Imperial Recrudescence [Greater Díenstad; In Character]

[Stevid]

LOUD 5 SECOND BEEP

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Okay Laura, we’re recording now. But we haven’t started just yet. No one here wants to rush you and no one is going too. You’re really brave for doing this so early on. You have my thanks and promise that I will do my best to get you the closure you so deserve. Are you still feeling up to this?

6 SECOND PAUSE

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura has indicated yes by nodding her head.
Thank you. Now have you ever been interviewed by Police or been recorded on tape before?

<<Laura>>
…No…

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Okay that’s fine. Basically this room may appear like a comfortable living room but it is in fact a Police Interview room designed specifically to put you at ease and make you as comfortable as possible. However there are several cameras and microphones in here to record everything we see and do. Sometimes actions speak louder than words, and because you are so important it is vital we understand everything you may consciously or unconsciously be saying.
Now I’m going to be asking you a lot of questions. I won’t lie, they may start innocent enough but they will get very difficult to answer. They will be invasive and sometimes be graphic. We need to know everything. If you ever need to stop, just say and we’ll pause the interview.
Okay?

<<Laura>>
Yes…

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Okay, I have to say the formal bits now. Afterwards you should forget we’re even recording – it’ll just be a conversation between all of us…
… The time 1641 hours and the date is Saturday twenty-fifth of July in the two thousand and twenty-third year of Our Lord on the Dienstadi Calendar, the two thousand and fifteenth year of our Lord on traditional calendars. I have unsealed two DVD discs and inserted them into the recording machine and set said machine to record. This interview is being recorded. The investigation reference number is 77292/22. This is the interview of Laura, twenty-four year old female, true name secret as mentioned earlier to protect her privacy.
I’m 77291193 Staff Sergeant Narville of Seventy-Seven Section First Investigation Company, Royal Military Police – Special Investigation Branch.

<<Sgt Newcombe (SIB)>>
I am Sergeant Newcombe of the same unit, here as Second Service policeman.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Present also is Laura as the victim in case 77292/22; Miss Wheeler, true name secret, as Laura’s next of kin and in charge of Laura’s immediate welfare; and a Special Agent from the Free Republic of Lamoni’s sister agency to the SIB, attached to Seventy-Seven Section for the purposes of this interview due to the location of the incident.
I am conducting this Achieve Best Evidence (ABE) interview in regards to the mass murder of civilians in a village, code-named Area Kilo, of which Laura is a survivor and key witness. The interview is being conducted within Camp CITADEL Military Police Station, on the Lamoni owned side of Former Indras, Omega.
Laura, although this is a police interview I must stress that you are not under arrest by local law enforcement or detained by either the Stevidian or Lamonian military. Should you say something incriminating I will caution you and then continue the interview.
The time is 1643 hours. Do you wish to start the interview?

6 SECOND PAUSE

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura has indicated yes by nodding her head.
Okay, described to me in as much detail as possible everything that happened between 1900 hours, seven o’clock, to the point where you were discovered by rescue teams in your house?

20 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
Err…. I’ll try. [Faint sobbing] Err… we’d just sat down in front of the television. We, I mean my mum, dad and two sisters. We’d just had dinner and wanted to watch television again. It was just a normal Thursday to be honest. I’d finished college for the day and just wanted to get home and spend time with the family. We were watching some chat show but I can’t remember paying too much attention to it. All they talk about is the civil war in Holy Panooly and then the troubles we have here… with the division. Dad get’s really wound… I mean… [sobs] I mean he… he did get… ah… [sobbing].

10 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
My family didn’t like watching the television much the past few weeks. It was also bad news or some crisis. The region isn’t safe. We weren’t safe... We always sit down for the chat show because sometimes they don’t talk about the civil war or the division, or the regional war. [Sobs] But now the Holy Empire is here to replace the peacekeeping people, well that’s all people are talking about… We just want some normality.
We then talked a little about it all; it’s all we ever seem to talk about these days… I mean… oh.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
I understood what you meant. I know you haven’t had it easy. I won’t pretend that I understand what you’re going through. But I can try to imagine. Just let the words come. You might find it helps. Speaking about them in the present tense may seem strange and upsetting but it puts you back in that scene… in the past… it helps our investigation. Don’t feel bad for remembering them like there are still living, thinking of them like that now can help me do them justice.

<<Laura>>
Okay… well, yeah, that’s all we talk about these days. The country isn’t in great shape you see. There’s a lot of tension this close to the border with the north. So, yeah, we almost always end up talking about all the bad in the world. Will it ever change? Will things get better? Y’know, stuff like that. It would always bring the worst out of dad. Never a fan of this Imperialism and ‘interstate intervention’ as the TV always says. It would rile him up enough these days to make him drink a little more than usual.
We went to bed early but I stayed up a little later in my bedroom. I’m sorta seeing this boy from college and we’ve been talking a lot. So I text him every night, helps me forget about the problems we all face.

<<Sgt Newcombe (SIB)>>
What’s his name, Laura?

<<Laura>>
… Shaun… Oh! God, I don’t think he knows! [Panicked sobbing]

<<Miss Wheeler>>
We’ll phone him right away, love.

<<Laura>>
He must think I’m dead! The village must’ve been on the news! [Crying]

2 MINUTE COMMOTION – INDIVIDUAL WORD CONSTRUCTIONS CANNOT BE ATTRIBUTED TO CORRECT PERSONS. CONSULT STATEMENTS OF EVIDENCE

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Miss Wheeler has left the interview to telephone Laura’s current partner to appraise him of all details relating to the welfare of the victim.

<<Laura>>
I can’t believe after all this time I forgot about him, forgot to tell you. I hate myself and he’ll hate me!

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
I’m sure he’ll understand. You’ve been through something incredibly traumatic and you are trying to contend with it all. No one will hold a lapse of memory against you.
So… you were texting Shaun?

<<Laura>>
Yeah, just casually y’know… nothing… y’know… err anyway. Yeah, we talked for a bit, until about eleven o’clock. I told him I wanted to get to sleep, I had a long day at college and the next day was going to be long too. I wanted to be fresh.
I had a shower and went to bed straight after…

15 SECOND PAUSE

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
How long did it take you to get to sleep do you think?

<<Laura>>
I heard my alarm clock beep once for the hour at one point. So at least an hour.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Anyone come into your room?

<<Laura>>
No. I wasn’t disturbed… until…

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
What was the weather like?

<<Laura>>
What was the weather like? Why?

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
It’s important to us.

<<Laura>>
Erm… hot. Well… yeah hot but humid as well. Apart of the reason I couldn’t sleep. It’s a tropical country and it keeps getting humid this time of year.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Wind?

<<Laura>>
I guess a little. My curtains were waving. Don’t ask me which direction, I don’t remember.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
[Chuckling] That’s fine, it all helps.

DOOR OPENS THEN CLOSES

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Miss Wheeler has entered the room.

<<Miss Wheeler>>
It’s all in hand darling… he’s as relieved as you’d expect.

20 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
[Sobbing]

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Tell me about how you were woken up Laura. As detailed as possible.

<<Laura>>
I heard a loud crack. Just one at first, like a branch snapping off a large tree but the noise seemed louder. Like it was amplified somehow. I thought for a second there might have been a storm and the trees were falling down or something. I heard roaring like wind blowing really strong and under it was thumping. Again, I thought it was a storm, the wind buffeting on my window but then as I lay there it sounded more like a helicopter. It didn’t think it was incredibly strange at first, being so close to the border we see helicopters all the time. But they never land in our village.
That’s when the whole village was deafened by these cracks. It rippled, but not in a pattern, just random loud snapping noises. Then there were whooshes, explosions… shouting. Men shouting, lots of noise. It was a massive commotion.

<<Sgt Newcombe>>
How did you feel at that moment in time?

<<Laura>>
Scared. Like, really scared. I knew then that there was shooting but I didn’t know who it was. If it was police or someone – you know, like those police chase things and the criminal is being shot at by the cops. I thought it would just go away. I heard my sisters start to scream and mum shouting. I couldn’t hear dad… I just stayed still. I couldn’t move really, I didn’t want to. I just curled up in my bed and waited for it to finish.
But I couldn’t just it out, there was just so much shooting and bangs outside. There were a lot of flashes of light coming from outside. My curtains had opened you see… from the wind. I ran to my window to close it and then my curtains…

20 SECOND PAUSE

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura…

10 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
[Sobbing]

<<Sgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura… what did you see?

<<Laura>>
[Sobbing]… … b… [Sobbing] … [Sobbing] … bodies… dead bodies. My, my, my neighbours… they… my friends… everywhere. I saw fire, and men with guns. Just shooting people. My people, my neighbours and friends.

10 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
[Long sigh] … Okay… okay… yes… err… just, oh… just horrible. [Crying] I saw soldiers, definitely soldiers. They were going into houses in small… err… groups. They’d shoot at the houses… they’re made of wood you see. And, yeah, they’d shoot the house all over quickly then go to one of the doors. I saw them at my next door neighbour’s house, they kicked the door in… then after a second I saw lots of bright flashes…shooting…and… oh… [Sobs] the screaming. It was, horrib… I can’t forget. There were screams from inside. Screams outside. I saw people outside, not soldiers but villagers… they were just shot. The soldiers just shot them, they…just shot at them. They fell on the floor and didn’t move. I saw one move after, a soldier fired more bullets into … oh no …

40 SECOND PAUSE – CRYING. SUBJECT PERMITTED A MOMENT.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
I’m really sorry Laura, but I must ask you to keep describing what you saw, what you heard. What you and other people did.

<<Laura>>
A soldier below saw me. He pointed and shouted. He fired at me as I stood at the window. He… ah… he, um, missed… but the bullet broken the glass and I screamed. Dad must’ve heard because he ran in. Told me to hide under the bed. Said I’d be safe there because… well… be… oh I can’t remember why he told me to. It was so chaotic, didn’t understand what was happening. Dad left my room; I could still hear my sisters crying.
Then there was banging downstairs. Like, really loud. I heard the door break downstairs. Like it had fallen off the hinges or something. Dad said something loudly, but I couldn’t hear. Then… [Crying – pronounced] Then it happened…

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
What happened, Laura?

<<Laura>>
[Crying – pronounced]The soldiers… they killed my family.
[Crying] They shot bullets. They [Inaudible] them.
They were shooting all of them… my mum… my dad… my… oh no… [crying] … they killed my little sisters…[sobbing].
There were lots of bangs, really big ones – then there was a really bright flash, it sorta lingered – it didn’t go away and I couldn’t hear anything, only high pitch ringing. Then I heard shouting… after a few seconds. A soldier, he said “Over there! There!” That’s when I heard mum screaming… screaming “No! Stop!” Then… [sobs] … oohh … [sobs] then shooting… then crying. From my sist… they… um… [sobs] they then, err, fired again. I… didn’t hear them again.

5 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
Then they came in my room. They fired bullets but missed the bed. There were torches on and… they saw me… they must’ve heard me crying. He said “Found you!” loudly and dragged me from the bed. I just started screaming, kicking and screaming. He said the word…err “unlucky” sorta sly. Like chuckling. And he… lowered his gun… he then… he then…

20 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
I can’t. No, I can’t… [Crying]

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura… we have to know. Sorry… Laura, did he have sexual intercourse with you? Did he rape you?

<<Miss Wheeler>>
Staff Sergeant, please!

<<Sgt Newcombe (SIB)>>
I’m sorry ma’am but we have to know everything.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura… did he force you to do any sexual act?

<<Laura>>
… … … No…

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Did he make you consent, make you agree, to perform or engage in any sexual act?

<<Laura>>
… [Sobs] … … No. Nothing. Nothing like that at all.
He lowered his gun, then another soldier stuck his head into the room. Said something like “Come on!” and his name. I can’t remember his name, but then something like “the enemy is coming.”

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
The enemy?

<<Laura>>
Yes, “the enemy is coming”.
I'd definitely remember that guy if I saw him again... I don't think I'll ever forget him.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Then what?

<<Laura>>
The soldier ignored me… they just ran away. To the helicopters I think. I waited for a few minutes. I was too scared to leave my room. I could hear the helicopters outside but it was quieter, like they were in the air… That’s when the whole house exploded. It was just one loud bang and then it all collapsed. I must… I must’ve banged my head or something – a I can’t remember anything until I woke up in hospital.

2 MINUTE PAUSE

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Okay Laura, I know this is hard enough as it is without me making it anymore difficult. But how did the soldier’s talk?

<<Laura>>
I’m sure they were all speaking English.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Good.
Now, people say I’m very well spoken. They call it Received Pronunciation in Stevid, the people who have more of an accent or dialect call it ‘posh’. I want you to describe, if you can, how the soldiers in your room spoke.

<<Laura>>
Oh dear… I’m not very good with this sort of thing… They didn’t speak in a posh voice. They were shouting.

<<Sgt Narville (SIB)>>
Shouting brings out accents more, you should hear a the difference in the Scottish or German accents when their going from calm to shouting. Very obvious. Did these soldiers have a specific accent, anything obvious?

<<Laura>>
One or two, maybe; outside one or two had a Yankee sort of voice. I really can’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention to how they sound.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
I understand, and I won’t force you. But perhaps I can help you.
For the benefit of those listening and or watching this interview I am going to play to Laura a recording entitled Exhibit JJN/131 through 137– Voice Recording One to Voice Recording Six.
Laura I’m going to play a series of voice recordings from different people, very different people. It’s difficult to describe why without sitting here for the next hour discussing the case file, but it may help discover the nationality of the persons involved. Accents are broadly similar across a country, dialects are far more difficult. To people in the know they can tell the difference between regional accents in several counties and still tell you from which country comes which accent. Anything you say after these recordings could be critically important. Try you hardest to remember.
Playing the recordings now.

RECORDING JJN/131:
"If ye would wait a moment I'll see if he's ready fer ye." [English, common]
RECORDING JJN/132:
“If you wait a moment I’ll see if he is ready for you.” [English, middle-received pro]

RECORDING JJN/133:
“If ya wait a moment I’ll see if he’s ready for ya.” [American English – broad – possibly east to mid east]

RECORDING JJN/134:
“If you wait a moment I’ll see if he’s ready for you.” [American English – business like - received]

RECORDING JJN/135:
“If you wait a moment I’ll see if he’s ready for you.” [Australian, clipped – middle/generic]

RECORDING JJN/136:
“If you wait a moment I’ll see if he’s ready for you.” [South African – distinct but generic]

RECORDING JJN/137
“If you wait a moment I’ll see if he’s ready for you.” [American clipped – possible Spanish dialect]

15 SECOND PAUSE

<<Laura>>
Ha… definitely not the first. Not really the second… that almost sounds like you… err… Newcombe. If anything it sounds like the third one… but those Yankee sounding ones are all the same really. To me anyway.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Thank you.
[Leans to Sgt Newcombe]
Not exactly concrete evidence, we’ll need to investigate further into it but it could rule out Morridane involvement.

