Famine and Civil War in Ultramarine (MT IC)

by **Ultramarine** » Thu Dec 20, 2018 12:18 pm

OOC:

IC

The famine had started at the beginning of the summer. Farmers taken from fields to fight wars they had no place in fighting had left too few behind to tend their crops leading to them dying. When even fewer farmers returned from the Emperors wars there were even less hands to til the fields and plant the crops and tend for them. Then the rains failed to come and turned mud to dirt to dust. The crops failed, the livestock died and the people starved, not so much the Emperor.

In his mighty Palace in Edoras Emperor Roboute Guilleman sits in his throne enjoying lavish food from abroad. The food that makes its way from the docks to his palace in escorted and armoured convoys is never fully used and the waste is burnt meaning a strong smell of cooking food reeks over the capital causing hungry people to turn angrily to the palace with hungry eyes. The Army continues to serve, its rations secured by private estates owned by men loyal to the Emperor and the army serves to protect the Capital and these key estates. These remain the few bastions of Government rule in a country turned to madness. Undefended Army barracks and armouries have been looted and weapons and vehicles taken by Rebel Militia. These Rebels now storm their way through the country side raiding unprotected farm steads and villages taking what they want to feed themselves and those in the villages they protect.

The country has fallen apart.

by **Atlantian Dominions** » Thu Dec 20, 2018 1:28 pm

Robert Alenkis drummed a tattoo onto the plastic polymer grip of the assault rifle with his fingers, humming a melody in accompaniment as he continued his casual stroll along the perimeter of the dock. Behind him the sounds of the sea mingled with the more industrial noises of a ship being unloaded as the Atlantian freighter Ultra-5 was emptied of its cargo of food. Normally such a mundane cargo wouldn’t merit protection from a platoon of mercenaries, but things weren’t normal here in Ultramarine. This was his third trip to the country, an assignment that had remained mercifully boring so far. The agricultural conglomerate was paying combat rates for this protection, meaning he was making as much money standing around shooing away starving beggars as the guys getting shot at in some other hellhole. They’d apparently decided that it was better to lose money on the guards and make it back on completing the sale of the food than it was to skimp on paying the mercenaries and lose the food cargo to the rebels who were running rampant.

A new sound, engines and tires on pavement, slowly became audible. That would be the armored convoy coming to transport the new shipment from here to the palace. Robert hadn’t had many interactions with the soldiers who loaded the food onto the convoy vehicles. He presumed they were still being fed well, because he saw no reason they would stick around otherwise. The quiet sound of his tapping on the rifle floated into the air and disappeared beneath the hundred other sounds of the dockside as he watched the containers of food from the breadbasket regions of the Atlantian Dominions disappear into the menacing armored vehicles of the convoy.

* * *

“Sign here...and here...and one more time here.”

The nearly inaudble scribbling of pen on paper could barely be heard in the small office, especially with the climate control working hard to counteract the local weather. It had been bitterly cold, then hot and dry these last few months, and the Atlantian consulate had gone from between one kind of uncomfortable to a different kind of equally uncomfortable. That hadn’t stopped the fairly steady number of people who had come in to fill out the paperwork required for an entry visa into the Confederacy.

They were almost all women, and all were attractive. They each came with paperwork from an Atlantian corporate headhunter. It was a common practice for Atlantian businesses that operated in service industries. Women who were looking for safer, more stable homes - places where they wouldn’t have to worry about their next meal or marauding gangs of rebels - would find recruiters eager to hire them to come and work in Atlantia. The jobs were basic positions - maids, waitresses, secretaries. Buried in the dense contracts that the women signed were clauses that would force them to wear revealing and demeaning uniforms in these jobs, and employers would have the ability to fire them for failing to maintain their physical appearance. The contracts also included extensive language that essentially stripped the women of any recourse or protection from the culture of rampant sexism that pervaded Atlantia. They would be free to quit, but like others before them they would find that few opportunities existed without these conditions, especially not for foreign immigrants.

The woman currently signing her visa application would find all this out soon enough. When she was done with the paperwork, the man behind the desk filed everything away in a manila envelope. “Come back in a few days,” he explained as he ushered her out of the office. “We’ll have your papers ready. Your sponsor should also have your transport out of the country arranged.”

The look of relief on her face was obvious. He wondered idly whether she would have any regrets once she arrived in her new home and discovered what sort of place the Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions was like. But those disappeared after only a moment of consideration. A few chairs in the lobby of the consulate were still occupied.

“Whoever is next, step in.”

* * *

The Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions had few scruples when it came to allies abroad. Any state that was willing to open its borders to Atlantian investment, and had something to provide in return, was a friend to be made. Emperor Guilleman was, based on his actions in this ongoing crisis, a self-centered and greedy man, more concerned with his well-being than with the welfare of his people. That was just the sort of person that the Atlantians could work with. While corporations made their profits selling food to the emperor and headhunted for those who could be enticed to leave Ultramarine for Atlantia, the Atlantian government made it clear that was prepared to provide whatever aid was needed. Weapons, supplies, and other forms of material support were made available to Guilleman’s military. Advisors were put on standby to deploy to the embattled nation to help stiffen the spines of the soldiers who remained loyal. Should more steel be required, a carrier battle group and an accompanying task force of Marines were placed on standby, ready to begin making steam towards Ultramarine if, or when, that became necessary.

by **Ultramarine** » Fri Dec 21, 2018 4:28 am

The Emperors Palace, Edoras

Roboute Guilleman stepped from the throne to look out the window as the armoured convoy drove through the gates. He loved the food that was delivered daily to him, it brought a sort of smile to his face. Also the ability to control who gained the food and who didn't gave him a strange sort of tingle inside. "See Minister it is I who have the power here, not some establishment that continues to meet when I disbanded it!" Guilleman turned to look at the figure who was handcuffed and on his knees before the throne, two stern looking soldiers stood either side of him. "My liege it is not fair that the food shipments from abroad are not shared out, the people need to eat to!" The minister spoke quickly looking directly at his liege, an act which made Guilleman a little uncomfortable. "Robert Schmitt, champion of the people former Defence Minister and now self proclaimed rebel leader, well those rebels that you claim to lead are raiding the country side and fighting each other, even now my army marches on one of their camps ready to purge them from the face of the earth!" Guilleman turned from Schmitt and climbed up the steps to the throne and sat heavily, "What to do with you I wonder?" Guilleman began to drum the fingers of his left hand on the arm of the throne whilst staring at the minister. "Kill you I make a martyr and risk the militias uniting behind your corpse. So I guess its to jail with you. Guards! Take this man to the Tower!" The look of hopelessness on Schimtts face made Guilleman smile as the guards picked Robert up and began to drag him from the throne room.

Rebel Camp North of Edoras

The small rebel army of the Hundred Sons had reached the Edoras outskirts about a week ago, then their fuel supplies had begun to run low and their vehicles had to stop. The rebels sat around their camp fires now trying to keep out the night chill, which was a sharp contrast to the days heat. As they sat there they began to hear the noises of engines in the distance, "Reinforcements?" One man asked another. His comrade shrugged, just before he fell backwards from a direct sniper shot. "CONTACT!" Someone shouted and the rebels began to run around in confusion trying to find their weapons and get into defensive positions whilst the roar of BMPs and T-72s filled the air and the roar of battlecries filled the air, "FOR THE EMPEROR!" Came a cry as the Army infantry came over the ridge guns blaring. The whole affair lasted no longer than an hour the rebels who survived fled into the night the rest stained the ground with their blood.

by **Atlantian Dominions** » Fri Dec 21, 2018 3:23 pm

On days like today, when the desk had been covered in various pieces of paper well before lunch time, Phineas Trumbull wished that the damn rebels had had the decency to start their uprising after his tenure as ambassador to Ultramarine had concluded. Until very recently the posting had been calm, uneventful, and downright boring – exactly the sort of easy government job Phineas had deserved after the sizeable contributions he had made to President Jim Gilmore’s last election campaign. He’d gotten the golden parachute out of the private sector and he’d been happy to live on the government dime in this obscure country, until everything went to hell. Now his desk was full of things that needed his attention. Updates on the latest clashes between the rebels and the government, a fresh wave of visa applications that needed his approval, and messages from the government back home. He had to actually come into the office every day now! This was not what he had signed on for when he’d accepted the position.

The door to his office swung open and his personal secretary, a buxom Schalan woman who had followed him from his corporate position into public service, entered carrying a small meal on a tray. Like all the other female staff in the embassy, she walked on tall platform heels and wore a short, tight skirt, making her take short, mincing steps.

“There’s a priority message from Cumberland,” she said as set the tray down on a small clear space of the desk. She bent from the waist, showing off her ample cleavage, as was expected of her. “From Secretary Olsen’s office.” The ambassador nodded an acknowledgement and sent the secretary out of the room with a smack on the butt.

The message was easy enough to find, bearing all the marks of official diplomatic communication. It was short and to the point – what did the prospects for Emperor Guilleman look like? The short answer was that it was hard to say – the ruler of Ultramarine appeared to actually rule little beyond the capital city. Transportation links with other loyal estates were kept open through the use of armored convoys. It could continue like this indefinitely. He continued reading.

“President has made clear willingness to assist Guilleman, especially given economic opportunity,” he read aloud. “Well, that’s interesting.” The Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions had in fact been doing more active outreach recently, opening up as many markets as possible to Atlantian goods and investments. If Guilleman and his government survived, there certainly would be a big need for capital to finance reconstruction efforts. He was to arrange a meeting as soon as possible to get more information. He pressed the buzzer on his desk that summoned his secretary back into the office.

