[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

by **Iryllia** » Mon Jan 07, 2019 4:25 pm

The Diplomat

She was at a different cafe this time, one a roman soldier she'd been chatting up had recommended. Or at least it sounded like a recommendation in between slurred Latin. They really had a terrible ear for Rusinan accents though, she'd been posing as a refugee from the Asgari zone in the north. Woe is her with nowhere warm to stay. It was working wonders. They liked to chat too, nothing too important though she did commend them on that. She had noticed lash scars on the backs of one or two of the soldiers so that'd explain it but when plied with liquor and a gentle nudge here and a wink there they'd talk about a lot. About home or their posting here. Very little of a sensitive matter again the lashes again she presumed. One thing she'd learned last night however, one thing she'd found very difficult to keep her composure for. There was an Iryllian fleet, it'd rocked up a few days ago apparently and was now sitting there a few hundred miles north of the island.

This was her ticket out of here.

Off this blasted rock filled with god damn barbarians and war criminals. An issue remained however, which was contact. She had basically nothing now since the flight from Balthazaar, she'd checked back on the embassy building, a dry cleaners now. Too her knowledge there weren't any safe houses in the city. She needed a radio set. She wasn't about too break into a Roman military base and although some of the dudes she'd slept with had been sweet, they had very anachronistic views in certain places. No, she'd need to find a civilian set, a radio station would be monitored but... There's gotta be a weirdo with a set somewhere. Didn't need much, hell, she vaguely remembered the Morse emergency signal. wouldn't even need much for that. Just the right frequency... She'd need to ask around but her excuse of being from the north only really worked on the Romans. Asgari would recognise an Iryllian accent like that and she didn't sound much like a Harrenite. Maybe, just maybe seeing if someone she knew from the flotilla could get her access somewhere. That'd be a long shot and they all thought she was dead anyway...

The Smuggler

Things just really weren't going her way were they?

After escaping all the bombing, attacks, raiders and all manner of nasty things. Seeing a mushroom cloud rise in the distance Valentina was very much done with this island. Or so she thought, until she found a whole bunch of Myraxians on it. This was just great, she'd mad a particular point of not seeing any Myraxians since Rygan. They made her twitchy, nervous. Well, not quite as bad as the Valari but that seemed like a universal thing rather than just her. Emily Hall, her identity, lost all her documents in a fire bombing in northern Harren. Seemed to pass fairly well. Got her through the refugee checkpoints well enough. Into a work gang well enough. Working for a section of very grumpy looking Myraxian pioneers putting up the shed she was now bunked in with a hundred others. She'd complained at one point, which had amounted to "Fuck you pay me" she'd gotten a good few cheers from the goblins in her work gang. The Myraxian had told her to shut up if she liked getting food. One or two native insults may or may not have slipped out at this. and she noticed the Sergeant whispering and glancing her way when talking to his superior. Maybe it was her Paranoia, but she swore that there were more guards watching after that, watching her specifically.

She struck up her concerns with the seemingly sympathetic goblins, a memorable pair had been part of the merc company in Prokopois, Zahaak and Yavus. They really didn't like the Roman Asgari combo on the island. She talked about her exploits before this place had gone to shit, they'd nodded along and smiled. "Back to Aurum then ey?" They'd asked. "Anywhere but here." She replied. And so, they schemed long into the night.

The Admiral

A few days passed. No word from the consulate. No word from anyone. Commodore Patchriyev had reported... A lot of shipping. Roman and Asgari. Great, two active combatants. He'd circled around the island. Too the south? Worse news. Myraxians and Valari. What on earth had been going on here? Atmospherics indicated a detonation of a nuclear device and a lot of fallout in the air as well as... Unknown particulates. Not chemical, or nuclear apparently. But biological. The records of this island show'd exactly zero abnormalities. So what was all the fuss?

After a few days Admiral Naumann was getting what he thought to be a pretty good picture. The tin pot dictator Balthazar had some rebel problems. That had apparently been over the news nets a bit. According to the diplomatic corps reports Kathrin had survived a rebel attack on the consulate, assisting Balthazar with an emergency monetary fund. However, both Rome and Asgareth had stuck their fingers in the pie, assisting Balthazars flotilla back onto the mainland. Reports from Kathrin had been steady roughly up until... Ah, yes. Balthazar's assassination by Myraxians. Missing, presumed dead. Interestingly enough however the Myraxians never claimed the assassination. They didn't deny it either. All the hullabaloo was coming from the Roman camp who'd gone and set up a seemingly more pliant puppet in the tin pot dictators stead. Politicking and power play. Business as usual. No mention however of an Iryllian diplomat showing up in any reports. No kills claimed, no exposure. In fact if it wasn't for Kathrin's reports very few people would know she'd ever been there.

