The Widowmaker's Lair (MT|IC)

by **Palmyrion** » Tue Jul 31, 2018 3:37 am

The Widowmaker's Lair: For A Miracle, Sacrifices
Here, you can only survive...or die trying.

"So long as there are men, there will be wars."
-Albert Einstein

Thematic Listening: Les Friction - World on Fire |The OOC thread, where all OOC matters are to be discussed.

The northern half of Palmyrion has been dubbed by many historians as The Palmyrian Widowmaker's Lair - and, with a little explanation about its place in Palmyrian geopolitics and history, it is easy to understand why.

Its soils have been watered and fed by the blood and flesh of countless Palmyrian men and women who died by the constant warfare that embattled the place. The Ten Kingdoms War between the first ten kingdoms on Palmyrion kept a river of blood running for nearly 1000 years straight, making it perhaps one of the longest-lasting conflicts in world history - and the bloodiest ever conflict in Palmyrion history, with death toll estimates sometimes reaching 250,000,000 all over the Palmyrian mainland, accumulated over 1000 years. The Unification War swept across the northern half of Palmyrion during the last 20 years of the conflict, with an estimated 40,000,000-50,000,000 - half of them being casualties on the northern half of Palmyrion - being killed nationwide during the Unification War as a whole. The Spanish fought rebellions here and there for almost the entire duration of their subjugation of the Palmyrian nation-state. The War of Inquisition was fought between the Lardite Semi-Enclave and the Royal Confederacy during 1840-1856, resulting into the death of 100,000,000 Palmyrians, of which were included 75,000,000 Lardite cultists. The Dark Era was marked by Palmyrion's four civil wars, with the Dark Era as a whole killing 125,000,000 Palmyrians.

However, the carnage didn't end there.

Ultranationalist and Islamist rebellions rocked the entire country on 1992 and 1996, respectively, resulting into the infant Royal Commonwealth ramping up armaments production at the expense of the civilian consumers' satiation until an uneasy truce was found. The Islamist rebellion concluded with the elimination of the Islamic State of the Romani-Mar'si Union on 2016 after 20 years of fighting and 4,000,000 deaths; the Ultranationalist rebellion ended on 2017 after 25 years of fighting and 5,000,000 deaths, with the primary turning point being a year-long offensive.

The world thought the curse of the Widowmaker's Lair would end here, hoping that the region would finally stabilize and lose its infamous name after a long period of reconciliation, reconstruction, and revitalization. They were wrong.

From the ashes of the wars fought in northern Palmyrion emerged more demons no better than their Islamist and Ultranationalist predecessors. Organized crime syndicates found an opportunity for profit among the lawless rubble, in brazen defiance of the law and in expense of the innocent; the remnants of and successors to the Islamist and Ultranationalist causes rose from the ashes, bestowing new life and rejuvenation upon old and battle-worn spiteful souls; finally, at a time when the Union thought the Lardite threat was completely erased from history, the knowledge of which was relegated only to classified highly-restricted data vaults in the Union, rebels sympathizing with the Vile Lard's cause started to join in on the chaos.

The Royal Commonwealth, through heavy-handed measures by the Civil Defense Force and the Royal Armed Forces in remote outposts scattered over the area, is fighting back with significant difficulty to secure the region and put an end to the cycle of bloodshed - or fail trying; progress in doing so would be considered minimal at best, much of it at a relatively narrow strip of land separating the area from the rest of the country, and a cape just 1,000km away from the island of Palawan. Its support for local defense militias, themselves already struggling to maintain effective manpower and firepower levels as the conflict is burning through their ranks and armories, is shrinking by the day, and more and more CDF and Royal Armed Forces service personnel - or what were left of them that were recoverable from the newborn but ever-worsening carnage - are coming back home as increasingly mutilated corpses in body bags. The Central Intelligence Directorate is now working overtime to help the Royal Commonwealth make sense of these rising threats, with the only semblance of progress being a summarization of the groups' ideologies:

Ethnic ultranationalists | Modern-day Palmyrion is a hodgepodge of ethnic groups ranging from the descendants of Nifonese immigrants, to ethnic Marshite and Romandeans who found home in their fellow Union nation, to the sociocultural ethnic groups that called Palmyrion home since the dawn of civilization on Palmyrion. While these sociocultural ethnic groups have since then buried their hatchets to collaborate for a prosperous Palmyrian nation-state, that doesn't mean they don't know where they buried their hatchets - and they might even decide to dig them up.
Islamist groups | "Allahu Akbar" is the chant, the Qur'an is the book, and Allah is God. Yet two major schools of religious thought in the Islamic world still fight among themselves who among them is the more correct version of Islam: is it Sunni Islam, or Shi'a Islam? While in the rest of Palmyrion these two have learned to peacefully coexist (even in the war-torn Sultan Osmalik island), in the northern half of Palmyrion they are still engaging in a seemingly never-ending sectarian conflict glazed with blood and jeweled with heavily mangled bodies.
Organized crime syndicates | All they care about is profiteering at the expense of the defenseless and the innocent, in brazen defiance of the law. They profit from illicit operations such as, among others, drug trafficking, human trafficking, and the illegal weapons trade. All that one needs to do to join their ranks is to choose their poison, start their illicit operations, and violently teach a lesson to those who compete with them or interfere in their operations - and they won't stop at even divine intervention.
Loyalist militias | The Royal Commonwealth feeds, arms, trains, and pays them to fight the other three. However, they're outgunned and undermanned, but somehow they make ends meet. Their reliability in the service of the Palmyrian nation-state, though seemingly promising and proven, must keep up with ever-evolving threats and odds.
The Others | Wildcards, with their own ideologies, causing a gaping hole in the CID's intelligence. By the time CID knows their intentions and activities, they are already entangled in the conflict, trapped in a catch-22 about how to safely withdraw from the conflict should the need arise.

The government is now more pressured than ever to put an end to the millenia-old bloodshed in the region - and some have become dissatisfied with the lack of a long-term, if not permanent, solution for the problem. Putting an end to the seemingly perpetual bloodshed in the region would require that excruciating sacrifices be made.

”If you could trade, would you? Surely. But all miracles...require sacrifice. For their life... yours.”
-Ballas, Warframe

IN THE LAST EPISODE...

21 July 2018
The Throne Chamber, Royal Citadel
Benevolencia, D.A., Royal Palmyrian Commonwealth
Greater Dienstad

The Royal Citadel stood a squat, sprawling walled complex not much taller than the rest of the capital city, occupying nearly 500 hectares of land: governmental offices, barracks for the local security forces, and of course the main keep, standing atop a sprawling hill, were the contents of the high-security complex.

The main keep was where the Royal Family lived, and it didn’t look like a medieval-age castle keep, but rather a squat Space Age-looking manor made of reinforced concrete, steel, and glass, with decorative cladding covering the keep. The Throne Chamber was not a literal throne room, but rather a rather fancy name for the young Lakán’s office: a room where he slept, bathed, cooked, worked, and played. The “throne”, you ask? It’s just a high-end gaming table complete with a high-end gaming chair, a recall to his Crown Prince days as an avid gamer and an academic powerhouse all the same. Ironically, there is a commoner that can, at the approval of the Lakán, freely enter the main keep and into the throne room: a commoner by the name of Elizabeth Cristal, the Lakán’s fiancee and thus the future Lakambini to this Lakán.

This gaming desk ought to be home for a cutting-edge gaming rig, but instead was home to stacks of papers, office supplies, a high-end gaming laptop which the Lakán maintains with his own pocket money. The gaming chair was the throne of the Bad Boy King of Greater Dienstad; Alexander Santiago II, perhaps a young king who had less inclination to follow royal etiquette, sporting a rebellious bad-boy persona with dashing looks and a nubile physique to match, a strange break from the stoic formality of the region’s politicians.

The Lakán was busy sifting through stacks of bills and policy proposals when he was called for via the government chat program on his laptop. ”Your Majesty, the meeting in the Strategic Discussion Room is about to start.” said a rather electronic, but nonetheless human, voice. It was the Chancellor, a woman by the name of Katerina Defensor. The Lakán immediately stopped what he was doing and immediately went up and gone to the Strategic Discussion room: first, putting his laptop on sleep mode, then donning a combo of suit, tie, and matching pants, afterwards wearing a pair of formal shoes; afterwards, he brought with him his cellphone, not forgetting to lock his room and turn off the lights before he left for the Discussion Room.

He walked through the Main Keep’s marble floored halls, graced by minimalistic decor on the walls and ceilings - the Main Keep was perhaps a futuristic and minimalistic, if not bare-bones, building in the center of the Royal Citadel. He descended all the way down below the Earth, into a hardened bunker capable of withstanding a direct hit from a surface 10Mt nuclear blast buried deep beneath the Earth: the Strategic Vault.

He entered the Room, and was met by the gazes of the Vice-Chancellors of State Affairs, Warfare, and Interior and Local Government. Mainscreen on the 8K UHD TV was a force tracking map overlaid on a political map, a barebones pixel painting of a black background dissected endlessly by several lines and shapes primarily of green. Almost half the Army and Aerospace Forces were poised to move into the region and flood it with well-spread forces covering the area and scouring for any sign of militant dissent.

The Lakán walked to his seat and began with a greeting to initiate the meeting. ”Greetings, everyone. Let us all begin the meeting. We may now be seated.” the Lakán said, with everyone sitting down on the comfy office chairs. ”The agenda for this meeting is, as we know it, the jeopardized nuclear arsenal. Over 50 silos, each with 10 warheads and missile delivery systems, are at risk.”

The Lakán was no longer distraught. He had heard this n times before, and his mind was already highly conditioned to it. With half the military stationed and poised to move into the area again, this was a problem whose solutions had ever increasing risk and ever shrinking benefit, and the Lakán needed to decide fast - and correctly so - before the situation devolved into a point where all victory, at least for the government side, was purely Pyrrhic.

”Alright, plan C. This time, we bring nuclear armaments specialists. We no longer airlift the warheads out - they are too risky to airlift. Render everything valuable disabled and unsalvageable. Special forces would do the surgical work.” the Lakán said, inaudibly exhaling a puff of distraughtness underneath his nostrils.

”That would entail more risk than ever before. I understand that we need to bring specialists who can assist with the disabling of the silos, missiles, warheads, the whole nine yards of our jeopardized nuclear arsenal. But I want to remind you, Your Majesty: you are doing the largest mobilization of our country’s elite special forces. At best this mission would be a Pyrrhic victory.” the Director-General of the Special Forces Directorate replied, with a tone of skepticism so as to warn the Lakán of inevitably large losses for the nation’s elite infantry force.

”What makes you think so of Palmyrion's most discreet and most skilled fighting force?” the Lakán replied, reflecting with a tone the rising contempt in the Strategic Discussion Room.

”Sure, they are the most skilled and most discreet, but they are vastly outnumbered against technologically equal enemies. the SFD Director-General said.

”The loyalist militias can only provide so much help - the CDF has been slowly decreasing their budget while the threats they face are becoming ever more dangerous. That's a death spiral for them. the Vice-Chancellor of Interior and Local Government said.

”If funding is the problem, then we can let them draw from the defense-wide spending. We can pull armaments from our reserve stock to airlift to them.” the Lakán said.

”Welcome me not into this world of ever-increasing budget deficits, Your Majesty. The Department of Warfare is earning just enough to sustain the bloated military your dad built.” the Vice-Chancellor of Warfare contemptuously replied.

