Caught In The Web: Astyrian Conflict & Intrigue (IC/Closed)

[Neu Engollon]

The OOC Thread

Please don't post if you are not a member of Astyria or Astyrian Probation. This RP is a long running regional project that lays out the modern history and current events of the region.

SPECIAL NOTE: While I am the OP of this thread, I am no longer in the region. Nor are any of my puppets. Please contact the region founder or WAD with any questions.

---

THE MAP

---

ASTYRIAN INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY AGENCIES

Nation	Intel Agency Acronym	Full Name	Operational Mandate	Mission Tasks	Agency Director
Aquitayne	HMRS	His Majesty's Royal Service	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter-Terrorism, Black-Ops	Ragnar Freyrsson
Aurora Confederacy	CI5	Confederate Intelligence Five	Internal	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter-Terrorism, Counter-Intel, Homeland Security	George Cowley
Aurora Confederacy	CI6	Confederate Intelligence Six	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter-Terrorism
Blackhelm Confederacy	CIS	Confederate Intelligence Service	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter Terrorism, Anti-Proliferation, Arms industry monitoring
Blackhelm Confederacy	none	Frumentarii	Internal	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter Intel, Homeland and State Security
Blackhelm Confederacy	none	Speculatores	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Military Intel
Dangish Empire	IRI	Imperial Research and Analysis Institute	External	ELINT, HUMINT, Black Ops, Counter-Terrorism
Dangish Empire	ISI	Imperial Security Institute	Internal	Counter-Intel, Major Criminal Investigations, Counter-Terrorism, Homeland security
Dangish Empire	TAC	Treasonable Activities Committee (of HM Armed Forces)	Both	SIGINT, Information analysis; IRI, ISI and TAC meet as the "Joint Crown Protection Office" when working in unison.
Nikolia	RIA	Royal Intelligence Agency	Both	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter-Terrorism, Black Ops, Homeland security
Nikolia	MIA	Military Intelligence Agency	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Military Intel
Nikolia	MSA	Military Safety Agency	External	HUMINT, Military Intel, Black Ops
Nikolia	SSC	State Security Committee	Both	SIGINT, ELINT, HUMINT, Counter Intel, Black Ops, Homeland Security, Royal Family Protection
Romberg	III	Imperial Intelligence Institute	Both	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter Intel, Law Enforcement, Homeland Security	Frederick Högel
Smertolina	MIS	Ministry of Information & Security	Both	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter Intel, Law Enforcement, Homeland Security	Baroness Eva Krevnivdova
Smertolina	none	925th Cyberwarfare Ctr & 9th Reconnaissance, Electronic Warfare & Spec Ops Brigade	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Military Intel	Brigadier Kazimir Nochniy
Stretta	OCI	Office of Centralized Intelligence	Both	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Law Enforcement, Homeland Security
Symphonia	UK MoI	United Kingdom Ministry of Information	External	ELINT, SIGINT, Liaison to Aquitaynian Intel	Secretary Emil Schneider
Symphonia	OSI	Office of Secret Intelligence	External	ELINT, HUMINT, SIGINT, Counter-intel	Lord-Director Chung Man-won
Trellin	TIC	Trellinese Intelligence Commission	Both	ELINT, SIGINT, Internal state security, Counter Intelligence	Jafvri Edarthesin

[Terra Azure]

Port Blacksand
Over looking the walled City from his high vantage point of the palace, Father Raphael Nargolet, president of the desert nation relaxed as life went on in the citadel that is Port Blacksand, the honking of car horns is a part of Azuran life, for those who could actually afford a car.

Out on the street a youth was grabbed by 3 men in blackshirts, grabbed for the crime of begging. His family won't see him again as he is bundled into the back of a pickup truck.

"You are under arrest and found guilty of the crime of vagrancy, how do you plead?" shouts the officer,
"not guilty" says the youth,
"Well it is the duty of this court to sentence you for this crime"

The 3 police officers climbed into the pickup and began to drive off. The driver threading his pickup through the crowded streets to the court house where he brought the pickup to a stop and two officers got out, grabbing their assault rifles as they did so. The younger officer opened the catch cell of the pickup
"come on, get the fuck out" he said "NOW!!!" he shouted.

The youth climbed out of the cell and began to move where the officers gestured for him to go, then thats it, the two officers clicked their guns off safe and squeezed the triggers, the youth was dead before he hit the floor. As he lay on the floor one of the officers took id from the youth, "hmmm we have unfinished business here, lets go Pierre" said Hercule Bertrand, the senior officer as they climbed into the Nissan pickup with catch pod on the back, Jean Blanc, the driver slowly left the grim scene

An hour later...
Pierre and Hercule arrived at the home of the now dead youth's family, the street had an quiet aire about it, things didn't seem quite right some how, the streets were empty, TOO empty, however work had to be done, Pierre took hold of a battering ram from the back seat of the crew cab and with 2 swings sent the door flying open and Hercule went in, Pierre and Jean Blanc following. The father came towards the sound of the door
"Dis is my house man, MY HOUSE, and What is the meaning of this invasion???" he shouted as Hercule drew his ak47 and let some amunition fly sending the 6'2" negro man to the floor in a hail of bullets, he was the first victim, By the time the officers left, there 4 dead people.
"Begging is not permitted in Port Blacksands" said Hercule as he left the scene.

[Trellin]

Ethrin Traja,
The County Kur'mali

"For far too long has the Trellinese people been oppressed by enemies on all sides! The Andamonians, the Dangish, and now even the monarchy betrays us! They would sell us into slavery to Astyrian imperialists, but are we not a proud and an ancient people? Did we not conquer and tame these lands? Do we not have a right to hold them for our own? A free nation of the free Trellinese, ruled by the Trellinese?"

The speaker took a moment to glance over his notes and take a breath as the calm town square largely ignored him. A few metres away, at a café's table across the square, a couple of local men were chatting casually over their tea.

"He's a good speaker. Loud," one was saying.

"Loud is good?" asked the other.

"Yeah," the first nodded. "It's persuasive. Look at me; I'm already persuaded."

The second gave him a quizzical look. "About what?"

Shrug. "Whatever it is he's talking about. If he summoned me to fight in a revolution, I'd follow his banner, that's all I know and that's all I need to know."

The other man was less convinced. "Yeah, like Kur'mala'd ever pull off a revolution. I don't even get what he's doing up there. Is he campaigning for the town council? The elections were months ago."

Meanwhile, the speaker had moved on to complain about the ridiculous taxes on the banana crop in Asketon. Both of his audience members completely tuned out. The first man leaned a bit closer across the table, talking in lower tones. "Y'know that trade conference going on Outside? Rumour is the King's planning on pushing the country into Astyrian trade. Something about opening the borders again."

Eyes widening, the second man also leaned in. "But... Kur'mala's on the border. We'd end up at war and invaded within weeks. Unless we're getting the Trophy Ports back I can't see why they'd want to do this."

"Trade? Money? Who knows, maybe they just want to petition other countries for the Ports? All I know is that the Protectorates have been pushing for greater trade, and I heard Arimathea's opening a new railway line to Outside. Apparently they're all for it in the capital."

"They would be," the other laughed contemptuously. "Every time, it's the capital dragging us into wars. Just for once, if they could mind their own business, it might actually do better by the country."

Both of them nodded in agreement as the speaker across the square moved onto talking about overthrowing the oppressive regime. This time, both were interested.

[Nouvel Ecosse]

ANDREAS, PLATTEISEN ADLER

It had been seven years since 'The Loutenant' Dan Volk had last worn his khaki uniform, with the medals sitting dejectedly on the lapel. It had been nine years since Volk had last been in Platteisen Adler, although admittedly then it had been on duty. He realised with a sudden embarrassment that this was his first 'vacation' outside of Nouvel Ecosse since he was eight and had visited the Aurora Confederacy. Sure, he had been outside of the country, but that was back when he had been in the army. The dreaded Nouvel Ecosse Army, feared around the World. Ha. Not even the people of this tiny neighbor were afraid of them. How many times had they spat at him openly in the streets when he had served? How many times had they hurled abuse? And he could have done nothing to stop them, because of the rules and regulations.

It had been different in the sixties and seventies, when soldiers came to towns and cities in Adler and went off their head nuts. How many innocent people had died at the hands of some petulant, spoilt grunt from Bel Cansas? It was time that Nouvel Ecosse withdrew from the backwards shithole excuse for a free country. That was why Volk was back in Andreas, back in uniform, back free of the shackles of the fuckin Army. He was in Andreas with a few other hundred former servicemen who wanted Nouvel Ecosse out of Adler. Why waste money on a black hole?

Volk had been a lieutenant in the nineties and early noughties with the 2nd Infantry, running a tight operation. He had been respected by his men, not so much by the opposition, who referred to him as 'The Loutenant' as a joke, although the joke was mainly on their poor English skills. After finishing his career in 2006, receiving the coveted Order of the Falcon award for he was not quite sure what, Volk had went into the arms industry. But he had been disgusted by the actions of the Army. No longer looking at the occupation through the dark-tinted sunglasses of an active serviceman, he had realised the futility of it all. The waste of money and resources. The terrible indecencies.

This was the 'Free PA Rally', and the ex-servicemen were here to show that they supported the people.

"DAN! DAN! OI, YA LEFTY PRICK!" shouted a voice from across the crumbling tarmac. The rally hadn't yet started, and Volk was conscious of getting recognised by some trader he had wronged back in the day. These people held grudges for life. Once one of his younger troops had been attacked in the street for referring to a man's wife as a "Walrus". The assault took place five months, three weeks and a day after the actual incident. But Volk recognised the voice. It was an old colleague of his, who had once learned that Volk had voted for the Communist Party once back in his University days. He had never let go of the fact, even to that day. "How is my least favourite Commie Soldier?"
"Ah, fuck off. I didn't expect to see your sorry excuse for a face around an event like this." replied Dan, with a hint of sarcasm.
"Well, times have changed. Opinions too. We're not all stuck on the same record."
"Says the man that's been referring to me as a Commie for what, twelve years now? Sure this rally isn't too much like a hippy-fest for your fat arse?"
"I may have been a mindless drone, but that doesn't mean I can't form opinions of my own. I'm a changed man. I even voted Communist at the last elections."
"Ah, now we see the man behind the mask, ya commie bastard. I believe that we are now even."
"Touche"

The two men paused, took in the swelling sound of the gathering crowd. Many of the men were in the familiar uniform of the Nouvel Ecosse Army, even more in civilian clothing, clearly Adlerian, although there were no doubt some socialist, anti-war Ecossians interspersed.

"Lets just hope there isn't any trouble"

[Pangus]

PARITTE, TERRE DES GAULES

Rosa Spatafora walked down the dark cobblestone alley, her hands in her front hoodie pockets and the hood pulled up hiding her face. She couldn't help but feel that this whole event, including the path to get there, was overly cliche as she walked pasted a graffiti tag above the dumpster. A wolf in the setting sun and a star on top. It was as if they were trying to give away their hideout location. She immediately got this feeling in her stomach, like it was all a bad idea. Rosa kept walking through making the twist and turns, in and out of the few lights shining above, around the dirty puddles, and ignoring the man and woman doing their thing down the side alley. That was until the woman said something in Italian, which made Rosa give pause and mutter, "What has become of my people..."

Continuing on she eventually came to the door. The orange painted door vibrating from the bass inside. Giving a sigh she knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. Rosa began kicking the door with her steel toed, the paint on the door chipping off. "So che mi senti voi figli di puttana!" A slot in the door opened and two brown eyes stared out at her. "The horns sound twice around the world. Now let me in bastardo." The slot shut and after a few clicks the door opened and the sound of Gaulic pop music blaring out became clear. Simply shaking her head she walked her way down the brick walled stairwell and into the black-lighted sub-cellar that was the sorry excuse of a hideout. Base filled her ears. The smell alcohol and marijuana mixed through the air and up her nostrils. And then the hundreds of people in black and orange dancing in the middle of the room, if you could call it that. Pushing her way through the people Rosa eventually found the man she was looking for. Sitting on the only couch in the back corner was Te'meil Amodeo, the leader of this little gang.

"I thought you told me you were having a gathering, not a party." She had to speak a little loudly to be heard over the speaker directly next to them.

"Ah Rosa you made it! Come sit sit! Have a drink! Tell me what you think! A nice sized little group right? Biggest faction in the Paritte!"

Te'meil stood up and tried to embrace her in a hug. Rosa simply stiff armed him. "You've got to be joking right?"

"What? What is wrong?"

"What is wrong?!" Rosa quickly became angry. Red flushing into her face, noticeable even in the dark room and under her tanned skin. "You call yourselves Heralds! Yet your over here throwing a damn party! Drinking and smoking drugs, while your brothers and sisters back in the homeland are forced to go into hiding! We're losing the damn war if you didn't notice!"