“Get in touch with the imperial government,” he dictated to the woman once she had entered. “Tell them I’d like to request a meeting with a representative of their government, in order to discuss…say, ‘in order to discuss further opportunities for cooperation.’”

“Of course, Mister Ambassador,” she replied. “Anything else?”

“That will be all, for now."

DIPLOMATIC MESSAGE
STANDARD ENCRYPTION
Ambassador Phineas Trumbull wishes to express his sincere expressions of sympathy for the current instability which plagues portions of Ultramarine. He wishes to meet with a representative of His Majesty Emperor Guilleman's government, in order to discuss the ways in which Atlantia might aid Ultramarine in restoring peace and order. --Atlantian Embassy

by **Ultramarine** » Sat Dec 22, 2018 4:51 am

Atlantian Dominions wrote:
DIPLOMATIC MESSAGE
STANDARD ENCRYPTION
Ambassador Phineas Trumbull wishes to express his sincere expressions of sympathy for the current instability which plagues portions of Ultramarine. He wishes to meet with a representative of His Majesty Emperor Guilleman's government, in order to discuss the ways in which Atlantia might aid Ultramarine in restoring peace and order. --Atlantian Embassy

Edoras, The Emperors Palace

The lowly government minister sat at his computer scanning the emails, like he did everyday of the year. Head held in one hand a small trail of drool escaping his mouth as he looked at petition after petition from the old Parliament asking to be reinstated and other ludicrous requests. Then one caught his eye. He straightened up, wiped himself and looked at the email. He then got very excited and picked up the phone, "My lord?" He asked tentatively down the phone as the drowsy voice of the Emperors foreign representative Lord Carl, who was in the process of his afternoon nap, picked up the phone. "We have a request from the Atlantian embassy wanting to meet with a representative of the Emperors Government. What should I say? Uh huh...yes...OK!" With that the phone hung up and the lowly government minister set to typing.

Code: Select all: Diplomatic Message response From: The office of the Lord Carl To: The Office of Ambassador Phineas Trumbull Standard Encryption Come one! Come All! The Lord Carl will gladly receive you at the Palace tomorrow morning to meet and discuss the ways in which your glorious nation may help us in restoring the peace and order of our own great nation.

by **Astoria** » Sat Dec 22, 2018 11:35 am

President Adams Defends Astorian Commitment to World Assembly Force

Columbia, Astoria – President David Jefferson Adams reaffirmed his determination to continue Astorian involvement in the World Assembly humanitarian force deployed to the embattled country of Ultramarine during his regular press conference today. In response to a question about ongoing criticism of the mission from opposition leaders, President Adams said that he viewed Astorian participation in the World Assembly Force in Ultramarine (WAFU) as “a vital piece of Astoria’s contribution to the global humanitarian mission of the World Assembly.”

“Astoria cannot maintain its position of leadership on global humanitarian issues if we’re not willing to pitch in and lend a hand,” Adams continued. “Our deployment in Ultramarine is helping to ensure that food ends up in the hands of starving civilians, instead of being stolen by bandits.”

The World Assembly Force in Ultramarine was created by resolution of the World Assembly following the outbreak of serious civil unrest in Ultramarine. The eruption of armed rebellion against the government imperiled the efforts of various NGOs to deliver food aid to a nation suffering from a major famine. WAFU was formed to provide military protection to the aid mission. The armed mission operates with the consent of the Ultramarine government. There has been no conflict between WAFU and the rebels as of yet.

North of Edoras
Ultramarine

Every single village that Private Nelson Ansel rolled into aboard the Stryker infantry carrier replaced the last village as the holder of the prestigious “Most Depressing Place on Earth” award. Every single one was full of emaciated people who looked like they might storm the trucks loaded with ration packs and other basic foodstuffs no matter how many soldiers and guns surrounded them. There was usually at least one ruined building, often more than one, and the lasting evidence of war. The column rolled around, or over, or through, shell holes in the road and the remains of hastily erected barricades that had failed to keep out the rebels and bandits that WAFU was here to scare off.

Good thing we look scary. The Strykers were certainly intimidating, their low armored profiles topped with a remotely controlled weapons station that sported a heavy machine gun or grenade launcher. The Astorian soldiers looked intimidating as well, emerging from their armored vehicles in full “battle rattle” combat gear. The hope was the rebels wouldn’t risk the confrontation and this would provide the various aid groups some breathing room to operate. Private Ansel had his doubts – if they were smart, they’d just wait until WAFU rolled on to the next town before coming in to take the food aid the workers had just spent hours offloading from the trucks and handing out to the crowds of eager people who swarmed around them.

The battle rifle in his hand was comfortingly heavy, even if he was forbidden to actually chamber a round from the magazine until ordered by an officer or facing an imminent threat to his life. The general rules of engagement were clear – don’t fire unless fired upon. No one had shot at them yet. As he took up his position on the perimeter and began looking over the crowd and the village from behind his tactical sunglasses, Ansel decided he’d rather be bored than be dodging bullets. If the rebels didn’t want to go up against WAFU head-to-head just yet, they could take their sweet time.

by **Allanea** » Sat Dec 22, 2018 2:22 pm

To: His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Roboute Guilliman
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

My Royal Friend!

I am given to understand that your nation is suffering from severe economic and infrastructure issues. To be highly brief under the circumstances, I am offering you emergency assistance. As of this moment, I have ordered the Emergency Airlift Command to prepare a squadron of cargo aircraft to be used in airlifting emergency food supplies to your nation, as well as small amounts of gifts to you and your close associates, to aid you with your work on running the country.

The first shipments will consist of:

1) A small shipment of special foods for senior officials of your nation, to aid them in the hard work they are doing (black and red caviar, ostrich eggs, specialty wines, cheeses and breads). This shipment, by necessity, will be only about a total of 1 ton of supplies out of the total of approx.. 2400 tons of supplies in the emergency airlift.
2) A shipment of emergency dry-milk products, specifically intended for use with caring for starving children, namely F75 milk powder, designed for the treatment of acute malnutrition. This will constitute 50% of the emergency airlift supplies by weight. Another benefit of tis substance is that, because its only meaningful use is saving starving children, even if it is stolen and resold it will save starving kids somewhere in your country.
3) A small team of 100 emergency personnel to aid in the distribution.
4) A shipment of rice, sugar, and condensed milk, to assist the truly starving in besting their nutrition gaps.

Let me assure you that this will be only the beginning of Operation Pelican V. High-speed cargo vessels are already being loaded, and will require up to 11 days to arrive in Edoras and other ports with emergency foods.

Yours, Cassiopeia.

*

To: President Jim Gilmore, Atlantian Dominions
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

Greetings!

I am given to understand you are assisting His Imperial Majesty Roboute Guilleman in combating the famine that besets his people. So am I. I have already ordered the beginning of an operation titled Pelican V to assist those in need. Due to the necessity of a multinational relief effort I would like to coordinate with you our operations.

As we both know, the issue with famines is one of speed. Often when aid ships carrying food arrive, thousands are already dead.

Basic calculations show that to fill the basic dietary needs of 30 million people requires the equivalent of 17 thousand tons of rice per day (rounding up), or other, more nutritious food. While obviously some food is present in Ultramarine, I am going with this extreme number.

It should be obvious that the cost of the food itself is not the problem. The problem is organizing the transportation of this food. I request therefore that your nation inform us what measures it plans to undertake to address the acute shortages of food and other issues, and especially in inland Ultramarine, where access to the ports is limited.

I recommend the use of military cargo aircraft to directly deliver food and aid supplies, and particularly those aid supplies that are designed specifically for these gruesome situations (medical milk, baby food, revitaminisation mixes, medical supplies etc.) directly inland. Most military cargo aircraft can land in flat fields, and sadly the death of most crops in the nation does mean that there are many empty fields we can land in.

I also request that you deploy engineering forces to improve harbor accessibility and, later on, deploy emergency power sources to relieve shortages of electric power.

Yours, Cassiopeia.

*

To: President David Jefferson Adams, Astoria
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

My Friend!

I see your nation has commenced relief operations in Ultramarine. I salute your men for their bravery and dedication to the cause of their fellow man. I request your permission to set up a liaison between our organization, so we could collect statistical information on this famine, and, later on, deliver food and supplies directly to those villages where your forces are just now pushing back against the famine. Please inform me directly of any needs you may have.

Yours, Cassiopeia.

by **Ultramarine** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 4:45 am

North of Edoras

The soldiers of the Ultramarine army had never been a particularly honourable bunch of individuals. The men sat on their BMP-2 watching the WAFU convoy coming through the village below their AKs held at ease or on slings at their waist. The men had been following the WAFU convoy for much of its journey and now they had decided was the time to strike for the supplies they needed, or wanted. They watched the WAFU convoy roll out of the village then loaded up, "Lock and load men!" The groups Sergeant shouted as the BMP rolled down the hill and into the village.

Women yelled and men grabbed their children and ran for cover as the BMPs tracks churned the dust beneath its tracks. "These supplies are now the property of the Ultramarine army!" One man yelled as he jumped from the APC and began to grab at a sack in a womans hand. The others of the squad quickly followed suit their Sergeant sat atop the BMP looking on through his Aviators.