”Ah well look who is leading the department with the largest rainy day savings and yearly surplus. The War Department’s yearly surplus is also large in the order of billions.” the Lakán contemptuously shot back. The room was already beginning to devolve into a horrible chaotic mess, and the Lakán and the Vice-Chancellor of Warfare began all this. An indicator of Palmyrion’s ever-growing and ever-groaning cycle of internal chaos in the midst of wanting a sovereign country for the Palmyrian ethnocultural nation couldn’t be more stellar than this.

The Vice-Chancellor of Warfare sighed. ”Now, at this rate, the question here is whether or not the Warfare Department will run out of surplus and rainy day savings, but when. Remember that Your Majesty. Just tell me when we start funnelling funds off the Departments of Social Welfare and Healthcare.” the VCW said.

”I will, Esteemed Vice-Chancellor. I will see to it that we finish this mess before we get to that devolvement.” the Lakán said, afterwards turning to the rest of the assembly. ”Plan as it stands right now is to perform our largest special forces deployment, to disable the warheads, missile delivery systems, and silos. The entire nine yards, basically.” the Lakán said calm and stern.

”When do we divert funding, Your Majesty?” the Vice-Chancellor of Warfare sarcastically asked, to which the Lakán answered, with a stern tone: ”Not. Yet.”

28 July 2018 0300 PST
Fort Makiling
Mt. Makiling, 500m ASL
Los Baños, Laguna
Royal Palmyrian Commonwealth
Greater Dienstad

Thematic Listening: Mick Gordon - Eisenwald Breakout

The heavy downpour raged over the rapid deployable military shelters on Fort Makiling as the soldiers made their preparations for perhaps the largest deployment of Special Forces troops by Palmyrion...in Palmyrion. With almost a fifth of the special forces’ combatant units being deployed, this was an high-risk, all-or-nothing mission; the stakes were high, and the rewards even higher, as almost half of Palmyrion’s nuclear arsenal was at stake.

Around a large multi-purpose gymnasium, a large mass of soldiers huddled together close to the stage as another soldier briefed them on the incoming mission. A special forces deployment of this scale was never before seen in Palmyrian military history, if not the world, and they had to make it count - and Shane Angeli Baldonado, perhaps the Special Forces Directorate’s youngest operator at the age of 19, would soon have her first taste of action.

”Welcome to Operation Lost Quiver.” the soldier said through the gym’s PA system as he pointed to a board using a laser pointer. The board had a live satellite map projected upon it, and on it was an overlay of words, shapes, and lines representing Palmyrian major military units and installations. ”This is an effort to disable the warheads, missile delivery systems, and silos, to render them inoperable and unsalvageable.” he added.

Later on he continued with the plan. ”All Raider teams, you are to insert via HALO into contested territory, far away from the silo. You will rendezvous with various loyalist militia forces and the on-site silo security forces, then proceed to the silos for rendezvous with the crew. Nuclear weapons specialists will be there to assist with the disabling and destruction of the necessary systems by you, the militia men, the silo security forces, the silo crew, and the specialists. Once the destruction is deemed complete, you are to rendezvous to the nearest military facility or major civilian settlement for debriefing and possible extraction. We are to head towards the Protectorate of Palawan for final pre-mission checks and briefings before we insert into enemy territory. Are we clear?” the soldier sternly said in a raised volume.

”Sir, yes sir!” the soldiers said in a booming baritone voice, the only oddball in the crowd being Baldonado - then the only female soldier in the entirety of Fort Makiling, with her soprano voice somewhat breaking the baritone harmony of the orchestra.

Later on they headed to trucks and vehicles that took them to a nearby air base, which would take them to the Protectorate of Palawan.

28 July 2018 0600 PST
Cape Vigan, Western Ilocos
Royal Palmyrian Commonwealth
Greater Dienstad

Thematic Listening: Henry Jackman - The Medallion

PVT Jason Aguaras woke up to the very first rays of that day striking his face through the building’s windows. He and his barracks roommates woke up to a song nearing its end on the radio, and immediately turned it off, afterwards grabbing their toiletries and heading to the bathroom stalls to wash themselves up.

”Mornin’, kiddo” greeted his older comrade, a Private First Class, as they got dressed up for the day. PVT Aguaras was only a 19 year old soldier in the Royal Army, but was already fast-tracked for promotion amongst his peers. They picked up their weapons, which were stored in their personal safety lockers, and headed for the mess hall for some food. The meal: grilled chicken, scrambled egg, sauteed water spinach with tomatoes and mushroom, fried rice, a bowl of taho, and a cold glass of Milo.

The city of Cape Vigan was the hub of all Operation Widowmaker’s End - Joint Task Force operations, as it was perhaps the first city to be secured during the 2016 Counter-Offensive. The coastal provinces were secured under government and allied control, with regular deployments deeper into the landlocked provinces in the hotly-contested region.

PVT Aguaras received his orders through a quick briefing on his radio. It was a routine 12-hour patrol from 0700 to 1900, trudging alongside tanks, IFVs, and APCs in securing the city’s streets alongside much lighter CDF forces. Once a metropolis with towering skyscrapers, Cape Vigan had been reduced to rubble after intense fighting, with reconstruction of the city focusing on turning it into a smart metropolitan zone - but for now, it was a crowded metropolitan cesspool of growing filth, at least for those in extreme poverty in the city. Alongside military patrols were citizens shuffling around on foot or on wheels towards work - the city was, at least, going back to normal.

But nobody would expect that things could get this worse, as beyond the province’s borders, still more bloodshed raged, with the sole army brigades in the contested region being stretched thin as more and more soldiers died increasingly gruesome deaths.

by **New Aeyariss** » Tue Jul 31, 2018 6:34 pm

KOJIRO-SAMA DELIVERS A SPEECH REGARDING DIVERSITY!
Ishikawa, Nifon - on swiftly called emergency press conference, Kojiro-sama delivered a speech about the current situation in Palmyrion. His excellency had nothing but criticism for the Palmyri government, and asked the international community for a swift and decessive action to prevent weapons of mass destruction to fall in unwanted hands. Kojiro-sama is currently broadcasting a list of points to be directed at the Palmyri government:

The speech shall be broadcast shortly.

More to come later!
@INN | Nifon | COMMENT

OFFICIAL BROADCAST OF THE SHOGUN MAKI KOJIRO

To all honorable people around the world and the Lakan-heika of Palmyrion;,

This is a speech that I am addressing to you in a dire hour. The recent string of events that took place in Palmyrion have been nothing like a dark day for us all. The Empire of Greater Nifon has plenty of reasons to speak about them with a voice of concern; until the recent, aggressive actions of Palmyri government directed at attempting to preventing free movement of goods of the Nifonese trade and unjustified targeting of the Nifonese state for it's supposed "support of slavery" (when in reality there was just one trade deal with Ralkovia, and one that freed slaves I can add), both states have enjoyed positive and friendly relations. It were the Palmyri state with which the Empire of Greater Nifon had allied itself to prevent expansion of Bendicionian tyrany, which had been disrupting the harmony of international system through it's ruthless aggression. The Palmyri state, despite enormous differences between it and Nifon, had stood with us against the Red Menace. The recent actions of Palmryi government are not putting it in so favorable light, and as such, I am forced to raise my voice.

Honored Lakan-heika, as the highest sovereign and executor of the Mandate of Heaven in Palmyrion, is ultimately responsible for everything happening in his nation. When a threat of such magnitude emerges, it is only rightful to assign responsibility for this crisis to Lakan himself. How could, the Palmyri government, fully aware of what it's holding, even consider hosting CBRN weaponry in an area that is known for it's instability? The current events are nothing new, for only two years have passed from bloody ultranationalist insurgency during which hordes driven by Marshite fanaticism slaughtered everyone on left and right, while the Kogyokist minority inhabiting those territories had been left on it's own. Such a failure to learn from past mistakes can only be declared to be horrendous.

Sadly by his actions, honorable Lakan-heika had created a threat not just to his own commonwealth, but to the entire international community as a whole. The Empire of Greater Nifon will not - I say again NOT - permit weapons of mass destruction to fall into arms of non-state actors, many of which may be a threat to the Empire of Greater Nifon. The Empire of Greater Nifon will NOT look kindly as the region grows into instability. The Empire of Greater Nifon will NOT permit Marshite fanaticism to become a threat to Kogyokist minority once again. The government of Palmyrion had long been getting away with it's blatant persecution of Kogyokist minority and breeding instability; and it's time the International Community said "NO MORE!"

I therefore need to address steps that my Shogunate will take directly. At this point the Empire of Greater Nifon has no plan for an open military intervention in the Palmyri Commonwealth. The reactions of our government will depend on deeds of honorable Lakan-heika however. It is evidently visible that said honorable sovereign no longer able to exercise full sovereignty over his domain, and his state will be treated as such.

Thus, should honorable Lakan-Heika respect the wish of Kogyokist population towards self-determination and takes steps to prevent WMDs from falling into Rebel hands, the Empire of Gerater Nifon will be eager to forego past actions of Palmryi imperialism and invest in destroyed areas. Should however Lakan prove to be uncooperative, the Empire of Greater Nifon will take all steps it deems necessary to ensure it's national and international security, with or without consent of the Lakan-heika.

Honor be with you, Namu Iesu Krishtou!

by **Eclius** » Tue Jul 31, 2018 7:33 pm

ICA Headquarter, Rome, Eclius

A lady in business attire approached the top floor of a tall business building in downtown Rome. Upon exiting the elevator, she swiped her access card on a door, then entered the main hall. Having confirmed with the secretary, she entered a luxurious, yet high tech office room. A man in suit was observing the skyline of Rome at night, he twirled his wine glass, then asked, "well? How's Palmyrion sweetheart?", "A bit of a mess I'd say" the lady said, as she poured herself a glass of wine, then sat on a Roman-style sofa, "nationalists, terrorists, loose-cannons. Soders would have liked the opportunity". She handed over a tablet, then continued, "intel suggests that they've got...quite some treasures in Northern Palmyrion"
"nuclear weapons?"
"quite so"
"That would make sense then" the man sat beside his wife, then whispered in her ears, "the meeting with other executive members of ICA earlier the day went quite well. In fact, we've got ourselves the biggest contract in ages. I believe it's time to activate Initiative 722"
"LamBDA? I thought it was yet at testing phase?"
"No time for that honey, we have to prove ourselves useful before other executive members"

Somewhere on this planet
A woman code named Dove received a call from ICA's headquarter in Eclius a few hours later. In a eerie tone, LamBDA's handler gave her the instructions. "Initiative 722 has been activated from stasis by ICA headquarters. The decision was made for LamBDA squadron to mobilize to Northern Palmyrion, known as Widowmaker's Lair. LamBDA is to await orders from ICA headquarter for potential contracts."

Meanwhile, through various means, ICA's headquarter attempted to contact all of the factions from Palmyrion, side from Islamist groups. The message was clear and simple, ICA was willing to take care of their "troubles" through an affordable payment of gold and cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin.