Those nearby had stopped what they were doing and began watching the little scene. "Whoa whoa Rose calm do-" Amodeo didn't finish his sentence as a fist slammed into his jaw sending him stumbling backwards and into the couch. And with that the music cut and someone had turned on the lights. The entire room, hundreds of eyes, were now on Rosa most not sure what was happening.

"Si cazzo stronzo! Tell me to calm down!The Spartanians have completely taken over Pangus! Most of our leaders are now rotting in cells under that damn tower they call a palace! The populace is accepting Spartanian rule as a better choice then fighting back or protesting! Hell half of them are clamoring to join this new navy that's being formed so they can gain Imperial citizenship!" Rosa turned around to the crowd. "But cazzo! I don't know what's worse! Them or you all sitting here being content with being the poor in some foreign country!" She'd been there less then five minutes and Rosa had already seen enough. Going back to the stairwell she hadn't need to push past anyone, they all got out of her way. "When you all ready to be real Heralds you know where to find me, but do the rest of us a favor and stop using our name for your petty gang bullshit!" With that she stormed out of the basement and back into the alleyways of Paritte.

Rosa was almost back to the street she could hear a car passing, she could also hear the echo of someone running behind her. Someone was following her from the party. "Hey! Wait! I wana talk to you!" Rosa paused and half turned to see a man, more like a boy, running up behind her. He was wearing a black t-shirt, the Heralds symbol spray painted sideways on it, along with orange painted jeans. "Your from the homeland right? From Pangus? I want to join you." A smile crept across Rosa's face and she just motioned for the boy to follow continuing through the slums and into the night.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Somewhere in Kamalbia

The hot, setting Kamalbian sun cast an orange glow over the area as dozens of dark skinned laborers went about their business in the camp. Dotted around them were a number of men holding some cheap Kalashnikov knockoffs, some watching the laborers and others peering out into the distance, keeping a poor excuse for a watch for any potential bandits or rebel groups that may want to take from this camp, or even worse try to seize it from its corporate owners.

From one of the many shacks within the compound emerged a white man, his brown hair cut and trimmed with a neat part to the side, and his piercing blue eyes looking out at the scene around him. A scar ran down the side of his face, and he carried a helmet under one arm, a G36 slung over his other shoulder. Unlike the other guards at this camp, this man also wore body armor, and wore a military style uniform, whereas the others wore open button down shirts of various colors or the tee shirts of Earentian sports teams that had made it but hadn’t won the championship last year. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a tattoo of a griffin on his right bicep. He walked he passed a small, currently unmanned AA cannon on his way to where a line of vehicles sat idle. All around him the unlucky laborers rushed to fill the last pieces of cargo into the trucks that waited there.

“Alright you fucks” he shouted to a nearby group of dark skinned militia sitting on the ground playing some kind of game in the dirt. “Let’s get moving” he said before putting on his helmet, lighting a cigarette, and banging on the side of the closest truck. “LET’S GO!” he yelled again as they began to get on their feet and pile into a covered truck. The white man hopped into a nearby HIM-TAC, getting in the passenger seat. Driving in the seat next to him was another light skinned man, and in the back, standing up in the gun turret, was a third. They began to roll out of the base, the HIM-TAC, four covered trucks, each one of them full of those precious little stones that were now proving to be the life blood of this shit hole of a region, and another HIM-TAC, similarly carrying white men in military uniforms, bringing up the rear. And so off they went, kicking up a dust trail behind them as they made their way down what was just barely a dirt road over the long, dusty, empty expanse of the Kamalbian wasteland.

It was a long trek from here to the water, and a dangerous one at that, but these men were paid good money to make this trip, and for the men in the military vehicles at least, they had been trained long and well, and had driven this route many times before.

Paradise City,
Blackhelm Confederacy

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in the upper floors of a shiny glass skyscraper a number of men in suits sat around a table. One man, in his late sixties by appearance, slightly overweight and wearing a cowboy hat, stood before the others in front of a white board full of various charts and graphs.

“As you can see” the man spoke “there has been an increase in activity along several of the routes to and from the mines. This means that we need to spend more money in order to keep them secure, and the warlords in the area are consistently asking for steeper and steeper payments in order to keep the mines open for our employees.”

“So what is your suggestion Jack?” another suited man seated at the table asked as he adjusted his suit jacket.

“I propose that we increase our presence in the area, and start to form our own force in the area. Out muscle the rebels, and force the warlord’s cooperation. Make it most unprofitable for them to reject us”

“I am not about to have this operation splattered all over the papers across the region when this turns into a bloodbath Jack” another man further down the table said. “What if we just give them what they want, keep up the money flow to whichever savage we need to pay, and make sure they give us their guarantee that they will keep our lines safe”

“We can even train them” a fourth voice spoke up. “Make a compromise between the two of you. We keep up our payments to the warlords who run the place, and even promise to send over additional advisers to make sure that those militia boys out there are top notch. It could also have the benefit of building a better relationship between our security personnel and the militia. Maybe send a few extra personnel, nothing drastic, some advisers, and that’s all. It shouldn't affect our profits too bad, not with all of the rocks we are pulling out of that place, and it sets the foundations for a possible long term investment in the country.”

The group deliberated for a bit, and within an hour, they had come to their decision.

[Falkasia]

Off the Coast of the YSR

There was no activity on deck, save for two silhouettes which stood black against black. A tiny ember passed between the two shapes as the boat rocks gently, sending a barely visible plume of white smoke into the early morning sky. The air was crisp, and clung to both living flesh and inanimate metal like a pall signalling the onset of winter.

"I think I can see the coast from here," one of the shapes mumbled, causing the ember to glow softly for the briefest of moments.

"Assuming we didn't drift too far from the shipping lanes, we should be coming into their territorial waters shortly..." the other replied, commandeering the ember as it flipped between the two,

The second inhaled and exhaled sharply, coughing, as the ember disappeared into the water.

"Bastard... you gave me the stub. Let's go." He turned from the side of the vessel and disappeared into the murky darkness of the deck.

The other form remained, rocking back and forth on his heels in time with the ministrations of the boat. Both hands were firmly placed in overcoat pockets, sealed tight to beat off the chill. He sighed, a small puff of frosty mist emerging from his darkened mouth as it floated out over the sea.

"Right..." he whispered to himself. "Time to get the show on the road."

The dark form turned, pausing momentarily to catch its balance before dissolving back into the darkness.

[Nouvel Ecosse]

The sound of the chirping of a flock of sparrows always took him back to when he was seven, when he spent weeks on the family's farm during the summer. The crunch of an amp blaring up took him back to his first gig, Velociraptor Rex in their hometown of Hannibal. To this day they were still his all-time favourite group. The clink of two glasses the hours spent drinking in the local bar to his university flat. The flourish of a cornet his days training with the 2nd Infantry. Of all the sounds in his life which he remembered, there was only one which he dreaded. One which he never expected to hear again, one which he had long-buried. The ear-bursting roar of a freshly exploded bomb as it rips through civilians, their startled wails screeching the air like two nails on an over-used blackboard. It had been 2001 when his convoy had been attacked on a road outside of Hollowran. 2001 when three of his colleagues and, dare he say it, pals, had been split apart in an instance of a second. 2001 when he had saw a women weeping over her child's dead body.

"DAN! DAN! GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF MAN!" shouted the freshly crowned King of the Commies, Magnus Isaacson.(*Mentioned in the last time without name*)

Volk was far enough away from the epicentre to avoid the inevitable shrapnel, but just not quite far enough away to not have his eardrums thoroughly rattled. The bodies close to the bomb were now dismantled, raining bloodily down on top of the now disheveled veterans and civilians. His OF medal had been splattered by blood from some unlucky bastard who had just happened to be thirsty at an unfortunate time. In the downpour of body parts, a fresh element was added. Bullets sprayed from around the street, emptying into all those survivors.

"FUCK ME! WE'VE GOT TO GET OFF THE FUCKIN' STREET, DAN! ITS NOT SAFE!"

A fresh round of bullets left a gun up to the far-right, the shooter just out of sight. Magnus jerked as a slug embedded itself in his left arm, before another passed straight through his lower left ribcage. A patch of blood gradually spread through the darkish green of his uniform, spreading in all directions, the uniform surrendering to its colour. Volk had now finally instinctively hit the floor, and the rainstorm was slowing to a trickle. Screams had transformed into a low moaning, as those injured rolled in agony. He slowly crawled inconspicuously towards the now still carcass of the now deceased King, the men who had committed the regicide making an appearance in the distance. But wait. No. Surely not.

"The Bastards." Volk whispered, as the Nouvel Ecosse Army Troops, what looked like 3rd Infantry, sauntered off. "Why? Why would they murder their fellow kin? And in broad daylight? Unless...no, they aren't that cold. They can't be making an example of us, surely not? Its not their style."

Was it safe to leave? There was an eerie silence outwith the moaning, as if no-one dare approach the slaughter. Even the Crows, so quick to normally descend on bloodshed, seemed to refrain from an appearance. Volk had a mobile phone, something he had purchased in an Electric Village recently, something he had splashed out on, and he had forgotten about it. As news of the slaughter spread to social media and news channels across Nouvel Ecosse his relatives were busy trying to call him, and the sound of a pop-VRex song blared out. One of the soldiers stopped, listened, and turned.

"Shit." muttered Volk, as he finally managed to turn the damned thing off.

[Romberg]

They were over 3000km from the rest of Astyria. And even their closest posession, the Rombergian Arctic Islands, were over 1000 km away from the closest land, the Aurora Confederacy to the East. It was hence with little wonder that despite joining Astyria, the Imperial Realm of Romberg maintained a distinctive identity. They were Nordic and Slavic, just like several other nations to the North of Astyria. Yet a long history of isolation with these states and association with Europe had obviously made an impact on Rombergian society. And thus, the Realm was one of the most un-Astyrian places within Astyria itself. The people spoke a similar language, the geography was similar and indeed the climate was, but still they were different. And though there was brisk and even rather frequent trade between the two nations, there was still something uniquely Rombergian present. Indeed, most Rombergians would still say that they are what they are above all, and then mention casually that they are part of Astyria as well. But it is very rarely that anyone would straightaway admit that they were Astyrian. This was the level of different between Romberg and the rest of the region. (OOC: Referencing the fact that I'm multi-ing)

And unlike most intelligence agencies, the III was mainly internal and non-intrusive. Indeed, most of the information that it processed came through police raids or tip-offs from sources, sometimes anonymous. Yet due to the degree of scrutiny every piece of evidence was put through, they were still able to be rather effective in their work, and consequently still maintained a certain level of professionalism. Their foreign wing was rather small, and mainly used legitimate means to gather information, but for the other stuff on the other side of the law, they would rather get it from the foreign intelligence agencies themselves. Usually it worked, since sharing of intelligence was guaranteed and indeed agreed on by both sides. And it was hence how Romberg could still maintain informed in the international community despite having an intelligence force that was much smaller and less intrusive than others.

This was just another typical day though in the capital of Romberg. Being several hours behind in time compared to Astyria proper, the day was still young. The Sun was still low in the sky as it began to cast a strong glare on the many skyscrapers of the capital of Romberg, Holmgard, otherwise known as the Jewel of the North. Home to over 10 million, it was by far the largest and most developed city in the Realm, and enjoyed a stellar reputation both as a financial centre and as a place where tourists would enjoy, combining the newest shopping centres with palaces and old architecture, and with lots of cultural activities in between to tire even the most dedicated traveller.

And in the diplomatic district of Romberg, close to the Blue Shield headquarters in Romberg, was the headquarters of the III. And inside it, on the very top floor in the director's office, was director and former military Brigadier Frederick Högel. A veteran of several wars, he had since retired from the military to join the intelligence services, and in his rule had successfully put down a number of criminal organizations as well as assisted in the ending of several insurgent operations abroad. With this reputation, he was also known as a firm and determined leader, and one which never took failure for an answer. And it was against this person which the likes of the Yellow Star Republic would be against should they dare to mess with the Realm.

There were only two other people in the Realm who had this form of reputation. One was retired Field Marshal Graf Johann Lenesov von Königsberg, who was already ennobled for his military services. He was the only general in recent times to be promoted to Field Marshal, and under his command had racked up several impressive victories that commanded the respect of many nations as a skilled tactician. And though he was ruthlessly efficient and focused on discipline almost to the level of obsession, he was yet one of the few military leaders who still would agree to humane treatment of prisoners and enemies, once defying an order from Central Military Command to execute all prisoners who refused to surrender. Even now, having retired and entered the diplomatic service as a senior diplomat, as well as being a chief advisor to the Kaiser, he still commanded a high level of respect among the populace, and was indeed still in a position of very high power, being one of the few whose words could directly influence the words of the Kaiser. But yet, he still made it clear that despite wanting to return to civilian life as a diplomat and advisor, he also was willing to resume command of the entire military of Romberg should a crisis occur, and if that happens, then woe to whoever was on the other side of the battlefield.