Code: Select all: To: Casiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Queen of Allanea, etc,etc. From: His Imperial Majesty, chosen by God, Emperor Roboute Guilleman Subject: Operation Pelican V My Royal Friend! I am thankful for your offer of support. As you know there is already a mission by the forces of WAFU to feed the mewling masses who hardly work for their food like us superior Royal and noble figures. But I will allow your mission to go ahead as well just be wary of the Godless rebels who plague the countryside, preying on the weak. I look forward to working together, Yours faithfully, Roboute

by **Allanea** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 7:34 am

What does it mean, to be genuinely hungry, not for a day, not for three, but for weeks? People who have not been truly hungry will never understand this – no matter how much they read about it. There is a slow, creeping horror about famine that arrives, not within a day, but gradually. It is after you survive the first few days of famine, that it gets really bad. You are tired – always, no matter how much you rested. You are hungry, even after you eat the last of your morning ration. Even after you wipe the small shreds of bread from your plate, and the ones which had fallen on the table. The wise ones, the true survivors, will have the presence of mind to split their ration – leave half of it for the rest of the day. He who had taken to eating his whole ration, all dozen ounces of it, in the morning, he is doomed.

Those who are still strong, who can cut off half of their eight-ounce loaf of bread and take it home to be their lunch, those are always afraid. There are many things to fear in a famine. What if you lose your bread? What if you fall in the street and can't get up? Your neighbors are no longer strong enough to help you up. You could lie there for days as death slowly takes over, until you are only a dessicated corpse. What if electric power fails while you are asleep? Your weakened body will not notice it – you will just drift away, peacefully, in your sleep, and your king-size bed, bought in a better time, will be your grave.

Millions of people in a country terrorized by a famine begin to gradually lose their sanity. Some, simply due to the fear and privations. Some, because, in the final stage of privations, their body had begun to digest the brain itself for nutrition. For those, the damage is irreversible. Even the heartiest meals vcould not restore to them the injuries done to their body by hunger.

Consider now what it must mean to be a child in such times.

The child in question is in one of the waiting rooms of Edoras Airport. His mother works here, and sometimes she manages to figure out how to get that extra slice of bread, or that small bar of chocolate for him. Sometimes he is strong enough to break it in half and get one half home to his sister. Sometimes not. His mother is angry then…. But she has less and less strength to be angry, and this frightens the child.

He does not play about, bouncing curiously through the airport's empty halls. He just sits there, next to the glass wall of the Arrivals Lounge, his face raised towards the skies.

There it is.

Descending towards the empty runway, an enormous grey jet. It seems to be slightly hunchbacked, as if it were struggling with its immense payload. It has… the boy counts the engines, as if he was in that time before the famine, smiling slightly at the incredible machine. One, two, three… six engines.

Far away, fire erupts from both sides of the plane, as dozens of chaff and flares are fired off. The child gasps in horror – it's on fire, it's going to crash! – but it does not. It descends calmly, and, at last, its landing gear deploys – long rows of many wheels on each side of the monster aircraft. As it passes by pane-glass wall through which the boy is watching this, he can read the lettering on its side:

FREE KINGDOM AIR FORCE.

* *

Tired, confused, the boy does not understand how these people appear in Arrivals so soon. Don't they have to go through Customs? Yet, as a matter of fact, here they are – several of them, in green uniforms that look as if they had been wearing moss. They have weapons of course – they are after all soldiers. Each of them has a large pistol on one hip, and a long knife on another.

At their lead is a tall lady, her brown hair wrapped in a bun on the back of her head. Their heavy boots strike against the polished floor – tramp, tramp, tramp as they walk through the terminal. Some are carrying enormous, heavy bags that make them slump slightly.

As lady stops in front of the local child, he can see the embroidering on her shirt pocket that says, simply, "JENNER". She reaches towards her hip. For the briefest instant, the child imagines she is going to draw her weapon.

And she does. It's just that today, Colonel Catherine Jenner's weapon isn't her pistol.

A bright-red package, with a seemingly-enormous bar of milk chocolate appears in the boy's hands. It weighs… almost as much as a bread ration!

"I am Colonel Catherine Jenner, Free Kingdom Armed Forces. I'm hiring you to be my guide," – she says. "Consider this your advance."

by **Astoria** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 11:57 am

Ultramarine wrote:North of Edoras

The soldiers of the Ultramarine army had never been a particularly honourable bunch of individuals. The men sat on their BMP-2 watching the WAFU convoy coming through the village below their AKs held at ease or on slings at their waist. The men had been following the WAFU convoy for much of its journey and now they had decided was the time to strike for the supplies they needed, or wanted. They watched the WAFU convoy roll out of the village then loaded up, "Lock and load men!" The groups Sergeant shouted as the BMP rolled down the hill and into the village.

Women yelled and men grabbed their children and ran for cover as the BMPs tracks churned the dust beneath its tracks. "These supplies are now the property of the Ultramarine army!" One man yelled as he jumped from the APC and began to grab at a sack in a womans hand. The others of the squad quickly followed suit their Sergeant sat atop the BMP looking on through his Aviators.

North of Edoras
Ultramarine

As the convoy rolled down the road out of the village, the operator of the remote weapons system sitting atop the Stryker that was holding up the rear kept the .50 caliber machine gun on a swivel, scanning the horizon for any incoming threats. Instead of rebels, he instead watched as the Ultramarine army stormed into the village.

“Sarge, they’re stealing the fuckin’ food!” He shouted towards the NCO riding in the vehicle.

“Rebels?”

“No, the goddamn army! They’re in there now, taking the food we just fucking dropped off! Permission to engage?”

The sergeant put his hand on the man’s shoulder, firm but not imperious. “Hold fire son. You’re not about to start shooting at the people who invited us, not without getting orders from someone who gets paid a lot more than you do.”

“What’s the point of shipping all this food out here,” the weapons operator complained. “If the fucking army is gonna steal it all anyway? We could just hand it right to them and save ourselves the trouble.”

“Yeah,” another soldier chimed in from the troop compartment. “And then I would get to stay stateside.” Others grumbled agreement. Nobody was happy with the very limited amount of good that WAFU seemed to be capable of doing. Seeing soldiers of the government that had invited them into the country to deliver the food in the first place steal it from their own people stuck badly in their craw.

“LT will put it in his report,” the sergeant said. “Let the Colonel and the politicians deal with it.”

“It’s bullshit,” the man spat out.

“Welcome to the real fuckin’ world.”

To: His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Roboute Guilliman
From: Jonathan Kincaid, Special Presidential Envoy to Ultramarine

Your Majesty,

First off, I would to reaffirm the gratitude of myself, President Adams, the United States of Astoria, and the World Assembly for allowing our soldiers to deploy in your country for the protection of the ongoing relief efforts.

Recently, reports have come in from aid workers and soldiers assigned to the World Assembly Force that appear to indicate that soldiers of your army may have been involved in the seizure of food aid distributed to civilians in your nation. It is not my desire to point fingers or assign any blame prematurely, but I have been instructed by President Adams to make Your Majesty aware of the concerns of the relief effort coalition.

If these actions are the work of rogue members of the military, Colonel Archibald is happy to provide you with the relevant information so that any soldier operating without sanction can be identified and properly disciplined.

Camp Bounty
World Assembly Force in Ultramarine (WAFU) Headquarters
Outside Edoras
Ultramarine

“So there’s nothing we can do?”

Colonel Thomas Archibald paced from his desk to the window that looked out over the main headquarters space. Administrative staff manned a battery of desks, working on computers and phones to perform the various bureaucratic and administrative tasks necessary to keep the Astorian contingent of WAFU moving smoothly. The prefabricated base structure was one of many sitting behind the barbed-wire-topped chain-link fence that marked the boundaries of Camp Bounty. Inside those boundaries Colonel Archibald had considerable power as commander of the Astorian force assigned to WAFU. Almost all of that power evaporated the minute you set a foot outside the fence.

“We’re doing all we can,” the man in the suit replied from where he stood. Jonathan Kincaid, the Special Presidential Envoy for Ultramarine, served as the eyes, ears, and mouthpiece of President Adams. He was responsible for coordinating between WAFU, the collection of NGOs providing the humanitarian response to the famine, and the government of Ultramarine. “We’ve sent a message of complaint to their government and I’m trying to coordinate some additional pressure from our allies.”

“Right. Like I said: nothing.” While Archibald knew the man was engaged in a complex juggling act, his own military training strained at the restrictions forced on him by the political situation. “Meanwhile they’ll keep stealing the food right as soon as we’re gone.”

“Is there anything you can do to provide more time for the civilians?”

“I have a thousand men spread out across the country, guarding aid workers and shipments,” Archibald explained. “I have just over a thousand men here to react if the rebels put any kind of serious force up against us. I don’t have the manpower to leave men sitting around in villages while the food gets eaten.”

“Well, you might get some help soon,” Kincaid revealed. “The Allaneans have reached out looking to get involved in the relief effort. President Adams thinks the more the merrier. They should be sending someone to liaise with you pretty soon.”

Allanea wrote:To: President David Jefferson Adams, Astoria
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

My Friend!

I see your nation has commenced relief operations in Ultramarine. I salute your men for their bravery and dedication to the cause of their fellow man. I request your permission to set up a liaison between our organization, so we could collect statistical information on this famine, and, later on, deliver food and supplies directly to those villages where your forces are just now pushing back against the famine. Please inform me directly of any needs you may have.

Yours, Cassiopeia.