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Tue Jul 31, 2018 10:40 pm

Joseph Gordon, leader of the Brotherhood of the Cross, held his hands behind his back as he gazed out of the small window that allowed light to stream into his small, temporary, office. The room was a decent size, with only the one window, and contained a few items and pieces of furniture. There was his large, mahogany desk that took up a big part of his office, stretching nearly halfway from the wall it's left side rested on to the other side of the room. The only other things in his office was a very uncomfortable chair and a collection of pens, pencils, reports, and other miscellaneous items. There wasn't much in there because Joseph, Father Joseph to his followers, was preparing to move his main location out of this small, destitute town, that he found himself in. It worked well enough for the time being, but had little value in the long run. It was not well defended or strategically important. It was, however, home to most of the scavenged and (until recently) decommissioned armor Joseph's militia was able to collect.

That was what Joseph was looking at through the window. Outside, surrounded by engineers and armed guards a few hundred feet outside the town, sat 18 decomissioned BMD-1s. The BMD-1 is a Soviet IFV, equipped with anti-tank missiles, a coaxial PKT machinegun, two more PKTs in fixed positions on both corners of the bow, and firing ports for the men in the infantry compartment (one on both sides and one on the rear). The BMD-1s had been scavenged over a period of several weeks, following the acquisition of several abandoned military vehicle graveyards. The Brotherhood engineers had been working tirelessly, day and night, ever since they had found the aging machines to get them up to working order. Many of the old IFVs had been recovered, but only 30 of them were in any usable state. The rest were cannibalized for the few parts they had left to offer. These beasts were unreliable, old, and prone to breaking down. Their crews had little experience with armored vehicles in the first place, and the poor conditions of the BMD-1s didn't help either. Still, these were what Father Joseph hoped would give his militia fighters a better chance. Hopefully, they would be in fighting trim before the first major engagement with the Palmyrion government or loyalist militias.

Joseph was awoken from his daydream by the sounds of shouting from outside. Since the only window in the room faced out of the town, Joseph took one last look at the collection of vehicles and left the room. In the hallway of the small, abandoned, house Joseph had turned into his temporary command center stood two guards, both armed with M4 rifles. The majority of his forces weren't blessed with such quality weapons, but his personal guard received the best. They silently followed him as he made his way toward the front of the house. He slid the curtains on the window in what was once the living room to the side and peeked out. Outside stood four of his men, three of which were armed with AK-47s and the fourth, some sort of an officer, with a snub nose revolver. The man with the revolver was shouting at three hunched, cowering, figures. The three Asian people appeared to be a family. The man who Joseph assumed was the father/husband held both of his arms behind him, shielding his wife and teenage son from the jabs and prods they were receiving from the towering militiamen.

"You can't do this! This is our home! You have no ri-" The man, who appeared to be in his mid to late thirties, was cut off by the butt of one of the rifles slamming into his gut. "This is no longer your house. You refuse to give rooms to our men, you give up your right to property, you slanty eyed bastard." The man was bent over in pain, holding his stomach and gasping for breath. "Dad!" The boy, who couldn't have been more than 16, yelled. "You can't do this! Please, leave us alone!" He begged as he moved to grab his father. The officer pistol whipped the boy and the others laughed as he fell, blood spewing from his mouth. The woman shrieked and pulled her boy's head onto her lap as he looked up at the sky with a dazed look. She continued to scream incoherently and sob as the men around her turned their attention to her. "My, my," the officer said with a wicked grin, "Ain't you a pretty one?" He reached out to touch her face as he went on, "I could think of about a dozen wa- OUCH!" He pulled back his hand, holding his finger, "BITCH BIT ME!" The officer raised his hand to strike her. Just as he was about to hit her, the husband, who had recovered and had been forgotten by the men, suddenly tackled the officer and brought him to the ground.

"Don't you touch her!" He yelled as he began to beat the soldier. The man got only three good hits in before he was hit in the head by a militiaman's rifle and crumpled to the ground. The two other soldiers grabbed him under his arms and brought him to his knees as the officer stood up, wiping blood from under his nose. The woman screamed as the officer raised his revolver to the dazed man's forehead.

Father Joseph left the window and let the curtain fall back into place and walked back to his little office. The situation meant little to him and he had wasted more time than he should have. He still had to prepare for his trip to his new, more permanet headquaters in the morning. He had to get together the small amount of important documents he had in his office and assemble to men that would be coming with him. Joseph also had to make sure the selected BMD-1s he had decided to bring with him were able to travel by then. Some of them would remain here, in the town, until they were sent somewhere else. Until then, they would stay and continue having work done on them.

As he walked down the hallway back to the room he heard a loud crack and the howl of a distressed woman.

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Thu Aug 02, 2018 1:33 am

Somewhere in Northern Palmyrion,
The Broken Chair

There was never such a place of opportunity for crime as lucrative and large as northern Palmyrion. The state of the region was absolute chaos, government authority was thin on the ground and militias belonging to every ethnic and religious identity under the sun were the closest to rule of law that could be found. Not even the natives had things like government-issued permits or IDs anymore, and so both of these were easy to fake. To those who were willing to take risks, it was a kind of paradise.

In one such neighborhood of blast-scarred, bullet-riddled buildings and people scraping to get by with some semblance of their tattered lives, there reigned a curious sense of almost normality. People did not fear to travel the streets so much that they sequestered themselves all day, and there was even a level of commerce. Food and other items could be purchased in corner stores with boards covering their shattered windows. Services could be paid for and rendered with only the slightest fear of robbery or malpractice. And in the center of this calm in the storm was a bar known as the Broken Chair.

The Broken Chair was by far the nicest establishment in this particular neighborhood. Nothing much to speak of from the outside, there were no windows and only a partially shot-up wooden sign to mark the entrance to an ugly brick building. But inside the place was clean and well-finished, the bar stocked and the prices low enough to accommodate the supply and demand. Even a beggar could take the edge off of their misery in the Broken Chair if they were willing to choke down watery beer at high enough quantities. The reason for this was that the Broken Chair service as the primary front for an organization that had swaggered into the neighborhood only a few months prior, an organization that had quickly taken law and order into its own hands. They called themselves the Pink River, and they had what people needed. Food, water, hygiene products...drugs, sex, and guns. For a little protection money they cleaned up the streets, and all that they asked in return was that no one get in their way.

Their leader was known as the Blood Mother, only her closest confidants knew her real name. She was a Railtic woman in her late thirties, small in stature, thin, and dark-skinned as her people tended to be. She kept her hair at a short length, which only seemed to accentuate the thinness of her features and lips. She was not physically imposing, but as she sat at the low round table beneath the Broken Chair the people around her acted like there could have been some invisible wall between them. There was a glass of whiskey, imported of course, on the table in front of her. Drink in this Goddess-forsaken country was her only vice. Or at least, the only thing that she considered to be a vice. None of the women around her were smoking, although some of them dearly wished to. The Blood Mother did not permit her Commanders to smoke in her presence, she thought it a filthy habit.

There was a moment of quiet as the five women in front of her were waited on by attendants bringing cold drinks. Each of the five was a Commander of a specific one of Pink River's operations, weapons, drugs, people, enforcement, and intelligence. Everything that they did was organized into one of those five categories. Kara "The Amazon" Guranna was the Commander of Weapons, a tall Kurungarran woman with a tight afro. She dealt with all weapons and ammunition sales to the militias. Sellaya Sevreenet, alias "Doctor Delight," was in charge of the creation and distribution of drugs. She was Navarettan by birth, with the tan skin and bushy light brown hair of that island. She liked to wear a lab coat and shaded glasses, presumably for the effect. Next was Leslie Cho, alias Dana Greenway, who originally hailed from Adiron. She was a quiet, soft-spoken woman who dealt with the organization's human trafficking. That mostly meant importing sex workers and exporting cheap labor. Commander Chesseya was in charge of the Enforcers. And finally there was Silent Selleen. She was another Railtic woman, with long raven hair and pointed features. True to her moniker she rarely spoke, but she was in charge of the largest aspect of Pink River's operations. Intelligence covered all of their contacts outside of their territory and outside of Palmyrion, as well as anything that needed smuggled in or out.

The room itself was a large basement that had been refurbished, much larger than the space above it would suggest. The Pink River had "obtained" through payment and the occasional use of persuasion most of the underground of the entire block to use as their headquarters. Tunnels connected the space to other basements and bunkers. Most of it was cramped and filthy, but not this room. Near the three doorways stood silent Enforcers cradling top-grade Lyran automatic weapons, freshly pillaged from a Shrailleeni armory. When everyone had their drinks in hand, the Blood Mother steepled her fingers and asked, "so, what do we have today?"

"Our people in Brotherhood territory say that Brother Joseph and his pale-bellied bastards finally have themselves a working BMD-1," said the Amazon in a clear, matter-of-fact tone. The language of discussion was Railti, which she spoke with a bit of an accent. "...maybe more than one. They might be racist trash, but they'll need anti-tank missiles, machine gun rounds, and petrol to keep those monsters going in Palmyrion."

"Will they buy from us?" the Blood Mother asked casually.

"We have enough whites that it shouldn't be an issue. I have one of my best men going to approach them about a deal."

"Good. That's good. Any more news?"

"Production of methamphetamine is up now that we have the third dedicated laboratory," said Doctor Delight with a pleased smile. "Although I am running low on opium and coca. If our next shipment is delayed again we might run dangerously low in the storehouse."

"I am told that the next shipment is already through Palmyrion customs," the Blood Mother said curtly. "It should not be a problem. What about the greenhouse project?"

"On schedule," the Doctor replied, "we should be able to continue to build in secret with no major delays."

"Excellent," said the Blood Mother, her green eyes now turning expectantly to Dana Greenway.

"Five of the subjects made it alive out of the shipping container," she said quietly. "Three female, two male. They've been transferred to the new brothel for the time being."

"Very good," the Blood Mother said again, taking a sip of whiskey and enjoying the burning sensation in her throat. There was an air of expectancy in the group as she finished. Then, sure turned to Silent Selleen.

The woman didn't say anything, but a young male attendant stepped forward and bent over her shoulder. She turned and whispered in his ear for several minutes. The other women at the table, clearly accustomed to this practice. Waited patiently for her to finish. Then finally the attendant stood up, and without looking at anyone at the table directly spoke what had been told to him.

"Our sources in the capital suggest that Operation Lost Quiver is ready to commence," he said in a flat tone. The Palmies have been mobilizing a huge number of special forces for the job. The situation with the nuclear warheads is not a secret, and the Shogun of Greater Nifon has made a statement threatening invasion if the Palmies cannot stop the weapons from falling into the hands of groups hostile to that nation."

"Ah yes," said the Blood Mother softly, her eyes flashing, "the nuclear weapons. Quite the problem. Every militia in the north is going to be gunning for those sites."

"With all due respect Blood Mother, should we be doing that as well?" asked the Amazon, a hint of fire in her voice.

"They would sell for a fine price," she agreed with her Commander. "But at the same time, nuclear explosions tend to be bad for business. Dead people aren't profitable. The idea of some of these barbarian warlords getting their hands on them freezes my blood."

"That sounds like a good reason to obtain them," the Amazon pressed.

The Blood Mother nodded. "Yes, it is. But not if we don't have to. Let the Palmies try to recover their weapons. Let's reach out to the Loyalist militias and see what they'd be willing to pay for help in that regard. Every one that they save is worth millions to us in un-disintigrated resources. But keep our ears and eyes open. If one of the militias does succeed in getting their hands on one, we should be positioned to relieve them of it once its safely out of Palmy control. Let them do the hard work fighting into a bunker, things as so much easier to steal in transit. And once we have them..." she shrugged, "at least we know how to sell them like responsible adults."