Finally was the Kaiser himself. The ruler of Romberg. And despite being a monarch, he had actual executive powers unlike most others, meaning that he was not only head of nation, but head of state. Yet as a direct result of the elective system in Romberg and the fact that the Kaiser could still be removed from power due to a majority vote of disapproval by the democratically elected Grand Council, the Kaiser still had a very high level of support among the Rombergian public, who so far appeared to want him to be in power until death. Indeed, as the one who managed to boost the GDP of Romberg by 30% and yet build a comprehensive welfare safety net for the people, the Kaiser was a capable leader, and one that his people would love to be ruled by. And with brilliant tacticians and diplomats at hand, he was indeed at the reins of a powerful nation, one which was to be taken seriously, and very seriously by nations wanting to truly mess with Romberg.

Anyway, back in the III headquarters, Director Högel was having a slow day. He slowly sipped on his coffee, his usual morning cup, as he awaited for the latest reports by the agents under his control (OOC: Even though they did not have staff on the ground, all staff are referred to as agents in the III), especially on Astyria, since after their accession just a few weeks ago, security of Romberg with regards to the rest of Astyria suddenly became a major concern for the Kaiser and the government of the Imperial Realm of Romberg.

(OOC: I'll present my perspective on the events so far in my next post.)

[Prudenesia]

PARITTE, TERRE DES GAULES

"Where was the west when the Spartanians invaded the Republic?! Where was the west when the Spartanians invade the Dominion!? Were we not western influenced democracies!? Were we not connected to them by heritage!? We called to Neu Engollon for help, but they said no! They were too neutral! We came here to Terre des Gaules and they threw us in their slums and want nothing more to do with us! We take their shit jobs! Emptying their trash, serving them food, cleaning their bathrooms! But then they complain we take all their work from them! They treat us like we aren't even human beings! They call us degrading names and spit as us! Tell us we should go back home when we don't even have homes to go back too!! Where's the loving hand of the west that we'd grown up hearing stories about!? If we hadn't come they'd of been content to let us die!!"

The sun had only been up for a few hours as Nathanial Baker, a Prudenesian refugee, stood on top of the pedestal of a statue mere steps away from the Paritte town hall. He was yelling into the crowd, composed of Pangegian and Prudensian refugees, about how the west had seemed to abandon them and their countries to their fate. How it wasn't fair that when they called for aid they'd gotten no military aid. It was working, the crowd was angry and shouting.

"And where the GHawkins!"

"Or those damned Nikolians!"

"They'd of helped each other!"

Nathanial smiled inside his head. This was the third rally he'd organized in the last few months and despite the little to no reaction from the Gaul government the peoples spirits hadn't died down. They were protesting for help for their homelands and they wouldn't stand down. Turning towards the direction of the town hall he yelled out.

"You can't keep ignoring us! Even if your not compassionate enough to help we'll make you! We'll scream and shout until you do! You can't just leave us to die!"

This wiped the crowd up even more. They shouted and chanted towards the political building and all its politicians inside. Soon they began marching up and down through the courtyard.

[Nu Sparta]

HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBERS
OMNES UNUS, "SECRET" GOVERNMENTAL BUNKER CAPITAL COMPLEX
UNDER LAKE SPECULATIVO AUEM MEDITATIO, NU SPARTA

Ter'nin De'clow sat the side of the fountain outside the council chamber doors. As the other council members made their way in he simply sat and admired the statues on either side of the doorway. Ret'li and T'ahli, the twin dragon gods of order and chaos respectively. They represented everything the High Council was to achieve. Keeping the homeland from failing while allowing the citizens and civilians to pursue their happiness. To pursue any other course would be a failing. The Spartanian councilman considered this for awhile as he sat there. To succeed in these principals would only become harder the more the Empire expanded and the further it developed regional ties. Ter'nin's entire life had pretty much been dedicated to assuring the nation always succeeded. Conscripted at sixteen right out of secondary school as was normal of the time, he'd stayed in voluntarily and was assigned to a intelligence battalion. It wasn't long after he'd been asked to join the Spartanian Negotium Cogere, the intelligence agency that had handled all the special internal cases and every once in awhile spied on the governments of what used to be the neighboring Republic and Dominion. Fifteen years of service before he returned home to Tumulosus Incoluimus to settle down, only to run for public service. Now he'd been serving as a High Councilman for ten years. Maybe it was time for him to retire, but who would take his place if he did? Ter'nin got up and followed the last of his fellows into the chamber. Walking down the stairs to the podium he began the meeting.

"A couple of announcements before we get down to business today. The newly appointed Lords have finally picked out their representatives. We'll have four new members joining us next meeting. The IBC broadcasted that we're reviewing the Eastern Astyrian Treaty Alliance as well as news about the Prudenesian governor, both of which are part of the meeting today. Tomorrow the PCN will broadcast the opening of the new naval academy as well as the idea of opening a civilian political position for a Pangegian governor. So does anyone want to start?"

Ki'krow Crel'sia raised his hand.

"The floor recognizes the Advisory Owl Ki'krow Crel'sia from the Imperial Spartanian Ground Force."

Ki'krow stood up.

"I think it would be best if we get the vote over the Eastern Astyrian Treaty Alliance over with first. As the one who proposed joining you all know my argument for. It gives us good backing to continue our colonization efforts on the island while expanding our military, as well as allies should the west ever decide we've gone to far. Also it would allow our newly forming navy to work side by side with more veteran naval organizations in the region allowing us to properly develop it through experience."

"So we vote on the joining the EATA. Any counter-argument before hand? A'tin?"

A'tin Usy, the elderly Head Representative of Sol et Luna, stood up and cleared his voice.

"Joining the Eastern Astyrian Treaty Alliance has it's downsides as well. Joining requires us to place our military under obligation to aid others in the EATA when their endangered despite the circumstances or reasons. Also the organization doesn't seem to be a democratic one giving member states equal say as everything in the end must be run through the Blackhelm Confederacy's government. And lastly lets not forget that among the already member nations sits Terre Azure, the most zealous Christian nation in the entire region who'd probably attempt to exterminate us if they had the means."

"If no one else has anything to say? No? Well then let us vote. Those for?"

Nine hands raised up around the room.

"Those against?"

Twelve hands went up into the air.

"Those undecided?"

The last sixteen hands went up.

"The undecideds have it. We will vote again on this three or four days. If no one else minds I'd like to bring forward a new proposition that has to deal with region. It's more then obvious we don't have the greatest relationship with most of the other states in Astyria, especially the western states. We've been pulling at strings for allies, like the YSR. I believe it would be for the greater good of the Empire if we bring back the SNC with the mission of basically spying on the west to find our potential future enemies. I'll have a full proposal written by the end of the week. Anyways lets move on. I believe the Handler of Economics and Trade, Ray'nia Fri'ley, wished to comment about the Emily Dankscoft?"

"Yes. The Prudenesian Governor has recently been attempting to undermine the Red Moon Mining Company by rallying support to have Nouveau Avignon become a protected site after the company found a deposit of cooper in the rocky land nearby. The woman needs to be put back in her place and hushed about all this nonsense."

"Yes well I find that this might actually be a good idea to consider. We haven't done much to appease the new civilians in Prudenesia and this might be a good step. Lord Vielania has actually sent her written opinion approving of the idea. We've also all read over the reports RMM sent to us and I personally find the amount of extraction they've predicted in a five year period to be pretty low yielding and not worth the effort."

"If we allow her this the woman won't stop! She's a puppet, someone to make the Prudenesians happy when they see her and that it! If we let her do what she wants what do you think the Pangegian one will do if we allow them one!?"

"How about we put this to a vote in two days? Give everyone time to get up to date on the situation."

Ray'nia gave a sigh and sat back down.

"Speaking of the possibility of a Pangegian governor, let move onto that topic. We're to vote on if we're going to assign one ourselves or allow them to have their own democratic elections. All those for assigning?"

Only seven hands went into the air.

"All those for allowing elections?"

Thirty hands went up.

"Elections it is. Lord Pal'land it will be up to you and the other lords in Pangus to get that all set up. We trust you can handle that obviously. I'll ensure the proper information gets out to the PNC. So what's next on the agenda...."

[Kamalbia]

Kamalbia;
North of Marqueville

Most people who live in the industrialized countries of Astyria have never seen true darkness. Always, there is a source of light nearby, from the cities in the distance, the lampposts or the highways. However, in the deserts and steppe of Kamalbia, true darkness reigns once the sun goes down. Silence prevails over sound, many animals go to sleep, resting for the next day. The only sound one might hear are the chirping crickets or the predators of the night.

But it wasn't just the lions taking advantage of the darkness. A more sinister predator, one just as stealthy, deadly and more cunning than a lion was awaiting its prey tonight. This predator wasn't out hunting for food and it wasn't hunting out of necessity. It was driven by another hunger, not for flesh, or instinct to protect its cubs.. Tonight the king of the jungle had to make way for even his superior, the only being to walk and breathe on this planet that had the power to destroy itself and was actively contributing to doing so. Tonight, it was man who lay in wait.

The simple dirt road might have looked like nothing of importance. It wasn't maintained. There were no lampposts, towns or villages it ran along. By all accounts, this road shouldn't be there. It shouldn't exist. There was nothing to indicate it was an important supply line of fuel to the Protectorate of Marqueville. It was driven on only for this reason.
Tonight though, three vehicles had driven on it before the scheduled fuel convoy was due. Without knowledge of those who drove on it, the road had always been watched, day and night. Watchful eyes had tracked every person on the road, for months now. But the time of waiting was over, the time of watching was done. It would be their grand début, their re-entry to the theatre. Gaul would know and soon the world would hear; The Astyrian Liberation Army was back.

Initially, a band of rebellious fanatics that found common ground in each other's opinions. They saw the poverty that Kamalbia had been drowning in and felt this was the fault of the rich, capitalist countries. Their goal was the downfall of capitalism, the ideology that ruined so many lives and had blood on its consciousness. Their failure to realize it was the infighting between warlords that had set in motion the poverty only fuelled their fanaticism. It was even easier to point out a scapegoat when in 1992, the GHawkins military aimed to end the civil wars that had been ravaging the country since their declaration of independence. While the GHawkins military sought to eliminate the militias of the warlords, to stop their ability to destroy one another, the people they liberated saw them as heroes. These people received food, medicine and had a chance for a proper future.
Those that the GHawkins military could not liberate because of stiff resistance from the warlords saw them as an enemy; As a nation that aimed to take away Kamalbia's independence and oppress them. The ALA grew and grew, gaining more manpower and finding more allies. Only several months after operation Renewed Hope, as it was codenamed by GHawkins, had started, GHawkins withdrew under crushing public opinion. The Kamalbians didn't want to be helped, they slapped away the helping hand. What had started as a humanitarian operation ended in 348 coffins draped with a GHawkins flag. 348 sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers and mothers never returning home. 348 times a 21 gun volley was fired, 7308 rounds saluting those who had made the ultimate sacrifice.
After the disappearance of the enemy, the ALA weakened again. There was no reason for them to keep fighting and their popularity decreased. They silently spread out across Astyria, planting sleeper cells and recruiting amongst the poor of the other nations, like a snake awaiting to strike. Now, they had renewed confidence, renewed resources. They were ready to strike. They had two backers, operating from the shadows.
Now, they themselves lay in the shadows. Twenty ALA fighters, armed with AKM's. They lay in the ditch of the road, biting into the sand. It had gotten everywhere by now and was a constant annoyance. They had spread out evenly between road-sides, ten on the left and ten on the right. Their ears on the ground, listening for the approaching vehicles.
Behind the sand dune to the left of the road, a Toyota pickup truck was waiting, a .50 machine gun mounted on the back with an ALA fighter manning it, another fighter responsible for reloading it sitting next to it. Behind that vehicle, two Land Rover Defender 110's were parked, their drivers waiting.

Slowly but surely, the ground started vibrating. In the distance, lights flashed as the vehicles got over a hill, following the road. Twelve headlights, six vehicles. The convoy would consist of two Land Rover Defender 110's and four Ural tanker trucks, carrying some of the vital fuel to keep Marqueville running. Even though it had other means to supply itself with fuel, the daily trips over this route was a contributing factor to keeping it running.
Ali sighed deeply. He was near the road where one of the trucks was supposed to stop. He carefully checked his AKM again. The vehicles were now getting closer and closer. They had to execute this perfectly or their carefully planned attack would fall into a thousand pieces. The lights swept over them, as the convoy made another turn. Deep in the ditch, they weren't drawing any attention of the bored escorts. They had driven this trip for hundreds of times now and not once had anything happened that was more exciting than a bunny crossing the road.
The convoy was very close now. Ali, a simple man from the north that had been attracted by the propaganda spread by the ALA, had signed up. He had lost everything in the fighting between the warlords. His wife, his son. Soon, he'd rejoin them, though.