Then, something else developed.

He'd retired to his quarters, examining the print out on his desk which read:

Wired: ID UNKNOWN. Harrenite standard civic encryption.
Claim: Representative of Gautima (Current Premier of the Hegemony)

Officially, considering our status as a Roman Puppet, the Hegemony is your enemy. Unofficially, the Romans have been nothing but a bane towards all Harrenians. Is there anything we can offer you to, get involved, on our mainland?
To, replace, our Roman overlords.

- UNKNOWN

He had to be very careful in measuring his response, he was an admiral yes, but no diplomat.

Wired: RETURN TO SENDER. Harrenite standard civic encryption

A detailed report on the current situation is required before any action is taken.
1. What is the status of the Iryllian Consulate to the Hegemony
2. What active foreign nations are operating on this island and in what strength.
3. What do you have to offer.

- Admiral Alexander Naumann, Iryllian 10th Fleet

He nodded, seemingly happy with his response. Shortly after sending it however, his first officer stuck his head into his office, "Sir, an additional transmission."
"What is it?"
"It's from the Myraxians sir."
"What?"
"Yessir, I'll leave the transcript here."

Wired: ID UNKNOWN Open Channel
Sent via Myraxian built system

no go away.

- UNKNOWN

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 3:49 pm

Castra Praetoria, Nova Roma, Imperium Romae in Perpetuum

“These reports could be more encouraging…” Prefect Sejanus remarked dryly to the three intelligence officers sitting opposite him.
“About 300,000 dead, sir.” Remarked Prefect Caelius, who had just flown in from Harren Island. “Old Agrippa ordered a total decimation of the Heartlands and didn’t shrink from committing serious resources to it.” He passed another file to the Head of Intelligence. “Men and materials earmarked for the next phase of the campaign were needlessly diverted for his little ‘lesson’. Not to mention we’ve intercepted messages from the Hegemony to the Iryllians, reportedly working for Gautima.”
Sejanus snorted whilst perusing the document. “Impossible. Gautima has been under intensive surveillance since he got here and no one could sneak onto Kos. Regardless keep an eye on the situation and make sure Agrippa doesn’t smother him, for now. Anyway this would explain the request for additional supplies Nero received a few days ago, interesting how these reports weren’t includes in the Prefectus’ last dispatches.”
“Indeed, sir.” Replied Caelius who had begun to smirk. “Nor the fact that preliminary reports indicate he has radicalised nearly 9% of the population. Thanks to our dear Praefectus I will now require much greater support to quell the rural population. People may even start to suspect the truth…”
“Quiet.” Snapped Sejanus. “Not even here, we cannot even chance exposure.”

Caelus straightened, chastised. “Of course, sir, regardless the actions of the rebels are both an irritant to the Imperium and a potentially dangerous outlier for…our friends.”
“We have prepared a proposal.” Interjected one of the other officers. “We’ve achieved moderate success with infiltration up until now and are ready to move on some of the larger cells. The problem is the terrorists seem to be totally decentralised and highly motivated.”
“I disagree.” Interrupted the last officer. “We to resume our search for their leader, a woman named Langton. If we can take her alive, we should be able to extract enough information to bring down the cell network.”
“I keep telling you Camillus, she’s dead!” His friend said exasperated. “Our agents in Rie said she disappeared. Her associates certainly have no idea where she is, trust me I’ve seen the pictures.”
“But they’ve been making coordinated attacks! The poisoned fish for one…”
“That’s enough both of you.” Said Sejanus forcefully. “I don’t care what unwashed savage is leading these scum, I just want this dealt with before I have to burn down another fishmongers! Caelius.” He said, pointing to the middle figure. “You’ll have your men and then some. Establish a mass surveillance network across the interior of the island. Arrest and quietly dispose off anyone who even considers treason, and have their families enslaved.”
“Yes, sir.” Caelius said, smirk returning as he tallied up the potential profits.

The head of intelligence then turned to Camillus.
“Centurion give one of my aides a copy of that report. Inform them to discreetly send it to one of Agrippa’s rivals in the Senate. His family have been around for long enough, he should have a good few. It should lead to an official accusation of incompetence being levied against him, make the old fucker buck his ideas up. You.” He said pointing to the remaining agent. “Start intercepting Agrippa’s dispatches to the Imperial Palace, it’s time we paid more attention to that rock and importantly keep Caesar’s interests elsewhere. The last thing we need is bloody Imperial oversight. Dismissed.”