<<Sgt Newcombe>>
Umm hum.

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
For the benefit of those watching and listening to this interview I am producing exhibits JJN/433 through to JNN/478. Various photographs of military equipment. See file for further details.
Laura I’ll let you look at these images and leave out the ones that you recognise the soldiers wearing or carrying.

5 MINUTE PAUSE

<<Laura>>
There…

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
For the benefit of those listening and watching, Laura has pointed out several images depicting military kit and equipment as worn and used by Morridane military personnel.
Okay Laura, I think that will be all from me for now. But this case is just beginning; as we progress we’ll more than likely have to speak to you again. I’ve put you through enough already so we’ll call it a day. Although I’m sure the Lamonian Special Agent will have questions of his own for you – that will be recorded separately.
Okay?

<<Laura>>
[Crying]

<<SSgt Narville (SIB)>>
Laura has indicated ‘Yes’ with a nod of the head.
You’ve been very brave Laura. I’m sorry we’ve had to do it like this with a fake name and get you to remember those horrible things, but we will get to the bottom of this.
Okay. The time is ….1722 hrs and I am about to terminate this ABE interview, however I or another member of Service Police, Lamonian Military Police or local police may wish to speak to you at a later date. The time is 1723 hrs and I am switching off the recording equipment.

INTERVIEW TERMINATED AT 1723 HRS 25 JUL 2022/2015

[The Macabees]

Indran Theater

Koría, Town in Southeastern Indras
Indrans, welcome to the auxiliaries...

Rifle fire crackling in the nearby distance, Anton made his way up the pathway to the large, but low and ugly mobile administrative office building that stood surrounded by a thinning tropical forest and pockets of farmland. The Golden Throne's flag flew proudly up above, flapping in the strong evening breeze coming in from the eastern coastlands. Besides Anton walked Eduard and Marius, both of which had joined Anton on his bold decision to join the Ejermacht's auxiliary forces. To their left, low shrubbery gave way to a small obstacle force, where other young Indran men had fun making rounds over the obstacles and up the ropes. While the others looked intently towards the door, Eduard looked to his right, towards the sound of rifle fire. He knew it came from a close by outside gun range, where rumors said the Ejermacht was letting Indrans use their rifles and machine guns. Behind the administrative building, he had heard, they also kept a small collection of armored fighting vehicle to show off, including the legendary Nakíl. It was all Eduard could do to not rub his hands together in excitement. He'd have all the fun, while his fool friends made the worst decision in their lives. That's how he felt, anyways.

Marius' face was solemn, almost as if his presence here was involuntary. He had been pressed by his friends to come with them. If he was seen here by any of his other friends, it could mean his life. He had gone AWOL from a nearby camp of militants who hadn't yet crossed the so-called Frontier, instead hoping to continue the resistance on the Macabee side of the island. In fact, Marius was due for inauguration soon. But, the vicious tactics employed by the Ejermacht and the monetary incentives the Imperial Government was using to dissuade the urge of becoming an insurgent were apparantely working on him, because not only had he abandoned his former comrades, but now he found himself at the doors of an Imperial recruitment station. High treason, in other words, was what the twenty-year-old Marius was committing. But, with the Ejermacht he could travel and be paid — handsomely, one might add — to do it, besides the bonus all Indran volunteers had been promised for joining the Imperial Government's forces. Close to eighty thousand nouleus (Indran currency) each, a sum most Indrans struggled to make in a year or two.

For his part, Anton was most excited in the idea of finally leaving Indras to sea the world. The son of two bourgeois parents, he had all he could ever want in the city and never associated himself with the roving bands of militants who ruled the Indran countryside prior to the country's annexation. In fact, he wanted to escape all of that. He had been born during the time of his country's decay and suffered from it just as much as most of the middle class had. As his family became progressively poorer, Anton benefited from a state-provided education which did not help him at all when it came time to find employment, because there wasn't any out there to find. Internal violence had ruined the agricultural industry, and the entire economy collapsed like a plane plummeting through the clouds towards the ground below. Incorporation into the Golden Throne had come with many promises for a return to prosperity, but those promises would take years to unfold if they did at all. The auxiliaries offered a welcome window for escape from the cruelty of life. His parents, like those of Eduard, had prohibited him from joining, but, at his age, prohibition only spawned an urge to escape.

The two, wide front doors were opened, but there was an invisible wall of air conditioning that took their place, that once passed it was as if you were in a different country altogether. Inside there was at least over one hundred Indrans talking to recruiters, reading literature provided on carousels and on long tables that also had refreshments, food to pick up, and a cornucopia of goodies that prospective recruits could take with them. At several places around the upper parts of the walls hung enormous flat screen televisions — certainly bigger than any television Anton, Eduard, or Marius had seen in their entire lives. On the screens played a video showing footage from the Battle of Ishme-Dagan, where over one hundred thousand tanks had converged to do battle in a decisive Macabee victory during the War of Golden Succession. It cut and flashed to scenes of the snowy mountain caps of New Empire, the camera then making its ways to the welted valleys that had been infected by the radiation of nuclear war. As the three boys looked at the literature arrayed in front of them, every so often darting their eyes back to the screens, the footage changed to the lush, green jungles of Holy Panooly and the deserts of Theohuanacu. It was the world any Indran could see during his or her employment with the Fuermak, the Golden Throne's armed forces.

"How can I help you boys?" the Macabee recruiter took them by surprise. He was tall, and darker, his eyes grey like a wolf's. With prematurely grey hair and a fat scar that ran above and below his right eye, it was clear that he had been through his fair share of battle.

If Marius' face could grow any more serious it did and he quickly turned to pick up a pamphlet and read it. Eduard didn't outright ignore the recruiter, but he gave the floor to Anton — the only one of them actively looking to join the auxiliaries. This one responded in his thick Indran accent, "We heard there is big reward for auxiliary."

"That's right, there is. Is that why all three of you are here?" The recruiter looked at Marius, who was muttering under his breath while pretending to read. The Macabee turned his body towards him, looked Marius up and down, and inquired, "What razboi do you serve?" A razboi being the term for the individual militant clans that made up the insurgency in Indras and Omega.

Marius put the pamphlet and turned, folding his arms in front of his chest as if raising his guard. "How did you know?" he asked, with an arched eyebrow.

The recruiter chuckled, look at the other two boys, and replied, "You'll learn to tell warriors apart from civilians during your career as one, son. And I mean that whether you join us or you die fighting against us. I'll tell you the secret now. One, fighters have a spirit about them that fellow fighters can pick up on. I know, it sounds like voodoo bullshit, but you'll know what I mean soon. Two, you look like you've been doing a shit-ton of PT these past months, and that usually means you're about to go to war. I doubt you've been doing them for us, so you must be in a razboi or you're getting ready to join one."

Marius scowled and sarcastically retorted, "You must be class genius."

"I admit, I cheated a little," said the Macabee. "But, I was like you at one time, y'know. I bet you think I'm a Macabee." He stuck out his arm and looked at the brown skin.

"You no Macabee?" asked a timid Eduard, who had been listening to the conversation, along with Anton.

"Nope, I was born in Theohuanacu. My family hails from the deep deserts of the central heartland, where our people live as nomads and travel the wastelands. I joined the auxiliaries five years ago, for similar reasons as you. I had no love for the Golden Throne, but the auxiliaries promised a life of wealth and adventure." He looked at each one of them individually, and then said, "And it didn't disappoint."

Marius didn't respond, but he loosened up visibly. Eduard went back to looking around him, probably wondering when they were going to get to try the obstacle course and shoot some guns. Anton, however, was more interested in the recruiter. "What is life as an auxiliary like?"

"Well," responded the recruiter, "sometimes it really, really sucks, but most of the time it's very rewarding. You earn a good wage — better than most of your neighbors here will make in their lifetime —, you get to see parts of the world you may never have seen otherwise, and you join a brotherhood that you'll be able to count on for the rest of your life. And, in the end, you'll be able to enjoy the benefits of citizenship. Of course, there's no escaping war. You'll see plenty of that. Hopefully we'll stay clear of major wars, but there's still plenty of places to serve: Holy Panooly, New Empire, Zarbia, for starters. The rumor is your class, if you join us of course, will be shipping out to New Empire. I've never been there myself, but I heard it's a beautiful country."

"Is true that they live in underground city?" asked Anton.

"Like I said, I've never seen it before myself, but that's what they say, yes." He asked Anton first, "What part of the world do you want to see?"

"Fedala. I have heard it stunning city, with palaces the size of Indran towns." Anton's face lit up in excitement as he spoke. "Safehaven I have heard has most beautiful women in all world."

"I don't know about that," the recruiter chuckled, "but I can almost guarantee you that you'll see both of those places before your contract is up."

"Yes?" asked Anton, just for the sake of confirmation.

"Yep." The recruiter turned to a small table behind him and picked up three clipboards, one for each of the boys. He handed one to each of them, along with a pen, and he gave some instructions. "Okay, fill these out and hand them back to me when you're done. Call me Athuatl, by the way." The soldier then left to attend to other guests who had just arrived, while the three young Indran men did their paperwork for reasons they were not yet aware of.

"Are you certain this you want to do, Anton?" questioned Eduard.

"Don't you?" retorted Anton.

"No," the other responded. "I came to shoot guns and climb rope, but not see world. That is no me, Anton, me is here. Indras."

"Wait until you shoot guns, at least," Anton plead.

Eduard looked down at the stack of papers attached to his clipboard and said, "This too much work to shoot guns."

Just then, another recruiter stepped up to them. This one was shorter, less dark than the other one, but with a similarly slim frame. The name on his uniform read Santo, and the two-flag patch on his left armed showed the colors of Safehaven as well as those of the Golden Throne. He didn't seem as happy to be there as Athuatl had been, his smile instead a frown, and his lips thinly pursed out of something like resentment. The man's uniform was in worse condition than the Theohuanacan recruiter's. The edges were fringed and the velcro looked like it was sprouting in sections, more puffy than useful. Santo's black boots were actually not so black, as they looked as if they hadn't been polished in ages. He looked at them with an air of arrogance about him — he carried himself as if he were a proud Macabee...or from wherever in the Empire he was from...amidst lowly Indrans. Arms behind his back, the recruiter approached lazily, his head sweeping from one to the other and then back again. Finally, he said, "I see Athuatl already gave you guys the sign-up paperwork. That's how we get you, before you even know it. I take it you guys decided to join the auxiliaries well before you actually got here. Am I right?"

"Not me," said Eduardo, who handed the clipboard back. He looked at his two friends and said, "Anton, you are fool for this."

As Eduardo left, the recruiter worked himself back into the conversation, "He's right, you know." The recruiter quickly darted his eyes towards Athuatl, whose back was turned. In an accent considerably thicker than that of the first auxiliary, he went on, "You fight for the Golden Throne in wars they dare not use their own blood. We, the warriors of our countries, fight for the Empire and, thus, there are no warriors to fight for our countries, and the Golden Throne solidifies its rule. I have not seen my family in eight years, since I first joined the auxiliaries."

"Do you know where they are?" inquired Marius, who had taken his eyes off the forms he was filling out and instead fixating them on the recruiter, whose apparent animosity towards the Golden Throne struck a chord with the would-be Indran militant.

"His Imperial Majesty, they say, granted them a small farm near our villages. I have seen the farm. But, did you know that if I had not joined the auxiliaries they would have been deported south, into a world of starvation, poverty, and violence." Athuatl then turned and started walking back towards the three boys, when he almost tripped over himself when he saw Santo. A look of concern flashed across the Theohuanacan's face and he picked up his step. In a rush, the Havenic finished his thought. "All I'm saying, remember that they are conquerors and that you are conquered people."

Marius did not seem to like the thought of that, but Anton had not bought the argument. He shrugged, "Your family, they are better off now, yes?"

Athuatl arrived right before Santo could say anything, and he shooed the Havenic recruiter away with some stern, muffled words. The Theohuanacan then turned, noticing that Eduard was no longer there. "Did he go to the range? Or the obstacle course?"

The two Indrans looked at each other and shrugged, which made Athuatl tisk. The recruiter shook his head and said, "The life of a warrior isn't for everyone. But, I can tell it's for you two." He took a look at their clipboards, and added, "Hey, let's go to my office and finish this there. I'll go through the perks you'll soon be benefiting from, including that bonus you were askin' about earlier."

Marius started petting the back of his neck with his hand, shifting his eyes towards the door. The auxiliary looked at him with a perplexed face and turned to Anton, who said, "He looks for friends."

The other Indran curled his lips, nodded, and added, "If they see me, I am dead man. You understand?"

"I understand. Did you know that we offer an additional early volunteer bonus?" he said, a sympathetic tone to his voice. When the two Indrans shook their heads, he went on, "Yep, that's right. Five thousand ríokmark equivalent. Plus," he mentioned, this time looking specifically at Marius, "I can get you a bus to the sandbox within the hour. You'll never have to be afraid of seeing your 'friends,'" his hands making airquotes, "again. And, if you do see them, they'll be wearing the same uniform as you. So, if you want a better life, if you want to see lands you only know of from your village myths, and if you're a man, you'll come with me to my office and I will guide you through your contracts. Are you guys ready to help your family and your people by joining the auxiliaries, or are you content to go back to the boring and, for some of you," still eyes trained on Marius, "certainly short lives you came here to escape? If you go home now, no hard feelings. You can come back tomorrow and we'll still take ya. But why prolong the hours until that first paycheck? Why wait to start your adventure? It can begin now. I can put you on a bus to your future, as soldiers of Indras, one of the most important representatives of the Second Empire of the Golden Throne."

Heads bobbing up and down, both Anton and Marius simultaneously said, voices thick with accent, "We join today. No turning back."

"Good, follow me." The golden rule of Macabee recruiting had always been, 'Getting them in the office is as good as getting your commission.'

