, to the Minister of Intelligence. For a young analyst, the nervous thoughts of handing off this information directly to the Minister was trumped only by the content of the folder, that being, the sudden assault of the Brewer Union states by Marquesan. While it had been predicted for some time that Marquesan would not stop at Newcastle, no one in Crontor had expected them to act so soon. Their movements had been tracked by satellite for months, preparing for some manner of offensive, but this had caught the Imperial Federation off guard. This prompted Minister of Intelligence Anthony Ward to drop his coffee mug and begin shouting vulgarities as he phoned President Cranico.

---

Receiver: The Marquesan Shogunate
Encryption: Top Secret

Sender: The Imperial Federation of Crontor
Subject: Lack of Communication

To the Shogun;

We have recently become aware that you have taken unwarranted aggressive actions against the states of the former Brewer Union. While we understand that Marquesan has a tendency to invade and subjugate its neighbors and while we will not act militarily having learned from our last experience, we caution the Shogunate to not overstep its bounds. Although the CAF will not be deployed to counter your aggression, you should be aware that Central Command has been placed on heightened alert and is prepared to respond to any violations of our borders or airspace.

Likewise, Crontorian properties and diplomatic sites within the nations you have so unceremoniously invaded should not be touched unless you wish to deal with us directly. We also caution you not to move against Euphran to the north. We are currently holding high level talks with that nation and this aggressive expansionary campaign may have already destroyed the progress made there. Please do not destroy it further.

As we move forward past our differences and as you fully adjust to being neighbor to the most powerful military and economic entity in the region, the Luso-Cron Union, it would be wise to coordinate actions alongside us. In the future, it would be wise to let the Union know in advance of any aggressive actions you plan to take with nations that directly border us.

Signed;

Supreme Commander Crogden and President Christian Cranico

[Marquesan]

---

Official Communiqué from the Ocean Throne of the Marquesan Shōgunate:

---

By consent of the Shōgun and the Marquesan Diet.

---

Toujours Prêt!
Marquesan is NUCLEAR ARMED!

---

To: The Imperial Federation of Crontor.
From: The Free Lands of Marquesan.
Importance: Urgent.
Subject: Burning Arrow.

---

To Supreme Commander Crogden & President Cranico, IFC.

To be brief, our annual wargames, codenamed "Burning Arrow" are an ultra-realistic simulation of what a multinational acquisition might look like, should such a thing occur. It is not the policy of the Marquesan Shōgunate or its allies and associates to divulge operational planning to foreign governments before such operations are set to occur. We are deeply concerned that your agitation over our operations in the former states of the Brewer Union may lead to undue conflict or misunderstanding, so let us be clear. We are conducting a wargames over a closed course; any violation of airspace either Marquesan or operational wargame related will be met with real force. The states of Guinness, Killian and Boddington are off-limits during the wargames, as we are conducting large-scale training and the live-fire portions of the exercise must not be intervened with.

In regards to your intentions toward Euphran, it is the opinion of the Shōgunate that ones own house must be in order before setting right business with another power. We suggest most humbly that the Imperial Federation should look to its own holdings and see to problems there before concerning itself with the business of states such as Euphran.


Cordially,

- Yuri Hyuga II.
Shōgun of the Free Lands of Marquesan.

---

Seals of the Marquesan Shōgunate, The Gendarmerie and the Marquesan Diet.

[Marquesan]

Frigaal Port Authority,
Frigaal, Beblis, IFC.

It was as though a war had broken out. The ground vibrated with the unbridaled violence of the exchange between the embattled Marquesans and what seemed the entire city of Frigaal. Two Hellcats had managed to get off their launch pads while a third was brought down with gunfire and had crashed into an above-ground fuel storage tank with half a million gallons of diesel inside. The detonation of the tank had leveled a huge portion of the port and set a wall of burning fuel running like a flood down the city streets of Frigaal. The two Hellcat hunter-killer gunships that got off the ground were weighing into the BDLF, however, with rockets, missiles and guns, screaming over the city and making hard strafing runs on huge crowds of people running toward the docks, paying no heed to the idea that they might simply be going to see what was happening. The time for civility had passed.

A few operators made a run for the shipping containers on the ground. While many were cut down, a few made it in and when they did, something amazing happened... A few minutes later, the whine of turbine engines from inside the containers would be heard and then, three of the containers shredded open, revealing six Type-790 "Chimera" Main Battle Tanks. The appearance of the tanks was an awe-inspiring sight as they ran full-throttle into enemy lines, tearing open buildings like they were tin cans and using the monstrous 30mm secondary gun to tear apart crowds of people running for the docks, machine guns firing from windows and the like. With the help of the Hellcat Hunter/Killer gunships, the BDLF combatants on the ground were suddenly facing armor and air support from the dwindling group on the ground. It couldn't last forever, but the effect was stunning. Every man and woman roared and howled fiercely as the armor started weighing into the BDLF, with the six Chimeras putting themselves between the ships and the rest of the city. The volume of fire coming from those five ships and their five hundred some operators and the civilian cargo-ship crew was stunning, though the numbers of the living were creeping toward meeting the number of the fallen. Each man or woman that fell was a dear price to pay, but they fought all the same.


Mill Avenue & Fleet Street, Former CDF Checkpoint. (Overrun)
Two blocks from Frigaal Port Authority, Frigaal, Beblis, IFC.

We return to our inquisitive raccoon to find that the destruction of the fuel depot had scared, but not deterred him. He'd taken refuge inside the crate of shiny, interesting, smooth metal discs, peeking out from behind the bloodied hand of the CDF soldier that had fallen draped over the crate. His beady little eyes peered outward for a long moment, watching the flashes and the dancing light casting long, eerie shadows in the growing pall of smoke that hung around Frigaal. Once he was satisfied that the explosions and the gunfire weren't close enough to bother him, he turned around to look at what he'd found. If he could read, the painted writing on the metal discs might have sent him running elsewhere. M15 BLAST MINE, ANTI-TANK. (20 Kg. RDX) was written on the sides of each of the 40 discs in the crate, one of which he picked up the edge of and held it for a moment. Once he set it down, he realized that a very shiny pin was hooked into the top of each disc. How fascinating! He tugged on it, first with his little paws, though it wouldn't budge, then with his sharp little teeth. Our little inquisitive raccoon wanted that pin, so he stood on the disc and hooked onto it with both paws, pulling back with all his weight. The safety pin twisted slightly, then pulled out as he fell backwards with the pin in his claw, forcefully, on the Echeron A4 rifle of the CDF soldier that had given his life defending this checkpoint. When the rifle went off, the bullet from it shot forward into the crate of mines, piercing the metal body of one and colliding with the detonator.