City of Galatea, Republic of Harren, Harren Island

Opening the door, Maria paused, cocking an eyebrow. Before speaking or moving into the room, she waved away her aides and ordered her Myraxian Guard to wait outside. Coming through and shutting the door behind her, Maria smiled, "Colour me surprised. I wouldn't have expected you to have the balls to come here.".
"I must admit I expected more screaming." Replied Agrippa lazily, his feet resting on her desk. "That's how these things usually go..."
She snorted as she walked over to her wall, sliding a tall crystal decanter towards herself, "Why shouldn't I just call in the Myraxians and hear your screaming?", she poured two glasses and slid one across to him on the desk.
"Simply put my dear, they wouldn't believe you." He replied a half smile on his face. "I'm not actually here you see." He put his hand through the glass in front of him, as if to prove a point. "Hologram."
"Should have told me earlier,", Maria glowered before downing her glass, "wouldn't want to waste good Whisky", then she grabbed the second. "I presume you're here to either threaten me or make me an offer, so spit it out."
"And they say courtesy is dead..." The Prefectus smirked, a cup of wine materializing in his hand. "I've been reading your file. Fascinating stuff, I have a feeling idle threats wouldn't do much." He took a sip. "Though as you people have seen over the past few weeks, my threats tend to have substance."
She rolled her eyes, "Oh, please, ", and drained the second glass, "flattery followed by a primitive macho display. Get on with it or get out, I'm getting bored."
"To think most of my colleagues believe women have no place in politics!" Not one to be outdone he drained his own cup. "They are, of course, correct but you give a good argument. I'll be blunt; defect."
"Let me guess, for money and power?", she laughed, loud and smooth, "I've seen the power Gautima and Dio have. No, the answer is no.".
"Gautima is weak and Dio insane." Agrippa said dismissively. "You my dear have so much more to offer..."
She leant down on the desk, giving the hologram a great view of her cleavage before batting her eyelids and laying on a sweet, mocking voice, "Honeyed words," then she stood up straight and her face became icy and her voice cold, "hiding poison."
Agrippa smiled warmly, either appreciating the view or enjoying the memories of the people he had actually poisoned. It was hard to tell. "Why, if you were to re-join the Hegemony..." He let the sentence hang as another cup of wine materialised. "Let's just say Gautima won't last forever."
"If I rejoined the Hegemony, Gautima wouldn't last the day." Maria chuckled as she sat down opposite the hologram, "In any case, why would I trade down? I'm supported by the second most powerful nation in the world and it's obvious that the Republic will have all of Harren in the end.".
"You have no idea how much I'd enjoy seeing that." The old man replied, still smiling. "A nation on the other side of the world? Embedded in a ruinous conflict with arguably the strongest power? Even their staunchest ally despises them. If you don't believe me look out the window." He gestured dismissively. "Count the Asgarthian tanks. " Agrippa suddenly leaned forward, a sudden fury burning in his eyes. "Besides, as you well know, Harren will belong to the Hegenomy. Or she will burn."
Maria stared into the Hologram's eyes, weighing up the words and judging the man behind them. Moments passed and then she nodded. "In that case," she said with a faint smile, "if you would buy me, buy me. I've seen the dreck you've shovelled at the Hegemony. You won't give me dreck, you'll give me submarines."
The Prefectus leaned back while tensing his fingers, confident in his assessment of the young woman in front of him. "My dear, expel the Myraxians, and ill gift you a fleet."
"No no.", She laughed loudly, also leaning back in her seat, "You expect me to risk everything for a promise? You must really have a low opinion of women if you think I'm that stupid.".She gazed up at the wall and her portrait there, "No, I'm not trusting to promises. Balthazar trusted to promises.... and if you try and feed me lies again about Myraxia doing it, this conversation is over." Her eyes dropped to meet his, "I want my submarines first, shall we say ten. They don't need to be top of the line but I do need to have them in my harbour and inspected to ensure there's no treachery before I will jeopardise my position with the Myraxians."
"How would you explain your windfall to your valiant allies?"
She shrugged dismissively, "Salvage.".
Now it was Agrippa's turn to laugh aloud. "Gods, you are a bold one!" He said amusement in his eyes. "You don't truly believe they're that stupid, do you?"
"If you've been true to your word...", she paused there, deliberately letting it hang before continuing, "by the time they've called me out on it and determined the truth, I'll have made my move."
"Does the word of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa mean nothing to you?"
"Yep!" She stood up and went over for another glass, "Exactly nothing."
The old man turned his head to follow her. "Have I ever lied to the people of Harren." He said softly.
Snorting, she cocked her head with her glass in hand and a grin on her face, "Does it look like I give a shit?".
Agrippa laughed again. "My dear you are an impertinent one, but I enjoy you so!" He knocked back his cup. "Very well, you can have your submarines, but I need something from you first."
"Oh?"
He met her eyes, his voice suddenly serious. "I require the location, numbers and the command structure off all Myraxian forces supporting your rebellion."
She nodded her acquiescence before pointing her glass and finger at him, “When the submarines are en route."
"You sound like my Great-Granddaughter, not believing she will get pudding if she finishes her dinner." He smirked, pleased that he could still anticipate the young and hungry. Agrippa held out his hand and the holographic image of a submarine appeared. "insdiator-class. A few years out of date but adequate for your needs, non-nuclear of course."
Maria tipped her head and raised her glass in farewell.
" A pleasure my dear, I imagine you will want to strip your office looking for my little projector. I wouldn't bother, it’s primed to explode. Besides, it has been quite a while since I've conversed with a lovely young woman who did not reek of fear." He raised his own empty cup. "Until the next time, Deputy Premier."

