2nd Great Division (IC)

[New United States of Columbia]

OOC Thread here: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=390222

Columbia lays vulnerable as a shattered union. An assassination attempt on Foley's life gives him a mortal wound with him being presumed dead as the bomb claimed the life of his beloved High Queen Adina Foley. Tensions beneath the surface and thin veneer of Americana Suburbia have now broken into all out war. Titus and the Foley Dynasty lay holding Omaha as it's besieged by Fascist and Communist militias formed in the Midwestern territories while Mexico and Canada form insurrections against Crown authority. The East Coast lays decided between Fascist and Nationalist forces while the old Confederacy rises from the ashes, stronger compared to the much divided foes across North America. All that's left is for the foreign powers to decide which faction, if any, wins the 2nd Great Division. Or leave Columbia in a state of seemingly eternal war.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Saxtonberg, Nova Capile

---

The Royal Palace

It was a beautiful day in the Duchy. The sun, a bright egg-yolk in the distance, had just begun to rise above the snowy peaks behind the Herzogspalast. That beautiful structure rose nearly as high as the mountains, perched on a foothill and rising above the acres of forest it dominated. Today Grand Duke Hans Wilhelm was lounging on the balcony of the highest tower, enjoying a good book and basking in the sun. Beside him sat his wife of fifty-eight years, the Grand Duchess Madeline. "Such a beautiful day," Hans commented, putting down his novel to stare out at the forest. The wooded expanse below was full of life; the chirping of birds, rustle of branches in the breeze, and the rest of nature's sweet ambiance. "Indeed it is, dear. We should do something with the rest of the family today. Perhaps we could take a quick trip to the Island?" The Grand Duke smiled, his milky blue eyes glazing over as he delved into happy memories of Isla de Hues.

He had spent many months of his childhood romping on the crystal beaches, playing in the warm, clear water, and enjoying the soothing rays of the summer sun. Now the whole family took periodic vacations, and the memories of those days with his family were invaluable, especially this late in life, when he was losing grasp of those wonderful moments. A sharp rap on the balcony's double doors snapped him out of his thoughts. "Come out," Madeline said softly, turning in her chair. It was Fraiser. "Good morning, your highness," he began. There was something different in his voice; it was still strong and clear, and with the same pleasantness he always used- but there were undertones of urgency and distress. "Marshal Winser would like to see you." Hans straightened up, eyes widening and thin grey eyebrows raising. "What on earth is he doing up here?" The butler readjusted white bowtie. "He says it is very urgent, your majesty." Hans was on the edge of his seat. "Please, show him in!" It was highly unusual for Hermann Winser, the most prominent Field Marshal in the Capilean Heer, to be at the palace without warning.

The tall English man nodded and turned, opening the doors and standing aside. The man of the hour entered. He wore a feldgrau uniform with red decorations and trim; his crimson epaulettes bore four gold stars, the mark of an army Field Marshal. The old man who wore this flamboyant, many-medaled uniform was of average height. His traditional, gilded pickelhaube was tucked under his arm, revealing a ring of silver hair around his otherwise bald head. The officer's face was wrinkled, aged and distorted with a permanent frown; today it was underscored by the Field Marshal's grave manner. Hermann Winser's cool, calculating hazel eyes quickly scanned the balcony and came to rest on the Grand Duke. He made a sharp bow, first to Hans and then to the Grand Duchess. "Marshal, what brings you up from the War Department?" Hans Wilhelm questioned, skipping formalities and getting straight to the point. "Mein Herzog, I will not waste any of your time. Your good friend, his majesty High King Paul Foley has gone missing, along with a few hundred other government officials. They are presumed dead."

Hans' breathing quickened, his heart racing. He felt as if that organ might implode in his chest. His hand clutched at his breast, and instantly Fraiser was at his side. "Are you alright, your highness?" the butler questioned, kneeling beside the Duke. "Of course... Some water?" the monarch panted. As Fraiser went to get a glass of ice water for the Grand Duke Winser continued his account. "The resulting lack of government personnel, as well as the general state of Columbia, has made the American people fracture. Mexican and Canadian revolutionaries have sprung up, communist rebellions have captured much of the West Coast, and King Foley's son, Titus, has led most of the surviving government in open rebellion, securing some of the Eastern Seaboard. Anarchists and various other groups have also joined in open rebellion. Columbia is falling." Just as the de facto commander of the Oberkommando des Reichsmilitär finished the butler arrived with a fresh glass of ice cold water. Hans drained it instantly. After several moments of ragged breathing, the Grand Duke answered.

"Mobilize the army. Send all of our carrier groups to San Francisco harbor, and order them to capture Columbia's Pacific Battlefleet, lest it fall into the hands of Communists. Put Field Marshal Nemetz in command of a fresh army group, to be sent to Columbia as soon as it is fully mobilized." Hermann quickly processed the information. "It will be done, mein Herzog!" With that he saluted, stomped his right foot, and turned to leave. Hans stared across at his bewildered wife and then looked up, towards the heavens. "God, have mercy on the Columbian people. 'Forgive them, for they know not what they are doing!'"

[New Axiom]

Imperial Citidel, Elysium-New Axomite Capital City, 20:13 hours
Emporer Cyrus Silva was being briefed on the unfolding situation in Columbia. "It appears that the nation is now torn apart by internal strife and rebellions. Their are in an extremely weakened state, and Communist rebels have taken over most of the west coast." An aide was droning on. Silva puffed the cigar he had been smoking. "So, why, exactly, are you telling me this? Their problems aren't our problems." Silva replied. "Sir, the Columbians and their allies have caused a great deal of trouble for us in the past. Now could be an oppurtunity to cut the head off the snake, so to say." The aide replied. Silva puffed his cigar again. "Alright. General Ashe, do you have a plan?" A man leaning against the corner in the room straightened up and saluted. "Yes sir. My plan is to launch a three pronged offensive from the South Coast, just like we did before, and from Alaska, and finally from the West Coast, if we can convince the rebels in Los Angeles to allow us in there." The Minister of Defense, who had been sitting next to Silva, spoke up. "We're going to need to recon the area first though, to probe their defenses." Silva puffed his cigar again, and said "Sounds good, I want a sitrep once the reconnaissance phase is complete."

Havana FOB, Cuba
George Torino sat in his IB-23 Slamander recon aircraft, a variant of a medium bomber. He woulda be flying over the south coast, from Dallas to Miami, scouting Columbian cities and scanning for defenses. His co-pilot, Alicia Stone, helped with the pre-flight check as the rest of the crew, such as reconnaissance specialists David Williams, Anthony Vespucci, and Jacob Jacobson warmed up the cameras, laser designators and other recon gear mounted on the aircraft. After each crewman confirmed ech of their gear was good, they flipped a switch and a green light appeared on one of the pilots console. "This is Corporal Torino, Bird Charlie Six Echo, reporting green and green, requesting permission to take off, over.", Torino called in after all of his crew had called in that they were ready. "This is Havana Tower to bird Charlie six Echo, you are go for taxi and takeoff, runway two." "Copy tower, runway two." Torino taxxied to runway two, then pushed the throttle lever all of the up, and pulled up on the stick. Once they were in the air, Stone flipped the switch to pull up the landing gear. Torino flipped a switch to change comm channels. "Southern Central Command, this is bird Charlie six echo, reporting on duty for recon mission seven five Zulu, please confirm." Torino awaited their reply. "Bird Charlie six echo, comfirmed, recon mission seven five Zulu, over." "Copy central, over and out." Torino took off his headset as he flew into the sunset. Alicia Stone said, "hey George, isn't flying into the sunset a bit cliche?" Torino laughed and said, "it is, but were flying into the sunrise. Not nearly as cliche."

[New Decius]

Neuschwanstein Castle, Hohenschwangau
Kingdom of Bavaria, Germany Proper
German Empire, German Confederation

"Rosa! I've told you and Hans time and time again to keep out of my room!" Erwin Ludwig Stadtfeld di Germania, Second Prince of the House of Wilauhf, and third-in line for the German Imperial and Prussian Royal Throne's, shouted as he stalked the halls of the Bavarian castle that stood as the residence for the German Imperial family, looking for the two youngest children of Wilhelm Augustus III, the German Emperor and King of Prussia. The now seventeen year old young man was annoyed because, like his eldest sibling Rudolph and elder sister Ilse before him, he was now studying the laws and policies of the German government and that also meant he was cleared to view classified government and military material. Unfortunately, he also had to deal with his younger sister Rosa Stadtfeld di Germania and his younger brother and the youngest sibling at age seven Hans Wilhelm Stadtfeld di Germania. Funnily enough, his younger brother's name was almost sixty percent a political move on their father's part. Hans was born three months after Germany and Capile signed a number of friendship and cooperation agreements and his naming was meant to showcase Kaiser Wilhelm's admiration for the Capilean leader. It was a vain move yes, but it also worked to strengthen ties between the Capilean House of Hohenzollern and the German House of Wilauhf. Though the fact that Erwin's cousin, Princess Elizabeth la Germania und Osterreich, the Austrian Crown Princess, was in a romantic relationship with the Grand Duke's great-grandson might also be strengthening ties. Back to the current matter.

He eventually entered the family room to find a beige folder labelled "Classified" discarded on a side table and the television on. He strode over to the central sofa and glared down at the two. "There you are you-" Rosa lifted a finger to her lips and shushed him, directing his attention to the television. There a rather pretty blonde woman in a heavy fur coat was featured delivering a news report. "And in current news, this sleepy town in the German Imperial territory of Greenland, a dependency of the Grand Duchy of Danemark, was struck by wayward hail from the Columbian conflict. Earlier this morning, several wayward cruise missiles believed to have been launched from Canada struck this town, killing twelve and injuring dozens. It is unknown at this time which faction is responsible for firing these weapons but the matter has come to the notice of His Excellency, Grand Duke Rudolph zi-dans Germania of Danemark who gave an address in Kopenhagen mere hours after the event. We have video footage of some of his speech." Now an image of Erwin's thirty-one year old uncle, the youngest of the original seventeen children of Kaiser Siegfried Mannheim II, appeared in your usual podium in front of the flag display.

"This incident has shown us that violence not even within our own borders can spill onto our shores. Given the careful attitude Columbia's original monarchy under the elder Foley and the upstarts under the younger Foley, towards preventing wayward fire hitting foreign territories, it is likely that fringe groups are responsible. Therefore I wish for the central government in Germania as well as compatriot governments in Moskau, Algier, and Singapur to brand this as a terrorist act against the free people of our Greenland Dependency. Today all German's and Danes are as one."

