The Third War [Closed, Noctur Only]

[Algrabad]

GOVERNMENT OF ALGRABAD - OFFICIAL RELEASE - GOVERNMENT OF ALGRABAD
الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب

FOLLOWING the terrorist act of the ASSASSINATION of the PRESIDENT OF ALGRABAD, MS. SARA SEDIQQA, HERO OF THE REVOLUTION,

AND IN LIGHT OF the recent VIOLENT ASSAULTS on Algrabadi civilians in THE STOLEN PROVINCES,

SEEN IN THE CONTEXT of their counter-revolutionary agenda AGAINST ALGRABAD,

AND WITH UNQUESTIONABLE PROOF of the guilt of their nation in the aforementioned ASSASSINATION,

AND FURTHER NOTING the theft of THE STOLEN PROVINCES before the REVOLUTION and after the WAR OF RE-UNIFICATION,

AND FURTHER NOTING their complete REFUSAL to vacate THE STOLEN PROVINCES or even RECOGNISE ALGRABADI SOVEREIGNTY over the area,

AND REVELLING IN the complete success of dawn raids this morning that struck a vital blow for the LIBERATION of THE STOLEN PROVINCES,

IN RESPONSE to the aforementioned PROVOCATIONS and ACTS OF WAR and INTERNATIONAL CRIMINALITY,

THE SOCIALIST PEOPLE'S UNION of ALGRABAD hereby RECOGNISES a STATE OF WAR to exist between HIMSELF and HIGGINS & BROWN.

GOVERNMENT OF ALGRABAD - OFFICIAL RELEASE - GOVERNMENT OF ALGRABAD
الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب - رسمي إشعار - الفرهب

[Higgins and Brown]

President Henrietta J.W.

They had been invaded in the night (news article). She had been woken immediately with the news, and wasn't in the best condition for it. They hadn't even been declared war on until a full 3 hours later, and reports were hectic. The invasion had been massive. The Algrabadi People's Army (APA) had absolutely overwhelmed the relatively weak border defences to the east of the Buffer Zone. That was to be expected. But, the scale of the invasion. Hundreds of thousands of troops walking or riding into one of the least forgiving rain forests on the planet. It was madness. She had appealed for peace talks days ago, to no response. By the sounds of it, the APA were killing civilians without much thought, at least where it wasn't worth putting them on the road to slow down her Republican Armed Forces. She had spent at least 15 minutes in the toilet wishing that she could wake up to find out either that she had never won the election, or that the invasion hadn't happened.

But she was getting it together now, being kept alive with laced coffee.

In the Commission Chamber, the New Wing of the Presidential Palace, Michaelstown, Kings Region, Brown, Higgins & Brown

The emergency CC2 meeting had become a full meeting of advisers, commissioners, military officers and numerous others who seemed lost or scared. With war only declared hours ago, it seemed like no one quite knew who was supposed to be in the meeting at all. Consequently, they had relocated out of the basement and into the rather fancy - yet still quite small - meeting room of the National Commission. Present were the President, 3 Judges of the Concourt, 12 floor leaders of the Codena, the Chief of Staff of the Republican Armed Forces and 5 Corps Commanding Officers s, 1 regimental Commanding Officer, a Liaison from the Ministry, the Commissioner of Defence, the Commissioner of International Relations, the the Commissioner for the Buffer Zone, the Commissioner for the Navy, and a great number of other advisers.

They were shuffling into the room, the President having taken her seat on the lavish throne. Often as not Henrietta would opt to sit on an ordinary chair at Commission meetings. Today, however, things were serious enough for stately effects. That, and there weren't enough chairs in this room.

"DID we do it?" the question came from an Admiral - one of two in the room, Admiral Ládan. Descended from high nobility, and more recently a highly-decorated military family, he was the commander of the IVth Naval Corps, and the 4th-ranking military officer in the room, 2nd from the Navy. Altadmiral Teach, a man of 60 whose thick beard still appeared as black as engine oil, raised a bushy black eyebrow at the question. As well he might, she thought! The senior of the two Naval officers was not impressed.

"What sort of a question is that?" - she couldn't tell who had said it. Ládan defended himself amidst mumbles of classified before Henrietta quietened the room down.

"It is a question I am more than happy to ask. No, we did not assassinate President Sediqqa. I would like to find out what Altmiltier Lipsi can tell us about that, but not yet. First thing's first-" Altgroupier [Equiv. to 4-star general] Locke immediately interjected.

"Yes, my President, well the picture is much clearer now. The 5th Armoured Division and 7th Infantry Division of the APA have surrounded our bases in the 1st District. Air drops are resupplying the Marines there-"

No, that wouldn't do. President Henrietta J. W. was going to lead this meeting.

"No, Altgroupier, that is not the first thing." Henrietta gave the Chief of Staff of the Republican Armed Forces a glare that only someone sitting on a throne could manage against a man wearing dozens of awards for efficient savagery. She needed to be in the zone now, to get things moving quickly. Higgins & Brown's wartime measures were slightly clunky: if everyone did what they were supposed to, everything would be fine. But the system was built against human nature. Human nature in this situation was to ask "What now?". Hence the odd assemblage of VIPs in the room. She took to her checklist.

"The first thing is a declaration of war, which I have signed and communicated to the Algrabadis. Here are copies for everyone. Now, Justice Shelborn, do I have the blessing of the Concourt to put the War Government Act into effect?"

"Yes, Madame President. With a declaration of war, that is quite proper."

"Good. No.2, Minister Stíls. You can inform Prime Minister Mánard that I have appointed him to the War Cabinet under the WGA. Ms. Stíls, I understand that you were a lecturer of international relations before becoming a Hoindopor?"

Ana Stíls postively beamed.

"Yes madame President, but I got into the domestic political scene through a think-tank on urban-"

"Fascinating, I'm sure, Ms. Stíls. I require the Prime Minister to nominate 2 or 3 members of the Ministry to the War Cabinet. The production, rationing and transportation of food and other supplies will require a team with impressive organisational experience. I dare say you don't fit the bill. The military will provide you with a secure line to the PM. She gestured for Minister Stíls, the official liaison from the domestic government, to leave. Ana looked stricken, partly with anger, and partly with shame, after the brief dressing down.

What about Allies?

Right... number 3... Won't someone sit in her place? There's no need to stand, really no need... No.3 is this, I want Commissioner Fulbrít on an RAF plane to Nui-ta as soon as possible. Get into that Emperor's head, Ráf.

Her Commissioner for International Relations looked as if she expected him to get up and go that instant. She motioned for him to stay put.

Next was the question of Radiatia. It seemed they had bought into the idea that Higgins & Brown had invaded Algrabad. She wouldn't raise it now, not wit the room so full.

She went through her list efficiently and viciously. The room gradually emptied of people who she sent away. She announced her incomplete war cabinet to the room, and commanded anyone not in it (with the exception of the military officers) to vacate the room and go about their duty.

The tactical situation was dyer.

Military bases before the invasion. Blue Line = Buffer Zone eastern border, sanctioned by Treaty. Red line = national border.
Green squares = HB RAF bases. Red squares = Algrabadi APA bases.

Altgroupier Locke eventually made his presentation. It made for grim reading. The Algrabadi People's Army had sent 7 divisions into the Buffer Zone, 3 quarters of their total strength in one operation. They had invaded in the early hours across a lightly defended border. The real violence had been within the zone, where Algrabadi bases had launched local attacks on neighbouring Higgins-Brownite bases. Some had been more effective than others, and the timings had been inconsistent. Some HB commandants knew of the invasion prior to being attacked, suggesting that the APA hadn't given prior notice to local commanders inside the Buffer Zone.

To the north, RAF Marines were surrounded in the 1st District, and coastal installations there had been overrun. In the 2nd, 3rd and 4th districts, there was no front line to speak of. Even the invading forces appeared to have slowed advanced in a muddled fashion through the dense humid forest. The RAF were successfully blocking many routes capable of taking armoured units, but most units were engaged either in close-quarters combat or reprisal attacks, or else were retreating through the dense forest. The map was now simply one of small units (centuries, companies, platoons even) and the tiny areas of control they could boast as they either dug in or moved off.

The terrain was their best defence, but it was truly deadly for any units on the move. Mines, booby-traps and ambushes awaited anyone trying to get through it. Right now, many RAF units were on the move because their initial positions were completely untenable.

In the 5th District, where terrain was smoother and the trees less dense, the 1st Armoured and 13th Mechanised Divisions of the APA had advanced rapidly with concentrated air support. They had reached the border in 5 or so places, but counter-strikes by the Air Corps and the 12th Regiment had held them back from dominating the border. To the south of the 5th district, the so-called "Buffer ports" were still in RAF hands, with the Naval Corps providing effective defensive cover from off-shore.

Additionally, around the Buffer Zone, some X Commando units had gone on highly secretive operations, based on prior planning and training. While these were recorded in Divisional HQ, it wasn't clear which operations had been put into effect by COs on the ground.

Locke speculated that, given the nature of the invasion, the most likely plan of action the X Commandos would've taken was to evacuate nearby Arab settlements and send civilians on the roads east to slow down the APA. The APA to the west of the zone had done the same thing, destroying and clearing several settlements with the hopes of "expelling" Higgins-Brownite civilians and slowing up the RAF.

Finally, the Air Corps were now bombing the main routes capable of taking tanks from the east.

After Altgroupier Locke's report, Altadmiral Teach reassured the room that the Naval Corps knew their role and were ready to carry out any operation against Algrabad, reminding the room that the 1st and 2nd Algrabadi Wars were swayed by decisive sea-to-land invasions.

The Intelligence Reports were grim too.

Admiral Ládan, however, hadn't had his question fully answered.

"But WHO killed President Sediqqa? If we know this, we know what the aims are of the other side."

"It doesn't matter what their aims are, the UNCA are in control now." came the voice from the end of the room, the other edge of the table. Altmiltier [Equivalent to Colonel or 1-star general] Lipsi, the most-junior ranked man in the room, was also the most fearsome. With a scar that ran from one corner of his face, across his eyes and nose, to the other, even a soft smile would terrify. He was also missing significant chunks out of his left ear. Algrabad and Higgins & Brown hadn't been at war since before he was born, but Eric Lipsi was proof of the continuing war of attrition between the intelligence wings of both countries: the Aljaysh Alssammit of Algrabad and the Army's "Military Intelligence" Regiment, often named "B60" after its most famous battalion.

"My President, my Altgroupier, my senior officers. President Sediqqa wasn't assassinated in the dramatic fashion they are claiming. She was pulled from a public place as shots rang out, yes, but she was pulled out of their unharmed and likely executed elsewhere. The Vice-Presidents Azhari and Canaan were behind it. Azhari will succeed her as President shortly, and Canaan will be re-appointed as one of her Vice-Presidents, and get a military promotion at the same time. The two are rabid nationalists who want the Buffer Zone for themselves and, after that, well... we are hearing that Hadin may provide support in the way of missile launches. That would suggest that Algrabad intends, as it did in the last war, to push through Brown to the coast.

"But they would not do this without the backing of the UNCA. We have reports from Segland that it will provide military reinforcements. This explains Algrabad's near total commital of their forces. They are committed to this for two reasons, as we can see it: (1) Give the UNCA its first military victory and swing international momentum behind them, enable them to question Radiatian supremacy with a few more allies under their belt, that sort of thing. (2) Use a strengthened Algrabad as a platform for the recolonisation of much of old Zanzes, including the actual modern nation of Zanzes. They may also go for Rango Mango, where many non-UNCA countries have invested much in ore mining and oil wells."

This was the main problem, something the diplomats had only seen some weeks ago - that Algrabad had ingratiated itself with the UNCA. It seemed odd - a communist, arab, matriarchal nation. The antithesis of most of the UNCA countries. But some elements in the Algrabadi government had set out to make an alliance and succeeded. Henrietta's recent attempts at a climb-down, a peaceful settlement, had clearly worried those elements enough to warrant a coup. Higgins & Brown wasn't at war with one country now, it was at war with a network of bloodthirsty theocrats and autocrats.

Their only real hope was a rescue from Radiatia or Nui-ta, but it seemed none of that was to be forthcoming. Radiatia didn't seem to be bothered about the UNCA gaining strength, and Nui-ta didn't seem to want to challenge Hadin openly. All the more important that Fulbrít go and meet the Emperor. President Fyoderov had apparently not been taking visits from ambassadors for weeks, and President Pavolivic seemed happy to indulge in Radiatian apathy to a certain extent.

But there was still hope, ambition, in the room.

Henrietta wanted to hit someone. Her Commissioner of the Navy was right there.

"Travis! What do you have for me?" Her voice like thunder, but she had directed it at a man more than capable and prepared.

"Well our saving grace is that we maintain naval supremacy. Something President Treacy got right was to continue to limit their naval ability. Hadin has dispatched destroyers, but they will need to circumnavigate the Cape of Non-Passage, which will take them a week or two. If they can supply by land, they will be a threat. Otherwise, we should be able to deal with them before they come within range of inflicting aerial damage." Altadmiral Teach concurred with a knowing nod.

"I also propose an invasion by ASAP sea of northwest and southern Algrabad - Mhareb and Zucchara, and simultaneously Lizqueh. Go for the cities, occupy them, and destroy Algrabad's ability to resupply its own limited naval forces." In this regard, the officers weren't so impressed.

"That's an ambitious plan. We would need to commit our remaining forces to it or else get reinforcements from elsewhere." said Altgroupier Locke. "Otherwise i doubt our ability to pull off two invasions and occupations. Rather, we should destroy the Algrabadi ports remotely. I like the idea of an occupation of Lizqueh though. To occupy the city of Lizqueh would force Algabadi divisions to turn around."

"But my Altgroupier, Segland's troops..." It was another Army officer, Altgroupier Saint [equivalent to a 3-star General].

The Ambitious Leader needed to Act Quickly.

Henrietta wanted to cut this conversation short, she was well aware of the potential for these officers to waffle on, debate military tactics in a political meeting.

"Groupiers, Admirals, Marshall, this is not the time nor the place to discuss tactics. Draw up plans and present them to me if you have any. Here are my orders right now:

• I want to hear that Operation Stickytape has been a complete success within the next two days: that means us holding everything west of Line Alpha, and pushing them back from the border in the south. Consider this my approval for any action necessary to achieve that.
• We'll be putting a National Draft into operation, so I want training camps built and running within the month. You'll also need to appoint officers to new regiments.
• Put Athboi under martial administration. Issue commands to the Regional Guard to help Higgins-Brownite refugees and detain Algrabadi ones. We probably can't afford to hold Algrabadi refugees, so I'll be deporting them to willing countries.
• Air Strikes. I want 2 plans in front of my desk within 3 hours for strikes of mainland Algrabad. Where they will attack, and what is to be gained by those attacks.

She got off the throne as the RAF COs left the room. Turning to the windows, which looked out into the enclosed gardens of the palace, she saw over the far wall, the barrels of 4 enormous anti-aircraft canons, rising to a firing trajectory.

Commissioner Fulbrít stood beside her. He was a late middle-aged man, short (about her size), with whisps of white hair and a permanently folded brow. "Ms. President, I have just received an email from the Radiatians. They are willing to support us with funds and equipment."

The Ambitious Leader had her vices though.

Henrietta wasn't listening to Fulbrít.

She stared at the anti-aircraft guns. Men were also loading sandbags inside the garden, to put around the walls and windows. She moved straight toward the rooms only cabinet, revealing a small fridge, and withdrew a bottle of Seglandic lager.

"Commissioner Fulbrít, I'm going to ask you two questions, and while you answer them, I will drink this lager. I doubt we'll be getting anymore of it for quite some time." Higgins & Brown produced wine and other liquors in abundance, but its beer was piss and its whiskey non-existent. They were her drinks of choice. Radiatian vodka, sometimes. She took a cool sip. Heaven in a glass! she thought. "Is that OK, Ráf?" He nodded, tamely. They had an understanding. She was hardly going to conduct a war and hide her alcoholism. "Now, Commissioner. Question 1 - Do I have a bunker? Question 2 - What did you just tell me about Radiatia?"

She hadn't been lying, she drank great gulps of the stuff while Ráf answered. She learnt that if she wished, she could relocate to Fort Wercole, located south-east of the city. She remembered it from her first and only "drill". Secondly, he reported the Radiatian offer of help. She giggled somewhat at the abrogation of debts - she remembered her predecessor attempting to cancel them almost unilaterally - to an extent it had worked, at the expense of an 'e' and after imprisoning some creditors who had refused, for tax reasons, to reveal their nationality.

But what did good relations with her debtors matter now, she wondered. She was half tempted to threaten Nui-ta with a cancellation of debts, but then remembered they were actually owed a couple of thousand Privileges for a fence some Nui-tan cows had knocked over.

But She could Do this. She would be there for her country and do her duty.

The Prime Minister called, to hoist her from her thoughts. Much to her displeasure, he sounded rather defeatist. She would find out later that his son, a serving Lancier [Lieutenant], had been killed in some of the first assaults. He proposed some names to the War Cabinet, reassuring her that all had impressive CVs.

Later on she called her Vice-President. They had a tradition on the campaign of calling each other each evening to reassure each other of their performances, or when needed to give one another a dressing down. It had continued after the election in the form of occasional calls, mostly when she had faced a difficult day. In truth, Higgins-Brownite Vice-Presidents weren't required to do anything, and these calls were all Jódi Davenport ever did as Vice-President (he had another job, as a Codenor). But given his experience, his temperament, and the respect he still commanded from all sides, his reassurances over the phone were valuable to her.

She sensed she would need little reassurances. Total defeat was staring them in face, but she knew her country could stand up straight, face up to it, and snatch victory from its jaws, with the right leadership. She had overcome immense odds to survive other political crises, on a much smaller scale. This challenge she relished, though it terrified her.

[Nui-ta]

This is not the way in which I wanted Nui-ta to take a larger standing on the global stage...

Emperor Rowan di-Amori found himself indulging in a bad habit again, tinkering with random objects absent-mindedly in his head, while the more alert portions of his brain left him to search for the answers to the many questions of the day. Usually it was a chessboard, or a wristwatch, if the Emperor happened to be wearing one. Paolo Medici had only been in office for a few months and had already learned the inner workings of the Emperor's wristwatch, due to just how many times Rowan had taken it apart and put it back together while mulling over a problem.

Today, the object happened to be a stuffed animal. A purple platypus, to be exact, with a squeaking mechanism inside of it. The noise was doing nothing to distract Rowan, who kept triggering the mechanism by squeezing down on the platypus's abdomen while lost in his thoughts.

Now we have to deal with UNCA drawing a box around us...

Squeak. Squuuuuuuueaaaaaaaaaaak.

And we can't commit any military forces to Higgins and Brown...not that I want to given their track record, but we can't even just to keep UNCA from growing in influence...

Squeak. Squeak. Squ-squeak.

Of course losing Higgins and Brown's favor isn't a huge concern of mine but...if UNCA wins this war...

SQUEAK.

Rowan hadn't heard the door open over all of the squeaking. His secretary wandered over to where the Emperor was sitting, gave the platypus a bemused look, and then proceeded in what had now become typical fashion in the process of arousing the Emperor from his thought-stupor.

"Your Highness".

SQUEAK.

"Your Highness..."

SQUEAK-SQUEAK.

"I've got some news for you, sire. We've just received word that Higgins and Brown is requesting...more like demanding...an audience with you. They've sent their Commissioner for International Relationships on the first plane they could find to Rahku City".

"I love you".

Both the secretary and Rowan jumped at the sound, looking around the room quickly before spotting the Emperor's daughter --- a three-year old by the name of Eza --- standing at the door of her father's office with a giant doll, from which the sound had no doubt originated.