The first convoy vehicle now rolled past him. The tankers were heavy loaded and thus not very fast. The result of this was a crawl speed. One would say it was just the perfect target for an ambush.
An engine revved up with a roar, as suddenly the Toyota jumped up over the small hill, its gunner hanging onto his machine gun. The time had come, the signal was given. The fighters jumped up from their positions in the ditch as the convoy screeched to a halt from the sudden surprise movement.
What happened afterwards happened quickly. Ali remembered jumping up to the cabin of the first Ural, pulling open the door and smacking his rifle butt into the driver's face. The driver was an old man, a defenceless one at that. Adrenaline had taken over Ali and his actions were automatic. He was vaguely aware of the gunfire as ALA fighters opened up on the escort vehicles, completely peppering the men inside. He reached inside and unbuckled the man's seatbelt before pulling him out of the vehicle. The man had his hands to his face as he fell out of the truck and onto the road below.
Only then did Ali become aware of his surroundings. The area was now bathed in light from the headlights of the Toyota and the two ALA Land Rovers. Ali looked around, seeing all drivers had been dragged from their cabins and were now in the ditch, cowering as the ALA fighters watched over them. Both escorts were completely peppered, their occupants killed by the hail of bullets from the ALA fighters.

"Hurry hurry!" the ALA cell leader shouted, as he directed his people to push the wrecked Land Rovers into the ditch. Several fighters emerged from the ALA Rovers, carrying backpacks and rushing their ways over to the Ural tankers, beginning their work as they climbed up on them. He hurried over to where the drivers were now cowering under the watchful eyes of the fighters.
"Take their clothing and their IDs. We need to hurry!"
Ali took his AKM and moved himself over to the captives, as they were being helped out of their clothing and stripped down to their underwear. Ali was one of the men who had to wear their clothing, posing as a driver of one of the trucks.
Several minutes later, the ALA crews hopped off the Urals, their jobs done. Four ALA fighters had traded their personal clothing and weapons for the dull grey of the drivers, with cap and sunglasses and all. It struck Ali as odd... Sunglasses at night. But he wasn't to question. All the papers and IDs were accounted for.

"Quickly, quickly! No time to lose!" the cell leader hurried everyone into play. The plates from the wrecked rovers had been taken and put on the ALA Defenders, who had taken position at the front and back of the convoy, just like the original ones. Ali climbed into his Ural, with one ALA fighter climbing up with him.
"Look, Ali." the fighter said, as he handed him something that looked like a TV remote.
"When you're in, flip this switch and pull this lever" The fighter explained, showing what he meant, careful not to actually do it, "And make sure you don't let go, until the time is right, my friend."
Ali slowly nodded, as he took the device.

"Remember. Switch, lever."
Ali nodded again as he started to realize what he had gotten himself into. He had made peace with himself and his God. But knowing you were going to die... It remained odd. A luxury and a curse. You know where you will die, how you will die and when. A luxury, since many didn't have time to think, no time to reflect upon how they had lived their lives. And a curse, for doubt can consume one's mind. Ali had gone through both phases. He had wanted to quit, to get out of here and just continue on with his life. But there was no going back now. He was going. He knew. He had no choice.

"Good luck brother. Until we meet again." the fighter said, pulling Ali out of his trance. The fighter gave Ali a brotherly hug before jumping off the truck.

Several minutes later, the convoy was on the move again, following the dirt road down to Marqueville. Ali driving the second Ural truck. In the back, the load of fuel gently bobbed around in the tank, amidst the high explosive charge inserted by the ALA crews. Tonight was Ali's last night on this planet.
In his side mirror, he saw the remaining ALA fighters packing up. As the group got smaller in the mirror, he heard a long burst of gunfire. Ali tried to maintain his focus on the truck in front of him. But that was a lost battle. It only lasted several seconds before he reached for the dashboard and pulled down the picture of the young woman with a baby in her hands. Ali had no doubt it was the man's daughter with his grandson. Ali sighed deeply.

---

Marqueville border,
The following morning

The convoy was approaching the checkpoint on the Marqueville border. They had driven throughout the night and with a low sun in their faces from the east, they were greeted by the low bluffs that led to the outskirts of the city. Gaul's last remaining stronghold. The last bastion of a nation which had once ruled the entire country. The Gauls had been beaten back and this was all that remained of their colonization. They left poverty and war in their wake.

The first vehicle stopped at the checkpoint, the guns from the Gaul soldiers following them. Suspicion reigned, as more than once there had been attempts on Gaul lives within and on the border of Marqueville.
Ali pulled his truck up behind the others, just as he was instructed and put on the handbrake. He was surprisingly calm he realized. A Gaul officer walked up to him and climbed up to the cabin.

"Papers" he asked in French. A check the ALA knew was always done; All drivers employed to drive the fuel must know French, to make sure there'd never be a mistake in following a Gaul order.

"Oui" Ali replied, as he pulled out the papers from the chest pocket and handed them over to the officer, who proceeded to check them.

"How was the drive?" The officer asked in French again, still testing.

"Boring, but it pays for the bread." Ali replied in fluent French. There had been a reason he was chosen for this mission. Nothing to lose and able to speak French.

"I bet it does" The officer said, as he handed the papers back. Ali had seen that while the officer checked the papers, other soldiers had used mirrors to visually inspect the underside of the vehicles for any devices and a German Shepherd had walked around the vehicle. The same was done with all other vehicles. They'd find nothing, the deadly load the ALA had put into the trucks being masked by the fuel.

"Why are you behind schedule?" the officer asked then.

"Flat tire. We had to replace it in the middle of the night" Ali replied. The convoy was behind schedule for nearly an hour and it was agreed to blame it on a tire. A similar reply would be given by all other drivers.

"D'accord. (Everything is okay)" the officer said as he jumped down again and took some steps back, to get a confirmation that the other inspectors had also green lit the vehicle, which they had.
The first vehicles were cleared. The first Defender and two trucks had been cleared, the others were still in the process of being examined. Since the leading vehicle didn't want to increase the chance of being caught, it started rolling through the remainder of the checkpoint area, to the curiosity of the Gaul soldiers. It resulted in a lot of raised eyebrows. Normally, they waited for all the other vehicles to pass. Though not protocol, it was custom.

Ali put his vehicle into gear as he let it roll with the truck in front of him. He looked down, at the surprised officer.
"Shit" he thought, but he couldn't stop now. The Defender had already cleared the checkpoint and soon, he would as well. He looked in his mirror and saw the third truck closing in on him. But the fourth was still stopped.

François Daniau, a Sergeant in the Armée de Terre, had the duty to check the 4th truck. Since his stationing here, he had checked at least a hundred trucks by now. François was an easy man and had quickly become acquainted with some of the drivers. He was glad this specific convoy had finally arrived, since that'd mean he could have a beer tonight. The driver of truck #4 still owed him one. He smiled at the prospect of going on leave in the city tonight.

But as he approached the vehicle, he noticed something was off. This wasn't Najib, the driver he had befriended. This was someone else. It was only a day ago when he got a call from Najib he was enroute. Something was off. François jumped up to the cabin to talk through the window. This surely wasn't Najib.
"Papers" François asked. The unknown driver handed them to him. These were Najib's papers. But not Najib.
"Where's Najib?" Sgt. François Daniau asked after having made himself a 110% sure that these were the right papers for the wrong driver. He handed them back to the driver, to free up one hand as it went down to his pistol holster.

"He got sick, I replace him." The man responded, as he tried to avoid looking at François. Suddenly, the heavy sound of the Urals moving reached François. Wrong man, wrong papers, wrong customs. This wasn't right.

"Get out of the vehicle!" François said, immediately dropping himself from the cabin and pulling open the door. As he swung open the door, he stepped back, and pulled his MAC-50 sidearm, aiming up at the driver, who had frozen up.

"Out of the vehicle! Toute de suite!" François shouted again. The driver appeared panicked and reached for something and revealed a sort of remote. Instantly, Sgt. Daniau recognized it as a deadman switch. Against regulation and against all common sense of shooting the man, François leaped up towards the driver in the Ural and grabbed hold of the switch.

"ALARM!" he shouted and it turned out he had surprised the driver, who was in complete panic now. Sgt. François Daniau was now halfway in the cabin, his feet near the driver's face as he had jumped on the driver's hands, into the cabin.
Thinking by reflex, François brought up both his boots as he bent his knees, hitting the driver square in the face.

Bam! Broken nose. Bam! Shattered jaw. Bam! Lights out as François felt the driver's grip go numb.
"Just don't let go, you idiot!" He thought.

Suddenly, hell broke lose outside.
Outside, other Gaul soldiers and the ALA fighters had seen how the Gaul NCO had pulled open the door and immediately afterwards, jumped in. The reaction from both sides came in the same instant. The Gaul soldiers immediately raised their rifles, and in the same moment the ALA fighters had kicked open the Defenders' doors and were already spraying the area with inaccurate AKM fire. Several Gaul soldiers were struck and fell to the ground, but none were killed as their vests caught the impacts.

The entire firefight lasted only five seconds. Almost immediately, the ALA fire was met by Gaul counterfire, as the soldiers manning the checkpoint suddenly and clearly knew who the targets were. Three seconds into the fight, with two of the four ALA fighters already reduced to sieves by the 5.56 hail from the Gauls' FAMAS rifles. A M2 Browning machine gun fired a burst into the vehicle, ending the gunfight as the large .50 bullets cut through the Land Rover, which was about as much cover to the ALA fighters behind it as a piece of paper. The heavy MG fire silenced the terrorists.
After relative silence had returned, a cry was heard from the cabin of the Ural.
"Je suis assis sur une bombe ici! AIDER!"
(I am sitting on a bomb here! HELP!) EOD was already being called up.

"Stop those trucks!" the Gaul Lieutenant shouted as he ran after the departing Ural trucks. They had heard the gunfight and were now flooring it, knowing they had been compromised. Soldiers ran towards their parked Peugot P4 patrol vehicles. They quickly clambered in, speeding after the heavier Ural trucks. But the fuel trucks had a head start.
Ali had completely put the pedal to the metal once he heard the gunfire erupt. He was driving straight for his target, down a main street. Many pedestrians looked up, curious as to why three such heavy trucks were driving that fast. Soon, the sirens sounded as the P4's packed with Gaul soldiers raced after them.

What remained of the Gaul convoy approached a roundabout. The split up point. They took the turn very fast, one Ural going straight, one going left and the other going right. The Defender stopped in the centre of the roundabout and the ALA fighters disembarked, taking cover behind the stones that made up the roundabout, waiting for the Gaul pursuers. They didn't have to wait long. They saw the P4's approaching. Every fighter knew they were going to die.

Ali took the right turn. He had memorized his route. Two streets, then left. Then another five streets then another left. And he'd be at his target. He steered his vehicle through the traffic, bumping some of the vehicles out of the way. A hard left. He accelerated again.

Suddenly, a loud BANG echoed. The Ural that had taken the left turn had collided with a fire engine that was leaving the station. The driver, having already activated the deadman switch, had released it. The plastic explosives in the tank exploded, the fuel adding to the power as the entire truck and fire engine vaporized, three vehicles were engulfed in the flames with every window shattered within 500 meters and pedestrians around the site being killed instantly by the fireball or shockwave. Twenty-four dead, triple that amount injured.

The ALA fighters from the Land Rover were dead by now. The Gaul soldiers had anticipated the resistance as soon as they spotted the Defender had stopped. Gaul soldiers had engaged the fighters and killed all of them, with only two lightly injured of their own.

Ali had counted the streets. He was racing past them fast. His turn was coming up. He threw his vehicle into the turn, barely missing a bus that came from the opposite direction. Another loud explosion sounded and a fireball rose from above the rooftops, in the direction Ali was driving. The Ural that had gone straight had found its mark, driving itself into the side of the governor's building and exploding in the massive fireball. Ali was the only one still in play.
Suddenly, it appeared police and army were all over. Police cars were coming in on him from every side, their sirens blaring. Suddenly, for the first time, Ali felt fear. Fear of what he was going to do. He reached for the remote and quickly flipped the switch, squeezing the trigger. If he let go now, he wouldn't feel it.
Ali made his final turn, narrowly avoiding a police car. The Ural seemed to jump suddenly, as one of the tires was shot out and immediately deflated by Gaul SWAT officers that had immediately moved into the governor's mansion, suspecting him to be the target. Ali heard another ping, as a round impacted into the passenger door. Another bang took another tire. It was now or never Ali!

He threw about his steering wheel, lining up directly to the front gate of the mansion. He saw a line of Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale officers, the Gaul anti-terrorist team, scrambling to take positions. Their rifles were aimed directly at Ali. He tried to make himself as small as could be, as all he heard was the pings on the vehicle as they opened fire on him. His windscreen broke and Ali felt the truck wanting to veer off to the left, as that tire had now completely deflated. But Ali kept on going, his foot was now almost through the floor of the cabin. He didn't care when he felt the sharp pain in his left shoulder as a bullet impacted him there and the entire cabin seemed to explode as more and more rounds found place.