Somewhere else in Northern Palmyrion,
Territory of the Brotherhood of the Cross

Lucius Faustus was not the luckiest man of all time. One had to be pretty unlucky to be a man in Gloria Regis after the Feminist takeover, and even more unlucky to be a former Communist. Rome had abandoned him for his politics, and the Protectorate had abandoned him for his gender. Joining the Pink River had been an escape from an otherwise intolerable situation, they might be matriarchal but they weren't crazy. He had moved up the ranks fairly quickly after that, his experience in the Communist militia had given him valuable knowledge of the weapons trade that Pink River prized in its recruits. Even so his success had been short-lived. It hadn't taken long to get into a bit of trouble over unpaid gambling debts, and he had almost been sold into slavery at his previous branch of the organization. A few favors had gotten him into the newest branch of the organization, Palmyria. On one hand his old problems were now far across the sea. On the other, he was in Palmyria.

He was an olive-skinned man of Roman stock, dark-haired and dark-eyed. Shrailleeni islanders made up the majority of Pink River's members, and they tended to be noticed in a place like Palmyria. So by virtue of his ethnicity he had become a very useful tool for his Commander, the Amazon. Some of these militias were touchy about things like race, and he passed for white by most broad definitions. He was also a lifelong Christian, though perhaps not the most pious one. And so we was selected to deal with the Brotherhood of the Sacred Cross.

The Brotherhood operated out of a small town relatively far from where Pink River usually operated, but not so far as to be completely out of the way. Because the militia controlled most of the entry and access, there wasn't much cloak and dagger to be done in dealing with them. It was better to be up-front, despite the risk. Pink River and its operations were fairly well known in the area, so he simply approached the nearest militia man, swallowed his nerves, and introduced himself.

"Hello friend. Call me Faustus. I'd like to talk to Father Joseph about some very nice anti-tank missiles I'm selling on behalf of Pink River."

by **Stojam** » Thu Aug 02, 2018 7:21 am

Velingrad, Stojam, IIS HQ
The Director of the IIS was sitting in his office drinking his coffee, but suddenly a young agent burst into his office, he was talking very fast, beyond comprehension, "Sir! Palmyrion is in trouble, we have national security threats there and former agents and agents that either went KIA or MIA or escaped here, we got to cover up our past ASAP!"
The Director responded, "Calm down boy and take a seat, now what are you exactly talking about."
The young agent explained him the situation this time but slowly. "Hmmm... Palmyrion… Oh yes, since 2001 we had agents there, I'll fire up the Ministry of Defense, Foreign Affairs and the President, now get out of my office." The young agent burst out of the office as fast as he got into his office.
The director called the ministries, the army and the president.

Velingrad, Stojam, Military HQ
The President, the Army's commander-in-chief Vladimir Bagunov, a representative of the Ministry of Defense and a representative of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the IIS Director have arrived to the HQ in Velingrad.
The director spoke first, "Gentlemen, we all have arrived here to discuss a situation that even is related to us. So in late 2001, we deployed at least 15 agents in Palmyrion, especially North Palmyrion, which all either escaped back here with some intel, went KIA or went MIA. We have to cover up our past because right now there is more turmoil and more conflict than before, people can discover what we did there, it won't help us. So we got to cooperate with Palmyrian government to achieve the cleansing of the past. And also that we got to eliminate the Insane Vice Kings, a gang which terrorized our country for a few years. We need to contact the government and issue our demands and help them so we can win their support and cover the past ASAP." All the others in the room accepted the proposition quite surprisingly, it seemed the most rational thing to do right now. They decided to send the 4th Brigade of the Special Forces and 15 IIS field agents to handle the situation, the Battalion will be in command of Colonel Ivan Borisov and the Field Agent Platoon will be in command of Agent Vodnik.

After the meeting, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs sent a letter to the Palmyrian government addressing the issue.

OFFICIAL MAIL OF THE STOJAMIAN GOVERNMENT
To: Palmyrian Armed Forces Command
By: Stojamian Armed Forces
Encryption: MAXIMUM

Greetings!

We have heard about your situation in North Palmyrion and we have decided to intervene and help you with your problem. We will send a Special Forces Battalion and 15 Field Agents to meet with us whenever you would like. We will also provide some of our equipment to the Loyalist Militias and the Commonwealth.
In exchange for our generous help, we need you to give access to roam around freely in Palmyrion, especially North Palmyrion. We have a past to clear since 2001 if any of you remember. And also we want a trade deal with the Commonwealth and in exchange for that we will give "huminatarian" aid that will go straight to the Commonwealth's government and it's Armed Forces. Also for that we want exchange in intelligence and joint military operations for our most generous help.

We would assist in any operation the Commonwealth prepares and we will meet on a common ground and discuss our matters. We will also help to find war crime evidence against any group you would like us to target. We just need intel and time.
We look forward making a deal with you and help you get out of this mess.

With regards,
The Stojamian Armed Forces Command

Ravnets Air Base, Stojam
Colonel Ivan Borisov was already there, he looked at the beautiful skies of the Stojamian motherland. He saw the preparations for the long flight. All the APCs and brave soldiers and agents and vehicles all inside some C-17 planes. He knew it was going to be intense and an unforgiving experience.
They were ready for the flight whenever they had the signal to start it.

North Palmyrion, Lil AK's "Crib"
He was filming his music video for his track called: "The Race", the tile was obvious to what he would rap about, escaping from the cops. He was very proud he escaped the police in different countries, to him "the race" is an achievement, he never knew it was all about to change. He also took down another opposing drug dealer part Of the the Pink River just today with a quick and unforgiving drive by shooting in a Green Mercedes Benz while he was going to shop for food. A few shots to the chest and forehead with an Uzi finished him.
It was not directed at the Pink River but at that individual, it would start a lot of trouble for the Vice Kings.

With cameras following, he went outside to film his armored SUV, those cameras would follow him very carefully around his house and then he went back.
"The Race" was published a few hours later, slowly gaining popularity around social media and the world. Possibly another hit song for Lil AK.

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Thu Aug 02, 2018 2:57 pm

Northern Palmyrion,
The Laboratory

In an abandoned hotel which lay near the outskirts of a major city in Northern Palmyrion, Doctor Delight had constructed her main base of operations. The kitchens, with only a few adjustments, made a perfect setting for the processing of all kinds of chemicals that soldiers and civilians alike craved. She had a penthouse room to herself, which was how she preferred things, and the back loading bay made for an excellent distribution network. A large generator provided all of the power that she needed, and they had even repaired the water system to operational, if not up to code, condition. It wasn't the only laboratory that she had overseen the creation of, but it was the one that she referred to as The Laboratory.

While rows of skinny workers, mostly local Palmyrians who had fallen afoul of Pink River in one way or another, worked over tables lit by bright sterile lights in their underwear and gas masks overseen by bored-looking guards, Doctor Delight herself was currently in an upper level bathroom engaging in her own personal hobby.

Classical music from the island of Fromathra played on a boom box nearby as the woman went about her work. She hummed along to the music absently as she operated, consumed in her task. Doctor Delight wasn't only a alias for the drug lord, she actually was trained as a doctor. And she made a tidy profit with her little side business that Pink River knew nothing about, the removal and sale of human organs. She didn't do it often, only when the opportunity arose. Particularly late payments from a customer, or when an informant was discovered in her operation. But she delighted in those small opportunities, and human hearts, livers, kidneys, and other precious organs sold at high prices in the blackmarket healthcare of northern Palmyrion.

When she had concluded and the waste material was carted away by her assistants, she washed her hands and readjusted her shades. She was in her early thirties, tan and good-looking in the traditional sense. She liked her appearance and took pride in it. She was exiting the operating room when one of the Enforcers assigned to her operation approached her looking angry.

"Doctor," the Enforcer said curtly. She was a Dengali woman, and stood about a foot taller than the Doctor.

"Iyawa," she greeted her in return. "What is it?"

"Talmar is dead."

Doctor Delight's eyes flew open behind the darkness of her glasses, and then narrowed. "You mean he was killed."

"Yes," the Enforcer confirmed. "Shot dead in the street. Looks like the Vice Kings figured out who was in charge of pushing their product out of the east zone."

"Goddess's tits," the Doctor swore. Then after a pause, "I liked him. Always paid on time, never stiffed me on product, not once in his life. Trust like that is impossible to find these days."

"It's an insult is what is is," Iyawa growled. "Broad daylight right under our noses."

Doctor Delight agreed. "Send whoever you need, you have my authority. They kill one of ours, we kill five of theirs. Enough to send a message."

"At once Commander," the woman bowed, and turned to leave.

"And Iyawa?"

She turned back, and the Doctor jerked her head toward the door to the operating room.

"Try to grab one of them for me, if you can."

The two women smiled at each other.

Northern Palmyrion,
Contested Zone between Pink River and the Vice Kings

Along a street side, the very same street where a young Railtic man had been gunned down in a drive-by shooting only two days before, two women lingered in an alleyway. One was lightly tanned blond woman who rippled with muscles like a predatory cat, shapely and and noticeably tall. The other was a Shrailleeni islander woman, short, dark, and stocky and short-cut black hair and blue eyes. Most woman lingering in such a manner might have been thought to be prostitutes, but these two were wearing coats that hid police-issue kevlar vests and concealed submachine guns. Aside from giving passersby a glare that told them to keep moving, they exchange looks every so often with another islander woman who was seated in a stoop across the street. They appeared to be waiting to something.

After a little while, another woman entered the alley. She was pale-skinned with straight, light-brown hair and hazel eyes. About average height, she had a slim build and was muscled like a runner. A dainty nose and slightly freckled skin distinguished her slightly rounded features. She was dressed the same way the other two were. She saw the two women and approached with a small bow.

"Lieutenant," she addressed the taller woman. "I was told to report to you."

The tall woman looked her up and down like a cat regarding a toy mouse.

"So you're the new blood?" she finally said. "A Feminian right? What's your name?"

"That's right," the newcomer responded. "Jessica Turner. I trained with Callatra Vanna at the Iphigenia camp."

"Callatra eh? Tough old Fromathrine bat that one. Maybe you won't be totally useless. We'll find out anyway, you're just in time. I thought we'd have to make the hit without you."

Jessica's lips thinned.

"It's happening now?"

"Any second. We spotted one of Lil AK's boys going into the whorehouse down the street with some of his guns. He's been in there a while, probably haggling," the tall woman smirked. "Four in total. When Teyarra gives the word," she gestured across the street," we go out shooting."

"Alright," said Jessica, gripping her weapon. "Getaway?"

The tall woman laughed.

"Welcome to Palmyrion Sister," she said. "Where there are no police and killing is a fashion statement. There's a safe house nearby but we aren't expecting much trouble."

A few more minutes ticked away. Then Teyarra, sitting across the street, made a hand signal. After that, time seemed to slow down for the next few minutes. The tall woman, her companion, and Jessica strolled out of the alleyway as if they owned the street. A little way down, four men were exiting a building and heading for a car parked nearby. Three of them were cradling wicked-looking shotguns, the fourth walked like someone concealing a pistol. When they saw the women, everyone's eyes met for just a split second and they realized what was happening. The Enforcers had the initiative though. The tall woman grinned like a lion at the kill, her submachine run already in her hands, and was the first to pull the trigger. Her companion dropped to one knee and opened fire second, aiming directly at the leader of the four men. Jessica's combat reflexes kicked in just afterward. She moved and fired, heading for cover beside a nearby car.