"Oh, Eza," Rowan smiled, "c'mere". As Eza wandered over to her father's chair, the secretary marveled at the fact that only a few years ago, Rowan had still been a child himself. The "boy-king" Rowan di-Amori had taken the throne over a decade ago, at age 16, when most boys his age were worried about college admissions, sports, and the girl (or sometimes boy) that they were hoping to get a second date with. Rowan's ascension hadn't been by choice, of course. This was the unfortunate reality hovering over the long tenure of an Emperor who was due to turn 29 in a few weeks.

Rowan looked up at his secretary.

"You were saying something Runa?" The purple platypus was now at ease, sitting on the desk only a few feet away from Rowan, who was back in the world of reality. Eza was also ignoring it, being concerned with her doll to focus on the stuffed monstrosity that had been her favorite toy several days ago.

"The Higgins-Brownite Commissioner for International Relations is essentially demanding an audience with you".

"Oh great, those guys again. They're turning into more trouble than they're worth". Rowan rolled his eyes. "I wonder if they even understand the consequences of what would happen if Nui-ta were to carelessly enter the war and spark off a full-blown international fiasco. Isn't it bad enough as it is over there?"

"They're here to stress to you the consequences of not intervening, it would seem".

"We'll just see what outweighs what," Rowan sighed. "Does the Prime Minister know?"

"He's being made aware as we speak. Given the seriousness of the situation either he or the External Affairs Minister will be meeting you there, should you choose to go".

"I have to go if able," Rowan laughed. "Constitution and all, remember?"

"The Constitution hasn't been ratified yet".

"I know. They're still working on it, but I highly doubt that's going to change welcoming international diplomats as being my job," Rowan sighed. "Hopefully the Brownites play nice. I heard they were threatening Radiatia with a cancellation of debts".

"Are they threatening the same here?"

"Actually, there was this incident involving some cows," Rowan sighed. "We owe them, maybe...1400 Privileges or something".

"That's going to be a lot of Had".

"No it won't be," Rowan laughed. "Believe it or not, the last I checked the Privilege was worth less than the Had. I think it's 1 Had to 2 Privilege or something, not really sure..."

[Higgins and Brown]

Some time Earlier...

Promariner Faulkes had run about a kilometre with his boots on the wrong feet. He hadn't noticed until they got down into a trench. His camp Commandant, Submilter Reigns, had got them pretty well prepared for this eventuality, and for them at least the preparation had paid off. Any ignition to hostilites would see their camp hit hard and early. It sat at a key junction to get major vehicles to the coast.

They assumed the border defences would last perhaps an hour, apparently they had been generous. From first word of the invasion, it had taken less than an hour for THEM to be attacked by forces that clearly hadn't just driven up the road from the Algrabadi camp to the south. And there were only a few viable routes for soldiers to take through this forest, nevermind the 4 APCs and Tank that had turned up on their doorstep.

Faulkes, a 23 year old boy from the Midwest region, had joined the RAF Marines to kick ass on the high seas. But his unit were here, in the first district, the northern and thinnest part of the Buffer Zone. A Buffer between a coastline and a country. He had been repacking his kit when the sirens went off. His 4-man team were supposed to be gone before enemies actually showed up, so they found themselves running from a battle to establish an MG nest just up from the junction.

It was barely 3.30am. Pitch black, and even if the moon were a dazzling spotlight, the trees were blocking it out.

He dared not change his boots.

The main assault on the camp, from the road, was both expected and easily defensible. They had heard the gutwrenching noise of a large machine being ripped apart under explosive circumstances as they ran - one of the APCs but hopefully the tank. The base was built to defend against attacks on that road, and it was for all intents and purposes a bunker there. The tree coverage also partially protected it, unless the Algrabadi Air Force had made advances they weren't aware of.

But here, facing east, facing Algrabad. This was terrain only soldiers could find their way through. And Faulkes knew about Algrabadi soldiers, especially the ones who preferred climbing through the rainforest in the dead of night. There was never a shortage of showboating between the two forces, when they were "peacefully" operating side-by-side. The Prowlers were the name given to those women who, dressed in black from head to toe, had perfected the art of silentl massacre & maneuver, and they were truly terrifying.

The machine-gun he was operating was not Higgins-Brownite, but Radiatian, made by the Bluvaier Securities, Inc. The RAF didn't procure much from Radiatia, or any one country, really, but the Marines liked to kick up a fuss about their gear, and the Naval Corps liked to keep them better supplied than the average Army soldier. He knew this particular gun well, he was its fifth "owner" since entering service, and he would be the first one to actually fire it in a live combat situation, tonight.

There were 9 of them in the trench system, operating 4 guns. Their chances of survival were laughable, but aided somewhat by their position. The trench that they had jumped into was dug into a natural fortress - the side of a hill. From his POV, he had a full sweep of a small clearing. Due to rocky terrain elsewhere any infantry coming from this direction would be forced to descend ahead before climbing the hill, all in front of him and his Radiatian machine-gun. His partner, Marine Péton, was spotting for him and would help with the ammo. Péton was from Mortúus in Brown, a strange sort of a person from a strange sort of place. The likelihood of him not coping well in combat situation was... large. He had only seen 7 weeks of active service, never mind having ever been in the line of fire before.

Then again, Faulkes himself had only been shot at once, by an Algrabadi sniper, for which he received profuse apologies from them. Back before things went sour. Before the Algrabadi intelligence girls started smuggling the weapons in, before the Army Commandos began their OTT raids and retaliations, and before the settlers decided to abandon all pretenses regarding their evangelical orthodoxy and racism.

Within a minute of spotting the first APA Prowler and opening fire, Faulkes had seen 7 more and killed - he thought - 3 or maybe 4. The night was black but his gun lit it up like nuclear fallout. Péton, wearing nightvision goggles, screamed audibly, but he hadn't been hit, it was the goggles. Faulkes kept firing at shadows. Their NCO, Decallier [Equiv. to Sergeant] Wallace, dropped in behind them, firing his assault rifle and giving some encouraging words. Just as well he did, as 3 Prowlers attacked from behind armed only with knives.

Faulkes didn't see it happen, just felt Wallace push against his back, and pin him against his own gun stock. Only he realised later it wasn't wallace he felt, but a prowler Wallace was sticking a bayonet into. Péton got his throat cut, but Wallace killed all three attackers, somehow. Faulkes would trade a Péton for that. But in that moment he wasn't to know. Prowlers in front where skipping from tree to tree and hurling grenades. His MG fire was cutting a few down, including a few of the thinner trees, but he knew they had the essential advantage - they only had to get it right once.

His life was saved by Wallace a second time mere minutes later, when he fired the team's only missile into the middle of the clearing. It didn't hit much, but it was a gift never the less, as a black figure arose not 2 metres from Faulke's position to fire on Wallace. Faulkes cut her down without thought, she had obviously been crawling up to get him.

After about 30 or so had been killed, the others seemed to fall back. Faulkes doubted that was the last of it. Wallace said as much. No word from the camp about how they were doing - something the Algrabadis clearly suspected, since they started broadcasting from speakers only a few hundred metres away that the camp had been captured, and they were the only ones left fighting.

While Faulkes could believe that the camp had been captured, he wouldn't believe that others weren't fighting to their rear. If they were completely surrounded, they'd know it. They'd also get going, very quickly. Faulkes didn't fancy being hunted through the forest in a dash to the coast, but his unit knew the route, and it was better than spending years in an Algrabadi labour camp. Knowing the route, practicing the route, and actually pulling it off in utter darkness were completely different things though, he knew.

The 2nd assault didn't come from the clearing ahead, but from the right flank, where prowlers were climbing up rock faces to go around them. The close-quarters combat was the worst. Marines were trained for assaults, raids, landings, seizures. This was a million miles from that, and with boots on the wrong feet! 6 of them survived now, out of 9 - the rightmost gun team had bought it.

Then came a long wait, a long silent wait. He was sure they must have found a way around and ignored them. With dawn arising (somewhere, but not in this forest), a 3rd encounter began much like the first. This time, the prowlers were firing waves of rifle grenades. His vantage point was virtually destroyed by them, but Faulkes and his gun were intact. They all fell back, to a rear hardpoint, a supply store dug half into the ground. Easily defensible but no escape for the 4 who now remained.

They had no need to defend it, however. The next attack didn't come. They had survived the first night. In the morning, they were informed by a runner that the camp was one of only two in the 1st district to resist the Algrabadis. Wallace received a promotion and 4 more men, carrying more ammo, and they stayed in their position. At noon, incredibly, they received an Algrabadi runner waving a white flag. She told them to surrender, they told her to do something very uncomfortable.

No attack came during the day. Aerial bombardments from both sides turned the forest around them into a nightmarish concert of exploding trees and deadly, flying splinters. Behind them, the junction on which all rested was transformed into a barricade of splintered logs, broken stone and upturned tarmac.

The camp commandant was apparently considering abandoning the place when he found out that the ports had already been lost - they were surrounded. The junction was now of now tactical significance, but 100+ marines weren't going to surrender... so they reinforced, reloaded, and rehydrated. And Faulkes put his boots on the right feet. They had lost half of their men already.

[Radiatia]

14th FEDERAL PARLIAMENT
Federal Assembly

Mr. SPEAKER [Bysse Goranov - Kerpruss All-State]: "Order! Order! The Federal Assembly will come to order!"

Alvin Kald [SDU - Tchort 2nd District]: "Mr. Speaker I just want to conclude by commending the Lend-Lease Bill to the Federal Assembly. I believe that it is in the interests of the Radiatian Federation for this nation to provide financial assistant to Higgins and Brown while recognising that this is a proxy war and thus avoiding the temptation to intervene directly.

"I accept the contentions raised by my honourable colleagues, but I respectfully disagree - this is a conflict in which Higgins and Brown need superior technology and therefore this bill to give them access to hitherto unavailable Radiatian military technology I think should rectify that situation.

"I'd also remind Members who live in districts with large arms manufacturing plants that their constituents will ultimately question them if they vote against this bill, given that they have effectively said no to creating thousands of jobs in their own backyards."

Mr. SPEAKER: "The question is that the motion be agreed to."

Strom Antanasov [LCP - Ziigrut 1st District]: "I'd like to call a point or order, Mr. Speaker in order to move an amendment. Mr. Speaker this is a very contentious issue which potentially involves innocent lives.

"In recognising the difficulty of making such a decision, I seek leave of the Federal Assembly to add an additional clause to the bill which will guarantee a payrise for MPs, by way of compensation for having to make such a difficult decision."

Mr. SPEAKER: "Leave is sought, is there any objection?"

Theobald Royceston [SDU - Garotch 4th District]: "Speaking to the point of order, Mr. Speaker, I seek leave to propose an alternative amendment which will guarantee payrises only for those members who vote in favour of this difficult piece of legislation - obviously those members voting against do not have to deal with the potentially traumatic psychological consequences of having to make such a decision and should therefore be exempt from any compensatory clause."

Hon. Members: "Boo!"

Mr. SPEAKER: "There appears to be objection to the amendment proposed by the Member from Garotch. Is there any objection to the amendment proposed by the member from Ziigrut?"

Jeff Radev [LCP - Diifgrao 9th District]: "Ayup, Mr. Speaker, I objects, I was elected ter be fiscally prudent I was, but I say I do there boy that we should hold one o' them there... votes!"

Mr. SPEAKER: "A vote has been called on the amendment proposed by the member from Ziigrut. Those voting in favour will go to my right, those voting against to my left, those abstaining in the middle."

A vote was called on the question that the amendment be agreed to.
220 votes AYE
(Liberal-Conservative Party 102, Social Democratic Union 118)
189 votes NAY
(Liberal-Conservative Party 100, Social Democratic Union 89)

The Amendment was agreed to.

Mr SPEAKER: "I now call a vote on the Resolution to Financially Aid Higgins and Brown with a Lend-Lease System and MP Payrise Bill."

338 votes AYE
(Liberal-Conservative Party 190, Social Democratic Union 118)
71 votes NAY
(Liberal-Conservative Party 15, Social Democratic Union 86)

Motion agreed to.

[Hadin]

The Council of Patricians were all there; the Envoys and Councilmen all neatly filed into rows. Behind them were several officers of various branches of the Hadinian People's Military.

Hundreds of eyes, mostly violet, all gazed upon Nico Hass as he began to speak. With Algrabad and Higgins-Brown in the throes of war, the first steps toward all of Nico Hass's political desires had been taken. Some faces in the room were just as eager as he was; others, like Envoy Nikastro, seemed a bit uneasy, and most, particularly the military men, were tight-lipped poker faces that Nico Hass could only envy.

He took a deep breath: it was time to rally the last of the nay-sayers to his cause. Focusing his eyes just above the many heads of the large crowd standing before him, he started his speech.

"Gentlemen, my prayers for a righteous conflict with one of the heathen nations of the world have been answered splendidly. Higgins and Brown is now foolishly entering into a war between all of UNCA, over their lost, insignificant, and frankly stupid claim over the Algrabadi Buffer Zone, which we intend to help restore to its rightful holders. They think the nations of Radiatia and Nui-ta are going to help them; they're sorely wrong about the first, and as much as I would love to see the nation of Nui-ta be stupid enough to earn the humiliation I believe the Monarchy to deserve, I believe Higgins and Brown won't see help from them either. This leaves the Brownites direly alone in the world, setting themselves up to be the shining example of what happens when you mess with the powers that be. I have no doubt that they'll enjoy, if we're lucky to bring them out, the surprises we Hadinians have in store for them".

"Now before we begin our talks about what happens next in Higgins and Brown, I would like to dismantle a rumor floating around society. Some of you seem to be under the presumption that I like war".

"I don't like war. Let's make that very clear. War is not something to be liked".

"No, gentlemen. I. Love. War".

"War that is done correctly results in dominance, and dominance is survival --- nay, in our cruel world dominance is what makes the world go round. I refer you to the tale of how SEPTIMA obliterated the usurping powers of the underworld, but I won't go over theology deeper here; we all know that story".

"The point is that the world is war. Look around you, and think of all the forms of war that you see in daily life. You get up in the morning, you turn on the news, and you see a fat Radiatian man with fingers the size of large branches, driving an expensive car, despite the fact that he works half as hard as you do. Class war".

"You go about your day, heading to your job, and you find out that your co-workers are being called in for a routine drug test. You see some of your more sinful co-workers cringing, thinking to themselves how they only took one puff of that god-forsaken joint on the previous night before heading off to meet their wives's parents. Drug war".

"Then you notice that the only ones being called in for testing are your Arab neighbors. Race war".

"Then you go online and post about it to LOQUO*, and all of your friends begin arguing about whether that was the right or wrong thing to do. Flame war".

"And then when you get home, you read the international news, and, say, read a story about how President Fyoderov attempted to make his wife's death look like the result of a shoot-out between two rival gangs in Radiatia ---gang war ---, and how the poor man had to go through all that trouble just because in Radiatia, they give their women too many rights. Gender war".

"Then you read about how several heathens from UMBRA are attempting to burn down rural churches and dissuade true believers of SEPTIMA from believing what they do any longer. Religious war".

"After that you watch a program about who gets a box, what is in the box, and how much the box's contents is worth. Crate Wars".

"And who dominates in these wars? Those who contain power to wage these wars correctly. Some wars are more contestable, like the class or race war, while others, like the gender or religious war, have obvious winners and losers, per the principle that whosoever wins war is he that is capable of dominance".

"What I'm trying to tell you, my loyal fellow men of Hadin, my soldiers, my fellow leaders...is that war is universal. War is everywhere, because dominance is everywhere. Having realized this, gentlemen, I pride myself on being a war connoisseur, and a purveyor of dominance, and with your help, --- each of you --- all of you --- we are now at the cusp of our goal".

"What I want is no specific ongoing war, not class war, not race war, not even Crate Wars or any other long, unending war...what I want is the domination from wars that can be won. I want to put the heathens in their place, and to do that, they have two choices. They can either fight against us and die like Higgins and Brown, or submit to the way of the world, like Radiatia, so-called Sheriff of Noctur....Sheriff of Noctur, my ass! The only country with even a chance at dominating UNCA has no inclination to do so, and then thinks it can keep peace in the world; thinks it can somehow tell the rest of the world what to do".

"I was originally a bit worried about Radiatia, but the "Great" Northern Land: it has done nothing in this situation but give empty promises to its allies, nothing but cause a breaking of trust between it and other nations of the world, just as I sincerely believe that Higgins and Brown trusts Radiatia no longer. Poldania and Conpatria will likely follow soon --- Nui-ta may take longer, the friendship between those nations is deeper...someday when we topple Nui-ta and assert our dominance on the Karasian Archipelago, and assert our dominance over the devils of Zanzes...on that day I want to see the crushed looks on each and every Nui-tan as they realize that their closest and sometimes only so-called friendship in the world was all for naught".

"And that will be when I get what I want; domination over what is rightfully ours. Tomorrow, that may well be our goal, but today we focus on first asserting that we will protect this same goal for our allies. We will not rest until Algrabadi banners, and only Algrabadi banners fly over the Buffer Zone! We will prove the superiority of UNCA to the rest of the world! And then, when that is done, the other nations of this beautiful world will tremble at the thought of what we'll do next. The world will submit, and if not, then the world will know war! And this war shall be the first example. This will be domination!"

"And I --- WE --- WANT --- DESERVE DOMINATION!"

---

HPS Belial

"Don't you think it's kinda weird how we're the ones being sent on a Pavor-class destroyer, of all things, all the way around the Cape of No Passage, to meet with the Higgins-Brown navy?"

Petty Officer Friedrick Saliesi shot the sternest of glares that he could muster towards the seaman who'd just asked him that question, a 15-year-old welp by the name of Peter Malkovi.

"Malkovi, you'd better not let the fucking Midshipman hear you say that," Saliesi said quickly. "Our orders go all the way up to the Council of Patricians. Some of your questions could be misinterpreted as blasphemy".

"I'm sorry sir," Peter said, "I was just wondering, with all due respect..."

"Well, don't wonder, Seaman. Your orders are to look out for the Brownites, along with several other Seaman on the deck and up-top that have the good sense to keep their mouths shut. Now you do the same or I'll ask one of the officers to send you down to the engines".

This is one of the oldest destroyers that Hadin has. So old that its from the colonial era, the Petty Officer thought to himself. But then again, it's been updated, and a lot of its groundwork is fundamentally Nui-tan...

Malkovi did his best to suppress the urge to sigh audibly, before looking out at the distance once more. Nothing but sea, sky, and their meeting point on the horizon. Surrounding the destroyer were two Hadinian Salutem-class cruisiers, relatively newer ships, the HPS Andromalius and the HPS Orobas. Alongside those were several smaller ships, probably carrying individual supplies and some extra guns.

Same as always.

"You know we're supposed to have bases being established in Algrabad and Ainotula soon; then we don't have to do this Cape of No Passage shit...but until then, well...here we are," the Petty Officer mused.

---

Western Tristicco, Thaddeus Romeria Air Force Base

"How are those care-packages coming?" The Master Sergeant asked his crew. He watched as several young men, mostly 16-20, loaded up the cargo holds of various small planes with specified cartridges".

"Good sir, these aren't all bombs, right?"

"No, but they're all going to the Buffer Zone to get dropped over intended targets. Some of these are going to the Algrabadi people as care-packages, and some of these are going to the Brownites as...care-packages.

A few of the younger men snickered, although one young crewman, a tiny bit younger than the rest, looked over at his comrades with confusion.

"How do we know the Higgins-Brownites are gonna open their presents?"

The Master Sergeant smiled knowingly. "We're gonna be delivering them personally...just waiting for the right moment..."

*LOQUO = The Hadinian equivalent of CONFERO, which is monitored by the state, like much of the Hadinian intranet.