Ali's truck smashed through the gate, blowing it clear from the mechanism that was supposed to open and close it. He was too close to fail now. A hard right. There. He saw several black vehicles lined up in front of the entrance. His target. He saw men in suits, agents of the Bureau Des Territoires, no doubt; produce weapons from their clothing, and fire at Ali. He was only vaguely aware of the shots impacting his chest this time. His vision blurred. But his mission was over. He won. He was too close to stop him.

Ali gave one more pull to the steering wheel, using what little he could to still see and direct himself in between the front door and the vehicles. Ali smiled as he let go of the lever he had nearly forgotten he was holding. He was going to see his wife and son again. In the same instant the thought was registered by Ali's brain, it was consumed by the fire as the Ural exploded. Ali didn't feel a thing. He'd never feel anything again.

[Terra Azure]

Port Blacksand, Terra Azure.

Though the name of the country may give hint to a nice, pleasant country, things were not all what it seemed as with the recent election where Presidential candidate Father Enrique Saviem won his 5th term with a resounding 100% of the popular vote as reported by the state run news paper La Tribune, this was by many believed to be a fraudulent election as only 8% of the populus were actually given the vote, as such a crowd had begun to develop in a central square.

The crowd was made up of around 100 people to start with with chants of "Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie?....", the crowd began to march, and by the time it had crossed the city to the government quarter it was close to a thousand protesters, some holding up posters of missing persons and they all were shouting the same thing"....Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie?", then they came to one of the many checkpoints in the city where they were brought to a halt by the military that rules the city. providing law and order.

"ARRÊT!!" shouted one of the guards, the crowd ignored the call and continued to march forwards shouting "Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie? Où est la démocratie?"

"laisser avoir, pas de survivants, ce doit être un message pour les salauds qui osent défier le bon seigneur et notre président" said the commanding officer, and so the guards opened up with AK47s and cut some of the crowd down.

By the checkpoint was a BMP2 APC, its engine running, "Avant!" said the commander of the BMP2 and so with a lurch it began to move forwards driving over some of the wounded protesters as if they were not there causing the crowd to run, however as some ran, the gunner opened up with the 30mm gun, sending some more protesters down, then one of them hurled a grenade, it landed by the track of the BMP2 APC and blew up causing it to shed a track. Seeing this some of the crowd rushed forwards however the 7.62 coaxial machinegun was put to effective use, cutting some of the protesters down.

From behind the damaged APC, some more troops were on their way, riding jeeps and in the back of some soviet era Kamaz military trucks, though this was in vein as the troops, though armed were simply out numbered, this caused the troops to have to make a tactical retreat for now, though they would strike back when their reinforcements had arrived.

That night
The residential district where the march had begun was seen by the president as a potential hotbed of resistance.
"Niveler tous les bâtiments de ce quartier" was the order from the president and this would be carried out with rutheless efficiency, As the residents slept, the T72 and AMX tanks moved in and from behind the lines, heavy artiliery opened up,

By morning, this was the sight that those who survived the night awoke to
.
Soldiers were going through buildings systematically shoting anyone else who had survived. The orders were orders and to not carry them out would mean certain death to the soliders who refused to carry it out.

[Platteisen Adler]

GURTELTIER, PLATTEISEN ADLER

Kurt Von Boulle was now in his late fifties, and life was, well, summed up in one word. 'Scheiße'. As an Adlerite with an Ecossian mother, he went through his early school life without much hassle.Mind you, that was before the whole Invasion. After that, it was as if life just got worse and worse; potential employers refused to speak with him after hearing the Martell lilt to his voice, he was blamed for the deaths of relatives, he was even assaulted in a bar in the nineties, not that the police did much to convict the man after. They didn't care.

Despite his early feelings of being an Adlerite, the years of mental abuse had worn his patriotism as an Adlerite down and down. Now, well, he didn't care for the country. His father was dead, killed in a bomb attack near the beginning of the invasion when he was only in his teens. But he had never blamed his 'country'. He had blamed the freedom fighters, sorry, Terrorists, for it. They had been attempting to murder a passing platoon of Nouvel Ecosse Soldiers. All they killed was some men chatting next to a newspaper stand. One of those men had been Pierre Von Boulle.

Now, aged 58, he found himself believing himself as an Ecossian. Who cared he had only visited the country as a tourist, never a homecomer. His mother had lived there now since the seventies, when life had simply gotten too tough for a foreigner in an angry land. He had saw her, what, six, seven times? They had been strange visits. Life in Nouvel Ecosse, especially way to the West close to the Aurora Confederacy, was a far cry. The last time he had visited Nouvel Ecosse he had travelled by train from Edinburgh across through the mountains. It had been beautiful. He had felt at home.

But he was back in the slummy apartments of Gurteltier, back amongst the hostiles. An old analogue, one channel, cracked television was blaring in his flat, and like always the mention of Nouvel Ecosse, his real love, caught his attention.

"BREAKING NEWS FROM ANDREAS: A Peaceful Rally of Adlerite Civilians and Veterans, from both sides, hoping for a peaceful end to the conflict ended in slaughter when Nouvel Ecosse Infantrymen opened fire. The death toll is well over a hundred and rising, and many are left seriously injured in the local hospital. The shooting has sparked fierce backlash both at home and in Nouvel Ecosse, where demonstrations have begun outside of army bases. A series of car bombings have left many Nouvel Ecossian troops wounded as the PALA announces its revenge."

Great. More bloodshed. Lets just hope the pricks out there don't start on me again for this.

[Pangus]

TOULOUX
TERRE DES GAULES

Walking out into the bloc's courtyard he pulled up the his hood as to keep the small flakes of snow from falling onto his face. He could hear the sound of the sirens moving, two maybe three streets away. Making his way to the street and walking along he ignored the sound. After all it was a constant natural thing in the slums, no matter which they were. Letting his thoughts consume him the sound of sirens getting closer went completely unnoticed, even when they stopped just in front of him.

"Arrêtez-vous là! Vous êtes en état d'arrestation!"

Ti'rel froze, his surroundings suddenly becoming apparent to him. He was looking down at the sidewalk, but he knew there were cops in front of him. They were walking in his direction. Shit shit, I shouldn't of worn this orange coat. She told me not to wear... They walked right past him. Looking up he realized they were talking to him. They had been talking to a Kamalbian sitting on a porch just behind him. At the moment he didn't even matter. For the past few it had been like this. When ever the police showed up there was usually a Kamalbian going off in handcuffs. Since that ALA attack in Marqueville the police seemed to be profiling. Ti'rel skin was dark, just wasn't dark enough. Best to leave before I press my luck.... Getting his feet to move again he quickly moved on.

He ended up at another building just a few blocks away on the same street. Same grey, graffiti painted door leading into a bloc full of three hundred apartments barely fit to live in. Ti'rel walked in and went straight to the elevator, hitting the button to go up. It didn't light up. Standing there he hit it a few more times until an elderly woman came from out of the stairwell. "Il a été rompu depuis des années." Nodding he held open the door outside for her before heading up by the stairwell to the six floor. Knocking on the door of apartment 603 he noted the giant orange smear, someone had tried to clean off some graffiti.

The door was opened up by a man, a Pangegian like himself. "Rosa sent me from Paritte." The man reached into a vase sitting on an end table behind and pulled out a piece of paper handing it to Ti'rel. "Be there 6 AM sharp tomorrow. And don't wear that damn jacket." "It's the only one I've got." The man reached into pocket and pulling out some money and handing it to him. "Then get a new one and be good brother." The door was shut and he made Ti'rel made his way out of the complex, walking past two more Pangegians and a Prudenesian headed up to the top floor on his way on his way out.

5:48 PM

Ti'rel walked out of his apartment door followed by his two roommates. They weren't the only ones. Multiple "residents" were making their way out. The paper he had received had the address of the building two blocks down and a door number on the top floor. Of course it wasn't the actually meeting place. There was a code, not a good one but there was a code and it was supposed to change every meeting. Told by his roommates today's paper would present an address two blocks south and everything said was the opposite. So instead of the meeting be tomorrow at 6 in the morning it was tonight at 6 in their very building, taking place in the cellar.

They headed down and found the place full already as if they were the last to arrive. Unlike the usual meeting of the Terre des Gaules Heralds' chapters there was no one wearing orange. No music playing, no alcohol, no drugs, and the lights were on even though there were speakers set up. The door was locked behind them as someone in the room blew a horn, or maybe it was digital and coming from the speakers. Which ever, it was loud, but it quieted the room. The man on the low stage had one of those vintage hockey mask with a sun and three failing stars spray pained orange over the white. They didn't have to see his face to know who he was. After all he was a internet sensation. Anastasio Ver'gelia, also known as Mr. Phase, had been an underground EDM dj in the republic often posting his music on the internet. After the invasion he used his internet fame to become the Voice of the Herlads. Posting videos, both with and without the mask, of himself promoting the Heralds and speaking out against the Empire for all his fans to see. Everyone quickly went silent as if awestruck that he was actually here.

"Brothers, sisters, extended family..." Extended family? Ti'rel looked around slightly. There were a few more lighter skinned men and women in the room. Prudenesians were here. "...you have come here today because you heard the resounding of the horn in your hearts! The call of the Heralds has traveled over the seas to find the lost peoples! To call you home so that we might bring the light back to our shores and defeat the Raven who's wings over shadow our countries! The Empire came and our leadership abandoned us! They took your hope and had you run, but I am here to tell you there has always been hope! The Spartanians haven't won for we are still fighting! The only way they could defeat us is if we give up! The western countries turned their backs on you when you came, but we don't need them! Come back home, fight with us, and united as one again we will take back our land."

Ti'rel couldn't help but be excited by the speech. It wasn't so much the words as it was Anastasio's voice and presence. The man was arguably the Heralds' biggest sign of inspiration. A musician who'd dedicated his life to entertaining the masses without thought of profit had seemingly picked up a gun without hesitation to fight for his country. Word had it he was number one on the Empire's list of terrorist leaders. How'd he get manage to get into Terre des Gaules? No, better question is how'd he make it out of the Empire? It didn't matter, what mattered was that Ti'rel and the rest of them were now excited and pumped up. When the clipboard came around he gave no hesitation in signing his name and pledging himself to the Heralds of Pangus, the true Heralds and that gang he'd been running with only days ago. He wanted to go back to the homeland and fight. To do whatever it would take to kick out the Spartanians.

[Romberg]

As he read the report, Directer Högel got more and more agitated. He normally would like to disclose the contents to public, but this wasn't the time. There was far too much at stake.

Several months ago, when there was a referendum held in Romberg over whether to join Astyria or not, the people had clearly stated yes with a 80% majority voting for it. But what if the vocal minority, the 20% who voted against it, were right? It would spell disaster for the nation, especially since there was such a high level of dependence on Astyria by Romberg. And especially to the Kaiser, who was faced with poor economic results recently, and had a strain on his legitimacy. Any false move now, especially one with concern to withdrawing from Astyria, whom they had only joined not long ago, could spell the end of the Kaiser's career. And hence he trusted Högel greatly with doing the right thing.

But now, it was a difficult decision. There were already reports of terrorist attacks in several nations within Astyria proper, which although were many thousand kilometers away, were already raising several alarm bells within government and the Imperial Armed Forces. And in addition, apparently through the news, it was reported that there were already several destabilizing factors present in several Astyrian nations threatening the very existence of the nations themselves. And with the well-trained and armed military and police forces, terrorist threats were relatively mild in the opinion of the leadership of the nation. Yet on the other hand, it is these destabilizing factors and organizations that cause the most concern.

And most worrisome was that there were signs that the ALA were back. Once again, despite the large distance between Romberg proper and the rest of Astyria, it still was an issue to be taken seriously. Indeed, from what the III and the government knew about the ALA, they were much better organized and armed than your average militant organization, and much more ruthless to add on to it. They appeared to not negotiate, and stop at nothing to achieve their goals. Hence, even though they were prepared for it, the ALA nonetheless still presented a worrisome threat to Romberg. And with the increase in activity of the ALA, it signalled increased action must be taken.

As such, Director Högel was obviously concerned after reading the report, and had to chug down his coffee in rapid pace to calm himself down, before calling the Kaiser and the former Field Marshal Graf Lenesov to report the news, and discuss a course of action.

(OOC: Will post details of the meeting next post.)

[Nouvel Ecosse]

EDINBURGH, NOUVEL ECOSSE

"We have to pull out of this country now, fellow countrymen. Our attempts to introduce our fellow man to the modern era have failed. In fact, they have more than failed. They have been spat back in our face with the elegance and arrogance of a camel. Why on Earth would we stick by these ungrateful wretches when it is these exact wretches shooting our men? I'm sure the House is pretty unanimous in its agreement with the release from the Army that it played no part in the slaughter of Ecossian visitors to the Peace Rally, or that of any of the civilians there present. Yet they shall not listen to our declerations; for forty years we have brought an element of peace and stability to their chaotic ranks, and all we have received in turn is dead bodies. The action is clear: we must remove our forces from Platteisen Adler and let them fend for themselves. They are a drain on our strained resources, a drain that leads down a sewer and only weakens the foundations below our steady house. It is time that we return them to the chaos of before."