Our raccoon met his end when the white hot fireball sent a wave of searing heat and light in every direction, knocking back the smoke and illuminating the night with a fierce, thunderous fireball. Eight hundred kilograms of high explosive had set off in a chain reaction, blowing vehicles away like sticks, decimating the lower floors of the five story insurance agency building next door, shattering every piece of glass within a half mile and rending open the asphalt below the checkpoint. The force of the mines had been intended to tear open the tracks of tanks and shatter the hulls of armored vehicles, but instead, it tore into the road, pushing away dirt and exposing the massive natural gas pipeline that had been laid from the mainland to provide fuel for northern Beblis's gas-fired power plant, just outside Frigaal. The explosion had torn open the pipeline and it only took a moment for the compressed gas to shoot upward into the flames.

A second explosion took place, this one a deep, earth-shaking detonation of massive proportions. A huge fireball, like the breath of an angry dragon shot four hundred meters into the air as the pipeline tore wide-open, creating an enormous, wide shallow crater where a few moments before, an intersection had been. Every building in Frigaal trembled and shook and the night became clear as day for a long moment as a billowing cloud of rising smoke rose like a mushroom into the darkness and a massive inferno howled and screamed with blue-hot intensity. The Marquesans roared, thinking that it had been their valiant Hellcats that had blown an ammunition stockpile, and they charged forward into the ranks of the BDLF.


Frigaal, Beblis, IFC.

Huge fires burned all over Frigaal as the entire area nearest the docks was being quickly reduced to little more than charred rubble in defense of the ships. Distress calls were being sent out from the three warships as the two Black Harrier-class cruisers leveled their 155mm gun turrets at buildings just across Fleet Street and fired again and again, as the guns of the Great Hawk followed suit. Big 255mm guns aimed nearly straight upward, angling their shots so that the rounds would fall inside Frigaal while the 155's fired again and again in rapid succession leveled down to the streets, leaving massive craters everywhere the rounds dug into the earth, or rending buildings apart like tin cans. Inside the ships, detonating charges were being activated to scuttle the vessels and at the dockyard where those rows and rows of shipping containers stood silently, a few men and women were giving their lives one by one to protect them, but losing.

Less than two hundred defenders now remained, paying the dearest cost but weighing heavily into an entire city that had turned against them. The six Chimeras on the ground gave everything they had, firing again and again at anything that moved with anything they had. The two Hellcats that had gotten off the ground were running low on ammunition and the pilots exchanged solemn goodbyes over the radio as they picked their final targets. On the ground, the battle raged with hell's fury as the city of Frigaal was being shredded from the inside. The insurance building that had stood at the corner of Fleet and Mill collapsed sideways, its concrete and steel frame laying across the now crushed remnants of a grocery store and an apartment complex.

All hell was breaking loose in Frigaal. The BDLF would have their work cut out for them if they intended to take the ships or the dockyard intact.


Village of Beamish, Near Caol Ila Mountains,
Killian, Former Brewer Union, Sondria.

A spinning artillery shell whistled as it passed overhead, arcing into a sandbagged concrete "pillbox" machine gun nest being valiantly held by five boys not yet twenty years old, each with a desperate, terrified expression on his face. They wore civilian clothes, jeans and hooded sweatshirts, caked with mud and blood, torn in places, their faces smeared with red earth, their eyes wide as they had been frantically trying to operate a Kord 12.7mm belt-fed machine gun they'd only the day before been taught to use. When the artillery shell went off, it was with a fantastic concussion that sprayed the now nearly-atomized sandbags--and everything inside their sheltered position--in all directions. The concrete structure disappeared into a black cloud of shrapnel and debris with a deafening bang, and the rhythmic firing of the machine gun stopped. All around the river town of Beamish, similar positions were being shelled or bombed as the old defensive network leftover from the War of the Breaking over thirty years ago was being overrun. The War of the Breaking, when the Brewer Union fell apart had seen brutal infighting and many fortifications still existed. The Brewer Union has been a military machine in those days and the three remaining countries still possessed many of the tools of battle that they'd had when the union dissolved. Now, those implements like tanks, machine guns, vehicles and aircraft, artillery and uniforms were all aging, relics of a different time when the world treaded lightly on the mountainous borders of the Union.

Of course, time had finally caught up to them. Marquesan Chimera and Abraxas tanks swept at full-pin across open fields, firing fast and accurate shots at a run, while Hellcat gunships roared close overhead, the sound of their cannons echoing loudly, releasing great columns of smoke from their wings as they fired rockets and missiles. Nearer the village, a line of dug-in anti-tank infantry was cut down by a single low-flying Ghost CAS fighter that released a long run of napalm canisters in the defensive trench. Dying men screamed in horror, but even that awful sound was drowned out by the deafening thunder of two Ghosts releasing a hail of cluster bombs over an ammunition depot in unison, flying a close formation, nearly wingtip-to-wingtip and banking off at full afterburner. The earth trembled as the supply depot went up in a spectacular display. From one far flank, a column of tracked Kraken Heavy IFV's rolled through a roadblock, shoving two burning cars aside with their massive armored frames. The IFV's pierced into the heart of the village itself, dismounting their troops near simultaneously to secure the town center. Howls and screams went up as operators in olive drab kicked in doors. From time to time, shooting would be heard and flashes seen in houses or shops. Out in the town square, the Killian flag was cut down and replaced.

The whole engagement took very little time. Throughout the former union, other towns fell in the same way, every border being overrun and the interior of the three nations being rapidly encroached on. Communications networks were a shambles, the power grid had faltered and roads were impassible. Boats leaving the mainland were intercepted and searched, refugees were detained. The Caol Ila's, always the natural shield of the Brewer Union had been completely overrun from the borders of Marquesan Arue all the way to Euphran. There would be no escape in any direction. All over the three countries, aggressive patrols of Divine Wind and Hoplite fighters forced down or shot down any flight in Brewer airspace. The three countries seemed to literally fall off the map, though one Crontorian intelligence gathering crew had managed to get film shot at a distance of the assault of Beamish.

The war for the Brewer Union was 48 hours old and more than a third of the total land area of the former communist bloc had fallen into Marquesan hands. The campaign was, so far, bloody, ruthless, highly organized and uncanny in its speed. There was nowhere left to run.