Erwin smirked at his uncle's words. Most everyone in the House of Wilauhf, which was rather massive, acknowledged he was one of the top orators on the European continent. "Well done uncle. With those words your sure to get what you want. If Germania, Moskau, Algier, and Singapur don't accede to your request, then they look like they don't stand with the people, which none of them can afford." A voice from behind him confirmed as much.

"How right you are brother." That voice belonged to Rudolph Johannes Stadtfeld di Germania, Crown Prince of Germany and Prussia as well as Special Envoy of the German Empire, whom was leaning against the door frame leading into the room. The twenty-nine year old Crown Prince seemed so casual and relaxed despite the seriousness of the situation. In his capacity of Special Envoy, a rarely assigned diplomatic capacity currently held by Rudolph alone, he had served Germany in Capile, China, Japan (Negotiating the return of two of the three Home Islands to Japan but ensuring Germany kept Kyushu and its naval bases), India, and Egypt. He also served four years in the Afrika Korps during the Libya-Egypt War against Algeria and Tunisia, achieving the rank of Colonel, though it was not an experience he enjoyed talking about. "As a matter of fact, father left this morning for the Kaiserlichen Senat to sign an executive order declaring this a terrorist act. Of course this also means that if it is proved to have been the fault of either side of Columbia's split government, the heat will fall on uncle Rudy rather than the government."

The situation in Columbia had seemed so confusing that everyone thought it would end very quickly with just two sides remaining. Now that had been disproved because each faction was digging in and establishing a power base. The German, Austrian, Euro-Germanian, Sino-Germanian, and Afro-Germanian embassy's in Columbia distributed between Omaha, New York City, Boston, Richmond, and San Francisco had all been destroyed and none of the Confederation members could retaliate because they hadn't the slightest idea which side was responsible. Carrier's and Battlecruisers had been ready to deploy from Kyushu and Murmansk while European and African missile sites were ready to fire, only they had no bloody target.

Rudolph checked his watch and sighed. "Given the complexity of the situation, Außenminister Jost has decided to summon the Capilean ambassador for a meeting in Berlin to ask who the hell our cooperation pact stands with in Columbia. Through our pacts with Capile we also agree to render military and financial support to their allies in Columbia. Only we have no bloody idea who we support now."

From the Office of the German Foreign Ministry

Recipient: The Capilean Ambassador to the German Empire
Priority: Emergency

His Excellency, the Foreign Minister requests the presence of the Capilean Ambassador to discuss the situation in Columbia. Please comply at earliest possible convenience.

[New United States of Columbia]

San Diego, West Coast

The Axiomite recon plane was spotted by Columbian Communist troops. However instead of shooting it down (and risking making an already confusing war even more confusing or devastating to them) they tried to get into contact with it. They had vague knowledge of who the Axiomites were or what their beliefs were. All they knew was that they had been enemies of the Foley regime and were enemies of Hancock's Nationalists. That, they figured, was enough to warrant attempting communication.

Inside the humid and dry control tower of one of the major airports-turned-airbase, LtCol. Robert Trainer attempted to communicate to the pilots.
"Unidentified Aircraft," he said as he switched to yet another radio frequency, hoping he found the right one, "you are in Communist airspace. Squawk identification or prepare to be shot down, over."
He released the button on the control panel and waited for them to respond. On the tarmac two Columbia fighters were being readied to quickly take off and shoot down the Axiomite recon plane in case they refused to respond or were considered targets.

South-Eastern Canada

"Attack was a success, Major."
"Good. Perhaps the Germans now know to stay out of this."
"But, we attacked their civilians. All I'm saying-"
'That's enough Captain. If they know we're not afraid to target their civilian infrastructure then perhaps they know not to risk us attacking them again. This is our fight and I'll be damned to hell if I'm going to let some damn Hun tread Columbian soil again."

[New Axiom]

Bird Charlie Six Echo, somewhere over Columbia
George Torino and Alicia Stone were idly chatting in the cockpit as the recon plane flew over the countryside, taking pictures of cities, industrial bases and such. However, suddenly, the radio burst to life. Stone stuffed her earmuffs on to listen to the radio chatter more clearly, and Torino prepared the crafts countermeasures in case whoever was talking to them had less than warm intentions. "George, whoever just radioed us isn't Columbian. They said we're in communist airspace, and Columbias not communist." Torino put on his headset and listened for a repeats of the message. This time he pushed the transmit button. "This is Bird Charlie Six Echo of the New Axomite Imperial Air Force, Third Reconnosaince Wing. Identify Yourself, over."

Havana FOB, Cuba
New Axomite Imperial Marine Josef Houston stepped off of the IB-73T Transport. He was part of a small expeditionary force of five thousand soldiers, deployed to both Cuba and Honduras. Houston was dressed in full combat armor and gear, with the rest of his gear in a sling duffel bag, and his rifle was slung over his other shoulder. He and the rest of the platoon that was on that plane fast trotted to the barracks. As he was unpacking and getting settled in to his new bunk, someone from another platoon asked, "How long do you think we'll be here, guys?" "Not long," someone else replied, who was reassembling his rifle after cleaning it. "This country was weak when we first got here; we were only pushed out by Columbian allies. Now their even weaker, torn apart by internal rebellions." "How would you know, Jackson?" Someone asked. "I was there." The man finished reassembling his rifle and pulled the bolt back.

[New United States of Columbia]

Airspace over Columbia

The two fighters launched from the airport searched for the Axiomite recon plane. As they were doing so Trainer tried to communicate with Torino.
Trainer listened in and, after he heard Torino, smiled to himself.
"This is LtCol. Robert Trainer of the Columbian People's Airforce. You may proceed with your mission."
With that he waited for them to respond.

[New Axiom]

Torino shot Stone a slight look of concern. Stone pressed the transmit button. "Colonel Trainer, my I request you escort us back to Foward Operating Base Havana? Id like you or your superior officer to talk with General Cameron Ashe, the commander of the New Axomite forces in Columbia." After a brief pause, she continued. "It's my understanding you are enemies of Foley. Perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement?"

[New United States of Columbia]

San Diego International Airport

"We are and you may have an escort back to Havana. I can't meet this... Ashe but I'm sure our General Secretary Volk Stahl can meet him. Out."
The LtCol. then changed frequencies on his radio to communicate to the pilots.
"Talon 1 and Talon 2 you are to escort the Axiom plane back to Havana. Say again..."

Bird Charlie Six Echo

The pilots of the two Columbian fighters, now seeing the plane, slowed their speed in an attempt to match their new potential allies.
"Comrades," one of the Takon pilots radioed to Torino "this is Talon One. We are your escort back to your home base. Long live the Revolution! Out."

Imperial Palace, Omaha

"Hans! Nemetz! Someone please respond! Over!"
Gladium growled angrily as he slammed the radio back into place. Yet again nothing. And they were currently almost under siege by both Reds and Blacks (Communists and Fascists). He headed through the luxurious palace and fast walked to the war room. The only sounds to be heard aside from his boots tapping onto the polished tile floor and idle conversations among guards and servants was gun and laser fire echoing throughout the streets.

Titus gave concerned looks to his loyal officers as Gladium entered. Smoke hung in the air as some of the Majors, Colonels, Admirals, and a few Generals, smoked their pipes and cigars. A few servants carried silver platters filed with glasses having alcohol. Gladium saluted the new High King. Titus acknowledged him.
"No luck, sire. They might not have received our pleas."
Titus sighed and cast his hazel eyes at his officers.
"Have any of you come up with a plan?"
One of the generals cleared his threat.
"I still say we make a temporary alliance or truce with the Fascists. They have roughly equal amounts of experienced troops and roughly equal tech."
Titus gave an exasperated sigh.
"I already told you I will not side with them! They more than likely shot at the Germans and I'd rather not have to fight them again! You know how they crushed us effortlessly all those years ago."

Skies over Greenland, ten-thousand feet

The moonlight glistens off the wings of the captured Columbian bombers, their six jet engines droning and being the only sound their pilots could hear. Or have heard for the past few hours. Their bloodshot and baggy eyes scanned the radar or were scanning their maps and instructions. Get to the capital city of Greenland, firebomb it, and then get the hell out before the Germans could respond. Explained the fighter escort. The hundred or so bombers and their double number of escorts slowly approached their target. Col. Hoganmann, a German traitor who defected to Columbia after hearing about the concentration camp that his side had established during the Second War for Columbia, eyeballed the target through his bombsights.
"Steady," he said with most of the crew noting how clean his voice was of any German accent "steady . . . Permission to drop the eggs?"
"Permission granted," the Fascist pilot replied "bombs away!"
Hoganmann grinned as he pressed the button unleashing a hailstorm upon the German people below.

[New Decius]

Dependency of Greenland, Grand Duchy of Danemark
German Empire, German Confederation

As the bombs began falling upon the small towns scattered about Greenland, killing dozens within moments, the German defenses sprang into action. There were three Fighter Squadron's stationed in Greenland ready to conduct high altitude intercept missions and this was exactly what they were deployed for. Sleek silver Messerschmitt-611's sprang into the sky, two at a time, and began their hunt for the hostile aircraft, aiming to bring down as many as possible before the enemy left German airspace. Within a half-hour, more than thirty 611's were in the air, on the hunt.

Leutnant Karl Hossbach hummed Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' to himself as he kept his eyes peeled on the skies ahead and on his radar which was synced with ground based sensors. Soon enough he found what he was looking for; the outer edges of a great big formation of bombers. "Gott ya." He switched on his radio to inform the other fliers of his find. "Boys I've found the elephants for our safari. Let's show them what happens when you try hitting Germany with the Luftwaffe there to see."

Karl dove into action, firing off four of his guided missiles as soon as he came into range. Three bombers sent hurtling out of the sky and one left limping along, easily finished off with the 25mm auto-cannon on Karl's aircraft. His compatriots threw themselves into the fight with every bit of enthusiasm they would have were this an air battle over Germany herself. There was no quarter for the enemy; he chose to bomb civilian's, and now he would pay the price of such barbaric acts.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Berlin, Unified German Reich

---

The Capilean Embassy complex in Berlin

Ambassador Thomas von Stromberg sat behind his eloquently carved desk on the top floor of the Capilean Embassy in Berlin. The Duchy's offices resided in a sleek modern building near the center of the Reich's capital, rising to rival the shorter skyscrapers of the sprawling metropolis. Traditional architecture may have dominated Capilean representation in other minor countries, but here, where Capile had to come off as a modern superpower, only the most modern designs would do. With the riots and reported Civil War in Columbia, the crush of work had shifted from Thomas' shoulders and onto those of the Capilean ambassador to Columbia, one Heinrich van Winkle. As such, von Stromberg was enjoying a rather lot of free time, and today he was lounging his comfortable office chair with a book. It was a Capilean publication written by some Fatherland Fanatic, full of mindless rhetoric barely concealed by a hollow plot. That was about the best literature you could get in Nova Capile, what with the censors trashing all the manuscripts with even a hint of support for anything the state considered degenerate.