Two of the men, including the leader, dropped fast. One managed to get his finger on the trigger of his shotgun, but was sent spinning like a rag doll by a succession of bullet impacts to his right shoulder. The other dropped but wasn't hit. He returned fire with a side arm, but was silenced when one of Jessica's bullets entered his temple. One of the men who had been hit previously leaned back up, still alive, and raised his gun, but at that point it was over. The tall woman was already walking toward him, and executed him quickly.

Then it was eerily quiet. Jessica got up from her position cautiously, looking around. Civilians cowered in doorways and in alleys, watching fearfully, but no further gunmen emerged from the shadows. She saw that the Lieutenant's partner was on the ground, and rushed over to her. The islander woman was panting and moaning softly in pain. Jessica searched her, and found the kevlar shattered around the woman's sternum. There was blood.

The tall woman was looking over the four men with some satisfaction. She prodded one, and then kneeled down. Jessica couldn't see what she was doing.

"She's wounded," she called out to the Lieutenant, but she was ignored. She did what she could in the meantime. The wound didn't look fatal, the vest had taken most of the blows, but she needed medical attention soon.

Finally the tall woman came back, tucking something away in a coat pocket. She looked at her partner lying on the ground with only the barest hint of concern.

"Ah, shit," she said. "Alright come on, we have to get her up. I'll call a medic when we get back to the safe house."

Jessica helped her carry their companion's weight, and then gasped.

"You're hit too!" she pointed out. The tall woman looked down at the blood streaming down her leg. "Ahhhh shit," she said. "Yeah, I feel that now. Good news though," she grinned maniacally. "That's not all my blood."

Jessica looked at her quizzingly as they hobbled down the street, and the tall woman gave her a smirk. "Where I come from," she said, "when you kill a man, you claim his manhood. Scares the testosterone right out of the rest of them."

Jessica glanced at the bodies, noticed a pool of blood near a particular region, and then glanced away. The tall woman laughed. The safe house turned out to be very close by, a second-story apartment which had lain vacant for quite some time.

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Thu Aug 02, 2018 4:38 pm

Just outside a small town, Brotherhood territory
The militia fighter slowly unslung his AK-47 that was hanging on his shoulder. He was guarding a small, dirt road that lead into the town. He wasn't the only one, but his partner was off taking a piss behind the nearest house. Before he could run this suspicious character off, he introduced himself. The Brotherhood soldier didn't bother listening to his name, but the "anti-tank missiles" and "Pink River" parts really got his attention. He may not be all that high ranking, but it didn't take a genius to know that this town was home to a garrison of tanks. Just then, his partner came from behind the house, shotgun in his hands.

"Who's this prick?" He asked, approaching them. The militiaman turned to his returning friend and answered, "Some guy from that gang, Pink River. Says he wants to talk to Father. Has some deal about anti-tank missiles." His companion nodded, a smirk on his face. "Well, hot damn! I'll radio this in, get word on what to do." The man whipped out a small portable radio and began to talk to someone on the other end as he walked away from them.

As he friend notified someone about the Pink River operative, the militia fighter turned to the negotiator and said, "If you're gonna talk to the Father, you better be on your best behavior. If you wanna walk outta here alive, that is." The soldier gave a cold chuckle and slung his rifle back over his shoulder. "Alright," the other fighter said, pocketing his radio, "If you wanna talk with Joseph, walk with me. More accurately, in front of me. That's it, now just keep walking."

The soldier lead the man through the small town for only a few blocks. The soldier said nothing, simply prodding him along the correct way, giving quiet grunts and gentle nudges if the operative was taking a wrong turn. Within only a few minutes, they were there. The small house they stood outside of was unimpressive. It seemed big enough for only a tiny family and was pretty run down. The door was chipped and aging, paint was peeling off where it wasn't already bare, one of the panes of the living room window was busted out, and there was likely many leaks and holes on the roof. Still, two men in heavy body armor and black helmets stood outside, flanking the door and wielding M4s. The operative and his escort stopped a few feet away, and the militiaman was dismissed by one of the armor clad guards.

"If you wish to speak with the Father," the guard on the right began, "You must submit to a search. No weapons, recording devices, and the like allowed."

Inside the building, Father Joseph waited. He sat in a leather recliner off to the right side relative to the door, facing the entrance, with a small coffee table in front of him. To Joseph's right was a couch, behind which stood another one of his personal guards. The second guard inside the house took his position behind the Father himself. Joseph was very curious and ready to hear the deal the man brought with him.

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Thu Aug 02, 2018 5:23 pm

Just outside a small town, Brotherhood territory

For a second Lucius thought that we was going to have to make a run for it, but he could see the change on the man's face as soon as he mentioned who he represented and what they were selling. He kept his body language casual but was still ready to hit the dirt if necessary. He hadn't survived as long as he had by being stupid.

While his friend contacted someone in the Brotherhood about his arrival, the first man gave him the typical warning that one got from militias like this. Father Joseph did have a reputation for being a mean sonofabitch, but this was northern Palmyria. Anything less than that and you weren't worth noticing in the first place. "Bonum, thank you friend, as you say," Lucius agreed readily, and walked slowly in front of the fighter as the prodding of a gun at his back guided his way into town. He made sure that the crucifix on his neck was out in front of his shirt as he walked.

It was a small town, and it didn't seem to take long to reach their destination. It was a small house, run down like you'd expect from any house in the region. But the guards out front were no joke, they were as well armed as any professional soldier could hope to be. When they told him that he would be searched, Lucian nodded and smiled and went right along with it. He had no desire to be recorded, and he had found that when dealing with these militia types it was better to go unarmed. There were a couple of Pink River Enforcers waiting to escort him back to their territory a few clicks away, but they were his only security. And they weren't here at the moment.

He walked in with the guard and met Father Joseph sitting on a leather recliner on the right side of the door. He looked like a hard man, but wasn't being overtly threatening at the moment.

"Gratias, Father, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Pink River appreciates your time," he began with a little bow.

"The word on the street is, you have some nice new armored vehicles. You are to be congratulated. My boss, the Amazon, would hate to see weapons like that not fulfilling their intended purpose. As it happens, my organization has a stockpile of anti-tank guided missiles liberated from the Shrailleeni Empire. State-of-the-art guidance, fire and forget. Modular, so if you need wire-guidance that shouldn't be a problem. Should fit your needs perfectly. We would like to invite you to inspect the product personally, if you're interested. And if you need, say, 7.62 mm rounds or refined petrol, you may be quite pleased with what Pink River can provide."

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Thu Aug 02, 2018 6:26 pm

Once the Pink River operative finished, Father Joseph broke into a small grin. He clasped his hands together and allowed the silence to stretch over several seconds, almost long enough for it to be awkward. Then, with a short and loud laugh, Joseph stood up and closed the short distance between them. He grabbed the operative by his shoulders and said, "Yes! That sounds fantastic." Joseph let go of the man and took a few steps back. "My men are in dire need of fuel and anti-tank missiles. PKT bullets as well. Now, I'd love to inspect them myself, but alas, I cannot. I'm in the middle of moving my main base of operations from this shithole and am needed elsewhere. However, I do have a second in command. I can get him to inspect the first shipment, make sure everything is right as rain. I do hope that we can find it in ourselves to have a lasting relationship, profitable to us both."

Father Joseph clapped his hands together, a noise that echoed in the otherwise silent room. "One more thing. I was meaning to contact you, even before this meeting. Well, not you, but your people. Anyway, I need to get one point across. It's a simple one, one I hope you can understand and abide by." Joseph then took the opportunity to wrap his arm around the operative, pulling him into what would usually be a friendly half hug. "Your people in the Pink River will not sell your sinful poisons to my people. That doesn't mean your dealers are banned from my territory, no, no, no. I don't much mind what these subhumans inject into their disgusting bodies, so they're free game. But if that street corner is owned by the Brotherhood of the Cross...well, just check the skin color of to whom you are selling."

Joseph pulled the operative into a bit of a tighter "hug" as he finished, "However, if this demand is blatantly ignored, and if your weapons shipments are...subpar, so to speak, there will be consequences." Joseph laughed heartily, like an uncle laughing at his own, stupid joke he just told his nephews, and continued once more, "That's to mean, my friend, I will kill you. And not in the...normal ways." Joseph patted his back as he ended the "hug". "Now, anything you wish to discuss before you leave?"

Outside, standing with the guards, were six more militiamen. They had been summoned minutes before and had their instructions. They were to escort the Pink River agent out of the town and send him on his way. They, however, wouldn't be taking the way out that the agent had taken in. Instead they would take the "scenic" route. This route would take them almost ten minutes out of the way. Still, it would take him down the main road out. It was the only paved street in the whole town, and it was the perfect place for the Father's warning. A warning not to sin.

All up and down the main road, and concentrated on the main entrance/exit to the town was a line of crucified sinners on both sides of the street. They were all naked, their sin open for all to see. Literally, as their individual sin was carved into their chests.

Harlot

Drug dealer

Drug consumer

Nonbeliever

Subhuman

The list was endless and it was all unmissable. This was how the Father would cleanse the lands of sin, and bring redemption to those that have brought that sin to this troubled place.

by **Oflandia** » Sat Aug 04, 2018 1:22 am

Arise, you victims of starvation,
Arise, you wretched of the Earth.
For Justice thunders condemnation,
There's a better world in Birth!

So sang the infantry of the International Volunteers as they moved throughout the small, impoverished costal town. They marched through the narrow streets with confidence, occupying places of importance, like the pubs and larger houses. Sentries were set up on street corners and the flag of the Volunteers (white background with a red hammer-and-sickle in the centre) was hung up in the centre of town. People cowered, hiding in their homes, as these unfamiliar infantrymen seized their town.

At the beach, the scene was like a miniature D-day. The place was full with convoys, each holding ~50 men. The men disembarked, were given a brief inspection by Sargent Gibbons, then sent in the help the occupation.
Major Leroy surveyed the town and the beach. He did not like what he saw. "Place is a mess!" He growled. "Poverty, crime and the ugliest damn beach I ever layed eyes upon!"
"But Sir," cried the short women standing next to him "the poverty of this place will make the emancipation of the working class here all the sweeter!"
Leroy groaned. The women speaking was big hearted, idealistic Lieutenant Fatima. She could quote Marx in any situation, but Leroy was doubtful that would help them now.
Leroy stepped forward. He had enough men now. "Sargent!"
"Sir!"
"Get me 25 good men and a megaphone!"
"Sir, yes Sir"
The men were soon assembled, and a megaphone was presented.
"MARCH!" Screamed the Major.

Soon, the 25 men stood in the centre of the town. One dragged a nearby crate close, for the Leroy to stand on. He did so.
He put the megaphone to his mouth, saying.
"CITIZENS, YOUR DAY OF LIBERATION HAS ARRIVED! WE ARE THE INTERNATIONAL VOLUNTEERS, COME TO SAVE YOU FROM THE SHACKLES OF CAPITALISM! YOUR LIBERATION HAS ARRIVED!"