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Fort Calpe:

The level of destruction that had been inflicted upon the city of Friggal reflected some of the worst fighting ever seen in any territory of the Imperial Federation. It would have been the worst ever if not for the misfortune that had befallen the city of Alobordo several months prior. What was even more concerning was the tense political situation that was now ongoing. Much to the dismay of Colonial Command at Fort Calpe, finally aware of the situation in Friggal, Marquesan operators were now leading the fight against the insurgents and dishing out a great deal of destruction while doing it. For most watching the satellite feed, it brought back memories of events only months prior where Marquesans were simiarily tearing apart Crontorian cities. Technically, while they were colonials, these Marquesan operators were slaughtering Crontorians in these cities, making the entire situation a difficult and complicated one for Field Marshall Dragbeah who twiddled his thumbs in silent contemplation.

He was well aware that Vienna had been made aware of the situation. As soon as Fort Calpe had received word of the ongoing battle in Friggal the information had been forwarded to Crontorian High Command (CHC) at the Crontorian Military Pyramid. At the very least, the Imperial Consuls had seen it, although Field Marshall Dragbeah was confident that both the President and Supreme Commander had seen it as well. However, there had been no action on the issue. No orders had come through from CHC nor had any offers of aid been forwarded to the overstretched forces of Colonial Command. The only communications received from CHC was a message certifying that they had received the information forwarded to them.

"Commander," grunted Dragbeah, his eyes still glued to the screen, "do we have any assets that we could hurry to Friggal? That city is going to be lost and we can't sit by while Vienna sits on its ass. We need to offer some support."

The young commander standing nearby looked up frantically from his tablet. The newest batch of officers was a young group, essentially rushed through the Crontorian Military Academy to make up for the staggering losses suffered during the Newcastle War. Their experience was lacking, and it was apparent among the ranks of career officers who were more than often visibly displeased at the seeming incompetence of their comrades. This commander looked visibly startled as he handed his tablet displaying the operational deployment of COLCOM units to the Field Marshall.

"Yes sir. Unfortunately, sir, it does not appear that we have any forces to offer. Air forces are grounded by order of the Supreme Commander except for Air Cavalry which is otherwise deployed in the defense of the Fort Calpe Administrative Sector. Likewise, sir, we cannot offer any ground forces. They will not reach the city in time based on current estimates regarding enemy troop movements."

Field Marshall Dragbeah stood up slowly and looked at the satellite feed in front of him. Then, without warning, he whirled around and flung the tablet into the wall. The fragile electronic shattered on impact, falling to the ground in a myriad of pieces. The sudden outburst quieted the room the only noise coming from the Crontorian Battle Net transceivers that were tracking communications from across the deployments of the CAF all over the region.

"Somebody tell the Supreme Commander he can kiss my ass. Someone get some fucking drones in the air."

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Friggal:

The amount of firepower being directed against the invading army of BDLF fighters was on a monumental scale. No clashing armies had seen this much firepower since the opening salvos of the 1984 invasion of the Democratic Republic of Northern Beblis. The Crontorian Armed Forces had begun that war with a ferocious air campaign immediately followed by a ground campaign. In that campaign, like so many others, the CAF had used one of its most trademark assets, the attack helicopter, to achieve its objectives. Following the initial destruction of enemy air to ground assets, swarms of missile laden helicopters had flooded the skies, decimating enemy cities with auto cannon and missile fire.

This fight, however, was not one of a poorly trained national military and an aggressive imperialist colonizer. Instead, the remnants of said poorly trained military were now squaring off against those who had defeated the imperialists and things were not going too well for the insurgents. The equipment the Marquesans had brought to bear were far more devastating than anything the CAF or CDF had ever fielded. Their tanks were tearing apart the city that had already seen unparalleled destruction due to the rupture of the main gas line which created a tremor so massive that it was recorded in Vienna. BDLF fighters were being cut down by the hundreds as the Marquesans advanced against them.

No weapon the BDLF possessed seemed to have any effect against these behemoths. Rifle rounds pinged harmlessly off their armored hulls, shots that were returned by heavy auto cannons and the roar of their tank's main gun. Rocket propelled grenades were fired by the dozens and yet failed to make a meaningful impact on the advancing armor. The naval artillery did not help either. BDLF strongholds were being cleared with each shot of the naval cannons. As such, all BDLF artillery, ranging from lobbed grenades to howitzers hiding in the outskirts of the city, was redirected at the docks.

This movement however, exposed previously hidden positions to the enemy air assests which were already doing a fine job of tearing apart the once massive BDLF force sent to capture Friggal. But despite all of their technological advantages, the BDLF was slowly regaining momentum. For every insurgent that was cut down by auto cannon fire, two more rushed to fill that foxhole. For every Marquesan soldier that collapsed on the field of battle, however, their was simply no replacement. The same was true of the enemy vehicles. Surrounded with no chance of resupply behind enemy lines, it was only a matter of time before the last bullet was fired and the last drop of fuel burned. When that happened, the Marquesan operators stood no chance as the BDLF would move to envelop them and choke out the last breaths of resistance.

Until that happened, they would fight on.

[Onekawa-Nukanor]

---

Region: Sondria.
Nation: Imperial Federartion of Crontor.
Coordinates: N/A
Specific Location: Vienna

---

The nation in the east had been watching the recent events unfold with curiousity. But it wasn't out of curiousity now. Whilst data from Friggal was coming in, it became entirely clear that continued non-intervention was detrimental for Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor Onekawa-Nukanor. Despite the recent and stunning defeats the Onekawa-Nukanor Defence Force had infliced on Crontor, this was certainly not the sort of result Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor would have desired. Beblis had been a spark just waiting to ignite, and as a result of the CAF being stripped on combat forces, the CDF was steeping into a role is was clearly not capable of performing. Outnumbered, outgunned and simply outclassed by the rebel horde, Beblis would not stand long.

Not only that, but Marquesan operators had perished in the combat zone. Although not yet offical, the de-facto assumption was that the death of a Marquesan citizen in a foreign state was to be considered the same as the death of a citizen of Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor. Attacked without warning, no formal declaration of hostilities, not even any previous tension to justify such actions. Such an attack required an response from Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor, because mana demanded it. To attack a Marquesan was an insult to Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor, as they clearly did not respect Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor sufficiently. Such an insult was to see grievous retribution.

But this wasn't on Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor or Shōgunate soil at all. Imperial Federation permission was required for Ngāti Onekawa-Nukanor to ensure it could conduct its required retribution. That was the purpose of Wiremu Tamihana, whose was as of now making his way towards the State Department of the Imperial Federation. He was a veteran Takawaenga Kāwanatanga, or diplomat, who was highly respected by the Māori Kīngi himself as well as the government. He had recieved his instructions with little suprise. He had expected such a order, and approved. It would have been preferable if he had finished his breakfast, but some sacrifice was necessary in his world.