To: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
From: President David Jefferson Adams

Your Majesty,

Thank you for your kind words. The prodigious work performed by the Free Kingdom of Allanea in service of global humanitarianism amplifies the meaning of your gratitude. Colonel Thomas Archibald Thomas is the commanding officer of the Astorian military deployment assigned to the protection of the existing aid efforts. I have appointed Jonathan Kincaid as Special Presidential Envoy to Ultramarine, in charge of coordinating between the relief program, military affairs, and the government of Ultramarine. My office will provide you all the information needed to contact these individuals.

In terms of needs, the World Assembly Force in Ultramarine simply cannot be everywhere at once. Food is often seized by rebels and other armed groups, undoing the hard work of the various humanitarian organizations. There have also been reports that soldiers of the Ultramarine army have been involved in food aid seizures. The delicate nature of the World Assembly deployment makes voicing these concerns difficult – perhaps the addition of your voice might increase the effectiveness of calls for accountability.

Yours,
President David Jefferson Adams

by **Atlantian Dominions** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 12:26 pm

Ultramarine wrote:Diplomatic Message response
From: The office of the Lord Carl
To: The Office of Ambassador Phineas Trumbull
Standard Encryption

Come one! Come All! The Lord Carl will gladly receive you at the Palace tomorrow morning to meet and discuss the ways in which your glorious nation may help us in restoring the peace and order of our own great nation.

Preparing to visit Lord Carl required some deal of preparation. First off all the relevant information – data on the number of Ultramarine citizens being granted visas for entry to Atlantia, statistics on the amount of food being purchased and delivered, information on the current military situation and potential Atlantian responses – had to be compiled and then prepared in documents that were easy to reference before and during the meeting. Most of this was left to Phineas Trumbull’s personal secretary and the other women working in the embassy office. When he departed the embassy, Phineas would take his own personal secretary along to take notes and supply documents as needed.

The next steps of preparation were handled by the ambassador personally. The embassy kitchen sent a bottle of wine of a fine vintage up to his office. This would serve as a diplomatic gift and a means of reminding Lord Carl with some subtlety of what the Atlantian Dominions could provide and why exactly Ultramarine needed their support. A business suit was laid out by his household staff, freshly cleaned and pressed. He chose the clothing that his secretary would wear as well, though her entire professional wardrobe shared many similarities – short, tight, and as revealing as business attire could allow.

The pair would travel by limousine from the embassy to the palace. The embassy car passed another food convoy as it rolled through the streets of Edoras, keeping to one side to allow the convoy the space to move. The ambassador passed the time looking over the information gathered by the staff. Atlantian companies continued to make profit selling food to the emperor, enough to offset the cost of the private security that they hired to keep the shipments from being stolen or looted while they sat on the docks. It was a profitable arrangement – one that would be imperiled if the Emperor’s rule, and ability to continue to pay, collapsed completely.

Allanea wrote:To: President Jim Gilmore, Atlantian Dominions
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

Greetings!

I am given to understand you are assisting His Imperial Majesty Roboute Guilleman in combating the famine that besets his people. So am I. I have already ordered the beginning of an operation titled Pelican V to assist those in need. Due to the necessity of a multinational relief effort I would like to coordinate with you our operations.

As we both know, the issue with famines is one of speed. Often when aid ships carrying food arrive, thousands are already dead.

Basic calculations show that to fill the basic dietary needs of 30 million people requires the equivalent of 17 thousand tons of rice per day (rounding up), or other, more nutritious food. While obviously some food is present in Ultramarine, I am going with this extreme number.

It should be obvious that the cost of the food itself is not the problem. The problem is organizing the transportation of this food. I request therefore that your nation inform us what measures it plans to undertake to address the acute shortages of food and other issues, and especially in inland Ultramarine, where access to the ports is limited.

I recommend the use of military cargo aircraft to directly deliver food and aid supplies, and particularly those aid supplies that are designed specifically for these gruesome situations (medical milk, baby food, revitaminisation mixes, medical supplies etc.) directly inland. Most military cargo aircraft can land in flat fields, and sadly the death of most crops in the nation does mean that there are many empty fields we can land in.

I also request that you deploy engineering forces to improve harbor accessibility and, later on, deploy emergency power sources to relieve shortages of electric power.

Yours, Cassiopeia.

Jim Gilmore read over the letter one more time, parsing each word carefully. It was getting late in Cumberland; the setting sun threw its last rays of light through the windows of the President’s personal office, which sat adjacent to the residential portion of the Presidential Residence. This room was more like a study than the official office where presidents held informal Cabinet meetings and greeted foreign dignitaries. A fake fireplace “roared” in one wall, keeping the room warm with its electric heater. Jim Gilmore was not the sort of man who normally did work in his personal spaces, but this letter had gotten his attention. With the blowup in Mount Zeon threatening to hit full-scale war, the last thing the Confederacy needed was to piss off a major power like Allanea.

He couldn’t tell what exactly the message was doing: was it a thinly veiled insult? Trying to shame Atlantia into doing more to help the people of Ultramarine? The Atlantian foreign aid budget was mostly eaten up by subsidies to the arms sector that incentivized and supported the sale of arms to friendly regimes. Ultramarine was on that list. The Dominion governors had little interest in increasing the federal budget for anything, least of all some bleeding-heart feed the world venture. So was it just a case of misunderstanding? The Atlantian government was very close to the corporate sector, that was obvious to anyone. Were they reading too much into the relationship, thinking the food being sold to Emperor Guilleman was a government-backed operation? That seemed more likely: people tended to assume that Atlantian businesses were informal arms of the Atlantian government, when it was usually the opposite that was true.

There was a knock at the door, and then one of his household staff entered. The shapely brunette was dressed in the uniform of the Presidential Household: a black leotard, accented to imitate the coat and tails of a high society butler. The outfit was small, meaning that it clung tightly to her buxom body. She carried a small evening snack and a drink on a silver tray, which she set down on an empty space at the large desk. The President nodded in acknowledgement and jerked his head in dismissal.

“Wait.”

The bunny-butler stopped at the door, turning on her tall heels awaiting instruction.

“Go run down to the switchboard,” the President said. The “switchboard” was no longer an actual switchboard but the informal name for the communications office of the Residence had stuck around longer than the technology it referenced. “Tell them to call Pierce. I want him here first thing in the morning to draft the response to this.” He held up the paper, though the woman listening to his instructions did not know what “this” was. She nodded anyway.

“Of course, Mister President.”

DIPLOMATIC MESSAGE
STANDARD ENCRYPTION
TO: FREE KINGDOM OF ALLANEA
Unfortunately, there seems to be a slight misunderstanding. At this moment the Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions is not providing any humanitarian relief supplies to Ultramarine. While President Gilmore deplores the ongoing situation, the federal budget for international disaster relief is stretched thin. It is my understanding that several Atlantian corporations have contracts to sell and ship food to Ultramarine. Based on initial conversations with the business community, I believe that these contracts are with Emperor Guilleman. What he does with the food he purchases is his business, not ours. In terms of official aid, our ambassador to Ultramarine is currently in communication with the government to determine what aid can be rendered to assist the government in restoring stability and order to the country. --Secretary of State Pierce Olsen

by **Allanea** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 12:36 pm

To: President David Jefferson Adams
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.

Dear Sir!

The notion of food being stolen from hungry innocents is of course a disgusting notion. It needs to be brought up with His Majesty Emperor Guilleman as soon as possible. However, I cannot help but warn you that solving this problem would require an investigative process, and it is probably impossible to ensure that every bit of food we send gets to its destination. I don't doubt that many of the junior enlisted men in the Ultramarine Army are themselves short on food, or have relatives who are starving (and of course where's always just profiteering). To be completely frank with you, as long as we can ensure that enough food gets to its destination, I do not mind that some of it is stolen and eaten by starving people other than those specific starving people we wanted to help.

However, there are ways to mitigate some of the problem in the following ways:

1. Airdrop food packages directly to those areas which are beyond the reach of our forces currently. This is obviously an inexact solution, and a very expensive one, but it will save thousands of lives.
2. Bring in foods which by their nature do not have a high resale value, but will save lives. As you've seen, Allanea's first deliveries had focused on infant nutrition. This sort of food is not likely to be stolen and used by adults, and if someone steals some of it to feed their starving child, at least we save a starving child elsewhere.
3. Distribute food directly to civilians where viable. It is fairly easy to steal a ton of rice that is packed away in a truck, but a ton of rice is harder to collect if it's been distributed to one thousand people. Ideally you could deploy field kitchens and give out hot soup to people.

Yours, Cassiopeia.

* * *

To:His Imperial Majesty, chosen by God, Emperor Roboute Guilleman
From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc,etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

My Royal Friend!

I see that there have been some troops that have betrayed their oath of allegiance to you by stealing food you've intended for distribution. I recommend you entertain the general public with a few group hangings of such 'troops'.

Moreover, I have some wonderful ideas regarding how to make 'rebels' lives nasty, brutish, and short. Would you like me to send over an expert to share those ideas?

Yours,
Cassiopeia

by **Ultramarine** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 12:49 pm

Edoras Airport

The sight of the relief planes landing had caused uproar in the city. With Emperor Guilleman reporting the only thing to come from abroad was trouble the people were surprised when reports of food and other aid arriving in the capital was set to be sent out to the villages. A huge crowd began to gather outside the airport the small number of soldiers who policed it were suddenly finding themselves having to man crowd control.