**Nico Hass's speech is based decently on this. I saw Nico in this as soon as i watched it.

***I'm really sorry if this sucks; it's been ages since I took part in a war.

[Segland]

Estate of the Republic
Ryutsvaag, Segland

As he exited the armored Fias limousine, Alexei Haussmann checked his wristwatch (inlaid with Hadinian gems) and noted with satisfaction that he was precisely on time for his meeting with the chancellor. He was joined by his bodyguard Hans before proceeding along the marble walkway that led to the estate's main entrance. Two fountains, each spurting water 200 feet into the air, edged the sides of the walkway; they gave the place a feel of having been built for giants. Haussmann liked that. Once he was occupying the Estate, he thought, they might even have to be upgraded.

He reached the main door and saluted two guards, who stood aside while the door pivoted open with a great rumble. The interior of the Estate, which he had never before seen, was a rococo affair -- friezes of great events in Seglandic history; busts of founders from the colonial era; gold leaf and intricate designs spread with abandon across the walls. It was beautiful in its own way, but not really Haussmann's style at all. Another change that would need to be effected.

Haussmann was greeted by an aide and led through a number of lofty halls and elaborate parlors until, at length, he reached the antechamber that proceeded into the chancellor's office. The door into the office was emblazoned with a headless body confidently holding up a torch.

"The symbol of the chancellor," said the aide, seeming to take notice of Haussmann's interest in the odd carving. "You know, a representation of the beheading of Adrianus."

"Of course," replied the Liaison Minister. How could he forget the dramatic story of how a former executioner had pounced upon Adrianus' carriage on that fateful evening in 1909, drawing a saber and decapitating the emperor before being trampled to death by a mob? It was one of those events most deeply ingrained in the Seglandic people's collective consciousness, much like the fall of the RPSU in Radiatia or the Partition in the Karasians.

"Well, sir, you should probably head on in. Don't be too surprised by whatever you see."

Haussmann couldn't help but laugh. He knew, like most of those who were close to Mueller, that the chancellor was quite the hedonist. He wouldn't be surprised to intrude upon an orgy when he entered the office. The location of Mueller's Viagra cache was the stuff of legends in Ryutsvaag, after all.

But as he opened the door, he was rather disappointed to merely see the chancellor at his desk, smoking a pipe. Inhaling the stale air of the room, Haussmann realized with a start that it most certainly wasn't tobacco.

"Alexei, Alexei," said Mueller in his disarmingly grandfatherly way, "have a seat. You know that barely anyone ever comes in here."

"No, actually, I didn't. I was rather wondering why you'd never previously invited me to the Estate."

"Security concerns and what not," Mueller explained.

Despite knowing that the chancellor was hiding something, Haussmann decided not to press him. "So, Algrabad."

"Yes, Algrabad..." Mueller rubbed his brow. "You know that we must pledge military support for the APA."

"I wholeheartedly agree. Yet the citizenry will not be giddy with joy when we do so, and in case the war goes sour, a scapegoat will be necessary."

"The Relmsenat will provide that function. All of the tiers* have had their votes prescribed."

"Even so, Chancellor, you're the one who has to introduce the relevant legislation..."

Mueller set down his cigar in a gold-plated ashtray. "Alexei, I'm getting old. For all we fucking know, I'll be dead before the war reaches its conclusion. The important part is that you protect yourself."

"Well, yes, but..." Haussmann made a concerted effort to force back his anger. The chancellor's phony compassionate moods were even worse than when he was being conspicuously selfish and petulant. Yet again, Haussmann found himself questioning the exact reason for Mueller's shift of favor from Yaksen to himself. He thought back to that meeting to which he had been summoned, the one that interrupted his review of GHB officers in Sendeln.

Haussmann, Yaksen, and Mueller had gone to an ultra-upscale restaurant in downtown Ryutsvaag called The Radiatian. The restaurant served authentic Radiatian cuisine, prepared by a (supposed) Radiatian chef named Rordon Gamsey who had been kidnapped by SSK^ agents in the streets of Ryutsvaag for the very purpose of making food. All the while, speakers inside blared messages about how Segland had conquered and appropriated Radiatian culture for their own use. Why in Adrian's name the place was popular with the Ryutsvaag elite, Alexei Haussmann had no bloody idea.

As the trio had dug into their mock Greasy Joe's burgers and sipped from glasses of yak "milk", Mueller had casually begun quizzing Haussmann about the GHB's assistance of the Front for a United Nation in Higgins and Brown. Haussmann was proud of his work with the FUN and considered it highly unfortunate that internal instability had caused the fall of Francis. The turn of events was largely attributable to the bureaucratic Ministry of Liaison.

Haussmann then recalled how the chancellor had suddenly turned him against Yaksen, forcing the two to defend themselves against each other as well as against Mueller's endless probing. But he couldn't for his life come up with any reason why the chancellor later came decisively to Haussmann's side. Perhaps there was no reason.

He was brought out of his introspection as Mueller addressed him. "You need to make a public statement -- say vaguely that you're in support of our military intervention, but make it especially clear to the people that you aren't enthusiastic about helping Arabs."

"Count on i--"

The door abruptly swung open, and an aide (not the one who had originally accompanied him) motioned urgently to Mueller. "My lord, the chef from The Radiatian just escaped," he said, out of breath.

"Damn," cursed Mueller. "If word of this gets out... Haussmann, stay here. I'll be back." The chancellor scurried out of the room toward the aide, and with that he was gone. Haussmann was alone in the office.

He stood up, stretching his chest, and took a good look around. He saw for the first time a series of progressively larger pictures hanging from the right wall. Upon closer inspection, he realized that they depicted the chancellor's life story; they were photographs from various stages of his life. The furthest and smallest photo showed him as a baby, and the next photo showed a very young Heinrich Mueller in between a man and a woman, both clothed in --

Haussmann's jaw practically dropped in shock. He moved closer to the picture, picking out the details of it. There could be no doubt about it: Mueller's parents, if those were indeed his parents, had been cultists. Members of some religion, in an age when religion was utterly stigmatized in Segland. The Demarchist Revolution had seen eradication of almost all organized religion in the nation, leaving only nomadic churches to go about their work of evangelism in sparsely populated areas.

Almost without thinking, he whipped out his phone, switched it into high-definition picture mode, and snapped a number of pictures of the incriminating photo. He then placed the phone back in his pocket and returned to his seat in front of the chancellor's desk.

Minutes later, after Haussmann had had plenty of time to mull over the myriad uses of the evidence now stored on his phone, Mueller strode back into the room and resumed their discussion on the Algrabad situation. But Haussmann's mind wasn't really there. Instead, it was plotting against the Chancellor of the Seglandic Republic.

---

Contested airspace
Northeastern border of Higgins and Brown

The pilot of the Seglandic plane stared straight ahead in the darkness at his HUD, looking for any sign that he had been detected by ground forces.

He was flying an M-6 Bittern, one of the most advanced models of high-stealth attack bombers ever created. Designed with virtual invisibility and pinpoint accuracy in mind, the M-6 was a recent product of the unspoken cold war enveloping Noctur, and this was its first combat deployment.

Although the M-6 was difficult to detect even when sending and receiving transmissions, it was decided for the sake of minimizing risk that the plane should undergo total radio silence on its mission. The pilot had been on his own ever since he took off from the airbase in Algrabad. And if anything were to go wrong, he was obligated to self-destruct the plane (and, implicitly, himself).

A video display manifested itself on the instrument panel. It showed an infrared view of the city of Athboi, Higgins & Brown. The plane's targeting computer already possessed the coordinates of several bombing objectives, for which would be employed the laser-guided bombs mounted on the rotary launcher. But before the M-6 put its smart bombs to use, it would drop a much larger number of munitions with the help of its good friend gravity. Hopefully, they would kill plenty of civilians and start some firestorms -- then, the guided bombs would take out the real military targets, which included the Athboi city hall.

With a smile obscured by the air mask of his helmet, the pilot eased back a lever that would open the bomb bay doors. He heard the clunk as the doors reached their open position, and the many more clunks as bombs spilled out of the plane's innards. He thought of those pictures of Radiatian planes dropping bombs with the text "If you don't come to democracy, democracy will come to you!" Well, he mused, if the democratic Radiatia was now becoming more and more insular, and the totalitarian Segland was emerging as a force to be reckoned with, maybe democracy wasn't as good as it was made out to be.

The infrared display showed flashes of intense red as the ordnance detonated thousands of feet below. The pilot then turned a knob that prepped the rotary launcher, which held the more intelligent cousins of the gravity bombs that had just been deployed. Finally, with the flip of a switch, the first guided bomb was let free. It steered itself to the city hall, where the pilot sincerely hoped an emergency midnight session was taking place. Then the next one fell, which was for the main hospital, and then the others in sequence.

The pilot took a brief look at the status readouts and, assured that the bomb bay was completely emptied, banked hard to the right.

"Attaboy, Athboi," he said to himself as he headed over the inlet where other Seglandic fighters were likely engaging with Higgins-Brownite ships. But the pilot would take no part in that; he instead returned to inland Algrabad and prepared to report his successful mission to Leading General Morgenssen of the Algrabad Expeditionary Force.

---

Jamneh City, Algrabad

Jonatan Nirgenfreud, host of the Seglandic late-evening talk show Night Show with Nirgenfreud, threw back his head as he downed the glass of arak he had just gotten at an Algrabadi bar. His judgment on the alcoholic beverage? Good, but just not the same as an old-fashioned Seglandic lager. He'd have to indulge in some craft beer once he got back to Ryutsvaag.

For now, though, Nirgenfreud was enjoying himself in the exotic locale of Algrabad -- really the lone Arabic nation in all of Noctur. So were the hundred or so other Seglandic grandees that had come to southern Algrabad with him.

They were all members of Salon New Verdona, easily one of the hottest clubs in all of Segland. New Verdona practically set the trends for the ten thousand other salons in the country.

The salons were an interesting side effect of Demarchist rule, one that Nocturian sociologists had been studying intensely for decades. Essentially, they were simply social organizations that any respectable Seglander would want to belong to. They could be found in just about any major Seglandic city. But they were really much more than that.

Salons were the embodiment of human depravity and lust left unchecked. Although some of them insisted on following puritanical standards, many engaged in pleasure-seeking activities that would have put Caligula to shame. Chancellor Heinrich Mueller himself allegedly belonged to a salon that followed the sybaritic Rorschist model.

Nirgenfreud, like any good salonier, didn't care -- or "give a flying fuck", as he would have put it -- about the bad rep they got outside of Segland. And it really was a bad rep; it was rather miraculous that the Septimist theocrats in Hadin had it in them to ignore the salons in favor of a Hado-Seglandic alliance.

Without warning, Nirgenfreud's smart watch burst into song. He enlarged the notification in its corner to take up the whole digital watch face.

"Oh, Jonatannn!" warbled the voice that had been the source of the singing.

"Darla," he replied, grinning. The woman speaking was his revolving wife for this part of the year (he rotated through all 3 of them in a year, one every 4 months).

"You should come on back to the hotel. The transport fleet to take us into the Zone is assembling, and I don't want to go in there without you."

"Be there in a jiffy." Nirgenfreud cut off the connection, stood up, and began the brief walk back to the hotel where most of the New Verdona saloniers were staying.

He arrived back at the sandy-looking building within ten minutes. Already, a line of personnel transports was present outside the entrance. They had been requisitioned by the salon for civilian use, and apparently the money the Seglanders offered outweighed the costs of not being able to use the transports for the Algrabadi war effort.

A few camouflaged early boarders were getting into their seats, but most everyone was still in the hotel. Nirgenfreud headed on into the lobby, where a teenage Arab bellboy intercepted him.

"Sir Herr, are you Jonatan Nirgenfreud?" the boy said in broken Seschespek.

"Indeed I am," replied Nirgenfreud, switching to Arabic.

Registering a bit of surprise at the Seglander's knowledge of Arabic, the boy said in his native language, "I think your wife said for you to go ahead and get in the first transport. She told me to find you and tell you that, and also that she'll be down in a couple minutes."

"Well, alright then," said the TV host before heading back outside. He located the transport at the front of the convoy and squeezed his tall body into one of the seats, buckling himself in.

True to what the bellboy said, his revolving spouse jumped in beside him only minutes later. He put his arm around her (the best he could in the cramped space of the vehicle's interior), but when his eyes gazed downward, he was shocked by what she was holding.

"Adrian," he exclaimed. "An authentic Algrabadi-made scimitar..."

Darla giggled. "I found it at the bazaar here. Apparently they don't get visitors very often that are rich enough to buy them. Anyway, I figured it might be useful on our little trip."

"Certainly should be," said Nirgenfreud. Then, a bald head popped in through the door.

"Wern," he said, looking at the man who had just intruded. It was Werner Ourslet, a friend that Nirgenfreud had made early on in his television career.

"Hey, Jon," Werner said with a wink in Darla's direction. "Just thought I should check on you and your beautiful wife before we get on the road."

"How long 'till we leave?" asked Nirgenfreud.

"Not long." Werner looked over his shoulder, back toward the hotel entrance. "Actually, it looks like a lot of our people are getting on board the war train now. Choo choo, motherfuckers!" he said with a laugh before heading off to join the stream of boarders.

Soon after, the engines of the transports revved up, and the wealthy Seglanders began their excursion of war tourism into the Buffer Zone.

---

*Colloquialism for Relmsenatier, a member of Segland's federal legislature
^Staatsecurietatis Kantoer, the domestic security service

[Poldania]

Inspired by Radiatia's post

102^nd Parliament of the Republic
Senate Chamber

HGM Prime Minister Antoine Scmidt "The chair recognizes the senator from Cerma. Your Eminence."

HE Senator Karl Alsmen (U-CM13) "I thank Your Majesty. Mr. Prime Minister, I move to pull the resolution SR102-354 from the table for discussion."

PM Scmidt "The motion is to open discussion on the resolution 'to condemn the Socialist People's Union of Algrabad for those military actions taken against the Independent Republic of Higgins & Brown, and to direct the president to enact such sanctions against Algrabad and provide such aid to Higgins and Brown as he deems necessary'. Know that this resolution does not provide for military assistance. His Eminence from Verdona."

HE Sen. Ricard Fuln (U-VD7) "Second!"

PM Scmidt "The question is to open discussion on the said resolution. Is there any opposition? ... The chair sees no opposition, the motion is carried unanimously. Is there any discussion on the resolution at hand? Her Eminence from Livreta."

HE Sen. Elisabet Markenzon (U-LV1) "I propose the resolution be amended to apply also to the Territory of Hadin and the Seglandic Republic, who now provide material and military support to Algrabad."

PM Scmidt "Senator Alsmen, do you accept the amendment?"

Sen. Alsmen "I do."

PM Scmidt "Is there any further discussion? ... The chair sees none. Senator Alsmen, do you wish to call a vote? ... Let the record show His Eminence nodded. The question is to approve the said resolution as amended. Those in favor speak now."

Their Eminences "Aye!"

PM Scmidt "Those opposed speak now."

Their Eminences "Nay!"

PM Scmidt "The ayes have it, the resolution is adopted. Is there any further business? ... The chair sees none. The Senate is adjourned."

Official Decree of the President of Poldania
La Poldaniae Union | Uniten et Zurregnen

---

WHEREAS the Socialist People's Union of Algrabad has undertaken a war against the Independent Republic of Higgins & Brown; and

WHEREAS the first actions of the said war occurred prior to the declaration of war by the government of Algrabad; and

WHEREAS the government of Algrabad previously refused the offer by the government of Higgins & Brown to negotiate the status of the "Buffer Zone"; and

WHEREAS the Territory of Hadin and the Seglandic Republic have given aid both material and military to Algrabad for the prosecution of the war against Higgins & Brown; and

WHEREAS Higgins & Brown intended no harm to Hadin or Segland or their respective interests prior to the declaration of war;

BE IT KNOWN by the authority of the President and the will of Parliament, the Poldanian Union:

REQUESTS the immediate cessation of hostilities between the warring parties;

FINDS the war against Higgins & Brown to be wholly unjustified;

CONDEMNS the governments of Algrabad, Hadin, and Segland;

ORDERS the cessation of all export of arms and other military goods to the said aggressors;

CLOSES all Poldanian waters and airspace to any crafts of the same;

GRANTS the government of Higgins & Brown monetary aid in the amount of one-half billion marks; and

ORDERS the Poldanian navy to safeguard such shipping bound for or registered to Higgins & Brown as passes through its areas of operation.

---

[signed]

Robert Cesare
President of Poldania

[Algrabad]

"Members of the Revolutionary Assembly, we have heard and discussed one nomination. Are there any women here - on men, even - who would like to make another valid nomination?"

Only silence. Golden Silence. A few cries of "No" from the particularly attention-seeking.

"In which case, before we adjourn to vote, I call upon comrade Vice-President Azhari, to finally speak to her own nomination."

The room, grandiose, but utterly ceremonial. The Revolutionary Assembly members were joined by dozens of APA military police and a few political commissars. Necessary for the war effort, handy to ensure discussion was efficient and positive on her election. Sediqqa had made a power-base out of this assembly. Azhari was the product of the party's resistance to that. A firebrand General-Secretary, and then Vice-President, she had undermined Sediqqa so effectively by controlling the last election to this place. It had belonged to both of them after that - those loyal to the party (her), and those loyal to the President. Now things would be different, even difficult. Where did the loyalties of Sediqqa's followers now lie? And where would the loyalties of the hardliners go during her Presidency?

"Children of Algrabad, comrades of the Socialist Revolutionary Party, loyal representatives of all the provinces. Today's meeting is not momentous. It is not even, in the short-term, terribly important. Our leader has been killed. Our nation plunged into war. Our southwestern provinces, stolen, now run red wit the blood of our civilian comrades and our militant enemies. In such a situation, I have no inclination to furnish this Assembly with my pride, with my inner joy, at the thought that you would find me suitable and proper as a candidate for President. Words should not express my feelings on this occasion, due to that which overshadows our meeting here today: the final war of reunification which we have now entered into."

---

The execution of Sara Sediqqa had been pulled off with some ease

The conspirators were not worried of the consequences. They had no retribution to face. 3 soldiers had dragged the President from the entryway to the Vice-executory of Defence, upon hearing shots. Cries of "She's dead!" could be heard elsewhere. Shrill lies. Azhari's escorts had even dripped some blood from hospital supply blood packs (the same type as the President's of course).

By the time Sulaf Azhari reached her, the President was suspicious of her predicament, but well aware she couldn't do anything in her position. The military were in control here, and were keeping her safe from the Higgins-Brownites paratroopers that had been spotted in the city. Or at least, that was the lie she was sarcastically pretending to believe.

Azhari had attended with the intention of having a last conversation with the President, but thought better of it. Watching through a two-way mirror, she saw the President standing in her cell, facing her silently. Stood to attention. Sediqqa wasn't going to allow herself to be shot sitting down, it would seem. Her bodyguards were invited down to the bunker beneath the Vice-Executory, and came for her. For a brief moment, the President appeared to think everything was o.k. She entered the bunker's military prison wing's long corridor with a slight spring in her step.

But, she knew, when she saw how deserted it was. Sulaf, watching from the darkness, saw that she knew. Sara Sediqqa stepped left, away from the exits, to face the dark of the corridor. She gave the salute of the revolution as Canaan's man cut her down with her bodyguards, from the dark. He was using a Higgins-Brownite sniper rifle. In truth, an Oriental weapon.

They had placed her body in the medical wing, and Tawfiq Canaan had gone running looking for help. The nation heard that she had died of her injuries, assassinated by a Higgins-Brownite paratrooper, and herself, Tawfiq and the puppet 3rd Vice-President Shadia Jacir formed an interim Presidential Triumvirate. Over Jacia's concerns, they had ordered the invasion within hours.

---

That trimvirate would be dissolved today.

"...Comrades, women and men, we will overcome our enemies, in this our time of triumph, with the help of our new allies, the United Nocturian Cooperation Axis. I will lead the revolution, and our nation, through these difficult times, ever mindful of the burden placed upon my shoulders. Finally, comrades, I dedicate my efforts to the memory of my murdered predecessor, for whom we have struck vengeance, Sara Sediqqa."