Thomas was confined to this dull work as it was the only thing he'd had on hand; usually the Ambassador was overburdened with the many political exchanges between the Reich and the Duchy. He had just turned the page when the elevator to his office slid open with a simple "ding." Quickly the Ambassador shut his hardcover and shoved it into a drawer. A young man walked in; "Freiherr!" he said in greeting, nodding curtly. Freiherr was a minor title of the nobility; due to the prevalence of the aristocracy in Reich administration, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had correctly assumed that having a nobleman, however small his title, in this position would have a positive influence on relations with the Fatherland. "What is it, Günter?" von Stromberg asked, addressing his secretary. "We have received an urgent message from the German Foreign Ministry, asking you to meet with the Foreign Minister to discuss the recent happenings in Columbia." Thomas reached out to accept a slip of paper and skimmed it. He had assumed that the German officials would at some point meet with him to discuss the raging battle in North America.

"There is also some news which I believe you would like to hear," Günter continued, pulling up a chair in front of Thomas' desk. "A rogue group of cruise missiles struck the German territory of Greenland, causing a few injuries and deaths, and generally spreading chaos through the region. It is believed that this will provoke the Reich into action of some form in the Columbian conflict." Von Stromberg stood up, pondering such a random event. It seemed strange for missiles to have been wandering that far up, in the Northern Plains of Canada where there was little to nothing of strategic value. It was most likely a staged event to force German hands. The last thing Columbia, or any Columbians, would want was intervention by Germania. Canadian nationalists were unlikely to have access to such high-caliber weapons. A staged event by the Germans themselves? The secretary's eyes were following him, asking him to divulge all he knew and thought. Günter was as curious as he was. "Send a message to the Ministry at once, our Ministry that is. Ask them our official stance on the conflict, and then send one to the Germans, telling them I will make haste to their offices."

Günter nodded. "At once, Freiherr." Thomas walked over to the glass wall, looking down on the bustling city of Berlin while he straightened his suit and fixed his hair. This would be a most interesting affair.

---

The limousine carrying Ambassador Thomas von Stromberg stopped abruptly before the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and hastily the forty-seven-year-old man hopped out. Nearly running up the marble steps of the building, Thomas took care to hold his briefcase tight. Some very important papers were in there. He pushed the glass door open and stepped into the lobby. Classical music instantly lulled him into passivity as he examined the broad, splendorous room. Though he had visited this place many times before, it never ceased to impress him. Large paintings by contemporary German artists decorated the walls, and pairs of comfortable chairs stood huddled together, as if they were trying to preserve warmth. He walked up to the young secretary. She smiled up at him, and von Stromberg returned the polite gesture. Setting his briefcase down beside him, the Ambassador pulled his credentials out of his pocket; he hoped she would recognize him and wave off the time-wasting procedure. "Freiherr Thomas von Stromberg, here to see the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

---

Imperial Palace, Omaha

---

The fighter

A lone Capilean fighter jet descended from the clouds as the Columbian Palace Complex came into view. It's pilot expertly guided his craft downwards, grinning as he noticed the bewilderment the besiegers expressed as a jet had managed to evade their air blockades. The fighter glided smoothly to the ground, coming to a rest on the black tarmac airstrip its pilot had been promised. After a minute, during which a delegation of Columbian officers appeared, the hatch popped open and a man exited. He removed his helmet and placed it back inside the fighter, revealing a young face with chiseled Nordic features, twinkling blue eyes, and tousled blond hair. His flight suit had been modified to bear the ranks of a Capilean air force Colonel-General; ivory eppulates with a large copper star and crown. He extended a gloved hand forward to shake with the Columbian officer. "Colonel-General Max Riesch, here to take the place of Field Marshal Walther Nemetz and Ambassador Heinrich van Winkle. I will be serving as the liaison between Nova Capile and your Monarchist faction."

---

Pacific Ocean

---

A formidable flotilla of Capilean warships hurried through the clear waters of the Pacific, ordered to secure the Columbian Battle Fleet before it could fall into Communist hands. Elite elements of the Marine Korps had been shunted onto the transport ships of this large fleet, and were ready to take place in hand to hand fighting. The main concern was not if the Communists defended the ships, but if they either managed to destroy or cripple them or get them to a secure harbor before the Capileans arrived. This was a heavily armed strike force with a large air complement, and the main "liberation" force was still far from being mobilized. Field Marshal Nemetz, while a dashing figure, was not a master of logistics or organization, and as such senior members of the OKR had to be called in in order to sort out the mass amounts of men and material being mobilized and sent to Capilean ports. Indeed, many doubted as to whether Nemetz, newly promoted to Field Marshal for his spectacular victories against Swedish forces, could effectively command millions of men in multiple theatres, as would be required of such a commander. Favoritism played a key part in the appointment of generals and officials, and Walther Nemetz' personal connections with not only the Grand Duke but also many other high-ranking people most likely played a major role in his new promotion.

Nevertheless, the Capilean forces were going to Columbia, and they would be commanded by this man. Whether he could keep the position was yet to be seen. As for now the crews and marine complements of the strike force focused on their current goal: "liberating" the impressive array of battleships and carriers in San Francisco Bay and safely escorting them back home for future operations against the enemy.

[New Decius]

Berlin, Unified German Reich

---

(Image)
The Capilean Embassy complex in Berlin

Ambassador Thomas von Stromberg sat behind his eloquently carved desk on the top floor of the Capilean Embassy in Berlin. The Duchy's offices resided in a sleek modern building near the center of the Reich's capital, rising to rival the shorter skyscrapers of the sprawling metropolis. Traditional architecture may have dominated Capilean representation in other minor countries, but here, where Capile had to come off as a modern superpower, only the most modern designs would do. With the riots and reported Civil War in Columbia, the crush of work had shifted from Thomas' shoulders and onto those of the Capilean ambassador to Columbia, one Heinrich van Winkle. As such, von Stromberg was enjoying a rather lot of free time, and today he was lounging his comfortable office chair with a book. It was a Capilean publication written by some Fatherland Fanatic, full of mindless rhetoric barely concealed by a hollow plot. That was about the best literature you could get in Nova Capile, what with the censors trashing all the manuscripts with even a hint of support for anything the state considered degenerate.

Thomas was confined to this dull work as it was the only thing he'd had on hand; usually the Ambassador was overburdened with the many political exchanges between the Reich and the Duchy. He had just turned the page when the elevator to his office slid open with a simple "ding." Quickly the Ambassador shut his hardcover and shoved it into a drawer. A young man walked in; "Freiherr!" he said in greeting, nodding curtly. Freiherr was a minor title of the nobility; due to the prevalence of the aristocracy in Reich administration, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had correctly assumed that having a nobleman, however small his title, in this position would have a positive influence on relations with the Fatherland. "What is it, Günter?" von Stromberg asked, addressing his secretary. "We have received an urgent message from the German Foreign Ministry, asking you to meet with the Foreign Minister to discuss the recent happenings in Columbia." Thomas reached out to accept a slip of paper and skimmed it. He had assumed that the German officials would at some point meet with him to discuss the raging battle in North America.

"There is also some news which I believe you would like to hear," Günter continued, pulling up a chair in front of Thomas' desk. "A rogue group of cruise missiles struck the German territory of Greenland, causing a few injuries and deaths, and generally spreading chaos through the region. It is believed that this will provoke the Reich into action of some form in the Columbian conflict." Von Stromberg stood up, pondering such a random event. It seemed strange for missiles to have been wandering that far up, in the Northern Plains of Canada where there was little to nothing of strategic value. It was most likely a staged event to force German hands. The last thing Columbia, or any Columbians, would want was intervention by Germania. Canadian nationalists were unlikely to have access to such high-caliber weapons. A staged event by the Germans themselves? The secretary's eyes were following him, asking him to divulge all he knew and thought. Günter was as curious as he was. "Send a message to the Ministry at once, our Ministry that is. Ask them our official stance on the conflict, and then send one to the Germans, telling them I will make haste to their offices."

Günter nodded. "At once, Freiherr." Thomas walked over to the glass wall, looking down on the bustling city of Berlin while he straightened his suit and fixed his hair. This would be a most interesting affair.

---

The limousine carrying Ambassador Thomas von Stromberg stopped abruptly before the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and hastily the forty-seven-year-old man hopped out. Nearly running up the marble steps of the building, Thomas took care to hold his briefcase tight. Some very important papers were in there. He pushed the glass door open and stepped into the lobby. Classical music instantly lulled him into passivity as he examined the broad, splendorous room. Though he had visited this place many times before, it never ceased to impress him. Large paintings by contemporary German artists decorated the walls, and pairs of comfortable chairs stood huddled together, as if they were trying to preserve warmth. He walked up to the young secretary. She smiled up at him, and von Stromberg returned the polite gesture. Setting his briefcase down beside him, the Ambassador pulled his credentials out of his pocket; he hoped she would recognize him and wave off the time-wasting procedure. "Freiherr Thomas von Stromberg, here to see the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

---

Imperial Palace, Omaha

---

(Image)
The fighter

A lone Capilean fighter jet descended from the clouds as the Columbian Palace Complex came into view. It's pilot expertly guided his craft downwards, grinning as he noticed the bewilderment the besiegers expressed as a jet had managed to evade their air blockades. The fighter glided smoothly to the ground, coming to a rest on the black tarmac airstrip its pilot had been promised. After a minute, during which a delegation of Columbian officers appeared, the hatch popped open and a man exited. He removed his helmet and placed it back inside the fighter, revealing a young face with chiseled Nordic features, twinkling blue eyes, and tousled blond hair. His flight suit had been modified to bear the ranks of a Capilean air force Colonel-General; ivory eppulates with a large copper star and crown. He extended a gloved hand forward to shake with the Columbian officer. "Colonel-General Max Riesch, here to take the place of Field Marshal Walther Nemetz and Ambassador Heinrich van Winkle. I will be serving as the liaison between Nova Capile and your Monarchist faction."