His transport was typical, an armoured Rolls-Royce Phantom with guards in the vehicle with him. They sat either side as hulking, unmoving monoliths. He had little to fear from anyone with such men to protect him. As ONPC veterans, they were more than well-trained in combat situations, and received only the best in training for protection of an inidividual. Such men could command up to $350,000 a year because of their high demand in the private security business. Few went that route, and preferred to either retire or perform such jobs as diplomatic security.

He saw the building of the Department of State for the Imperial Federation up ahead. An impressive building, he had admired Crontorian...industriousness? regardless, he never had difficulties in communicating with the Crontorians, and as an added benefit they tended to be less subtle and more overt than some of the nations in the region. The recent lesson in extreme humility however, may have made them less like to be overtly confronting. But the offer he was to give them required a simple yes or no.

He was offering an entire Onekawa-Nukanor Army Grouo, 600,000 men, to be deployed and counteract the BLDF offensive. Although not a military man, Wiremu Tamihana knew that was a significant amount of force, and from reports he he received was more personnel than the CDF and BLDF combined. They would have little difficulty in crushing the BLDF, he had been told. And that didn't even include the ONAF and the ONN. He also suspected that an ONPC deployment was on the cards.

His Rolls-Royce pulled to a stop, and his guards had exited the vehicle and conducted a security check before he'd left the car. He had little time to waste, and ignored the surprised looks of various Crontorian about the unexpected arrival on the Takawaenga Kāwanatanga to the Imperial Federation. One of his guards followed him, and he had little difficulty in startling the receptionist behind a desk. He smiled his best smile (something all diplomats wold be excelling in).

"May I have an audience with your Foreign Minister?"

[Marquesan]

Frigaal Port Authority,
Frigaal, Beblis, IFC.

There were fifty five Marquesans left on the ground.

The battle had raged all through the night and into the morning. A task force had been re-routed from New Samarinda and had been making good time, but its aircraft were still two hours out of maximum range. The two Hellcats had decided to crash their aircraft after running out of ammunition and their hulks burned and burned surrounded by the bodies of BDLF fighters that had been massing in a park where the pilots had decided to meet their ends valiantly. The six Chimeras on the ground were burning up the last of their ammunition but were still holding their own, smashing through barricades and roadblocks, pushing aside overturned cars and powering over or through rubble, smashing through BDLF concentrations, sometimes using the armor and the treads to crush enemies instead of using valuable ammunition, running rampant through the streets of Frigaal like untouchable giants. Something had become very clear here---those Chimeras had come from the docks and there were two hundred shipping containers just like the ones these had come from sitting idly on the dockyard. Each man or woman that fell died knowing they had given their all. Not a single person had fallen with rounds left in their magazines and many had braved withering fire to pick up Beblian weapons and used them against the enemy. As the blazing sun arced up toward mid-day, the last surviving officers set the warships to self-destruct and forced thier controls to reverse out of the harbor and out into deep water to try and deprive the Beblians of their use. With the blood-soaked and battle-scarred warships slipping out of Frigaal's harbor, the remaining fighters huddled in the dockyard, sharing the last of the ammunition and forming a plan as rounds impacted the shipping containers like a hailstorm.

With a furious roar, thirty Marquesan men and women charged out into the daylight with guns blazing, leaning into their run at full tilt and charging into the broken city and a mass of BDLF fighters. Those that made it within close contact range beat and stabbed and slashed the enemies with knives or rifle butts, whatever they had, taking many for each that fell. The Marquesans fought fiercely and died to a man, but the death toll they inflicted as the Chimera drivers ran out of ammunition and dismounted to join their brethren was staggering. The losses the Marquesans inflicted would later be estimated to be more than three hundred to one, but the devastation they wrought upon Frigaal would go down in legend. Here, five hundred men and women gave their lives bravely and willingly. When the last shot was fired and the last breath escaped a Marquesan lung, the eerie quiet that fell over the dockyard would be maddening. Fires burned all around, thousands if not tens of thousands of Beblians lay dead. The city of Frigaal had been reduced largely to ruin. The slowly-reversing ships slipping out of harbor bumped lazily into each other, adrift and unmanned. Marquesan aircraft were still a full hour away from their maximum takeoff ranges, it would be another four hours before even a Shadowcat could make it over the city. The dockyards had been won for Beblis, but at an appalling human cost. The fighters were now free to find out exactly what it was those five hundred gave their lives to defend.


The Brewer Union, Sondria.

Oh, it had been a very different war. In Crontor, each city taken came at the expense of a brutal firefight. The advance had been slow, careful and deliberate. Whole armies had moved in lock-step steadily northward. Here, a cavalry-style envelopment had worked flawlessly and Marquesan Lances advanced at full pin across loamy, rich open ground. Battles were quick, overwhelming and totally decisive. From its beginning, the campaign in the Brewer Union had been an absolute put-down of defending forces, with several instances of attacking units simply running over the trenches of dug-in defenders and passing them by without bothering to even fire a shot. As the noose tightened around the Brewer Union, Expeditionary Forces advanced on the three capitals of St. James Gate in Guinness, Pelforth in Killian and Strangeways in Boddington. Marquesan losses and casualties had been near zero through the whole campaign and not a single vehicle had been lost; the entire former union had been taken with absolute surprise and had left the three nations in total shock and disarray, cut off from the rest of the world. Only the communist state of Euphran had maintained any kind of communication with the former union, but talks of reinforcement had fallen silent as Marquesan units charged across the Caol Ila's and enveloped all three nations in the first three days.

All three capitals would be fully surrounded by sunset.

[Deusaeuri]

DNV Soranus, Mariana Class Hospital Ship
Coast of Naskary
Beblis, Crontor

If it had not been for it's imposing red crosses and surrounding military escorts, many could easily mistake the DNV Soranus for a quite brightly colored cruise liner. It's purpose however, was quite less cheery than entertaining vacationers. In nearly every maintenance tunnel, hallway, patient room, and surgery theatre, technicians, doctors and nurses scrambled about hurrying to prepare the ship to make landfall, supposedly to happen at any moment. "Doesn't exactly look likes that's going to be the case though..." Uneasily stated one of the many radio operators in the bridge, attempting to make himself heard over the deafening cracks of thunder and rain. In the rear of the bridge, the Chief Medical Officer Gales looked to the other leader of the vessel and it's escorts, Commodore Corculum.