And with that, the men burst into song.
"Arise, you victims of starvation... "

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Sat Aug 04, 2018 4:06 pm

Brotherhood of the Cross territory,
Northern Palmyria

Lucius considered himself a pretty good judge of character. There were plenty of people who had done bad or monstrous things in the Pink River. But all of them carried themselves like people who had simply done what needed to be done. His boss for example was a hard woman and a lifelong fighter. He had seen her execute people without even a second thought. But she was no sadist. Father Joseph's mannerisms were downright unsettling by contrast, the man seemed to thinking many and unknown thoughts, and reacted to Lucius's sales pitch in an oddly disjointed manner. First he simply sat smiling in silence, then he approached and acted very familiar. Lucius wasn't precisely sure how to take it.

He had seen a lot working with first the Communists and then Pink River, but being threatened by the well-known head of a major militia without any backup in the heart of his own territory was still enough to get his heart pumping. He smiled as though nothing was wrong and that Father Joseph were just an old friend making a small joke.

"Of course Father," he said respectfully, "Pink River has not gotten to where we are by selling inferior merchandise, we have a reputation to uphold after all. You will not be disappointed. And I'm sure the Blood Mother will understand your very reasonable conditions, I will make sure to bring your second-in-command an agreement on that matter, do not worry."

His unnerving visit was not quite over, though. His Brotherhood escort did not take him back the way that they had come it. He panicked at first, certain that he was going to be take to some kind of execution, that all of Father Joseph's friendliness had been a prelude to his death. He had just steeled himself to make a run for it when the first of the crosses came into view.

Once, during the war for Gloria Regian independence, he had seen the aftermath of a battle that the Communist Militia had lost. The street had been filled with bodies, some torn apart. It was the most awful thing that he had ever seen. This, somehow, was worse. The line of crucified, naked bodies were not as horrifically mutilated as those dead militia had been, but the message behind them was much more terrifying. Their deaths, and the display of their bodies, said more about Father Joseph than about his victims. That was when Lucius realized that he was dealing with a madman.

Par for the course for Pink River. All the more unlucky for Lucius.

Eventually he made his way back to his own escort of Enforcers, and got in the car with them to make the drive back to the heart of Pink River territory. Once he arrived, he made his way through the side streets until he reached the headquarters of the Amazon. It was an old fire station, from back when Northern Palmyria had active fire brigades. It had been converted into the staging area for most of Pink River's weapon sales. The actual products were mostly kept in other places, but everything they bought and sold passed through the fire station at some point. They had taken to calling the place "The Exchange."

Lucius reported everything about his encounter to the Amazon, including the bodies. Not to his surprise she didn't seem to care about any of the grisly details or even that by the Father's standards the dark-skinned woman would have been considered subhuman. She only seemed pleased that the deal had gone through.

"Excellent work," she told him. "We should have approached the Brotherhood much sooner. You'll be in charge of the sale. Get a convoy together with everything we've promised, enough for a major campaign. Accept cash only, don't go below $15.5 million for the missiles but start at $18. I trust you can figure out the rest on your own?"

It was a rhetorical question, and soon Lucian was left to his own devices. Soon enough he would be traveling back to Brotherhood territory with a convoy of five black armored vans and an escort of Enforcers.

The Amazon, in the meantime, contacted Doctor Delight to let her know that her dealers were cleared to operate in Brotherhood territory so long as they didn't sell any product of any kind to anyone with skin lighter than a Roman's. The Doctor was, herself, delighted by this news. The Brotherhood of the Cross had gained a reputation for killing dealers in the past, so almost none of the gangs sold there. Now Pink River knew why, and that gave them access to an almost exclusive market. If Father Joseph kept his suggested promise of not killing "non-white" drug consumers, that was. The deal was less good if their customers were killed as well. At the very least, it was an opportunity, and Doctor Delight hired a few new dealers of light-skinned Palmyrian descent to start operating in Brotherhood territory.

Vice Kings Terf War, Part Two

In the wake of the killing of the Vice Kings man and his thugs, the Enforcers tasked to the territory that both groups operated in were on high alert. There wasn't the sense that they had entered a full-scale war, not yet. The Kings had killed a Pink River dealer, the Pink River had killed a street tough and his entourage in retaliation. It was still possible that the skirmish would make their rivals back off, and that they could compete for the drug market in relative peace again. So far the Blood Mother wasn't even involved yet, everything had happened on the orders of Doctor Delight and the Enforcers under her direct command.

The Vice Kings had a preference for drive-by shootings, hitting fast and then leaving just as quickly. The Pink River, which had started as a militia rather than a gang, did not tend to use this tactic. This put the Enforcers on edge, and every vehicle that seemed suspicious became a potential target. But if the Vice Kings decided to attack again, everything would escalate quickly. Most of the Enforcers preferred a more brutal approach: invading the Vice Kings with military force, and executing everyone they could find.

This was all speculation though. For the moment, things operated more or less as normal. Pink River dealers continued to sell their product on the streets, trying to undercut the deals made by the Vice Kings. Enforcers roamed in groups of two or three, carrying their guns openly on the streets. The brothel that the Vice King they had killed had attended was bought out by Pink River, and they took over management to make it their new base of operations in the area.

by **Izmanin Kara** » Sat Aug 04, 2018 4:55 pm

The history of opium in Azzaristan is a long one, from the beginning of settlement near the area known as the 'Golden Mountain' the bulbs from the opium plant in Azzaristan have funded their conflict and destroyed the lives of many men, especially in the 1980's in Izmanin Kara, where it was said that overdoses upon it had become so bad that foreign doctors were required to help develop a strategy to deal with the Azzari drugs of destruction. But that was then, many fights with the Izmani army had resulted in the deaths of thousands, the Birayên Misilman û Azzar had set their sights upon Palmyrion.

If the Azani's were good at something, it was smuggling, bringing in weapons and heroin to fuel the battle and acquire funds to be sent back home. It was now that the Birayên Misilman û Azzar had decided that they would revamp operations in the area, after witnessing the Brotherhood of the Cross and how their tactics were conducted, the game had clearly changed. The Jaish al-Mahdī seemed like a natural ally to the Shia Azzari, who would seek to hold a meeting with the group. And after that, they would establish operations, running guns to the Shias, while smuggling cigarettes laced with opium to areas under control by the Brotherhood of the Cross, and the Loyalist areas, if operations proved to be profitable by the investors back in Al-Abus and Azzaristan, the operations would be expanded to kidnap and extortion, but, that was far away.

The Azanis had built themselves a fine Reefer vessel, known as, 'Şêrîn' or, 'The Lion' in English, the ships cargo manifest stated that it was carrying cigars, cigarettes, dairy, dates, figs and watermelons, all true, but just a facade as the ship as well held rifles, ammunition, heroin, opium and components needed to make explosives. The Birayên representative, Abbas Ala'Sadid al-Azzar abu-Sadiq, this man was to be the man on the ground for the Azzari syndicate, dressed in a nice suit with a briefcase containing several thousand dollars handcuffed to his wrist, this was to be the hardest deal of his life.

A message was to be sent to the Jaish al-Mahdī to establish friendly relations.

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Sat Aug 04, 2018 9:31 pm

As the Pink River agent made his way out of the building towards his escort, Father Joseph chuckled and sat back in his leather recliner. He leaned back and crossed his arms, continuing his long, quiet laugh. He turned his head to the guard standing behind the couch to his right and said, "Get Ryan on the radio. I require him for something."

15 miles away, Brotherhood training camp
Ryan Blackburn stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he observed the dozen or so recruits firing their weapons down the field at the targets. Ryan was about 10 feet off to the right side behind some sandbags while the trainees practiced, their teacher shouting and berating those that weren't preforming as well as they should be. Ryan was moving from camp to camp, town to town, to ensure the militia was properly preparing themselves for all out war. Ryan also had to keep the engineers that were busy repairing the junked BMD-1s supplied, motivated, and on track. Finding ammunition for it wasn't as hard as he had originally thought, but it sure as hell wasn't easy. Fuel was difficult to find as well, due to the fact that most of it was being sent off to transport and cargo trucks as well as the many technicals the militia had acquired.

Just as Ryan had turned around and began to walk away, his two heavily armed guards in tow, he heard a crackle come from his radio. He stopped, unclipped it from his pants, and listened to the man on the other end, "Hey, Blackburn, come in. This is Rogers. Uh, over." Ryan sighed in exasperation, "This is Blackburn. What is it?"

"You're supposed to say ov-"

"Just tell me what the hell you want. I don't have time for this."

"Fine. Someone from Joseph's temporary HQ just called in. We're going to make a pickup of some supplies from those Pink Ocean guys. Over." Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. Idiot, he thought. "Pink River, genius. So, we deal with lowly crack dealers and pimps now? Fan-fucking-tastic. When, where, what?"

"Uhhhhh….gimme a sec...Over," came the reply. Ryan waited for a moment before he continued walking back towards the convoy that brought him here. It was on the other side of camp and he had to cross through a maze of tents and hastily constructed barracks, mess houses, latrines, and other vital buildings for the camp. Just as he rounded the camp's armory and the convoy came into view, a row of six white pick-up trucks with .50 caliber machineguns mounted in the beds, he heard the radio go off again. "Hey, Blackburn, we're supp-"

Ryan interrupted him, "Hold up, I'm almost back. Just talk to me face to face." He clipped his radio back onto his urban camouflaged pants. As he and his two guards returned to the trucks, Rogers climbed out of the passenger seat of the second truck and approached him. "So we're supposed to be picking up some anti-tank rounds for the BMD-1s and some fuel. Machinegun bullets too. Those Pink Whatevers are gonna hand 'em over. Guess they just need to collect the shit, we gotta get the cash, and someone's gotta pick a place." Ryan nodded and dismissed Rogers with the wave of his hand.

Ryan turned and looked at the men that made up the small convoy. Before him stood the elite unit that Ryan was in charge of leading, training, and arming. They were the Father's personal guard and military unit. While there were only a few of them, twenty to be exact (twenty-four, if you count the four currently with Joseph), they weren't meant to be used like the rest of the milita. Their number one goal was to protect Joseph and his second in command- Ryan.

Ryan was a devout Christian and loyal to the Father and his cause. Still, he isn't as fanatical as Joseph. He also isn't as racist. Still, he would give his life for both the Brotherhood and for Joseph.

"Alright," he finally said, turning back to Rogers, who was now back in his seat in his truck. "See if you can get into contact with those Pink River guys. I've got a good meet up spot in mind. Remember that abandoned gas station where we 'disposed' of those coke dealers on that old dirt road out in the middle of no where? We can meet there, give 'em the location. I assume Joseph has transport for the supplies and the money headed this way already, right?"

Rogers nodded, "Yeah, they haven't left yet, we can meet them wherever."

"Good, have them head to town, you know the one, that's a few miles from the station. We'll hook up there and continue the rest of the way together." Rogers gave a thumbs up as he contacted the proper people on his radio. Ryan began to prepare the men to head out within the hour. They had a decent drive ahead of them.

by **Solisian Union** » Sat Aug 04, 2018 11:27 pm

The Moon Port of Shona, The Solisian Union

To the barricades!

Osako Noriko

Long ago, I believed that things would always remain great. Today, I do not believe in the same things I used to. And as time marches on, as a peace with honor is signed between us and the Exilei, there is always a risk. A gamble that we must always commit at the end of every term.

The daughter of a Lunas who served as a lawyer and a Solas who died fighting for his country in the war to keep the Union strong in the face of the Separatist Confederation of Solisia was the Central President of the Union, the most important politician holding the greatest office in the history of the land. Although this could get to her head easily, for long before she reached the age required to serve in that seat, she was arrogant, annoying and having many other flaws, the woman has grown. And so she learned her way.