---

Pacific Ocean

---

A formidable flotilla of Capilean warships hurried through the clear waters of the Pacific, ordered to secure the Columbian Battle Fleet before it could fall into Communist hands. Elite elements of the Marine Korps had been shunted onto the transport ships of this large fleet, and were ready to take place in hand to hand fighting. The main concern was not if the Communists defended the ships, but if they either managed to destroy or cripple them or get them to a secure harbor before the Capileans arrived. This was a heavily armed strike force with a large air complement, and the main "liberation" force was still far from being mobilized. Field Marshal Nemetz, while a dashing figure, was not a master of logistics or organization, and as such senior members of the OKR had to be called in in order to sort out the mass amounts of men and material being mobilized and sent to Capilean ports. Indeed, many doubted as to whether Nemetz, newly promoted to Field Marshal for his spectacular victories against Swedish forces, could effectively command millions of men in multiple theatres, as would be required of such a commander. Favoritism played a key part in the appointment of generals and officials, and Walther Nemetz' personal connections with not only the Grand Duke but also many other high-ranking people most likely played a major role in his new promotion.

Nevertheless, the Capilean forces were going to Columbia, and they would be commanded by this man. Whether he could keep the position was yet to be seen. As for now the crews and marine complements of the strike force focused on their current goal: "liberating" the impressive array of battleships and carriers in San Francisco Bay and safely escorting them back home for future operations against the enemy.

Berlin, Meeting of Diplomats

The secretary waited a moment, checking with her employer in the office beyond that he was ready, and then returned the Ambassador's smile with the polite warm one all the government secretary's had to learn and use a thousand times over. "He will see you now Freiherr." And so one of the black uniformed guards at the door, members of the Staatssicherheitsdienst a sub-division of the Abwehr tasked with guarding government buildings, grasped the handle and opened up the great door to the Ambassador.

Arno Jost, Außenminister for the German Empire, was an aged gentleman of nearly seventy-five, though he still served his country with as much diligence as a man half his age. Jost had held the post for over a decade now, despite the fact his own political party, the Social Democrats no longer held the Chancellorship, his efficiency braved the test of time and politics. Prior to this position, Jost had served as the German Ambassador to France for several years, and the German Representative to the United Nations for five years before that. Diplomacy was this man's livelihood.

The elderly Foreign Minister smiled that kindly smile only the aged could pull off with their soft features. The manner in which Jost greeted von Stromberg would have suited a greeting of old friends rather than mere colleagues. "Ah, Freiherr von Stromberg, thank you for coming. A pleasure to see you again, though if only it could be under more pleasant circumstances. I trust you are well?" A small polite cough reminded Jost that there was still another person in the room not yet introduced. "Oh, yes, this is Generalmajor Erik Schtiëfer, from the Abwehr."

The Generalmajor was about twenty years younger than Jost but his badges of rank were suitable enough markers of importance. Schtiëfer did the classical Prussian heel click salute before stepping to the side. Thus the business had begun.

Jost sat behind his desk with Thomas in front of him and the Generalmajor standing to Jost's left. "Now, the matter I asked you here to discuss is a rather sensitive topic at this moment. The embassies of each Germanic Confederation member in Columbia have been destroyed and Greenland, a dependency of our Reich has been attacked. Normally by this point the Luftwaffe and the Kaiserliche Marine would be well underway, punishing those responsible. Therein is where the problem lies." Now it was Schtiëfer's turn.

"Your Grace, since the trouble started up in Columbia again, its been an intelligence nightmare. They can mark their maps however they want, and who knows how accurate they are in any case, but that is not the issue. When trying to keep track of multiple factions, fringe groups, and the like, whom speak the same languages, have similar uniforms, when they have actual uniforms, and use largely the same equipment, one would rather resign then and there. Communications with both High King Foley's regime, as well as the splinter faction established by his son, have been sketchy at best. And neither the Fascists or Communists are going to take our calls, they'd rather shoot us. As for the Mexican's and Canadian's well they still hold a grudge over the big switch we pulled in the last war, seeing as we dropped the matter of Mexican and Canadian independence once we were on the same side as the Coalition." He seemed reluctant to say the next part. "Nearly all of our assets in Columbia have either been killed or captured. All the others have been compromised and we are trying to extract them."

Now it was Jost's turn again. "Under Article 12 of the Capilean-German Cooperation Pact, we agreed to lend our support to Columbia if it entered a state of war. It certainly is in such a state, but, to put it frankly as His Majesty has, we have no bloody idea who to give our support to. As it is I have a feeling that is in the interest of neither of our nations to get bogged down in another long fight in Columbia. Therefore, we would like assistance identifying the major players and bringing them to the negotiating table. Once they have been clearly identified, I would also propose the use of German and Capilean air power to suppress the more radical fringe groups that are borderline terrorists. During this time the more reasonable powers can be led to the negotiating table where hopefully the conflict can be ended before too much blood has been spilt."

What Jost did not mention was that at this moment, both the Kaiserliche Marine and Konigliche Marine were getting ready to deploy Carrier battlegroups from bases going from Wilhelmshaven all the way up to Murmansk into the North Atlantic. Germany desired peace but it was ready to fight if necessary. Recent events in Greenland proved the Reich needed to be prepared.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Berlin

---

Thomas smiled tightly and thanked the receptionist as he continued through the double doors and faced the aged Foreign Minister of Germany. Von Stromberg had known Jost, arguably one of the most powerful Reich ministers, since the signing of the Capilean-German Cooperation Pact. Afterwards he'd been assigned as the Duchy's ambassador to Germany, and had retained a close professional relationship with Jost ever since. "I am quite well, Außenminister. I hope the Kaiser has not been working you too hard!" Thomas said lightly. In truth, this man, despite his vulnerable age, was a workhorse for the Germany Ministry. Thomas shook the wrinkled hand of Arno Jost and then turned slightly to see a decorated man, slightly older than himself, in a military uniform. The man coughed slightly and the Außenminister remembered his presence. "Oh, yes, this is Generalmajor Erik Schtiëfer, from the Abwehr." It had been a long time since Thomas had met with a military man, and he had long forgotten protocol. He hoped a handshake was the proper gesture. "A pleasure to meet you, Generalmajor." He extended his hand for a firm shake.

Freiherr Thomas von Stromberg

Following the two men to the large desk, the Ambassador took his seat behind it and sat his briefcase on his lap. Jost shattered illusions of any further pleasantries by launching directly into a briefing. Thomas adopted a grim, serious face and settled in, his knuckles turning white as they grasped the corners of his briefcase. He looked from Jost to Schtiëfer as they took turns filling their guest in. Faux surprise when they revealed the attacks on Greenland, melancholy gloom upon hearing of the termination of the Abwher agents, and disdain when informed of the rogue factions rioting in Columbia. When they had finished Thomas took a deep breath before answering. "I am not a military man, but being the mouthpiece of the Grand Duchy in Germany I have also been given very sensitive government documents detailing my country's knowledge of the situation, as well as what we plan to do about it." He paused, soaking in both men's reactions. "Similarly, most of the Stoßschutz agents on assignment in North America were taken unaware by the sudden flare up in hostility. Most of them have been compromised. Under the direction of the Grand Duke, our Embassy staff, including our Ambassador, fled to a remote safe house in British Columbia.

"The Grand Duke and the Oberkommando des Reichsmilitär- our General's Staff, that is, have approved several war plans. The first is to send a task force to San Fransico Bay and seize the Columbian Battle Fleet anchored there. This is a powerful asset which we cannot allow to fall into the hands of revolutionaries. The second is to send relief forces to several locations across the West Coast, notably Baja California, the Panama Canal, Seattle, Vancouver, Sacramento, and Los Angelos. While I can most certainly understand your desire to stay out of armed conflict, our government is more prepared to aid our ally in the war. That brings us to Nova Capile's alignment in this conflict." Thomas cleared his throat. "I have been told that High King Foley is missing and presumed dead. As such we have already sent liaisons to Titus Foley, the claimant to the Columbian throne. Provided he accepts some terms with which to renew our alliance, we will set forth to aid his war effort as much as we possibly can. That said, I have been ordered to strive for Capilean-German Cooperation in the war in Columbia- particularly the battle for the skies and waters of North America."

---

San Francisco Bay

---

The roar of aircraft drowned out all other sounds in San Francisco. Families huddled in basements as air raid sirens blared. Then they came. Swarms of fighter-bombers painted with the Iron Cross, swooping down and dropping their deadly ordinance on the city. Their pilots, rabid in their dogmatic following of orders, had been instructed to bomb the entire city to hell, as it only contained Anarchist and Communist scum. Little did those fanatical airmen know that their explosives were landing upon innocent men, women, and children caught in the raging flames of war. Mercilessly fighters strafed streets, cutting down any unlucky Californian who had wandered out. Huge, lumbering bombers gutted entire buildings with their powerful weapons. And then there was the worst of all: those screeching aircraft straight from the bowels of hell, carrying lethal amounts of napalm . As their kindred wreaked havoc across the metropolis they flew low to the ground, opening up their bottom hatches and releasing their cargo. Sheets of napalm fell from the heavens, leaving behind rows of flaming houses. The insatiable fires spread, lapping at the doorsteps of all of San Francisco.

The Golden Gate Bridge collapses

In the dark blue waters of the Pacific, the crews of the Capilean fleet watched as the air wings, jubilant after their demolition of San Francisco, slowly reappeared, returning to their carriers. The Prinz Karl super-battleship carrier led them all, cutting through the waters like a gigantic skyscraper turned on its side and set into the ocean. Just her massive, gleaming guns towered above even the cruisers of the flotilla, eagerly awaiting their chance to prove themselves in battle. The sailors and marines too were impatiently waiting. It was almost sick to think of all these men, no, boys, waiting for their turn to be slaughtered like animals. Ahead the Golden Gate Bridge appeared, a beacon of American engineering and architecture.

Admiral Franz von Haupt smiled wickedly. He could not wait to let the guns of his flagship tear into that landmark. "Herr Admiral, all guns are loaded. The fleet is now in range of the shore," a junior officer said, snapping a quick salute. The commander's smile widened. "Excellent. Deploy landing craft, and give the order to fire at will." The man nodded and left, the heels of his boots clicking on the smooth metal floor. Franz glanced down, checking his pocket watch. "Exactly on time!" he exclaimed, grinning in triumph. Suddenly the ship was shaken to the core as its colossal guns let out their first volley. The admiral was deafened as the shells streaked out, literally tearing the shore to pieces. A few stray rounds flew past into the flaming ruins of San Francisco, demolishing whole city blocks.

Ears ringing, Franz watched with satisfaction as the Golden Gate Bridge was slammed by a new bombardment. It groaned, flailed, collapsed, and the beacon of the west was gone.