"We're supposed to land in twenty minutes and we can't even make fucking radio contact. There's no reason in the world they should be ignoring us." Despite his words, everyone in the room had a growing suspicion of the reason causing the lack of radio contact, even the Commodore, but none voiced their opinion, perhaps from blissful ignorance or fear of punishment. "Well, in any case, it will at least give the medical teams more time to prepare. We still don't know what kind of injuries to look forward to. We've had boat-loads of conflicting reports regarding chemicals weapons, incendiary ammunition, napalm, and just about every other weapon in the book. In fact, Commodore, if you don't mind, I'd like to go inspect the humanitarian aid crates. They should all be ready to off load by now."

The Commodore nodded in approval, prompting the CMO to begin to leave the bridge, before stopping abruptly. Many other personnel began to slip off the headphones, listening closely, attempting to discern the increasingly loud noise from the rainfall. "Do you hear that?" The CMO began walking back to the center of the bridge, his expression shifting from curiosity to grave concern. "Sounds like... Bees?" Stated the same earlier radio operator, who now began to step to the window, looking out of it. "No, wait, get back!" The CMO dived forward, but the radio operator was far too far away, and his attempts were in vain. Within moments of him leaning on the glass, every piece shattered as hundreds, possibly thousands of pieces of shrapnel darts flew in to the room, shredding apart dozens of computer terminals, and fatally, the radio operator. After the deafening initial crack of the windows breaking, the sound of the jungle storm instantly became much more apparent, making it nearly impossible for any of the Bridge personnel to hear each other as they rushed to the man's aid. The Commodore simply looked in extreme dismay, first to the injured man, then to the city of Naskary. "No... I am certain we won't be making landfall any time soon."

[New Samarinda]

Official Communiqué from the Federal Chancellor of New Samarinda:

(Uradno sporočilo, zvezni kancler New Samarinda):

---

To: The Nation of Crontor.
From: The Federal Republic of New Samarinda.
Encryption: None.
Subject: Concerning Peace in the Region

---

President Christian Cranico,

It has come to our attention that the colonial holding of Beblis has proven to be quite unruly. In order to maintain peace and stability in the region, I would like to offer a hand of friendship. The hand holds economic, diplomatic, and Militant support. It is time for New Samarinda to step out of it's shadow of protectorate status, and help the needy. No longer can we, as a nation, look at our surroundings and see a war torn region, full of disdain to others. My hopes for the future are quite exuberant, but with a friendly wave of peace, anything is possible, even in such a war ridden region like Sondria. So, what is your answer, newly founded peace for future generations, or continued onslaught of people? So in this dire situation, will you allow New Samarinda to help?

---

Ithera Quel
Chancellor of The Federal Republic of New Samarinda

[Crontor]

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna;
Ministry of State:

As was typical with all foreigners in the Imperial Federation, the delegation from Onekawa-Nukanor was certainly taken notice of. The Ministry of State sat on the eastern side of the Federal Plaza, the massive rectangular construction at the heart of Vienna that contained the majority of the headquarters of the respective ministries of the Imperial Federation as well as the Crontorian Military Pyramid and Crontorian Federal Building, the meeting place of the entire government. Sitting in the center, the massive Federal Park which contained all manner of leisurely amenities such as a zoo, series of ponds, restaurants, monuments, and an excessive amount of flags. There was no end to Crontorian patriotism.

The Federal Plaza was an incredibly heavily trafficked area. All manner of government and business professionals were always milling about on their laptops, cell phones, or tablets. Briefcases and suits were the most common attire, although there was the occasional military service member in their dress uniform trekking back and forth from the Ministry of Defense and the Crontorian Military Pyramid. Crontorian flags flew from every streetlight and building while heavily armed Crontorian National Police made their patrols around the area as it was a common destination for bombings by an assortment of anti-Union groups. In recent years, vehicle barriers had been established lining the sidewalks near the federal ministries as a way to deter any idiot who wanted to drive a truck bomb into them, which had happened before. As always, it was a Beblian.

The arrival of the Ngati delegate certainly drew attention. That wasn’t hard to do however when 95% of the mainland population was of white, Crontoris with the remaining 5% consisting of white Lusitanians and the occasional person from somewhere else. The Imperial Federation was not known, however, as a first destination for any migrants. Unlike the people of most nations, Crontorians were very straightforward in their reactions. They did not hide their curiosity or disgust when coming across foreigners. They stared or leered, no matter what they did, it was not a hidden reaction and was the basis for why foreigners found the Imperial Federation so uncomfortable.

The staff inside the Ministry of State were trained to not show this ever present xenophobia. The staff inside were friendly and smiled warmly as the Onekawans entered. Upon passing the security check, the Onekawans were lead into the main lobby, a massive modern expanse complete with a fountain in the center and all encased in polished marble. Sitting on the wall above the main help desk was a massive screen displaying a digital political map of the region which was overlaid with a direct feed from the Union Broadcasting Company, based in the Ministry of Education on the other side of the plaza. Down the bottom of the screen was a new ticker with constant updates about foreign news pertinent to the region.

Despite not having scheduled a meeting, the delegation from Onekawa-Nukanor was led through the Ministry of State to Minister of State Suderity’s office. The Ministry of State was a large building, with tens of thousands of personnel working preforming all manner of tasks relating to the agencies which fell under its umbrella. This included such agencies as Crontorian Diplomatic Security, the Crontorian Office of Tourism, the Crontorian Foreign Aid Office, but also the Crontorian Colonial Authority. Unlike most nations, the Ministry of State did not retain its own intelligence service, rather, they were sent and forced to sift through the mountains of intelligence delivered by the Ministry of Intelligence every single day.

Only the head delegate was allowed into Suderity’s office, where Suderity was sitting visibly rattled at his desk behind mounds of files, all pertinent to the ongoing conflict in Beblis. Standing beside him was Vice-Minister Shane Porter, the head of the Crontorian Colonial Authority. He was also nervous as Wiremu Tamihana was shown to his seat and the doors in the large office closed behind them.

“Well,” began Suderity, “what can the Imperial Federation do to help the Ngati today?”

Sondria;
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Colonial Union of Beblis;
Friggal:

When the two Predator drones dispatched out of Fort Calpe arrived over the city of Friggal, what they found was a near apocalyptic scene. It was if a nuclear weapon had been detonated, carving a horrific path of destruction across a once thriving port. Milling about the city were the remains of the decimated civilian population and the further decimated forces of the BDLF.

While the insurgents had fought with a resilient fury, they could simply not compete with the weapons the enemy had brought to bear. That was at least until the enemy had no more fuel or ammunition for said weapons, two very key components to the working of tanks and helicopters. The insurgents picked through the burning hulks of the former weapons of terror, removing any items of value. The Marquesans soldiers were processed in a similar manner. Bodies were checked over, armor removed as well as weapons, and burned in a heap in the middle of Friggal. Also thrown into the fire were flags, both Marquesan and Colonial, and any other displays of the Colonial Union the insurgents were fighting so valiantly to overthrow.