Near Baruch, Harren Hegenomy, Harren Island

An armoured convoy drove through the dirt roads of the Harrenite countryside. The sleek black of the two troop transports almost unnoticeable in the dark. Centurion Gallo had planned this operation intricately, picking a night with no moon to make them even harder to see from a distance and choosing men drafted from the local area, to reduce the chance of being misdirected in the dark. He looked around at the rest of the men in the transport, whilst he had brought some fellow Praetorian Agents the majority of his men were Harrenites that had been selected for the HISS (Harrenite Internal Securety Service). At first, he had been unsure of their quality but after half a year of training, and the standard intensive indoctrination, he was feeling confident about the organization’s future.

He checked his watch, it was almost showtime.
“Alright boys.” He called out clearly. “What we have here is your standard rebel cell, operating out of a nearby farm. Amatures and former militia men, who thought wearing bright blue uniforms was a good way to stay hidden. Armed with older equipment and those crappy SMG’s the Hegenomy was armed with before they were given the good shit.” The centurion patted his rifle affectionately. “This lot also have a few stolen Fulmen’s, what happens when you let some pansy marines do a guardsman’s job eh?” The men grinned in appreciation, there was nothing wrong with a little professional rivalry Gallo thought. Rome had built an empire on it.
“Dumb fuckers thought a barn could hide missiles from thermal scans.” He continued shaking his head. “We do this quick and quiet; in the Heartlands anything goes, but the good folks of the Eastern cities don’t need cause to worry now do they?”
“No, sir.” The squad chorused. Gallo had brought about 25 men with him, including the bunch in the other APC and intelligence believed the enemy cell to be about 40 men strong but that was no issue. They were drunken peasants and his men were hardened killers. Few casualties were expected.
“Alright lads nearly there, you know the rules, first kill gets a day off!”

The convoy came to a silent halt near the peripheries of the farm, the Centurion put on his coal scuttle helmet and gestured for his men to file out, feeling his back click as he rose. He was getting a bit old for field work he thought as he blocked the pain out, but he’d be damned if he was gonna sit in a fancy desk in Cyma whilst the young men got to go out killing. Gallo divided his men into teams of 5 and they split up to converge on the farmhouse from all directions. Satellite imaging revealed that the farm was being used as a makeshift base cum training camp, so the centurion sent two squads to clear out some of the old buildings being used as barracks, one to investigate the barn where they believed the missiles were and finally, he himself led the final two teams for the assault on the farmhouse.

Gallio surveyed the area with his night vision goggles and clicked his tongue in disapproval. The rebels had established no regular patrols and as far as he could tell hadn’t even set up a night watch. The damn fools, he thought, Rome had been putting down rebels since this island was nothing but a disparate collection of city states. Did a bunch of illiterate farmers think they could defy her?

The centurion’s question remained unanswered as he finally saw one of the rebels emerge from the farmhouse, uniform out of place, with a drunken swagger and no weapon. Pathetic. Gallio gestured for his men to spread out as he snuck up behind the rebel, who was relieving himself against the nearest wall. Quick as a viper the Praetorian grabbed him by the mouth and thrust a pugio into his jugular. Dark red blood sprayed all over the wall, the Harrenite and, much to the Centurions disgust, himself. He held man firmly until he felt him go completely limp and dropped him. Another disadvantage of light blue Gallio thought mildly, it went terribly with red.

His team moved to secure all entrances to the sizable farmhouse and making sure that everyone was in place he activated his radio.
“All squads report.”
“Team 1 standing ready at first barracks.”
“Team 2 standing ready at second barracks.”
“Team 3 standing ready at barn.” Came a slew of responses.
“Ok then.” He whispered back. “Let’s do it!” He then shouted at the top of his lungs before kicking the door in. If the shout didn’t wake everyone up, the spray of bullets the centurion fired into the hallway certainly did. Even above the shouts of his men Gallio could hear sympathetic shots from around the compound as his men mowed down the terrorists in their beds.