The applause was respectful and long. The faces were happy. Many of the smiles were undoubtedly fabricated. But who was to care? She was President, and Canaan was successfully liberating the western portion of the province of Qaghed - what the Higgins-Brownites called the 2nd district.

The war had been intense, the first few weeks a shocking reminder of what modern war meant. Hadinians were distracting the Higgins-Brownite Navy and the Seglanders were terrorising their populations. On land they were superior, on the sea they were receiving serious help, and in the air they may not be able to stop Higgins-Brownite bombers, but the same was true on the other side.

The City of Jamneh had suffered much, as had the city of LIzqueh. They were slowly progressing from their initial gains in the Buffer Zone, and now refugees were as much a problem as the terrain. But nevertheless, Oulad and Oumdouil were more or less liberated, only a few pockets of resistance remained. Qaghed would be the subject of a new offensive, with Seglandic troops, any day now. That would be the entire north of the Stolen Provinces captured. They could put more Seglandic troops into Lizqueh to capture the ports and secure the border.

She would be a war hero. She would undo the disastrous negotiated end to the 1st War of Reunification, what the Higgins-Brownites called the 2nd Algrabadi War. She would impose the revolution on those who had hidden from it all of these years. And if the hardliners wanted it (and they would), with Hadinian and Ainutolian reinforcements she could invade Brown and set up their own Buffer - extend the revolution and reap the vengeance of 4 generations of Algrabadi people.

"The votes are in. 150 votes for Sulaf Azhari, and 0 votes against. Congratulations, President Azhari!"

She undertook a brief parade through the streets of Al-Miki, the capital, before delivering a compassionate speech on the subject of the home front and civilian deaths. She publicly called for the world to take in those refugees escaping the fighting, and urged her comrades to await the final victory in the war.

---

General Vice-President Tawfiq Canaan rested in his trailer.

War was not comfortable, usually, but it helped to be a General. That was clear from the Vice-President's trailer, akin to a rural house in size.

Commissar Umm Massa took in her surroundings without much thought other than the size. She didn't want to be caught staring.

"Do you have the reports, Commissar?

"Yes comrade General Vice-President. The RAF Marines on Hill 21 still refuse to surrender, but three other units have. Hill 21 is the only remaining pocket of resistance in the province.

A surprise counter-assault from Be'it Amar has seen the 9th Division pushed back there. General Abala assures you she does not require reinforcing and the attack will be contained.

Plans for the offensive are going well, although many officers continue to report friction between ourselves and Seglandic troops. But then, that isn't a surprise - they are racist and counter-revolutionary."

Only at the last comment did the General Vice-President turn his head from his sofa. He had been playing backgammon with a conscript boy, and it seemed he was losing.

"I don't think we'll be requiring the part line on the Seglanders today, Commissar. Or at any point during this campaign, is that clear? Tell your Commissars that any officers who face problems of ill discipline in their own ranks can send the perpetrators to me! And if the perpetrators are Seglandic, send their concerns to the Seglandic officers responsible, with my blessing!"

The kitchen counter was taken up by a map. Roused from his backgammon, Canaan perused the map, picking up some little green blocks. Umm Massa was somewhat confused at the sight of it, given that the Corps HQ tent 10 metres away was equipped with screens that displayed an interactive version of this map.

"You say hill 21 is the only resistance in the province left? They have lost their Combat Support unit here?"

"Yes."

"Has Major Mazea assaulted hill 21 since, does she know if they have AA weapons there?"

Umm Massa shook her head, "They don't."

"I know the Major is proud of her division, but if she doesn't call on the Air Force to bombard that hill within the next 6 hours, I'll do it. I'm not wasting women on a patch of forest for the sake of her pride and a few dozen trees and alpaca."

After the Commissar had left, the General turned to his map. He picked up the block that signalled hill 21, and flicked it into his box containing all different types of identifier. The block, tiny as it was, had represented a single century of Higgins-Brownite marines. They were the last remaining in "the 1st district", known to his people as the provinces of Oulad and Oumdouill. Airstrikes today would mean the complete liberation of Oumdouill, barely weeks into the campaign. True, they were the smallest provinces, but he had liberated them in their entirety. General Vice-President Tawfiq Canaan, the most powerful man in Algrabad, and now a war hero, surely.

[Hadin]

Order From the High-Envoyship

---

WHEREAS the government of Higgins and Brown have openly committed numerous acts of invasion and violence towards Algrabadi claims in the Buffer Zone

WHEREAS the original sovereignty of the Buffer Zone is Algrabadi in its entirity, and illegally held by Higgins-Brownite RAF forces, resulting in a defensive war on the part of Algrabad

IN LIGHT OF Higgins and Brown's assassination of Algrabadi President Sediqqa

IN LIGHT OF Algrabad being a member state of UNCA, and Hadin being obliged as a member-state of the same to provide mutual defense via the Axis Treaty

RECOGNIZING the condemnations of Poldania and Radiatia for Hadin's attempts to merely fulfill its treaty-bound obligations to Algrabad

RECOGNIZING Radiatia's trade blockade as undue hostility against Hadin for the same fulfillment of said treaty obligations, as well as undue hostility and hardship towards Hadinian citizens who rely on such imports.

ELABORATING that any interests towards Radiatian treaty obligations to Nui-ta are not a justifiable excuse, considering Nui-ta's stance of non-intervention in this conflict, and Nui-ta's surprising but gratefully accepted keeping of this stance

hereby

REQUESTS the immediate cessation of the Radiatian blockade of trade within Hadin

CONDEMNS the government of Radiatia for imposing a wholly un-justified blockade against Hadin

REQUESTS a counter-blockade of Radiatian military trade within the Karasian archipelago, to be endorsed by the nations of Segland and Algrabad

ORDERS the Hadinian navy to safeguard all passage of UNCA-affiliated parties on and off Hadinian waterspace.

WARNS all parties wishing to aid or abbet this blockade that any unauthorized entry into Hadinian waterspace will be considered an act of hostile invasion and met with naval force.

[Poldania]

Special Order to the Armed Forces

By command of His August Majesty the President

---

In light of the recent Occidental war, in which UNCA forces have intervened, it is decided that continued UNCA aggression is contrary to the interests of the Union.

In coordination with the Radiatian Federal Sea Force's blockade of Hadin, the Union Navy is to undertake a blockade of Segland. UNCA nations are to be denied the freedom of the seas.

The Union Army and Air Force will increase precautions, but take no offensive actions.

ALL FLEETS DEFCON 3

HOME FLEET maintain minimal presence in Poldanian waters pursuant to general orders

HOME FLEET EXPEDITIONARY FORCE establish blockade of Seglandic coast in Detectatian Gulf

SECOND FLEET and THIRD FLEET commands unified as GRAND FLEET NORTH

GRAND FLEET NORTH establish blockade of Seglandic main coast

ALL BLOCKADES hold outside Seglandic waters

ALL BLOCKADES permit no vessel passage under rules of engagement pursuant to general orders

ALL SUBMARINES restrict combat actions

ALL AIR COMMANDS DEFCON 4

AIR COMMAND SOUTH increase vigilance throughout Merrinan airspace

GLOBAL STRIKE COMMAND monitoring stations to highest alert

ALL ARMY COMMANDS DEFCON 4

---

Uniten et Zurregnen

[signed]

Robert Cesare
President of Poldania

[Segland]

OOC: I know this isn't directly related to the war in Algrabad, but since it's a proxy conflict after all, I figured this was still the best place to post it.

[Link to relevant news article]

| Resolution on the Official Recognition of the Independence and Statehood of the Republic of Merrina |

---

Originally authored and introduced by Relmsenatier Niklaus Aeschelin from Lindland ; passed in the Relmsenat, 360 votes for and 0 votes against

---

The Relmsenat of the Seglandic Republic,

- with regard to its attempts at friendly negotiations with the Poldanian Union during the Wildenbrunn Conference,

- with regard to the dreadful UNION Act in force in Poldania, which needlessly restricts the freedoms of its people and exists primarily to spite Merrina,

- with regard to the fact that Radiatia, the sworn enemy of the Seglandic Republic and the National Socialist Party, is moving ever-closer to an open alliance with Poldania,

- with regard to the necessity of closer ties between the Germanic peoples of Terra Oriens, in particular between Seglanders and Merrinans,

1. Hereby announces the recognition of independence of the Republic of Merrina from the Poldanian Union, as supplied by the Government of the Seglandic Republic;

2. Recognizes the authority of President Gervas Hitzig as the head of government of Merrina;

3. Extends to the Republic of Merrina a hand of friendship as well as an opportunity to join the United Nocturian Cooperation Axis;

4. Commends the pursuit of scientific progress as represented by the recent nuclear test in Merrina;

5. Recommends further experimentation with the wonders of nuclear technology;

6. Expresses concern over the fascist warmongering espoused by the government of Poldania, demonstrated by their reckless and heartless blockade of Seglandic shipping, as well as their double-crossing of Segland in favor of Radiatia;

7. Encourages all members of the United Nocturian Cooperation Axis to follow Segland's example in recognizing the statehood of Merrina;

8. Stresses the need for Poldania itself to accept reality and end its revanchist policies towards Merrina;

9. Allows for the construction of a Seglandic embassy in the capital of Merrina and welcomes the diplomatic corps of Merrina to reciprocate in our own capital, Ryutsvaag.

SIGNED,
Herbert Huber, Speaker of the Relmsenat
Heinrich Mueller, Chancellor

[Hadin]

HPS Belial

In the Hadinian War, the little nation of Hadin had gained a reputation of sorts for being fanatical about victory in war. With a refusal to surrender to "Nui-Ra" (before it was called that), the leaders of the HFL in Kopurauth had to all be killed to end the war. Even after this, sentiment in Hadin against those nations that it felt sought to oppress it resulted in a quick revival of the extremist fanaticism that could only have come from the island north of Nui-ta.

As the HPS Belial and its accompanying ships closed in on their Brownite counterparts, the smaller ships, presumably carrying auxiliary supplies and lighter arms than the Belial, or Orobas, or even Andromalius, moved between the Belial (which was in the very back) and the two cruisers, Orobas and Andromalius, which were towards, but not quite at, the front. A few stray ships formed a line in front of the cruisers, guns pointed and torpedoes aimed and ready to fire.

There was going to be blood. On some ships, one could have heard a few Hadinian men gesturing over themselves, similar to how Catholics crossed themselves, and quickly recite a few prayers. For some, the prayers were for courage. Some were for victory, and a few were for amnesty of sins for they who were about to die.

Everyone in the HPS Emerelda and the HPS Ramona, the two front-most ships, said the last prayer. On each ship, a man stood ready, flipping several switches and knowing that, if worst came to worst, these two ships were going to blow a path through the Brownites for the others, even if it meant that path involved blowing themselves to kingdom come. Others in the fleet knew to go around these two ships...just in case.

Maybe they wouldn't have to resort to such serious measures. In truth, everyone wanted to just evade or shoot-out the Brownite ships and get to Algrabad alive. The "last-ditch" efforts were armed, but not activated: and maybe they wouldn't have to be.

Maybe everything would be okay.

But more important than "everything being okay", to a peoples long oppressed, was the mere idea that win or lose, Hadinian resolve could not be put down until the last breath of the very last man. With no idea as to how the Higgins-Brownites would respond, the ships began to press forward.

---

Algrabad, near the Buffer Zone

"This Radiatian embargo thing really sucks," airman Marius Calica found himself discussing with a counterpart of his, another airman by the name of Thaddeus Drakovich. "Now we have to fly everything into Hadin".

"It won't be impossible," Thaddeus mused. "Radiatia seems to think we don't have aerial military transport".

"It's just not the same though. You know how much more we can cram into a ship than a plane?"

"True, but it's gonna have to do...I hear the government is thinking of dropping a bomb unto the...what the hell is that ship called again? The RFS Tore-eye?"

"RFS Lena Toriah...apparently its named after a former Prime Minister's wife or something".

"Ah, well," Thaddeus rolled his eyes, laughing a little at Marius's comment about the "wife of Prime Minister Toriah". "We're gonna bring in less, but we can make it".

He winked at Marius. "I gotta head out. You have fun taking that bird back to Hadin. Drop an f-bomb if nothing else over the Toriah for me, will you?" Thaddeus gazed out at the Model Nephilem-2 Transport Plane, which would be carrying back industrial supplies to Hadin. Food wouldn't be a problem: West Hadin was nothing but fields, and unless the war lasted into the later parts of the year, the granaries were unlikely to run dry anytime soon.

He heard that Hadinians had to start recycling metal materials for the war effort, partially to get around the embargo, and partially just because there was a war effort to begin with. The Radiatian's weren't wrong to assume that the embargo would hurt Hadin: it was already starting to hurt.

We can cope though; we always do... Thaddeus sighed, getting ready to report to his own post.

Care-packages were going out to key Algrabadi check-points in the Buffer-Zone. Seeing as they had to be air-dropped into jungle terrain, Thaddeus wasn't sure that they'd all get there.

There were a few gifts for the Higgins-Brownites loaded up on some Hadinian planes as well: mainly bloodthirsty Hadinian soldiers and a few bombs, here and there.

Hope everyone likes their presents...

[Higgins and Brown]

Extract from the Field Journal of Sentier [1st Lieutenant/Captain] Owyn Glyns, Commander of 2nd Platoon, Century-D, 2nd Company of the 69th Light Infantry Rangers Battalion. 6th Border Rangers Regiment, 6th Division, I Army Corps. Taken a few days before his death in the line of duty, at the Nafarre Pass, Muken Region, Brown, on the border with the Buffer Zone 5th District. Glyns graduated in Military History prior to his Commission as an Officer.

The "Brown Ring" of mountains are a roughly circular series of curvilinear mountain ranges. In the most part, they separate the intensely hot and wet coastal areas of Outer Brown from the elevated plains of Inner Brown, which are among the driest places outside of deserts in Noctur. As a child, I believed they were a desert, and I still believed that after visiting Mortúus. The exception, as far as the mountains are concerned, is here - the Erezi Mountains, running almost from coast to coast - from what we call the Dádrean Sea to Arabic Bay.

Here, the mountains rise gently from the west and drop steeply in the east. On the western slopes, the fertile ground was the base for the forefathers of Orthodoxy, the Erezi. The ancient city of Erez still stands, partially, on the western side of the plateau that contains the great shallow lake Eremeer. The plateau dominates the landscape, and the steep eastern slopes covey the water in violent falls into the rainforest.

Plains on one side, rainforest on the other. This remarkable microclamactic divider has been the natural boundary of Brown since before the Brownite people conquered it, since before the Ereszim religion began. When Zanzes colonised Higgins & Brown, it did so from the sea, constructing the ports of "Western Zanzes", Zanzes Al'Garab, and constructing great ships of war. No army crossed the mountains then, and the last army to attempt it had perished 800 years previously.

When they lost that colony, the Zanzeanic elites fled by boat but also by train - by the infrastructure they had build, in great projects, to cross the mountains. But no armies followed them across the mountains. Then the Empire fell into chaos, and Zanzes Al'Gharab became its own entity, to become simply known as Al'Gharab, or in our tongue Algrabad. The internal strife in Algrabad for many years was of no concern to those on the other side of the mountains. The train lines fell into disuse.

And so, similarly, when our Civil War began, there was no concern there either. The mountains kept the trouble at bay. But by then, trade used them. Roads had been built through, and the trains were used for haulage. Only a few years later, with the 1st Algrabadi War, known in Algrabad as the Western War, did an army cross the mountains into the rainforests below. Our Republic, fresh from its bruising civil war, unified against a common enemy. But even in that war, naval landings secured victory. The mountain routes could not re-supply an army of adequate size, and the rainforest proved too dangerous too. They gave up the territory gained by war's end.

By the 2nd Algrabadi War, things had changed: tunnels had been cut, roads improved, and the modern tank could make its way through. The tanks that crossed the Erezi mountains in 96IE were Conpatraian, but they flew Algrabadi flags. A Queen illustrated her dominance from the ancient ruins of Erez. The Brownite plains were overrun. Even so, the battle through the mountains had taken over a year, and cost much in casualties and equipment. The Queen of Algrabad honoured the sacrifice, and rewarded those who had been part of the arduous battle. Only a change of heart from a key ally prevented Algrabad from cementing their gains, and the Higgins-Brownite counter-offensive went much easier, with the gradual eastern slopes providing the stage for lightning-paced tank offensives on a grand scale. An army had crossed the mountains, and secured a military victory, for the first time in recorded human history. Then, within the same war, it crossed them again, the other way, in retreat.

With Higgins & Brown's unity and independence secured again, they looked once more to the mountain boundary, but now all had changed. No longer did it provide the natural barrier it once had, and in their minds, they who had suffered much, no longer were they safe. The Buffer Zone was barely "won", it was negotiated for. Higgins & Brown lost the resource-rich "Michaelsland" colony in the 2nd Algrabadi War, but they gained the Buffer. That which would keep them safe.

Down there in the rainforest, they established military camps along a new border. Commandos patrolled Algrabadi towns. Whole areas of strategic importance were blocked off to civilians, and areas of no strategic importance were opened up to Higgins-Brownite settlement. Roads that had appeared on maps for centuries were planted with trees, and new roads cut through the forest, to hinder possible enemy action.

When the revolution came in Algrabad, the People's Army never ventured into the Buffer Zone, despite their inclination towards reunification. The turmoil of the revolution kept at bay, the differences between Algrabadis remained only political differences, while the Commandos maintained the peace. Not until Brian Treacy's treaty did the civil power of the Socialist Revolutionary Party gain any access to the peoples of the zone.

Not until last month did they ever dominate there, as they have in Algrabad for decades. Now, far below me, 2 divisions (At least!) of the Algrabadi People's Army are amassing to once again cross these mountains. One of the places they can do so with relative ease - armed resistance aside - is this pass, the "Nafarre" Pass.

We've had a few hundred refugees come through here in total, but yesterday marks a week since the last ones. Military Police have left us. They were taking the rear road on-foot with any Algrabadi refugees. Which seems better to me than making the journey without military guidance, as our own refugees were doing. No trucks this close to the line unfortunately.

No refugees means that they're being blocked from using the road, I think. We've been expecting this attack for 4 weeks, but nothing yet.

The weather is getting worse as we head into winter. In January, the slopes are as hot as anywhere in Inner Brown. By June, they will be nightmarishly cold. For now, the days are ok, but the nights - or indeed anytime spent in the shade - are something else altogether.

There is a steep slope above us. It requires some rock climbing to access, but then 40m up you can view the rainforest for as far as the eye can see, to the east. Most of us have been up there at least once. It doesn't look like a warzone. Further north, I know, our army is still in the forest, still holding its positions. But up here, we only look down upon it. You can see plumes of smoke from fires or columns of vehicles, and there is the occasional spire or look-out tower. We have spotted trees being felled, in the distance, something very hard to actually see when looking at a sea of tree-tops, but unmistakable once you know how to spot. They are being felled for new routes for tanks and APCs, and heavy artillery. All coming this way.

Orders remain to wait, maintain supplies, maintain health, maintain readiness, and keep watch. Last week we lost a duadier [private] from Decallier Bruton's team - Duadier Rámond Scot. He had been sent to scout the road beneath us. It's an almost-straight drop and road zig zags down the mountainside. Looking down from our front position, we can see the stretch of road directly below, but nothing else. He was shot by a sniper around the 4th turn. His partner attempted to drag him back but was shot at too. We haven't confirmed where the shots came from, but now I can only assume that their front line is there, around the 4th turn, perhaps 50m down from our position.

