The San Javier Conflict (IC | TWI ONLY | CLOSED)

[Atnaia]

The San Javier Conflict

A fuse that has been lit for more than forty years is ready to ignite wildfire across San Javier.

In 1973, the island nation of San Javier faced massive upheaval as President Rodrigo Cajillo, facing the end of his terms as president, utilized subterfuge and strength of arms to rewrite the constitution. His political rivals gathered their power and began a guerrilla war against the new communist regime, and as paramilitary groups and drug cartels swept into the destabilized nation and gathered their power, central authority crumpled. Foreign nations clandestinely supported each faction in their own ways, and by the end of the decade, the Presidential Republic had taken the capital, but the nation was irrevocably torn apart, and conflict continued as the nation's various factions tore the nation apart.

For forty years, this has been the status quo on the island. The forces of the Presidential Republic, the alleged central government of the nation, are spread thin fighting almost a dozen other forces, and defense of the capitol takes up the majority of their forces. Communist rebels occupy the mountains, while right-wing paramilitary groups and powerful drug cartels roam the interior, controlling swaths of San Javier as their own personal kingdoms. Despite the potential of the resources of the island, from its agricultural potential to its untapped oil reserves, foreign governments have mostly kept their distance.

Following a recent announcement by the Atnaian government that proved they were involved in the early days of the conflict and may have armed not only the Congressional Army, but also paramilitary groups and drug cartels, Atnaia's new Hegemonic regime announced their intent to right wrongs through direct military involvement. Meanwhile, Kemora has also turned its attention towards the island nation. It seems that foreign attention has once again turned to the easily overlooked island, with their opposing interests likely to clash. The renewed attention on the island has called many nations out of the woodwork, jockeying for influence and power in the battleground country.

Vancouvian concerns have been working with the Presidential Republic for years, building a rail lien between the capitol and Rio Pena. The construction has been delayed by combat and drawn well over budget, and Vancouvia is looking to cash in on its investment after many, many years. Looking to counter obvious Atnaian imperial influences, many nations, from New Aapelistan to Corindia to Bhikkustan, turn their attention to opponnents of the Hegemony's interests. Meanwhile, others see potential gains on the island, as Taziri businessmen look to curry favour to gain access to the rich oilfields of the nation and arms companies from Sceapige look to test their technologies on an open battlefield. Ostehaar seeks to return stability to the nation, however that stability may best be achieved, even if it means allying with cartels. And, to the west, the Azul Naturaleza cartel seeks to set itself up as a protector of the island's native culture.

The fuse is nearing the powder keg. Outright war is not inevitable, with each passing day it looks more likely. The battle for San Javier is about to begin...

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OOC

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[Atnaia]

The bassy whumpf-whumpf-whumpf of the helicopter blades thundered into Governor Roarke's chest like a second heartbeat. Beneath him, the sprawling favelas of Castillo Verde spread like a multi-coloured patchwork quilt, occasionally broken by the urban gardens that residents of the capitol of San Javier frequently farmed. With much of the country's prime agricultural land consumed by poppies used for the nation's lucrative drug trade, the common people of the nation often had to farm at subsistence on plots such as these just to survive, even here in the relative safety of the capitol. Roarke saw a pair of EPSJ jeeps rattle down a shoddily-paved road between the favelas and frowned. If it ever came to a defense of the capitol, it would be an uphill battle, even for Atnaian troops, who were trained specifically for urban combat. The streets were messy narrows, where they could be called streets at all, and buildings clustered together like homeless people looking for warmth, creating a labyrinth of cover and hiding places that would make any fight a drag-out slugfest.

Hopefully it doesn't come to that, Roarke thought.

The helicopter settled on a pad behind the Presidential Palace, which served as the government's headquarters, for what little it was worth. The chopper blades slowed but didn't stop as Roarke hopped off and made his way towards a contingent waiting for him at the end of a short walk. A few Atnaian guards hopped off as well before the helicopter spun back up and rose up.

The first person to apprach Roarke was a thin, balding, middle-aged Javieran. He wore a suit with a bright blue and orange tie the same colour as the Javieran flag, or at least the one used by the Presidential Republic.

"Governor Roarke," the man said, holding out his hand. "I am Secretary Flores. The President sent me to meet you."

Roarke shook Flores' hand. "Good to meet you. You are the Secretary of State, correct?"

Flores nodded. "Yes. For what that is worth in San Javier. Our foreign relations are...well..."

"Liquid," Roarke finished for him.

"Yes, let's call it that," Flores nodded. "As you might expect, things have gotten complicated since Atnaia announced her intentions to move in troops..."

"Of course," Roarke said. "That's why I'm here, as a representative of the Hegemony. If Atnaia is going to follow through, we want to work well within the comfort of the Presidential Republic's duly-elected representatives."

Flores' mouth turned down momentarily, deepening his wrinkles. "I'll be honest, Mr. Roarke, the president is...not enthused by the prospect of foreign troops on our soil. He's a fiercely proud man, and San Javier is a furiously proud country."

Proud of what? Roarke thought but didn't say. "Pride isn't a problem until it stands in the way of reason. I assure you, the communists and cartels won't turn down help for pride."

"I am prone to agree, Mr. Roarke," Flores said, and gestured towards the Palace. "Let's step inside and discuss matters further."

Roarke followed Flores into the building, and wasn't surprised to find that the whole place, while opulent, felt about twenty years out of date. Stepping onto Javieran soil was like stepping through time, back to the Cold War. Roarke, who had served in the Royalist forces during the Atnaian Coup of the 1980s, was starkly reminded of those days. Flores must have caught the look across his face.

"As you might expect, modernization efforts have been somewhat stalled by our isolation and conflict," Flores said. He gestured at the lights to underline his point, which were bright yellow incandescent bulbs and not the brighter white fluorescent bulbs Roarke had seen in every government building he had ever worked in. It was small details like the colour of the light that set San Javier apart.

"I understand," Roarke said. The guards who stood at hallway intersections and at major entrances and exits held rifles that looked like they were made at the start of the conflict: well-maintained, to be certain, but nothing survived constant use, no matter the maintenance.

Bubblegum and string, Roarke thought. I'm being sent to fight a war with bubblegum and string. Wait until they get a load of drones, or UBRs. Galahad's stock is probably skyrocketing right about now.

After they reached Flores' office, a comfortable enough room with wide windows that set comfortable sunlight to blend with the yellow incandescents, they wound up discussing matters for some time. Roarke was, of course, familiar with all of the information that Atnaia had on San Javier and the conflict, or at least all of the info coded Ultraviolet or lower, but formality dictated hearing much of it again from the horse's mouth. It was a solid hour before he felt comfortable asking the looming question.

"So," he said as Flores concluded a sermon on the defenses placed along the Vancouvian rail line (which, to Roarke's estimation, were about one third of what they should have been), "I have to ask...will San Javier be accepting Atnaian aid? From all I've heard, you need it. Even a thousand men would turn the tide of this war for you."

"If I had it in my power, we'd have a corps of your finest on our soil already," Flores replied, surprisingly candid. "But the president...well, he will need convincing. I'm authorized to allow you to send a single regiment, for now."

A single regiment. Eight hundred men. Roarke frowned. He had said a thousand men would shift the war in the Presidential Republic's favour, but that had been hyperbole.

"That's not even a battlegroup," said Roarke. "A proper support would need at least double that."

"Impossible, at this time," Flores shrugged.

Roarke tapped the edge of Flores' desk. He bit the inside of his cheek. "What about ships?"

"Hmm?" Flores said. "What about them?"

"What about ships? Could we send, say, a small flotilla to begin patrolling the waters near San Javier?"

Flores gazed upwards. "The President never mentioned naval involvement. He wouldn't be happy."

"He didn't mention it, so you have the initiative," Roarke pointed out. "At least until I can meet with him personally."

"True," Flores blinked, scratched his chin and then nodded. "Yes. 800 men and a small fleet to...prevent smuggling operations, let us say? Yes. That is doable."

Roarke smiled and the men shook hands. "Excellent. It's a start."

"A start," Flores agreed.

"Now," Roarke's smile faded. "Can I meet the president?"

[Vancouvia]

55 miles northeast of the San Javier coast

The VS Prosperity stood still as a noon shadow upon the calm, blue waves of the Southern sea. Deep inside the command room of the destroyer, a Lieutenant held a tight grip on the joystick controlling a Yukon UAV.

"Entering Javier airspace to conduct reconnaissance mission 5911."

A Captain seated behind him checked a computer screen. "Go for reconnaissance mission 5911."

The Yukon sped past the imaginary border in the sky and entered foreign airspace. Flying south now over the capitol, it recorded dozens of pictures a second, like flashes of invisible lightning cascading over the horizon.

Javieran Steppe

La Nueva Paz railroad was nearly complete with the first step of its construction from the capital to Rio Pena. Congress was nervous; they had been for a long time and things had not improved. In fact, suspected activity by a half-dozen nations on the island had only sent the Senators further into a frenzy. If action was going to be taken to finally complete the rail line, they knew it had to be proactive. A few advisors and engineers, they realized, was not sufficient or efficient.

VEO agent Ferdinand "Fred" Castro stepped out of his painstakingly small capital hut and arranged for a car south. It was murderous terrain. The "highway" that ran toward Rio Pena was full of holes and cracks, wrecks on the side of the road, and dead carcasses. Fred shuddered when he realized those might not all be animals. Nasty business, down here, just nasty.

Finally reaching his destination, the tail end of the rail line, Fred pulled over and made the trek over to the base camp. A series of trucks, RVs, campfires, tents, and makeshift barns greeted him. He navigated through a mirage of local workers, government troops, farm animals, manure and stench before finally reaching the man he was looking for: VNA Captain Marco Rodriguez. The Captain was busy in front of his RV arguing with a half-dozen workers when Castro approached.

"Hola, Captain," said Fred with an overemphasized Vancouvian accent and a salute. "A long way south we have found ourselves, isn't it?"

"If it wasn't winter up there, I'd likely complain," said the Captain, turning his attention to the stranger. "And you are?"

"VEO in the flesh. My name's Fred, and my game's... helping you out."

The Captain scoffed and motioned for him to follow him up to his "house," an RV painted dark and light blue in the same shades as the flag.

"Please, wipe your feet, and please, take a seat," said the Captain as he rummaged through a drawer. "Here, a cola for the premier branch of our armed services." He chucked it at the man now seated on a cheap couch.