"Alpha 0-1, this is Bravo 0-2, come in over!" Came the cry over the barracks radio at the Edoras Imperial Guard Barracks, "Bravo 0-2, send it." The young officer who answered was Captain NIck Hansa who looked like he had been able to gather some sleep after three weeks of fire force ops in the countryside. "Alpha 0-1, Bravo 0-2, we got a large crowd, estimated at your callsign strength, pushing at our perimeter request orders, over." Hansa sighed and rubbed his temple as the news came in of the crowd. "Bravo 0-2, Alpha 0-1, hold tight Tim I'll get some reinforcements to you. Over."
"Roger Alpha 0-1, Bravo 0-2, out!" With that Hansa got up and began yelling at the nearby troop commanders in his office. The two men who responded quickest were the two platoon commanders of 1st and 3rd Platoon of the Mechanised Guard Company based at the barracks. "What vehicles you packing?" Hansa asked looking the scruffy men over
"Two BMPs and a BTR, each." Captain Nikolai answered smiling. Hansa nodded four BMPs and two BTRs then.
"Okay, get your men loaded and down to the airport, disperse the crowd and relieve Bravo from their predicament okay?" The two men nodded and ran off. WIthin the hour the column of vehicles began to descend on the airport.

Rebel Government Border

The firefight had started ten minutes ago and seemed like it would only stop when one side had run out of ammunition, or soldiers to fire it. "Just die!" One soldier shouted as he fired his bullets tearing through the air to drop two rebels. "Where's the Fire Force?" Another soldier yelled to his commander who was frantically shouting down his radio. "They're saying break them and then the Fire Force will cut off their retreat!" The commander shouted back at the beleaguered soldier. The crack, snaps and pops of gunfire continued to fill the air as the men huddled in the ditch the ruins of their APC sat burning on the road. It was then that the rebels finally gave up trying to kill them and broke off the contact running into the forest, right into the hands of the Fire Force soldiers who had been dropped by chopper and marched their way to the contact. "Drop your weapons!" One man shouted.
"Fuck you!" A rebel yelled back and lifted his rifle only to be dropped the rest dove for cover and the fire fight started anew.

[quote="Astoria";p="35078705"][quote="Ultramarine";p="35077543"]North of Edoras

To: His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Roboute Guilliman
From: Jonathan Kincaid, Special Presidential Envoy to Ultramarine

Your Majesty,

First off, I would to reaffirm the gratitude of myself, President Adams, the United States of Astoria, and the World Assembly for allowing our soldiers to deploy in your country for the protection of the ongoing relief efforts.

Recently, reports have come in from aid workers and soldiers assigned to the World Assembly Force that appear to indicate that soldiers of your army may have been involved in the seizure of food aid distributed to civilians in your nation. It is not my desire to point fingers or assign any blame prematurely, but I have been instructed by President Adams to make Your Majesty aware of the concerns of the relief effort coalition.

If these actions are the work of rogue members of the military, Colonel Archibald is happy to provide you with the relevant information so that any soldier operating without sanction can be identified and properly disciplined.

Roboute was sat in his office, separate from the throne-room, he was drumming his fingers on his desk and sighed heavily as he looked at the letter in front of him. He was waiting on the commander of northern forces General Hatch. Who, as usual, was running late. The knock at the door was barely audible, but the Emperor was waiting for it, "Enter." General Hatch opened the door and strode in his uniform decorated with medals from long years of service, he snapped to attention in front of the Emperors desk. "Sir!" Hatch said softly but firmly.
"General Hatch are your men stupid?" Roboute asked. Hatch looked at his Emperor with a look of confusion on his face.
"My Liege?" He inquired.
"Are they deaf and blind?" The Emperor ignored Hatch. When Hatch tried to respond The Emperor slammed his fist down hard on the table, "THEN HOW DARE THEY DISOBEY MY DIRECTIVES!" Hatch visibly shuddered at the yell from his Ruler.
"My Lord it is just some rogue elements I will see them punished. They will not disgrace us any longer I swear it, I-" Hatch never finished his sentence as the pistol shot filled the roar with a loud bang. The Emperor removed his finger from his ear as the body hit the floor. "No they will not. Get me General Marshal! Oh and clear this mess up." He said to a servant next to him.

Code: Select all: To: Jonathan Kincaid From: His Imperial Majesty, Chosen by God, Emperor Roboute Guillieman Dear Mister Kincaid, I welcome to you to our humble nation and wish you the best of fortunes in your work here. I have dispensed with the General in charge of the detachment from which the rogue troops originated with vigorous force. As i speak members of my Special Forces and military police are hunting down the rogue troopers and bringing them in for questioning and disclipinary actions. Wishing you are well, and grateful to you bringing this to my notice, Emperor Gullieman

by **Ultramarine** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 12:51 pm

To:[b]His Imperial Majesty, chosen by God, Emperor Roboute Guilleman
[b]From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc,etc.
Subject: Operation Pelican V

My Royal Friend!

I see that there have been some troops that have betrayed their oath of allegiance to you by stealing food you've intended for distribution. I recommend you entertain the general public with a few group hangings of such 'troops'.

Moreover, I have some wonderful ideas regarding how to make 'rebels' lives nasty, brutish, and short. Would you like me to send over an expert to share those ideas?

Yours,
Cassiopeia

[/quote]

To: Cassiopeia
From: His Imperial Majesty, Chosen by God, Emperor Guilleman

Those troops are being dealt with severely I promise you. The offer of help against the rebels is much appreciated also I would very much like to meet this expert.

Yours,
Emperor Guilleman

by **Allanea** » Sun Dec 23, 2018 6:26 pm

Operation Pelican V, Forward Aid Base, Edoras Airport

Colonel Catherine Jenner was seated on a green folding chair, with a large metal mug in one hand as she looked out at the line of airport workers and visitors stretched out a few dozen yards in front of her. Standing there was a greenish metal trailer. Rising from it were clouds of steam. Three Allanean soldiers were working near the trailer – ladling out hot soup to each and every man, woman, and child who approached them. Rifles hanging behind the soldiers' backs reminded each what would happen if they attempted to rob the field kitchen.

Another reminder had been provided by Emperor Roboute Guilleman himself – the corpses of three soldiers, still in uniform, hanging off a makeshift gallows, their feet – now, of course, bare, boots were too precious here – swinging in the breeze. Hanging on the chest of each corpse was a sheet of metal with the words HE STOLE FOOD written on it in crude, bright-red lettering. This was something that Colonel Jenner had no problem with. She was a doctor, and she came here to save lives – but she had far too much knowledge and experience to have any mercy reserved to those who stole food from the hungry.

She raised the mug to her lips. It was Army tea – not particularly good, and far too sweet, but it was of course necessary in this cold. Catherine Jenner thought of the people whom those soldiers had stolen the food from.

The rumors that had been reaching them from the villages were exaggerated, of course. But some of them struck her as too detailed to be a complete invention. Rumors of small children being hospitalized with clay in their stomach, of people reduced to boiling and chewing their own boots, or adding sawdust to bread to add 'volume' to it were only the tip of the iceberg. There were worse rumors yet, rumors that Jenner refused to contemplate.

Hunger is a question of mathematics. A man needs so and so many calories to live, and so and so many specific nutrients to retain their sanity and eyesight. A child also needs a supply of fresh protein to continue growing healthy and strong. Nor can these be skimped out on – even if the child survives, they may grow to be stunted – sometimes not even crippled or ill, but just slightly, ever-so-measurably less intelligent, less creative, and less productive than they would be otherwise.

Jenner had been working since morning to fight against the mathematics with mathematics of her own. A pound of dry F-75 became ten pounds of nutritious high-grade milk. A plane's load of the stuff was enough to mean the difference of life and death for thousands of infants throughout the city. But it was not as simple as that. For some it was too late to simply give them the milk. Earlier that day, Colonel Jenner had to fit a feed tube for a child too exhausted by starvation to swallow. She had to spent an hour explaining to nurses and volunteers how to mix the dry powder into F-75, and how to give it to children.

A child will want more and more of this stuff. You have to say no. We don't have a shortage… but if you give a child that's been starving too much food, they'll die in your arms. Yes… I appreciate that this is difficult. I do understand. We have… there is a way, yes. You put the child on F-75 mix for the early recovery period, then later on you switch out to F-100, which has more calories. That's only after they're better and recovered a bit. For those who are a bit older, we will have a therapeutic peanut butter mix to help with their protein needs… excuse me, madam, you need to stop crying. If you keep crying I will have you escorted out of the class.

But Colonel Catherine Jenner herself was not crying, even now as she drank her tea, and even despite the fact that she had had a very hard day. Right now, her mathematics was winning against the famine's mathematics.

*

Allanea's military assistance to Ultramarine consisted of a tall, somber man – Captain Oscar Schilling, of OAS. He would arrive at the Emperor's palace by taxi, present an ID to the security, and speak;

"Greetings. I am Captain Schilling, Free Kingdom Armed Forces, Organization for Armed Shenanigans. I would like to speak to whatever individual here is authorized to handle top secret information."

by **Crockerland** » Mon Dec 24, 2018 7:56 am

Pearystead, Republic of Crockerland

President Royston Webb made his way down the halls of the Official Residence, which was pleasantly warm in contrast to the frigid temperatures of the Pearystead streets, as he made his way to a door guarded by two soldiers, specially trained and equipped with SPAS-12 model shotguns (and a variety of concealed sidearms, knives, and nonleathal weapons) for the job, though they were unlikely to have to use any force. The president was the last to stroll through the doors to the conference room, his job being the most demanding and important, and the council assembled to deal with this matter had all arrived previously.