The BDLF was very efficient in their collection of weapons and materials. The Marquesan weapons were mostly useless, as they required ammunition the BDLF did not have ready access to. Nevertheless, they picked them up and took them, hoping to modify the weapons. They simply could not afford to waste weapons and ammunition. They were in short supply. Weapons were picked up, wiped off, and handed to the next inspired orphan who had just seen Colonial aligned foreign helicopters tear his parents to shreds and as a result, would now fight alongside the BDLF. Even women had joined and continued to join the movement. The BDLF accepted all the soldiers they could get their hands on.

The live feed from the Predators showed both the actions of the BDLF and the Marquesan ships set adrift in the harbor. There was a collection of BDLF insurgents standing at the docks, but they appeared confused by the ships set adrift and seemed to make no immediate motion to claim them. If anything, they seemed more focused on the mutilation of CDF soldiers and the looting of former regional offices of respective Colonial Union or federal agencies. Any colonials were quickly forced from their hiding places and executed on the streets, left to rot as the BDLF celebrated their victory.

OOC: only about half done. Need to respond to Deus and to communique's

[Ikruchystan]

Official Communique of the Ikruvonische Hegemony of Ikruchystan

It is a firm policy of the Ikruvonische Hegemony not to interfere in the internal affairs of other nations; our commitments to the policies of non-interventionism and non-alignment are well established. We are inclined to view the recent instability in Beblis as an internal affair of the Imperial Federation of Crontor given the Imperial Federation's long-standing presence in the aforementioned provinces. Under normal circumstances, our silence would have been an affirmation of our respect for the Imperial Federation's natural and inalienable right to enforce the law and dispense justice in her sovereign territories. Therefore, it is with great concern for the stability of Sondria as a whole that we have chosen to break our silence on this matter. Understand that we have not done so lightly, and have carefully considered the viewpoints of all the actors in this affair.

It is our understanding that grave atrocities have been committed by all parties involved. We urge all parties involved to show restraint, particularly in regards to civilian populations and the densely populated nature of the battlefield in question. Furthermore, we condemn the perpetrators of such heinous crimes in the strongest terms possible. We encourage the military justice systems of the parties involved to investigate and prosecute those guilty of human rights abuses to the fullest extent of the law. With that being said, it is our opinion that the recent actions of the BDLF pose a grave threat to Sondrian regional stability.

As a peace-loving nation, we are firm believers in secular government and the right to self-determination. While we sympathize with the initial causes of the BLDF's formation, we cannot accept their methods. The BLDF's adherence to religious dogma, its massacre of non-combatants, and the destruction of cities it claims to be liberating are deeply disturbing. After many hours of careful deliberations, the choice has been made to move the Ikruchystani Revolutionary Armed Forces to a state of high alert. Limited military aid will be offered to the Imperial Federation of Crontor. This aid will be limited to sea-lane interdiction, air support, and a limited presence of specialist personnel in Beblis. We hope for a swift and relatively bloodless resolution to this conflict.

[Marquesan]

Frigaal, Beblis, IFC.

The day had come when hell would come to breakfast sooner than anyone could have dreamed.

As the sun had traversed across the sky that morning and transitioned into afternoon, an eerie quiet had fallen over Beblis. Cut off from the rest of the world, the Frigaali rebels would have no idea that what was coming for them would soon arrive, but in Fort Calpe, tracking radar would have just a hint, the briefest of flickers that something very supersonic and very low to the sea was howling in from the east. When the flight of ten Shadowcat bombers pulled up and broke into radar coverage, they were already barely a few kilometers from Frigaal on the other side of the island and moving just under three times the speed of sound. They dropped out of supersonic speeds to open their bomb bay doors and, in spreading out over what was left of Frigaal, set about unleashing the hounds of hell upon the city with an evil roar. These aircraft were sleek, fast, agile and deadly, giants of the air that danced through the skies with skill, coordination and speed, arcing about and releasing load after deadly load of munitions, concentrating for the most part on the docks and the treasure they held, but shying away from no target of value. Within seconds, Frigaal would be cut off from the rest of Beblis, its roads decimated and its runways cratered, air traffic control tower knocked down. Retribution would be fierce. As they flew, thirty millimeter gatling cannons that extended down from the bellies of these Shadowcats belched fire and death on anything resembling an armored vehicle, anything looking like an anti-aircraft cannon or any kind of aircraft still grounded.

For more than an hour, ten Shadowcats owned the skies over Frigaal. Strange to behold and terrifying in their might, like apocalyptic harbingers they reaped the souls of any who raised a weapon on the streets and set the city alight with cluster munitions, determined to deprive the rebels of the as-yet-undiscovered stash of modern armor sitting in the dockyard. The last sortie was flown by three of the giant birds, dropping "Perseus" cruise missiles from the final spot on their rotary launchers, which howled low over the ocean and impacted the three drifting ships at the stern, very low and at maximum speed, the only way to create the possibility of a crippling strike on the Great Hawk and its escorting Black Harriers. The explosion of the missiles set off the self-destruct mechanisms of the three ships and as the ten Shadowcats turned about and screamed eastward, a dull pressure wave was exerted on the city. Any glass left unshattered in Frigaal broke instantly and nearest the docks, cars and small boats were flipped over by the immense shock of the three ships detonating in the harbor. A searing heat set about the city, as the ammunition stores of the three vessels blew in unison. Unbeknownst to the Beblians, the helium-cooled pebblebed reactors were sinking to the bottom of the harbor, blown out the keels of the ships by special charges rigged to prevent them from spreading radiation when the ships self destructed. The reactors would be almost perfectly intact, though not in deep enough water to prevent a catastrophic incident if the outer containments failed as reactor cooling ceased. The reactors could be recovered from the harbor bed later, but at this exact moment, molten-hot shrapnel came raining in on Frigaal, the final act of Marquesan vengeance for the deaths of their comrades, at least for now.


Vienna, Crontor.
Ministry of State.
The Next Morning.