[New Axiom]

Imperial Citidel-Military High Command Center, 9:58 Local Time
Minister of Defense Dairus Taylor strode through the doors of the Military High Command Center, escorted by two Imperial Honor Guards. "What just happened?" Taylor asked. "Sir, we have mixed reports of Capilian military aircraft attacking San Francisco." An aide reported to Taylor. "Satellite images show a sizeable Capilean fleet in the San Francisco Bay Area." The aide continued, beinguping upmthe satellite images up on the huge glass cube-like holographic display, one of six in the Command Center. Taylor was shocked by the size of one of the vessels. "Do we know what that ship is?" Taylor asked. "No sir. We've never seen it before, or anything like it. In scale, it's probably three times as large as an Athena-class supercarrier." Taylor whistled. After a pause, Taylor continued. "Why did Nova Capile attack San Fransciso? Are they not allies with Columbia anymore?" A different aide spoke up. "We're not sure, sir." Another pause. "What ships do we have in the area?" Taylor asked. "Well, we have Battlegroup Nine, positioned just west of Hawaii, and Battlegroups Six and Four, positioned in Cuba and Honduras, respectively." Taylor stroked his goatee. "Okay, move the Ninth to intercept the Capilean fleet, and I want the Fourth to secure the Panama Canal Zone. We cannot allow those enemy ships into the Caribbean." Taylor ordered. "And inform the Emporer of the recent developments, and get me a secure line to General Ashe." "Yes Minister."

Havana, Cuba-New Axomite Forward Operating Base-10:11 Local Time
General Cameron Ashe was tired. He was just coming back from a successful campaign in the southwestern border regions of the Empire, and before that, Blacktaria. Now he was over here, in the middle of a land torn apart, again, and doing nothing. The funny part was Ashe didn't know if he was tired of not doing anything or tired of doing everything. He hung up the phone; he just finished a conversation with the Minister of Defense, Dairus Taylor. His new orders were simple-get in contact with Communist rebel leaders and heopefully set up a base in Los Angeles. He walked out of his office-a nine foot by nine foot plywood box with a single light in the ceiling. He had a small card table as his desk, with a computer monster and a model of a New Axomite tank, and a cot in the corner. A luxury office out here. He closed the door behind him as he walked out, and procceded down to Field Operations. Once there, he ordered Salamander medium bombers to drop crates of propaganda leaflets accross the west coast, in hope of getting in contact with rebel forces and maybe finding out what happened to Foley. He had received reports of a recon plane making freindly communication with rebel forces; that was a good sign. As per orders, he also ordered the resuming of aerial patrols from Los Angeles to Miami, and from Miami to Buffalo. These recon patrols would search for possible invasion points, in cause Ashe needed to move north, quickly.

Athena-class Supercarrier ACS-117, Battlegroup Nine, eight hours from San Fransisco
The ACS-117 was one of two supercarriers in this Battlegroup, but she was escorted by three Tranquility-class heavy battleships, ten Atlantean Pride heavy cruisers and a large number of Marine Assault ships, supply ships and attack and missile submarines. Admiral Clark Bryant was in charge of this fleet, and his orders were simple-Intercept the Capilean fleet, test the combat effectiveness of their new, unidentified ship, and take out the fleet by any means neccesary, if possible. He stood in the bridge of the massive ship, the bridge being positioned under the main flight deck. The Athena-class was the pride of the Imperial Navy; they had extremely thick armor, nine railguns mounted in three turrets, countless CIWS and Anti-Air sytsems, and eight vertical missile launch tubes, and even more anti-ship missile tubes. These weapons, positioned on a superstructure that protectively covered most of the main flight deck, made the Athena almost as much battleship as they were carrier, but they were not as effective combat ships as the Tranquilty-class battleships. On the deck of the ACS-117, four brand new Icarus fighters were loaded onto the carriers catapults, ready four takeoff. They were flung into the air at high speeds, then two ground attack variants of the Icarus were loaded, with two more fighters for escort. These planes had been ordered by Bryant to attempt communication with, and if need be, to attack, the Capilean fleet. The four other aircraft launched, and streaked eastward, towards California.

50 miles outside of the San Fransico Bay Area-two hours later
The group of Icarus aircraft had judged they were within communication range of the Capilean fleet, and as such, decided to try to raise them on radio. At 45,000 feet, they felt they were fairly safe from hostile AA, if there was any. The flight leader, a lowly corperal, she the out the first transmission. "Capilean Battlegroup, this is New Axomite Imperial Navy strike group bravo two delta, bearing two four niner west. Please state your intentions for attacking San Francisco, over."

[New United States of Columbia]

San Fransisco Bay

The Capilean attack took everyone by surprise. Communist, Anarchist, Neutral-everyone.
Air Raid sirens wailed into the city streets as the fighters launched their attack. Everyone fled to the basements of their homes, apartments, hotels, anywhere. Some even got so desperate they tried to get to the city sewers in the hopes that they'd provide some protection. It was to no avail. Strafing runs took lives of many communist or anarchists fighters but also of the innocent. Fathers, mothers, children all cut to pieces. Then came the hellstorm-the napalm. Fires raged incessantly as the 2nd Great Division took many government employees. The fires spread out of control. Landmarks, centers of learning, everything was taken by it's insatiable hunger. For many days and nights the fires of San Fransisco would burn even when the Capileans landed ashore.

Unfortunately it would cost them more than just a propaganda victory for the Communists...

San Diego International Airport

Trainer listened to the radio as the various "commanders" of the troops stationed in San Fransisco pleaded for help before being cut short by the attack. His eyes were glued to a Radiation King TV set that his staff had brought up. Footage of the attacks were being beamed internationally. EVERYONE would see it: German, Loyalist, Mushrooming, Aravean, Fascist, everyone. Trainer wasn't a religious man but if he had been he'd be on his knees in prayer. He quickly radioed every aircraft, grounded or in the air, to try and coverage on San Fransisco so they could get rid of the Capileans air power. After he did that he radioed Torino what had just happened. When he finished he put the receiver back in it's place and watched the attack on San Fransisco. He wondered if this would unite the factions, divide them further, or just add fuel to an already hellish fire. He hoped it would be the first of the three.

Imperial Palace, Omaha

The officers that greeted the Capilean pilot weren't in a jolly mood. Already the fight for Omaha was deteriorating to Battle of Berlin or Stalingrad levels of brutality. Artillery, heavy or light, pounded the streets and raging fires light up the night sky. Several stray rifle shots whizzed by as the greeting party hit the asphalt before grabbing the Capilean and practically dragging him to the safety of the Palace.

They hurriedly lead him to the War Room after he was checked by over-zealous guards. Gladium fixed his eyes on the stranger. He had yet to see the footage but if he had he'd have shot him then and there. Titus gave a hopeful look to him.
"Where the hell have you all been?" The recently crowned High King demanded "We've been trying to reach Wilhelm all day and most of tonight. Do you know if either side's set up jammers?"

[New Decius]

San Fransisco Bay

The Capilean attack took everyone by surprise. Communist, Anarchist, Neutral-everyone.
Air Raid sirens wailed into the city streets as the fighters launched their attack. Everyone fled to the basements of their homes, apartments, hotels, anywhere. Some even got so desperate they tried to get to the city sewers in the hopes that they'd provide some protection. It was to no avail. Strafing runs took lives of many communist or anarchists fighters but also of the innocent. Fathers, mothers, children all cut to pieces. Then came the hellstorm-the napalm. Fires raged incessantly as the 2nd Great Division took many government employees. The fires spread out of control. Landmarks, centers of learning, everything was taken by it's insatiable hunger. For many days and nights the fires of San Fransisco would burn even when the Capileans landed ashore.

Unfortunately it would cost them more than just a propaganda victory for the Communists...

San Diego International Airport

Trainer listened to the radio as the various "commanders" of the troops stationed in San Fransisco pleaded for help before being cut short by the attack. His eyes were glued to a Radiation King TV set that his staff had brought up. Footage of the attacks were being beamed internationally. EVERYONE would see it: German, Loyalist, Mushrooming, Aravean, Fascist, everyone. Trainer wasn't a religious man but if he had been he'd be on his knees in prayer. He quickly radioed every aircraft, grounded or in the air, to try and coverage on San Fransisco so they could get rid of the Capileans air power. After he did that he radioed Torino what had just happened. When he finished he put the receiver back in it's place and watched the attack on San Fransisco. He wondered if this would unite the factions, divide them further, or just add fuel to an already hellish fire. He hoped it would be the first of the three.

Imperial Palace, Omaha

The officers that greeted the Capilean pilot weren't in a jolly mood. Already the fight for Omaha was deteriorating to Battle of Berlin or Stalingrad levels of brutality. Artillery, heavy or light, pounded the streets and raging fires light up the night sky. Several stray rifle shots whizzed by as the greeting party hit the asphalt before grabbing the Capilean and practically dragging him to the safety of the Palace.

They hurriedly lead him to the War Room after he was checked by over-zealous guards. Gladium fixed his eyes on the stranger. He had yet to see the footage but if he had he'd have shot him then and there. Titus gave a hopeful look to him.
"Where the hell have you all been?" The recently crowned High King demanded "We've been trying to reach Wilhelm all day and most of tonight. Do you know if either side's set up jammers?"

Unknown Location

The two CIB (Central Intelligence Bureau agents dragged the German man through the winding chrome halls of Foley's Compound. As they did so the man muttered threats on their lives and their country in his native tongue.
"Shut up!" One of the agents hissed as he slammed a fist into the man before dragging him further into the bowels of the underground complex. As they did so, however, he caught sight of something fearsome: a red eyed and scaled creature. The creature looked at him in surprise before it quickly turned and retreated into whatever room it was in.

After a half hour of dragging the man they got him to the interrogation room. They strapped him into a chair, placed some device on his head, and turned on several TVs of varying sizes around him and left the room, securing the large metal door in case he somehow escaped from the chair. They headed up to the observation room and began the interrogation.
"What is your name?" One of the CIB Agents asked.

Unknown Location

The captured Abwehr Operative just smiled and muttered some very rude comments about the interrogators mother ending in a recommendation for where the man should stick his flashlight. After which he laughed like a small boy and then was silent for a moment. Then he began laughing again, this time . "Then again your mother will probably die in the second wave of German bombs, shells, and missiles to be delivered in the last decade. I was just starting out in the Abwehr the first time, I remember coming to the remains of Boston, oh the wonderful smell of burning building with people still in them." His eyes narrowed at the televisions.

"Once my superiors find out who has been the one attacking, killing, and capturing our operatives in your country. which has really fallen apart to become anyone's country, do you the Reich will merely sit back out of respect for our deals with Capile. Once its discovered what your High King has done and what he plans to do, the Reich will fall upon you like a thousand fiery hammers! Our war machine is even greater and stronger than the last time! Our panzers are tougher! Our bombers are better! Our warships will blast your fleets from the sea! And our War Frames!" He threw his head back and let out a pompous cackle. "The Reich is glorious and magnificent! You are but specs of dirt beneath our feet!"