Fred caught the bottle and brushed off the sarcasm. "I'll take your warm coke, Captain, but what I wouldn't trade for a completed rail line..."

"Oh, wouldn't we all. But that's easier said than done, Fred, as I'm sure you understand." He paused. "I've been here four years, Fred. Cuatro años. And what I've learned in that time is that a few dozen Vancouvian engineers, a local populace who has never seen a train in their lifetimes, and an army that is threatened to collapse every time their paychecks come in a day late, is NOT a sufficient work force to produce a railroad. So I'd greatly value if you spooks who visit me every three months would at least have the decency to check notes between each other and not ask the same questions and drink my same colas without saying thank you."

Fred help up the cola, now half finished and smiled. "Thank you!"

"That's great, that's fine, now you've seen our progress and our camp, and know that I'm still alive and still giving orders. Go send your report up the black grapevine and tell 'em."

"Captain, I'm not here for a progress report like my compatriots. I'm here to help."

Marco's eyes lit up with excitement for a brief moment but then returned to doubt. "What, you have some magical railroad beans in those jeans of yours? You have some actual refined steel in those pockets? Some qualified troops? A spook gadget in your sock that makes the machinery we need appear?"

Fred sat up and stared into the Captain's eyes. "I've got a cohort of VSF on their way, half of your engineer corps on the same ship, and 15 million slowly rolling down into our friendly desert bank account."

"You're shitting me, like Congress suddenly gives a damn about this project."

"If I was shitting you, would I have come down here in person and drunk your warm coke? That would be just plain rude." The agent finished his drink off. "Now they're coming, whether you believe me or not. We're finishing this thing, man, and then you can go home and see a skyscraper or something."

The Captain smiled and asked some more questions about the logistics and arrival dates. Then he offered Fred another warm coke and walked him out of the RV. "Just keep going until it doesn't stink any more. Then you'll be at the highway."

"I don't want this adventure to end!" he yelled back, laughing, and then almost getting hit by a stampeding cow.

[Island of Sceapige]

Prime Minister Thomasson looked over his intelligence reports with concern, he was sat at the head of a crisis meeting of sorts. Earlier in the day he had called all governmental ministers and the heads of all military and deployable public services to attend an immediate ministerial debate.

''Good afternoon everyone, thank you for attending at such short notice.'' Thomasson opened ''I will explain that we are gathered here today to discuss the conflict in the nation of San Javier.'' Murmurings around the room followed this opening statement.
''It has been brought to my attention through intelligence sources that the Atnaian Government has recently, through possible guilt, admitted that they have been stoking the flames of this conflict on both sides from the very start.'' He gave a nod to the Head of the Global Intelligence Group, Colonel Alfsson.

''That is correct sir, our reports from San Javier have shown an increased activity from the atnaian's, also the Vancouvian railway project has seen a renewed urgency over the last few days.''
Colonel Alfsson continued ''Our current plan is to send a 6 person team with an integrated aviation asset to San Javier. Once in country they will begin to monitor Atnaian troop movements and other nations in the Area of Operations, also they will make contact with the ANDSJ paramilitary.'' Further low murmurings erupted around the hall.

''Ladies and Gentlemen, as Colonel Alfsson has just alluded to, Sceapige will be taking an active role in the future of the San Javier conflict. As a responsible nation, we want to help bring an end to this conflict, of-course we would like a suitable faction to support and hopefully bring to power over the communist rebels and the Atnaian supported presidential regime. We currently see the Atnaian's as a instigators in this San Javier fiasco and wish to undermine their efforts in this conflict to help bring a democratic San Javier into being.''

Prime-Minister Thomasson continued [i]''Speaking to the CEO of the HBAC, Anders Hrothgar has indicated that he is interested in using this conflict as a test bed for a number of UAV designs that his company is hoping to bring to market, please remember the financial security of our nation relies on the financial situation at HBAC.'' [/i]

Prime Minister Thomasson then answered questions from those assembled.

The head of the ISMC Colonel Lindgren outlined the Maritime Corps involvement in the future of the conflict ''I currently hope to deploy a Company Combat Force in support of the ANDSJ paramilitary group. The first phase of the deployment will involve parachuting in a platoon of Marine Rangers to secure a paramilitary jungle airfield and ensure it is a secure location, once a perimeter has been set up, the rest of the Company Combat Force will be inserted into the jungle to establish a Forward Operating Base.''

Anders Hrothgar followed up with '' I myself and 50 of my employees will be traveling to San Javier alongside the CCF, where we will establish a UAV testing and training facility to aid the ANDSJ in their efforts against the government of San Javier.''

Once Mr Hrothgar had finished, Prime Minister Thomasson stood up and addressed the room once more ''You have heard our plans ladies and gentlemen, therefore I would like you to now vote, quite simply YES for involvement in this conflict and NO to stay out of it.''

5 minutes later the results had been counted, YES: 77 NO: 4 ''Thank you very much for your attendance here today ladies and gentleman, hopefully we can have a positive impact in the future of San Javier.'' Prime Minister Thomasson finished the meeting.

1 Hour Later at the Global Intelligence Group Headquarters Building.

''Good evening team, tomorrow you will be deploying to San Javier, unfortunately it is not all cocktails and sun tans. You will be path-finding for a future Company Combat Force and HBAC UAV testing and training facility. Your mission, once you land in San Javier is to establish contact with the ANDSJ paramilitary force and sweeten them up for future Sceapige support, you are also tasked with monitoring Atnaian troop movements where possible and the progress of the Vancouvian Railway project. '' Colonel Alfsson addressed the six intelligence operators sat in front of him. ''On the ground you will have a 2 civilian vehicles, and whatever firepower you want. In the sky,'' Nodding towards Jakki the pilot ''You have a HB SkyVan Listener, to monitor radio traffic of opposing forces. Please remember you are there unofficially, your aircraft will be flown to and based at a friendly jungle airfield whilst 4 of you and two vehicles will arrive into country via the airport at constantina, you will arrive in a civilian freighter aircraft.''

The team seemed happy with the initial brief and left the GIG HQ, tomorrow evening they would be deploying to San Javier.

[Corindia]

It was a beautiful day in Pachualla. The sun was shining directly down the stone-hewn Izaca roads as it had for centuries, and the air was filled with the scents of roasted cavy and spices; the market had just opened and vendors were already hawking food, textiles, and live animals in the town square. Lieutenant Miro Farde strolled past the booths and stands, through the throngs of pedestrians, around bicyclists and small, sputtering motor vehicles, not to the center of the town, but to the cloistered alleys and overbuilt outskirts.

Miro Farde was not looking for food, ornate woven cloth, or a parrot that was able to repeat fragments of the sentences said to it - he was looking for something else.

As he walked down the well worn steps of un-cemented granite in one of the many by-ways that made up inner Pachualla, his eyes darted back and forth between the shadows on either side of him. Even on the sunniest of days, high walls and narrow streets rendered much of the ancient city perpetually dark, and it was in this darkness that a Congressional soldier, or even a common mugger, could spot and overwhelm him.

Miro gripped his worn Escudero by its well-worn mesquite handle. He would never forget the time he was surprised in a similar urban crevice by a gang member opposed to the Azul Naturaleza and recognized him as Corindi. He would never fully regain feeling in his left hand either.

After five more minutes of of hurried walking, he saw the building he was looking for. It had been built within the last four-hundred years; unlike the precisely cut and fitted Izaca structures, it was held together with mortar, and the stones were all rough rectangular blocks. The painted sign above it read "Canche: Metales y Piezas". It was a salvage shop, one of many small stores that sold the refurbished and patchwork machines and tools that the poorer citizens of San Javier relied on.

He opened the door and was greeted by a room filled with pipes, wires and engines, most clearly manufactured in the previous century. The shopkeeper watched warily from behind the bolt strewn counter he was standing behind. He was smoking a cigar, and the smell permeated the room. He clearly wasn't going to ask Miro if he was looking for something, so Miro decided to speak first.

"Are you Canche?"

"I am. Are you here to buy something, or are you here to beg?"

"I'd like to buy a rifle, not one of the thirty year old ones that can't shoot straight, but one of the new ones brought by the foreigner's. I've heard you have them in stock."

"You've come to the right place, friend. The Colonialist's mistakes have become my boon, and soon it can be yours, come with me." He led Miro to a back room, opened a metal box, and removed a clean and unscratched rifle, a rarity in Pachualla, and indeed much of San Javier. There was no mistaking it from such a close distance, it was a Corindi-made IR3 rifle, something the shopkeeper should not have. Miro had to get a closer look.

"Let me see that."

Canche handed him the rifle, unloaded, and Miro examined its sights, felt its heft, and casually looked at the serial number on the receiver. He returned it to Canche.

"It'll do. How much is it?"

"For just the one machine, one which is far better than the older or local ones, a thousand dollars. It's a great deal, and it won't last long!"

"Ah, you must think me a fool, the market is flooded with weapons such as these, it's worth no more than seven-hundred."

"I went through a lot of trouble to get this, it's worth no less then nine-hundred and fifty!"

Miro and the shopkeeper did not agree on a price, and Miro ended up walking out empty handed. But Miro had gotten what he needed. The serial number on the rifle matched the series of the shipment that had gone missing two weeks ago. What his superiors had expected was true; one of their alleged allies in the cartel wasn't as dedicated to the cause as they pretended to be, and was selling off materiel that was supposed to be going towards the fight against the imperialists. Miro sighed. It was going to be a long deployment.

[Athara Magarat]

The 'Hòuwèi'-class jetliner was en route to Bhumidol. With a crew of three and 250 passengers, it looked like any other passenger aircraft that would have been flying to its destination with passengers all having different reasons for reaching that destination. The passengers in this plane however had only one reason for travelling to Bhumidol, to reach San Javier, a nation not very far off from mainland Bhumidol.

The civil-looking passengers were in fact the worst of humanity but those who still had reasons for whatever they had done. Some called them murderers and terrorists, others called them freedom fighters and heroes. The 250 passengers were all members of several internationally blacklisted terror groups such as SOAR cells operating in Athara Magarat, Merrit Isle Liberation Front, Dragon Faction and Talvaar al-Islamiya to name a few. The only exception was a certain short man with a pair of odd colored eyes: blue on left and green on right eyes and with the exception of his eyes, he looked just like your average typical Athara Magarati common man. For he was currently the most dangerous man in the Democratic Republic of Athara Magarat. His code-name is Majipa and he is the head director of Athara Magarati Intelligence (AMI), everything else about him remains a mystery.