Eric Darfur, MP & Minister of Finance, finished his speech to rapturous applause from elements of the House, particularly amongst members of his own Conservative & Republican Party. But there was still many in the House that were left opposed or indifferent; many who had seen the benefits Nouvel Ecosse had brought to Platteisen Adler. The Communist Party were particularly in uproar.

"WE cannot abandon our fellow beings to the whim of a corrupt and evil neighbour. We all know that the Yellow Star Republic have been eyeing up the territory for years, and it will be a horror to just hand the citizens of PA over on a plate to the secrecy and unlawfulness of our Nordic brethren. When we invaded PA it was partly to protect them, and even though they may wish for their freedom they need to realise that YSR can not bring them this. We must continue the invasion if only to keep them safe from the threats outwith the nation. Is Regional security really a drain on our resources? I do not believe so. Our military is stretched as it is. I say we should increase the force in Adler! The YSR shall not be granted a border with us!"

Bendroit Perreira MP finished to rapturous applause from his Communist Party, and boos from the more Conservative members of the Parliament. Boos and applause quickly turned to groans as the Elvis Loves Walri MP stepped up to speak. (For those unaware, Nouvel Ecosse has granted the vote to Walrus for many years, although few realise it. This is more as an act of heritage then of humour.)

"As Minister of Rocks and a qualified Geologist, we must not let the rock-haters in Adler take control. Who knows what they could do to the rugged coastlines of limestone." Barry the Geologist finished, and Pedro Von Gutenberg took up the call: "SCIENCE is the answer! Ray-Guns, lots and lots of Ray-Guns, that is the antidote!"

As was normal, the ELW party was ignored and debate turned to normality. The Minister of Defense finally approached the speakers podium.

"I propose that we enact a full evacuation of forces from Platteisen Adler, apart from the Naval Base on Marakech, a base to vital to lose. All forces will be withdrawn but placed on high alert on the evidence of unpredictability on account of the Yellow Star Republic, and forces at the borders will be tripled. Patrols will be doubled along the sealine, and all Platteisen Ships shall remain out of Nouvel Ecosse Waters. The Adlerites will be forced to defend for themselves."

Votes for: 158
Votes Against: 129
Abstinations: 13

[Agrincourt]

FOB DUST
50 KM SOUTH OF BEAUMONT
AGRINCOURT

It was a hot day. Too hot for Captain Andrew Davis, the commanding officer of Forward Operating Base Dust. FOB Dust was the furthest outpost of His Majesty's Armed Forces, located on the southwestern tip of Agrincourt, 50 kilometres south of Beaumont and barely a kilometre away from the bordering People's Republic of Casegene. A barren, semi-arid wasteland of shrubs and other plants was the only thing between the FOB and the rolling hills in the distance. These hills ran along the majority of this part of Agrincourt and acted as a natural border between the two nations. The FOB itself was rather small, less than one square kilometre in size, and cordoned off by thin strips of Hesco bastions, with barbed wire infront of them. The inside of the base included the small parade grounds, a number of barracks, four watchtowers at each corner, a motor pool, a small field hospital and a makeshift landing zone for helicopters. The entrance to the base was a simple opening between the walls, wide enough to fit the majority of vehicles. It was guarded by a few soldiers from the 1st Battalion of Royal Southern Rifles, who made up the majority of the small garrison of one-hundred troops.

Captain Davis had been the commanding officer of the forward operating base for the six months, but had still not gotten used to the wide range of temperatures in this part of Agrincourt. At noon, it could be insufferably hot, but during night time it could drop down to sub-zero temperatures. Davis, a native of Clevemount, the capital of the Southwest Province, had been an officer of the Royal Army for the past four years. After graduating from the University of Southern Agrincourt, and finding civilian life dull, Davis decided to try out the Army. He was commissioned into the service after the gruelling 45-week officer training course at the Royal Military Academy. He served as a Lieutenant for two years, most of it as a platoon commander, before being promoted to the rank of Captain. The majority of his short career was spent on the central garrison of Redmont. FOB Dust was his second posting.

A knock on the door of the Captain’s office dragged him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the stacks of paperwork, glancing towards the doorway. He reached up to his eyes, rubbing them gently, before speaking up.

“Enter.”

The door opened with a slight creak, and in walked a trooper, who stood at attention as he reached Davis’ desk. The insignia on the front of his desert combat dress jacket marked him out as a Lieutenant. This was Davis’ executive officer, Mark Wilson. He was a man of average height and stocky build, with short black hair and piercing green
eyes. Davis sat down then.

“At ease, Mark. Sit down.”

The Lieutenant shook his head slightly and relaxed his posture.

"I'd rather stand for this."

“What seems to be the problem?”

“We received a message from Command, five minutes ago, sir. Apparently, there’s major activity on the other side of the border.”

“Did they elaborate?”

“They told us to stand by.”

Andrew shook his head slightly, letting out a sigh as he rose from the chair. His back ached from hours and hours of doing paperwork, but he shrugged it off and nodded to the officer in front.

“If it’s the bloody Casegenian army, it won’t be very good. Don’t tell the lads anything yet, though. We’ll see what else Command says.” The threat of an invasion by the Casegenian army seemed rather impossible, but knowing the leader of that country, who was seemingly psychotic, nothing ever was predictable.

“Got it, sir.”

The duo left the small rectangular office, walking out into the boiling heat of another hot day on the Agrincourtian steppes. Davis trailed behind the Lieutenant as he approached a small tent with desert markings underneath an open camo net. They reached the tent within a few seconds and Mark entered first. The air inside was stale and incredibly warm. Davis couldn't understand how the Signals personnel inside managed to breathe in these conditions.

"Has Command said anything yet, Corporal Williams?" Corporal Williams, a man of twenty-four, was the man in charge of the Signals detachment based on the garrison.
"Negative, sir. It's been silent since you left."

"Right. Keep monitoring, then."

"Yes, sir."

They were then distracted by a sudden flurry of noises outside of the tent. Davis looked across to Mark uneasily, then nodded towards the exit, toward which they proceeded. Outside, dozens of troopers were rushing all around, climbing onto the ledges of the wall. Andrew raised an eyebrow slightly, and looked back to the Lieutenant, who himself was busy looking around. Following the infantry troopers, they made it onto the wall within a few short moments, and gazed out towards the open wasteland. Sand and dust was being kicked up, imitating something of a dust storm.

"A dust storm?" Davis said, more so to himself than anyone else.

"Can't be. We don't get dust storms around here," his Lieutenant answered.

"Well, if it's not a dust storm.."

Out of the apparent dust storm, black metal appeared. Thick, black metal, moving at the speed of a hundred horses. Vehicles, tens of them. Main battle tanks, infantry fighting vehicles, jeeps, all charging forward at the FOB in a horizontal line. A horizontal line of death. Davis' sharp, grey eyes lost the sharpness for a split second, widening in fear. He didn't let the fear rule him for long, and before he knew it, his training had kicked in and he was yelling orders at the top of his voice.

"Get ready -- defensive positions! Move it!"

He quickly left the walls, continuing to yell at the top of his voice, ordering the troopers up onto the walls. He eventually arrived at the armoury, where he picked up his helmet, the kevlar vest along with the standard issue SA80A2 assault rifle. He left the armoury, and picked up the pace, sprinting towards the wall, which he scaled with the help of another trooper. He gazed on, beyond the walls, observing the line ahead. It was closing in fast - too fast. The only thing they could do was to prepare, let everyone know. The closest military base was the small garrison based at Beaumont. Davis turned to a fellow trooper, a radio operator, nodding at him slowly.

"Get Command on the hor-"

Before Davis was able to finish his sentence, he was half-way through the air, flying towards the floor below. He felt immense heat, and the gust of a wind guiding him towards the dusty floor. He could see the pure, sky blue sky above and his arms as they flailed around without guidance. His hearing was gone - everything was muted, blurry, unintelligible. He couldn't focus on the sounds around him, he couldn't focus on anything except the pretty sky above. His thoughts disappeared as he felt the force of the fall knocking air out of his lungs. His vision was consumed by pure darkness, and his last thoughts were of the pretty sky.

[Terra Azure]

Terra Azure/Dungeyland border
With the destruction wrought over the last 24 hours, some of the residents that were living in the capital of Terra Azure, Port Blacksand, or to give it its French name, Sable Port Noir, had decided to flee the guards, packing what ever they could into bags and escaping under shell fire. Some of the jeeps recieved direct hits from 120mm shells, the resultant explosion obliterating the lightly built, unarmoured suzuki and toyota 4 wheel drives.

These people had driven for a few hours to get as close as they could to the border when a border guard in an soviet built APC spotted the vehicles moving forwards towards the border, "Capitaine, les terroristes rebelles au sud-ouest" he said. The so called rebel terrorists were actually civilians, fleeing from the slaughter of the previous night,

The captain took a look through his binoculars at the dust coloumn generated by the vehicles, "hmmmm" he thaught, then glanced over towards Dungeyland, and the border guards there before turning to face the border guard "privé, les terroristes ne sont pas à traverser la frontière, s'ils le font, VOUS allez payer pour cela, ce que je fais assez clair?"

"Oui, monsieur" came the reply, and so he took aim with the 30mm cannon on the APC, pulling back the charge handle and releasing it, the cannon made a destinctive clack as the handle dropped into the ready position, and so the border soldier squeezed the trigger, sending a chain of 30mm shells flying into the convoy. The lead vehicle was stopped in its tracks, the driver killed instantly by the hail of 30mm bullets tearing through the vehicle. in total 8 people aboard that pickup were killed in that initial burst.

The second vehicle stopped as did the rest of the convoy, then as soon as the vehicles had stopped, they started to reverse and not in an orderly retreat either, these were unarmed civilians fleeing from what could be seen as a warcrime all they wish for is to get out of Terra Azure safely however the president had given an order to prevent people leaving the country, and this order was being carried out for to disobey the orders of the president and indeed any superior officer would mean almost certain excecution infront of a firing squad.

Between the border post and the frontier fence, there is around a kilometer of space, a dedicated "no mans land", this is technically demilitarized zone however heading toward it, one of the 4 wheel drives exploded after striking a landmine, claiming 8 lives, as such the refugees bailed from their jeeps and ran into the desert, trying to get as far away as possible from the border guards.

"Tuez-les!" shouted the commanding officer "tuer les terroristes!"

Rhis was followed up by yet another burst of fire from the 30mm cannon mounted atop the APC, to avoid spooking the refugees anymore, some soldiers headed off on foot to track down the refugees, some by this time had managed to get to the border fence, dodging the landmines that had been randomly placed and were in the process of climbing over the fence, women jumping over first then being handed young children whilst others snipped the fence with wire cutters. This did not matter to the soldiers who simply opened fire with AK47s, causing the crowd to scatter, those who were already in dungeyland were targeted, be they woman, child or adult make, the guards firing across the border.

Dungeyland
A young man aged around 25 is running to the border post as guards shoot at him from Terra Azure, the bullets striking the ground beside him as he runs "nous aider, nous sommes massacrés. il a été un massacre, les femmes et les enfants tués, nous avons besoin d'aide! S'il vous plaît aidez-nous" he is shouting to the border guard, then a bullet finds its target, striking him in his back, he goes down, the bullet rendering him paralysed from the waist down, however he is still alive, just.

[GHawkins]

GSA Headquarters,
GHawkins City

"Ladies and gentlemen, be seated. Please be seated... Yes... please be seated and be silent..."
A sigh of straining patience followed, until eventually, since the room still hadn't become quiet, it snapped.
"Just sit your asses down and shut up! That means you too Harvey!"
Finally, the room got quiet as everyone found their seats and kept their mouths shut. The only thing audible was the clicking of pens as papers were shuffled to get ready to take notes, or the occasional bleep from a tablet to make notes via that.
"Jesus... Thank you!" the speaker at the front of the room, next to the whiteboard said in a sarcastic tone.

The speaker was the 41 year old GSA Special Agent Anthony Palermo. Palermo was the head of the foreign branch of the GSA's anti-terrorism department. The department was established in 1973, after it became clear that a threat to GHawkins might not be in the form of another nation's armed forces, but rather a small enemy that can go up the crowd. It was the time where Kamalbian terrorist attacks in Terre des Gaules were abundant. In fear of similar attacks sparking in GHawkins because of its foreign-policy, the GSA established both a domestic and foreign terrorist department. The first was tasked with investigating possible terrorist attacks inside GHawkins borders and terrorists operating within the country, the second was tasked with intercepting cells attempting to infiltrate GHawkins, finding their bases of operations, relaying intel on imminent attacks on other countries and assisting said countries in eliminating the source.