We have 4 injured as well, only 1 of them from enemy action. They can't be moved, so more of my resources are used caring for them here. The positions to our rear are much better supplied than we are, but the road connecting us has been covered by heavy snowfall, and isn't really passable. The Regiment wants it to stay that way, so that if our position is lost, the APA will be slowed down moving their mech and armour. The only other access to here is along a path that a motorcycle can safely use to the nearest village - which either lends or takes the name of Nefarre. on our side of the border. Our compatriots there are keeping us supplied with some comforts, but as I say, only motorbikes can make the journey, so they can't take any injured back.

I'm getting quite used to the local moonshine though - an attempt at Rum, I fear. Nefarre village has plenty of it, and keeps producing it. There used to be 3 or 4 soldiers stationed here from the Border Rangers, and they apparently liked it enough to ignore the blatant violations of the law - and these were here to assist the Customs Agency!

Now there is a whole company of us, guarding this path. My platoon on the edge of the front-line, lower and more exposed than any other. The men of the company have a pool, to be shared among the surviving winners: they are picking which officers will survive the first day of the coming offensive. I doubt many have picked me, I know I wouldn't. Ah well, the most valuable things in life cannot be measured, as the saying goes.

Up the Republic.

Sentier Glyns was posthumously awarded the Medal of Heroism in Defence of the Independence of the Republic.

[Higgins and Brown]

---

Further north, in the rainforest, the province of Gharab Al'Gharab, also known as the 3rd District

"I can't believe they bombed Athboi."

"This is war, suck it up."

"Don't be so hard on the kid. You got family there, kid?"

"No, but, I mean, they bombed the hospital!"

"I don't get it either. I'd understand them bombing the roads out of Athboi, but I don't see the need to bomb the city."

"Total war Marc. Terrorise the population for maximum disruption."

"I heard it was the Radiatians."

"No, you're confused."

"Well it sure as soil wasn't the Algrabadis. We can blow their planes out of the sky no problem."

"Yeah but the Radiatians are on our side."

"You tell that to the Marines."

"Pfft. Radiatia can go suck my-"

"I mean that they are lending US planes, not Algrabad."

"What about the Marines?"

"You know, in the first district. The last holdouts?"

"What's so great about Radiatian planes that we need them?"

"Um, so we have more planes... barrenhead."

"That was a Seglandic plane, I heard."

"No, I'm telling you, we're getting Radiatian aircraft."

"Athboi I mean, one of Segland's stealth bombers."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Intelligence Officer in the 137th."

"Pfft. Combat support, like they'd know."

"What the f--- would you know?"

"Those guys in the 1st district where headstrong. They should've retreated closer to the coast. Like I said, the Navy can shoot the Algrabadi planes for sport. They'd have been safer there, and heck, they could've actually been of some use."

"That's cold man, they're all dead."

"Can I just ask why are we believing any crap we hear from Combat Support?"

"Hey maybe they don't know but they think they know. AA can't see a plane, but bombs drop like rain on Athboi - plane must be a stealth bomber... stealth bomber sure as soil isn't Algrabadi... maybe its Segland... you know, like when Pithman can't see anything in the dark and thinks a tree is a company of Algrabadi Warriors and wakes us all the f--- up."

"Hey, soils to you Everet."

"I may as well take your watches from now on, I'd get MORE sleep!"

laughs.

"Maybe it was Hadinian?"

"Nah, they don't have anything nearly as good as what bombed Athboi. That was some precision stuff."

"You saying they targeted the hospital?"

"If it was Segland, I'd say the hospital was their first target. Those guys are psychos."

"Pah, that's the lefty in you talking. Don't suppose it escapes you that the women crawling through the muck to slit our throats are communists?"

"No politics in the army."

"I thought Hadin were assisting them too?"

"Not with Stealth Bombers. Soils, a Hadinian plane probably has religious crap written on the side in neon lighting."

"And only the Algrabadis actually hate us enough to go bombing a hospital. Algrabadi plane."

"My [temple] had that."

"Algrabadis are f-----g terrorists. It's in their blood."

"What are you saying about your [temple]?"

"Neon writing. We had "Minimise Demise" in pink neon on the side."

"That's growing up in the bay for you."

"It's war, it's in no-one's blood."

"It's pretty cold though, to bomb a hospital. Uncalled for. Bombing a city in the first place was bad."

"Same tactics we've been using."

"Oh I'm sorry?"

"Eh, the raids?"

"Are you high Ritters?"

"I'm talking about the overall tactics, the eh, what did you call it?"

"...total war?"

"Yeah, the total war. That's what the raids were. Before we'd even declared war we were raiding."

"Arresting a few civies and confiscating weapons they shouldn't have isn't like bombing a hospital."

"Then you don't know what went on in the raids."

"Oh, and you do?"

"Yeah, Ritters, you hiding a Commando badge up your arse?"

"I got a reserve badge on my collar like all of you, which is why pre-mobilisation I was entitled to be a thinking, critical, citizen, and actually look past the HB24 tikkattlesh*t and work out that 'arresting a few civies' was not what the special ones in the Commandos were up to."

"You do know what side you're on, right?"

"Screw you Ritters, we ain't listening to this."

"That's politics right there. No politics in the army."

"No, that's politics. I'm talking about what actually happened, and you don't want to hear because it doesn't fit with our narrative."

"Ah you a commie sympathiser?"

"WOAH. Enough. This conversation is over. Ritters, go and relieve Spencer and Hanby already. The rest of you: throw around those accusations in conversation again and I swear by the soil I will seek permission to shoot you for disruption on the line."

"With all due respect sir, I think it would be better for company strength for you to shoot Ritters."

Laughter.

"Alright, you've had your joke. And tomorrow morning, you'll laugh your way through latrine duty-"

"AIRSTRIKE, TAKE COVER!!"

"TAKE COVER!"

The rush of air, the sucking sound as it moves rapidly in the immediate area of an explosion. Trees fly apart. Men duck into trenches. Someone is screaming. The eventual blast of sound is a 2nd shock to those who haven't covered their ears.

"Ahh, my legs!"

The ringing sound in their ears is louder than the screams of pain.

"My legs! Oh soils my legs!"

He screams his orders into Pathman's face, so they can read his lips.

"Go. Find. Out. Who. That. Is."

"No way, sir!"

"That's an order, Triadier! Walsh. Go. with."

The ringing subsides.

"Medic! Medic! It's Ritters, sir. Spencer and Hanby are dead. Oh soils, Spencer's all over the tree!"

"Look alive men... wait, what is that?"

"They aren't ours."

"They aren't Algrabadi."

"Is that a bomb or a camera he's holding?"

"HALT! FRIEND OR FOE?"

Silence.

"Walsh, Pithman, stay where you are! FRIEND OR FOE?"

"Halo! Wir sind Seglandisch-"

"OPEN FIRE!"

The rattle of rifle fire, followed by silence.

[Higgins and Brown]

The Kenilerth Chronicle
June 174 IE / 57 LET
The Military Keep Requisitioning our Coloured Ink

RED MENACE ADVANCES ON ATHBOI
A MAJOR ROCKET attack on Athboi has destroyed hundreds of apartments and homes. The town of Athboi – population 120,000 – was struck in the early hours of this morning by over a dozen high velocity rockets from the east. Aside from civilian targets, the rockets also hit major military locations including Athboi Airport. The regional airport has been under RAF control since the beginning of the war.

UPDATE: The Algrabadi People’s Army has launched a major offensive to capture the town of Athboi. This morning’s attacks appear to have been aimed at preventing reinforcement of the town’s defences and preventing the Air Corps from assaulting its main target.

The President has issued a rallying call, saying: “There is now no doubt, no curtain behind which those who want to call us friends can hide behind: Algrabad are out to destroy us. Their first offensive into our territory has failed, but this morning proves that was no mere feint. They are hell-bent on taking our land, our freedom, and our children’s futures! But here this, Higgins-Brownites… we will fight them now, we will fight them tomorrow! We will fight them in Athboi, we will fight them in Al-Miki! We will go on fighting until they know that the resilience of Higgins & Brown is greater than their pithy alliance! The courage of our people is greater than their numbers! The might of our military is not to be measured in mere units, personnel and gunpower… but in loyalty, honour, the will to go on!”

GREYSHIRTS CALLED INTO ACTION FOR THE NATION

Altier Todd Morde, Acting Leader of the FUN
and Commander of the Greyshirts.

The Greyshirt Paramilitary Group has confirmed that today the President approved their repeated requests to be brought into the military action. The 3 trained battalions of Far-Right activists have been folded into the new 32nd Regiment of the 10th Division. They will be part of the reinforcement of Athboi that is presently underway, and will see active service very soon. Altier Todd Morde has told this paper, that though he will not be joining the first trainees, he is very proud.

The FUN acting leader’s approval ratings have also gone up – in Higgins, where polling is still being carried out despite over 100 surveyors having been arrested or attacked over accusations of spying.

TADNAMI PARTY LEADER, 7 OTHERS, ARRESTED
Hoindopor Ali Falani has been arrested by the Military on suspicion of Treason. Falani is the leader of “Independence for Independence”, the separatist Tadnami party. The arrest came amidst rising civil tensions in Tadnam, the only Arabic territory of Higgins & Brown, where rumours abound that the Seperatist group have been in contact with the Algrabadis to make a deal for their independence.

It is the sort of rumour that is likely to spark an intense reaction in two sorts of people: Far-Right Caucasians such as the F.U.N., or anti-Algrabadi Tadnamis! The history of the area would suggest that collusion with the communists against Higgins & Brown would receive very little support among the populace, even among those who otherwise support the separatist movement. The capital city of the region, Independence, is so named due to the pivotal role that the Tadnami Arabs played in the final days of the War of Independence, when Tadnami militias and the populace turned on the Zanzeanic & Algrabadi elites. The city of Beit Nazir became the host to the “Battle of Independence”, and was later named after it.

President of the Territory, Omid Jobrani, denounced Falani after his arrest, describing him as a “traitor to the territory of Tadnam.” Military Police sources have yet to comment on the precise context of the arrest, though one source did remind us that “arrests in war-time can be made as a pre-emptive measure, without the need to be certain that someone has yet broken the law.”

NAVY DENIES LOSS OF THREE MAJOR SHIPS IN SEA-BATTLE WITH HADIN

Altadmiral Teach has directly denied a story that the Higgins-Brownite Naval Corps 3rd Fleet has suffered a major blow at the hands of suicidal Hadinian ships in the Southern Seas. However, it has been confirmed that some Hadinians broke through the Naval Blockade that had been set to hold them up.

In Athraltra and Sóthwest regions, Regional Guards have been mobilised to the coasts. The possible advance of the Hadinian Navy there is the first direct external threat to the island of Higgins since the failed attempted invasion landings along the Carrig Coast in the 2nd Algrabadi War.
Officials refuse to release information on whether or not Hadinian forces have landed near the Dádrean Sea. The heavily defended city of Tabertra, in Muken region, has also mobilised the Regional Guard, in anticipation of a Hadinian Landing there. If the Hadinians were to capture Tabertra, they would control the only viable waterway in and out of the Dádrean Sea, which serves the Algrabadi South Coast.

A journalist for another paper accused Altadmiral Teach of hiding the fact that several thousand sailors were lost when 3 major ships were sunk by the Hadinians. The journalist was promptly arrested by Military Police, and we are all none the wiser as to the reality in the Southern Seas.

WE ARE OUTNUMBERED, OUTGUNNED, BUT NOT OUT-MANOEUVRED. HOPEFULLY.
Daily Column by Peter Pettithwait

Fear not, fellow countrymen. In my daily columns, I have been giving you my expert opinion on the clash. Oh, how I wish I was 5 years younger, and eligible to re-enlist! The thrill as bullets whistle through the air, the joy you see on the man’s face next to you as you save his life with the every-day heroism of a soldier! But from here, I have seen a grave picture. Indeed, I have painted it for you. Today we can confirm that we are simply outnumbered. In record time, the RAF appear to have raised a full extra Corps of draftees and claim that they are ready to fight. Even if they are ready to be transported to a battlefield fully equipped, I daresay they are not so ready to fight as the RAF boffins seem to think.

But do not despair! Algrabad invades with more men, women, Hadinians and guns than we have (In fact, last time I checked, we had zero Hadinians), but we have the moral right on our side! The fools of the international community didn’t see it when we were asserting our defensive rights in the Buffer Territories… but now, well, the Algrabadis have given themselves away by breaching our actual border and attacking the picturesque town of Athboi!

Yes, yes, there will be thousands of deaths in the hideous urban warfare that I predict will soon engulf the town and its hinterlands (see my in-depth tactical analysis on page 6, or my interactive map at http://www.kchronincle.hb. The Red Hexagon is also providing a similar map for refugees, but it doesn’t have the military detail that mine does). Yes, we will likely lose that town, even if we win it, due to the sheer force required to budge the commies and fight them back. But look what friends we’ll make! Radiatia is sure to send us EVEN more weapons, and Nui-Ta might send us a few dashing young troops (by the way, if anyone wants a C-VII assault rifle, I suggest you sign up to the Marine draft. Some Army draftees are getting them, but ALL Marines will be getting them).

But to hell with our friends and neighbours – particularly our immediate neighbours to the east. Today we can laugh at Algrabad, because tomorrow those nations, plus Poldania, Conpatria, Crata, Demonlonde, even little isolationist Alizeria, surely NOW they will come to our aid, to save us from this torturous existence? SURELY THEY WILL.

At least, I hope so, because after Athboi falls I’ll need to be going west pronto. Those commie women will probably want to roast me alive as the spoils of war! I’m only 20 stone ladies, there’s not enough to go around!

[Higgins and Brown]

The road climbed a steep hill, the first of the foothills that formed the backdrop to Athboi. The Erezi Mountains dropped lower as they passed around the south of the town and became, in Higgins-Brownite custom, the Tadnami Peaks. A cable tram had supplied the road, joining the 3rd Street central quarter (a capitalist name if ever she'd heard one) to the Observatory at the top of the hill - both tourist hotspots. A cable tramcar remained on the tracks here, its breaks clearly made from sturdy stuff. Since shutting down, it had been riddled with bullets and part of its roof blown out, but the car had not gone careening down the hill on the tracks, as she kept fearing it would.

From her base in the back of a suburban 3-storey semi-detached house, Raqeeb Awal (Sergeant Major) Rehaab Jabaar had ready access to five or so good sniping spots. The closest was in the attic of the same house, facing north out of a gable-end window. The house next door had received a direct bomb hit, and so her view down the street, down the hill, was unimpeded. She could see the sea over the town, where Higgins-Brownite naval vessels were doing their job against Hadinian, Algrabadi and Seglandic aircraft.

The streets here were a warren of interlocking networks of unmarked military pathways. Small teams, including sniper teams like her own, were moving through back gardens, side streets, basements and sewer tunnels, and all the while the air raids continued, the artillery continued, and the town of Athboi became less recognisable with each wave of destruction.

Stalemate. A ridiculous stalemate. The APA had broken through the mountain wall of the Higgins-Brownite border, but they had also captured coast roads that had allowed them to enter Athboi directly from the east. How they hadn't managed to take it swiftly, she wasn't to know. Sniping was her business, not military strategy. But the Higgins-Brownites seemed to be putting everything into stalling the APA at Athboi. South of her, on the other side of the hills, lay an army corps under the command of Vice-President General Canaan. The highest ranking officer in Algrabad was being held back from attacking Athboi by some resistance sandwiched between her and him. But from this side, there was no prospect of that resistance being attacked from the rear. They simply wouldn't have the numbers until the Hadinians arrive.

An entire Hadinian army was now stationed in mainland Algrabad, and a fleet of their navy was somewhere near Higgins & Brown, to the west or the south. She hadn't heard any information about that in weeks. The Army was supposed to reinforce Athboi, the Navy challenge the Higgins-Brownites own naval supremacy. She doubted that the Hadinian reinforcements here would do much for the battle. A deeply unpleasant stalemate had arrived, and whoever broke first would be trapped - the Higgins-Brownites were rumoured to be hiring reinforcements from Nui-ta. A capitalist response to a crisis of the capitalists!

A bike was making its way up the hill, the bell going. A child of about 7 was straining to climb the hill. Joseph was on his way. Little Joseph.

Little Joseph came through here once a day, leaving food and goodies for all of the soldiers. People knew his name by his worn jumper. A cute child, widely-believed to have been recently orphaned and living in the remains of a seriously well-stocked shop, had been given a general pass by all of the units on his route - Algrabadi and Higgins-Brownite. Ask him if he'd seen anyone and where, and he'll silently offer you a biscuit. Ask him to take a message to another unit, and he'll shake his head and offer you a tin of fried beans. A savvy child who was doing everything just about right to ensure that no one got it into their heads to shoot him. Absolutely traumatised, of course. He didn't speak a word to anyone, and he never carried anything of note. Except for her.

Rehaab could read the [latin] script, but little Joseph could write in arabic anyway. He didn't understand the words, but he knew how to write them. His father had trained him. His father, one of the few remaining members of the Communist Party of Higgins & Brown, was in fact still very much alive, and still in charge of the store from which Joseph went, everyday, with goodies and a message in his head from his father.

The messages came to her, she didn't know why, but they did. He wrote down the messages for her, and she let him have something that wasn't available down in his store - chocolate. Every morning. Often they were next to useless, sometimes they repeated what she had already heard on the radio (some stations continued to transmit). Every now and then, there was something she felt obliged to report to her superiors. Three times, it had been the location of a unit that she would have to deal with. On the last of these occasions, the child was more withdrawn than usual, and refused the chocolate. She had known why - his father had sent him to tell her where someone he knew was camping. 4 blocks away, one block over, in a library.

Joseph was a Higgins-Brownite spying for the Algrabadis at the behest of his own father, a dedicated communist. The CPHB had been electorally destroyed years ago, and its activities were only ever periodically referenced in the national press. It was not an impressive organisation, a shell of its former self. Once, it had held great influence over the Socialist Revolutionary Party that ruled Algrabad. Now, it was reduced to occasional meetings of veteran members who lacked the imagination to leave. Joseph's father, assuming he had not had a child very late in life, was surely one of the youngest members. And yet committed enough to betray his country when the time came. She marveled at that. She was not sure that she would do the same for communism her nation were capitalist.

Today's message was fairly regular: a list of troop movements in the town centre, on the enemy side, that she doubted could be accurate given the multitude of unit numbers, street names and unit descriptions the 7 year-old was purporting to remember. Joseph took his chocolate, but didn't leave. She spoke to him in garbled Brownite, asked him if anything was the matter. He was quiet, and stared at her with a mixture of wonder, amusement and fright, as he always did. Her physical appearance - a muscular arab woman with a crew cut and a unit tattoo on her neck - was still a wonder to him. He pointed down, towards his legs. She asked if he needed to toilet. Shake of the head, no he didn't. He began to tear up all of a sudden. She couldn't understand this at all. Children were *not* her thing.

He sat down and pointed at his foot. His trainers. Old and torn-up, but nicer than the things that had been inflicted upon her in her youth, and covered in branding. But they weren't torn up, one of them was positively ripped up. She took a look closer, and Joseph was crying now, saying things she didn't understand, the first she had heard him speak.

Pulling off the trainer, his right foot gave away the problem. A bullet had struck through the trainer, tearing the laces to shreds, and just about scratching his foot - though it went slightly deeper to the left. He'd been shot at while pedaling the bike, and had narrowly escaped with his foot at all. A lot of blood appeared to be seeping from the deeper edge of the wound. She dressed it for his as he sniffed and cried out.

Realising the noise he was making, she covered his mouth and rather unkindly warned him to be quiet. He complied. The bullet had been small, from one of the RAF assault rifles, rather than the larger sniper or battle rifles they carried. The fact that someone had shot at a child on a bicycle didn't surprise her in the least. It was a miracle the boy had survived this long.

She whispered him a message. Go Straight to Daddy. Do Not Stop. She wrote out a message, in Higgins-Brownite, attempting to hide that it was her second language in case anyone should intercept the boy and read it. It was a message to his father: telling him that his son had been shot at, and not to send him back through these parts again.