"...We will help the communist rebels as fighting force as ordered by the National Assembly," Majipa had been briefing the leaders of the teams of terror groups in the 1st Class. "Any questions? No questions? After all, everything was in the papers you read before the flight started, which some of you are still reading."

Everyone else looked at Mehtap Demir of the Talvaar al-Islamiya who was having a hard time reading the papers in the file. Her serious face could be seen while her hair was covered by the hijab. As her name indicated, she was of Taziri descent.

"I can understand English, Atish, Kham and Khas (the four official languages of Athara Magarat), but cannot read any one of them."

"But I do hope that you understand the situation." To which Mehtap nodded. Majipa continued, "Back to business, now. We need to make sure that no one knows Athara Magarat is involved. Especially not our own citizens and best neighbor Atnaia. Remember that AMI do not exist."

Around half an hour later, Majipa made a phone call to his 'sister', to the Snow Leopard, the head of AMI for Kavju and Southern Seas. She bid him farewell and "do you best on you ''business trip', brother".

Right after that, a loud gunshot rang. Majipa dropped his phone and 'fell dead'. A group of armed men and women of Atish-Merritian ethnicity took other passengers as hostages. A bald man made a live video of the situation. A woman in her mid-forties did the talking on the video.

"Good afternoon, Atnaia, Athara Magarat, and any of their allies. This is the Merrit Isle Liberation Front. My name is Natalie Darkwall." The brunette introduced herself as three of her comrades made way for the cockpit. "We have officially hijacked this plane. I know that you know what we want. A free and independent Merrit. For that matter, we are working together with anti-Atnaian forces such as SOAR to stop Atnaian imperalism in an another independent nation San Javier. And don't try denying it, Mr Wessich. We read news. We lost our nation, we will not let another nation suffer the same fate. A futile effort you might say but this attempt will make us strong enough to strike Atnaia and take back what is ours. Merrit. Small but historic and significant.-"

"Please let me go! I have a daughter and wife." A man was pleading in the background. "Please..." A blond Merrit Isle youth kicked the man. At Natalie's approval, the blond youth 'shot the pleading man dead' as well.

"People these days, no manners at all. Interrupting serious talks." Natalie was perhaps the only one to smile at what she had said. She turned serious again. "Now this Atnaia, there are many those who hate you. Islamists who hate your nation for invading Taziristan are supporting us, nations who fear you. You may be riding on your imperial waves today but you will regret it. First. we are punishing Athara Magarat for fully supporting the annexation of our nation. There will be no compromise. All Athara Magarati citizens here will die. Forunately, half of this plane were cadres and sympathizers, which made this possible. One day it will be Atnaia, and mark my words, it will hurt very much. Much more than the pain we Merritians gave endured. We will rescue San Javier from your ever-stretching imperial arms. For San Javier, for Merrit Isle Liberation Front and foremost of all-"

"-For Merrit!" all other Merrit Isle Liberation Front cadres shouted, raising their weapons. A few more passengers were ''shot dead' before the video ended.

The hijacked passenger plane diverted its course and was now headed into San Javerian airspace. The Hòuwèi was later on reported to have crashed into Monte Santa Ana with no whereabouts of either the 'hostages or the terrorists'. Unknown to the world, the National Assembly of Athara Magarat had made use of AMI and its network of terror groups to enter a new war.

[Bhikkustan]

Samadhi
Bhikkustan

"Death to Capitalism!" Screamed the soldiers as they jumped over their hasty fortifications and plunged into the straw practice dummies. They drew scimitars and practiced their mêlée attacks. Though combat was now an affair of range, there was a certain pride that the Bhikkustani military took in their hand to hand combat. Captain Sülen watched over his men impassively. He was secretly impressed with their progress, but these recruits had a long way to go before he was comfortable with them being deployed onto the Eastern Front. The war there had lulled a little, but was still a danger to the revolution and to the sovereignty of Bhikkustan. These soldiers must be ready soon, he thought to himself. Suddenly, a trumpet blared and Premier Sangyal Mattahyom walked onto the observation deck. Sülen snapped to attention.

"At ease captain," Sangyal said quietly, "are these your soldiers?"

Sülen nodded solemnly.

"Are they ready to serve?"

"No, my Premier. They are still weeks away."

"And you? Do you feel ready to enter the fray?"

Sülen gulped. This had not been what he had expected. "Why me? Surely I would serve better training soldiers here than on the front lines against Great Imperialonia?"

Sangyal smiled softly. "No. you will not serve on the front lines. I have a different mission for you."

Sülen felt weak. He was unsure what was going to happen. "What is that?" He asked, his voice just shy of a whisper.

"I am sending you and twenty other drillmasters to San Javier alongside fifty soldiers. Our comrades there are under the threat of western imperialism. I saw what Atnaia did in Merrit, and I do not doubt they are planning something similar."

Suddenly it all made sense. Sülen smiled too. "It would be an honour," he said, happier now.

Sangyal's reply was stern. "You will go to help them, but I wish for you to change things. Teach them of Maoism and our ideology. The closer they get to us the better. They are located in the west. We will be wise to try and bring them to us."

Sülen nodded. "I shall."

Sangyal smiled and pointed to the waiting APC. "Get in there. You will depart in five hours."

[Keomora]

Castillo Verde, San Javier
"It seems forever does it not," remarked Fark Whyn when he entered the Presidential Palace. He remembered when he first visited the country 25 years ago as an aide to the Ambassador. It was beautiful, and at the time he could never imagine it all falling apart.
"Cómo está señor Whyn?" asked who he presumed to be a butler.
"Muy bien, gracias."
"Me llamo Gustavo Martinez, seré tu guía y auxiliar." With that they were properly introduced and made their way through the mansion. Despite the civil war that raged her for nearly two decades this place was very well preserved, in contrast to the surrounding city. Marble walls, and paintings of great men from the past emphasized whatever was left of Javieran pride.
Being here he felt… inadequate. The task he was given and the complex socio-political and economic situation of the island, in addition to the clusterfuck that was the Western Isles that the chaos and anarchy of the island would escalate to civil war that would be reminiscent of the dark days of the 80s.
Atnaia opened a can of worms and now they had to eat them. The Hegemony was another entity that he had to worry about. Their goal whatever it was continue to elude him. He didn’t belief that they were trying to make amends for past deed, they are too pragmatic for that. With a sigh he found himself in front of the President’s room. Composing himself he prepared for whatever the President of San Javier had to say, and walked inside.

[Vancouvia]

North Yorkford

The 34th VSF cohort was fresh out of training and eager to prove themselves. As the newly knighted corporals and sergeants pressed and packed their uniforms and said goodbye to their younger peers, some began whimsically daydreaming of what it would be like. Others simply boarded the plane and nonchalantly took a seat, their minds solely on the mission.

The C-130s took off together, south, like tardy birds eager to shed the winter frost. Major Tyler Anderson, a veteran import from the I.D. conflict, was in command. He had the heavy task of leading 300 20-year-olds into foreign territory. But adding on to the weight was the knowledge that he was leading them into the heart of San Javier, a type of land he had no experience with. What he knew about his destination was from a series of reports from the men already on the ground, intelligence from the Yukons flying miles above, and anecdotal stories the men in his old squad used to tell. What he knew for certain was this: the young soldiers he was leading into battle were a huge cost to bear. A miracle, he thought, it would be if they all made it safely back to the free lands.

Anderson stood from his seat and scanned across the fuselage of the plane at the faces of the men under his command. Some slept, some talked, some laughed, some just were. He began thinking about the differences between himself and those in front of him. He had certainly gone through a much different program than them. Their training involved 10 years of military school and education, camaraderie building and expert courses. His was a six-month crash course and a lot of on-the-job training. He was a veteran and they were greenhorns. He knew what war entailed; they pictured what it was.

When the planes touched down at the airstrip and they all filed out, Anderson said a quiet prayer for the men and women of the 34th cohort. Then, he loaded his rifle.

[Atnaia]

Atnaian Flotilla
West of San Javier

"Commander on deck," came the call as soon as Rear Admiral Robert Bakker stepped on deck. A nearly audible tension filled the air, like the discordant afterbuzz of a guitar string after the sound had grown subliminal.

"At ease," he ordered and the tension slackened. "What's our ETA to San Javier?"

His XO, Commander Frances Yeardly, spoke up, her voice lilted with a slight Merritian twang. "Twenty hours and counting, Admiral. Should arrive tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred."

"Thank you, Commander," Bakker said. He glanced around with a small, invisible and inaudible sigh. The glow of the screens around him seemed like overkill, given where they were headed. The Type 45 was an air defense destroyer, and San Javier was not known for its air superiority. What was even worse was that, as overkill went, it wasn't even very good overkill. Type 45s were known to have severe heating issues in tropical waters, and San Javier was hot, even in November. Bakker had to cross his fingers that this whole thing wasn't a big blunder that some know-nothing governor had cooked up as a show of force. Every second that the General Featherbrook and the other ships that had been sent in the flotilla were offshore of San Javier would be another handful of money thrown into a void from which it would never come back.

Basically, Bakker was expecting to be bored.

"Updates from the rest of the flotilla?" he said, more out of habit than need.

"Cumulus, Nebula and Pulsar are all reporting things as normal," came a response from nearby. "Topaz is having some minor issues in the engine room, but claims things should be cleared up by the time we reach SJ. Carnellite[i] hasn't upda---wait, reports in, everything's normal there too."

Bakker nodded. "Good. Have Williams keep me up-to-date on that engine trouble. If it's going to interfere with his operational capability, I want to know [i]before it becomes a disaster."

Yeardly chuckled. "It's not like we're facing a real navy out there, Admiral. Even if the Topaz were floating with no power, they'd still be able to blow nearly anything that a bunch of communist rebels throw at them out of the water while wearing blindfolds."

"Your comment is noted, Commander," Bakker replied. "But I'd rather be safe than sorry. Even a 30 year old, half-upkept tub of bolts can land a lucky hit against a still target."

"Or they could just drive right into them, like T-boning a car," someone pointed out from across the command deck.

Bakker pointed towards the voice. "Yes. We can't put any level of stupidly self-destructive act beyond these people. They've been fighting a war for forty years. You've seen the news vids. They're desperate."

The room fell silent save for the standard sounds of operations. Bakker spoke agai a moment later. "How are our guests?"

"The jarheads? Fine," the XO said. "Standard groundpounder complaints from the Lieutenant-Colonel."

"Cramped? Lack of respect?" Bakker said.