Retribution would be complete only when it would be made perfectly and unequivocally clear that Marquesan would not be defeated by a few Beblian rebels. Nothing would make this more clear than the Shogun of Marquesan herself, dressed in a thick looking skin-tight black one piece that resembled a wetsuit and a pair of combat boots, sitting in Minister Suderity's chair, behind his desk, hair drawn back tightly in a bun, fingertips drumming on his desk with her eyes fixated on the door when he walked in the morning following the counterstrike. Her face would be unmistakable and her muscled, wiry build would be intimidating alone, were it not for the long, curved blade she had sitting against her hip on a belt. "You're late, Minister. I hope you don't mind, I did you the favor of visiting you before visiting your president. Why don't you explain to me how it came to be that I have lost three warships and more than five hundred sailors who, I am told, were forced to fight and die, to a man, in a friendly port in an allied nation? I've taken the liberty of destroying the cargo those ships were carrying to prevent it from falling into rebel hands. We were forced to scuttle our ships in your harbor, as well, to keep such powerful arms from falling into the hands of your citizens. Can you not control your own populations, Minister? I was under the impression you Crontorans were good at that." Her tone was low, impatient and deadly, with all the grace and formality of a water moccasin stalking its prey. It was absolutely clear that she had found her way into the room alone, (though obviously her vanguard would be elsewhere in the building, however nearby and very likely watching) the air conditioning vent's cover resting lazily against a wall gave some hint of her entrance, though how she pierced through security and managed to get all the way into Vienna undetected by either Marquesan media or by Crontorian police seemed all but impossible, and anyone's guess. And yet here she was, the Shogun of Marquesan, in the flesh, furious and expecting answers. This was a very different Marquesan now, the formality of Yuri all but dead and gone from Marquesan foreign policy. No more would scathing communiques between foreign ministers be the method the southern giant answered its neighbors by. Akane very obviously led from the front and did so with an iron fist. Her eyes, black as jet shone, her gaze never wavering from the Minister standing in the doorway, who she looked on with all the concentration of a hungry predator sighted in on her first meal in days.

"Well, has the cat got your tongue, Minister?"

[Crontor]

---

Receiver: The Federal Republic of New Samarinda
Encryption: Top Secret

Sender: The Imperial Federation of Crontor
Subject: Offer of Assistance

To the respected Ithera Quel;

We thank you very much for your assistance in this time of need for the Luso-Cron Union. With our current commitments to reconstruction and the status of forces from the Newcastle War, we are simply unable to contain the insurgency that threatens not only the stability of the Union but that of the region as a whole. We graciously accept your offer for aid.

Signed;

Supreme Commander Crogden and President Christian Cranico

---

Receiver: Ikruvonische Hegemony
Encryption: Top Secret

Sender: The Imperial Federation of Crontor
Subject: Commentary on the Conflict

To the respected Ikruvonische Hegemony;

With Beblis, as with all wars, we are faced with the unfortunate and unintended prospect of dead innocents. Persons, whom, with no connection to the actual conflict, still number among those killed as a result. The Luso-Cron Union attempts to avoid collateral damage whenever possible, although Beblis has seen fighting on a scale far more vicious than any other conflicts we have fought. The only solution to this unrest has been overwhelming Union firepower which has inadvertently led to scores of civilian casualties, something we regret deeply.

The BDLF, however, should be recognized internationally as a terrorist group. They are motivated by extreme nationalism and have recently displayed religious tendencies that border on extremism. They have and will continue to carry out atrocities against the civilian populace and must be stopped.

We accept the offer of aid in all forms, but said aid must be directed through the Crontorian Armed Forces or the Ministry of State. Thank you.

Signed;

Supreme Commander Crogden and President Christian Cranico

Sondria:
Luso-Cron Union;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna;
Ministry of State:

Minister of State Alan Suderity was having a good morning. Having concluded a tense meeting with the Ngati the previous day coming off the heels of a successful summit in Sovetstarsus, Suderity was ready to tackle the nation’s foreign policy problems, all of which were presently centered on Beblis, the little colony that sure as hell could not break away. Suderity knew that the President was at the Military Pyramid with the Supreme Commander and Imperial Consuls plotting a military response to the disaster at Friggal, for which the Marquesans had already published communiques in regional news networks. Their hand had been forced. The CAF had to launch a massive campaign that would surely strain its limited resources. Foreign offers of aid were coming in and that was uncommon for the Union. It was even more uncommon that the Union would potentially be allowing foreign forces to fight over its most prized colony, but these were strange times.

While he was waiting for his coffee to finish in the kitchen of his section of the Ministry of State, Suderity thumbed through the daily intelligence briefing. He received one every morning, his however was limited in some cases, with the President and Supreme Commander receiving some information that no one else saw. Included was pictures from the drone feed that COLCOM had dispatched to Friggal to observe the fighting. The scope of destruction was truly enormous. The drones had observed the Marquesan tear the landscape asunder and had stayed long after to observe the smoldering ruins. All of the insurgents seemed dead or not willing to stick around, because as of when Suderity was handed his brief minutes before, no movement had been observed by drones in the city of Friggal. Never in Crontorian history had a city been so thoroughly destroyed. Well no, Suderity corrected himself, Alobordo still looked like that.

Coffee and briefing in hand, Suderity made his way through the bustling Ministry of State towards his own office, where he could work in peace among the chaos and shouting. Nodding good morning to his secretaries, he backed into his office, closed the door and turned around.

With an uttering of holy fuck he dropped both the briefing and his coffee, smashing the ceramic mug which had said “Sondria’s #1 Minister of State”, a gift from Rockepeller.

Here, sitting before him, was the Shogun of Marquesan. At his desk, in the flesh, unannounced and uninvited. And then came the accusations. Suderity sidestepped his coffee as Akane continued her questioning and settled down into the chair in front of his desk, usually reserved for his guests. He certainly did not like the positioning, as it appeared that Marquesan was about to dictate Union policy.

When Akane was done, Suderity calmly began to explain the Crontorian situation, “Alright listen. You Marquesans need to realize something. The current state of affairs in Beblis is your fault. You guys made it more of a cluster-fuck than it was. You know why? Because of the Newcastle War.”

“We admit it, you beat us, you routed us, it was evidently clear. But now, as a result, a mere three months after conclusion of hostilities, we are only operating with 25% of our original military capacity, the majority of which is presently in the parts of the country you so elegantly traveled through on your sightseeing tour. We couldn’t leave the forces in Beblis essential to holding the colony, hence the current situation.”

“We did not know your shipment was at Friggal. Our military had no idea. We found out after most of your men were dead and by that time there was nothing we could do. As of now, the city seems completely pacified from the air. That is our current strategic objective, to destroy the BDLF from the air because we do not have the manpower to fight them on the ground. We have been waiting for BDLF forces to assert complete control of cities and a plan has been in the works to use what air assets we have to pound these cities into oblivion, thereby wiping out the rebel bases of resistance.”