Gallio stormed upstairs with 5 of his men, making a beeline for the master bedroom. He broke down the door and saw an older man lying in bed with a naked young woman, old enough to be his daughter. The centurion and him stared at each other before the old man made a dart for the pistol at his bedside. Gallio, however, expecting the move charged at him and slammed the rebel commander in the face with the but of his rifle. Hard. The man slumped unconscious, but not dead Gallio noticed with a certain satisfaction, removing his goggles. It wasn’t his first time. As if designed to spoil his mood the girl began to scream hysterically, sighing the centurion pointed his rifle at her and she soon bit her tongue, literally if the blood dribbling down her lips was any indication. An unexpected bonus the Praetorian thought, a few more of her around and he would make a bit of profit from this.
“Centurion, this is team 3. The missiles have been recovered.” His radio crackled.
“Confirmed.” He responded. “Team 4 round up any survivors, I know a few unpleasant men in Cyma that will be delighted to see them…”

by **Harren Island** » Wed Jan 09, 2019 4:54 pm

Republic of Harren

Maria left her office immediately after the conversation with Agrippa, her room was obviously bugged and she didn’t want to jeopardise anything by having it searched or telling the Myraxians. No. Safest to simply leave. She decided to go to Element 44. It was secret, out of the way, secure and had landline communications that were more difficult to intercept. She would wait there until she heard that the subs were on the way.

Almost a day later, her office received and passed on a Roman Message stating that the submarines had been abandoned in a spot on the coast of Archon but they would only send the exact coordinates when she sent them the data they had requested. She didn’t respond straight away, instead ordering a couple transports prepared in Galatea and filled with trainee crew. Then she got into her jeep, winking at her Myraxian Guards as they joined her “You fellas will love this.”, and headed over to the harbour herself.

Maria boarded one of the vessels a couple hours later. She gave the order to make way and when the engines started up, she had the information sent. Within moments, coordinates were sent back and she smiled, muttering to herself, “Now we’ll have to see if you’re true to your word.”.

The journey across to the mainland didn’t take long but the Myraxian Guards were getting pushy, demanding to be brought into the loop. She was getting a little exasperated with them when the shoreline came into view but then a huge grin split her face and she exclaimed, “There! Gentlemen, there! I told you, you’d love it. Ten Roman Submarines, gift wrapped for me.”. Standing on the metal deck as it rolled from side to side, everyone could see a row of submarines tied together in an inlet up ahead. Turning away from her Myraxian Guards she called up to the Captain of the transport, “I want all of those submarines inspected from stem to stern and internally, check for bombs, recording devices, anything that could spike this gift. Step to it as well, I don’t want to stay here a second longer than necessary.”.

Three and a half hours later, the subs had gone through a preliminary inspection and had passed. No explosives located, however, many recording devices were found but they believed that to have been part of the original construction and not a recent addition. Having been given the all clear, Maria boarded the lead submarine along with her trainee crews and gave the order to make way back to Galatea, on the surface because the crews weren’t familiar with these new vessels and broadcasting Republic IDs to prevent any potential accidents with the Myraxians.

Fig. Two of the Insdiator submarines on their way over to Galatea.

Maria stood atop the conning tower of the lead vessel, sketching on a piece of paper as they went. Wind ruffled it and threatened to rip it from her grasp but she flattened it on the side and leant her elbow on it to prevent it flying away. A couple times she pulled out a rubber from her pocket and corrected a mistake. When they passed into the Bay of Airi and Galatea was in sight, she looked at the paper and the drawing she’d made and then kissed it in the top corner before folding it and sealing it in an envelope.

Disembarking in Galatea, she handed the envelope to Phoebe, “Have that sent by courier to the Acropolis Hotel and specifically Agrippa. If the courier has any issues he’s to say it’s from the Deputy Premier.”. Boarding her Presidential Jeep, she ordered the driver to take her to Kalitea and the new Myraxian headquarters there, to inform them about everything so that they could invalidate the intel she had sent to the Romans.

Fig. Maria's letter to Agrippa.

She smiled to herself as her jeep rumbled up the road, “I wish I could see Agrippa’s face.”.