"Basically," Yeardly replied. "I think the Cumulus in particular will be happy to have them disembark."

"I don't blame them," Bakker mumbled. He didn't particularly like the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the relatively slim number of troops Atnaia was sending to San Javier. The man, Dante LaBelle, seemed like he had never had a command where there wasn't someone else immediately over him commanding an even grander force. The power seemed to eb going to the man's head, and Bakker was reminded of characters in war films. A real Colonel Kilgore-type. It rattled the ever-patient Bakker in a way he wasn't used to.

It was only twenty more hours though, and then LaBelle could go shout blood knight rhetoric in someone else's ear. Maybe once a San Javier general showed up, LaBelle would become a follower again. The world would be better for it.

[Covonant]

Capitoline, Roberticis

The elites in Covonant have turned their attention to a far distant country, ravaged by political instability and a lucrative drug industry. Marcus Quintus, one of Covonant's wealthiest and most powerful member of the 1% group has called a meeting at his private hill side villa, inviting some of the most influential members of the Covonantian society, from the field of business, science, and government. Marcus was founder and CEO of Gunovant and Specs, where his company specialised in the area of arms trade and have been contracted by the government on numerous occasions to supply them with high powered guns, rifles and military specs.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased that you have all taken up my offer to meet here, especially at such short notice. I will not keep you all in suspense as to the reason of the meeting so I will get to the meat of the matter. I am sure you are all aware of countries openly showing interest in the third world backwater parody of a state called San Javier, and while I know many if not all of you have no interest in matters concerning the country. I have come to change your position on that. It is no secret that the island bears many possibilities for the countries wanting a share of what is in the basket. The Atnians want control of the island for whatever means, the Vancouvians have not been shy in expressing its intent for a railroad. And what about Covonant? huh, what about us?

Being briefly cut off by Gary Mathis, A tycoon in the media industry.

"And I am sure you will tell us Marcus why Covonant is not involved."

"I won't tell you why we are not involved, that would be rather boring Mr. Mathis. I will tell you however, why we must get in. The island has a very lucrative opium industry, and I can assure you with our influence and support, can you imagine the profits it could bring for us? It is a billion dollar industry that we must capitalise on having a share in." Expressed Marcus Quintus

"I understand and sense your enthusiasm Marcus, but what does that have to do with me being here?" asked Lucius Frith, Head of the Intelligence and Data Centre

"Well, Mr. Frith I was hoping your organisation, could provide more intel on the country and the operations in the drug industry. Maybe send one of your finest agent to go on behalf of us" responded Marcus

"I am sorry everyone, but my agency only works on behalf of the Prime Minister and the Consul, and in few scenarios the Minister of Defense. I can't do that" Frith implied

"Don't worry about the heads in government. I have connections leading right up to the top, and a few owes me greatly from past favours. Besides we are all equals here, including you Mr. Frith. Your job is secured. Now with everyone's support. Let us move post haste with this. I can smell the riches already. Let's have a che..."

Again Marcus Quintus was interrupted by Mr. Mathis CEO of the CBC

"How will we get the support of the country better yet under what pretext will we be going to San Javier. How damning it would look that Covonant is intervening in a foriegn country to take control of an illegal substance. Clearly I can't be the only one who is thinking this in this room." Expressed Mr. Mathis

There was a dead silence in the room. All eyes fixated upon the noble host, Marcus Quintus. The look of doubt begins to set cast in the eyes of the guest. Knowing Marcus, he was a man that will get his way. They hoped for reassurance in his response.

"Well as usual, we say we will bring them democracy or some crap like that. Say we are limiting Atnaia rise to power. I don't know what pretext we will go under, in fact let the Prime Minister decide. Just know that at the end of the day, we will play our part. Now if all is in support. I say we raise our glasses and proclaim cheers for successful days ahead."

The glasses clinker and all sipped to prosperous days, a few guest however felt uneased but greed allowed them to remain quiet.

The meeting progressed with every individual learning of their role in the proposed plan. Greater focus was however placed on Mr. Frith of the IDC, he is instrumental in Covonant's entry in San Javier. Following the meeting. Marcus Quintus boarded is private helicopter and headed for the capital Coventry to personally inform his good friend Prime Minister Marl on what has already been agreed upon.

[Athara Magarat]

Monte Santa Ana

"Was that video really necessary?" Mehtap could not help but question Majipa.

The head director of AMI looked at her with his set of odd-colored eyes. "It was sent only to the government of Athara Magarat and Atnaia and her allied nations (it's a Merritian message after all). For the Hang, it was a warning that his methods were not working. For the National Assembly, it was a signal that we had reached San Javier. Hopefully the National Assembly will have the Hang keep the hijacking a secret from the public and tell Athara Magarat's allied nations to do the same. From what I can say, Phase II will be more reinforcements coming as rescue operatives. Once the hostages (and sure that newer recruits of your respective teams are hostages) are rescued, Athara Magarat will keep her hands away from this island. A pity that such a beautiful Gudaonese plane had to become a wreckage like this (note t self: never land a plane a mountain). Glad that all of us survived."

The terror groups units and the AMI operative had not wandered far away from the crash site of the Hòuwèi at Monte Santa Ana. The mountain reminded Majipa and the Dragon Faction of their faraway homes: Athara Magarat and Thasang or Thakali Island (or Akar as the Keomorans and Akaris called it) respectively. The Talvaar al-Islamiya members were Sunni Muslims of Taziri descent whose ancestors had fled persecution from Shiites. Due to centuries of living in Athara Magarat, for them too, mountain warfare was something they were good at. All of them knew that mountains could give them lot of advantages and their soon to be allies also happened to be mountain-lovers.

"Red Fox. Come here you little Skanekä imp."

"Yes sir!" One of the flight attendants of the crashed passenger plane approached Majipa upon being called by him. Like any other Skanekä, she was a foot taller than an average Athara Magarati and had golden hair and green eyes.

"What's the name of the our would-be comrades, again?" inquired Majipa the demon. "And say it louder so that even old man Kaji Man Sherchan can hear it." The man in sixties who was the in-charge of the younger Dragon Faction members growled at Majipa.

"First of all we have the People's Army of San Javier led by General Alvaro Marino. They operate in Santa Ana the city nearest from here. Reports say that they are the largest faction in San Javier after the central government. Next we have the Popular Revolution of San Javier under the command of Presidente Carla Diogosta. I believe that People's Army of San Javier should be of importance to us for now since they are nearest to us and more in numbers than any other anti-government faction." The Skanekä woman spoke like a computer.

"Thank you, Red Fox. And now it won't be long before General Marino's people get here. Let's get back to our acts everyone. Alright, hostages and hijackers, do your best in fooling them. Natalie, do your best. I believe that your fellow Merrit Isle Liberation Front leader Joseph Blaze is doing his part."

"Let's hope his video can convince the Hang. Let's hope we can convince your comrades." Natalie said what she thought. She apparently was not interested in whatever conflict was brewing in San Javier. Like her fellows in Merrit Isle Liberation Front, she was more worried about when Merrit Isle would be a free nation again. But right now this was a mission important to AMI and to the secretive intelligence agency (Athara Magarati citizens have no idea of AMI even existing) the different terror groups working together for now owed great debts.

[Athara Magarat]

The Ministry of Defense
Athara Magarat

"Just who the hell do these lowlifes think they are?!" The Hang of Athara Magarat thundered. The video played again.

"Good afternoon, Atnaia, Athara Magarat, and any of their allies. This is the Merrit Isle Liberation Front. My name is Natalie Darkwall." The brunette introduced herself as three of her comrades made way for the cockpit. "We have officially hijacked this plane. I know that you know what we want. A free and independent Merrit. For that matter, we are working together with anti-Atnaian forces such as SOAR to stop Atnaian imperalism in an another independent nation San Javier. And don't try denying it, Mr Wessich. We read news. We lost our nation, we will not let another nation suffer the same fate. A futile effort you might say but this attempt will make us strong enough to strike Atnaia and take back what is ours. Merrit. Small but historic and significant.-"

"Please let me go! I have a daughter and wife." A man was pleading in the background. "Please..." A blond Merrit Isle youth kicked the man. At Natalie's approval, the blond youth 'shot the pleading man dead' as well.

"People these days, no manners at all. Interrupting serious talks." Natalie was perhaps the only one to smile at what she had said. She turned serious again. "Now this Atnaia, there are many those who hate you. Islamists who hate your nation for invading Taziristan are supporting us, nations who fear you. You may be riding on your imperial waves today but you will regret it. First. we are punishing Athara Magarat for fully supporting the annexation of our nation. There will be no compromise. All Athara Magarati citizens here will die. Forunately, half of this plane were cadres and sympathizers, which made this possible. One day it will be Atnaia, and mark my words, it will hurt very much. Much more than the pain we Merritians gave endured. We will rescue San Javier from your ever-stretching imperial arms. For San Javier, for Merrit Isle Liberation Front and foremost of all-"

"-For Merrit!" all other Merrit Isle Liberation Front cadres shouted, raising their weapons. A few more passengers were ''shot dead' before the video ended.

The room was filled with silence. No one dared to say anything to the nation's leader. The Great Hang then drank his glass of water and cooled off a bit. "Minister of Defense Hang Omit Shrestha, I want you to send messages to Atnaia's Hegemon Wessich, Covonant's Imperatus Marl, Bhikkustan's Premier Sangyal and Bhumidol's Ganaraja Bodhai. Tell our allied nations that we require their assistance in searching for that plane, rescuing the hostages and hunting down those lowlifes who dared to kill our citizens!"

"Paija Hang, we have another video from the Merrit Isle Liberation Front." The Defense Minister stated.

A middle-aged man in civilian dress surrounded by two tough-looking bodyguards in special uniforms did the Namaste pose and he began speaking.

"Greetings, Athara Magarat! I am Joseph Blaze of the Merrit Isle Liberation Front and I apologize that my hotheaded friends went a little overboard by shooting innocent people. We know very well that the prison walls of Athara Magarat hold several innocent Merritians wrongly accused by the Atish people and state as terrorists. I will be providing you with the list of the innocent Merritians to be released on San Javier. Their families are eager to meet them again. Show us your benevolence, Great Hang. And treachery will not be accepted. We will reveal to the whole world that Athara Magarat tried to hide the hijacking of a certain flight from its own citizens. We will reveal to the world that Athara Magarat pledged to side with Atnaia on Merrit issue and currently holds Merritians in prisons with gross human rights violations and disappearance of Merritian identity, in sharp contrast to your state being one of the most democratic and tolerant."