The president took a seat on a fine, dark brown leather chair at the head of the table and swept the room with his eyes; Directly to Webb's right was general Tyrone Thandi, the head of European operations, one of the most influential foreign-born immigrants in the current government of Crockerland, having been born in South Africa and accepted as a refugee thanks to the persecution of individuals with albinism such as himself. Orville Webster, a lanky man in spectacles who served as the country's foreign minister, sat adjacent to Tyrone on Webb's left, holding a binder of various papers. Beyond them, the minister of agriculture, a rotund man with an outback hat and a walrus-like mustache by the name of Jericho Russel sat back with his arms crossed, sitting across from the vice-president Albert Henson. An assortment of other advisers, officers, and ministers sat further down the tables, but president Webb trusted these four in their areas of expertise on this matter above all others.

"So, I suppose you have all been briefed on this matter already." the president stated, hoping everyone was more-or-less on the same page.

"Well, as far as I heard, some people in Europe somewhere are starvin', and on account of your moral sensibilities, you're lookin' to help 'em with out food and supplies, is that right?" Russel raised his left brow as he asked in return.

"That would be correct," Foreign Minister Webster replied before the president had a chance to respond, "it seems the people of Ultramarine have a rather calamitous situation on their hands, one which I believe may be in our best interest to assist them with."

"Yes, mister Webster," the president said, "you have informed me previously of your belief that having Ultramarine as an ally and stationing naval vessels there would allow us to expand our operations in Europe and the Mediterranean; I am no longer questioning whether it is a good idea to intervene here, rather, how we should go about it."

"Well, cooperating and collaborating with the recognized government is usually an ideal method," general Tyrone noted, but before he could elaborate, the vice president interjected with a "But not always."

"No, not always, mister vice president-" the general took a breath to speak but the vice president further clarified his position:

"Because in this case, the government is a dictatorship, and, in my opinion, is partially to blame for this... What did you say it was, Orville, a "calamitous situation"? I think if we give this guy, or his people rather, our food, and then he decides feeding his soldiers to kill the other starving people is more important, all the supplies we give here are just going to end up in the hands, or the stomachs, of his army, and we're going to end up supporting a tyrannical monarch as he stomps his own people, we're going to end up complicit in that."

"Well, mister vice president, I understand your reasoning and where you're coming from here," the general said, switching glances between the vice president and the president, "but hating the leader of this nation isn't going to get us anywhere, after all, we have many reports here of rebels also stealing food from one another, there are a number of sectarian conflicts we're dealing with here, it's not a black-and-white issue, even if we can place blame squarely on the shoulders of the government, placing blame doesn't help anybody."

"The objective here is to save people from famine and death, and bringing a war down on top of them certainly won't get that done. If the government is hostile to us then we can make alternative considerations, but if we can help it it'd be much better to get those people the help they need without turning relations with the Guilliman government abrasive. I am writing a letter to the emperor of Ultramarine, and once I have finished we shall continue this conversation." President Webb arose from his seat, returning to his office to draft a communique.

Official State Communique of the Republic of Crockerland

From the office of president Royston Webb,
Directed to His Majesty, Emperor Roboute Guilliman

The Republic of Crockerland has determined, in light of the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Ultramarine, that an organized relief effort would be appropriate. We are contacting you to obtain permission to supply food and medical supplies to the populace. We do not seek to intervene in the civil conflict in Ultramarine, only to provide aid as part of a humanitarian relief effort, though due to the threat of hostile militants we include armed defense personnel and weaponry in our request.

We intend to localize this aid, at least for the time being, largely to the Ultrainin Highlands and northern islands. We do not require any government aid or assistance in this matter, nor any payment, as this operation would be a humanitarian undertaking. While we offer no assistance militarily in this conflict, I have been advised that a lack of food scarcity may help to pacify militants in the region.

President of Crockerland

by **Allanea** » Mon Dec 24, 2018 12:17 pm

Captain Schilling carried on his person an envelope. Inside it was another envelope, made of thin metal foil, making it impossible to read the envelope's contents by shining a light or even an X-ray through it. The text itself was marked with TOP SECRET SENIOR PERSONNEL ONLY

Dear friends!

It is clear that we must carry out an operation against these so-called rebels. Our plan is a simple one. For its implementation we request from your government the use of several BTR-type wheeled vehicles, or alternately, the permission to bring in our on WUAF vehicles (which are visually somewhat like a BTR) (although, to be quite honest, we prefer the former option, of using BTRs). Alternately, if any train transport still remains to the 'rebel' territories, we can use a freight train.

We will use this to transport 100 tons of baby food, F-75 and F-100 food mix, and other emergency foods, to civilians there. Information would then be 'leaked' that this transport is coming – and that it is badly guarded and vulnerable. Obviously, if the 'rebels' are such paragons of the common man, they would not attack a convoy carrying food for their children. And if they are not indeed paragons of the common man, they would find that the convoy is about as 'unprotected' as they are truthful.

[Of course, all 'escort' vehicles, rather than being manned by 'badly-trained troops from some awful fifth-rate local unit' will be manned by elite Allanean mountain infantry.]

For obvious reasons, we request that you destroy this letter upon reading it.

by **Ultramarine** » Tue Dec 25, 2018 11:06 am

The letter and the Captain were taken to General Isabelles office. The letter was placed on her desk and the Captain in a chair in front of her desk. She smiled at him after reading the letter, "This plan seems rather ballsy Captain, how can you be certain it will work?" She drummed her fingers patiently on her desk as she awaited a response.

To: President Royston
From: The office of His Imperial Majesty, Chosen by God, Emperor Roboute Guilleman

I have chosen to accept your offer of help at this time. The people in the far north of the country see very little help from the other aid programs taking placing in the country at the moment and as such are suffering still. Though a lot of the farmland survived up there many of the men have left to fight against my government, can you believe that!?

Anyway your troops, aid and other requirements are all accepted willingly, I look forward to seeing you here.

by **Allanea** » Tue Dec 25, 2018 11:24 am

The letter and the Captain were taken to General Isabelles office. The letter was placed on her desk and the Captain in a chair in front of her desk. She smiled at him after reading the letter, "This plan seems rather ballsy Captain, how can you be certain it will work?" She drummed her fingers patiently on her desk as she awaited a response.

"General, we plan to stack the deck rather heavily. One, we will have the advantage of surprise on our side, obviously. Second, the enemy, by its nature as rebels or, rather more appropriately, robbers, is not going to be a match to elite mountain infantry. If we go by train, obviously we are going to be able to pack lots of firepower on the train." – the Captain paused. "On a more… unfortunate note, suppose even the worst, that the convoy is wiped out… this would be tragic in terms of the fact that our soldiers will die or fall prisoner, however, their Imperial Majesties, Emperor Roboute, Emperor Alexander and Empress Cassiopeia, will… let us say, know what to do next." – the Captain paused, letting the full weight of the statement remain implied. "Of course, it remains a possibility that the rebels will not attack. It is possible that they are genuine champions of democracy or whatever, and will just peacefully let us distribute the food." – he smirked. "That said, I do not ask that any of Emperor Roboute's troops risk their lives in this operation. I really only ask for a half-dozen BMPs and trucks, or, if possible, a train. We can fly in a company of men on the upper deck of a cargo aircraft or on an airliner, and then the mission can commence as soon as they land. Doing it this way will mean we do not need to have the vehicles be shipped in, which will save us time and free up shipping capacity for humanitarian aid."

by **Atlantian Dominions** » Tue Dec 25, 2018 3:35 pm

Atlantian Dominions wrote:The pair would travel by limousine from the embassy to the palace. The embassy car passed another food convoy as it rolled through the streets of Edoras, keeping to one side to allow the convoy the space to move. The ambassador passed the time looking over the information gathered by the staff. Atlantian companies continued to make profit selling food to the emperor, enough to offset the cost of the private security that they hired to keep the shipments from being stolen or looted while they sat on the docks. It was a profitable arrangement – one that would be imperiled if the Emperor’s rule, and ability to continue to pay, collapsed completely.

The limousine arrived at the gates of the palace. The driver, a local man, showed the various identification to the guards. In the rear of the vehicle, Ambassador Phineas Trumbull was just finishing his review of the information that his staff had prepared for him. His personal secretary was checking and touching up her makeup, using a small compact mirror.

Once they were admitted into the palace, the two Atlantians stepped out of the limousine and followed whoever had been sent to greet them to the meeting with Lord Carl.

* * *

Robert Alenkis looked over the skyline of Edoras from the deck of the freighter. Wish the rebels would blow up a building or something, he thought absent-mindedly. Just to change things up a bit. This freighter was the Omega-9, and it carried another cargo of foodstuffs for transportation to the imperial palace.

“Hey Bob,” came a voice from behind him. Charles Tenpare, another mercenary new to the Ultramarine posting, strolled up to stand near him. His rifle was also slung across his back, and they both wore jackets branded with the logo of the private security company to help keep out the chilly sea air.

“Hey Charlie,” Robert replied. “Anything to report?”

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of pirates over on the back end, but I figured my job doesn’t start until we hit dockside so I told ‘em they could take whatever.” Both mercenaries chuckled.

“Hey, you hear about the Allaneans? They just showed up with a ton of food, I guess to try and get it out to the people.” Charlie looked unsure. “Hope that doesn’t mean less work for us.”