Today was a very important day. She was rubbing the back of her neck as she listened to her secretary read to her about all she had to know first about Palmyrion...and about the situation that was developing out there. She felt sweat go down from her forehead as she thought about the embassy and the group of Solisian Exilei (only 10) that was guarding it. While the group was not included in the ORBAT she was shown yesterday by the general she chose for the "Palm job", whose name was Anxious Sun as the military wanted to make sure that her identity was never compromised and that even the Central President of the Union of the Sun, the united states of the Lunas and the Solas, would not even know and so leak to others.

She sighed as she raised a hand to her secretary, the woman nodding as she stopped reading loudly and allowed her president to think about things more clearly, more silently. She adjusted the cuffs of her jacket and looked at the sky, searching for the sun as it was going down, the moon soon coming up to replace her. She then told her secretary very carefully, not looking at her as she spoke

"Give the permission for Anxious Sun to immediately deploy her forces. I am giving her all the time she needs to accomplish her chosen objectives. Go."

Anxious Sun - AKA - General Emma Nazaret Jovita Clarisa

Dressed in khaki pants, a khaki jacket over a brown shirt, and a pair of dark glasses over her dry hair, Anxious Sun was walking through the hallway of her headquarters which was temporarily established close to Moon Port. She reached her office and found the door for the conference room and entered it, witnessing many of her subordinates, who were waiting for her for 30 minutes now, stand up and salute her. All she told them to do as she got to her seat and to her aide, who offered her coffee, was "Sit down. I have news to tell you, ladies and gentlemen."

She sat down on her chair too and took the cup of coffee offered and instructed her aide to sit down. Once everyone was settled once more, she spoke "All right. Here is the deal: The Royal Commonwealth of Palmyrion is falling apart thanks to Islamist, ultranationalist, ethnic and other rebellions and threats. We believe also that this is a high level conflict requiring us to intervene at least for now minimally on the behalf of the loyalists. There is the possibility of nuclear weapons being involved and with the danger of our embassy and our forces currently defending it falling into enemy hands. We cannot let that happen. So tonight, I'm told to inform you all that we will be moving out of Moon Port before midnight and we will soon arrive at Cape Vigan in a few weeks, give or take. Any questions?"

And at just her words, a thousand arms were raised. Anxious Sun sighed and gave them all a bitter smile.

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Sun Aug 05, 2018 12:47 pm

An Abandoned Gas Station,
Somewhere, Northern Palmyrion

It wasn't difficult for the Brotherhood of the Cross to get in contact with Pink River about the meeting location, especially now that they were cleared for limited operation within Brotherhood territory. They had been expecting such contact and were prepared for it. The location that the Brotherhood requested was a small gas station in a truly uninhabited part of Palmyria. It was so isolated that the roads weren't paved, it wouldn't have been surprising to learn that the people living there had no idea that any war was going on around them. It was not the kind of place that Pink River usually conducted business, they liked places nearer their own operations. But the Amazon cleared the exchange, and so the meeting commenced.

The ordinance was contained in wooden crates, painstakingly removed from its original Shrailleeni Imperial Army containers which would have been more difficult to move out of the empire. The missiles and the ammunition were loaded onto four black armored vans, 200 ATGMs plus a couple of 3rd-generation launchers in case the buyer was interested in an upgrade as well as well over 5000 rounds of machine gun ammunition. It was enough to sustain one or two major assaults, or a month's worth of smaller operations. The final truck contained ten barrels of fuel shoved on top of one another, again more than enough to sustain a major assault. Future deals would, of course, be necessary. It was hoped that this exchange would become a regular occurrence.

Each van contained two people in each cab, Lucius and nine Enforcers. The Enforcers had been hand-picked by Commander Chesseya for this mission, a mixture of tall, tan, muscular Deadoran women and smaller, Roman- and Baran-descended Gloria Regians. No need to antagonize the customer by showing up with ebon Dengali or rich brown-skinned Shrailleeni islanders. All of them were dressed in combat gear taken from fallen Shrailleeni soldiers, black-white-and-gray patterned flack jackets and helmets, and all of them carried assault rifles.

The vans pulled up just short of the gas station, one behind the next, forming a semi-circle. Lucius took a deep breath and hopped out of the car. The Enforcers followed suit, looking around warily. It wouldn't be the first time that someone decided they could just rip off Pink River and take the product for free.

It wasn't clear at the moment which side had arrived first.

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Sun Aug 05, 2018 2:21 pm

Ryan Blackburn puffed on his cigar as he sat in the passenger seat of the parked technical. The door was open and he was sitting sideways in the seat, his legs dangling out. All around him, the twenty soldiers he brought with him were securing the gas station. After hooking up with the money and transportation convoy, and dismissing the small guard that accompanied it, Ryan and the now larger group continued toward the meet up point, beating the Pink River agents. The soldiers with him were all dressed and armed very similarly. Each wore distinct black body armor and urban camouflage. Most wore helmets the same dark shade of black as their armor, and some had balaclava masks obscuring their faces. In their arms they carried either M4s or Mossberg 590s.

The white technicals were arranged in a half circle behind the gas station, somewhat out of view from the road. Each of the half a dozen trucks had a mounted machinegun, and each gun was manned by a soldier. They scanned the surrounding area, checking for hostiles. There were also three large cargo trucks. They sat in a line, protected by the half circle of technicals. Just as Ryan was starting to get impatient, he heard a crackled from the radio in the truck.

"Sir, we got a convoy coming down the road right for us. Looks like the Pink River team."

Ryan reached for the radio and replied, "Good. Get back here."

Ryan exited the vehicles, slammed the door, and dropped the nearly gone cigar on the ground, crushing it under his boot. With a whistle, he got the attention of the security detail. "Look sharp boys. Don't let these fuckers pull a fast one on us." Most of the soldiers made their way towards where the Pink River operatives would be arriving. Ryan heard the convoy approach and stop, just out of view. Before he could question it, he saw a man round the corner of the empty gas station. He was followed by a decent number of well armed thugs. Thugs might not be the best word, considering what they were packing. A few of the militiamen half raised their weapons, and each was on edge. They all knew a lot, a lot, was riding on this deal, and the possibility of future deals.

With a sigh, Ryan took a few steps towards the approaching Pink River guys, just enough to be ahead of the rest of the Brotherhood men. "Hello," he said, "I'm guessing you're with the Pink River. I believe you have something for me."

by **The United Remnants of America** » Tue Aug 07, 2018 12:29 am

Captain Ian Boundie

Nearing St. John Airbase, Palmyrion

8/7/2018 - 05:00

It should have been considered a feat of logistics to shove 21 occupants into the aging C-37B aircraft. The aircraft and her seven sisters had originally been VIP transports for the Remnant Air Force before being retired several years ago. Instead of being sent to a bone yard, though, the Contracted Personnel Division had quickly snapped them up to retrofit them for service. The CPD, as it were, was currently the largest private military organization operating within the Greater Remnant Cooperation Sphere.

"Private," of course, was most likely a misnomer. Most CPD equipment was bought from the Remnant Military, and a large percentage of the personnel were former military of the various GRCS militaries. The pilot and copilot of the C-37B were themselves two decades older than the plane they flew, but were just as retired from the Remnant Air Force. Both were silent as they made the proper landing requests and landing procedures into Palmyrion's St. John Airbase. This had been the second long-distance trip they'd made in one contract. There was only supposed to be one trip. To Chad. And then back home where they'd cash in.

But their charges had met and befriended a team of Palmie special forces in Chad, so when Palmyrion's broiling little war had accidentally blown up, the URA had modified the CPD contract for the team in Chad to extend to a mission into Palmyrion to assist the government. The pilots weren't really sure what the mission was, and they didn't give a shit. They were flying into another war-torn country on an unarmed aircraft. This wasn't what they'd been told they were going to do when they signed up to the CPD.

In all fairness, Captain Ian Boundie didn't fully understand his new contract. Boundie stood between the two pilots in the cockpit. He'd gotten up as landing started to watch the flight in. Boundie himself was ex-Remnant Army, from an armor regiment. He'd been a tanker because tanks were big, bulky, and stable. He hated flying, but he'd grown to tolerate it since he entered the CPD. Boundie was now a captain, and did a rotating position, overseeing various CPD contracts as they were carried out. His contract in Chad had been simple: Kill incels. Now that the contract had been extended to go to Palmyrion, it was more along the lines of "do the thing." Thank you for that. This wasn't Boundie's first vague mission with no objective, and he doubted it would be his last.

The other twenty occupants, all sleeping from the long flight, were a unit called Complete Obliteration. Boundie rolled his eyes when the younger ex-military men said their unit name. They were foreign, from some PMC or other that had gone out of business before CPD hired them on and turned them into small-action unit. Boundie was assigned to oversee them for this contract, and he frankly had grown to dislike how arrogant they were. Too much macho masculine behavior. If they were Remnant Military, they'd have been busted out before their first year in uniform, or sent to the stockades for a few weeks to mature up. Either way, their specialty was heavy weapons operations, and Boundie had to admit they at least knew their way around explosives and heavy weapons. The plane's cargo area was loaded with everything they needed to get their job accomplished, whatever that job was.

"Ground Control, this is Major Bowie on military contract of the URA in service to Palmyrion," the pilot spoke, "Request clearance to land."

Boundie couldn't hear the response, but he imagined it in his head. It went something like "Ground Control to Major Bowie, cleared to land, have a nice day and please save our country."

"Copy that, Ground Control. We'll be wheels down in a few," the pilot signed off. Boundie nodded and clapped the back of the pilot's seat. They hadn't been killed yet. This was good.

Boundie turned and left the cockpit without a word, using his hands to hold himself upright through the turbulence. He walked into the main cabin at the sleeping mercenaries and yelled, "Wake up, gentlemen! We're here! Get ready to kick the tires and light the fires!"

Boundie watched the young military contractors stir, blinking and stretching away their sleep. One thought went through his mind. Once they landed, what the fuck were they supposed to do then? Had the URA even organized a Palmie liaison for them or were they supposed to just figure it out?

Boundie was reminded for the uncountable time why he'd retired from the Remnant Army, and reminded yet again why he regretted signing onto the CPD.

by **Solisian Union** » Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:41 am

Anxious Sun - AKA - General Emma Nazaret Jovita Clarisa

"General, we have assembled the men and all they need for you today. We are now waiting for your order to get to the ships." Spoke Colonel Eksina, who was leading the 1st Legion into battle for Anxious Sun. When she finished speaking, she stood to attention and waited plainly for her general to speak.

Anxious Sun looked over her men and women who composed the 1st Legion. Before her stood the most trained legion of the Solisian Union. There were Lunas, Solas and Exilei everywhere and with them their tanks, their APCs, IFVs, trucks and more. Their own air assets were already at the transports, to save time. For now, they were standing in square by square formation in the eyes of Anxious Sun. The woman then spoke to them with the aid of a microphone

"Legionarios. ¡Permanezca firme, altura!" And at the words of their general, the entire body of men and women brought their legs together, slapped their right thigh and then saluted her, saying "¡Legionarios! ¡Legionarios!"

The General then nodded to them all and they responded by assuming parade rest silently. She then began her speech

"You are the First Legion. The first men and women to go into battle. You will be sent to Palmyrion and you will fight to keep the loyalists alive. And in Palmyrion, you will serve their banner as much as you will serve the banner of your people here.