The man bowed down in Namaste pose. "Do not disappoint the world by making Athara Magarat the bad adopted daughter of an evil man named Atnaia. Merrit Isle, your secret-keeper." The man grinned as the video ended.

"Paija Hang, please excuse me," the Defense Minister pleaded. "I have been called by the National Assembly to discuss this very matter."

"Very well, you are all dismissed. Cancel the messages to our allies in Atnaia, Covonant, Bhikkustan and Bhumidol." The Hang ordered. "And let me know what the National Assembly decides on this matter."

With that, the meeting in the Defense Ministry was concluded. Day by day, Purna Sura Paija felt powerless in front of the National Assembly. They had been formed by himself to keep his powers in check but the Hang had to admit and acknowledge that the very people he had chosen were doing a good job at balancing his authority of Athara Magarat. Or else we will be no different than a dictatorship, thought the Hang, totally unaware of the National Assembly's plans to create a communist dictatorship in San Javier.

[Covonant]

Marcus Quintus boarded his private jet and headed towards the capital Coventry to meet with the Prime Minister. His arrival would be sudden but his affluence would grant him privilege at meeting the Prime Minister and noting they are good friends. Despite being one of the wealthiest man in the country, his status was nowhere near the Prime Minister and as such he could not land on the Palatine Manor grounds (The Official Residence of the PM), instead he landed at a private airfield and was driven off in a BMW 5 series to the Palatine Manor.

"Your invitation and reason for coming to the Palatine Manor" Asked the Praetorian Guard at the west entrance

"I have no invite, but I can assure you the Prime Minister won't be surprised by my visit" responded Marcus

"I am not authorized to let you pass without an invite and valid reason. Please reverse out and move away from the premises slowly"

"Can you just call the front desk and tell them who I am" Marcus beseeched

After gaining confirmation from the front desk that Marcus can be granted privilege, he was allowed passage into the Palatine Manor. Once inside the Manor, he was escorted into the Green Room of the Manor, where the Prime Minister was already in meeting with a familiar guest.
There was a knock on the door, and once confirmation was granted for them to enter, Marcus and the aide walked in.

"Mr. Marcus Quintus Prime Minister" Introduced the Aide

As Marcus walked forward to greet the PM who had a look of surprise etched on his face, looked over to see Mr. Lucius Frith, the Director of the Intelligence and Data Centre beginning to stand to acknowledge Marcus's presence.

"Marcus, what a surprise, I was not expecting you. Do sit down, I am sure you are knowledgeable on Mr. Lucius Frith who has graciously made it upon himself to inform me of troubling news, that I think you would love to elude me more on" The Prime Minister remarked

Looking very dumbfounded towards Mr. Frith, Marcus greeted the Prime Minster and extended greetings to Mr. Frith as well before taking a seat. Before expressing his reasons for visiting the Prime Minister, Marcus immediately made note of Lucius's presence at the Palatine Manor.

"Mr. Frith, I am surprised that you are here in Coventry instead of being back in Devios at the IDC." expressed Marcus

"Lucius had taken the liberty upon himself to inform me of plans to get Covonant involved in matters relating to San Javier, plans that were concocted at your villa yesterday. A meeting that I was not aware of nor invited to good ole Marcus." The Prime Minister expressed with a look of anger in his eyes.

"And that explains my presence here Imperatus, to inform you personally not as Prime Minister but as long time friend, and to hope to gain your support. I have done my own research and have seen where that island could prove beneficial to us."

"And who is us Marcus?" the Pm asked
"Me, you, our compatriots, other like bodied people" responded Marcus
"So the elites and the political class. Do you sense this becoming somewhat scandalous, Marcus?"
"Oh that word...it does pierce heart Imperatus."
"Yea mine. If citizens should know of my signing off to this do you know what this could mean for my legitimacy as Prime Minister as well as my re-election next year" remarked Imperatus
"And what if it is a success, have you considered what it would do for your re-election, your legitimacy, as well as your popularity. I see this going successful in our benefits. All we have to do is ensure that we get that drug operation under our control. And who better to control it, those savages or us, the great and noble Covonantians. Imperatus, we have been friends now for many years, and I should refresh your memory that I was very influential in getting you in the seat you now hold. You owe me" Replied Marcus

The Prime Minister now looking at Marcus more vehemently, began to pace the floor.

"And say I toy with the thought, how do you propose we actually do this. Do I send soldiers in and kill everyone regardless of creed, and nationality and take over everything for ourselves. Give me a pragmatic notion of how this would be done. Because you know damn well I just can't take up our troops to go to a country to claim what is not ours. Do you know what this would do to our image at home and abroad, our international partners and allies. Tell me Marcus" Asked the Prime Minister

"We simply devise a pretext. Isn't that what we always do. We won't openly express that we want to take over the drug operations, obviously not, but isn't there something we can do to get involved Imperatus"

The Prime Minister becoming more calm showing signs he more likely might commit to Marcus's proposal expressed his ignorance on the country.

"Marcus, I know nothing about San Javier, it was never of importance to us then and I am surprised why it would be now. But Mr. Frith seeing you are already here, give me the briefest backdrop of the country" Ordered the Pm

Mr. Frith after being entertained by both men rambling. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Hmm Hmm... Well Prime Minister throughout the 70s the island has been ravaged with political instability. There is the belief that foreign nations such as Atnaia and the Keomorans have been pushing their noses in the country's affairs. It was also during the 70s that the drug cartels gained prominence and throughout the rest of the 20th century, leading into the 21st century, the island has never seen peace. Currently many factions are present on the island. The ones we don't and can't support are the Communist. The one's we should support would be the drug cartels, and trust me there are many, but the one that could assist us even more are the Anliana Cartels, from a classified report gathered they have the second largest fighting force on the island numbers somewhere in the region of 6000+ if I am not mistaken, they don't have any naval force, but not sure if it is needed. However if I could provide personal advise, I see where our support explicitly for bringing about democracy and stability would be a admirable position. We could use propagandist means if possible. We could make it our interest to limit the Atnains who we can say have played a role in the island being destabilise, and with their imperialistic move we could try to limit it, explicitly that is, implicitly I am not sure if we should care." Lucius Frith advised

The Prime Minister sat back down, and pondered to himself on the implications. He then devised a scheme.

"Mr. Frith, you mentioned the Keomorans involvement in the country in the past, that would mean they have knowledge of the island, but what did they show interest in during the 70s/80s" asked the PM

"It seems harbour rights and land, for whatever means it has not occurred to me as yet" Replied Mr. Frith

"The Keomorans might once again prove beneficial if this is to work. Let me talk this over with my advisers Marcus, I will see what can be done" expressed the Pm

"Great Imperatus, I am glad I can rely on noble friend" Replied Marcus as he began pouring out the brandy that was placed on the table in front.

[Atnaia]

Presidential Palace
Castillo Verde, San Javier

The President's office was surprisingly small, although not uncomfortable. The couch and chairs as you entered the room were well-crafted but simple, and surrounded a hand-made table. The desk was smooth, dark wood that shone in the light cast by the wide windows along the walls. The room was hexagonal, which Roarke found interesting, with sunset-orange walls and carpet the deep blue of a twilight sea. The (alledged) President of San Javier stepped around the desk to meet him as guards allowed Roarke through from the initial antechamber into the office.

The older gentleman had a care-worn face which donned an affable smile, even if Roarke knew that the man didn't quite feel it. His suit was crisp, and he wore a grandfatherly sweater-vest under his blazer, in grad defiance of formality. He smelt like cigar smoke. Roarke actually found himself immediately liking the man.

"El Presidente," he said, as he shook the man's hand. "It's excellent to meet you."

"Governor Roarke, I've looked forward to meeting you as well." The old man smiled. His voice held practically no San Javieran accent as he spoke in English, their shared language. Roarke remembered that the man had been educated in Port Gray in liguistics and political science, and spoke four or five languages fluently, and a handful of others conversationally. He gestured to the chairs and the pair sat. "I understand that your ships have arrived."

Roarke nodded and poured himself a glass of water from a shiny, steel container on the table. "Yes," Roarke said. "A small flotilla commanded by Admiral Bakker, and of course the 8th Mechanized Regiment under Lieutenant Colonel LaBelle. I understand he's currently meeting with your General Guzman..."

President Hernandez held up a hand. "Guzman was killed a week ago whilst overseeing a construction operation to the east. Azul Naturaleza, probably. Zamora will be Colonel LaBelle's direct contact, I believe."

Roarke made the mental shift of gears. He'd prepped on Guzman but hadn't heard of his death. He frowned. The entire country was a morass when it came to intelligence. "Well then," Roarke said, "I suppose that brings me to my first point..."

Hernandez cocked an eyebrow. His eyes looked amused behind his spectacles. "Yes?"

"The number of men you allowed us to send isn't going to be effective for mounting any sort of operation," Roarke said. He preferred the blunt approach, in general. In his experience, it gave him the air of the straight-shooter. He'd won a House of Commons seat (back when that was a thing) for his candor.

"And yet," Hernandez said, "you managed to sneak another couple of hundred into my waters by going over my head and bringing in your flotilla."

Hernandez was obviously of the same opinion regarding diplomacy as Roarke. "It was required."

"It was disrespectful," the President leaned forward and tapped the table. "Yet, Mr. Roarke, I am willing to let that little gaffe fall behind us."

Roarke sipped his water. He suddenly remembered the warnings before he had left Atnaia about tap water in San Javier, but he assumed that any water being served in the president's office was probably filtered or bottled or something.

"What would it require for Atnaia to move in another 800 troops?" Roarke asked. "We need at least a battlegroup in the country to do...anything, really. Preferably a whole brigade."

"A brigade that I didn't ask for," Hernandez pointed out. "You know, Mr. Roarke, in any other relationship, barging through the door and trying to move the furniture would be considered rude. I don't know why the same should not be considered true for international diplomacy."

Roarke swallowed. "Atnaia is trying to right wrongs."

"Maybe," Hernandez said. "Or maybe, and I would consider the following option much more likely, Atnaia is trying to establish a foothold in my nation. Widen a gap from which it can leverage its will. The idea that any nation does anything out of the goodness of its leader's heart is laughable. It's all exchange, Mr. Roarke. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, correct? And so Atnaia has decided to scratch my back out of the assumption that I will turn around and do the same. It's presumptive payment for future services rendered. I can see that, you can see that, the world can see that. And I am not so certain that I want to throw myself into favours I do not know the nature of. I may not have operatives in Atnaia, but I still have my intelligence."