Palermo's department was actively working on the front lines back in 1992 during operation Renewed Hope, as they attempted to root out the Astyrian Liberation Army. The anti-terrorism department was brought into the field because the ALA operated several classic terrorist tactics; car bombs, suicide bombers, IEDs. Following 1992, they gradually increased their intelligence on the ALA and as it increased, managed to squeeze them out, shutting down font operations, intercepting weapon and narcotics shipments and arresting affiliates. It wasn't enough to completely shut down the ALA, considering their base of operations was in a country heavily infested by civil wars and the GSA wasn't allowed the resources to touch them. However, it hurt the ALA as their treasury slowly but steadily declined.

However, soon the GSA's anti-terrorism unit's skills and cunning would be needed on the field again. It is for this reason that the entire department had assembled in the meeting room, chairs turned to the stage where Palermo was standing. Most were still half asleep and clenched to their coffee, as the morning sun had barely risen in the east.

"Alright. First of all, good morning everyone. I know it is very early, especially since most of you have been lax with clocking in and out at their scheduled work times. Those who I talk about know. Especially our valued Rick here who currently holds the record of being two hours late."
Chuckles sounded through the room.
"Alright, jokes aside people. I know it's very early, but please make sure you're all awake here. Playtime is over and we're going to have to work on the real deal again. If someone would please dim the lights..."
Slowly, the lights dimmed out in the room, and darkness took over.
"Thank you."
Palermo pressed a button on the remote and the beamer switched on, projecting the presentation onto the whiteboard.
"Alright. Small background history lesson before we start. Everyone is vaguely aware of the Astyrian Liberation Army, or ALA for short? I'm going to hit whoever admits not to."
Again, chuckles sounded in the room, but it remained quiet.
"Very well. Then I can skip the background."
He clicked again to the next picture. It was a picture of a massive amount of Kalashnikovs and RPG-7's all piled up, the legs of a SWAT officer still visible to the side.
"For the past years, we've steadily been decreasing the ALA's ability to operate. Arresting members, shutting down font operations throughout Astyria, intercepting their weapons and narcotics, preventing them from attacking any civilian or military targets. And we've been doing a good job at that if I may say."
He clicked onto the next picture, which displayed a graph, titled "ALA attacks". The timescale was from 1970 till 2012, with the line increasing from 1970 to 1993, and from then on declining.
"As you can all see, we were kicking ass. If we had continued on this trend, we'd have them rolled up in no time. Even their influence within Kamalbia was on the decline. They lacked the resources to openly act beyond the Kamalbian warlords that support them. All in all, things were looking good.."
Palermo waited for a moment, eyeing the people in the room.
"Anyone have an idea why I bring up the ALA then, if they're so far down the drain?"
The room remained silent, all awaiting the answer.

"Well, because we failed," Palermo said coldly. He moved onto the next picture. The screen was divided into five pictures. One taken in Marqueville, as they showed the burned-out firetruck with body bags lining the streets, the next two showing the half collapsed and still burning governor's mansion from different angles. Numbers four and five displayed the dead ALA fighters that had engaged the Gaul soldiers from their vehicles.
"We were too late on this one. This morning, we noticed a suspicious transaction to a possible ALA font. But by the time we had it linked, one of our assets reported this in. They bombed Marqueville, three successful bombings, one apprehended. "
Palermo waited a moment, to give everyone in the room the time to have everything sink in.
"Somehow! Somewhere! Someone screwed up on this one!" Palermo suddenly said in a loud voice. The pain could be felt throughout the room. Because Palermo was basically saying everyone in the room failed.
"However! I am not interested in scapegoats, or finding who fucked this one up! What I am interested in.. Is how these assholes suddenly found their balls in the sand and got the courage to pull this off, while they know we're breathing down their necks!"
Notes were quickly being written down on the papers. Suddenly a hand rose from the chairs.
"Jacob?" Palermo pointed, to which the man called Jacob rose.
"How do we know this was the ALA sir? Could've been anyone with a grudge against Terre des Gaul."
"Good question!" Palermo said, as Jacob took his seat again, "Anyone know the answer?"
Silence reigned.

"Well, then I'll give it myself, why we THINK this was the ALA. One; The motive is there, considering Marqueville is a Terre des Gaul place and the ALA hates them. Two; the communications and wiring were there. The ALA was paid or paid someone at the same time as this attack. I don't think that's a co-incidence. And three; This is a typical ALA attack. This wasn't an attack meant to be survived, this was a suicide charge. These men were prepared to die with their trucks, as they did. Kamalbia is a shit hole, with like a dozen militias fighting for towns, mines and what not. However, none of them is as radical as the ALA, to conduct suicide attacks like this."
Nods were shared throughout the room.
"However, I am doing your jobs now. Because that's why I called all of you together. I want you, to find out how this could happen. We want to verify this was the ALA, but we want to start by either confirming it or ruling them out. Should that search lead to nothing, we'll expand to other organizations. However, I want all of you on this one. People are dead because we didn't see this coming. I don't want that happening again. If this is the ALA, then find out why they suddenly want their spot on the stage back. And more importantly, who is shining the spot on them. Any questions?"
This time, no hand rose.
"Then now, the second thing I am concerned about" Palermo continued as he got the screen to jump to the next picture, displaying the scene at Adler after the RLO attack.
"On this one, we had no intel at all until we got told it happened. No digital fingerprints, no money flow, no nothing. Bottom line is; We don't know who did this. So far, we barely even know what this is. It was a meeting of veterans and preliminary reports indicate bullet casings have been found amidst at least five bomb sites. However, we have not been able to confirm this since our asset there only got this based on rumours, so assume nothing. I want to know who would bomb a veteran meeting like this. I'll be damned if this was the ALA again."
Palermo only now realized that the coffee on his stand had now cooled down considerably. He eyed it briefly, debating with himself whether to take a sip. He decided not to risk it.
"The problem I have here.." he went on, "is that it doesn't fit any profile of any terrorist attack we know. A meeting is no economic target, it's no political target and it's no military target. I want you to find out who did this and why, before whoever it is pulls something like this again. Questions?
Again, no hands went up.
"Very well! Then to work people. We're supplying you coffee by the truckload so I want no-one whining that they're tired. You're working for people's lives here! Let's get to it!"

Palermo clapped in his hands as the lights came back on. The room burst as people scrambled from their seats and to their desks. Phone calls were already being made well before people left the door. The ALA would feel that GSA was back on their necks and they were coming down, hard.

Classified location,
Central GHawkins

The rabbit hopped through the field, minding its own business of searching for his next meal. The rabbit still lived abundantly in GHawkins' forests and was also a popular pet amongst GHawkins families. Though this particular rabbit wasn't a pet of anyone.

He hopped through the field, avoiding the rocks, sometimes stopping to sniff the occasional flower before moving on. The rabbit didn't have to worry about bills, about taxes or about world politics. All he cared about was getting his meal for his hungry stomach and he'd be off to do whatever came up in him next. He didn't even keep track of time. No animals kept track of time like the dominant species of this planet did. Though at this moment, that dominant species was surely keeping track of time.

A soft "tfff tfff tff" briefly got the rabbit's attention. He looked up and around him, but saw nothing. Then he heard it again, as he started sniffing. Was it close? Was it far? He didn't know. He was just about to continue on his way when his world got put upside down.

The high pitched roar of the two MH-6s Littlebirds that suddenly flew over the field completely disorientated the rabbit, causing him to speed off out of the field, back into the safety of the forest. Enough adventure for one day for this little rabbit.

"Thirty seconds to target."
"Stand by!"
The MH-6s turned slightly as it flew, barely missing the treetops. Both MH-6s had sides-skits attached, one on each side. On every skit, two men dressed completely in black fatigues sat, secured against the aircraft, each holding a black HK53.
"Fifteen seconds to target!"
"Prepare for ropes!"
The helicopters now gained some lift as they started a decrease in speed, bleeding it with their altitude. They saw a small, ugly structure in the middle of the forest, without paint... it wasn't even a proper building.

The first MH-6 made a pass over it quickly followed by the second, before moving into a turn that brought them on another approach to the structure.
"We're over the target," the first pilot said into his helmet-mic.
"ROPES!" the team leader on the first skid shouted, as the two men farthest back on the skid pushed the coiled up ropes down from it, as they fell back to earth, uncoiling and landing with a thud on the roof.
"Go, go, go!" he shouted immediately, as the men grabbed onto the rope and let themselves slide down from it in a controlled descent down onto the flat roof. The first two landed and immediately brought up their weapons, fanning out over the roof as they aimed their HK's at the roof access. Soon, the other two landed with the same thuds.
"Clear!"
Immediately, the ropes fell from the sky as the first Littlebird detached them from the hooks and took off, as the second helicopter was already en route to take its position, the ropes already dangling from the side.

The first team assembled at the door, just as the ropes from team two fell down after they deployed and their helicopter moved out. They immediately rushed up to the side of the roof and attached the lines to the metal bars.

Through his OLED display, the leader of team one saw exactly what the leader of team two was doing, via his helmet camera. Everyone in the team was linked to one another.

Team two jumped over the sides and slowly walked themselves down, their ropes increasing as they did, they stopped just above the window.
"Team two ready."
"Stand-by team two," TL one said. He motioned as one of his team members pulled open the door, another quickly throwing a canister down the stairs.
They could feel the plywood walls expanding a little as the flashbang detonated down below.
"Go!" TL one said, as the door was pulled open and he moved himself down the stairs, HK at the ready as the rest of his team followed.
"GET ON THE GROUND!"
Outside, team two was awaiting the bang. As soon as it sounded, they turned themselves around and pushed off, jumping themselves clear of the plywood structure, their ropes pulling them back towards the windows.

Team one entered the room as the flashbang had just gone off in. The room itself was filled with smoke. Several people lay on the floor, reaching for their ears.
"DROP THE WEAPON!" A team one member shouted as he spotted a figure holding something that looked like a weapon. When the figure didn't react, the HK produced two shots. A cry of pain could be heard as the figure collapsed.

Just then, team two broke through the windows, feet first as they hopped into the building from the side. Immediately, they rushed to the people onto the ground as they disconnected the ropes, zipping them up with their ziptie-cuffs. By now, team one had moved themselves to the next staircase, a grenade already rolling down. Again, the plywood slightly expanded as the flashbang went off.
"GET ON THE GROUND!"

This time, team one met a lot more resistance, though they braved the inaccurate fire being put on them and pushed on down the stairs, returning the favour.

"Team one, clear below."
"Team two, clear up."
"Good, get the intel and get out," a sudden, unknown third voice said.
"We're searching now sir."

Half a minute later, they got the laptop and the papers they needed.
"We're Oscar Mike!" TL two said as he and his team stormed down the stairs, with team one already having kicked open the front door for a quick exit. They heard an engine revving up as they moved out, covering each other as they made their way to the forest dirt road, as two green-camouflaged humvees raced down it.

They had barely reached the road as the humvees went full on the brakes, stopping near the two teams who quickly got on board.

"Aaaaand... We're out!" TL one said. But they didn't move.
"Great job," the mystery voice said again, "Now get back inside and help OPFOR clean up the mess you caused. Debriefing in twenty."

"Argh, damn it," one of the team one members said, as he pulled off his helmet, "How come we always have to help clean up the shit?"
"No idea" TL one said, "But the less you whine the earlier we're done."

They kicked open the humvee doors again, as the exercise had been completed. This small scale one was to freshen everyone up again after many of the team members had gotten leave, many for family issues. But they didn't get far.
"Disregard. OPFOR can clean up their own shit," the voice said again, "Get back to base ASAP."
"What's the change of plan boss?" TL one asked via the radio.
"Your skills might very soon be needed again."
TL one looked at the other members as they were mounting up again.
"Very well Colonel West. We'll be back ASAP."
"Good. And ehm... Welcome back Higgins."
"A pleasure, sir."

[Dungeyland]

Paul Chandler had worked for Her Majesty's Border Service for six years, after an honourable discharge from the Royal Navy. His days were dominated by the urge to turn his back to the grim, violent Terra Azure and return to the rolling hills of south-eastern Dungeyland, where any man or woman could make something of themselves through sweat and tears. But not blood. Blood was reserved for Terra Azure. Chandler's role involved standing ominously at the Imperial border and to prevent any illegal immigration at any cost. It was a role that made him proud, in spite of the realities it revealed about life outside the Empire; an agent of the Crown, Chandler felt immense loyalty to Queen and Country.

The demilitarised zone had not been established until 2001, when the Dangish provincial government determined increasing instability in Terra Azure posed a threat to its southern citizens. To Chandler, immigration policy was strikingly obvious. Free trade would be lovely, but it could not and must not be established at the cost of Imperial security. Chandler was not happy with the current Imperial government. Liberal, and thoroughly unrealistic as a result. Furthermore, it had no electoral mandate. Just a minority of seats. No, the Conservatives would be more effective.