Out there, I want you to be open minded. I want you to understand and to realize that this is our first war beyond our borders. And so, legionnaires, this is the deal: You get there, you fight there, you win there and you return here. Dead or alive, you make it back and I will amek sure that comes true. Do that or I'll give you something to remember: un nuevo agujero para que cagues de! Legionnaires, y'all on the stage?"

"Legionnaires are on the stage, on the front, liderando el camino una y otra vez!"

Solisian Military Transmission to the government of Palmyrion:

Greetings! We would like to extend our peace to you and offer our assistance in your conflict. Though you may or may not bless it, may the First Legion serve you and your people well in order to keep your lives strong and firm. We will see you and hope to fight your enemies by yours side once we make it there.

Dearest regards,

General Emma Nazaret Jovita Clarisa

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Wed Aug 08, 2018 4:54 pm

"If you are Father Joseph's man, then I surely do," the man in front replied with a distinct Latin accent. He was still just wearing civilian clothing and didn't seem to be carrying any weapons, unlike the grim-looking women and men behind him. They weren't all behind him of course, some had spread out around and behind their vehicles to form a perimeter. But as the conversation started the Pink River Enforcers seemed to relax just a tiny bit. They eyed their Brotherhood counterparts, sizing them up. One tall woman was chewing what appeared to be gum.

Lucius spread his arms open and smiled welcomingly. "I think we can do business, quod sic? Come, let me show you what I've brought."

He beckoned them closer, and gave out a loud whistle. His guard pulled back accordingly, and the sound of van doors opening could be heard from around the corner. Not far away, Enforcers were bringing crates out of the vehicles and setting them down about halfway to where the two groups had first met. Two women pried open the top of one of them, exposing rows of fat, shiny missile tips sitting upright. Another showed containers designed to hold belts of machine gun ammunition, the caliber and Railtic writing displayed on the sides. If any of the Brotherhood could read Railti, they would have made out the words "Shrailleeni State Arms."

Lucius was now in full sales pitch mode. "Now, Father Joseph didn't specify what kind of anti-tank missiles you were looking for. Now all of these are Shrailleeni-made shaped-charge HEAT warheads. We're guessing that your BMD-1's still have their original wire-guided missile systems, so we've adapted these accordingly. All are ready to be fired out of your systems right now."

"Now if you're interested, I brought along some 3rd-generation systems to show you as well. It shouldn't be too much trouble to adapt them onto your vehicles, you might have to sacrifice some armor, but they are fire-and-forget system. All of our missiles still have RADAR guidance in the tips, they simply won't work when fired out of your systems so we've added wire guidance. But with these systems they'd receive their targeting parameters. Just if you're interested, not necessarily part of the deal."

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

"All told we've brought 200 ATGM's, 3 new missile systems, 5000 rounds of machine gun ammunition, and ten barrels of petrol as well. And this is just a taste of what Pink River can provide."

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Wed Aug 08, 2018 5:31 pm

Somewhere in Northern Palmyrion, anywhere really
The Broken Chair

The private quarters of the Blood Mother were, perhaps surprisingly, nothing particularly special. She made use of a studio-style apartment that had been constructed above The Broken Chair bar, near the center of the building's layout. It was sparsely furnished, containing only a table, two wooden chairs, a queen-sized bed, and a bookshelf. Several trunks and metal boxes appeared to contain all of her personal possessions. A small kitchen area appeared heavily used but well kept. There was little in the way of decoration, save for a silver-lined scabbard containing her personal sword with was kept leaning against the bed.

The Blood Mother liked things this way. It was simple, clean, and relatively easily to abandon in a pinch. Being hunted by Shrailleeni Imperial Strategic Intelligence wasn't an easy thing, and it had made her both paranoid and extremely adaptable. There was a reason why she had been selected to head their operations in Palmyrion over many other qualified candidates.

At the moment she was sitting at her table, bent over in concentration as she put pen to paper in an eloquent flourishing hand. She was wearing reading glasses to help her see. After a time she put the pen down, sat back, and lifted the paper up to read what she had wrote. Seeming satisfied, she folded the paper neatly, went over to a strong box by her bookcase, and placed it inside atop a pile of similarly folded papers. She closed it, locked it, and then went to the kitchen.

As she moved through her cabinets a small, long, furry creature roused itself from the bed and scampered over to her. It had short legs that required it to arch its back as it ran, and a pointed snout filled with needle-like teeth. It was a milky white color, with pink eyes and nose and rounded ears. It made a little chirring noise and wound itself around her legs, and she smiled.

"Alright Kiya," she said softly, and shared some of the canned fish that she had been preparing. It took the meat happily, chewing with loud smacking sounds.

She had found the odd little creature after coming to Palmyrion, it having entered her apartment though a now-repaired hole in the ceiling to raid her cabinets. She had never seen anything like it before, and it had a certain fearlessness which she had found endearing. When it proved tame, she had simply decided to keep it around. Her inquiries suggested that it was a beast known as a "ferret," which in some nations was kept as a companion animal. She had named it Kiya, after her pet name for her daughter.

She finished preparing her meal, and ate it with Kiya curled in her lap occasionally pawing her for a taste. Afterward there was a knock at her door, a distinctive one known only to the Intelligence agent charged with delivering her the latest reports. Sure enough, a piece of paper was slid under the door immediately afterward. She picked it up, and read the two-sided printout with a critical eye.

Things were heating up in Palmyrion. Word on the street was that Jaish al-Mahdi had gotten some kind of outside contact lately, which was worthy of note. A unit of CPD, fresh from operations in some far-flung country, had been granted permission to land in Palmyrion and would be on the ground soon. This wasn't a major problem for Pink River, all of their intelligence suggested that the URA was here to support the Palmy government. Maybe they would even want safe houses, medicine, or a bit of on-the-ground intelligence that Pink River could sell them?

Less clear were the intentions of the Solisian Military. Pink River's mole in the Palmyrian government suggested that this nation was sending a legion into Palmyria. They claimed to be fighting enemies of the Palmy government, but it was unclear whether or not that included Pink River. Her organization had so far taken pains not to upset the Loyalist Militias or the Palmyrians. Sure they were supplying rebel militias, but that was just business. If the Loyalists approached them tomorrow, the Blood Mother would be just as happy to supply them. Maybe even more happy, because if this war ended in the favor of the Palmy government then it would be very profitable indeed to be ingratiated to that government.

Then there were the Insane Vice Kings. She had learned about Doctor Delight's hit on the Vice Kings members after the fact, but she approved. If these street thugs did not cooperate, they would have to be eliminated. The Blood Mother could not tolerate competition. But it appeared that Pink River was winning the war on the streets, their expansion into Vice Kings territory was so far unopposed and they had set up one new prostitution operation and were being paid protection by three new businesses. This pleased her greatly.

Then there were the weapons deals. Pink River was receiving new and large contracts to smuggle arms and ammunition into the country, so much that it needed to expand its import to meet demand. She had already sent a request to Pink River's headquarters for more weapons, and had been informed that they were working on the problem. No doubt that meant a new heist in Shrailleen, and maybe sting operations in Dengali or Deadora. Since the customer wanted a certain kind of weaponry, they might be making a deal with Arcologians for some Imperium weaponry. One way or another though, they would keep up with demand.

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Wed Aug 08, 2018 7:45 pm

Behind Ryan, the Brotherhood fighters continued to be tense and ready. While Pink River agent's demeanor calmed most of them down a little, they still didn't completely trust the armed men and women with him. Ryan didn't much care what his men thought, he believed that the Pink River thugs wouldn't turn on them without reason. He was silent through the sales pitch, merely examining the product and barely listening. When the agent was done, Ryan spoke up, "Sounds good. We do need wire guided missiles, so that was smart of you. I'm also authorized to adjust the deal, so we'll take those three missile systems. If this is the kind of shit you crack dealers can keep providing, you and me will be the best of friends." Ryan only said the last bit with a little sarcasm. "So, what're you thinking price wise? Since you clearly like me so much, a friend discount would be much appreciated. So...ten million sound good to you?"

Ryan snapped his fingers and another soldier appeared from behind the short line of cargo trucks. This soldier had a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. Once the soldier approached him, Ryan pulled out the keys and unlocked the handcuffs. Once the case was in his possession, Ryan entered the combination and showed off the stacks of dollars for a moment before snapping it shut once more. "So, pretty boy," Ryan said, "We got us a deal or what?"

by **The Shrailleeni Empire** » Wed Aug 08, 2018 8:05 pm

"Ha ha ha ha ha," Lucius laughed good-naturedly, shaking a finger at Ryan a few times and shaking his head as if he had been told a hilarious joke that was in poor taste. The Enforcers didn't move. In fact, they stopped moving around for moment.

"Ten million in dollars? My good friend, and I can tell we will be good friends, the missiles alone are worth more than ten. If I were to sell to you at such a price, how do you expect me to afford new merchandise amicus? And then you say you would like the systems as well!"

He shook his head.

"So let us speak reasonably as friends. The systems, the missiles, the ammunition, the petrol. Together they are worth twice what you suggest cogito. But I like you, and you seem like you might be crushing our other potential customers soon. So instead of that, I think 18 million in dollars is very fair."

by **Solisian Union** » Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:46 am

The Port

Night came. The First Legion and the Queens Marines have already left, the CSG already escorting the transports as they made their way from Solisia towards Palmyrion. It would take time. But for now, time was important for all of those in the AARF. And in the AARF, they would have to go a different way. Air.

Almost immediately after their comrades left, the AARF was moved to the nearest airbases in the area, from where they would take the planes that would at least get them into the country faster than sailing could. But it carried a risk. And that meant something big. They would, therefore, require the help of the only forces of the Union standing in Palmyrion: The Embassy Exilei Group.

Led by Captain Zeyn Hajji, he was tapped by Anxious Sun to meet the Loyalists and make sure that the Union got a friendly airport to land on. But even if there will be, the Captain was told to expect the AARF to paradrop their troops should the situation become even more dangerous for the embassy and the group present.

Zeyn nodded to the words of the General and after speaking with her, he called his aide and some of his men to go with him from the embassy to the airport within the area, hoping to catch a Loyalist official or officer and get the assurance the Union needed to land their troops on. But Zeyn would not be alone.

Just as Zeyn had gone to do his job, President Osako Noriko would make her phone call to the government of Palmyrion, aiming to speak to either Katerina Defensor or that royalist, the Lakán. Though incompetent, Osako must get the government to realize that the help was on the way and that their best airport is going to have to serve Unionist troops and Unionist planes and Unionist power.

by **The Hoosier Alliance** » Thu Aug 09, 2018 5:22 pm

As the Pink River agent, Lucius or something, went on and continued to laugh and talk as though they were actually friends, Ryan started to like him less and less. Still, you didn't have to like someone to do a few deals with them. Ryan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as Lucius finished. Just before he ended his little spiel, Ryan could hear the click of a handful of safeties on the rifles behind him. While none of the Brotherhood fighters actually raised their weapons or threatened anyone, the sound's intent was obvious to anyone who could hear it.

"Pfft, 18? Now, now, that's a tad much, don't you think? Since we need you in the long run, and I don't want this to end...poorly, I'll raise. Fourteen. Seems more than fair to me. You may not know this about me, or my boys, but we don't much like it when things...aren't fair."

The Widowmaker's Lair (MT|IC)

The Widowmaker's Lair (MT|IC)

Somewhere in Palmyrion

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