by **Myraxia** » Fri Jan 11, 2019 11:22 pm

Naval Station Kalitea, Task Force Harren HQ Building

Colonel Pyrion Razek raised one eyebrow at Maria's story. He hadn't been the man she'd wanted to see - she would have preferred the more personable Vyr, Razek just seemed emotionless every time she'd met him - but she'd been informed by a Staff Lieutenant - no, wait; Operations Lieutenant, that was what the Myraxians called their Staff office - who'd been sent out to greet her that General Vyr (apparently he'd been promoted) was currently indisposed, in close discussion with the Operations Office planning for if the Iryllians should launch an assault. Colonel Razek was available, though, she'd been told - bringing her here.
"So let me make sure I've understood this correctly." He spoke without emotion, old scar tissue across his throat rippling as he did. "You were contacted by the leader of the Roman forces in the Hegemony.
"By Agrippa, yes." she replied confidently, locking eyes with the Myraxian.
"And he attempted to entice you to... defect... by bribing you with submarines." There was a subtle emphasis on the last word.
She smiled at the memory of how easily she'd played the arrogant Roman. He'd actually believed her, best she could tell, which was the best part. "That's correct, although I insisted on payment before the fact."
"With the full intention of playing him?"
She nodded. It'd almost been too easy. Her eyes briefly flickered again to the scar tissue at the man's throat. Looking at it, she was amazed the man was still alive. Then, she was shocked to realise, he cracked a smile.
"Excellent work."
She was almost taken aback. That wasn't quite the reaction she'd been expecting. "Thank you."
"Of course, he'll be pissed. We'll double your guard, make sure he doesn't try anything. Shift our deployment schedules around, make whatever you told him irrelevant." He paused. "You made the right choice, reporting this. Many would have taken the deal."
She scoffed at that. "That was an easy decision. What have the Romans done for Harren? Bombed it, murdered it's people, bringing their mailed fist down upon the north. I don't want that shit to happen to the rest of Harren if I can help it. The Myraxians... well, you haven't invaded this island, killing as you come. You came in peace, you've helped rebuild our cities, protect our people. Do you have other motives, somewhere in your plans? I'm certain of it. Are you using me? Absolutely, but I'm using you right back. This benefits both Harren and Myraxia, whereas Roman rule benefits no-one except the Romans. So, if you don't mind, I've made my choice."
Razek took all this without reaction, before leaning back slightly. "A good speech. And a good choice, too. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an entire deployment to rearrange."
It was a good speech, she reflected to herself. Was it true? Mostly, she supposed, although she'd guessed it was what the Myraxian wanted to hear. And guessed correctly, it appeared. As she got up to leave, he spoke up again.
"Iryllian bayonet, Rygan metro tunnels. Better part of nine years ago."
She turned back towards his desk. "Excuse me?"
"The scar. "A hint of emotion crept into his voice, the first he'd even begun to show. "Bastards put a bayonet through my throat and left me for dead. Took Drekhite nano-tech to knit it back together, never sounded quite the same afterwards." He stood up, locking eyes with her. "I know what it's like to have your home invaded. Your cities bombed, your people killed. Not here. Not again." He broke the eye contact, and sat back down, spinning his chair back to face the window. "That will be all, Madam President."

Republican Militia HQ, City of Galatea, Republic of Harren

Several rough lines of men and women stood on the packed dirt of the training field, humid air causing beads of sweat to drip down their foreheads. Thirty six Harrenites, all told - all volunteers for the new Republican Militia. They'd volunteered for a variety of reasons - some, because it was an easy place for a refugee to find employment; others, a sense of patriotic duty; and still others, because, well, the pay wasn't half bad. What they had in common, though, was that they hadn't volunteered expecting to be left standing in the heat.
"You call this a formation!?" A voice rang out through the air. Some of the Harrenites reflexively stood straighter, others looked around for the source of the voice - a figure in stripped down Myraxian combat gear, harness donned over a uniform tied off around the waist, undershirt visible to all. Several of the Harrenites were relieved to see that at least the Myraxian was sweating too. "Fourteen year olds can do better than this back home. It's three straight lines, not a difficult concept to grasp. Come on, let's go, tidy it up." The Harrenites shuffled about, moving into somewhat straighter lines. "Better. Now," the Myraxian moved in front of the group. "My name is Sergeant Kyranis. I'm here to train you. Myraxians have been fighting wars since before most of you were a twinkle in your parents eyes. Some say we've gotten quite good at it. As such. the Republic of Harren - that's yours - has asked very politely if we wouldn't mind coming and helping them train their militia. And, well, quite frankly, you need it. I've reviewed the records from the fall of the Confederacy - the last battles of the Confederate Militia - and, well... it's not good enough. Not if you want to hold back the Romans and their puppets. You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But spirit will only carry you so far. For the rest, you need discipline, you need combat reflexes, and you need good equipment." He hefted an old Harrenite SMG, taken from a rack set to one side. "What is this? Anyone?" He walked along the line, before picking a trainee. "You, trainee. Name?"
"Uh - Kyo Stevenson, sir." The trainee in question, a woman in her mid twenties with dark hair pulled back into a bun, jumped in surprise when the Myraxian stepped in close.
"I'm not an officer, Stevenson. I'm a Sergeant, not a sir. Your name, again."
"Kyo Stevenson, Sergeant!"
"Better. Now, Trainee Stevenson, what is this that I am holding?"
"It's... an old Harrenite SMG, Sergeant."
"Good guess, but wrong. Next!" He pointed his free hand at another trainee, an older man this time, with short graying hair.
"Isador Carlyle, Sergeant!"
"Good, Trainee Carlyle. Your guess?"
"I'm... not certain, Sergeant."
"Excellent! Always better to admit you don't know something than to make a wild guess. Anyone else?" No suggestions were volunteered. "Then I'll tell you. This," he hefted the SMG again. "is obsolete. It lacks the power to combat modern body armor, and lacks the accuracy to aim around it. If you're going to defend your homes - and you will - you'll need something from this century." He passed the SMG to another waiting Myraxian, before drawing their attention to the rack as he retrieved another rifle - this one much more modern looking. "This is an XR-25RH combat rifle, modified to sit the specifications of the Republic. Drum mags and duplex ammo, which has the advantage of meaning I don't have to teach you marksmanship. You will each be issued one of these, and then you will learn every inch of it. You will learn how to fire it, how to clean it, how to repair it when it breaks. In short, this rifle will be your closest friend. But first..." he pointed a knife hand at Kyo. "Trainee Stevenson! Why are you here?"
"Sergeant?"
"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Stevenson."
"I... I don't know, Sergeant."
The Myraxian considered this, before thrusting a rifle at her. She scrambled to catch it. "Better figure that out quick, Stevenson." He moved on. "Trainee Carlyle! Why are you here?"
"My wife and daughter lived in Salome, Sergeant."
The Myraxian stepped in close and whispered something in his ear. Kyo couldn't quite make out what it was, but when he was done, he handed Isador a rifle, before moving off down the line. She looked questioningly at the older man, who replied with a slow nod - his eyes seeing something else, far away.