Foresçu, DMZ, Radictistan-Side
The Golden Throne stirs the pot... [ATTN: Radictistan & Stevid]

"No visual on our target yet." Feroshel banked his GLI-76 to glide in a wide arch around the rocky and flat walls of the subtle rolling hills of southern Indras. If the variable height of the topography already made it hard to see anything down on the ground, the frequent patches of thick tropical forest made it all but impossible. Thank goodness for modern technology, then. Kapitán Feroshel's squadron of Falcons were chasing a mid-sized column of militants who were still trying to cause trouble on the Macabee side of the DMZ. The unit of some two thousand insurgents had been 'smoked out' by a raid carried out by three companies of mechanized infantry, and now the Falcons were out prowling for what was left. Their mission: to eliminate the column before it got to the DMZ. The militants had had their 'amnesty' — their opportunity to leave Indras, into Lamoni. Now, anyone caught in Indras was a target and would be destroyed, lest they think they could use Omega as a base and come and go as they please. Four Falcons loaded to their factory max with air-to-ground munitions could do quite the number on fleeing Çescus.

"They should be just behind those hills," came the voice of the co-pilot, Mangoné.

"Aye," responded the kapitán, over the internal radio, "sweeping around to flank them from the west. We should catch them between the back of these hills and the DMZ."

"Sounds like a turkey shoot," his partner shot back.

The other three Falcons stayed in formation as they made their arching path towards the west and then back east. When they leveled out they once again dropped just above the treeline, slowing down so that their sensors could help pick up movement under the canopy of dark green leaves. Still, no sign of the enemy. "Shit. Where the fuck are they?"

"Over there!" Feroshel could see Mangoné's outstretched arm, pointing southeast towards the lower edge of a clearing. It was the tail end of a clump of soldiers on foot — the insurgents they were looking for. The co-pilot confirmed his sighting over the shared radio, "Eagle-One to team, target-rich environment to the southeast, at the edge of the southern treeline of that clearing."

The kapitán chimed in with orders, "Eagle-One to team, break off and engage."

There was a chorus of "roger that" before the four aircraft separating, each taking their own attack path. Feroshel maneuvered his aircraft to stay behind and then flank wide to get around the strafe zones of the other Falcons. He knew there was an even bigger prize somewhere up ahead, and that was the middle and head of the column. But as he flew over the jungle he saw that the column had extended itself thinly and that part of the insurgent unit had already crossed into the Radictistani DMZ. They had arrived too late. Because of the limits imposed by the agreement between Lamoni and the Golden Throne as a result of their annexation of Indras, there weren't yet enough peacekeepers on either side of the DMZ to be able to patrolling all corners of their respective side at full strength. That meant that a good number of insurgents would most likely get away, with Feroshel and his squadron of Falcons only getting that first glorious drop of water after an eternal desert stroll, only to have the jug snatched away at the peak of one's thirst. The kapitán swore under his breath and then toggled his radio to the frequency shared with his home field.

While home command never gave the order, it was still required to ask for permission to engage within the DMZ. "Eagle-One to Coral-Four, contact with target confirmed. Large body entering Radicstani territory. Permission to engage."

There was a long crackle along the radio waves, per usual, but when the kapitán expected the negative it didn't come. After some time, the radio returned, "Affirmative, Eagle-One. You have permission to engage. I repeat, you have permission to engage."

Feroshel literally turned around to quickly look at Mangoné, who only frowned in return. Shaking his head for temporarily forgetting he was speaking with home field, the kapitán finally acknowledged, "Roger that, we are engaging." He toggled the radio frequency back to his squadron's and said, "Alright boys, you heard that. Permission to engage targets south of the 'line.' Clean up the messes you've already made and move up the column. We're not turning back 'til our pylons are empty."

Below, the forests burned as the skies lit up with the explosion of 200kg warheads, branches rattling at the staccato tempo of cannon fire. Feroshel gracefully pulled his own Falcon in line for a strafing run. The stale cockpit air was dripping with tension and he could feel Mangoné lightly tapping the two red buttons on the end of his controls. As his bird glided atop the hellish scenery only a few meters from its belly, the kapitán entered DMZ airspace by the time enemy targets started to fill the tactical map on the window screen before him. Whether or not he was violating international laws Feroshel didn't care. All that was on his mind was emptying his ordnance on a group of at least two hundred militants who had been isolated from the head of the column and the midsection. Mangoné worked the cannons, which had already started rotating in preparation, smoke radiating around it like sweat off an anxious face. Boom-boom-boom, went the rythm of war. Feroshel could almost hear the screams of the dead as Mangone's cannon rounds tore through their brittle bones and as they burned in the heat of the bombs he himself was dropping. The kapitán couldn't help lick his lips.

Because the constrained width of the Radisticstani-side of the DMZ, it was only a few minutes before a Falcon could be at the gates of the Stevidian Strip. As such, Feroshel had to turn his bird westward, curling it up around to the north so that he could eventually do close to a three-sixty and make another run on the column. He could see the other three Falcons do the same as they joined in on the hunt in the DMZ. The aircraft swept wide, wanting to come in on an angle going east-to-west effectively parallel to the Indras–Omega Frontier. As the squadron finished up its collective first run, the three other aircraft fell back to formation on Feroshel's lead, keeping it tight throughout the manoeuvre and then fanning out again on approach for a second run. They had dropped about half their bomb load, so this strike would be a juicy one too. The thunderous shuddering of the Earth below paid testimony to Macabee firepower, the insurgent column now dispersed like a line of ants interrupted by a mischievous human foot.

The squadron came together again for another sweep back from the east, looking to pick off whatever they could with their cannons before turning home. When they came level again, they could see that some small clumps of militants had already crossed the Frontier into the Stevidian side. Feroshel shrugged and figured protocol here was the same as it was before they had crossed into the DMZ, so he toggled his com to speak to home field. "Coral-Three, this is Eagle-One. Insurgent remnants have crossed beyond the Frontier, permission to engage."

Another long wait, as the radio crackled ominously. Then, "Affirmative, Eagle-One. You have permission to engage. I repeat, you have permission to engage." Then, an urging voice, "Make it fast. They'll be on you in a heartbeat, so pop in and out."

The kapitán nodded, "Roger that." Then to his own squadron, he said, "Remember, we're making a point. Don't be a hero. Fire off a couple of rounds and turn back home. On my lead."

They swooped in on the roving pockets of insurgents, who had turned their attention from their attackers to the possibility of Stevidian patrols. At leisure, the Falcons picked these little clumps off, using their guns to shred human flesh. It was a quick move, with the squadron sharply cutting back north after only a very short while. A quick round expended on opportune targets still crossing the Radictistani Strip of the DMZ and Feroshel's men were off back to their home field. Their target had been decimated, and they had shown the militants that they were not safe on the other side of the Frontier. But, at what cost? All the while, Macabee radars and their patrolling Blackjacks kept their sensors peeled for possible immediate responses by Radicistan and Stevid.

[Radictistan]

Radictistani Sector, Indras Demilitarized Zone

The bridge known to the Radictistanis as Point 74 spanned a muddy river with its four truss sections. Across its length was a two-lane paved road, wide enough for one main battle tank across but no more. The Radictistani peacekeepers had used the span to move into their DMZ positions before but it had been days since there had been a strong enough presence nearby to keep insurgents from planting IEDs. Engineers would have to thoroughly check the bridge out before it could be used by the heavy forces.

The RSTA Platoon of 24 Light Battalion approached the bridge from the north. The platoon comprised, in addition to the command team, two standard reconnaissance teams and a sniper team, plus a ground surveillance radar section, all mounted in Dingo 2s. They were reinforced by a pair of T-80 main battle tanks and a squad of engineers to assess bridges, fords, obstacles, and other points of interest pertaining to the trek southward.

The scouts dismounted. The sniper team and one rifle team moved to the east and advanced deliberately through the thick vegetation. The second rifle team and the platoon leader’s section took the western approach. The bridge was a good ambush site. Two small hills afforded a northward-facing belligerent ample opportunity to deliver direct fire against the engineers as they examined the structure. The area had received UAV and helicopter flyovers but it would be a cold day in hell before that would suffice for a detailed reconnaissance.

One tank crept forward to a promising overwatch position. The other followed the engineers to the north end of the river span. The engineers got out of their Ural trucks and gingerly approached the abutment.

There was sufficient difference in elevation between the roadway and the river below to allow a small group of insurgents to conceal themselves among the rocks on the far shore. The middle and southern bridge pylons were lined with explosives.

Events began to unfold quickly. A sharp-eyed engineer spotted a reflection off bare meta and gave a shout. One of the insurgents fired in panic. The others followed suit having no choice but to attempt to overwhelm the engineers before the T-80 could bring its lethal panoply to bear. The engineers dropped to the rocky ground, some with practiced alacrity, other in more time. One man near the rear returned fire with some competence. The squad leader ordered a quick retreat knowing the high probability of an IED going off any moment. Meanwhile the tank commander fired off two bursts with his remotely-controlled machine gun. The gun depression required to hit the insurgents was a little too great but few men can face a 12.7mm machine gun at point-blank range without flinching.

Without further ado the insurgents blew the bridge. By this point the firefight at the river had been resolved to no one’s satisfaction. Two of the Radictistanis were hit. The insurgents had downed part of the span but any hope of trapping the bulk of the Radictistani force was lost. The initial advantage in firepower provided by a light machinegun was gone now.

The insurgents on the high ground heard the gunfire and saw the explosion that felled the bridge. They began to withdraw from their hasty emplacements. The commander of the first Radictistani tank ordered his gunner to open fire on one of the mounds, fearing an onslaught of anti-tank missiles. The gunner lased a section of the rise at what seemed to be a promising location and fired a time-fused HE-FRAG round then another. The tank then receded from its battle position and went to assume another.

The fight ended inconclusively. The dismounted Radictistani scouts reached the combat area in time only to briefly direct fire towards the disengaging enemy. In the end two insurgents were captured, both wounded. The Radictistani casualties were evacuated by helicopter. One died on the way, another victim of the lack of dedicated MEDEVAC units.

---

The ground-based Kasta radars obtained only a fleeting glimpse of the Macabee aircraft before they dropped below coverage. The early warning aircraft had little more effectiveness in keeping track of them. Once the fighters made their westward turn there was no line of sight. Onboard Count of Nuxenstat Commodore Yespensy weighed the merits of sending the combat air patrol after the bogeys. He quickly decided against the move. With such spotty radar coverage it would be impossible to vector the MiGs to where their Zhuk radars or IRST units could be effective. The Commodore did decide to extend the reach of his CAP beyond the eastern shore, “feet dry.” Ninety minutes later a pair of MiGs launched from Count of Nuxenstat laden with drop tanks and headed west at high altitude.

At the various Radictistani outposts and bases dotting their section of the DMZ, the foreign aircraft and their effects were visible. The troops there did nothing and could have done nothing even had there been orders to do something.

In eighteen hours the Count of Spauling and her escorts would be within range to perform limited air operations over Indras. The two carriers combined would support the final drive south to reinforce the Radictistanis already within the DMZ.

The operations plan for Operation Plotner was coming together. 24 Light Battalion would reinforce AOA Trommel where the heaviest fighting was taking place. 633 Light Battalion would advance to AOA Klavier and relieve the combat engineers from outpost duty, allowing them to dedicate their time to engineering tasks. The two columns would have air support from two carrier air groups plus the attack helicopters. This was to be a major show of force. Following the Radictistani forces, the local auxiliaries would deploy and reach initial operating capability.

[Stevid]

INDFOR I (Indran Force 1) and the Indran Unification Assembly

Omega

While the territory was called Omega by the Lamonian rulers and back home in their peaceful republican congress, Stevidian personnel sided more with the local population who were slowly becoming more accustomed to their new leaders, if not the separation their country was experiencing. If you walked into a café within the heartlands of Omega and spoke to a local referring to the territory as Omega, he’d scowl and remind you that this was ‘southern Indras’. The Stevidian peacekeeping detachment was now well and truly established within the territory, the division sized force was now known as INDFOR I – a nod to the fact that while the Empire supported the Free Republic’s claim to the once hostile nation state of Indras (albeit only the southern portion), it was reluctant to let go of it’s official name of Indras of only a few years past. This trend continued north as the Macabee territory was still referred to as Indras by Golden Throne. This sometimes led to confusing discussions between Stevidian and Lamoni military commanders who referred to the same territory in English but by different names. This was a testament, if only a scratch on the surface, of the deep political divide between north and south Indras and their respective occupiers. The fact that both sides had separate names for the territory meant that a chance for unification was probably many years away, perhaps decades.

INDFOR I was a collection of highly experienced brigades including full air assault brigade, completely capable of flying west over the border and taking swathes of territory if necessary – or prevent against an attack from the north. Equally it could prevent Lamonian forces doing something just as rash. But its resolve to the task of actually keeping the peace was now being put to the test. There had already been a cold blooded and highly illegal raid against an Omegan village where only a single woman had survived and had yet to yield any concrete information to the identity of the attackers. The latest transgression had now clearly come from the Golden Throne itself with an air attack on a group of insurgents crossing the border from the north into Omega. The violation of airspace without permission was one thing but opening fire was the final straw; enraged Stevidian mission delegates in Omega immediately authorised Stevidian commanders to proceed to the highest state of alert possible and gave authorisation to attack shipping and aircraft that did not identify themselves after a torrent of requests and threats. The state of alert was lifted after 24 hours with no exchanges of fire but this did not change the fact that the Golden Throne had violated what was considered sovereign territory of another country.

North Indras representatives of the Golden Throne were summoned by their Lamonian and Stevidian counterparts to the newly established Indran Unification Assembly (IUA) to account for the actions of the Golden Throne. The IUA (Headquartered in the Omegan capital) was a Stevidian endeavour that had been newly completed with the long-term strategic political goal of the reunification of Indras under one puppet, or shared, or independent government. For the moment it was obvious, especially to the Assembly, that reunification of Indras was impossible until circumstances changed. However it lent to the major players other services; it was to be a place of neutrality where all governments involved in the ruling and peacekeeping of Indras/Omega could meet and discuss various issues of differing importance. As such it was would eliminate the need for embassy-to-embassy discussion or communication via barrelled weapons. The previous peacekeepers in Omega and the current Radictistani one in the north had never looked like trying this approach. In the north there was an insurgency against the rulers, the effects of which were less obvious in the south – the problems north meant that military action was the only alternative with little regard to the overall political situation in Indras: the fact that an failed-state was now split in two and a people almost cut off from their former way of life.