She could do without half-truths about troop movements in the middle of town anyway. Her 35-minute journey to a nearby unit command was perilous and a waste of her as a resource. This town wasn't going to fall anytime soon, and the battle would be decided by a combination of aerial supremacy, the Higgins-Brownite ships remaining operational, and whether or not ground reinforcements would arrive in big numbers for one side of the other any time soon. This little boy might save a few Algrabadi lives, and doom a few Higgins-Brownites, but he was a child, a traitor to his nation at that, and didn't deserve to be put in such peril.

"By Order, Sniper" she wrote at the bottom, so that the man reading the message would get the gist, without her absolutely revealing which side had the boy had been given the message by. She gave the boy a lot of chocolate, and the smile on his face almost reduced her to tears.

He hobbled somewhat out of the house, through the hole where the front door used to be, with his little bike. She went upstairs, to the attic, to observe him leaving, down the way he had come, laden with chocolate. She observed him through her scope as he left. She could see, from here, about a kilometre down the road before the next intact house blocked her view, such was the slight curve. It was as the child reached about half that distance that she spotted something very unusual. A Higgins-Brownite position, facing towards town, the backs of the troops completely visable to her from the wrecked upper floor they occupied.

They had turned to see the boy and waved at him. Only it seemed they were waving aggressively for him to stop. He didn't stop, he kept going, and slowly too, with his foot bandaged. By the time one had turned with weapon in hand, she had adjusted her scope and disengaged the safety. The soldier raised his weapon over his head, as if in warning, but dropped it again, pointing in the general direction that she assumed Joseph was in. She fired, his torso in her cross-hairs, and he fell without letting off a shot. She had given away her position for a child's safety, and it was to cost her. The troops in the position reacted immediately, some firing in her position, and some firing the way the man she had shot had been about to.

She cycled the bolt-action and fired again, just once, as rounds impacted the outer wall, none closer than 2 metres to her window. She had hit another one, she thought, in the arm or on the rifle itself. She retreated from the position and packed up her things downstairs - stuffing her food and cooking stuff into her backpack, and rolling up her mat. She could hear them shouting down the road, assumed they were getting closer.

She took off through the backyard, once more into the warren. Little red markings on fencing told her different things, though many had been scratched out of the wood or painted over in green. She turned right down a rear alley, keeping low, and deposited her backpack in a garden shed. She scratched a large 1 on the front, and, a few gardens down, climbed into a hole in the ground, a bomb crater that had opened a large water pipe. The APA had been using it cross the road underground, she didn't know if the RAF had been doing the same. She crawled through the mud that had collected to about a fifth of its total capacity, with only a stick of daylight 20m away for company - the other hole, that one purposefully dug. The rifle on her back had to remain vaguely clean, and her pistol was strapped there too, but the rest of her was now caked in the dirt.

The daylight ahead seemed to disappear, and then re-appear. Shadows of somebody standing by the exit. Or else, someone had climbed into the pipe. She stayed still, routed to the spot, and watched for movement. She struggled to find her bayonet quietly and without causing visible movement, on her belt, and pulled it out slowly so as not to cause it to scrape against the sheath. Lying on her front, she had perhaps 50cm space between the back of her head and the top of the pipe. For what seemed like an eternity she waited, convincing herself alternatively of the absence of presence of someone in the pipe. She remained routed to the spot as minutes passed.

Eventually, convincing herself to move, she made her way toward the light. A rodent frightened her, but there had been no enemy. Gingerly, she exited the pipe, throwing out her rifle so as to keep it clean, and moving only once she had her pistol and bayonet ready. The water pipe came up near a stream, which she now walked through, downhill, keeping low. A gap in the buildings, created by a bomb impact, was where she grabbed her first views of the street from this side.

There were some Higgins-Brownite soldiers, medics actually, crowded further downhill. Beyond them, an Algrabadi miniature Amroured Personnel Carrier was on its side, and several of her recently-departed comrades lay around the scene. The medics had raised a white flag, tied around a rifle, as if to say, "we're here snipers, but please don't shoot us. She adjusted her scope to focus on them, though she was no more than 300m away.

There was Joseph, being tended to by two medics and two soldiers looking around. She noticed one had his left arm tied up and was carrying a pistol in his right-hand, but he wasn't a medic. Joseph had clearly been shot, she hadn't saved him that. The little bandage around his foot was visible, the soldiers had taken off his trainers and were holding his feet high. Through the scope, at this range, she could see the grimaces on the faces of the medics as they attempted to save his life. The APA vehicle had been speeding down the road and crashed into the corner of the junction, none of its surviving passengers had made it more than 10 strides from the vehicle, putting up a fight that hadn't lasted long. They had shot Joseph. It was clear from looking at the scene, where their bodies were, where his body was, and how it was lay. He'd been shot from their direction, away from the Higgins-Brownite position she had fired on.

The confusion of war had struck twice: she had opened fire on enemies who she believed were attacking a child, and the child had in fact been shot by disorientated Algrabadi troops after their driver, presumably, had been shot.

She watched, near motionless, but aware of her own surroundings. She eventually made herself less visible, a part of the debris.

She watched the medics do their work until they gave up. She saw them take down the flag and carry the boy's body away. She shot and killed the man with the bandaged arm. He wasn't a medic, and he wasn't able to help. Besides, it was war, they had taken their little white sheet down.

She moved on again, back to get her belongings, as the night's air-raids began.

[Higgins and Brown]

Todd Morde Surveyed the Airfield in full military regalia.

Although, technically, he was the only one on the base who wasn't a military employee.

Since taking on the rank of Altier, a rank that would, if it existed in the Army, be higher than any other, he had wanted to keep it. His people used it to address him, and they loved him because he was strong. Mighty. Highest. Altier.

So when the first battalions, and then regiments, had been folded into the RAF VIth Corps as part of the war effort, he had chosen not to follow them in, being offered only the rank of Altsentier (equivalent to a captain). With some pushing he had been offered the next rank up, Submiltier. But that was not good enough.

He stood now on a raised platform before a brigade. They were known here as the 16th Nationalist Brigade, though in a few days they would be split into two battalions, given new numbering, and folded into the new 11th Division, part of the VIth Army Corps. 1800 men stood before him, their destiny's soon to be decided by the state they had avoided directly serving. Many of them were very young men, some barely 17, some clearly lying. But all of them were trained, politicised, and passionate.

His speech was congratulatory, they had all graduated the basic training, they had come to know one another as comrades, and they would soon go into battle to defend their fatherland against the tyranny of Algrabad and communism. He laced it, too, with some passionate political content - the future they would build in peace, if it ever came, and the legacy they would leave in war, if it never ended.

At his reckoning, this facility had trained close to 30,000 men for combat since the war's beginning - about 5 and a half regiments, almost 2 divisions. Only a Groupier - a general equivalent - would command 30,000 men in the RAF. That rank, he felt, was his right.

And, unlike the army's draftees, his weren't afraid to fight. His training regime mixed vicious physicality with regular propaganda viewings and harsh lectures from some of his best speakers. NCOs who's units failed their exercises, or rather lost them to another unit, were forced to literally fight for their rank, in a free-for-all brawl against any number of subordinate challengers. Those who regained their rank in this way but still underperformed, had their hands tied behind their backs the next time.

This unit was led by a stocky, vicious, bastard of an officer - Miltier Dorvish. Dorvish would likely get docked in rank upon becoming an official officer - the RAF didn't like to admit that they were using officers from a militia group. He had been appointed as a hexadier in his first week, based on his background knowledge, natural leadership qualities and having some ability with a gun. When his unit and another fought each other to a stalemate in maneuvers, both were fairly happy with their performances. But, as was his right he challenged for rank. Not his immediate superior, a higher NCO, but his platoon commander, a Lancier (lieutenant). Beating the man bloody, he took command of a platoon in his 3rd week on the base.

2 months later, and through a combination of fights, genuine military promotion, and all the while garnering the fear in his men to keep them in line, Dorvish had risen to command a brigade of recruits who he had started at the same time with.

To cheers from the men, he bid them good luck in their futures, and promised to see the survivors for a rally that would shake the world afterwards. He summoned for Dorvish to follow him to his quarters, a large office in the first basement.

The FUN had been among the first groups to take full advantage of the Radiatian support mechanisms. The airfield before them was stocked with Radiatian planes and tanks, and their units went into battle with the standard service rifle of the Radiatian army, the C-7 rifle, classed by the RAF as the RR54. While not especially new, these were more powerful and more reliable than those used by Higgins & Brown. The only trouble had been in training new recruits to handle the recoil, and ensuring that the army didn't steal all of their ammunition. The ammunition was expensive, but since they had been folding units into the Army, they had been getting substantial payment per soldier.

In fact, the entire camp had been working very effectively with support from the state, and yet they had avoided being taken over altogether.

Flags of the F.U.N. adorned his office, with newspaper clippings of their various battles to date - sacrifices, defeats, victories. Most of these had been small in scale. The defeat in Athboi, however, that had been horrific. The FUN units had eventually been crushed there along with other RAF. UNCA air superiority had eventually been established, and after that the aerial and naval support to the town was either destroyed or withdrawn, and the Hadinian reinforcements from the coast-road were able to clear up in the aftermath of severe, accurate, bombing raids.

The town of Athboi was now a smouldering ruin, but a smouldering ruin held by UNCA forces.

"Would you like some wine, Miltier?"

---

To Dorvish, the wine was rank.

Too expensive for his taste, but he knew Morde wasn't a drinker and didn't keep hard liquor in his office. It was one of many things about the Altier that other men would be bullied for in the Front, but no-one would ever, could ever, bully the Altier.

Dorvish had killed a man not 4 weeks ago, with his bare hands, but even he feared Morde, a man who lacked any visible muscularity. The reports called it an accident, but it wasn't, and they all knew it. A Lancier who had just led his men up the wrong hill as they trained in the Pitzjorol countryside. Dorvish had put the position out to challenge, but the officer had filled his men's head with garbage about respecting his position, about following him to the death. They believed that this tactical bafoonery was leadership, and none accepted the challenge. So Dorvish had challenged him himself, given the Lancier a bayonet. "If you can stab me, before I floor you, you can keep your position."

The meek nature of the man was soon found out - he had many chances but didn't take them. When he finally made his lurch, pointing his weapon straight at Dorvish's head, Dorvish knocked him down with a punch, and then a second. The second had done it - his head bounced of the tarmac. Dazed, the man had gotten straight up - a feat that impressed Dorvish. Still with bayonet in hand, he lunged a second time, but barely cognisant of his surroundings. This had caught Dorvish off-guard, and his response was less than clean - a kick in the chest, and then grabbing the man from behind, holding his arm so as to force him to drop the bayonet.

Getting up had impressed him, he would've given the man his rank back for that. But he had to beat him now, for the sake of the men, and their respect for him, having been attacked a second time. He had driven his elbow into the side of his captured adversaries head, and that was the last moment of consciousness the man had. Such was the physicality of Dorvish. But still, Todd Morde frightened him, and that was a presence he could respect.

"What was your formal education before coming here, Miltier?"

"I 'av none, sir. Lef' school at 14 to work in the Combine. That is a community factory. They built my ma' an 'ouse, an' I did 6 years for 'em."

"And, your military training?"

"Oh, well, drugs sir. I had to get off 'em, so I joined the scouts."

"You learned to crush a man's skull in the scouts?"

"No sir, that was the fighting clubs."

"I've spent so little time in Newport, but I see that the culture there is good for producing great commanders, like yourself."

"Um, if you say so, sir."

"I do. Your hardship as a teenager has given you a grounded outlook. You a humble, you serve a higher cause, you instill fear and respect. I still have faced hardship - I was not forced to work, like you, but I was forced to defend myself, to adapt. You and I may look very different, but I feel we are the same."

"Thas a great compliment sir."

"Nonsense, it is a great liberty I am taking. Miltier Dorvish, tomorrow you will be folded into the national army. They will likely reassign some of your men, mess you about a bit, and then send you south - to Colgerugh, where you will defend that city against likely attack. This is somewhat classified information I receive as a Hoindopor, so don't go telling your men."

"Right sir."

"Look around the wall, Miltier, what do you see?"

"Nice decorations sir. And newspapers. Stories about what we've won and lost"

"Yes, rather a lot of losing. Miltier Dorvish, this war may be the end of our country as we know it. The Algrabadis do not demand terms, but they have trampled over great swathes of our nation. What we need now, and what a man like you can deliver, is a heroic victory. A small one, perhaps militarily insignificant, but something to give us hope. And above all, something for which we on this base can say we are proud. You see, Dorvish, your men out there will die for two things: you and the flag. Perhaps they will also die for me, but I am not there. They will not die for our President, or for some Groupier foisted upon them, or for some Miltier even, who commands over you..."

Morde swept around the desk, grabbing Dorvish by the shoulders. He spoke into his ear, almost like a dominant lover.

"You must lead these men, and they must follow you. They must die for you in the advancement for heroic victory, and you must secure that heroic victory. Dorvish, we may lose this war as a nation. But we in the Front must win. Do you understand?"

"I... I don't know. I think so."

"I want the next newspaper that I frame and hang in this room to say 'HERO DORVISH SAVES THE DAY', and I want you to come back to me. There will be a place for you here, a place to build a new nation, out of the ashes of this one. Somewhere to call home. Like your mother Dorvish. You worked so they would build her a house. Now, go and build your own house. It will be here when you return."

"Thank you sir."

Dorvish drank through the night, hosting assorted challenges of drunken combat, and forcing any shy-aways to give him several dozen press-ups, which, with cheap wine taken, was difficult. In the morning, he forced himself up to take the officers for a grueling run.

---

Morde felt a physical rush, adrenaline coursed through him.

He always felt it in these situations. To him, rhetoric and aspiration were intoxicating, arousing. He had made the same pitch to commanders before, in this room, but few had amounted to much - most of them had died in battle, that was the grim fact of it. Heroically, he didn't doubt. But he needed a living hero, not another martyr.

And the news he was getting, of the unabated advances toward Vklarrbeg and Colgerugh, meant time was running out for his greatest scheme. And, with that realisation, his adrenaline rush began to fade. Nerves came back to him.

He ensured the office door was locked. and bent down on the ground behind his desk, removing a panel of the raised floor. Drawing a key from around his neck, he open the small safe located under the panel. The documents that could be a death sentence teased him, and he pulled one out of its file - two A4 pages stapled together. He read through this message again, as he had done several times.

The details were juicy, the possibilities were exciting, the fact that he had the message and might make use of it was frightening. He checked again its various code-words and phraseology, ensuring once more that it wasn't faked, that it was the real deal. And then he checked the date - 4 weeks from now, in October.

4 weeks to send a response to Segland.

[Hadin]

Colgerugh, Higgins and Brown
The waves crashed against the coast at the port of Colgerugh, each blow resounding in a thunderous blast, like the thunder that accompanies a bolt of lightning.

A storm was brewing. This was not a storm within the air, though it was thick with anticipation. This was not a storm of rain, or lightning, or hail ----except an impending hail of bullets. Tonight would be a night remembered by all who would speak of the Third Algrabadi War in the future.

The Hadinians had already lost two ships, with the HPS Emerelda and the HPS Ramona, two Pavor-class cruisers, sacrificing themselves in glorious explosions, punching a hole in the Higgins and Brown RAF naval forces, and allowing the rest of the Hadinian fleet to pass their foes and continue en route to Colgerugh.

The ships would be replaced easy enough: Hadin had already been planning to phase out all of the old, retro-fitted Pavor's anyway, with a new class of vessel to surpass any of the Salutem-class. The men were now long gone though, their bodies smashed to pieces and likely feeding several varieties of fish. It was their spirits, however, that Hadinians were more concerned about.

Ave Quintrama, qui ante nostra. Dicat omnis sanguis fidelis qui effusus hic videatur a Deus si redacta per damnatorum.
Hail to the fifth god, you who have passed on before us. May all the faithful blood that was shed here be seen by God and repaid by the damned.

Not that the Higgins-Brownites of Colgerugh could hear this holy chant, repeated by Hadinian troops wishing for the benediction of the avatar of war upon their fallen comrades. What the Higgins-Brownites heard instead were whistling sounds --- the Arman and Arman'un Guided Missile Systems (depending on which ship they were equipped on) firing several rounds into non-Hadinian ships, and one or two missiles upon a building located in the center of the port.

There were only a handful of missiles fired from the inventory of the fleet's possession --- this was all they would require. To not inflict some chaos upon the port at all would complicate their landing amid the RAF troops who were no doubt waiting for them. To destroy the port too much, however, would complicate their next objective.

By attacking the other ships, the Hadinian fleet would have less trouble to deal with on a naval front. Meanwhile, while the naval units of the RAF relented, the Hadinians could focus on their next objective, to drop the land-invasion force unto Colgerugh itself.

One burning building in the center of the port would no doubt provide sufficient lighting. One burning building in the center of the port would likely also give the RAF quite the jolt. The fire would also take some time to spread as well, no doubt, amid concrete reinforcements and airlocks standard in the fire-code of much of the world for such a purpose.

That would give the units which were assigned the task of re-supplying...well...time to re-supply. They would remember that it would do them well to take from the buildings closer to the port.

The plan worked brilliantly, with poorly-trained RAF conscript forces falling hook-line-and-sinker for the confusion planted by the blaze. Running amid the confusion, sticking his bayonet into enemy soldier after enemy soldier, Kord Schmitt felt a rush of adrenaline, and a burst of pleasure that surpassed any other experience in his life.

Kord was 19, on his last year of the five-year mandatory conscription period for all men in Hadin. At 14, entering into training with a bunch of other young adolescent boys his age, Kord found that he was unusual in that he actually liked being sent to fight, and hunt, and kill. Other young men of Hadin were here because this was what "Deus" commanded them to do, according to the Septimist propaganda that was passed out in schools all over the country. Perhaps they were there because they did not wish to disappoint their families --- or maybe because military service was essential in Hadin to being considered a full-fledged man.

If military service meant that these young boys would be considered men (or mensch, as the Seglandic term went, if Kord could remember his foreign language studies right) --- then Kord was Übermensch, and every sniveling enemy he shot or stabbed was untermensch, and therefore of no consequence.

Regrouping with the rest of the troops meant to march through Colgerugh and take the city, Kord couldn't help but turn back and watch his comrades in the re-supply group. Their performance in quickly breaking open and taking provisions like food, water, and gasoline, was a thing of absolute beauty. More convincing still was seeing two of them snatch up a female RAF conscript, kicking-and-screaming, before lugging her back onto the ship.

They weren't all worth killing, after all. She would likely make someone a glorious concubine.

That wasn't the only deplorable thing that the Hadinians were doing, whether or not Kord would acknowledge these acts as such. The Hadinians marched through Colgerugh, some on land, others divided up into the subways. They were breaking into shops, gunning down civilians, and taking loot for their own. They were defacing walls with the initials "I.D", Ignus Dei, known in English as "Flame of God", as a reference to a lesser title of their most holy and adored Septima.

Most importantly, those who could speak the local language were yelling into the air, warning the local populace to stay out of the way and submit to this, the "will of God" --- or else.

All the while, amid this facade of religious crusade, most of the Hadinians were chanting and laughing. The chants started off with religious material, but soon descended into jeers and cheers of how Hadin had come so far in the world, and how UNCA's dominance was prevailing ov---

---

There had been, among the many Hadinian men marching alongside Kord, one younger boy who wasn't singing anything.

Kord vaguely recognized him as Yuri Marzel, a boy of about 17, barely old enough by global standards to be old enough to fight. Hadin had a reputation of sending young children to fight --- the age of majority in Hadin was only 14, meaning that anyone at that age or older was eligible to fight, or in the case of a woman, be married off. Kord was Yuri's direct commanding officer, being a Sergeant over the mere Private Marzel.