Raorke would have thought the pun amusing, if he wasn't turning over options in his head as rapidly as possible. "How long do you think that the Presidential Republic can hold out against the paramilitaries, cartels and communists?"

"Indefinitely," Hernandez said without a blink. "They are fools, the lot of them. They keep throwing themselves against the gates one at a time. We may be trapped in an eternal cycle of conflict, but its a conflict we have numerical, financial and tactical superiority in."

"Not if even a few of the sides united," Roarke said.

"The chances of that are statistically improbable," Hernandez said. "The right-wing groups hate the communists and drug dealers even more than we do. The paramilitaries go out of their way to hunt the pinkos and cartels down. Then you have the communists, who will work with the drug dealers if needed but foam at the mouth the moment they see an FJARDP or ANDSJ uniform. Plus, whenever they see the wrong communist flag, they begin lobbing Molotovs off into the forest. The cartels, meanwhile, will work with anyone who pays well, but spend half their time shooting each other over half a kilometer of poppies. All we have to do is sit back and watch them bash each other apart and make sure the capitol remains safe."

"That's not a very progressive attitude to the war," Roarke said.

"This stopped being a war of victories twenty years ago, Governor," Hernandez said. "It stopped being a war of attrition ten years ago. Now it's just a brawl. Not one of the men holding the guns was alive when this fight started, and most don't remember why they are fighting. They fight because they've always fought and doing anything other than fighting doesn't occur to them."

Roarke's fingers drummed on the lip of his glass. "What if they began organizing as collectives? What of the communists stopped shooting each other and began only shooting you? Or the FJARDP and the ANDSJ? Or the cartels?"

"Then we would have a problem," Hernandez said. "I don't think the cartels would be a problem, they're too greedy to share and share alike, but..."

Hernandez frowned and his eyes flicked upwards, then back at Roarke's face. "No," he said, "if they ahven't organized in 40 years, they won't suddenly organize now."

Roarke took a new tack. "Maybe," he said. "But they do have one big target that might make them more organized, if not properly organized."

"The capitol?"

"The rail line," Roarke said.

"The Vancouvians have been fending off attacks for years without problem," Hernandez said.

"Without problem might be an exaggeration," Roarke replied. "And it's nearing the end. Nothing stirs up a beehive like things actually getting done. If there's one thing none of the other sides want from you, its progress. It's efficiency. It's connection. The rail line will unify people, and that's bad for despots. As soon as that rail line is complete, you suddenly have a healthy victory to tuck into your belt. People will rally behind that. I doubt that any of the others want that."

Hernandez hummed for a moment, then poured himself a glass of water and sipped. When he finally responded, he seemed more contemplative. "That might be true."

"I think my men would best be suited to helping ensure you get that win," Roarke said. "But I can't guard a rail line with only 800 men."

"And what does Atnaia want in exchange, once the battles are won?" Hernandez asked.

Roarke considered that. "A foothold."

[Ostehaar]

Somewhere between the mountains,
South of Santa Ana, San Javier

"Not yet."

Nicolas, ducking behind a large bush, raised his hand slowly and looked up to make sure Rico noticed. "Not yet," he said again, in a hesitating voice this time.

Rico tightened his grip, anxiously waiting for the final call. It was his third field activity with Nicolas, and his tenth activity for the Fuerzas since he asked to join missions a few months ago.

"Okay," Nicolas said at last, "do it now."

A single shot lashed out, echoing between the nearest hills and fading in the distance. Birds around their hideout quickly lurched violently around them, covering their hasty retreat back down from the hilltop. Out in the distance, the bullet smashed into the chest of an ECSJ soldier who was securing a roadblock.

"Good, now give me the rifle," Nicolas ordered, his palm open and ready to receive the weapon. Rico threw it to him and nodded with a smile. Nicolas smiled back and patted on the young man's shoulder. "You'll be a fine general in the future, Rico," he said, "even greater than General Pedro."

Nicolas let the seventeen year-old 'man' run back to his village, while he himself turned the other way. He stepped away from the sunlight and into a shaded portion of the riverside, and walked along the stream. He saw the slope of a hill interspersed with rare trees and perfectly free from undergrowth. A long decaying building on the summit was half buried in the high grass. This could be a great hideout for next time, he thought.

Nicolas walked calmly for more than an hour. The river-bank was clear, and on the waterside he suddenly noticed another white man beckoning persistently with his whole arm. "What's up?" He called.

"The new shipment!" the man announced. "Fresh from the port!"

Nicolas raised his hands and clapped sarcastically, as he slowly approached the man. "It's about time!"

The man was standing still where Micolas first saw him, and waited. "You're right, Nick. How have you been doing?" They shook hands as close friends and walked together down the trail, away from the river and into a small village at the foot of a hill.

"I've been fine, Phil," he replied, "thanks for asking."

"I hear it's very hairy down there."

"Yeah," Nicolas admitted, "but it's fine as long as I can keep the supply of rifles coming. They're eager people, and they learn quickly."

Phil looked to the sides for a moment and then back at Nicolas. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. We're going to have a bit of a rough time now with the Atnaians and the Vancouvians around. We'll need to lay low for a while. You know?"

Nicolas nodded in understanding, gazing towards the village central trail, following some of the people there with his eyes. "Yeah, yeah..."

"Alright," Phil said. "Now, I need to head back to The Castle and sit with the formals. I'll come to you down at the village tomorrow and we'll talk. The General has been asking me for a while now to get anti-armor missiles, and I think I can get it for him. So we'll have to plan this, alright?"

"Sure, man."

They shook hands again, and Phil walked down the central path until he vanished between the locals. Nicolas turned back and walked back towards the river.

---

Offices of Corporativo Mineria Pegaso (CMP) and Oro Seguros Impecable (OSI),
La Torre de Roca office building, Castillo Verde, San Javier

Bored, Phil gazed outside the third floor window. The crowded street below, totally unaware of the foul businesses going on a few meters above their heads, seemed like a teaming river of sweat and noise. Cars were honking like big mad and clumsy cows, trying to pave their way through a cloud of disorder.

"So," an old man returned from another room and sat in front of Phil. "I have that report you wanted here."

"I wanted to know the exact numbers," Phil clarified.

"Ah, yes," the man said, flipping through some of the papers. "So that's... three point fifty seven."

"Million, I presume?" Phil asked in fear.

"Yes, yes, of course. 3.57 million US Dollars in the account."

Phil released a sigh. "What has changed since last month?"

"We've used roughly 300,000 for the shipment of AK's that arrived this morning, about 140,000 for maintenance cost and petrol, and about 30,000 for the new sights Nicolas and his guys asked. We've also gained about 180 thousand from CMP operations -"

"Drugs?" Phil interrupted.

"Yes."

"Okay then," Phil said, "can you tell them we need a bit of help now? With the new operations on the island, and with Atnaians and Vancouvians all around, we're expected to run dry in a few months, and right when we should actually increase our efforts. Tell them that if they want to keep this operation alive, they must send... at least another million. Either that, or we would have to diminish our manpower here and start to let down informants. Remind them what happened the last time we had to do that."

"I understand. I'll tell them."

"Thanks."

[Athara Magarat]

National Assembly
New Libang, Athara Magarat

Forty-one heads sat around the large table to discuss their next phase of plans. The notable absentee was Majipa, who was in a place far away from mainland Athara Magarat.

"I must say our pawns Natalie Darkwall and Joseph Blaze did a nice job." Hang Bipan Tiwari, the Minister of Science and Technology smiled.

"Don't be a fool, my friend. There are no one's pawns. This time it was our planning. Who knows what will happen in their planning?" questioned Hang Omit Shrestha, the Minister of Defense.

"If you are done with arguing, we move to our discussions." Prime Minister Pramit Thapa Magar, the leader of the National Assembly spoke out loud. "Anyone?"

"Prime Minister," Hangma Raji Gurung, the mayor of New Libang rose from her seat. The Prime Minister nodded. "The next phase should be AMI sending more of their lackies to San Javier in a rescue operation. However it is a fact that Athara Magarat does not have the necessary performing such a rescue operation on San Javier, at least the government does not. So we will now advise the Hang to secretly send a call to Covonant."

"Why not Atnaia?" asked Hangma Sachita Karki of the now defunct navy.

"Are you serious? We are doing this whole operation to undermine Atnaia's imperial powers and you ask that we request help from them? Wessich is a chessmaster. He will surely send ANIA agents on the rescue operation and it will not be long before he figure out what is happening." Hangma Raji Gurung replied.

"What about Bhikkustan? Even though the recent incident of asylum to their exiled Khan Survei and his family, there is still no love lost between Athara Magarati sister and her Bhikkustani brother." stated Hangma Sistata Thapa.

"Maybe but they are far away from San Javier. It will take them time to arrive here, take our rescuers and then go to San Javier."

"And Bhumidol? It's the nearest nation to San Javier." Hang Dipesh Rana Magar, the Minister of Transportation claimed as he looked at the Map of the Isles.

"It will be better if we leave Bhumidol out of our shady business," the Prime Minister gave the final decision. "We will send those videos to Covonant, our allies in the Cooperative Union. Let's say that this is a CU rescue operation. Furthermore, we will request working secretly on the rescue operation so that the Athara Magarati public does not know. I believe the Covish people are generous enough to listen to our cries, unlike the ever-vigilant amoral Atnaians. And in the meanwhile, let us send those videos to Bhikkustan and other communist nations. But believe me, if we go too deep into this as communists our other neighbors will start suspecting the socialist state of Mesder."

[Corindia]

The Western Oronas Mountains, San Javier
Colonel Arlo Trujan had been stationed in San Javier for three years. In those three years he'd dealt with logistical headaches, untrustworthy allies, and incessant guerrilla warfare, but the situation never failed to worsen. His soldiers, as well as the men of Azul Naturaleza, were ambushed with alarming frequency, enemy forays into the Oronas Mountains had gotten bolder, and now someone in the ranks was siphoning off Corindi weapons to sell to anybody who would buy them, and in the lawless jungles of San Javier, that meant everyone.

He looked around his tent. It was empty; all of his aides had left either to sleep or to go to the simple canteen that was erected two years ago due to give the soldiers something to do other than sample San Javier's wide selection of women and opiates. As the Corindi soldiers stayed longer and longer, they had built up quite a camp. There was a movie theater, composed of mismatched chairs and a projector in a tent, a small general store, and even a tent with a satellite connection that allowed the men to video-call their family. Overall though, it was still the same overgrown, muddy piece of land that it was when they first arrived.