Seeing as the division of Indras along Greater Dienstad 019 parallel was relatively new, sensitive political and social issues could be addressed quickly before the irreparable damage of long-term division could be done; assuming the involved nations were willing to talk. The Holy Empire carried with it huge diplomatic clout, renown for being blunt and to the point – sometimes to the point of arrogance, and carried with it to all discussions extreme points of validity to their own points of view. In other words, they were always extremely well equipped for a war of words. Despite suffering in the current regional war her military power was one to be reckoned with, having the third fast growing economy in the region together with a massive industrial base, Stevid could wage war should discussions fall through. This, together with her formidable yet polite diplomats, meant that discussions with Stevid would rarely end in stalemate – countries always left the table either with a result or something to take away before another round of talks. Thus the creation of the IUA highlighted Stevid’s commitment to the keeping the Indran Island peaceful and that the Assembly was not just another Quango established just for the sake of it. All matters that concerned both North Indras and Omega, be they political, economic, military or social, would go through the IUA regardless if the North agreed – as communication with the south would now be diverted through the new organisation. It was the Holy Empire’s biggest commitment to peace and prosperity to an island it had previously reviled and it would work tirelessly to get both the Golden Throne and Lamoni to accept it as best way of talking to each other in order to iron out issues in the long-term.

Despite the new creation of IUA, the recent transgression of the Macabees into Lamonian territory had damaged the Empire’s ability to keep the peace, seeing as this was the second incursion in a month. In an effort to convince their Lamonian cousins and hosts that the Holy Empire was indeed capable and committed to the border security of Omega the Stevidian military introduced new measures to prevent any incursions from occurring again.
2x EP-191B "Aurora" AWACs, 2x RP-191C "Canopus" JSTARs and 4x AC-212 ‘Umbra’ gunships (Spec III) aircraft were to be deployed to Omegan military airfields close to the border. Chosen for their excellent air, land and sea detection abilities, particularly those of the Aurora and Umbra, they were to be attached to INDFOR and run 24/7 surveillance of the Omegan border out to 5 nautical miles of both coasts. In additional to this the Royal Navy attachment would be increased by a further five ships, a Hermes light carrier, an Antares cruiser together with Reef Class frigate escorts and would be deployed to the west coast to increase the naval and maritime airspace surveillance up to the maximum allowed by the Fleet Air Arm’s carrier based AWACs and its radar range. This would take detection range beyond the helicopter ferry range and would allow fast jets to be detected and identified out at sea long before they threatened the mainland. Inland was more difficult but ground-based radar and the Aurora aircraft would see to it that all aircraft in North would be monitored and identified (when possible). The Canopus and Umbra aircraft were to monitor air traffic too but would be focusing more on ground movements. Radar and AWACS would track air combat missions in the North close to the border and the ground radar aircraft would watch for the force composition of Macabee, Radictistani and insurgent groups.
Border patrols were ramped up in size and frequency, the duration remained 24/7. But now border patrols had added elements of force protection more commonly seen in counter-insurgency operations. Large patrols were accompanied at range by light moving fire support groups. Areas with flatter terrain that had population centres where had patrols accompanied with light armoured vehicles while actual main battle tanks lurked in foliage or dug in positions presenting an ever present ‘in your face’ threat to the North.

Finally there was also a petition from senior Stevidian military commanders of INDFOR I to the Free Republic, The Holy Empire and IUA that border controls had to be tighter and more enduring than they were now. They spoke of an fully fortified demilitarised zone and suggest the erection of a wall of multi-layered fence system along the more desolate and difficult to patrol areas of the border; places where fleeing insurgents would cross to escape Northern attacks that only encouraged the Golden Throne to illegally cross the border. They signed off the petition stating that reunification was far from impossible but was a distant future possibility; in the here and now the threat of interstate conflict was higher and had to be mitigated at the expense of reunification political policy. Obviously the Indran Unification Assembly was appalled by the suggestion and stoutly voiced their opposition to the plan. The Stevidian government also voiced concerned but eventually relented to the idea whilst still promoting that it was to prevent the insurgency travelling south rather than to actually divide the north from the south – legal crossing at government checkpoints on both sides of the border would be unaffected. The Lamonian response was much awaited, as was that of the Golden Throne and Radictistan.

[The Macabees]

New Imperial Theater

Golsteif, New Empire
Martial law is imposed...

Although the switch to 'peace officer' duties had come as a net gain in relief to Miguel, there was still a good and a bad side to it. On the one hand, life in Golsteif was getting a lot less stressful. The Ejermacht — better said, the auxiliaries — thoroughly purged the city's crime syndicates, fighting a neighborhood-by-neighborhood battle to wrestle control of the real city government from them. With the syndicates' leadership now dead, or in hiding (a.k.a. soon to be dead), the "streets" were much safer. No longer did Miguel and his 'special platoon' have to fear the constant threat of an ambush, spending their days fighting against overwhelming odds. Those "streets," which were more like large tunnels, claimed the lives of many of Miguel's men over the months — they haunted him every day. That was the bad part of being a glorified cop. It was, more often than not, extremely boring work, where the most exciting thing you looked forward to was giving some shady looking guy a much-too-intrusive patdown. So Aftleutnant Miguel had a lot of time, too much in fact, to think about the men who died under his watch. It was times like these that he really appreciated still being able to count on a guy like Sargént Cáceres.

"You gotta stop thinking about them, sir. You can't do nothin' for them now." The sargént nodded towards the men, arrayed around the large intersection. "These are the guys you need to worry about."

The aftleuntnant tried to hide his scowl, but he felt like that he didn't do so very well. He swore that Cáceres could read his mind. Sometimes it pissed Miguel off that the guy interrupted his private moments of self-pity, but deep down he accepted that the sargént was only trying to help. "You're right, sargént. Actually, I am think about men right now, and I'm thinking they're losing their discipline."

"Agreed," Cáceres said back. He gave out a long sigh. "I think this pig duty is getting to us, sir. It makes sense if you think about it?"

Miguel arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We were a fuckin' 'special platoon,' sir. We went from straight up gangsters to a bunch of lame traffic cops, all of it pretty much happening overnight" After working on their own for months, his platoon was attached to a standard mechanized battalion of auxiliaries. They retained some of their autonomy, but ultimately they answered to the battalion, and that meant deciding what they'd do on their deployments. For the most part, that consisted of what they were doing just then. Jack shit. "That kind of sudden change in routine can screw with a man's mind, ya'know?"

"I know more than you think, Cáceres." His dream of Santiago, his bloody corpse thrown back against the walls of the maintenance hallway, still came back often. "But, someone keeps telling me I gotta get over it, so I expect the same of the men. We may not be poking the hornet's nest on a daily basis anymore, but we're still fighting a war, so we have to keep our heads clean and act like goddamn soldiers." He looked at Cáceres, "This goes for you too, sargént. You've been lax on enforcing the rules. I don't want to see that anymore." The sargént nodded. "It does suck we've been demoted to keepers of the peace, but I'm sure the guys up on top have a good reason for it."

"Yea, and what could that be?" The sargént was being sarcastic, so it was hard to tell if it was a genuine question. The aftleutnant answered it anyways.

"It's all politics," Miguel said. "Criminals ran this city for years and when we got rid of them we created a vacuum. Rather than see the weak government lose power again, I suppose we decided to just take for ourselves. All under the cover of keeping Golsteif's sovereignty. Of course, if the city officials kicked us out, who'd protect the people? We are pretty much doing the same thing the mafias we replaced were doing — extortion." He paused for a second to reach for his canteen, and without putting much thought into it uncapped it and took a couple of gulps. Satisfied, he strapped the canteen back onto his utility belt and came back to his point. "By taking over security and peacekeeping ourselves, we can use that leverage to force the city to do whatever we want it to. We're not really cops, Cáceres, we're occupiers. You, me, all of the men, we are keeping a conquered population under control. Our overlords might preach their support for, and defense of, New Empire's sovereignty of democracy, but can you really believe that? Look at what's in front of us." The aftleutnant stared off towards some unknown point across the intersection, falling silent to thought.

"What if it's only temporary?" asked the sargént. The aftleutnant was good at looking at the big picture and Cáceres appreciated his intellect.

On the opposite side the aftleutnant and sargént were standing, Gutiérrez stepped out to stop a car trying to pass the intersection. He was holding the leash to a brown and black dog, which was violently sniffing the air. The vehicle was some p.o.s. (piece of shit) 1998 Kartuma 'Falcon,' driven by a middle-aged man suffering from some hardcore premature balding and wrinkling. His wife, or some woman, was sitting in the seat next to him, and another woman was in the back. He stopped the car as ordered and Gutiérrez gave the pooch some slack so that he could start doing the thing. As the canine sniffed and sniffed from front to back, and then back to front again, the soldat kept his eye on the people inside the vehicle. Behind him, Kabo Mendilier was starting to walk up, hands on the rifle slung across his chest. It was things like this that Miguel was talking about when he cited lack of discipline. There was an unnecessary tension. This was a routine traffic stop and there was no reason to start spooking the locals with overaggressive inspections. But, the men were trigger happy — that's what months of time in the killing fields did for you.

To Cáceres' question, the aftleutnant only said, "I hope so. I really do."

Dasch, New Empire
The Krierlords hit their first snag...

"You and your kind disgust me, krierlord," the Anax of Dasch said the last word with a strong flavor of disgust in his mouth.

Migalo Kor was taken aback by the Anax's hostility. "Surely, we do not need to devolve to insult, Your Grace."

"You are the one who insults me. The 'respect' you show me is as fake as your wife's tits!"

Jakal Níelson could not help but snicker. The Anax was a dick, but he was a funny one. He was also a strange phenomenon in New Empire. Anax, or King — King Cyril, First of House Banner. At the time of the United City States' collapse, General Cyril Banner stood in command of New Empire's home forces. Most of his country's men were in Safehaven, reinforcing the Havenic armies cutting through Ruska, the Golden Throne's southernmost province. When the Triconsulate went to war with itself, Cyril was ordered into Berliston to enforce the dissolution of the senates. Later, as civil war raged on, he managed to drift towards 'rogueness' and eventually established his own fiefdom in Dasch. Others, preoccupied with their own personal wars, where unable to intervene and dictator Cyril soon became Anax Cyril — a title he chose and enforced. Ruling Dasch by martial law and an absolute megalomaniac, he developed a complex and convoluted system of rules that slowly strangled the city, in every sense. It was by all means a fascist utopia, also known as living hell on earth. Cyril would be a tough nut to crack, and Níelson knew it.

Kor scowled back and snapped, "Krierlord Níelson, you find our humiliation entertaining?" Kor looked back at Cyril. "You would be a fool not to listen to what we have to say, Your Grace." He teetered on the edge of disrespect, very nearly snarling as he stared at the Anax. If Migalo Kor was allowed did not stop speaking, he would undermine these discussions altogether and the krierlords would not get a second chance.

The King of Dasch sat on his throne fuming, but before he could respond a surprising voice spoke up. "Anax Cyril," boomed Krierlord Ger Venamenud, "I implore you to forgive our dear Migalo Kor. He had warned us this morning that he felt ill, but, alas, we did not take him seriously. It appears we should have, and should have left him back at out the beautiful quarters you had your servants prepare for us. For that, by the way, we are most grateful. It is also quite gracious of you to see us today. I know you are a busy man and that the Golden Throne carries a relatively low priority status to you. With that being said, I believe that Krierlord Kor's point is valid — you set your people back by refusing to reason with us."

"Reason? With you?" sneered Cyril. "You and your entire race are beyond reason, Sir Venamenud. I know why you have come. I am not an idiot. You come to persuade me to surrender to the power of a new Federal government, reuniting New Empire — what isn't occupied by the Lyrans, at least — and restoring an era of peace and prosperity." He sniffed the air like a dog caught on the scent of meat, "I can smell your bullshit, Krierlord. At price will prosperity come, tell me? The price of subservience to the Golden Throne? And what will I get out of this? I am already king, I do not see what more you can offer me. I have all that I could ever want and I have an army, an army of well-armed veterans, to defend what I have. No, no I do not think it wise to waste my time with you and the drivel you want to sell me." He exhaled loudly and slowly, his back pushing his waist down the chair, and then looked at one of the guards standing behind him. With a quick flick of the wrist, finger outstretched toward the large doors at the end of the room, Cyril had the guards escort, and force, the krierlords out. The Anax said one more thing before the Macabee delegates were out of the room, "The Golden Throne will have to go to war with me before I surrender myself to the new Federal government."

Smoothing out the wrinkles on his robes, the creases caused by the pushing and pulling from the guards, Jakal Níelson — who had purposefully refrained from speaking in the 'conference' they had just been booted from — shook his head and tisked. When the large wooden doors shut behind him, Níelson said, "The Golden Throne is no stranger to war, but Cyril will fall before we come to that."

"How do you figure?" asked Venamenud, who turned his head in every direction to see if anyone else was in the hall with them. It was empty as far as he could see, the lighted stone hallway stretching on either side of him for at least thirty meters.

"He is a tyrant and, on a simple word of a hope for freedom, 'his people' will rise up against him," said Níelson, simply. "In three weeks, the most powerful men and women in New Empire will congregate to discuss the possibility of a reunification under a new Federal government. The forces in favor are strong. They are tired of war, they are tired of chaos, and all those who live in this country yearn for what was the United City States. Under our protection, they can achieve that past glory and when they know this, those who do not jump on the opportunity will be eaten alive by those who do." A smile crept across his face. "Cyril will, of course, refuse. Hell, I doubt he will even show up Berliston. " A city where most hated him and what he stood for. "But, it does not matter. Information travels fast and it will catch up to him even here, in Dasch, and when that happens this city will be lit ablaze by the fires of revolution. Of course, the citizens of Dasch may not be able to do the job on their own and I think we can all agree that we can't leave Cyril's demise up to chance. When the rebellion happens, we will need to do our own part in seeing to the overthrowing of the Anax."

"And how do you propose that?" said Kor, somewhat sarcastically.

"By allowing Hardsdad to incorporate Dasch and in the surrounding minor city-states," replied Níelson. Kor arched an eyebrow in return and even Venamenud seemed suspicious. "They are not the strongest supporters of our Plan, but if we offer them this in return for their support they will be almost guaranteed to give it. We need that certainty on our side for the Plan to work."

"Perhaps you are right," was all that Kor said in return. Venamenud said nothing, remaining silent along with Jaso Barenka, the fourth Krierlord attached to the Imperial delegation in New Empire.

Barenka was a new addition to Fedor's advisory group and, as a Krierlord of minor status, did not say much...ever. His job was only to observe and to learn. No doubt Fedor had also ordered him to keep a log of the other three advisors. It was the way His Imperial Majesty kept track of his most trusted circle. Of course, for the sake of redundancy, Níelson too had been ordered to keep a log. And it did not behoove Barenka to coordinate lies with Níelson, as it was in his best interest for the more senior Krierlord to fall prey to the temptation of corruption. Any who was caught exercising power beyond the limits of what Fedor imposed would not only be stripped of his title and position, but would also be executed as a thief. The 'Law of Vitiosus Regem,' it was called. Any bureaucrat found guilty by the Korts for political corruption was to be sentenced to death, the execution taking place only days after the verdict. The punitive measure served to dissuade most from any unholy activity and it gave only additional incentive to those ready to give away their fellow bureaucrats in the hope of gaining rank and seniority. They say the private sector is a dog-eat-dog world. 'They' are naïve.