After that tirade. he kept his thought's to his head. 'Little do they know that as soon as they kill me, the chip in my neck will alert Abwehr command to my location thus allowing them to dispatch a KSK special strike team. Oh how the blood will paint these walls!'

[New Mushroom Kingdom]

Imperial Palace, Toad Town
For the entirety of the day so far, Regent Vince had been talking with his primary ministers about the complex, fast-developing situation in Columbia. Vince said to the entire roon , "Well, we've been talking for what seems like hours and we're still no closer to establishing our detailed action plan to deal with this situation, so I guess it's up to me to just make up something that will hopefully work for us and the Columbians." Vince stood up and said "Previous records show that in the past, we have deployed occupation / defense troops to Canada. Therefore, I think this would be an optimal position to deploy our troops this time around. What do you all think?" and was then treated to all 3 ministers gesturing their approval - they thought that this was a very good idea, since if it worked before it would have a high chance of working once again. Kandi Sandi, Minister of Foreign Affairs was the first to comment/respond to Vince. He pointed to various Canadian locations on the map and explained "Due to information provided by the Minister of Intelligence, we know about the current state of who controls what in Canada. I propose that we reach out to these entities, project an image of wanting to bring protection, order and stability to the region in order to make them more cooperative and decrease potential resistance." The Minister of defense then quickly added on to the end "To make our deployment more effective, we will need to maintain the element of surprise for as long as we can. I'm sure that Intelligence can help here."

At this point, Someone burst into the room and exclaimed "Sirs! The Capileans have engaged upon a suprise attack on San Fransisco. All known reports indicate moderate to heavy damage and high casualities, even civilian casualties of men, women and children that were entirely innocent. What should we do?"
Moods in the room noticably darkened. While everyone was pleased that the communists were being attacked, they were rather saddened and shocked at the obvious disregard for civilian lives. Obviously, they could not entirely condone this attack but they couldn't condenm it either. Vince spoke again "Well, we need to handle this now. Kandi, would you kindly write up a statement expressing our approval of the attack of a communist target while making clearly visible our strong displeasure about the reckless disregard of human life displayed today. The rest of you are free to go for now, but I would like further in-depth plans to be made."

[New United States of Columbia]

San Fransisco Bay

As the Capilean aircraft flew back to their carriers things took a turn for the worse. The Columbian Pacific Battlegroup, while docked, weren't abandoned. Their desperate crew manned the guns on the Destroyers and Cruisers, and fired on the Capileans as they shot down the fighters, bombers, and fighter-bombers with their AA Gatling Lasers and flak cannons. Local communist aircraft were also heading there to try and assist the Battlegroup in destroying the Capilean fleet. Their own Gatling Lasers fired at the ships, hoping to tear through their armor like tissue paper while firing their rockets at the Prinz Karl.

[The RODina]

Amerika Hadsereg, Republican Defence Force
Off the cost of Oregon

"The Spread of Communism is a plague upon humanity, a disgusting infection that must be eradicated before it can spread," President Petre Balan spoke to the troops of the Amerika Hadsereg. Communism was spreading from the California coast up to Washington, This was a clear threat to all decent people on the West Coast of the United States, and an affront to the people of the Rodina. High Command didn't much care for who controlled Columbia, be they fascists, nationalists, Confederates, or Foley. But there was an almost fanatical response to Communism, and the current adminstration could hardly expect to survive an election cycle while letting the communists roam across California unmolested.

Ahead of them lay Communist-controlled Oregon, multiple Assault Ships would take part, and aircraft carriers would provide constant aerial bombardment of Communist positions. With Nova-Capile attacking San Francisco, the Amerika Hadsereg could sweep in from behind and help mop up the Communists and Anarchists.
Köz. Gard. Karabélyos Wladislaw Kowalczyk
67th Köz. Gardosztály, Amerika Hadsereg

Aircraft roared over the Landing craft, their payloads ready to put craters throughout the town of Newport where the Communists were holed up. Faint explosions drifted across the airwaves, smoke rose from the town. Wladislaw prepared his rifle, a modified Polish MSBS with advanced recoil mitigation technology built in, allowing for a far high practical rate of fire, and increased sustained fire over long ranges. His comrades looked, steely faced, at each other, but beneath their confident exterior, they couldn't help but show their fear.

The explosions got closer as the landing hovercraft continued towards the beach, parts of houses, levelled by airstrikes, lay scattered across the beach. Body parts too.

As they hit the beach, the explosions stopped, armoured vehicles drove out of the larger hovercraft, and foot troops poured out of the smaller ones, and out the backs of the APCs and IFVs. Wladislaw's squad were some of the first to advance, pressing quickly onwards to the line of destroyed houses. They advanced

"Grot 3 confirm no hostiles, Over" his Squadleader said through the platoon radio.

The radio crackled back to life "Grot 3 reporting, Negative contact".

Wladyslaw climbed up a sandbank, and skirted aorund the side of a house which had its roof caved in. Still no sign of contact.

There was a sea of suburban sprawl ahead of them, it was saddening to see peoples homes devastated like this, probably decent, innocent people. But sacrificed must be made to rid the world of communism. The crack of a bullet sounded, and the squad dropped to the ground in the middle of the road, a series of rapid fire followed, a large IFV rolled up beside Wladyslaw, and fired 5 shots from its rapid firing 30mm gun.

He peered through the sights of his ACOG scope, and scanned the horizon.

"Grot 4:2, at least six hostiles, 150 meters, 1 o'clock" the radio declared. The crosshair of Wladyslaw's rifle found a number of Communist fighters, staying low behind a pile of rubble, and let loose a volley of rounds, at that range, it would be difficult to have much accuracy with sustained fire, but the recoil control on the rifle was second to none, and allowed Wladyslaw to keep a reasonably accurate supressive fire on the enemy position.

The IFV moved closer, and fired a few more times, blasting through the cover of the guerillas. A few moments later and the fire died down, but Wladyslaw kept the sights of his rifle trained ahead, slowly rising to his knees while his comrades advanced.

The Assault would continue like this until Newport was secured, then it would take the Army Group North to advance north and take Washington. Army Group Center would move East to capture Portland, and swing south, while the brunt of the fighting would fall on Army Group South, which would push into California to link up with Capilean forces in the area.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

San Francisco

---

Admiral Franz von Haupt scanned the large room. Dozens of technicians and junior officers were huddled around a hulking radar table, which was very advanced for its time. The holographic map displayed the destroyed Golden Gate Bridge, the gutted skyscrapers of the city, and the Capilean forces. "Marine complements have launched from all transport ships and are landing on the beaches near the harbor. Already the men are boarding smaller ships. No hostilities yet," one young sailor reported. Another started. "Sir, we've detected a large enemy force, coming in from the west! At least a half-dozen capital ships!" The admiral tensed. "Send the Prinz Karl, Eiserne Jungfrau, and Wikinger super-battleship-carriers forward, along with the cruisers and a few screening destroyers. Send a probing force of submarines to test the waters, and have the transport ships retreat towards the coast under the protection of the lighter ships of the fleet." The aides and officers were sent into a frenzy, scurrying about to carry out their commander's orders. "Sir, it seems that the Communists are scrambling significant air forces to intercept our craft!" a tech reported. Von Haupt swore. "Deploy fighters! Send them to meet the enemy. Our aircraft should be superior. All fighter-bombers land on the carriers, refuel and rearm, and then head out to sea."

"Admiral, we're receiving a transmission from a New Axiomite ship." "Ignore it."

---

The waves crashed against the landing craft's feeble walls, sending the marines swaying. At least the greenhorns. This company had been badly bloodied in the fighting at San Marino, where Swedish forces, disorganized but fighting madly for their lives, had clashed with them. This single company had held out on a narrow beachhead for hours; they had exhausted their ammunition on rabid Swedes desperate to flee, and then they had fought with their combat knives. Their unit had been reduced to the size of a platoon after that vicious fighting near San Marino, and as such wiry boys had to be recruited to replace the hardy veterans who'd given their lives up in Italy. Those young men, still not past twenty, had yet to grow muzzle on their pale faces. No self-respecting marine could call them their peers. And so there was a unanimous feeling of hostility between the Old Guard and the young recruits, even as the landing ramp lowered and the craft was jostled to a halt. "Charge!" came the cry, and the men flooded out, sloshing through the cold water and sprinting up the beach. Small-arms fire pierced their ears, but quickly the veterans located the source of the chattering rifles, and dead Communists fell from their positions.

Capilean Marine advance

The company charged around the beach and onto the dockyards, where they could see the flotilla that had mastered the Pacific. The Columbian Battle Fleet, a chrome-plated, glistening prize every Navy envied, lay before them, undefended. A jovial cry rose from the marines as they poured forth, climbing onto the ships and securing them one by one. Soon they discovered that the ships, particularly the aircraft carriers and battleships and cruisers, were not as abandoned as they'd thought. Ravenous Communists, eager to die, plunged forward and fought tooth and nail for control of the fleet. Hand-to-hand combat raged as ten thousand Capilean marines fought their way onto the ships. Soon, however, destroyers and submarines were leaking out of the harbor, destined to join their brothers-in-arms who were floating in the Pacific. Capilean bravura managed to win the day, scattering the cowardly Communists, who'd been awed and frightened by the bombing of their city.

Gradually, as more and more Germanic troops seeped into the battle, the Communist threat ebbed and heavier warships were secured and led out of the shipyards. The grandest battle was being waged on board an aircraft carrier, flattened by destructive combat. Machine guns, grenades, flamethrowers, all made sure to inflict considerable damage not only on their enemies but on the ship. In the lower levels of the metal behemoth, vicious fighting entrapped men, who fought with tremendous courage for their respective factions. But at the end of the day, it was the Duchy who held the real power. The Communist forces had been shattered by the bombing of San Francisco; their command structure was entangled and fractured beyond recovery, with a good many officers, both senior and junior, dead or incapacitated. In addition to their lack of leadership, they possessed inferior and largely salvaged equipment which had been torn from the hands of dead men and not issued by a government. The shaky conscripts which fought seasoned Marine veterans lacked any sort of formal training, relying on primal, brute instincts to fight their enemy. Finally, as the fighting went on the Communist forces began to realize they were tragically outnumbered, only a few hundred against thousands.
The outcome of the battle was certain, but it remained to be seen how much damage the revolution could do before it was stamped out.