His fears that the weapons were being stolen, not just lifted off of fallen Azul Naturaleza footsoldiers, or Cruzados as they had taken to calling themselves, were confirmed earlier that morning by the report of a young Lieutenant who simply tried to buy one from a local machinist, who would certainly not be inclined to reveal his source. The serial numbers were not filed off yet, and the Lieutenant was able to identify it as belonging to a recent shipment. Previously, the weapons that had been found turned against the Cruzados and Corindi soldiers had their numbers carefully filed off, and they had not been found in great quantities. Valos Perido had little trust for foreigners, even those assisting him, and previously Colonel Trujan did not have the damning evidence he needed to convince him to allow a proper investigation of the Cartel for the source of the theft. Trujan suspected it was Perido's reluctance to show the Corindi brass the extent to which the Azul Naturaleza was involved in and profited from the opium trade. The Azul Naturaleza claimed to be a Iza Nationalist group, and to some extent, a large extent even, it was. It was also growing as many poppies as it could. Perido knew it, Trujan knew it, everyone knew it. It was just in the shadows, and the Corindi soldiers did their best to tell themselves that they were fighting alongside the lesser evil of many, many evils.

Regardless, it couldn't be an open secret forever. With this new information, Colonel Trujan was sure that Perido would have no choice but to acknowledge his concerns. Before he could approach Perido however, he was going to discuss his next move with the leader of the Azul Naturaleza's Cruzados, Poma Uyananche. Uyananche was a fiery Izaca nationalist and he valued military gains over profit, something which made him one of the few Azul Naturaleza commanders who would give remotely helpful counsel.

Trujan picked up his satellite phone and called Uyananche.

[Vancouvia]

Vesuvius, Vancouvia
Senate Building

"For goodness sake, the man is 59 years old and hates land. Yet you want to send him to a desert?!" Senator Jiao Wan's voice echoed throughout the chamber, the other Senators giving him the quiet he deserved. "You all know how much respect I have for Harold, but I'm sure you understand why I want to send Marshal Roberts."

"We have been over this, Jiao," said Senator Wheat. "This rail project is strictly a VNA operation. Heck, we shouldn't even have the VNA over there. But if you want something done right..."

"It's not a VNA operation anymore; that is my point," said Jiao, standing and walking around the pulpit circle. "Not since we authorized a full cohort to go defend the line. Not since they touched down and have already set up their tents."

"We see your point," said Richard Webb, Wheat's ally. "But General Storm is a much better face for this operation... What is it we're calling this again... ah yes, Steel Oasis. Who came up with that one, again?"

The Senators murmured to themselves while Jiao walked around the circle once more. "I concede," he said finally, flinging his hands in the air and returning to his seat, a usual custom for Senators when they exhaust their argument and realize continuing is futile.

"So it's proposed: General Storm will be chief in command of San Javier operations. All present, vote now," said Speaker George Pastel.

After a short minute, the electronic votes were tallied and displayed. 19 Yes, 6 No, 1 Abstain.

"Who abstained?" asked Jiao, looking over towards Pastel.

"Eva Driscoll, absent since yesterday."

"Very well."

"Moving on to the matter of the missing plane over the Four Passages..." transitioned Pastel, while the Senators shuffled their papers and made ready for yet another matter.

-

And thus General Harold Storm, sleeping in his small cottage by the sea, was awoken by orders to sail south again, this time further than he had ever gone before, down to the desert where ships don't sail and trains don't run, with orders to fix the latter.

---

[Freedomnonia]

Looking over the vast, serene coast of southeastern Isla San Javier, Mr. Omar Abdelrahman took a deep breath, and exhaled. This was going to, someday, be a prime resort location, if only the pesky communists and various dictatorships of the region would somehow...disappear. His company, Chico's Inc., was heavily invested in resorts all around the Western Isles. San Javier had proven to be the one spot on the map where the considerable influence of his company could not reach.

Fortunately, certain factions on the island were in a position such that corporate influence could be used. As the Freedomnonian public was outraged over various (and somewhat exaggerated) human rights violations, and many expatriate communities had settled on the island, all that had to be done was to get the Freedomnonian government behind either indirect intervention or a limited invasion; just enough to secure the ground he was on and the surrounding area.

Of course, that area stretched from Agustin to the westernmost point on the island, but what was a few miles between friends? Besides, it wasn't as if a few additional lost Freedomnonian lives would matter in the long run.

Omar took out his satellite phone and called the Home Office. His report was nothing but positive.

[Helvetea]

(Tag, post inbound. Intending to set up in a small mountain village)

[Covonant]

Cabinet Room-Palatine Manor

The Prime Minister called a secret emergency meeting in the Cabinet Room at the Palatine Manor. Invited to the meeting are the Minister of Defense Batiatus Sula, and the Chief of Defense Staff General Cladio Machelli. Marcus Quintus was also among them seemingly influencing the Prime Minister to make this issue important. They were discussing Covonant's entry into the San Javier situation when the Director of the Intelligence and Data Centre (IDC) Lucius Frith entered the Cabinet Room.

"Apologies for my late arrival Prime Minister. Minister Sula, General Cladio I had not known you would have been present." Expressed Mr. Frith

"I took the liberty to invite them to give me well needed advise Mr. Frith. Have a seat we are well advance in discussions of using the Keomorans as aid to place ourselves in San Javier." the Pm replied

"Prime Minister I have just received a video file from the Athara Magaratis that may change your mind on the Keomorans." As Mr. Frith sat down he took out his laptop and placed it in the centre of the table for all present to see the video that was sent.
After viewing the video the mood in the room was tense. Mr. Frith expressed that the Athara Magaratis are requesting for Covonant's assistance in recovering the individuals.

Marcus Quintus began laughing hysterically with tears beginning to protrude from his eye.

"What is so funny Marcus, we just watched someone being murdered. I don't find the joke in that" exclaimed Mr. Frith

"I am sorry" Marcus replied while wiping his eyes. "Its just that at every turn opportunity presents itself" Marcus replied

"What do you mean" Asked the Pm

"Can't you see, the Athara Magaratis gives us ample reason to get involved. We could go under the guise of a rescue operation as they asked. We could go as the CU or better yet the C6." Advised Marcus

"And who are you to give that advise. Prime Minister, the Cooperative Union does not have a military arm, and the C6 getting tangled up in this is sure to destroy its image as being an interventionist organisation. I say we assist the allies with Covonantian troops to make this a Covonantian operation as we do not control the CU nor the C6 and that would mean getting other states that does not care about San Javier being involved. With your permission I could get 20 men to lead the Covonantian rescue operations on the island." Advised the General

"Only 20 General. I'd double that if I were you. I mean come on that is far less than a battalion and far lesser than a regiment. At least 100 would suffice." Expressed Marcus

"And why so much, we are not going to fight Marcus, we are aiding the Athara Magaratis." reminded Minister Batiatus.

"Ahh to hell with the Athara Magaratis, Imperatus, do not lose focus that they should only be the tool we use to get in. I have figured this out, if we send 100 men to "aid" in the rescuing of foreigners, Mr. Frith could send at least 3 of his finest agents to make moves on the drug cartels. You know befriend them or something." Expressed Marcus

The Prime Minister was a man who cherished his friendship with Marcus, and was willing to support his plans if they had reason.

"Mr. Frith do you have a map of the island. I still don't know what this place looks like." Asked the Pm

"Yes sir. I have one on my laptop."

Mr. Frith quickly closed the video file and opened an image of San Javier.

"Gentlemen, the area marked in green represents the proposed crash site of the Athara Magarati aircraft, that is where our rescue team will be landed. The yellow line represents the area/city where the Anliana Cartels are based. Those are the drug cartels we hope to 'partner' with. and the blue area represents where the proposed poppy fields are located." Informed Mr. Frith

"General, gather 80 of your best men and women"
"Imperatus only 80?" shouted Marcus

"Marcus I know what I am doing. Let me remind you that your position is safe, if this blows up, I would have a scandalous corruption operation to answer to. In other words I would be fucked. As I said General, 80 of your best men and women. Among them Mr. Frith would recommend one of his finest agent to be a part of the group. I believe they could land in the Monte Santa Ana area, my problem is how we would get the agent to the other side of the island. Any suggestions? "Asked the Pm

"We could secretly fly him to Anliana while we have the 79 go to the mountains Sir. Its not that the San Javierans have technologies to shoot planes out of the air, and if they do we could respond." Advised Mr. Frith

"No Mr. Frith, if they do we can't. That would raise suspicion as to why we are there. We can't risk that. The best route is by vehicle. The roads are horrible and it would be a long hot ride, but it would be a bit safer. I have some connections on the island that could provide transportation, possibly a translator as well as a few security." Advised the General

"Okay, your advise is well appreciated General. Mr. Frith see to it that the IDC prepares some San Javieran papers just to prevent identity and our presence. Now gentlemen I trust you will all work post-haste in this. Now If you all will excuse me. I am sure you are all aware of the Bhikkustani refugee crisis and Covonant is expected to response. I have that pressing matter to attend to. Good day gentlemen" The Prime Minister informed

"Prime Minister" the men responded in unison

With that the Pm exited the Cabinet Room.

[Noronica]

Afternoon, Noronnican Refugee Camp (Rio Del Rosario) - 1800 hours

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. God. Why the hell wasn’t this god damn chicken crossing the road? He’d tapped his phone something between 40-50 times!

His obsession began with his son’s influence who was at his wits end trying to move his father into the ‘modern age’, as he called it. ‘Pah!’ he though in a rather disgruntled manner, he would catch up with his son one day. Anyway, he had a vastly more important job to do.
Sighing, he slipped his phone comfortably into his jacket pocket as he heard the chaos of helicopter blades above him slow to an eventual halt. Abruptly standing up, he whisked his decrepit messenger bag onto his equally weathered shoulders and mentally prepared for the overwhelming heat of San Javier. Rocking his shoulders back and plastering on a fake grin, he slid his helicopter door open and quickly made his way to a small group of people a few metres ahead of him.

Looking around, he noticed how well organised the camp was. The tents were neatly arranged for ease of access and were almost set up with rulers they were so precise. He also glanced momentarily at the walls encompassing the tented town which gave the place a medieval air to it. To him anyway. God, he’d listened to too many of his son’s Dungeons and Dragons sessions.