“Had your government communicated their trouble better, we might have been able to help, but we are not presently prepared to mount ground operations against the enemy. The Supreme Commander ordered the CAF to stand down unless directly attacked, but the rebels are focusing on the CDF anyway.”

[Marquesan]

Ministry of State,
Vienna, Crontor.

"Minister Suderity, I'm certain as the sun rising that you don't want to hear it from me, but manpower, I have. As we speak, there is a force on the way to Beblis to recover our dead and ensure that our arms stay out of your citizens hands, as I know your laws differ from our own. I hope you understand that it is, with respect, the best thing I can do and I am aware probably not your idea of a diplomatic solution, however we are fully resolved and prepared to restore order in Beblis until your forces can get a handle on things. To the Beblians, this will appear an invasion. Paint it however you will, but we will pacify the locals and you can come in stronger when you're prepared and not need to fight your way in."

Akane was no bullshitter. She looked Suderity square in the eyes, her gaze never wavering even once. She was dead serious. What's more, as she spoke, the first bombers from a massive task force more than a million strong, the entirety of the feared "Phoenix" Eleventh Corps up from bases in the Samarindas were leaving their carrier decks, headed for the southeastern tip of Beblis. It would be made clear to Suderity, as Akane stood up and walked out of his office, avoiding the broken ceramic shards on the ground and her entourage of guards seemed to materialize out of the woodwork, six of them emerging from closets and from behind curtains, that she believed in asking for forgiveness, not permission.


Port Carzilis, Southeastern Beblis,
Imperial Federation of Crontor.

Waves lapped idly on a pebbled beach. The cool light of the morning sun lit the water a dull grey-blue as it washed over the pea gravel that sloped evenly down to the water. Here and there, a few tufts of hardy grass thrived on the salt water and a blue crab skittered along the ground, heading back toward the slightly chilly water. An even layer of relatively low cloudcover blanketed the sky, casting the beach in a pale silvery hue. Rainclouds spread like a heavy grey blanket; further inland where the clouds met the Beblian hill country, they had been drizzling the land with a slow, steady rain since just after sunset and would continue to do so for hours. It was misty, more than a little chilly even for early October. The town of Port Carzilis, for the most part, slept, unwilling on a lazy friday morning it seemed to get up and be productive when there could be no reasonable expectation of anything but rain for the next two days.

Swinging his bird around over a low series of rocky breaker islands, the pilot of a battleship grey Shadowcat Penetrator/Interdictor passed directly over what looked like an ocean of hovercraft. Laden with operators, equipment, armor and supplies, this movement represented the collective might of an entire Corps, more than a million of Marquesan's finest. These elite men and women were, for the most part, seasoned veterans of the Newcastle War, many of whom saw action in legendary battles at Corro Tel, Oriste, Hurlik or Alobordo. In the years since the war, the Gendarmerie had dramatically changed. Now these brave souls rode into battle with brand new equipment, stunning advances in firearms and armor, the bleeding edge of technology. The undertaking had been tremendously expensive for the Marquesan government, but with the help of its friends and allies and with funding provided by selling some of their technology on the open market, the effort to rearm the mobilized forces had paid off and now, with such equipment as was totally peerless among Sondrian nations, the Gendarmerie once again hoisted the bloody flag of war, lifted her sword and cried out with a thunderous roar.

Thus began the first of several thousand combat air patrol missions to be flown over Beblis that day. The ragged edge of military technology was on full display for the world to see here; Shadowcats flanked by Divine Wind fighters. Ghost CAS bombers flying low and fast, howling in over the coast with Fury combat drones for vanguard. The tense staccato machine gun chatter of Hellcat Hunter/Killer Gunships and Whisper RAH's flying around hills and between buildings, armaments of every kind hanging off their wings; the thrumming of Warden-class airships that seemed to fill the sky with their long formations as they flew overhead, always watching, always vigilant. The tide of hovercraft was seemingly endless. From Port Carzilis to Qwerto, every passable beach was alive with armored vehicles and hovercraft, giants of the sea looming just offshore. The massive Acheron-class carriers of the Gendarmerie stood high out of the water, their catapults roaring.

All it would take would be one slip-up. One errant shot sent sailing into the unstemmable tide of armored vehicles and the gates of hell would swing open with a deafening clang. Each vehicle that came ashore was heavily armed, stocked with supplies and ammunition and Operators in the familiar olive drab, coyote brown and black uniforms that signified the different roles each man or woman had, but this was not the Gendarmerie that had left Crontor at the end of the Newcastle War. This was not an army that feared, an army that second-guessed. The veterans that stepped ashore in Beblis were razor-sharp, quiet, observant. Ready. Their vigilance belied their experience, generations of fostered pride in a caste that represented the creme of Marquesan's warrior-elite. Years of training, dedication. The sting of combat well-remembered in battles that would live on in legend. These men and women were not here, however, to provoke a war; rather to end one. To settle the question of Beblis in the mind of Sondria for one and all. Years of struggle and strife, racial bigotry and power-grabbing had left Beblis torn, conflicted, beaten and bloody. Even Marquesan had played her part here.

So the question fell to those willing to act quickly and act decisively, those willing to pay the price. The Marquesan Gendarmerie had never been unwilling to pay that price. And so they came, in columns that stretched from horizon to horizon and shook the earth with their passing. Tracked and wheeled armor of every kind, aircraft and helicopters and airships, all streaming north, north. Ever and always north. To Fort Calpe and Union City and bloody Frigaal. Where they came to a town and dismounted, it was with a quiet respect that they treated the locals, though always keeping their distance. This was, without a doubt, a combat campaign and many vehicles flew Marquesan war flags or unit banners. Here and there, they would leave a detachment behind. A Cadre or a Strike, sometimes a Lance to reinforce control and bring order.

Out at sea, the waters around Beblis were slowly being choked of open passages by hulking Marquesan warships. The southern ports were effectively blocked already, but as ships filtered up either coastline, it was with the acknowledgement that those waters were under Marquesan control now and that none would come or go without the say-so of the field commander. Submarines dwelt in the deep, battleships and cruisers patroled close with their massive guns pointed inward, ready to strike. Carriers and vehicle transports lingered in the distance, always on the horizon and with the landings nearly complete, on the ground more than a million professional soldiers visited every village, every hamlet, every sleepy burgh in Beblis, ready to fight at any opportunity, searching for whispers of the BDLF, waiting for the first errant bullet of a war from which Beblis could never escape and against a foe with which there could be no compromise, no leniency, no victory, no mercy.

In every town that the occupying army visited, a black flag was hoisted in place of whatever had been there before.
For Beblis and its independence from Crontor, the crows had come home to roost.