Robert snorted in derision. “Nah. This is all going to the emperor’s personal stash,” he explained. “If anything, might mean more business. If they can get some other sucker to spend all the money to feed the poor villagers, that means more money to buy themselves caviar or whatever’s down there.”

Charlie thought it over. “Makes sense, I guess. Hey, these rebels they told us about – are we gonna see any action here?”

This time Robert laughed. “Not unless something has gone incredibly wrong.”

There was a call from another part of the ship, announcing that they'd be tying up at the dock soon. That meant it was almost time to go to work, though calling standing around while somebody else did all the heavy lifting "work" seemed a bit insulting to the word. "Come on," Robert said to the other mercenary. "Let's get ready to get off this tub."

by **Astoria** » Tue Dec 25, 2018 9:02 pm

Village South of Easthold
Ultramarine

The field kitchen that had been set up in the center of the village was doing brisk business. Men, women, and children were all lined up in front of the mobile kitchen units that were turning out simple meals. Aid workers also unloaded ration packs and other storable food from trucks and handed them out to those who already gone through the line. The idea was to give these people a prepared meal and also the supplies to last for a while after the NGOs and their WAFU guardians departed.

Private Ansel watched from the perimeter, taking a quick break from looking out over the countryside to take in the scene behind him. The mood here wasn’t quite as desperate as in some of the other villages he’d seen. This territory was still under the control of the recognized government, so there was usually something left over in the fields for people to eat after the army had taken their cut. The threat of government soldiers taking those scraps away was still a threat, but one that was greatly reduced now that the most recent offenders were all hanging from high places by their necks. Ansel hadn’t seen any of the unlucky bastards first hand, but the stories had quickly filtered down through the ranks of the Astorian military force.

Off to one side, a gathered cluster caught his attention. It looked like a whole bunch of people all surrounding someone or something that was obscured by their collective bodies. Ansel walked a ways over to were Corporal Lance Marnsen stood, also appraising the situation. “What’s all that?”

“You didn’t hear?” The corporal raised an eyebrow. “You better make sure you’re all cleaned up, Nelson. Kelly Carter is over there filming a PSA or something.”

Private Ansel looked again, trying to see through the gaggle of people – some of them were carrying cameras, he could see now – to find out if Marnsen was telling the truth. “No way – seriously?” Kelly Carter was one of the hottest stars in the Astorian film industry – both in terms of career trajectory and her body. Ansel didn’t follow celebrity news too closely but he knew enough to know that she made a big deal about being charitable. He could certainly see her doing some sort of awareness-raising video, but in an active war zone?

“Yeah, her whole crew rolled in a while ago,” the corporal explained. “From what the sergeant heard from the officers, they’re gonna get some film of her feeding some poor kids, asking for donations for the whole effort.”

“Think she’ll be signing any autographs?”

Marnsen laughed. “Yeah, get in line pal. I’ll pull rank.” Ansel laughed too, then headed back to his assigned spot in the perimeter. They were bound to rotate once or maybe twice more while they were in this village. Maybe he’d get close enough to see her up close.

The camera pans over a village clearly battered by war.

KELLY (VO): A peaceful village, shattered by war.

The image changes to villagers, dirty and disheveled. Some are visibly famished.

KELLY (VO): People, unsure of where their next meal will come from.

Shots of the aid convoy rolling into town. Thankful villagers accept bowls of hot food and packages of dry food from smiling aid workers.

KELLY (VO): You can help us make a difference.

Shots of Kelly Carter: helping at the field kitchen, helping to unload a truck, and then sitting with a group of hungry-looking children. She hands out small bars of chocolate, and looks at the camera.

KELLY: For a small donation to the International Children’s Fund, you can help feed children like these in Ultramarine.

Text appears on the screen: the phone number and website for the International Children’s Fund and information on how to donate.

KELLY: No child should go to bed hungry. You can help me, and the International Children’s Fund, do good in the places that need it most.

by **Crockerland** » Wed Dec 26, 2018 2:37 pm

Northern Ultramarine

The military 4x4s cut their way through a long since disused lumber road, bogged down with mud and overgrowth. It had been a few days since Crockerland deployed forces to Ultramarine for the relief effort. In the far north of the country, malnutrition and sickness ran rampant and untreatable thanks to the collapse of infrastructure caused by the war; Outright starvation was staved off from many villages due to a more rural lifestyle than the suburban sprawls of southern Ultramarine, but the Ultrainin Highlands suffered from another problem: As many of the fit men left the countryside to go southward and fight the government, the villages of the north were left unguarded and ripe for malicious criminals to do whatever they pleased.

It was made clear by the first village the Crockerlandian troops rolled into that this was the case, though the populace of the village, mainly women, the elderly, and children, almost all of them sickly with some manner of deficiency from their limited diets, were happy to receive food and medicine, they almost immediately began begging and pleading with the soldiers to protect them from the violent criminal gangs of the region. As it became clear this was a imperative step to the overall goal of saving the beleaguered population, the military was authorized to use deadly force. Unfortunately, accounts claimed that the first warlord to be targeted had obtained some anti-air weaponry that was abandoned by rebel forces due to lack of transport equipment ruled out an airstrike.

"Sir," a soldier's voice snapped sergeant Pilip Akoak out of his thoughts, the Scots Pines had reminded him of a time in Basic Training when the sap inside a pine tree had frozen causing it to thunderously explode and snap in half, sending it's trunk crashing down through a truck that he had only barely managed to jump out of in time to avoid being smashed. "We've reached the point you marked on the map," the soldier said, pointing to a spot on an old and worn map obtained from an abandoned legislative building, where the sergeant had marked a spot he thought appropriate to disembark their vehicles and approach the enemy hideout to avoid being heard.

The 4x4 rolled off the path and slowed to a halt, the others did the same, forming a circle around the first, as the sergeant informed his superior officers of his progress. General Thandi was hanging back in a firefighter airbase which had been taken over by Crockerland forces for use as a command center, it's original occupants having long since left. The general had entrusted a sergeant by the name of Pilip Akoak to lead the operation to exterminate the raiders.

The soldiers trekked through the forest for hours, soon after the sun fell behind the horizon, they arrived at the base of operations being used by the marauders to plunder and murder throughout the countryside: An old, disused lumber mill. Though the sawmill lacked farming use or significant fortification, it was a secluded place bountiful in lumber. There is little doubt that the marauders would have remained well-hidden from the foreign military now hunting them down if not for one of the young women who they had taken as a slave escaping and informing her people of the raiders' location.

A sniper examined the area: In front of the main building was a campfire with many bandits crowded around it, places this secluded were of course no longer connected to the power grid. In the main building, on the highest window, the faint red glow of a cigarette could be made out through the magnified scope, a watchman keeping close eye out, though he would be less of a threat under the thick darkness. The windows glowed with variant amounts of candlelight, a few silhouettes moved by on occasion. The anti-air gun forcing Crockerland to use ground troops was prominently displayed out in front of the building. The troops moved around the treeline, circling the structure.

A designated marksman aimed up towards the enemy watchman, soldiers at various positions trained their Galil battle rifles at the marauders encircling the fire, and troops prepared to storm the building gripped their automatic shotguns and submachine guns as they planned the lines they would rush along when the assault began, all behind the thick treeline which rendered them invisible to the enemy. The raiders were accustomed to murdering unarmed women & children, not fighting against a military force, since the civil war raged largely in the south of the country, but they were nonetheless armed and dangerous, the multi-pronged assault would hopefully minimize losses for the army.

"Fire," was the simple command corporal Akoak gave. The marksman was the first to fire, sending a 30.06 round flying from the end of his Remington 750, the guard he'd shot didn't even have time to register that anything had happened by the time the bullet blew a hole into his head, sending his body jerking back from the window, giving way to a short pause before his body collapsed to the ground. The bandits surrounding the campfire barely had time to crane their heads towards the sound before bullets rained down on them from all directions, riddling them with lead before they had a chance to fight back. In a matter of seconds, the unseen, unpredicted stealth attack had annihilated all of the enemy forces who had left themselves vulnerable outside.

The front door swung open and was silenced by gunfire, but as the close-quarters combat troops rushed towards the building, an old generator whirred to life and bright worklights blared their blue light across the clearing, and all at once gunfire erupted from the windows out onto the approaching soldiers, gunning several of their number down. One soldier rushing the building was blinded by the light, and as he shielded himself an opportunist moved out from cover with a sporting rifle and shot him dead from a window, shooting another comrade of his who fell wounded and avoided moving so as not to draw fire to himself, the shooter only being stopped by another well-placed shot from the marksman, who quickly moved to another vantage point before his muzzle flash was used as a target.

The bandits fired outwards from the doors, hoping to prevent the enemy troops from gaining entry, and they were holding off their attackers fairly successfully. This changed soon enough however, as a window sniper was shot dead, and seconds afterwards a grenade lobbed through the now vacant window; Deafening explosions disorientated the building's occupants before the soldiers stormed in, raiders and soldiers took cover wherever they could and made desperate split-second judgments while trying to avoid shooting their allies.