In continued silence the four men were driven back to their quarters, a residence in an upper level of one of Dasch's main hives. They would not remain in the city for long. Within the hour, all four of them would be on a flight to the border-city of Koltascus, where they would prepare for the beginning of the two-day "preliminary conference" on the reestablishment of the United City States.

Koltascus, New Empire
'Preliminary' diplomatic rounds are held...

Eighteen hours after leaving Dasch, the four krierlords found themselves preparing for a conference between the allies of the Golden Throne in New Empire. Low-key, the event was not widely publicized, although news would surely spread at some point. Officially termed a preliminary round to the upcoming Forum for the Reestablishment of the United City States, it was really an attempt to solidify a pro-reunification bloc between the major city-states who proved open to the Macabee 'Plan.' The leaders of five city-states — five-eighths of the vote at the Forum — would be present. Berliston, of course, had aligned itself with the Golden Throne early on. It, naturally, would be capital of reunified New Empire and, to guarantee its loyalty, His Imperial Majesty Fedor I had ordered the construction of a truly massive krierstatón (i.e. naval base) on the city's surface. Golsteif, too, was firmly on the Golden Throne's side, depending on the Ejermacht for the maintenance of order and stability. Harsdad was a more ambiguous prospect, but the krierlords were convinced that their latest deal — offered clandestinely, of course — would resolutely sway the One Score Council to 'the Plan.' Paquat was weak and would benefit from Federal redistribution in their direction, while Koltascus too was open to the possibility.

Koltascus and Paquat would be the two cities the krierlords would need to work the most on over the following two days. They hoped that Koltascus could be persuaded on the basis of the establishment of a national security force, recruited from all corners of New Empire, for the purpose of defending the country's current borders. Being near the border with the Lyran Empire, a combined and consolidated nation-wide institution of defense would made an impossible task of defense somewhat feasible. Of course, the new country would undoubtedly count on the support of a large Macabee 'peacekeeping' garrison and New Empire was already under the Golden Throne's defense umbrella, via the Treaty of Hoogenbosch. Counting only on a relatively small population, Koltascus could never hope to effectively defend itself from an invasion on its own and the old spirit of cooperation cemented during the prior era of the United City States had now laid completely shattered. The additional security that would come along with reunification and cooperation with the Golden Throne would be a powerful temptation to support 'the Plan' during the Forum, the krierlords hoped.

To persuade Paquat, it was Migalo Kor who sold a provisional financial agreement to Berliston and Hardsdad — the two who stood to lose from it. Over the past days, over the phone and even by the written word, the krierlord managed to get the One Score Council and Berliston's Assembly of Genarah, which was named after an ancient local goddess of the sea, to agree to constitutional terms that gave the Federal government the power to redistribute resources from the wealthier Autonomous Regions to their economically weaker brethren. In effect, Kor was using Berliston's and Hardsdad's wealth to bribe Paquat: a timeless method that was almost always successful. Indeed, Paquat would find the offer irresistible.

In an inner hall of Koltascus' Council Kor caught up with Daniel Stohanson, a veteran member of the Topaz Council — named after the gemstone they all carried in their council rings — and leader of one of the largest political factions in Paquat. Kor made his appearance seem more casual than it really was, and he approached Stohanson with a face of gleeful surprise. "Councilman Stohanson, what a delightful coincidence to see you here during these hours of the day." He looked at his wrist watch and added, "The discussion will take place in less than two hours, surely you are excited."

The councilman arched his right eyebrow and, back straight and head propped high in wariness, replied, "Oh? I should be excited?"

"Quite," said the krierlord, who remained relaxed. "Paquat has, for these past years, suffered greatly from the dissolution of the old Federal government. Surely, it is exciting to look forward to a new era of prosperity. But, this is only made possible if we can count on the Topaz Council's support for our proposal. Can we?"

"Ah yes!" replied Stohanson, his spirit facetious. "I have heard of the infamous Plan, Krierlord. I am sure that it will do much good for our country. After all, it is what the Golden Throne urges us to follow." He shook his head and waved Kor's attempted interruptions away, "But don't you worry, Migalo Kor. The city-state of Paquat supports your Plan, even if we are unsure as to how it benefits us exactly. As we see it, we have no true choice. The Golden Throne will find one way or another to coerce us into the arrangement, anyways." He paused to let out a slight sigh and the councilman shook his head again, adding, "I have heard Fedor rarely does not get his way. Is this true?"

"His Imperial Majesty is a persistent man, yes," said Kor. "But, you would be a fool to not see the fairness in our dealings."

"Hmmm?" asked Stohanson, sharply. "What fairness do you speak of?" He smirked.

"The One Score Council and the Assembly of Genarah, the latter of which will represent the capital city of the future United City States, have informally agreed to a rate of taxation which would allow the Federal government to finance fiscal packets to support the worse off Autonomous Regions. Golsteif will go on with the arrangement because we will tell them to do so, and the other city-states will come to agree, as well. Hell," Kor went on, "many of them will benefit from this as well." He paused to look at the councilman, and then said, "We were going to alert you and your fellow delegates to the news during the discussion, but I suppose it does not hurt for me to forewarn you here."

"The Topaz Council will have to...consider the latest...information," said Stohanson.

The councilman turned to head in the other direction, away from the krierlord, but before he went too far, Kor called out, "Yes, consider it, and tell your fellow councilmembers to come with open intentions, because there could very well be much to gain from cooperating with the Golden Throne. Our intentions are to prove to you that our focus is the welfare of the United City States of New Empire."

Stohanson did not respond as he glided away, a man of the people who carried himself with the grace of a king. If Kor's offer was to Stohanson's liking, the rest of the Topaz Council would ultimately come around to their leader's way of thinking. Yes, Kor was sure that by the next night, the Plan would have five of the eight major city-states behind it. Dasch, too, would soon be forced to accept the new Federal government, and the other city-states would fall like dominos on a table. That was the plan, at least.

[Radictistan]

Kurtsdorf-an-See, Erdwoodsur, Grand Duchy of Radictistan

Magda Tibor finished her shift at the pub and began to walk home. On the waterfront the village fishermen were bringing in the day’s catch. Some of the fish would be consumed locally, including at the Twisted Haddock. The rest would feed the local cannery. With the town’s working male population back on shore it would be a good few hours for tips. Tips for someone else.

The Tibors of Kurtsdorf-an-See lived in a modest quadrilateral built from the local stone. Two men stood on the pavement in front of the door. It took Magda longer than it should to recognize the uniform. When she did, her entire world came crashing down. When the representatives from the battalion told her that her son was dead, the remaining shards of her life caught fire.

Why had her son died? Why had Janos gone to Indras, a land of which she knew nothing? When Magda’s only son had received his conscription notice she had at first feared for his safety. But he was going to defend his country; she had no right to be selfish. But how could he defend Radictistan in another country? For what reason had he died? And how many other mothers would receive the same terrible news?

After crying herself hoarse in the kitchen, Madga decided she had to call Henrik. He was a drunkard and a cheat but Janos was his son too. She entered the most recent phone number of his she knew of into her mobile phone. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar. She hung up and for a moment her sorrow was replaced with irritation. Then the tears returned.

---

On yet another helicopter ride out to the carrier battle group Major Radicti finally acquired the skill of catching some sleep in the back. He had initially hoped to convince the Navy to let him fly himself out, to keep his flying hours up even if it wasn’t in an Alligator. But the Navy didn’t want to let an outsider take the risk of landing on a rolling flightdeck, Count or no.

The attack helicopters would be in direct support of the advancing columns until they reached Phase Line Eichen when the naval air units would take over. Each column would have a four-ship flight of Su-25RMs on call as long as the two squadrons could maintain that operational tempo. Radicti thought the Air Boss had exaggerated the virtues of buddy tanking during the briefing. He wondered how much training for that task the fighter and attack pilots had received prior to leaving port for the current deployment.

As he did his best to recline in the officer’s quarters given to him, Radicti idly wondered who had been vacated to accommodate him. It was a mildly amusing game he liked to play on occasions such as this, see if he could identify the dispossessed. After moving past that diversion he spent some time studying appropriate naval documents before heading off to sleep.

[Radictistan]

Radictistani Sector, Indras Demilitarized Zone

At two large assembly areas the Radictistani fists pointing south began to take shape. Vehicles both armored and soft-skinned took on fuel and ammunition. Signal troops deployed the equipment used for net control and long-distance radio relay. Orders were composed and relayed between the various nodes of the battalions on paper, by computer, over radio, and as harried shouts. It was managed chaos.

24 Light Battalion, reinforced by two platoons from A Company of 631 Tank Battalion and C Battery of 631 Artillery Battalion formed 24 Light Battalion Battlegroup with headquarters callsign Yakob. Two of the rifle companies were mounted in Dingo 2 light protected vehicles and the third in trucks. The Heavy Weapons Company would travel in its own organic vehicles. 633 Light Battalion formed its own battlegroup with similar tank and artillery attachments. 24 Light Battalion Battlegroup would execute a movement to contact along Route Armbrust, one of the few paved roads still in good enough condition to allow for a timely advance. 631 Battlegroup would focus a similar mission on Route Kopi.

Oberstleutnant Werner Landrut, the commanding officer of 24 Light Battalion, embodied to a greater degree than most Radictistani officers the stereotype of the elite infantryman. He was tall and burly with his maroon beret perfectly situated and exuding a perpetual aura of smug superiority. In other words, he was the type of officer who made civilians uneasy and put the MKUD on alert. It was truly a sign of his loyalty that he had been permitted to serve in 2 Naval Brigade.

Morale was high and everyone moved with a sense of purpose. Every man from Landrut down to the Privates straight from the specialist infantry schools was eager to beat the conscript formation to its objective.

B Company would be the tip of his spear, reinforced by armor, engineers, and anti-tank units in order to play the role of Advance Guard for the battalion battlegroup. Captain Grunding was the senior company commander within the battalion, and more importantly a stalwart, level-headed man. He was therefore the perfect choice to lead the advance force. A platoon from C Company covered each flank.

Landrut’s watch finally showed the anointed hour and he radioed Grunding with orders to cross the line of departure. The game was afoot.

---

Radictistani aircraft carrier Count of Nuxensat, off the coast of Indras

The pilot of a silver MiG-29K acknowledged the catapult officer’s signal with his own raised hand. The other already placed on the throttle put the aircraft’s twin RD-33MK at full military power. Two pillars of fire emerged from the exhaust pipes, buffeting the thick blast deflector protruding from the flight deck behind. With this done, he saluted the catapult officer to show he was fully ready for launch. The yellow-jacketed officer returned the salute. Two seconds later the catapult fired. The aircraft was accelerated to over one hundred and twenty knots in moments.

“Red 41, airborne,” Captain-Lieutenant Albert Franco reported. Red 42 joined him in the sky within a minute.

“Red 41, vector 250 and climb angels 10.” Franco acknowledged the instructions from the carrier tower and began a climb to a height of 10,000 meters above sea level while turning to the course prescribed. His two-ship element was to be the first CAP flight in support of Operation Plotner. Soon his course would take him “feet dry” over the jungles of Indras. Meanwhile a second flight would be launching from Count of Nuxenstat to form the other half of the first CAP wave. Additional MiG-29s and a Supermarine Sirius[1] would launch later to provide tanker support. Even with a reduced payload of a mere four air-to-air missiles, two medium-range R-77s and a pair of short-range R-73s, the MiGs burned fuel at a prodigious rate. The ratio of MiG tanker sorties to MiG CAP sorties would near one-to-one.

If the Macabees violated the DMZ again they would be met by Radictistani aircraft, although their ROE would be very much “Weapons Hold.” The MiGs could still play chicken if it came to it. Franco maneuvered to settle the flightpath marker of his HUD onto the director circle for the first steerpoint, keeping the thrust of his engines at an efficient level. He began to settle in for the flight as much as he dared. He still kept a wary eye on the display associated with the SPO-29[2] radar warning receiver. The Zhuk-ME radar remained on standby for now.

[1]Damn you Questers and your military retcons.
[2]All my sources say MiG-29K uses SPO-15. I take license with the Radictistani model. It's bizarre that it doesn't use the newer Pastel.

[The Macabees]

[OOC: Two of the stories below are direct continuations from the last post.]

Panooly Theater

Northern South Panooly
Stormclouds of rebellion form...

The shrill staccato of TK-60 fire died down in the east, the embers of a dying firefight. Skirmishes like these were becoming more and more frequent, the local militias bent on attacking elements of Komandánt Lazaro's mixed forces. The irony is that most these battles were fought by soldiers that were, technically, on the same side, at least far as the general picture was concerned. Lazaro didn't risk his own men — Mekugian regulies —, instead deploying his limited group of 'colored' fighters. This type of favoritism was rapidly becoming a non-option though, as casualty amongst his local fighters mounted. Some of them were still green and their skill with their weapons were questionable, not to mention the fact that their rifles were not the most accurate to begin with. The trickle of new recruits was insufficient to replace the dead and heavily injured, and the flow of fresh blood was shrinking day-by-day. Lazaro had even started to resort to sending out already wounded soldiers, and these were only likely to die all the quicker. Suffice to say, things were not going well for Operation PANOOLY RAILROAD, and the clouds over the program were darkening.

Lazaro swung the strap of his rifle around his head, letting the weapon itself hang loosely across his chest and stomach. He squatted down and grabbed a handful of dirt, spreading it around between his palms. Then he rose again and let out a long sigh. Behind the komandánt approached Kapitán Jurado, dry leaves crunching under his tan boots. Without turning his head, Lazaro asked, "Any word from base command?"

He knew it was a 'no' before his XO had a chance to respond. Communication with the Imperial military across the Panooly Frontier had become scarcer by the day. Lazaro almost felt as if the Golden Throne had decided to disassociate itself with his bandag, embedded along the the sparse jungles of the Ordenite-controlled third of Holy Panooly. But he knew this wasn't exactly true. Having fought for the Ejermacht for a decade now, in Theohuanacu, Zarbia, Monzarc, and now Holy Panooly, the komandánt understood the true nature of the silence. This wasn't the first time he was cut off from the higher ups, although he suspected that this time around the Ejermacht was choosing to exercise 'radio silence' for completely different reasons than usual. The Ordenites had begun to rotate SPDF units along the Frontier and, to some degree, that border was becoming leaky. Operation PANOOLY RAILROAD was losing relevance and the lack of true success in recruiting a large local, Macabee-trained and influenced, militia was causing a general downshift in the interest displayed in the project. That meant less resources and abandoning Lazaro's harka until — and this was only one possibility, but the most likely — the unit would be extracted back across the Panooly Frontier.