---

Omaha

---

Colonel-General Riesch noted the insubordinate manner in which the Columbian soldiers acted. Clearly, they had reached obscene levels of desperation, and the battle must have edged into a grinding siege. Max followed his hosts into the throne room, making sure to maintain an almost annoying sense of cheerfulness. After all, he could afford to offend them. He held all of the power in this situation; Titus and his followers had been reduced to a climactic last stand, and their only hope was Capilean intervention. Bowing curtly to Titus, he took in his appearance. Frazzled, worried, aged prematurely by his position. This man, though extremely young, already had wrinkles and deep creases in his forehead. Max grinned from ear to ear. "Actually I stopped in the Kongo and took a brief, relaxing vacation there. It was most enjoyable." He lied; in reality, Riesch had been rushed from Saxtonberg to Omaha with utmost haste, but it would be fun to play with this claimant's emotions.
"I am almost certain that the enemy- your enemy, that is- have deployed 'jammers'. The Grand Duke, or at least the OKR, would have instantly responded to any communications you attempted," Riesch answered. "But why are we discussing this and skipping the pleasantries? I say that we should talk before launching into this strategic mess. Surely you have some tea or coffee?" He smiled tartly, displaying pearly white teeth.
This would be fun.

[New Axiom]

Imperial Citidel, Conferences Room 3, High Council Building
Minister of Defense Dairus Taylor and Emporer Cyrus Silva were sitting at a large conference table, watching the situation unfold in San Francisco. "Sir, the Capileans have not responded. What should they do?" There was a long silence as what should be done. "We should shoot back. They have not responded and are clearly the aggressors." Minister Taylor said. "Shooting back would mean we were shot at. Besides, San Francisco is lost. Pull those planes back, get them back on their carrier, and reroute the Ninth Battlegroup to Los Angeles, see if we can't coordinate with freindly rebel groups in the area to set up a stronghold there." Silva said while holding a smoking cigar. The sound of the door shutting start,ed everyone in the room, and everyone turned to notice a man from Imperial Intellegence standing there. "Sirs. We're receiving mixed reports of Rodinian troops up in Oregon, possibly Washington." The man said. Silva stuffed the cigar in his mouth. "Dismissed." The man left. "Tell the Ninth to haul ass towards LA. What their marine contingent?" Silva asked. "Two companies, sir. Five hundred troops." "ETA?" "Two days at maximum speed." Silva sighed heavily. "Okay. Get some troops up from Honduras to LA. Pronto. I don't care how, but get them there fast. Their mission is to secure the city and link up with freindly forces in the area,a NS they cannot allow Los Angeles to fall into enemy hands." Silva puffed his cigar as he finsihed.

Strike Group Bravo Two Delta, 30 miles outside of San Francisco
The group of aircraft dispatched to make contact with the Capileans were still trying to hail the ships when a transmission from the carrier ACS-117 came in. "Bravo Two Delta, divert, divert! Break course immediatly and return to home base. Repeat, Return immediatly." The pilot of the lead aircraft was shocked. "Sir, we've only been here twenty minuets and still noones responded, and we can see the fucking smoke from forty five thousand feet!" The pilot responded. "Not my call, Bravo Two Delta. Get home ASAP. Over and out." The group of planes stopped trying to contact the Capileans, and turned around without so much as a goodbye.

Camp Flamebait, Honduras-18:37 local time
Imperial Army corporal Marcus Jamerson was cleaning his rifle in one of the recreation room of Camp Flamebait, the largest New Axomite military base in this hemisphere. "So how's it you got so high up in the ranks, corporal?" Another soldier, playing pool, asked. "Soldier, are you a conscript?" Jamerson asked in reply. "Yes sir. Why?" "You see, in the Imperial Military, conscripts can't get promoted as fast as volunteers, and can't rise to the rank past seargent. You'd know that if you had reading the phamplets." Jamerson explained. Someone else at the pool table laughed. "Those phamplets are a joke, nothing but party slogans and borderline fascist propaganda." Before anyone could respond, an announcement came over the loudspeaker. "All personnel from Charlie two seven are to report to company areas at once. Two seven, report to company areas at once." Everyone filed into the barracks areas, were briefed, and then grabbed their gear from the armories, and finally were loaded onto IB-73C transport craft, comparable in size and performance to the real life Antanov AN-225. Ten minuets later, six of these planes were en route to Los Angeles.

Skies above Los Angeles, California-21:42
Imperial Air Force private David Romero was a "truck driver," a term given to atrategic airlift plane pilots. He was piloting one of these transports, and was carrying one hundred fifty soldiers, two tanks and four Moose trucks, and finally, Major Samuel Hernandez. He was piloting the lead aircraft, so it was his job to find a landing zone-preferably at LAX Airport. Romero pressed the transmit button on his radio headset. "Air traffic control, air traffic control, this is New Axomite Imperial Air Force Transport Sierra five-five-six. We are carrying freindly military forces, and a representative of the New Axomite Imperial Army. We are not hostile, repeat, not hostile. Requesting landing authorization on Tarmac Two, LAX. Please come in, over?"

[New Decius]

Berlin

---

Thomas smiled tightly and thanked the receptionist as he continued through the double doors and faced the aged Foreign Minister of Germany. Von Stromberg had known Jost, arguably one of the most powerful Reich ministers, since the signing of the Capilean-German Cooperation Pact. Afterwards he'd been assigned as the Duchy's ambassador to Germany, and had retained a close professional relationship with Jost ever since. "I am quite well, Außenminister. I hope the Kaiser has not been working you too hard!" Thomas said lightly. In truth, this man, despite his vulnerable age, was a workhorse for the Germany Ministry. Thomas shook the wrinkled hand of Arno Jost and then turned slightly to see a decorated man, slightly older than himself, in a military uniform. The man coughed slightly and the Außenminister remembered his presence. "Oh, yes, this is Generalmajor Erik Schtiëfer, from the Abwehr." It had been a long time since Thomas had met with a military man, and he had long forgotten protocol. He hoped a handshake was the proper gesture. "A pleasure to meet you, Generalmajor." He extended his hand for a firm shake.

(Image)
Freiherr Thomas von Stromberg

Following the two men to the large desk, the Ambassador took his seat behind it and sat his briefcase on his lap. Jost shattered illusions of any further pleasantries by launching directly into a briefing. Thomas adopted a grim, serious face and settled in, his knuckles turning white as they grasped the corners of his briefcase. He looked from Jost to Schtiëfer as they took turns filling their guest in. Faux surprise when they revealed the attacks on Greenland, melancholy gloom upon hearing of the termination of the Abwher agents, and disdain when informed of the rogue factions rioting in Columbia. When they had finished Thomas took a deep breath before answering. "I am not a military man, but being the mouthpiece of the Grand Duchy in Germany I have also been given very sensitive government documents detailing my country's knowledge of the situation, as well as what we plan to do about it." He paused, soaking in both men's reactions. "Similarly, most of the Stoßschutz agents on assignment in North America were taken unaware by the sudden flare up in hostility. Most of them have been compromised. Under the direction of the Grand Duke, our Embassy staff, including our Ambassador, fled to a remote safe house in British Columbia.

"The Grand Duke and the Oberkommando des Reichsmilitär- our General's Staff, that is, have approved several war plans. The first is to send a task force to San Fransico Bay and seize the Columbian Battle Fleet anchored there. This is a powerful asset which we cannot allow to fall into the hands of revolutionaries. The second is to send relief forces to several locations across the West Coast, notably Baja California, the Panama Canal, Seattle, Vancouver, Sacramento, and Los Angelos. While I can most certainly understand your desire to stay out of armed conflict, our government is more prepared to aid our ally in the war. That brings us to Nova Capile's alignment in this conflict." Thomas cleared his throat. "I have been told that High King Foley is missing and presumed dead. As such we have already sent liaisons to Titus Foley, the claimant to the Columbian throne. Provided he accepts some terms with which to renew our alliance, we will set forth to aid his war effort as much as we possibly can. That said, I have been ordered to strive for Capilean-German Cooperation in the war in Columbia- particularly the battle for the skies and waters of North America."

---

San Francisco Bay

---

The roar of aircraft drowned out all other sounds in San Francisco. Families huddled in basements as air raid sirens blared. Then they came. Swarms of fighter-bombers painted with the Iron Cross, swooping down and dropping their deadly ordinance on the city. Their pilots, rabid in their dogmatic following of orders, had been instructed to bomb the entire city to hell, as it only contained Anarchist and Communist scum. Little did those fanatical airmen know that their explosives were landing upon innocent men, women, and children caught in the raging flames of war. Mercilessly fighters strafed streets, cutting down any unlucky Californian who had wandered out. Huge, lumbering bombers gutted entire buildings with their powerful weapons. And then there was the worst of all: those screeching aircraft straight from the bowels of hell, carrying lethal amounts of napalm . As their kindred wreaked havoc across the metropolis they flew low to the ground, opening up their bottom hatches and releasing their cargo. Sheets of napalm fell from the heavens, leaving behind rows of flaming houses. The insatiable fires spread, lapping at the doorsteps of all of San Francisco.

(Image)
The Golden Gate Bridge collapses

In the dark blue waters of the Pacific, the crews of the Capilean fleet watched as the air wings, jubilant after their demolition of San Francisco, slowly reappeared, returning to their carriers. The Prinz Karl super-battleship carrier led them all, cutting through the waters like a gigantic skyscraper turned on its side and set into the ocean. Just her massive, gleaming guns towered above even the cruisers of the flotilla, eagerly awaiting their chance to prove themselves in battle. The sailors and marines too were impatiently waiting. It was almost sick to think of all these men, no, boys, waiting for their turn to be slaughtered like animals. Ahead the Golden Gate Bridge appeared, a beacon of American engineering and architecture.

Admiral Franz von Haupt smiled wickedly. He could not wait to let the guns of his flagship tear into that landmark. "Herr Admiral, all guns are loaded. The fleet is now in range of the shore," a junior officer said, snapping a quick salute. The commander's smile widened. "Excellent. Deploy landing craft, and give the order to fire at will." The man nodded and left, the heels of his boots clicking on the smooth metal floor. Franz glanced down, checking his pocket watch. "Exactly on time!" he exclaimed, grinning in triumph. Suddenly the ship was shaken to the core as its colossal guns let out their first volley. The admiral was deafened as the shells streaked out, literally tearing the shore to pieces. A few stray rounds flew past into the flaming ruins of San Francisco, demolishing whole city blocks.

Ears ringing, Franz watched with satisfaction as the Golden Gate Bridge was slammed by a new bombardment. It groaned, flailed, collapsed, and the beacon of the west was gone.