Naval Station Kalitea, Task Force Harren HQ Building

The newly-promoted General Hyrkan Vyr ('Exemplary service to the Union in a role above and beyond your expected station', he'd been told - it had come with a Distinguished Service Medal too, along with a pay rise, so he wasn't really disappointed about the whole thing) leaned back in his chair, grateful for the brief respite the departure of the Operations staff from his office had brought. They now had a workable plan in the event of an Iryllian invasion of the Republic, although, based on the message he'd just received from Colonel Razek, that might soon be the least of his problems. He had to admire Maria's... well, balls, at playing the Roman like that, although it would probably just provoke him into trying something more drastic. Razek had been right to increase the size of Maria's guard detail. Agrippa's gall astonished him, honestly. To risk such a blatant provocation of the Myraxians on Harren like this... what else would the man risk? Frowning, he reached for his intercom. "Commander Valyn to CO's office."
Within a few minutes, Valyn, the Combined Forces Intelligence Harren Section Chief was stood before him. "What can I do for you, General?"
"I need a briefing on Roman coalition forces in the Hegemony, including Hegemony forces, as well as how that compares to our own."
Unfazed, Valyn motioned to the office's projection table. "If I may, General?" Activating the table, he swiftly pulled up several files using his own authorization codes, pulling the relevant files down the hardline from the CFI server uplink elsewhere on the base. "We've been maintaining satellite reconnaissance over Hegemony territory, as well as SIGINT and whatever intelligence we've gleaned from the more cooperative elements of the Heartlander remnants. We estimate coalition forces number several hundred thousand troops, although a certain portion of that is made up of mercenary Skjoldurians. They could, if necessary, perhaps be enticed to abandon any attack, or even switch sides for the right price. We've been unable at the present time to ascertain the exact size of the Hegemonic military, although it is certainly lesser to the Republican militia, being comprised mainly of the marines that accompanied Balthazar out with the fleet. Certainly, any locals they conscript will suffer significant morale problems. Whilst we retain the advantage on a troop for troop comparison, however, we remain significantly outnumbered by coalition forces. Once the balance of Seventh Fleet arrives - and they will do so imminently, within the next few days - our Myraxian troop numbers will more or less triple, taking us to around 100,000 troops of our own, not including local forces. There's also the matter of the Valari."
"Who remain inscrutable as ever, I'm sure."
"Just so, sir. If I may, sir, what prompted this briefing?"
"Just a worrisome thought. If Agrippa is mad enough to try and buy the Republic out from underneath us, he may well be willing to resort to more... direct measures."
"How do you wish to proceed?"
Vyr thought for a moment, before pulling up a map showing the division of Harren. "I want work crews retasked - we've made great progress rebuilding the cities, but I'm sure the Harrenites - especially the Heartlander refugees - will appreciate the need for security. A line of defensive works - break the pre-fabs out of storage, get the Pioneers to install them - starting at the coast north of Galatea and working along. Following that, get me a line to Agrippa. I have no wish to escalate this conflict any further than it already has. Which reminds me, where are the Strategic Weapons people on their set up?"
"Ready to go, General. All major cities, as well as major infrastructure hubs and military targets, are fully covered with missile interception systems and the anti-air cordon is operational. There's no way another nuke will be going off anywhere important within the Republic."
"Excellent. Now, Agrippa. I need to know what the man is thinking. And enquire with the Skjoldurians about their prices."