"No," said Jurado. The kapitán stepped up behind his commanding officer. "Nothing. No news of a new shipment, no new orders, no nothin'. And our funds are running dry." The XO paused for a second. Finally, "And we're running dry on incentives. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to offer our incentive packages." He was referring to the monetary rewards they had been promising to their recruits, which to date was the only effective method of persuading the locals to joining their training program. Only a little over three hundred South Panoolies had taken the bait, joining what Lazaro's Amastoli men had started to call the 'Díenpanooly Militia' (DPM), and without money even these numbers would prove difficult to maintain.

Lazaro nodded. The gunfire to the east was now restricted to the rare outburst of automatic fire. "Our time here is coming to an end, I suspect," responded the komandánt.

The komandánt could feel it in his bones, and it wasn't only the lack of relevance and the general failure of the program that gave cause to his worry. The militant attacks against his positions were getting stronger by the week, suggesting that the Ordenites and the SPDF were failing in containing the growing rebellious movements in South Panooly. And the lack of a strong Ordenite response meant that their government was failing to perceive the threat, and Lazaro feared that this only allowed the rebellion movement to fester — an especially acute problem given the Golden Throne's continued combined financial–military program to suppress the remnants of the 'colored' rebels. With heavy forces acting against them in North Panooly and lax oversight in South Panooly, it was only natural for the rebels to follow the path of least resistance. One would think that this was the perfect situation for a unit deployed to recruit locals into anti-Ordenite militias, but the 'coloreds' had an uncanny ability to self-organize, most likely due to remnants of the original rebel army, which had risen to overthrow the weakened remains of Templeton's regime. Now they had a new 'whitie' enemy to invade, the Ordenite-backed administration of South Panooly.

Turning his body toward his XO, Lazaro said, "Get back to camp. I'll be there in a minute. Have first bewaguar" — equivalent to a hundred-man company of 'colored' militiamen — "fall back three miles to a new line that will link up with second and third. Have their wounded tended to and plug any holes with our own men for the time being." He was reducing the size of the perimeter, the only short-term answer he had to mounting casualties. He'd have to improvise. "Meet at my quarters" — a medium-sized command tent in the center of the perimeter — "at 0900 hours."

"You got it, sir," replied Jurado. "Should I bring some beers?"

"No, no room for beer tonight," said Lazaro. "We'll be deciding who our newest DPM officers will be. It's time to disassociate ourselves completely from them and see if, by transitioning to a fully 'colored' militia, we can turn the tide."

As Jurado left and Lazaro stood contemplating the situation, he thought that there wasn't much hope for turning the tide. But, they'd be useful for helping the komandánt and his men make the trek back across the Frontier, once shit hit the fan in South Panooly — provided that base command ever gave them the word.

Mansa, North Panooly
You need both a carrot and a stick...

A Nakíl 1A2M escorted two Arica Is, from a mechanized infantry unit, back into town as the dark orange sun set behind them, over the horizon. Despite the time, the streets of Mansa were busy with foot and cart traffic, although most people stepped to one side of the main road as the three armored vehicles rumbled by. Where at one time the town had been a battle zone, ever since the permanent installation of Imperial forces commercial activity had started to pick up and the locals had once again started to flock to it, in search of work and to sell their wares. Over the weeks, more and more people had seeped in from their makeshift jungle villages and there was even new construction of homes along the outskirts. The occasional mortar strike temporarily put these to a halt, but these were becoming rarer. Not only were Imperial troops doing a better job at hunting rebel remnants down, but the incentive program — arms for money, food, and amnesty — was doing remarkably well. Furthermore, as the number of civilians scattered throughout the jungle fell, with their return to the now protected urban areas, the need for protection by roving bands of militants had disappeared as well. With their relevance faltering and the odds stacking against them, the 'colored' militants were either giving up — choosing the civilian life — or they were heading south, across the Panooly Frontier.

The small armored column reached an intersection, where a sektón of Macabee regulares directed traffic and kept an eye on the locals. They rolled through without stopping, forcing traffic to stop for them. As they crossed, one could see the throngs of people extending in either direction, some carrying food, others carrying goods of various kinds. Small local businesses were thriving and they came in a variety of kinds: pottery makers, mosquito net makers, farmers, lumberjacks — although this particular trade was diminishing thanks to the arrival of international lumber companies —, and arms dealers. Yes, the Golden Throne had continued to allow the sale and purchasing of small arms of various sorts, from assault rifles to machine guns. To some degree, this posed a threat to the occupying troops, but on the other it helped to improve the town's sense of security and, so far, attacks against Imperial troops had been limited. Part of the reason for this was the gradual transition to local security. Another part of the reason was, of course, Macabee power armor, against which most locally accessible small arms were effectively powerless against.

In an office overlooking that intersection sat Kapitán Gregor Corolt, beneficiary of a promotion since his arrival weeks ago. The added rank didn't put him in command of an armored sektón, like he wanted. Instead, it earned him a desk job, overseeing the amnesty program in southeast North Panooly. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but the pay boost was nice, especially because he earned a commission based on the success of the program. And given how generous the Golden Throne had been with the amnesty so far, the commission fees he was bringing in were not insignificant. Of course, he couldn't really spend any of it here. Strange, then, that his bank account always seemed lower than what you'd expect given his income. Actually, not so strange if you consider his wife, who was now living a comfortable life back in Mandalay. It was what it was, though. His deployment would only last a few more months anyways, and then he'd be rotated back to the provinces, where he'd deal with his wife — get some good anger sex out of it, at the very least — and bathe in some much-needed R&R. Still, he looked at the stack of paperwork on his desk and wished his tour ended a few months sooner.

There was a raspy knock on the door and Corolt yelled, "Come in!"

The wooden door swung open, revealing a small, dark passageway, most of which was blocked by a big-shouldered 'coloured' man. Behind him, one could see a rusted and deteriorated pipe that ran across the top of the wall, for god knows what reason. He came in and behind him trailed another four men, all of which had ragged faces infected with wariness. They were all fighters, Corolt could tell. But, the kapitán calmly waved them towards his desk and, with a motion of his hand, invited them to take a seat in the chairs opposite of him. Since there were only three, Corolt pointed to a sofa against the far wall, to the side of the door, and the fourth 'coloured' man took his place there. None of them had said a word to the Macabee so far, which Corolt understood as them not having a strong command of díenstadi. Of course, the hushed mutterings between them, in their native tongue, confirmed this. He gave an internal sigh because his own ability to speak Panooly was lacking, but it was close enough to Pantocratian and that usually allowed Corolt to get by in these type of encounters. Hoping that he wouldn't need to say anything too complicated, he said, in Pantocratian, "How can I help you boys?"

They looked between each other and finally it was the bigger man, obviously their de facto leader, who spoke up. In decent Pantocratian, he said, "We come here for amnesty."

Corolt nodded and said, "Okay. Just so that you understand, accepting our amnesty will require all four of you to be detained for up to 72 hours. Is this something you consent to?" A necessary question. A couple of weeks ago, he might have just tried surprising the four guys with handcuffs, but that had turned out badly in more than one occasion. It was better for them to know what was coming, so they'd be prepared for it. Before the big guy could answer, the kapitán hit an orange button a speaker-phone sitting on his desk and, after a short buzz, said in díenstadi, "Peralt, Burtán, Vik, come to my office. We have some amnesty-seekers in custody."

The kapitán turned back to the big guy, the latter of which then said, "You give us money." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yea, not so fast. First, custody, then we'll transfer you your amnesty reward." He opened a drawer on the right-hand side of his desk and took out four pamphlets, which he handed over to the 'coloured' doing all the talking. "Here, pass these out amongst yourselves. These packets will explain the amnesty program and how your reward will be accrued. If you don't like the terms, you are more than welcome to leave."

Just then, three soldiers — Peralt, Burtán, and Vik — walked in, carrying Hali-53 rifles and wearing conventional armor plates. One of them looked behind the open door and saw the man sitting on the couch, and so he stood facing that direction, the bottom-forward rail of the assault rifle resting on his left palm. The other two soldiers took position behind the seated Panoolies. The big Panooly tensed and looked behind him. Corolt tried to put him at ease by waving the two man back towards the door and saying, "Hey big guy, don't worry about them. They're just here to escort you to our holding center, if you so wish to continue with the amnesty program. If not, like I said, all you have to do is let me know and you can leave."

The big 'coloured' Panooly turned his head back around and relaxed a bit, although his shoulders were still stiff with tension. He looked down at the pamphlet, flipped through a few pages, then looked back up and finally replied, "Okay, we accept."

Kapitán Corolt nodded, more to the three soldiers he had called in than to the others, and said, "Very well. My associates here," he waved at Peralt, Burtán, and Vik, "will escort you to the detention center."

The four Panoolies rose and were funneled out the door by the three Hali-wielding soldiers. With that, Corolt took a moment to relax, sitting back in his chair. Another four militiamen accounted for — well, provisionally, at least. They'd have to be interrogated first. There were too many civilians who tried to take advantage of the amnesty program just to access some money. The North Panooly government — acting in name for the Golden Throne — had tried to remedy that by offering separate financial assistance, but the amnesty program was by far more lucrative. Thus, the penalties to false representation were made to be high, although not high enough that it would cause resentment. Essentially, it would result in a six-month cessation of any financing (basically a basic income guarantee) and would add a misdemeanor to your record, which meant a lot if you were ever found guilty of another crime. But, Corolt had an itch that the four men who had walked in were the real thing. Maybe it was the big guy who gave off the vibe. For them, a controlled flow of financial capital awaited them. A somewhat expensive amnesty program indeed, but one that was effectively dismantling the resistance against the newly established Golden Satrapy of North Panooly.

Panooly City, North Panooly
The satrapy's first elections are marred by violence...

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration. North Panooly was witnessing its first democratic elections in decades, and this one more legitimate and fair than any other in its history (supposedly). Tens of thousands of people, including the 'coloured', lined up at the polling stations throughout the country, waiting for their opportunity to fill out their ballot and cast their vote. By early morning the next day, they would all see the fruits of their labor: an elected parliament that would serve as a counterweight to the power of the Satrap. Of course, how much of a counterweight the parliament would be against a man directly appointed by the Golden Throne was always in question, but still, this was the start of a new age. And, undoubtedly, things were improving. There was peace at last, the virus had been mostly uprooted — Imperial troops clearing out the last holds of the infected —, and foreign investment meant that people could find jobs if they wanted to. At long last, Panoolies had something to look forward to. But, the four plumes of dark gray smoke that spread over the rooftops of outer Panooly City suggested that not all citizens were happy with this 'new age.'

At 11:07 in the morning, four bombs went off at polling stationss in the southeastern suburbs of Panooly City. It would be later confirmed that the four improvised explosive devices killed eleven people and injured another twenty-three. Another nine bombs went off at polling stations elsewhere in the country, killing another twenty-three people and leaving another thirty-seven injured. It was an obvious attempt to discourage the voting process. But, freedom and democracy cannot be discouraged, and so most put in their vote regardless, hopeful of tomorrow's results. In fact, the bombings were ironic. They were a reaction to the appointment of a 'whitie' Satrap, but they were attacking the principle legitimate artery of a future 'coloured' government. Indeed, the next day they would find that eighty percent of the seats in the Rural Congress and fifty-five percent of the seats in the Senate (which had a higher percentage of 'whities' in each district, since the districts were based on large urban centers and not strictly territorially-based) would go to 'coloured' dominated parties. But terrorists don't often act out of rational interests, or at least not in the interests of society at large.

Despite the relative inefficiency of the bombings, this was only the start of a campaign of terror in North Panooly. And with events in South Panooly gradually spiralling out of control, along with the general end of organized resistance to the Golden Throne's 'security operation,' terrorism was to become the main exponent of violent backlash against the 'new order.'

[Morrdh]

Run Through The Jungle

Omega - Lamonian Controlled Indras

Despite the temporary cession of operations, the Morridanes hadn't been idle in Southern Indras/Omega. Even though the investigation into the raid was still ongoing it looked increasingly unlikely that the Commonwealth was the culprit behind the attack, so preparations were made for the resumption of Morridane military operations. Additional units were deployed to what was now known as Morridane Forces Indras, a move that echoed the Stevidians in a bid to connect more with the locals. Though whilst the reinforcements contained a handful of combat units, there was alot more in the way of support units such as sappers from the Royal Morridane Engineers and medics as the Commonwealth gave a greater emphasis on 'hearts and minds'. Though it was expected that the taint of the raid would linger and so both Stevidian and Lamonian officers were attached to Morridane units, if anything to prove and vouch for the good conduct of the Morridanes in general.

The officers were even attached, where possible, to units operating as part of Royal Morridane Air Force Indras. This even included the twenty-seven Avro Shackletons that been deployed, 18 of the Mark 2 maritime patrol Shackleton and 9 of the airborne early warning version. The former was primarily used for anti-submarine warfare, maritime patrol and as a search and rescue platform, it was also used for secondary roles such as convoy escorting, supply dropping, photo reconnaissance, communication relaying and ground attack missions (for which it retained a pair of 20mm Hispano Mark V cannons in the nose). The airborne early warning, or AEW, version was the RMAF's AWAC mainly on the hope that it would be mistaken for a far less valuable target and also as a cheap throwaway in case an enemy did decide to shoot it down.

Being a near ancient plane that growled its way through the skies on four piston engines probably came as a shock to the Stevidian and Lamonian air officers attached to the Shackletons, usually taking the place of an observer onboard. After climbing aboard via a hatch towards the rear of the aircraft was probably the smell, an all-pervading assault on the nostrils composed of Avgas, oil, Racasan, leather, hydraulic fluid, cigarettes and the accumulated pungent odours of over sixty years of aviation. The crudity of the internal finish is plain to see as the inside walls of the fuselage are bare and all the ribs and stringers are clearly visible, in addition alot of the electrical equipment had looms of almost prehistoric wiring hanging off them. Compared to modern jet aircraft it was a primitive brute of an aircraft with barely anything in the way of crew comforts aside from a tiny but well-appointed gallery complete with two rest bunks, the closest Shack crews got to air conditioning was having some of the windows open whilst in flight. Given its age it was not surprising that some of the equipment played up from time-to-time, though the attached officers would probably be alarmed with the generally accepted cure of whacking the offending item with a hand took.