Berlin

Jost listened intently to every word spoken by his opposite number from Capile and absorbed the information for further thought. Once the Ambassador was finished he gave his response. "Hmm, in this matter the Kaiser has chosen to defer to my judgement to decide the course of things. And while I shudder to think of jumping back into that particular frying pan again...." he paused for a moment to give a sigh. ".....it is the duty of the world's great powers to maintain order and stability to prevent the collapse of human society. Therefore I have decided." He returned his gaze to Thomas, a more determined look in his eyes this time. "Germany will march with its allies to restore order to Columbia. Atlantic Command will begin fleet deployments as soon as possible."

However, now Jost dropped his volume a bit to indicate the next matter was slightly more delicate. "However, perhaps when it is over this time, certain measures could be taken. After all, given the destruction seem in Columbia the first time around, and what has already taken place now, I dare not imagine a third. Columbia was much more powerful military wise this time round when it collapsed, if it occurs a third time, the fighting may spread to our own shores." He folded his hands on his desk. "All I am proposing, is a little insurance agreement. To secure Columbia's arsenal of Weapons of Mass Destruction from any faction operating in that collapsed continent. All it would take is a dozen high yield atomic detonations to put a portion of the Northern Hemisphere in Nuclear Winter. Thus, when we depart from their shores at the end of this, I propose that we depart with their arsenal in tow. I see Columbia's arsenal in the context of Pakistan's; a high value weapon just waiting to be seized by radicals. Would you not agree?"

Just then a rather flamboyant man strode in dressed like a European nobleman of old. "This is an outrage! Your Excellency I demand an explanation!" The Secretary spread her hands apologetically and spoke a brief statement. "The Italian Ambassador, Count Fiore."

The Count noticed Thomas and snapped his fingers noticing his badges of assignment. "Ah good a Capilean, you'll probably be able to help explain this insanity!"

"Explain what Ricardo?"

The Count slammed his fist on the desk. "Explain why an Italian liner leaving New York with eight hundred of our citizens was just torpedoed!"


Unknown Location

Harold scoffed as he spoke back to his captors in defiance despite the electric shocks. "You could have got that information from my embassy file. Besides even if you did have agents inside the Reich, I imagine they are meeting similar fates to my colleagues here. Being shot on a street, having their fingers cut off in a torture room. It makes me smile. What exactly do you want from me? Can we get to it so I can just die already?"

Then he tossed in a shot at Columbian culture and leaders. "So is your insane monster King Foley with that phoney god you fools believe in or does he still stalk the Earth."

[New United States of Columbia]

Los Angeles, California

The CPAF operative who was in charge of LAX ATC responded in the affirmative. They watched as one by one the IB-73C aircraft landed and their cargo got off and assessed the situation. The man in charge of the Communist forces, General Secretary Volk Stahl, smiled as he greeted Major Samuel Hernandez.
"Major Hernandez," he greeted as he read the Major's name tag "it's a pleasure to meet an Axiomite at last!"
He then whispered in a hushed tone of voice "Don't fret, comrade. We'll be playing a propaganda video showing the brutality of these so-called "Chrsitian" Capileans. Soon the world, Foley, all of them will see these imperialists for what they REALLY are. It'll be a major victory for us."

Imperial Palace, Omaha

Titus was beginning to question why Riesch was so calm and collected when one of the nobles, Donald Jackson, Duke of New England, burst into the throne room exclaiming "KILL THIS MAN! ARREST HIM! HE SANCTIONED THE ATTACK ON SAN FRANSICO!"
Everyone looked at him stunned.
"WHAT!" Gladium exclaimed as he looked from Jackson to Riesch, his hand slowly reaching for his ceremonial sword as a precaution "What on Earth are you babbling on about!?"
Jackson lead them all to one of the waiting rooms where a TV was turned on and displaying a Communist propaganda video showing the Capilean attack and firebombing of San Fransisco. Slowly all eyes turned on Riesch and not one of them was warm.
"Explain this!" Titus hissed "Explain this now!"

[New Decius]

Unknown Location

Harold's first reaction was to stutter in shock and amazement. Here was this..this....thing, twice as tall as he, scales and claws. Oh sure, he'd seen the photo's and heard the rumors at Abwehr Hauptquartier....and at the embassy....but he'd thought it was Columbian propaganda. Yet here was this creature before him that testified otherwise. All he could do was stutter and gape at the monster standing before him.

"Uh....uh......uh.....uh." Eventually his Germanic wit and pride won out and he regained his composure. "So...congrats. Now you've shown me a real hell-beast, I might actually turn religious." Then he cleared his throat, trying to sound more official.

"Your Majesty, High King Foley of Columbia, as an official of the German Empire, I would like to lodge a complaint on behalf of the Reich. This issue is probably being pondered by the Kaiser and the Senat even as we speak. Forces at your command have attacked the structure and staff of all five German Confederation embassies in Columbia as well as countless German Intelligence officials without cause nor provocation. There exists no formal state of war between Germany and Columbia at this time." Then he fixed Foley with what he hoped was a glare.

"Now with the official bit out of the way. Listen here you....you...you creature. When the Abwehr discovers who ordered those attacks, and they will, the Kaiser will order German forces into Columbia again. Possibly even utilize our Strategic Rocket Force to pound your cities from across an ocean. We smacked your army around last time we can do it again. And then what will become of your own monstrous self? I imagine you'll become an exhibit in a zoo in either Berlin in Germany or Saxtonberg in Capile."

[Gotengo]

People's World News Associate, Broadcasting from Paris, Vladivostok, Beijing, London, and Madrid

"After many days of heavy deliberation, the Politburo agreed to enter the Columbian conflict in support of our socialist comrades in the country. Their gallant forces are embroiled in a grand battle against the capitalists, the plutocrats, the monarchists, and of course, the oppressive forces of fascism. It is unclear whether any World Union troops will actually step foot on hostile soil or whether we shall merely fight a war at sea and in the air while supplying and training our comrades in Columbia. Today we also hear the words of several military officers in regards to the fight in Columbia.

From Rear Admiral Vladimir Bokov, of the Russian Pacific Fleet; Our guns are yours to utilize, you need only give us targets.

From Sergeant Lien Chung of the People's Liberation Army; United we stand against the reactionaries!

And, comrades, some words from Comrade Anatoly Karin, the General Secretary for the People and Workers of the World. Fight he says, fight on till you can fight no more, for that is the only way the revolution can survive. Seek out and end counter-revolutionary activity if you can, teach the blinded fools the truth of fascism and the other capitalist teachings. Go forth and do battle."

---

Journal of Lieutenant Boris Vlasov, Naval Forces of the Russian Socialist Federation

The boys whooped and cheered as the broadcast came to a close, most of them freshly graduated from the school's, believing every word spit out by the Propaganda Station. Other's, like Lieutenant Boris Vlasov, veterans of several conflicts, saw it as merely another propaganda broadcast among hundreds. They just went about their duty, which was to get these little puppies back to their duty. Boris took out his pistol and fired one shot into the air, obviously he had informed the Captain beforehand, and he was ashamed. Out of sixteen men, only three actually went to the ground immediately. The rest stood around holding their ringing ears and looked around confused.

"Alright pups! Listen up! We can't very well blow the capitalists out of the water if your not at your stations! So get your asses into gear and get back to work!" To put emphasis on it he fired another shot. That got them moving.

As they were filing out, one of the other veteran's, Lieutenant Ivan Grushyik a Flight Deck Engineer, walked over chuckling at the pups reactions. He pulled a pack of Belomorkkanal out and offered one to Boris who accepted and used his own lighter to light both his and Ivan's. After letting out a good puff, Ivan started to laugh a bit. "I wonder just how much those announcers in their fancy stations realize they disrupt military operations more than spur them on?" Boris shared his humor in that. It wasn't quite so bad for the ground or air forces because broadcasts were timed to not interfere with their operations, but on a warship any disturbance could be fatal. "If the Captain finds one more of the newbies at a radio rather than his post, I think he just load him up onto a 27 and have him dropped in the middle of the ocean."

Boris offered a chuckle at that. Then he thought of something else. "I wonder how many citizens across the Union realize that its forces deployed to the seas three days ago?" Now there was a question.

In fact, at this moment, Boris and Ivan were standing within the belly of the Admiral Padorin-Class Heavy Aviation Cruiser, PNS Volga somewhere past Japan by now. PNS stood for People's Naval Ship and a Heavy Aviation Cruiser was the Russian brand of armed aircraft carriers. Accompanying the Volga was another Admiral Padorin-Class, the Rostov along with four Admiral Kuznetsov-Class Medium Aviation Cruiser's, five Kirov-Class Battlecruisers, and approximately two dozen destroyers of varying classes.

Boris rapped his knuckles against the hull and smirked. "They may not specify why in the broadcasts, but these new Admiral Padorin classes are a true gift to have. They've got almost twice the operational range of the Kuznetsov and better armament. Not to mention she can carry up to ninety aircraft, more than double the old Kuz's. These'll make the enemy sit up and take notice."

Ivan raised an eyebrow at that and would have remarked had some arrogant newbie not tried to discipline him. He simply revealed his Lieutenant's pips and the boy scurried off. "Any word on who besides the Columbian anti-socialists we could be fighting? The monarchist empires in Capile and Germany are allied with the Columbian monarchy right."

Boris shrugged. His uncle was an intelligence big shot in the GRU. "Unclear. Given the fact that reports of the High King's death have yet to be confirmed not to mention the tense legitimacy of Titus Foley's regime, it could go either way. Plus there have been attack's on both Capilean and German diplomatic and intelligence personnel in Columbia it seems. Rumor has it the Capilean Ambassador got out but the German one was blasted to smithereens. With Columbia shattered like it is, can't really tell who or what to believe." Just then a call came over the intercom for all officers of Lieutenant and higher to report to the bridge for an important announcement.

When they got to the bridge, Captain Annastas Kuluc, a gruff and grizzled veteran of both the Soviet and Russian navies, seemed almost solemn. "Comrades, we have received reports of a massive Capilean air attack on the city of San Fransisco and our comrade soldiers and civilians there. As of this moment, General Secretary Karin is going before the full Politburo to request immediate retaliation against the Capilean colonies. Our Turkish and Egyptian comrades have volunteered to fly their revenge against Capile." This news shocked almost everyone into silence.

It was Ivan who broke the silence. "What about Capile's German Allies? Will we be delivering vengeance against the monarchists there as well?" And Kuluc came back with the answer he was expecting.

"Not at this time no." Which translated as "No because the Politburo is too scared for their lives cause our too many of our members are near Germany and Capile."

The Captain was speaking again. "We have been ordered to make full steam towards San Fransisco to engage the Capilean fleet responsible, as have other elements of the Pacific fleet and the Chinese fleet." So to war it was.