When he got within communication radius with the group, he grinned tiredly but assuredly and stuck his rigid arm out to the first to greet him. A woman of about thirty years old, dressed in dusty jeans and a grey sweat covered t-shirt spoke first, “Hello! I’m the coordinator for the refugee team. You must be Mister Quentin Terino? I’ve heard about your work! I am honoured to meet such a person! Welcome to your new home for the next month.” The woman beamed and introduced herself as Miranda Yern. Quentin had no issue with her, other than her overly-jubilant attitude and punchy sentences which hit him hard under the glaring heat and the extremely long journey. Finishing his pleasantries, he was shown to his own tent and his own ensuite bathroom which was a pleasant surprise.
How much money went into this? He thought as he observed the room. He had a neatly ordered bookcase in the corner of the room, a comfortable bed tucked away in the corner nearest to the ensuite, a painting of a San Javier town painted with careful precision, and a coffee table sitting next to a plush red chair placed rather haphazardly in the centre. The chair was mystery to his mind as everything else was placed with military caution while it stood rather proudly in its own position like an ugly-duckling. A few ideas popped into his head, the most prominent one was that bubbly Miranda who may have thought sitting in ‘his’ chair would some how give her some credibility. Sighing yet again, he placed his bag on the chair and flopped onto the bed, no longer caring about preserving the room’s tidiness.

After a quick nap, Quentin rose, showered, dressed, and ate a small meal of military rations which were issued to the camp. Walking outside, he watched the residents of the camp rise to collect rations. Deciding against following the marching populace, he diverted his route to the centre tent where meetings were commencing.

Stepping into the tent, all the eyes were drawn to him. He smiled and took his place at the obviously empty chair directly in front of him. A rather pompous-looking man glanced up at him and curled his lips upwards in a manner that suggested disgruntled authority. The only humorous part of the man was the Australian beaded hat perched precariously on his head. Sitting down, Quentin listened to the man speak,
“Your late. I would have expected our resident ‘celebrity' to be on time. Especially one with your ‘capabilities’.”
“I deeply apologise, I was just enjoying reading the whole of War and Peace while listening to Mahler’s Symphony Number 3.” Quentin said rather arrogantly, much to the chagrin of the man glaring fire at him. The suppressed chuckles around the room suggested that the gathered group needed to see the man being put down a notch.
“Rather than play games, ‘Mr Terino’ I suggest we get to the first order of business. What has the government and Overlord Tytus given us?”
“You have been given a detachment of 800 Nyssic Division troops as well as the NOS Gwynon, a frigate that will be stationed at the mouth of Rio Del Rosario. New supplies and some journalists are being sent here as well, wishing to make a documentary on the people of San Javier. These detachments are only a few hours behind me.”
An audible gasp filled the room as everyone turned to look at each other. Miranda was the first to speak,
“Eight…hundred?! I didn’t realise that the situation warranted such an amount! If this is the amount being sent, the journalists may have a lot more to document!”
The groups now looked slightly worried, the older - more experienced looking relieved. Quentin knew that they had anticipated the continued escalation of involvement on the small island nation. This was only the beginning. The meeting continued in this manner of excited chatter and some input from Quentin who observed everyone in the room carefully, making sure to document who his new allies would be.

2358 hours

Quentin awoke to the sound of the violently churning blades of chinooks and the sounds of armoured vehicles moving into the camp. He quickly threw on some clothes and shaved, ready to face the new force.

Once outside, he noticed the leader of the Nyssic force. He wore wolf tribal colours, suggesting he came from a southern Nyssic village. He was grizzled and had a dangerous manner about him, he also walked with purpose, an obvious soldier. Recognising Quentin, the bear of a man stomped over. Grinning, the man spoke a Nyssic greeting,
“Gwaen Faw Naey!”
Quentin repeated the greeting and the man crushed him in a hug,
“I missed you Quentin. It has been so long since we fought together!” the man said, whacking Quentin in the arm.
“I appreciate that Wernen. I left the army once the rebellion was over. I needed to give something back.”
“Ah yes, what is it you went into? Engineering? Politics? I can never remember! For all I know, you could be the Overlord now!”
“Hah!” Quentin shouted incredulously, "No, Overlord is a little too far methinks. Instead, I went into diplomacy.”
“Ah… eh… no offence Quentin, but, why are you here? The camp doesn’t need a diplomat.” Wernen said, confusion painted all over his face.
Ah. He hadn’t been told. Probably safer if not many people knew. Noronica needed oil, so it wanted to research the oil reserves here in San Javier. Quentin was here to negotiate terms, if the amount of oil was a desired amount for corporations. He and a few others understood this as it took great advantage over the situation; with Noronica providing support to the people of San Javier, it would be a great time to start negotiating ‘deals’. Rather surprisingly, the President of San Javier was reluctantly accepting of the peaceful humanitarian mission, albeit a tad miffed at the prospect of ‘support’ for his ‘failing’ country. This had made it easier for the government to be granted permission to build a camp. Several of Noronica’s best oil experts were travelling to San Javier as they spoke, making Quentin feel rather nervous as only select people knew about this ‘alteration’.

Deciding against spilling state secrets, Quentin smiled, offered Wernen a drink and vaguely spoke about what was going on, never touching on the camp’s strategic position.

Right next to oil.

[Vancouvia]

Javieran Steppe

Captain Marco Rodriguez stood with his aides on the highway, close by the railroad's base camp. Despite his best efforts, the stench of the camp was unable to be scrubbed off of his uniform, and the mud of the steppe had glossed firmly over his boots. He sighed, but then let it go. This was a good day, a proud day, a day long due. Today he would finally greet the reinforcements he had asked for for the past four years.

"It's them!" shouted one of his aides in excitement, as he peered down his binoculars.

A long convoy soon halted right in front of them: a full cohort of VSF, a contingent of engineers, several trucks full of needed tools and materials, and VSF Major Tyler Anderson, now the senior officer on the island.

"Sir," stated Rodriguez as he snapped to attention and saluted the major. Anderson stepped out of his vanguard jeep and saluted back, then walked straight over to the captain.

"Captain Marco Rodriguez, VNA, pleasure to see you sir," said Marco as he held out his hand.

Anderson gave him a good, firm handshake. "The pleasure is mine, Captain. I see you have been made aware of our arrival."

"Yes, sir," said Marco with enthusiasm. "Got some smoke signals the other day."

Anderson laughed and signaled his troops to being the long process of unloading. "Walk with me, will you?"

Marco nodded and the two turned back towards the convoy, walking among the hurried engineers and soldiers dutifully unloading the trucks and jeeps. "I've been made aware of your status, Captain. I must say, for the supplies and men you have, I am most impressed you have gotten this amount done."

"Thank you, sir," replied Marco kindly. "And with your presence I believe we are on the home stretch at last."

"Yes, hopefully so," said the Major. "Marco, I hope we can be informal with each other. You see, I am in quite an awkward position. I outrank you, yet only for a short-while. Congress has sent Storm down to us on the VS Freedom, and thus they have decided this is to be a VNA operation."

"You're worried about your men?"

"Yes, exactly. I know General Storm well, I trust the man, but with all due respect, I believe that VSF can more effectively lead VSF."

The duo stepped over a wide crack in the road, then continued on. "I aim to agree with you, sir, but I believe you'll have to bring that up with the General himself. As for my men, they are yours to command, of course."

"Thank you, Captain, but that won't be necessary. I believe you're in the best position to sort out the engineers. Speaking of which, I would greatly value a current status report."

Marco complied. "Our track from the capital to Rio Pena is roughly 80% complete. My workforce has consisted up to this point of locals, most of whom are being somewhat coerced into this role by the government. I have tried to be good to them, but there is only so much I can do with what I have." Marco looked over to Anderson to see if he should continue. "The biggest problem we face is the cartels and gangs that plague us at every point along the line. It's hard enough keeping our forward camp secure from thieves and criminals, but we also have to maintain some semblance of security across both the highway and line so that we can transport materials, supplies, and workers back and forth. And I'm sure you're now aware of the state of the highway. In short, Major, your arrival was like an early Christmas."

"And with Santa soon on his way," smiled the Major, referring to General Storm. "Thank you for the information, Captain. I believe I have a plan of action in mind. My cohort and I will see about making a series of checkpoints along the highway, see if we can't scare off these gangs with a bit of a show of force. In addition, we can buff up the security here in the camp and begin conducting S&D patrols along the perimeter."

"Search and destroy, Major?" questioned Captain Marco. "Have you cleared all this with the President, sir?"

"Not me personally, no. But Congress has been after him for months to start pitching in more with the defense here. Between you and me, I'm not so sure the President is all too happy with all these foreign troops swarming the countryside. But beggars can't be choosers, as the saying goes..."

"No, trust me, I know that all too well, sir."

The major smiled and they changed directions towards the base camp. "I'd love to take a look at the base."

"Major, I've got a warm cola with your name on it."

[Freedomnonia]

1400, next day

Prime Minister Karim Abadi's office was somewhat small and simple, especially in comparison to the majesty of the building it resided in. The legislative hall had stood for nearly 2 centuries. Built by the original colonists, surviving multiple guerilla wars, and now serving as the main governmental building, the hall had seen its fair share. Now, the various lobbyists and representatives were about their daily business, calmly walking up the steps to the building.

Minister Abadi was waiting for one such person. The CEO of Chico's, Inc, had scheduled a meeting the previous day. It was apparently a matter of great importance. Seeing the man, Abadi made final preparations for the meeting.

2 minutes later, the CEO, Johann Hortensia, walked confidently into the office.

"Good afternoon sir, how are you?" Said Hortensia

"Ready to hear what this meeting is about" Replied Abadi

"Ah yes. San Javier"

"What about it"

"You see, we all know that there are pristine coastlines along the western coast of the island. We also know of the many HR violations and poor state of refugees. I propose sending in a small force to secure 10 miles of the coast and set up refugee camps"

"What's your stake?"

"We get the land for resorts"

"You can't seriously think I will send in troops for that"

"I do", said Hortensia, slowly sliding a non-descript packet to Abadi

Abadi opened the packet, read the first few papers, and went ghostly white.

"Corruption scandals, in my department?" He said with a shaky voice

"Thats just a small part of them. Of course, we can send you all the copies and the originals if you agree to what I discussed. I'm sure the implications are clear if that does not happen."

"I...I'll need a few moments. Expect a call by 1700."

Hortensia walked out, knowing he had Abadi by the ear.