Then was being airborne in the damn thing.

Aside from the foresaid method of air conditioning there the constant noise and vibration, the four supercharged V12 Rolls-Royce Griffons capable of 2,500 hp at fairly low RPM produced a vigorous deafening roar when at full power. Even at cruising RPM there is still alot of noise, something thats not helped much by the constant vibrations of the airframe that many Shack crews state is akin to being shaken to death. Though despite their aeroplane being noise, gloomy and demanded constant maintenance the crews were still fiercely proud of it and its lack of home comforts. To many it seemed that Shack aircrews became inured to long, thundering and monotonous flight and developed (even taking) a perverse pride on their misfortunes.

~ ~ ~

The Shackleton's role in Indras/Omega was primarily patrolling, chiefly to deter smugglers, but it had secondary roles such as supporting troops either by flying low and using the noise of its engines to scare off the insurgents or by bombing enemy positions. Given the complete lack of enemy air units the Shackleton would be able to shine in the ongoing COIN efforts, effectively acting as a 'big stick' with its 10,000lbs of bombs if the 'Growler' hadn't scared off the insurgents. The AEW Shackletons, however, were to mount round the clock patrols in hopes of catching the raiders if they decided to attack again.

There was also a flight of three Shackletons with rotating crews that were detailed to search and rescue duty, each Shack kept fully fuelled and ready to takeoff at all times. Each aircraft was also equipped with Lindholme Gear, ready to respond to an emergency off the Indran coast and to help with the Morridane 'hearts and minds' efforts.

[Radictistan]

Radictistani Sector, Indras Demilitarized Zone

B Company and its attachments traveled down a paved road just beginning to fade back into the jungle. One rifle squad from First Platoon occupied a position ahead of the remaining advance guard. A tank platoon with four T-80s and a clearing section complemented the rifle squads, RPG teams, mortars, and heavy machine guns. The entire infantry component of the force was mounted in Dingo 2 protected vehicles. The operation timetable demanded they advance mounted despite the risk of ambush which came with speed and noise.

Because of the short lines of sight and the threat of ambush the advance guard moved only a kilometer ahead of the forward platoon of the main body.

Radar coverage was spotty and the CAP aircraft too few. The conscript battalion to the west had it even worse, something always reassuring to the Brigadiers.

In his protected vehicle, Captain Grunding studied his maps. The first danger zone revealed by map reconnaissance was the village of Ravasel. The villagers had cleared land around the settlement for their crops. The open zone deprived the Radictistani soldiers who must cross it of any usable cover. Meanwhile the adjacent jungle provided any lurking insurgents with concealed and elevated firing positions. The village itself was another problem; any fires would have to be coordinated with higher levels of command.

Going around was not an option and neither was there time for a thorough dismounted sweep of the village. There were not enough smoke rounds for the company mortars to allow the masking of merely suspected enemy observation points. The ROE did not allow for a reconnaissance-by-fire.

Grunding decided to bring his tanks forward. The T-80s attached to his force were equipped with thermal sights for the gunner. They would help pierce through the thick vegetation. The two Metis-M anti-tank guided missile launchers organic to the company’s weapons platoon were similarly equipped and Grunding ordered them to the fore.

The company commander briefly considered using one of the north-south irrigation canals as an infiltration route but they were an obvious choice so he had to assume they were mined.

Time was of the essence. Grunding sent a warning to the battalion mortars then sent one of his rifle platoons into the cleared fields west of the village where the ground was lower. The company AGLs and 12.7 millimeter machine guns attached from battalion directly covered the advancing riflemen while the tanks and ATGMs had line-of-sight on other, commanding positions as well as the village itself.

This, like any other move he could make, posed serious risks. If there were insurgents concealed within the west cropland the advancing platoon would face a major and unexpected firefight at close quarters. Occupying the village itself would have been a stupid move on any insurgent’s part but it was a move which couldn’t be discounted.

The Third Platoon moved quietly through the field, its three rifle squads arrayed in a simple line. The two organic machine gun teams traveled closely behind the center squad.

The platoon had moved traveled about two hundred meters into the west field when two brief bursts of static came over radio. The twin breaks in the squelch circuit was a prearranged signal. The Luetnant commanding the platoon called for a halt and the infantry dropped into cover.

Contacts had been reported by one of the tanks – several human-shaped heat signatures around what was likely some sort of crew-served weapon. Captain Grunding gave permission to engage and the staccato of coaxial weapons fire erupted.

First Platoon began advancing towards the village while Third Platoon resumed its own southward movement, this time bounding by squad. A few haphazardly aimed rifle shots greeted their advance but nothing more.

First Platoon moved en echelon. The forward and western-most squad approached one corner of the village warily. There was good cover against the village from Third Platoon’s weapons but the IED threat was reason for caution. It soon became evident that the village was deserted. The riflemen kicked down the doors of two buildings which flanked the main street.

The Kapral leading one fireteam gave a signal, then indicated one of the houses further down the narrow, unpaved street. There was a suspected IED. It was a small rubbish pit, suspiciously placed on the villageward side of the hut. The platoon radio operator sent a brief message back to the company CP then the platoon continued moving along the eastern edge of the settlement. Follow-up units would deal with the threat later.

Grunding kept up the pressure. He sent two of his tanks forward with the remainder to provide covering fire if needed. His remaining rifle platoon followed, moving quickly in full confidence that the tanks would make anyone who dared fire on them regret the move quickly.

Third Platoon took some more light fire, this time closer and possibly augmented with a light machinegun. The brigadiers’ own light automatic weapons returned fire with a vengeance. Whoever it was trying to buy time for others to escape was placed out of commission quickly.

There was no more hostile contact. After reaching the opposite edge of the cleared zone the Radictistanis stopped only long enough to count the bodies and collect a few scraps of intelligence. They had taken out a machinegun position and recovered eight assault rifles and three bolt-action hunting weapons.

---

It is a truth universally acknowledge by those of good taste that the Ka-52 is the most beautiful combat helicopter ever designed. From its graceful rounded nose to the beautiful symmetry allowed by the coaxial rotor arrangement, the aircraft presented an unassailable image of graceful movement even when sitting idle at an austere FARP.

Familiarization sorties had revealed one blemish on the aircraft. Unlike other operators, the Radictistanis had retained the original position of the Samshit-EM electro-optical suite above and behind the cockpit. That arrangement was well suited for the aircraft’s normal CONOPS, which had attack helicopter units striking en masse against enemy tank columns from behind the cover of ridges, hills, and other topographical features. For the current mission it was a less than optimal placement. The Kamovs found themselves struggling to maintain visual contact with potential targets below.

Then the code word came over the command net and the idle became active. Crews boarded their aircraft and the sound of rotor blades against the humid air rapidly began to fill the outpost. The time for QRA was over. The riflemen in the jungle were far enough south that they needed the helicopters on a nearby orbit. Eventually fuel constraints would force the Kamovs back and the Navy’s fixed-wing aircraft would take over.

[Radictistan]

Radictistani Sector, Indras Demilitarized Zone

“42, fence in and go secure.”

“42, copy.”

Captain-Lieutenant Franco checked his own cockpit for any important switches that were not in the right position for possible combat. Both Zhuk radars were now radiating with the leader’s offset to the left and the wingman’s to the right. The slaloming course of the CAP flight would keep all directions at least periodically covered.

In truth, the Radictistani pilots knew there was little chance of detecting airborne intruders. Against the sort of low observable aircraft found in the quasi-belligerents’ air forces they would be lucky to get a stable radar lock at twenty kilometers. And they were meant to police an area nine hundred kilometers long by fifteen kilometers wide. Neither GCI nor airborne early warning would be of much help either. In the air as well as on the ground, the Radictistani military presence was looking more and more like a joke.

---

Radictistani forces encountered little overt resistance as they moved towards their assigned operational areas. The advance guard of the 24 Light Battalion Battlegroup twice made fleeting contact with small armed groups after the initial skirmish at Ravasel. The left flank guard platoon made a single contact with possible insurgents, although it would later be alleged that they had fired at nothing more than shadows and rustling leaves. 633 Light Battalion, having been assigned a less volatile sector to infiltrate, had even less contact with opposition forces.

Of far greater significance was the IED threat. The advance south was repeatedly delayed by the need to bypass or clear IEDs and suspected IEDs. This caution did not prevent all casualties from occurring. The southbound battlegroups suffered twelve casualties from IEDs including one fatality from an explosively formed penetrator. That vehicle was one of two Dingos disabled by explosives.

These events were all predictable if one considered the way in which the Radictistani intervention had played out thus far. While an entire infantry battlegroup in tactical formation at high alert was too big a nut for most insurgents to crack, the constituent elements would be extremely vulnerable once they were dispersed in over a dozen small outposts, none held by a force any larger than a reinforced platoon. These outposts had already proved vulnerable to attack. After a series of bloody engagements the Radictistanis had pulled out of two such outposts, removing or destroying all equipment and ceding the ground to the insurgents. There would now be a higher density of forces, but the basic vulnerability still remained.

Within the Radictistani force headquarters a debate was brewing over the proper utilization of the two Ranger companies once Operation Plotner had been completed. One proposal was to leverage the Rangers’ skills to mentor the local paramilitaries in the field, possibly in an arrangement where a Ranger squad or platoon was semi-permanently attached to a larger local force.

Others within the brigade staff argued that such role placed the special operations soldiers in a static, guard role where their unique abilities were wasted. Instead they advocated an aggressive program of night raids and long-range reconnaissance patrols, using actionable intelligence to remove key insurgent actors from the battlefield. This plan, as its detractors raised, would place a heavy burden on scarce airlift assets. For now that shortfall made General Radchenko inclined towards implementing the former plan of action once the Rangers had completely fulfilled their current mission as pathfinders for the main units on their march south.

[Mokastana]

Puerto Moka,
Lamoni Controlled Indras/Omega

Militaries could do what they wanted to win the “hearts and minds" of the public, but no matter the effort, it always came back to one universal constant. Money. Cash. Capital investment. Dinero. The funds to turn a warlord infested island into a place worth making something of. That was the Mokan social contribution to the local communities. Of course, not all of it was government, Montana Inc and other contractors from the PUF began to flood the local market with numerous projects, and projects required manpower.

20,000 Navy personnel and 23,000 Army Personnel officially worked at Puerto del Oeste. They bright with them their families, higher standards of living and needs. PUF contractors knew they would need housing for families on long term deployment, groceries, entertainment, etc… Nearly 90,000 PUF citizens now called the Naval Base their home. With countless others residing around it As with most bases if this size, a city had grown nearby, enjoying the money that flowed out if the base and into the local community. Everything from nightclubs to schools to highways and trolleys had been built to accommodate the Federal citizens. The locals, though not as well paid as they might be in Mokastana, were still making far more than before, in jobs far more stable than before.

The local warlord issue had been resolved relatively easily. The predecessor had rejected the gifts of support by foreigners, but after an unfortunate allergic reaction to puffer fish, the old warlord’s successor graciously accepted the offered help. A man by the name of Jaheem, he accepted the finances, foreign weapons, and new housing that was all funneled in via questionable legal channels to his army. After all, Montana Inc needed additional local security for their next big project.

Which was cash crops, of course. The climate of Omega was perfect for growing certain ‘crops’ and central GD farms would allow shipping costs to go down. Thus decreasing product cost and increasing market share. Both in the pharmaceutical and ‘recreational’ sense, depending on local law of course. Now, whether pro Mokan warlords decided to sell their share on the black market, was another topic completely. After all, a major Cartel was forming in the Union of Eastern Star Soviets and they would need all the crop they could find.

As demand in central GD increased, supply would have to as well. New lands were farmed and new guards posted. North of the city and its Naval station a warlord going by Mutu held the lands the Mokan capitalists wished for, but the lines were vague, and talks not always organized. They began plowing north, bringing their puppet warlord and his forces with them.

Time would tell how Mutu would respond...

[The Macabees]

[OOC: This post takes place around 3–4 months prior to Kriermak 'Gholgoth' leaving Mokastana. By that time, there are over one hundred million Macabean personnel in New Empire. At the time of the post, there are still the two million or so original peacekeepers, and the deployments/mobilization for the Scandinvan War is still taking place.]

Berliston, New Empire
The republic reborn...

Migalo Kor looked on with great pride at the parade of senators — soon to be, anyway — distributed amongst the cold, grey steps. A velvet cushion was all that separated their well-fed behinds from the none-too-comfortable marble slabs that circled a fine throne-like chair in the center below, like the concentric rings of an old, majestic tree. The round chamber's perimeter was decorated by a marble colonnade, the City States' banners hanging from every other interval and draped down almost to the floor. Dark swirls flowed along the marmoreal walls, their varied and intricate patterns weaving across the different surfaces like a unifying thread. Few knew just how old this building really was, having in its days served as a temple to some god of an old and faraway age. Now, or since the middle of the last century rather, its purpose revolved around the State Senate and for the first time in ten years it was reconvening. By the end of the session, the United City States would live once again, a momentous occasion knowing how much New Empire had suffered this past decade. Kor smiled, as it was a historic event for the Golden Throne as much as it was for New Empire.

Indeed, today the Golden Throne completed its revenge over those nations who joined against it twelve years ago when His Imperial Majesty Fedor I first took the throne: the vast plains and sparkling blue beaches of Safehaven, the humid, dark jungles of Zarbia, and the deep-rooted, sprawling subterranean cities of New Empire.

The senators bickered, their arguments bouncing from marble wall to marble wall. The discussions were heated, but Migalor Kor was not too troubled by the controversy.

Besides the krierlord stood a man almost as wide as many others were tall, flowing robes failing to hide his corpulence. "A bloody circus. This is all a bloody circus, and we are the clowns. The Golden Throne is clever, I must admit," said Roger Penhouse. "We put on the sham of democracy for you... Well, I should not say 'we.' I am a dictator who dances to the strings of His Imperial Majesty. I represent no democracy." The man sighed, turning his head to look at Migalo Kor. "Sometimes when I lay in bed I wonder if I would be better off still a mere councilman in grim ol' Hardsdad."

A malignant smile crawled upon Kor's face. "So tell me, would you be better off?"

"I don't know," replied Penhouse, his voice resigned. "I suppose that the crown of a Satrap is blinding. In any case, had I refused your offer I'd undoubtedly be in the same position each night, still thinking of what could have been."