Yuri was much too peace-loving for this kind of thing, a trait Kord considered "soft". Yuri could run just as fast as any other soldier his age, and followed orders just as well, if not better, than the next person. He was reluctant to be cruel, however, unlike most others in the military. While the chants were sung, and the soldiers marched, Yuri kept in time with the marching, but had his head down.

Those hands holding the rifle were shaking nervously.

"Marzel!" Kord yelled. "How do you expect to conquer Colgerugh looking like a little girl?!"

A few of the men laughed, while Marzel clutched his rifle closer to his chest and simply whimpered something along the lines of "I...I'm sorry..."

Kord pointed to a subway entrance. "Why don't you do some women's work then, little girl, and get back to the port? Save me a woman or two before the other ones get too indulgent..."'

"Y-yes sir..." Again, the men laughed watching Marzel slinking into the subway. They pressed forward, leaving Marzel to return alone.

Once again, their chants had descended into jeers and cheers of how Hadin had come so far in the world, and how UNCA's dominance was prevailing over the rest of Noctur.

The Altimaran fantasy was cut short by an unholy noise: multiple machine guns firing at the same time. These were not Hadinian guns, and this was not UNCA dominance. Now, a new player had entered unto the stage.

"TAKE COVER".

The cheering and jeering was gone, replaced by men returning fire, or scrambling into alleyways and subway entrances to get away from the assault. This was something far more professional than the conscript forces. This was Todd Morde's own personally trained group of soldiers, all as indoctrinated and bloodthirsty for their cause as the Hadinians had been for theirs, and if it was one thing that the Hadinians were not prepared for, it was a militant fanaticism which would rival their own. Like a bully whose self-confidence had been over-inflated by dominating smaller, meeker targets, no one among the Hadinian fleet knew what to do being now confronted by someone their own size.

The primary objective was the port, to prevent other Higgins-Brownite forces from entering Colgerugh by sea. The secondary objective was to take the city, or at least hold it as long as possible. Running through the subway now, with this in mind, Kord was sure to gun down everything in his way. The sooner they got back to the port, the sooner the Hadinians could regroup and start picking off this new threat from heavier fortifications, as well as the assistance of the heavy weaponry of the ships.

"T-this way..."

A familiar voice stopped him. Kord turned to see Yuri Marzel standing before him, hands still shaking while holding a still-smoking rifle. There was blood, though clearly not Marzel's own, splattered all over the young private.

"We...we gotta get back..."

"Shut up and follow me, Yuri," Kord snapped. And please don't be out of ammunition.

There were screams everywhere, surrounding the two men, echoing off the subway halls like the cries of ghosts from the catacombs where Nui-ta's purebloods had hidden themselves during Zanzeanic occupation. Whatever was attacking them, it wasn't the RAF that they'd met on the port --- at least not the RAF on its lonesome. This was something more lethal, and something capable enough to not be stirred or confused by the chaos of the Hadinian invasion. This had followed them into the subways. This would follow them to the ports.

Kord fired at every figure he saw which wasn't wearing a Hadinian uniform. They were close to the ports now. They were close --- he could hear more gunshots behind him from their pursuers. He felt something rip through his thigh, but sheer adrenaline kept him running anyway.

Ducking into an alcove of the subway, he quickly found himself to be out of ammunition. He'd have to resort to a rapier now --- meaning, in truth, that he'd have to stay in the shadows. A blade wouldn't stop a gun.

"Yuri, give me your rifle," Kord commanded. No response. Yuri was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Kord realized that he'd heard something fall with a great thud behind him as he ran --- probably the Private.

Fuck.

Whatever was pursuing him had stopped as well, likely stripping Yuri of whatever valuables they could find. There was still no guarantee that they wouldn't follow him further down the subway, so Kord decided to take his chances with whatever was above ground at the next subway exit.

He barely made it to the port in time, leg still burning from his injuries, scrambling unto the ship, manning a machine gun, and staring out at Colgerugh to behold the fruits of their great Hadinian invasion.

Bodies everywhere, mostly RAF from the earlier fight, but plenty of Hadinian troops, and some scattered other force, which Kord wouldn't find out to have been the FUN units until long after the war was over. Hadinian numbers were thinned, but still holding the port --- for now. Even though it was now definitely daybreak, the city still seemed as dark and hazy as before, as the smell of blood and gunpowder filled the air.

Colgerugh, the city, was a failure. The port was still up for debate, however, so Kord pushed all thoughts of poor Yuri out of his mind, took the safety off the machine gun, and returned to the hunting and killing that he did best. Maybe the Algrabadi wenches would show up soon and make things easier. Only time would tell.

[Higgins and Brown]

Dorvish began the day's fighting with blood already soaking his uniform.

The silver hexagon that hung from a chain around his neck was now red. The first bombings, which sounded like they had come from the sea, and not the air, had been against their own headquarters - a school with makeshift huts strewn out on the playing fields, which must've presented an an obvious target to the recon flights. One barracks had suffered a direct hit, and no one had emerged capable of going into battle. Very few had emerged at all.

The 20 or so inside the hut had been FUN trained, each one. Sentier Dorvish (he had been docked 3 ranks upon official placement) had attempted to pull a duadier (private), who's name he didn't know, to safety. But it wasn't to be, the boy was burnt and dying, and wounded with sharpnel in several places. Dorvish's last words to the lad were a promise of vengeance.

Air raids had already hit installations elsewhere in the city - makeshift headquarters for the conscripts stationed there. And the rumour was that Algrabadis had landed by air, as Hadinians had come from the sea. The port was lost, the units there scattered or destroyed. And now there was artillery from the ships, moving further in-land, either to stymie a counter-attack or aid the taking of the city. Dorvish didn't yet know, but he knew his preference.

He listened to the proceedings from the front seat of an armoured personnel carrier. The APC led his company - a convoy mostly of trucks - into the city, as near to the port as they may dare. Vengeance was on his mind as the convoy came to a halt - the sound of gunfire near. From here they were to follow a tank on foot. Beyond the junction, they could see in the distance a civic building breaking the view - probably a library or council office - in flames. Nearer still, around the corners, the sound of assault rifle fire, and ...singing?

Not arabic, nor the gutteral Seglandic language.

"Hadinians" he muttered.

His driver, a Decallier (Sgt), offered a response, "Sailors sir. Jumped up holidaymakers."

"Well they can holiday in the cold ground."

He split his force into three, with two sections moving along the street through the backs of the plots. Colgerugh was not a densely built-up city, buts its geography was worth using.He led the frontal charge himself, eager to inspire his men. His sheer physicality was a weapon of war in and of itself, as he rounded the corner bellowing "To the Soil!"

In truth, the Hadinians seemed to think they'd already won the battle for the city, and they weren't as prepared for a gunfight as they might have been for a sing-song. Seconds after Dorvish opened fire, the pincer closed on this group of Hadinians, and soldiers from all sides mowed them down.

The adrenaline coursed through him like never before, at the macabre spectacle of their victory in the skirmish. He sent others ahead to secure the street and report back, in case other Hadinian units were close behind. A few of the invaders had been wounded but not killed. With his revolver - a classic piece that had been his great uncle's - he set about executing the survivors. No one protested. This was his kind of unit, and they shared his disdain for those who would challenge their nation.

His murders completed, he rushed to the front of his company again. His scouts knew the route the nearest enemies were coming,they had heard them chanting, heckling, even. Dorvish's men moved like a living organism. Perhaps they didn't pick the best cover, perhaps they weren't proceeding with enough caution, but they were single bloody-minded enough to need to get to the enemy.

The second engagement came at a shop - an off-license no less! "Do they even drink?" Dorvish thought, as the assault began. Those outside the shop, who had been shooting out windows for fun, were dropped instantly. Those inside defended themselves admirably enough, but a petrol bomb through the front window made things much harder for them - the bright alcohol-fuelled flames were beautiful to Dorvish's eyes. A few came out with their hands up, but Dorvish didn't even have to give the order to shoot.

At least their deaths were quick. Hadinian screams from the burning shop continued as the unit moved on. But just around the corner they joined in a full street battle. Other FUN-led units were there as well, engaging what seemed to be a large Hadinian force, moving backwards, back toward the port. Dorvish led his men, and anyone else who dared follow, on a sprinting charge with bayonets out, firing in barely controlled bursts, and once more bellowing his loudest.

He turned into a subway station several invaders had retreated into, shooting a few as he met them. Down some escalators now, and there were just a few to shoot in the back... but in the darkness, along the tracks, their advantage came down only to their local knowledge.

Here and there screams. Dorvish moved with more caution. He sniffed the dank air, hoping to gain any advantage at all if it came to close quarters. Around him, his fellow fanatics were making contact, bayonets coming in handy, but bloodthirst too. A soldier to his left, he couldn't see who it was, fired a long burst into the space under a platform, and those who had been hiding there gave ghastly wheezes of pain. A little up ahead, a Brownite called out in a struggle, just as ghastly, but loud and furious.

With a slight rush, he reached the body of the man who'd screamed. It had been a damned brutal thing, and Dorvish doubted the other man had got off lightly. But he had got off alive. They weren't the only animals in this subterranean jungle.

Some whispers ahead, that same foreign language. And the shooting resumed now, the men of the Republic on the offensive in a pitch black tunnel. They sang as they charged, an anthem specific to the far-right, an anthem about Arabs that Hadinians wouldn't have taken much offence to, but for the bullets.

"Pull back! Pull back!" - it was a request, not an order, from a junior officer. "Sentier, we're at the Bremen St. station!"

It was a good point, Breman St. was the last stop before the port itself. They knew the city well, and this might be a good place to emerge. Dorvish allowed the human to take over, the animal within to subside for a moment.

"Very well, up top, we hold the street against any retreating Hadinians."

Only upon reaching street level did they realise how behind the enemy's lines they were. They had emerged behind the artillery barage, which was creating a perimeter of sorts above ground. Through the smoke of that perimeter now - the guns were silent - dozens if not hundreds of Hadinians were retreating, their attention away from the port, covering their rear. Dorvish had the remaining group lay down a barage of fire, taking the Hadinians from behind. Pretty soon, a great number of them had surrendered, completely surrounded.

---

The newspapers in the next days would hail Dorvish for his subway dash, getting behind the enemy, and enabling the speedy encircling of the port.

They would laud him for the first attack, hours later, on the port itself, which did not meet with catastrophe. They would not mention the fate of those Hadinian prisoners however, whose mass executions Dorvish personally oversaw, with his troops all too eager. In keeping with their brutal training, Dorvish ordered the men under his command to take turns with the executions, determining the manner of death themselves. The exercise became a competitive, and the horror became entertainment.

It was the Algrabadi paratroopers that ruined the fun, reinforcing a smaller perimeter around the city, and after meeting them in close combat, inflicting and taking like-for-like losses, Dorvish and his unit were relieved for the day by conscripts similar in stature to those who had failed to hold the port in the first place.

---

Across the country, in his office, Todd Morde was talking to any journalists he could get on the phone.

Dorvish was quick to report his "heroics", and Morde quick to verify this with officials. To journalists, he offered interviews with "the saviour of Colgerugh." Dorvish would likely be honoured with high order medals for his actions - the brutal massacre, officially only a rumour, aside. The press would lap it up, with early access to a hero who would speak his mind, and a handler in Morde who would keep them in the loop, and give them plenty of content.

In fact, "Saviour of Colgerugh" was the very first headline Morde would read on the topic, a picture of Dorvish from the front taking up the front page. On page 2, a picture of Morde speaking to Dorvish's unit.

The port was not exactly retaken, but the enemy was denied effective re-use of it, and was expected to abandon it soon.

For Morde of course, what was now important was a message to that very enemy, and the cards he would have to play...

[Higgins and Brown]

****ENCRYPTED MESSAGE****

I am willing and able to end war favourably for UNCA and its allies, including:

• Complete Algrabad control in Buffer Area.
• Higgins & Brown to cut ties with Nui-ta and Radiatia, and support Segland in its regional diplomacy.
• Peace Agreement with UNCA, including Algrabad.
• Free Trade Agreement with UNCA, with the exception of Algrabad.

In return I will require only that the UNCA demand:

• The secession and autonomy of the Arab territory of Tadnam, currently part of Higgins & Brown.
• The Resignation of the Current Higgins-Brownite Presidential Government.

Please send details of prospective deal offer. I trust this will aid you in your own endeavors.

Todd Morde.

[Segland]

National Military Building
Ryutsvaag, Segland

As the last general seated himself in the maximally cyber-secure Communications Room, a video screen slowly brightened to show a squarish face smothered with make-up, barely clothed Algrabadi servant boys in the background. The mouth of the man on the screen opened ponderously as he began to speak, but the quick and alert voice gave lie to his use of energy pills. He had not slept in days, yet he felt no resentment towards the other National Military Commission members in Segland who had access to every luxury imaginable -- after all, there were certain consolations available when it came to the local boys of Algrabad.

"Leading General and Dux of Algrabad Operations, Svante Morgenssen, reporting," gushed the voice.

"Svante," came the tremolo of Chancellor Mueller. "We must get down to business immediately with the issue I'm sure is pressing on all our hearts -- what's the latest on the lost expedition of saloniers?"

"Since they ventured into territory that was until very recently controlled by Higg forces, I've only just been able to dispatch a search and rescue squad. We're also entertaining the possibility that the expedition was kidnapped by the Higgs," Svante replied.

"But no urgent transmissions were ever sent," interjected Colonel Jakob Meer, the signals intelligence adviser who was the lowest-ranking member of the Commission. "If the Higgs kidnapped them, they would have had to be cautious to keep as many Seglanders alive as possible, leaving time to get off a warning. I believe they were massacred, and quickly at that."

"We will know soon," Svante said. "No need to speculate right now."

"Why not, General? Only through speculation can we be prepared for every contingency," said Mueller to Svante. The room went silent, an air of tenseness suddenly overtaking everyone. The Chancellor was testing Svante, an intimidation tactic he used frequently.

Svante hesitated as he realized with the others in the room that Mueller's tone had changed. "Because," he answered slowly, "time is precious, and our meeting here would be better utilized discussing known facts. Would you disagree?"

"You insolent Tunte," spat Mueller, using a pejorative Seschespek term for homosexuals. This was another thing he did frequently, much to the chagrin of his (mostly gay) generals. But then he unexpectedly smiled. "You have spoken well... know that we desire a live witness from the salon. This incident may well help to turn public opinion in our favor. But I wish now to discuss the recent assault on Colgerugh."

The men in the room gradually relaxed, as did the man whose unblemished face hung on the video screen. They were all relieved that the Chancellor had relented so quickly, for he was known to go on pushing and prodding his officials until they broke. For these men, the military was not only a safe haven for homosexuals, but also a place they had hoped to escape political intrigue for the relative straightforwardness of war. But the labyrinthine Demarchist Party and its leader penetrated into even that.

Speaking on the matter of Colgerugh, Svante said, "Hadinian marines working with Algrabadi soldiers were making significant progress towards taking the city when paramilitary troops of the FUN intervened and, er...wiped out the Hadinian force."

The room erupted in agitated conversation.

"Wiped out! Who's ever heard of such a defeat for the Septimist fanatics?" said one man.

"We've created a monster in the FUN," muttered another.

"Gentlemen, please," said Mueller. "No need to panic. Indeed, it seems that we've underestimated the efficiency of the FUN paramilitary apparatus, but I have the perfect man to deal with this situation. He will be delegated soon." The perfect man for sure. Utterly competent yet submissive to me, Mueller thought with the pride of knowing he'd selected the best person for handling the FUN.

---

Chez Charbonneau
Der Arkangel, Segland

Alexei Haussmann glared in disgust at the alert that had just buzzed on his phone: a summons from the Chancellor to appear to his local representative. Why does the senile man have to detain me now?

He was at Chez Charbonneau, one of the top servers of Faransian haute-cuisine in the Der Arkangel area. Across the table were two spies working for the GHB. They were men with whom Haussmann had collaborated during his own GHB days, and he considered them fairly trustworthy. But only fairly -- after all, one of the reasons Haussmann had risen so much and so quickly in the Seglandic government was that he placed total trust in no one. He didn't trust the spies enough to tell them the actual purpose behind their impending mission to one of the nomadic Plains cults. His grand plan was flawless, he thought, to the effect that it involved so many people yet none of them knew more than their own tiny role.

The arrival of a waiter with a second drink (a glass of spice-flavored water -- Haussmann never drank in public) brought his attention back to the matter at hand, the alert on his phone that just buzzed a second time.

"I need to go," Haussmann said to the waiter, "so if you'll just charge the meal to my Party account..." He pulled out a card embellished in red-and-black Demarchist colors and handed it over.

"Very well, Your Excellency," the waiter replied, strutting off.

Haussmann smiled at the spies apologetically. "High-level business," he explained. "But you all know what to do by now. I'll have the briefing files delivered to you soon."

"Whatever you're planning, Alexei, you'd better know what you're doing," said one of them.

Haussmann leveled a cold stare at the man. "Don't worry about what I'm doing."

---

BLACK-LEVEL CLASSIFICATION*: The following message was sent encrypted to the Demarchist Party's contact in the Front for a United Nation after the message's author, Liaison Minister Alexei Haussmann, was charged by Chancellor Heinrich Mueller to negotiate covertly with the FUN in the interest of ending the HB-Algrabad War.

Herr Morde,

I am pleased to inform you that your request has been approved by the Chancellor, and that we are willing to demand the actions specified in your telegram. The governments of other UNCA nations will be instructed discreetly to begin applying the necessary pressure to the Higgins and Brownite government with a view to bringing about both the secession of Tadnam and the resignation of your country's incumbent Presidential Government.

Concurrently, you are to use the leverage of the FUN to help achieve these goals:

1. The unconditional cession of the former Buffer Zone to the government of Algrabad,
2. The realignment of Higgins and Brownite support from Nui-Rad to the Seglandic bloc, up to but not including the entrance of Higgins and Brown into UNCA,
3. A binding peace treaty between Higgins and Brown and its supporting forces, and Algrabad and its supporting forces,
4. A resumption of Higgins and Brownite trade with UNCA nations excluding Algrabad, as well as the relaxation or abolition of preexisting trade barriers, and
5. The assurance that the aforementioned Tadnam will be kept non-aligned.

Finally, from now on, all of your questions concerning the liaison between the FUN and the Seglandic Republic may be directed straight to me instead of to the middle man you have used as a contact until now.

-Alexei Haussmann

*The highest military/governmental level of secrecy in Segland; documents designated black-level do not officially exist

---

Jungles of the Buffer Zone

The personnel extraction squad cut its way through the oppressive vegetation that was everywhere in the jungle, impeding both movement and vision except for when the occasional road intervened. They had been at their search for days, but still no evidence of the disappeared Seglandic war tourists had presented itself. The sergeant in charge, a middle-aged man named Kistler, was beginning to suspect that the Higgs had indeed kidnapped the tourists when a shrill cry from nearby pierced the air.

"MOTHAFUCKA!"

Kistler looked backwards at his squadmates. Putting his finger to his mouth, he quickly proceeded to hack at a chest-level tree branch with his machete, and with a bit of work cut it off. He took a few paces forward before noticing a sizable clearing through the leaves ahead.

"Gorman, get up here," he whispered.

Gorman, a private, made his way to Kistler's position. "Sir, I just heard a sort of grunt through there... could be the person whose shout we heard."

"We'd better bag him before he gives us away to every fuckin' Higg in the Zone," hissed another private.

"Whoever it is, he speaks Seschespek. Encircle the clearing and attempt to apprehend," Kistler ordered. The men did as he said.

Less than a minute had passed by, it seemed, when there was a gasp and then the sound of a struggle between two men. The rest of the squad rushed (although it was more of an ungainly scramble thanks to vegetation) into the clearing to the scene of Gorman holding a shirtless black man against a tree trunk.