Lost in his thoughts, Chandler blinked to hear the sound of gunshots being fired over the Dangish border. Men, women and children running with a glint of hope and utter, nihilistic desperation. Behind them a jeep full of soldiers, with AK47s, massacring the young and the old alike. Chandler resisted every urge in his body to fire at the soldiers, knowing that to do so would be an act of war. One by one, they fell as the hope faded from their now lifeless eyes. One lady, in the final stages of pregnancy, took a bullet through the neck and fell with a deafeningly despicable screech.

A young man was close to the border, but he took a bullet in the back. The pain looked excruciating to Chandler, as Chandler dropped his weapon and ran to aid him. Grabbing the man, Chandler shouted: "this man is a refugee of the Dangish Empire!", feigning authority as best he could whilst dragging the bloodied man through no-man's land across the Imperial border. The soldiers grimaced, but did not fire - they too were wary of any act of war against the Empire.

---

"Would-be refugees were massacred today on the Imperial-Terra Azure border by soldiers. Only one, a 25-year old male, survived and has been taken in to questioning by Her Majesty's Government. It is believed by the Internal Office that these refugees were mere civilians, and that their summary executions were war crimes committed by the unstable government in Terra Azure. The President, expecting an election soon, has nevertheless declared his intention to intervene should more evidence of inhumane war crime activities occurring in Terra Azure be found."

[Romberg]

It was rare that the three most powerful men in the whole of Romberg would get together. Yet this was precisely what was happening today. In the III Headquarters, and hosted by Director Högel, Senior Advisor Graf Lenesov and the Kaiser himself were also present at the meeting room on Director Högel's private floor to discuss the recent situation happening to the East. Yet they were safe. With the intense anti-aircraft and anti-missile network protecting the entire nation, as well as military units defending the compound and especially the extremely well-trained Kaiser's Imperial Guard providing a tight protective layer around the meeting room, they would not be affected in any way. Btu it is with this backdrop that created an extremely tense situation. Yet the mood and atmosphere did match what was needed for the meeting.

---

Transcript of meeting

Key: H = Director Högel, L = Graf Lenesov, J = Kaiser Hans Jerkov II

H: Gentlemen, I hope you know why I've asked you here. It's to discuss about the recent happenings in Astyria.

L: Yeah, that. A military nightmare if I must say. Never had a good night's rest until three months after the joining. Too many things to standardize and cooperate.

H: No, not that. Our joining is not negotiable. And if you look at the dossier I've sent over, you can see we're lucky to be so far away.

J: Oh, those documents. I've read them. Yes. Terrible things have happened to them. If only our constitution had allowed us to intervene abroad...

L: You know that it's less than a year since our military was re-organized, and the soldiers are still adjusting to their roles and positions. We can't really do much of a good job anyways.

J: But still, if we could, perhaps some of these massacres and acts of terrorism would not have happened.

H: Nonetheless, have you not remembered what your forebears had said? Have you not remembered the wisdom of their words and the rationale for their constitution?

J: Fair enough. The thirty-year war. Never again. But still...

L: If you must, I believe that there are a few acts of war crimes on civilians that could be considered needs for intervention by the IAFR. The Kaiserliche Armee is at your service, your Royal Highness.

H: Right. That aside, I'm thinking of how it would affect our nation.

L: So far, not much. But if they have refugees, let them it.

H: Do we not have enough of them?

J: Let Lenesov have his way. This is out of humanitarian considerations.

H: Yes, your Royal Highness.

H: So, onto the next thing. What do we do though.

J: Do the Islands know about this?

H: Yes. But local government...

J: The constitution does say that the Islands have self- rule except for external matters, doesn't it?

L: That is true.

J: So this is what I need the IAFR to do, Lenesov. Get them to set up a military garrison on the Islands, just in case anything happens.

L: How big?

J: Say, 1000?

H: Nah. Seems small. Maybe 5000?

J: Fair enough. Alright, 5000 then.

L: Yes, your Royal Highness.

H: Would that be enough?

L: We already have anti-aircraft and anti-missile systems on the islands, and we've already hidden weapons caches and ammunition dumps there to hold out long enough.

H: No, not that. It's about our territory. Like the sea between the Islands and AC.

J: You have a point there. Alright then. Could we have enough to start air patrols over our airspace all the time?

L: That might be alright. I'll get it done too.

J: Oh, and Högel, start talking with the other Astyrians on the situation. We may need it.

H: Yes, your Royal Highness... but may I recommend something?

J: Speak up.

H: You know, since we're that far from the rest of the region, and that far from the Islands in the first place, could we... have nukes and ICBMs on the islands?

J: Lenesov, what's your view?

L: I suppose we could, and I guess logistics can be dealt with.

J: And the airport, we could fund that too. Maybe even expand it to allow Astyrian routes? I heard the guys over at AC would want it.

L: Maybe. That's a later issue;

H: Lenesov's right. We need to deal with what's at hand first.

J: Alright then. Nukes and ICBMs on the islands too. Anything else?

H: We'll wait and see. If things get even worse we may have to step up our game.

L: That's true of course. For now though, I think I can safely say the population's not too in favour of war yet.

J: Right. So get this written up and sent to the Grand Council, alright?

---

Grand Council voting:

For: 129
Against: 46
Abstain: 25

---

Total changes:

• Garrison of 5000 raised for Rombergian Arctic Islands
• Regular military transports to Rombergian Arctic Islands
• 2 batteries of ICBMs with nuclear warheads sent to Rombergian Arctic Islands
• Aircraft patrols of Rombergian airspace including that of Rombergian Arctic Islands
• Acceptance of refugees from conflict in Astyria - subject to background check

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Confederate Senate
Paradise City
Blackhelm Confederacy

Word of the attack on the Gallic enclave in Kamalbia had reached the Confederacy almost as soon as it happened, and it was not long before the situation made its way on the Senate floor.Gaul had always been seen, while never a full on ally to the Confederacy, at the very least as something of a friend, and this most recent attack simply would not sit well in the Senate. The lawlessness of Kamabia was, in the view of the majority of the people present, a direct result of the nation of Ghawkins attempting to interfere in affairs beyond their own own area, and now this interference was costing lives once more. There was very brief debate to be had before the near unanimous decision was made to offer aid to the struggling Francophones across the sea, and almost immediately a full complement, 830 Confederate troops would be prepared about the BCNS Grappler, an Ocean class helicopter carrier rigged up for search and rescue and other medical type missions. The largest portion of these men, six hundred of them, were medical personnel to aid the Gauls in their efforts at assisting the wounded and restoring order. another hundred were engineers, to assist in the rebuilding, and the remainder were security personnel, assigned to ensure the safety of both Confederate and Gaul in the area, should they be allowed in.

To: President of Terre des Gaules
From: Cornelius Pureheart, Head of Senate

It is with a heavy heart that I write this message to you in your nation's time of need. As a nation, I believe that we have always maintained friendly relations, and despite a recent spat of trouble, I hope that we can overcome these pieces of our past and come together as a brotherhood of nations in these dark times. I would like to hereby officially offer the hand of the Confederacy to lift you from this pit. We have prepared the a naval vessel, loaded with medical, engineering, and security personnel, and are eagerly awaiting your response so that we may deploy these men across the see and attempt to provide help to the troubled people of Marqueville. Together, I believe that we can prevent an attack like this from ever happening again, and can do much to alleviate the suffering the people of Marqueville are now experiencing.

On behlaf of the Confederate Senate and her people,

Cornelius Pureheart

CIS Headquarters
Sacrament
Blackhelm Confederacy

Completely unknown to the members of the Senate so many miles away, a different method of reaching out to the West was about to be undertaken from this location, many floors beneath the the surface. Here, dozens of men sat, tapping away at their keyboards with the glow of a computer monitor reflecting in their glasses. A supervisor paced up and down the rows of men, checking in on the work they were doing by leaning over their shoulder from time to time to examine their coding.

What these men were doing was burning many long hours of time all in order to cause just a bit of inconvenience in the nation of Ghawkins. This was really more of a test, if anything, to see just how far an attack via cyber space would go within that nation before it could be contained, and to gauge the reaction of the response from the security there. The target for this little probe would be Spiritwood International Airport. The way this virus would work was rather simple. First, it would enter into the system and begin overloading online reservations pages for all flights leaving from the airport. Next, the ticket kiosks in the terminals themselves would be overloaded, preventing customers from retrieving or purchasing their tickets here, and then finally, the most disruptive of all, it would enter into the main airport computer system and erase the times of all departing and arriving flights, forcing the airport control staff to go back to the old methods before the dawn of the computer.

And so it was, the time had come, and with the push of an enter key the worm was released. Now, they men in this little computer lab would wait patiently to see just what kind of an effect their worm would have, but more importantly to see what Ghawkins would do about it.

[Dungeyland]

Just as quickly as the news cameras had focused on the Imperial-Terra Azure border, they turned to focus on the Gallic enclave in Kamalbia. An enclave of Terre des Gaules in the lawless lands of Kamalbia had been bombed. The Empire had to throw its enormous weight around, yet it could not. Parliament was dissolved. The President, Lord Scylla, had lost the confidence of the House of Commons. Limited action could be taken by the Crown, but significant foreign policy decisions could not. The Empire was out until December 20th.

[Prudenesia]

JARDIN DU LUXEMBOURG
OUTSIDE THE LUXEMBOURG PALACE
PARITTE, TERRE DES GAULES

Nathanial Baker quickly ran through the water and climbed up onto the top of the statues of the Fountain of the Observatory ignoring the cold of the water and stone. The only thing that was on his mind was that this was their last chance to gain recognition. Recent events throughout Astyria were eclipsing their protest in the media. A bomb in at a rally in Platteisen Adler. The Blackhelm Confederacy threatening Agrincourt with war. And of course the Astyrian Liberation Army attack in Marqueville. If the media wasn't paying attention to them, then why would the politicians. Nathanial wouldn't let that stand though. Despite the falling hopes of most of recurring protestors he'd managed to rally them once more into a march from the slums to the Jardin Du Luxembourg just outside the Luxembourg Palace and seat of the Senate. Looking out at the crowd he could see just how many people they'd picked up on their way there. Indeed there was a great mixture of dark brown and pale white skin, as well as orange clothing signaling they'd picked up Kamalbians, Yellosians, and even members of the Heralds along the way. This was the largest protest so far this winter, a good start to gaining the attention needed. Now he'd have to capitalize and choose his words wisely.

"Prudenesians! Pangegians! Kamalbians! Yellosians! We've gathered here today for a reason!" And that reason is.... "Because we've been ignored! By the Gauls! By Neu Engollians! By the GHawkins! By the whole of the west! They've always set themselves up as the protectors of region, the jewels of Astyria, yet when the time came for them to prove themselves they abandoned us in the east!" The crowd was shouting back in agreement. "They've feigned their care for us! Taking us in and supposedly feeling sorry for us, yet now they complain about our presence! We're crowded into the poor districts and expected not to complain! When we do say something they tell us to shut up and go home! They'd rather us go back to slaving away under the reigns of warlords, corrupt governments, and imperialist then feel actual mercy!" The crowd was only getting louder. "We'll I say no!! I say we won't go back and we won't be quiet!! Not until they do something!! By the God they will not ignore us any longer!! The West must listen!! The West must intervene!!"

The crown began chanting back. "The West must listen!! The West must intervene!!" Nathanial climbed down from the fountain and back through the water. Others began leading the protestors around through the garden, spreading them out as they chanted and yelled in the direction of the Luxembourg Palace. A friend brought him a backpack. "Nathanial I really think you've done it this time! We'll defiantly make headlines now!" He nodded shivering from the cold and wetness of his clothes as he took the bag and hide himself behind a tree. Quickly he dried himself off and changed, just in time to find news reporters with cameras moving into the park and towards crowds. A smile spread across Mr. Bakers face. It didn't last long though as he heard sirens approaching. He'd expected the Gendarmerie to show up yet he found them to be early. Heading towards one of the entrances he found himself surprised to see armored vehicles and Gendarmerie in riot gear among the normal every day patrol cars and officers. "I know we don't have permit, but the garden is a public place..." He murmured to himself.

It didn't take long after the riot police had set themselves up were groups of protestors standing toe to toe with them yelling. Some where still yelling the familiar chant. Others were simply yelling profanity at them in the various native languages and French alike. Nathanial was watching as the scene continued on back at the fountain. They'd finally gotten mass media converge and now they looked like as if they were trying to pick a fight with the authorities. This is not what he wanted, not at all. "Dammit! What are we going to do Tim?" His friend was standing next to him looking off to another corner of the garden. "As long as on one does anything rash everything will be ok. They aren't making us disperse so..." His friend stopped talking as they watched a nearby protestor throw a rock at the Gendarmerie.