"The grass is always greener on the other side." The krierlord's smile disappeared, as in a more serious tone he added, "How have your talks with the senators gone? If I were to tell from the discussion in the chamber below, it seems all went well. Word is that the Constitution will be accepted, and without necessitating further revisions. Quite a success, on your part."

The Satrap failed to muffle a grumbling chuckle. "Yes, well, the Golden Throne's hordes definitely help to sway the vote. Still, it surprises me that my compatriots so willingly sign away their liberties to the Second Empire. Since yesterday, I have heard not one further comment on your Territorial Sovereignty clause. A genius move on His Imperial Majesty's part, I should say, to make it illegal for foreign troops to stand on our soil, with the exception of the Golden Throne."

"It is all for the good of New Empire," said Migalo Kor. Behind Penhouse's shoulder appeared Jakal Níelson. He silently called for Kor, who politely disengaged with the New Imperial before the latter could respond to the krierlord's last remark. As Kor walked away, Penhouse looked back with a plump, yet age-hardened face of injury and distrust. Kor thought he sensed loneliness in the other man, as well. It was a price paid for power; the new Satrap had influence, but influence does not buy friends — only wolves in sheep's clothing. Regardless, Penhouse would do well in his new role, Kor knew. The man had a knack for leadership.

Jakal stood tall, an effect that came both from his height and his straight-backed arrogance. His reserved charisma brought admiration from many, but Migalo thought him a pretentious fool. As Kor approached him, Níelson led him into the shadows of the tall colonnade that flanked the hallway that circled above the senatorial audience. In a raspy whisper, Níelson said, "I have received word."

"And?" Kor was not in the mood for the vague.

"Dasch, Migalo. I am talking about Dasch." Ah, the city-state Dasch. Its king, Anax Cyril, had refused The Golden Thrones' terms and now sat determined to oppose New Empire's reunification. In response, Macabean 'peacekeepers' had moved to cut the Anax off from the supplies he needed to run his military and now Imperial forces were arrayed to besiege the city-state.

"Lasago Niko Belerín" — commander of Fuergrup 'New Empire', or all forces responsible for the stability and defense of the soon-to-be-Satrapy — "has sent Leut Strategos Arn Kelofán with a two-kurb strong force. They are in place around the city and the noose is tightening. Kelofán's forces have already found and destroyed a dozen or more supply tunnels leading into the city. As far as resistance is concerned, thus far there is none, nor were there any major counterattacks. It seems as if Cyril Banner is digging in for a prolonged siege. Perhaps he believes he can bleed us towards better terms?"

"The man is simply deranged," was Kor's response. "In any case, reach out to Kelofán and Belerín with orders to soften the encirclement for the time being."

"To avoid spooking the senators, I am assuming." Pretentious maybe, but Kor had to admit that Jakal was far from stupid. "And I suppose that I should circumvent the other krierlords."

"Indeed." Kor turned his body towards the open chambers below them, where the senators continued to argue and Penhouse was just stepping the tall, marble staircase that led down to that aristocratic chair in the middle of the room. Kor sighed in relief, "We have worked so hard for this moment right here, and I will let nothing get in the way of success in our mission — be that troublesome local warlords or the bureacracy of my fellow krierlords. Go, now, before Kelofán does something controversial — like killing a child or something like that. There will still be time to crush the Anax later. Besides, the more we wait, the more restless 'his people' will get against his rule and the less work we have to do to depose him."

"That is our assumption, anyways," said Jakal Níelson, a touch of skepticism very much apparent in his voice. "But, so be it. I will relay your message, Migalo. When the other krierlords ask from whom I received my instructions, I will tell them the truth."

"Aye," replied Kor, "I would expect nothing less from you."

"Long live His Imperial Majesty." Jakal turned to depart, a guard standing there, ready to open the large, wooden, and gold-studded double-door as the Kríerlord approached.

"Long live His Imperial Majesty," responded Kor.

Migalo did not have much time to reflect on the conversation, as just then Satrap Penhouse's baritone voice boomed against the hard marble walls. "Order to the Senate, Order to the Senate!" The room slowly quieted down, senators turning away from their heated side-conversations and towards the Satrap. "The time for deliberation has come to an end. Let us hold the proposed Constitution to a vote. Remember, a supermajority vote is required to pass the document. We will vote simultaneously; your screens will prompt you to select 'yes,' 'no,' or 'abstain.' Whatever the outcome of today's vote may be, and whatever it may bring, long live the UCS."

...and by the end of the day the United City States had been resuscitated, under Macabean tutelage.

The story will soon continue in 'Machining the 'Berg.'

Panooly City, North Panooly
Enter the Black Jackals...

Clarence Batunda's stride was not as confident as it usually was. Hooded, his face was but an umbrage, wearing a baseball cap too boot. And although he swam in his baggy jeans, he walked with an awkward, stiff-legged limp — as if his leg had been injured. He could have almost passed for homeless in his clothing, the jeans faded and obviously long worn, and the shirt much too large for him. The white t-shirt was stained, no less. All over, green and brown blotches covered it like a brooding infection. The only thing giving him away was his backpack, the straps of which he tightly clung onto with white knuckles, in alert paranoia. Some passersby — more likely than not of white skin — gave him looks that could stab, more so out of their disgust for the homeless than any other concern, especially if the particular vagabond was colored.

Batunda was clearly nervous, his head but at the same time their hate steeled his resolve and reaffirmed his mission.

The last few days had not been the most pleasant in his life. The smell of piss radiated from him like a cursed aura, and the dirt had started to embed itself deep within the tiny pores of his skin. His eyes were bloodshot, which contributed to the mythos of homelessness that Clarence had built for himself. He looked as if he had just finally emerged from a three-day heroin binge, sleeping, pissing, and shitting in the same clothes all the while. He really did look disgusting, but the look in those peoples' eyes was more than just about that.

Batunda could see the glare of hate behind those dead, blue eyes. It chilled him right to his bones that man could harbor those emotions. But, the truth was, he felt the same about them. His right hand released from the strap it was clutching, and it came down to his left leg — the one with the limp. His mind flashed. No, not yet. Everything needs to be correct. He brought his hand back to the strap.

He slowly made his way up the busy hill, dragging himself along the stone, tile, and marble walls of Panooly's historic center. The urban cacophony and the stench of fumes blended into the background, his focus frail from boiling nerves. Insomnia. It's a hell of a problem to have. Four days. Four days of not sleeping. It had been the same number of days since which he received new orders, and also the same number since had told his mother where the money was coming from. In her life of comparative luxury, she seemed not to mind how he paid for it all as long as she lived in ignorance. But, when he told her, whatever happiness it had all brought them seemed to drain from her face, replaced with pain and disappointment. Those people are innocents, Clarence. Those were her last words to him, before he had stormed out with nothing but the backpack and the clothes he was wearing.

His eyes had since then remained glued open, and his mind raced on tirelessly. Tomorrow, I will be important. That is all that matters. I will be a Black Jackal.

His mother always told him that he needed a father in his life. He had died when Batunda was still a very young lad. According to his father's friends, he had been a hard working man who had only wanted to provide a better life for Batunda and his mother, and so when the call came to strike for miners' rights he took it. Outside the mine's entrance they stood, blocking entry to scabs and upper management, hoping that they could pressure the owners to offer just a little bit more money for their labor. Instead, they were massacred by the white-men of Templeton's army, and new workers were hired and brought in. That was the world Batunda had been brought into — a world where a hard working man could be punished for wanting a little more in return for his effort. Some looked to the Golden Throne as an oasis; a world of unlimited opportunity. But, it was the capitalism of the Golden Throne that endowed value to those mines and incentivized their owners to work their labor like slaves. And now that the Golden Throne was here, their troops patrolling the jungles and their Satrap ensuring that everything go the way they preferred it, it was not a world that Batunda wanted to live in.

"Hey, watch it!" A big, muscular shoulder slammed into Batunda. The man turned around to give him the kind of look you give to a lower life form. He was colored, but wearing a suit — not a very common sight, even with newfound "freedom." More and more, his brothers were embracing the new world order, thinking that the rhetoric of equality and democracy actually translated into tangible benefits. They were all ignorant. They were placing their faith in institutions that had always benefited the white man and kept the colored man down. They will never learn, he thought. They will have to die too.

Life around him had slowed. What was the point of living anymore? Under Templeton, at least there was a common spirit among the colored. Now, that fabric, that culture, was at risk of being torn apart by liberal, cosmopolitan forces that would shatter the identity that had carried them through the decades before. It was left to men like Batunda to do what was necessary to stop the hemorrhaging, to help arrest and retard the corruption, to excise the cancer. And so he ignored the man, who had turned around with a face red with anger, and continued his trek up the street.

The man who had bumped into him refused to let up, though. He rushed up behind Batunda, grabbed him by the backpack, and said, "Hey guy, are you even looking where you walk?"

"Leave me be, ọdàlẹ." Traitor. A harsh word for white-collared colored folk. But, to Clarence, they deserved it, as they had abandoned their brethren that still toiled in the mines and labor camps deep within the Panooly rainforest.

Batunda shook him off and pulled away, but as he did, the man's hand pulled on the backpack. It ripped at the seams before he knew what was going on, and its contents spilled all over the tiled sidewalk. There, against the light hues of the concrete, lay packaged explosives with multi-colored wires all around it. He looked up at the man with wide eyes, then back down to the bomb, and then back up to the man. For an eternal second time stopped and the world came down on him.

"Bomb," gasped the suited man. Then, much louder, "Bomb!"

Those around them, who 'til then were flowing around them, started to panic, and not even ten seconds had passed by the time someone else repeated the warning and then another and another. Batunda contemplated picking the bomb up and continuing to his target, but he would never make it there: it was now or never. Releasing the backpack from his shoulders altogether, his right arm reached into his pants and extracted a TK-60 assault rifle which he had strapped to his leg.

Free of that burden, he now prowled the street with a liberated gait, firing his rifle indiscriminately into the fleeing crowd. The screams filled his ears and he felt an insurmountable joy. Who were his victims? He didn't care — in his rage he was blind, blind to everything but his mission to impose death. The rifle clicked. Batunda looked at it; the bolt was still pulled back and the ejection port open, a thin line of sulfuric smoke rising from it into the air. With a push of a button the magazine fell out, rattling as it hit the sidewalk.

He reached into his right pocket and drew out another magazine, which he promptly slapped into the rifle. Just as quickly, he brought the rifle up to his shoulder and started to pump rounds out in steady rhythm. Some he missed, but many were felled. He did not take note, in any case. His enraged focus was on moving and shooting, following the crowd as they trampled over themselves. He paused here-and-there, reaching into deep pockets farther down his pant legs to reveal grenades. These he chucked into the stampede. He stepped on a severed arm and the limb's bones crushed beneath his weight. Batunda failed to notice.

The wounded wailed, and the dead screamed in silence, their faces twisted and horrified. The noise of rifle fire was faint in comparison.

Crossing an intersection, Clarence Batunda continued to point and shoot, periodically replacing an empty magazine with a full one. In the distance, police sirens moaned in alarm. He paid them no mind.

Continuing up the street, he happened upon a large grocery store embedded within the street-level floor of a colorful tall, brick apartment building. He couldn't see through the hazy glass, but the broad electronic doors opened to reveal an empty lobby with abandoned cash registers. He started to make his way towards the back.

As he approached the front of the aisles, a gun shot rang out and reverberated off the store's empty walls. A round zipped just beyond Clarence's his head, whipping past his ear, to finally impact along the wall. He zipped around, TK-60 at the ready, and started to fire back while walking backwards in search of cover. It was one police armor, unarmored and holding a mere handgun — with a bad shot, at that. The officer darted behind the wall and outside the building, as soon as he saw Clarence's rifle. He turned around and continued to make his way to the rear of the store.

Towards the ends of each of the rear aisles crouched shoppers in fear. They had stayed, to see if they could outlast the gunner, but their gamble was erroneous. He lifted his TK-60 and executed them, as he kept making his way towards a cheap double door that led to a small inventory warehouse that wrapped around the back. As he turned his back on them, three people who were cowering near the opposite corner darted for an exit way that led to the underground parking. Two made it through, the other was clipped in the leg by Batunda, who quickly turned around to shoot them down.

The ones who escaped could count themselves lucky, for Clarence Batunda picked up again his journey to the warehouse. As he passed innocents hiding behind shelving or countertops, he took potshots at them without bothering to even aim. Clack. Another magazine released, clattering as it hit the ground. Another full magazine inserted. He paused. It was his last one; these were his final thirty rounds. He kept working his way to his destination, but kept his indiscriminate murder to a mum for the sake of conserving what ammunition he had.

Just as soon as he reached the rear doors, he could hear the shouts of officers rushing in through the front entrance. Damn, it probably means they're coming through the back!

He crouched, walking into the warehouse slower and more aware. He could thank the civil war for any skill for soldiering and combat, if anything. Those weeks had been brutal. House-to-house, office-to-office fighting in the cities and never-ending firefights in the intolerably humid jungles of Holy Panooly were a baptism of fire, quite literally, for Batunda. These police officers could not call on the same experience. Panooly City had never suffered the war really, having always been strongly dominated by its minority white population. And so it counted on the same security as it always had, even during the war. These policemen had never see combat.

But, they were armored. Clarence found that out as soon as he rounded the corner to the other side of the warehouse, where there was a door that led to a courtyard between four buildings with an alleyway to a side street. There, just around the corner, was a squad of four policemen in tactical gear. They were just as surprised to see him as he was to see them, but he managed to squeeze a round off almost from the shock. It hit the lead officer squarely in the chest, knocking him into the officer just behind them. All in all, the sudden chaos obliged Clarence with the opportunity to fire another round, which hit the third officer in the center of the arm.

The fourth officer fell to his knee and brought his twelve-gauge eye-level, pumping it and showering Batunda in buckshot. Clarence fell to the floor, writhing in pain, but rifle still in hand. He fired two more rounds, neither of them striking anything but inventory or wall. By then, the second man had recovered from his fall, and from a sitting position he fired into Batunda's unarmored chest. Clarence Batunda moved and gasped, his body jerking every which way, until he finally ceased to move. That didn't stop one of them from putting a round through his head, for good measure.

That is the sad story of Clarence Batunda. He would soon be forgotten, and never remembered again. He was just one pawn played in a dangerous game, one that would soon devolve into something much more primal.

...a group who called themselves the Black Jackals would claim responsibility for the terrorist attack that very night. And they promised to bring more.

The story will soon continue in 'A Panther Amidst Jackals.'

END

The story of Indras and its occupation is ongoing in Sky Gods.