"Lemme go, nigga!" yelled the man as he squirmed in Gorman's hold.

Somewhat shocked by the sight, Kistler steadied himself and asked the man, "Where are you from? Rango Mango?"

"Bitch, who do you know from Rango Mango that speaks Seschespek? I'm a Seglander! A rich one who's gonna sue your ass if you don't order Bear Hug here to take his pasty-ass hands off of me!"

Kistler nodded to Gorman, who let the man go. Bear Hug... this one's funny, Kistler thought.

"Aight, let's pretend that never happened. The name's Tyrone J'Marcus Jackson, chief reporter for Da Newzz$. Who are you niggas?"

Kistler signaled himself as the one to do the talking. "Sergeant Rudolf Kistler of the Seglandic Republic Army. We're here to rescue the members of Salon New Verdona. Is anyone else alive?"

"Soon as I heard niggas start bustin' caps, I took off, fam," said Tyrone. "Pretty sure everyone else's dead."

"And why were you yelling earlier?"

"Oh, I saw a body. If you follow me, I can show ya."

Tyrone headed out of the clearing, and the squad of soldiers reluctantly followed. They soon came upon a corpse, just as Tyrone had said. The putrefied body had a line of bullet holes across the chest. Clutched in the hand was a slightly tarnished scimitar -- one of high quality. Pinching his nose, Kistler bent over to get a better look.

"Oh Adrian," he murmured, recognizing the face. Louder he said, "Isn't this that talk show host? Nirgenfreud, I think his name is?"

"Damn well could be," replied another soldier. "We'd better radio in this location for the body baggers."

The Higgs are just as savage as the 'Badis, Kistler thought ruefully to himself. Presently he said, "Alright, let's get Tyrone here to the hospital for a med exam." He looked at Tyrone. "Then, my friend, you'll be back off to Segland for the publicity tour of a lifetime."

[Higgins and Brown]

The War Cabinet Sat in a Row, Facing Altier Morde. Only the President and an Army Groupier were Absent.

"Hoindopor Morde, I think you'd better begin. The President is very busy."

"I imagine so, Codenor Davonport, she is probably sacking whoever allowed the enemy so close to Vklarrbeg. None the less, I cannot make my presentation without her being present. It is something she must be directly briefed on."

The Altier and the Vice-President fixed their eyes on each other; neither had recognised the other's true office, as Morde saw it. The tension in the air was thick and musty - a knife would have got stuck in it. Altier Morde knew that rumours were flying about him. He stood before the War Cabinet to confirm them in part. Altmiltier Lipsi of the B60 Intelligence Wing looked ready to shoot him, and he guessed that the man had enough information to make a good guess about what he was about to say. Communicating with the enemy might be considered collusion and, thus, treason. But, if the intelligence apparatchiks knew just a little bit more, they were unlikely to block an avenue to peace.

And that was an avenue Morde was about to offer to open... for a high price. The demand for peace was, however, massive. The UNCA had completely overpowered Higgins & Brown's numerically inferior forces by now. Nui-tan mercenaries and Radiatian weapons had been a great help in some areas, but ultimately not enough in the face of a tri-national assault - Algrabadi avengers, Hadinian bodies and Seglandic equipment.

Successive Presidential administrations had collectively shrank the RAF and also committed to a more robust and offensive management of the Buffer Zone. A near lethal cocktail. Only nearly because of Morde's actions.

The setting for his great reveal was fitting for a country losing a war. The front coming ever closer, and strategic bombing raids now being conducted to disrupt government activity, this meeting was taking place in the underground food court of a metro station, beneath a shopping plaza that was still open, but barely functioning.

The President's security checked the room first, eyeing each and every member with suspicion.

The members of the war cabinet visibly recoiled as the President and a Groupier swept into the room, locked in an angry verbal exchange already. Henrietta J. W. had become quite dictatorial in the conduct of the war, her war cabinet more of a consultative body that she expected to follow her will. When the Codena had refused to support her policies, she had cancelled its session and worked on the 12 Floor Leaders instead. In recent weeks, they had been following her every decision. This argument was about military strategy, but perhaps the most alarming thing to a neutral would be that only one Groupier, of all the Military Commanders there, was even questioning the President's right to overrule them.

She certainly had a way with people. If it had been a time of peace, or if she were more humble, or even if her ability to influence her underlings could transfer to the people at large, she would have been a great President. For Altier Morde, however, even that would not stop him on his course. He loved his country, yes, but he put no store in stability while those who would sacrifice it on the alter of respectability were in power. This woman, like her predecessor, and all of her likely and willing successors, would have to go. The people must see the chaos of respectability, and he as Altier, and the leader of the true Vanguard, would provide that chaos.

The President gave a final blow to her dissenting officer. "I expect your resignation on my desk by the end of the day, Altgroupier! It is time to spend time with your family."

"My son has died defending your government!"

"Your son died defending his country, and that seems like me all the more reason to spend time with your family."

Altgroupier Saint marched away. Morde made a mental note to send him a retirement gift. He had joined her entourage only ten minutes before, to strongly press his concerns to her about the Army's capability to do what she now asked. The conversation had seemed to end with him being sacked.

Henrietta J. W. felt the eyes of her feeble war cabinet as she took her own wooden cafeteria chair, to face Todd Morde. Here was a man made of stronger stuff, but he was dangerous.

"He was out of line." was all Altgroupier Locke, Saint's superior, said to her as she took her seat. She wasn't sure if he was a stickler for military discipline or simply towing her line. Altmiltier Lipsi of B60 attempted to open the meeting, but she shut him down. She had had enough of military men for one day. She supped a flat energy drink as Morde spoke.

The Setting was Perfect for Him

"Madam President, Vice-President, Prime Minister, Deputy Prime Ministers, and heroic officers of the Republican Armed Forces. I have come today to convey a message of peace, sent to me, with a promise, by a contact I have absolute trust in, from Segland. To be frank, it is terms for an end to this conflict."

The faces around the table dropped. Lipsi his notes on the floor is disgust - and partially, Morde thought, because they contained a body of proof to the thing he'd just admitted.

The President almost laughed. "Go on, Hoindopor. Let us see what the FUN has really been up to all this time." Her smile unnerved him slightly, but he quickly decided it was simply the result of her anxiety turning to near madness.

"They have offered us complete territorial sovereignty over all but one of our territories, in response for very little: The Buffer Zone should be returned to Algrabad, we should support Segland and the UNCA in their immediate endevours, and we should cease to be part of the Nui-tan or Radiatian agenda on the international stage, and we should open up trade with the UNCA countries - they give us the option not to trade with Algrabad if we wish. They wish for Tadnam to gain its independence, and there are one or two other demands."

"You are a nationalist, or so you say, and you wish to give our enemy the Buffer Zone?" It was the Prime Minister, the elderly and interim Jon Mánard. He seemed more amused than annoyed. Morde sensed he wanted to be persuaded.

"Prime Minister Mánard, the enemy has already taken that Buffer Zone, and nearly half of Brown. They are offering to retreat, leave us be, for a few tokens of our appreciation."

Some of the faces around the room were clouded in depression at the thought. Higgins & Brown had never really lost a war to Algrabad in the past. It had nearly lost, and fought them back. This was a pyschological blow. Others were full of seething anger that Morde had committed this treason.

"Madam President, I ask your permission to arrest this man! He has committed treason, colluded with our enemies, and now wishes to negotiate our surrender!"

"There is no surrender here, Altadmiral Teach. They are granting us a near-full reprieve. I daresay it is the actions of units trained by my organisation at Colgerugh that convinced them the human cost of this occupation would be too great. With no help from your navy."

"How DARE you?!"

"No, Altadmiral, HOW DARE YOU accuse me, without even considering that which I have considered gravely."

The President intervened before the men began their chest-bashing.

"He is right, Altadmiral, we must think on it. Do you have any evidence of this offer?" Morde handed over a polished version of the most recent communication he had received, one devoid of incriminating language.

"Before you read that, Madam President, there is one other demand which you and this cabinet must consider very seriously. This deal will ensure our country's survival, cohesion, and will somewhat direct our foreign policy choices in the near future. They will differ from those we have followed in the past. This deal corrects the many mistakes we have made, and many things that others see as mistakes. We have been isolated, and ill-prepared for this war, and yet we have been given a second chance. The Seglanders, however, lack trust in this administration to carry out our end of the bargain. They thus would require the resignation of your and your Commission, Madam President."

The woman was stunned. It was as though he had slapped her at an official function. She couldn't make a reply immediately, which is probably what saved Morde's life. Altmiltier Lipsi had reacted much quicker to the question, leaping out of his chair, and Morde was now facing down the barrel of his revolver. It was the Prime Minister who interrupted the likely condemnation.

"Well, I would've assumed that to be honest... I mean, the government can hardly change its foreign policy focus with the same leader, and after a war we've lost. We'd have no credibility. I think it is quite a sensible suggestion." The President found her voice after that.

"Are YOU a part of this Mánard?"

"Madam President I'm not a part of anything. This deal seems to have very few downsides - the biggest is granting Tadnam its independence, and we would have to ensure Algrabad does not abuse that. We would be turning away from Radiatia and Nui-ta, but, with respect, Radiatia's new President was being rather nicer to us than any of her predecessors and we have no reason to think that will continue. Nui-ta meant well, but came too late. They have proven that they cannot be relied upon. Segland, meanwhile... I hate their government and everything they stand for, but they could crush us by year's end if we do not accede to this. If you do not consider this deal, Madam President, it is arguable that you have committed treason, not Mr. Morde." Mánard looked around the room as he ended his little intervention, locking eyes with military officers, commissioners and Codenors alike. He found on their faces some agreement, and the President saw it."

"You are a traitor then, too. Get out."

"You can't sack the PM, and you can't ignore his point." It was Admiral Ládan. Bolshy as ever. Many murmured in agreement. Morde felt a thrill, he knew what was happening. These people had come to hate this woman, and while ending the war on Segland's terms was dishonourable for some - it was still a breath of life for their country. Henrietta could take the fall and be gone, and they would be quite able to heap the blame on her. But the President was riled up now.

"This is utter treason! He is overthrowing the government and the government is complicit! Lipsi, shoot him!"

The room inhaled a collective breath. Lipsi looked confused by the order. He had meant to arrest Morde, yes, but to shoot a non-serving civilian this far from the front line was unquestionably illegal, and the witnesses in this room were too numerous, and as they were proving gradually, untrustworthy.

"Ms. President?"

"Belay that order, Lipsi! She doesn't have the authority!" barked the Head of the Republican Armed Forces, Altgroupier Locke. His intervention was surely the end of it, Morde thought. She's been finished in a matter of minutes. The President looked hurt, more than anything else. She took a few deep breaths, all the while Altgroupier Locke thought of his pension. She rooted through her handbag for a notebook and pen, and then, produced a stamp. The room sat in silence as she wrote a note. Upon finishing it, she signed it and stamped it with the seal of the President. The Vice-President, sat to her right, held out his hand to receive it, but she ignored this and gave it to Locke instead, sat on her left. When she spoke, she spoke calmly.

"Mr. Locke, you are relieved of your command. Please contact your successor as soon as possible and have him report to me. Altmiltier Lipsi, you are quite correct not to have shot this traitor, please resume your seat. Mr. Prime Minister, the affairs of the war cabinet are confidential, I trust you will abide by that? This deal will not happen."

The tide had moved out though. She was done.

Most of the room had assumed her little note was going to be her resignation. But no. It was one of her own Commission who had to point out that the knife had already been plunged into her back. Ráf Fulbrít, the Commissioner for International Relations.

"Madam President. The Codenal Floor Leaders will see the minutes of this meeting. They will see the proposal put by the Seglanders. Quite frankly, Henrietta, they will impeach you without a second thought to achieve this peace, and there is ample evidence for the Procourt to confirm it. You will be appealing that impeachment to the Concourt while the rest of us negotiate the peace." There were grunts of agreement.

"You shouldn't take it personally, Madam President, they would have called for anyone's head in your position. You've served us well, set up a fine War Cabinet and directed the business of war a lot better than I would have expected. But it wasn't enough, it was too late. We all failed, and now we have to pay the price." Before he was even finished, others were saying they agreed. It was an open threat of impeachment - something unheard of in wartime. That military officers were also murmuring in agreement made it a coup as well, in her eyes. Fulbrít was signing his own job away though, she realised, in all likelihood. So there must be some merit in it. She couldn't deny the deal was otherwise a life-send. No one in the room had even raised an eyelid at the prospect of losing Tadnam.

"It's the only way, Madam President." said Morde. Her silent Vice-President had his head in his hands.

A few moments of silence passed, but she accepted her fate willingly. After signing her own resignation and handing it to her successor, she pulled some Hralch Whisky from her bag and in full view took severl swigs.

If Vice-President Jódi Davonport had thought himself to be the next President he was soon told otherwise by Morde and the others also: they required the resignation of the government, not just the President. And so, Davonport concluded an Acting Presidency of about 4 minutes with his own resignation.

The new interim Head of State wasn't even in the room. Fábian Lawrens, the Chief Commissioner and Commissioner-to-the-Treasury, had been left out of the War Cabinet to prevent fiscal constraints limiting their tactical discussions. He was, in fact, at the Treasury, doing his day job. Like others, his office was now in the basement, but he wasn't exactly a high priority Commission member. His first inclination that something had changed was his office suddenly filling with Presidential Security.

[Algrabad]

The announcement of the war’s end was not as well choreographed as other, more minor, announcements might have been. The war-time propaganda that adorned public spaces was not replaced by new victory propaganda until a few days after the announcement (and that was in the major cities. Elsewhere it took weeks). The news reports quickly changed their tone, however. Where previously there had been messages of support for the troops, and reports both of success from the front and the many successful diplomatic events among UNCA leaders, there was suddenly only two themes: victory over Higgins & Brown, and reunification.

The details of the truce were sparse. Attentive listeners would have noticed that no date was given, nor a description, of the process, meetings or communications that ended the war. The state released information on first the truce and then the peace treaty in dribs and drabs. Some sections, they didn’t release at all, but there was no way of knowing that for sure to the average citizen. To those in the upper echelons of the state or party administrations, even the usual avenues of gossip bore no fruit, no answers. Those who conversed with the Foreign Directorate Staff came away confused and a little worried, for it seemed either that discipline with confidential information was tighter than ever, or – more likely – the Foreign Directorate staff genuinely didn’t know anything.

One day 2 or 3 weeks after the end of the war, a peace treaty was announced to the country, to be signed tomorrow. Signed by who and signed where, again no-one knew. But to Algrabadis, this was minor information, and its secrecy odd but not completely surprising. But this they knew: they had reclaimed the so-called western buffer, reunited those provinces that had been divided in the last war, and liberated that province that had been wholly subsumed¹. Tadnam, an Arab area, had been liberated too. The Higgins-Brownite government had resigned, and their military had been utterly defeated.

Every unit of the returning army paraded through every settlement it passed through, and every settlement hosted at least a dozen such parades. Street parties were organised, victory and memorial banners quickly designed, approved and printed en-masse. The President toured the captured territories and observed parades in her honour, before touring the rest of the country as well. The 3 Vice-Presidents did the same – a rare honour for the Administrative Vice-President² to be afforded such status in the eyes of the state. The Military Vice-President Tawfiq Canaan, received especially exuberant receptions. He and the President appeared together in Tamour Square, Al-Miki, before thousands of state, party and military personnel, to receive together new awards made by the Justices of the People, each now received the medal and moniker of a Saviour of Algrabad. No prouder moment had ever been staged in the square, t.v. commentators informed their audiences.

The banners of the re-unified and recaptured provinces were paraded also, and those buildings which did fly the 20+ provincial banners of Algrabad ceremonially raised the relevant ones from half-mast. Accompanying such celebration, state media pumped out stories of heroism and determination, and played documentaries of the historical struggle for the disputed area, and how the revolutionary movement had made it a top priority. The war was referred to as the War of Re-unification. No mention of the northern buffer, still subject to the varying fortunes of Rango Manguan war lords. No mention of the years of attempted reconciliation with Higgins & Brown, or of the President’s predecessor, Sara Sediqqa, who’s death had been the official trigger for invasion.

The Secret Army produced confidential reports stating that, in their opinion, the party and the government had not been more popular since the immediate aftermath of the revolution, and that the President, in particular, had higher approval of her people than any of her 4 predecessors had ever enjoyed. Out of the 3 surviving predecessors, 2 made it their business to praise President Sulaf Azhari, and show their admiration for her courage in office.

After some weeks, the lack of further information on the treaty began to bother some in the capital, where usually such information would get about. There had been no photograph, even, of peace negotiations. It wasn’t clear if the new Higgins-Brownite government had been installed internally or by the victors. Despite warm words during the war, there was now no mention of Algrabad’s UNCA allies. Where victory and memorial flags now flew, some remembered that those same poles had flown the flags of UNCA allies. UNCA state visits had been planned for after the war – these were now binned, and that was information that did get out. Reshuffles on all 3 of the President’s Councils³ confirmed what some had begun to figure out: there was a disagreement among the higher-ups, something serious.

The offices of the high-ranking staff in many of the Directorates stayed occupied into the late hours of the night. The President’s own staff seemed to have moved into their offices permanently. Black cars with tinted-out windows transferred officials between directorates, departments and embassies with a notably-increased frequency. And many of them were stopped and turned around, in broad daylight, by uniformed officers of the military, the party or the state. Security increased in seemingly meaningless locations.

President Azhari maintained her tours. Vice-President Canaan maintained his. Both stayed away from the capital, but their minions were at work. For state workers, meetings on any subject gradually attracted more observers, and they were getting tenser. No one could say why. The Assemblies⁴ cancelled their planned sessions, and now many of the political class were staying away too. Officials avoided unnecessary conversation. Every public servant, down to the cleaners, soon learnt to avoid the sound of raised voices, to turn and walk the other way, lest you hear – or be accused of hearing – the unspeakable being spoken. Those who didn’t were demoted and transferred to another office. Those who spoke the unspeakable were demoted and transferred to another province, never to return to the capital.

Committee memberships changed without explanation, and noticeboards soon began displaying a hugely inflated number of promotions, demotions and transfers. In some buildings, the daily commute became an ordeal for those filing past such noticeboards with threadbare-concealed fear. On some occasions, those who saw their names broke down in the public lobbies. Social outlets declined in popularity. The party clubs and public entertainment courts were emptying of anyone who might have something to lose. The staff wondered allowed if the weather was turning people off. It was one of the hottest Novembers on record.

While the capital squirmed through an unclear crisis, the rest of the country gorged on the sanctioned euphoria of victory in war. The heat wave suited them, and the streets were fullest in the shade, for almost endless, if poorly resourced, street parties and visits from the recent veterans of war. Not for them the rumour of a rift between Azhari and Canaan, nor the rumours of discontent with the terms of peace. And of course, no chance outside the capital, of even a whisper of the unspeakable: that Algrabad had been ordered to enter into peace by Segland, and was in victory a colony once more. A colony of fascists and theists.

---

¹ The provinces of Oulad, Qaghed, Gharab Al-Gharab, Jamenh and Lizqueh were partially within the western Buffer Zone. The small coastal province of Oumdouill was wholly within the zone.

² The Algrabadi government is divided into three pillars under the President: Revolutionary, Military and Administrative. A Vice-President represents each one. "Administrative" is a colloquialism for affairs that can be managed without communist oversight, without threatening the revolution. The Administrative Vice-President is the highest non-party civilian officeholder in the country, but by far the least influential of the three Vice-Presidents.

³ The three pillars of Algrabadi government are each managed by an executive council, chaired by the President, which the relevant Vice-President also sits on.

⁴ The Revolutionary and Administrative Councils are drawn from elected Assemblies, though elections are not free or fair. These tend to meet twice a year for 2 months at a time.

Part II: The Working War