As the inside of the sawmill was turned to anarchy, the leader of the bandits, a man with a red beard localized only to the edges of his jawline, jumped out from the second story window onto a roof and slid down, brandishing a large-caliber, semi-automatic pistol. The enemy commander's escape attempt was seen by an army marksman, who took aim and fired, but misjudged the elevation of the terrain and missed as his target walked through a rut in the ground. The raider responded by firing repetitively towards where he'd seen the muzzle flash, and the Crockerland sniper fell to his hands and knees and crawled out of the line of fire as a bullet ripped through a nearby tree and left a puff of sawdust in it's wake, and another ricocheted off a boulder behind him. An injured soldier had taken cover behind a bundled stack of logs and saw the exchange take place, pulling out his .357 S&W 28 revolver, he waited a single second after the bandit leader had come into his line of sight so he could not duck back out of the line of fire, then fired striking him once in the collarbone and once on the head, the latter killing him instantly.

The firefight lasted a couple minutes more as the raiders desperately fought for their lives, but they lacked a plan, coordination, or leadership, and were severely outmanned, outgunned, and underequipped. No prisoners were taken that day. The raiders were decimated, though at the cost of 13 casualties. The Crockerland troops returned to their airbase command center and the bodies of the 13 soldiers killed in action were airlifted back home, while the bandits were cremated at a local village they had previously terrorized, and their weaponry and supplies turned over to the villagers to allow them to defend themselves.

Crockerland

Following the deaths of 13 army soldiers in Ultramarine against a militant group which posed no danger to any citizen of Crockerland, the Conservative Party has raised concerns over the government policy of Liberal president Royston Webb, and the leadership of general Tyrone Thandi, head of European operations. In a statement made to the NBRS, president Webb said he was confident in the leadership of his appointed general, and though he was was sorry for the losses taken, he reiterated the urgency of the situation in Ultramarine and stated this event would not change policy in Ultramarine, declining to offer further comment.

NBRS was not able to reach general Thandi for comment, though Prominent National Liberal Party members are backing their president and his military leadership. Whether these will be the last casualties we see from this supposed humanitarian mission is yet to be seen, and some critics are pointing out that it's unclear at this time what exactly Crockerland and it's citizens stand to gain from this conflict.

by **Ultramarine** » Thu Dec 27, 2018 8:50 am

General Isabelles Office, Edoras, Imperial Palace Complex

"Captain I know of a train link between us and the Rebel city of Ygnay, but that is the only main operable rail link the country currently has." The General sighed, "I do not know if i am willing to let you depart on the train so heavily armed and possibly cause an incident that might damage the only operable main rail route left in the country. I can give you three BTRs but that is my final offer." She smiled feeling she had won the argument, or at least the discussion.

Edoras Port

The gates were manned by a very bored and very near retirement gate keeper, Derick. Derick was flicking through the pages of a magazine when he heard the shouting start in the distance. He looked up from his magazine and saw it. The sight of a crowd massing and marching towards the gates. Finally they reached the gate and stood there on the other side of the chain link staring at the ship that had just dock. Then a man turned and pulled a megaphone up and shouted into it, "BREAD!" Then the cry began to echo, "Bread." Every man and woman in the crowd began to chant that single word till it became a battlecry then they stormed. Some climbed the fence others began to pound at the gate trying to bring it down. Derick began to panic then dropped his hand onto the alarm.

Imperial Palace Complex, Lord Carl

Lord Carl was an old man, he had entered into his 85th year of age just a week ago and was slowly beginning to think retirement might be necessary soon. Then he heard the knock at his door and sighed looking up, "Yes." He wheezed. The door opened and Mark, his personal servant, opened the door, "Ambassador Turmbull to see you sir." Carl nodded and gestured for the young man to bring the ambassador in. The young man nodded and opened the door welcoming the Ambassador and his charming looking secretary. Lord Carl looked at the woman and had to refrain from eye rolling at the sight of the young woman scantily clad woman. "Foreigners." He muttered under his breath, then stood up and said, "Welcome Mister Turmbull, it is nice to finally meet you."

Northern Ultramarine

The Ultran Liberation Front had moved forces north the minute they had heard about the foreigners entering the country. They had waited to see what these people would do, at first they had been accepting of them entering the country with the idea of giving out food. But when they killed General Hadricks brother they knew they had to do something about them. The ULF moved forces to the nearby villages to observe the soldiers and figure out when and where would be best to strike. At first the women and children were happy to see their husbands, fathers and loved ones back in the villages but then they knew something was up. The villages made up of Ultran's knew best than to question the returns but those who were mixed of people began to worry.

by **Allanea** » Thu Dec 27, 2018 1:04 pm

"Captain I know of a train link between us and the Rebel city of Ygnay, but that is the only main operable rail link the country currently has." The General sighed, "I do not know if i am willing to let you depart on the train so heavily armed and possibly cause an incident that might damage the only operable main rail route left in the country. I can give you three BTRs but that is my final offer." She smiled feeling she had won the argument, or at least the discussion.

"Thank you, Madam General." – the Captain said and saluted, if he was disappointed, he did not show it.

This was the end of the discussion. A day later, Allanean soldiers arrived in the country – about sixty in number. Trucks were also brought in, for use in handing out assistance – or at least that was official line. Allanean cargo planes were now landing in Edoras daily, laden with food, medical equipment and supplies. The Allanean soldiers, quartered in an abandoned aircraft warehouse, worked on the BTRs and trucks to repair any malfunctions and problems that might happen with them. Conscious of the fact that the vehicles were older than comparable Allanean ones, they went through the BTRs in detail, checking them for every possible malfunction.

For the trucks, the Allaneans prepared their own modifications. Six of the vehicles had been airlifted in, and covered in tarpaulins that neatly concealed anything that was happening on the vehicles. Two had been refitted with a kit of cameras and hydraulics that attached to the vehicle's wheel and treads. These were the 'dumb' brothers and sisters of civilian armored cars, just 'autonomous' enough to follow behind one of the vehicles in the convoy, 20 meters apart. Finally, a large MRAP vehicle, refitted to work as a primitive mine-clearing UGV, was also brought in.

Spread through the other trucks were weapons – hidden under the tarpaulin.

* * *

Three days before the convoy's departure, the news of it began to leak. First it was a letter to a hospital in Ygnay from Colonel Jenner, asking them to prepare to receive and distribute 30 tons of high-grade infant food and medical supply.

Then it was a selfie a soldier posted on a web forum, standing behind a truck somewhere (inspection of the image's internal location data would tell you it was, in fact, at Edoras airport). He added Soon I am going to be driving this truck through Northern Ultramarine, carrying baby food and guarded by thirty of these incompetent idiots that Ultrans call soldiers, pray for me lol.

This was of course true – regarding the baby food. The mission's security would be sixty men of the Gentian Mountain Rifle Division, but this was a detail error.

A man – perhaps a truck driver – spent thirty dollars drinking vodka at the airport lounge, comparing about how he had to be leaving to Ygnay in a few days at midnight. "Drinks are on me, lads!" – he shouted, "Who knows, maybe I won't be back to drink next week!" That he did not fall under the table despite consuming five shots of vodka surprised no one, after all truck drivers are a hardy lot. (And Allaneans drink their vodka in much larger glasses than most!) After seven glasses he departed, condemning the Ultrans as 'pansies who can't even handle a few of these tiny shit-ass vodka glasses' (ignoring, of course, that a man who had gone on reduced rations for a while will have trouble handling his drink!)

Thus, the information was 'leaked' several times – 'medical aid convy, badly protected, six trucks, MRAP leading the way, thirty tons of food and supplies, protected by just thirty badly-trained – and very secret!'. If the rebels wanted to attack the convoy, they would know it would leave at night and enter rebel territory at early morning, and be moving at 'safety speeds' of thirty kilometers per hour.

Really all the Allaneans could do beyond that is paint targets on themselves.

by **Ultramarine** » Fri Dec 28, 2018 4:16 am

The Road to Ygnay

The camp was quiet as the men and women of the Ygnay Defence Battalion sat around smoking and drinking. The sound of the car engine filling the air did only enough to make some look up, "Scouts." One said to his comrade who nodded and the two got up and out of the road as the car zoomed past them into the camp proper. The car pulled up outside the commanders tent who was stood there waiting. The man in the passenger seat was up and out of the car before it had even stopped and was cracking a salute to his commander."Welcome back brother." Said Commander Rezo. The young man in front of him beamed a childish grin of satisfaction. Rezo indicated they should head into the tent and the two men vanished from sight.

Inside the tent the two men embraced in a hug and then separated before heading over to a table, "So tell me, where will the enemy come?" Rezo asked his little brother. His brother pulled a pad of paper from his pocket and began to look over it, "According to my sources in the Capital the Allaneans are bringing a supply convoy along the road. It's loaded with supplies intended for the hospital in Ygnay. Mostly for the children and its loaded into trucks, but Brother they are bringing government BTRs with them!" Rezo smiled at that bit of news. "They will make tempting targets." He smirked. His brother nodded.
"They will pass through the thickest part of the woods here. We can drop some trees down into the road at their front ambush the BTRs then let the supply trucks through. It's perfect!" The young man exclaimed. Rezo nodded.
"Carry the orders to the men, we move out in an hour!"

The Ygnay region border forest

The trees laid across the road they had been dropped by axe wielding YDB soldiers an hour ago and now the sun was rising. The YDB soldiers laid in cover waiting for the vehicles to approach. As they wait the steady sound of Truck and BTR engines begin to fill the air and the soldiers begin to prepare their RPGs and rifles to fire at the armoured vehicles. Intending to ignore the trucks.

Famine and Civil War in Ultramarine (MT IC)

Famine and Civil War in Ultramarine (MT IC)

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