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Sat Jan 12, 2019 2:16 pm

Acropolis Hotel, City of Cyma, Harren Island

The atmosphere in the hotel had been almost jubilant. Praetorian Intelligence had reported that the surveillance network was gradually establishing itself in the Heartlands, with camps being identified around Mount Yari and men being dispatched to deal with them.

Then the courier had arrived.

Tribune Paulus cursed himself for not having the man intercepted or even shot the man before he got to the hotel, but his message had passed inspection from Intelligence and military alike. Now the Tribune found himself standing to attention across from Agrippa, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with him and the spots of blood on the old man’s desk and knuckles; where the courier met an unfortunate end. Luckily the Prefectus appeared to be frigidly furious as opposed to burning with white hot anger at the moment.
“The state of the submarines?” He asked quietly, finally acknowledging Paulus was in the room.
“As far as we can tell the rebels have stripped the more obvious surveillance and tracking devises, sir.” The tribune said quickly. “But most of the additional devises you had implanted as well as the odd inbuilt one remain, as well as the tracking devises. The designs remain as flawed as ever though. It will take the rebels a while to correct them, sir.
“I remember when we first got the damn things.” Agrippa muttered. “Their only use was as slave quarters…I recommended the designers be shot.”
“We’re they, sir?”
“No. I had to poison them myself. As it stands, I will have to deal with the rebellion personally as well.” He continued, voice still maddingly even. “I have confirmed it with Intelligence, it turns out the woman sent us genuine information, but Vulpa reports that they have already moved to redeploy their forces. Spread out as they are.”
“Vulpa, sir?”
“Come come Paulus, we must have some secrets from each other.”
The tribune couldn’t help but think that if Agrippa had taken time to discuss his plans with his officers, they wouldn’t have had to cover up the missing submarines, but he wisely bit his tongue.
“As you wish, Prefectus. We also have word that their reinforcements are a few days away, our window for a quick victory appears to be closing. The Myraxians have also requested a parlay with you personally.”
“A simple delaying tactic, nothing more.” Agrippa said contemptuously, the ghost of a smirk dancing on his face. “An attempt to strengthen their hand as it were. We must end this delusion now.”

The Prefectus called up the battle plan on his console:

“It is time to innate attack plan Celeritas.” He announced almost casually. “All allied armour is to advance on my signal into rebel territory, the objective is to break through Myraxian lines and encircle their defensive units before they even know what’s going on. The infantry will follow and attempt to disarm the Myraxian forces. With the relatively small distance to travel, the massive numbers difference and the fact we have proper armour; this operation should have concluded well before any Myraxian reinforcements arrive. Issue instructions to all allied units: do not fire unless fired upon; if fired upon, respond with extreme prejudice.” Agrippa tensed his fingers. “Be sure to transmit that on all frequencies when the attack begins. This can still end relatively peaceably, and Harren Island can once again know peace.”
“Under the benevolent rule of the Hegemony and the guiding hand of Rome, aye sir.” Paulus replied, attempting to placate his commander. “The Myraxian request, Prefectus?”
“I am more than happy to talk to our friends from the North.” Agrippa said smugly. “Once the hopelessness of their situation is fully brought to bear, total war with Myraxia is…beyond my mandate anyway.”
“As you say, sir. When are we to begin?”
In response the old man just nonchalantly pressed a button on his console.
“Why, now. The first attack is already on the way. Another titbit from Vulpa…”

I.R.S. Typhon, Somewhere off the West Coast of Harren Island

It had been a mostly mundane assignment for the crew of the Typhon. Stay submerged, play dice, track Myraxian/Valyrien/whoever’s fleet movements and be prepared at a moment’s notice to obliterate the entire island with the submarine’s arsenal of nuclear weapons.
Ok maybe not that mundane.
Nevertheless, the comms officer was still relatively surprised to see a priority one communication from Cyma come in. After dutifully running it through the decryption software he presented it to his Trierach pretending, as always, not to have read it.

“Well looks like the powers that be have decided to finally let us do something!” The captain exclaimed to the bridge, closing down his game of virtual solitaire. “Prepare to launch all five of the bunker buster missiles. Some weapons facility northwest of Rie, tactical I’m sending the co-ordinates now.”

“All five, sir?” Queried the weapons officer.

“Apparently the Myraxians have set up some point defence across the rebel territories. The target appears to be remote enough, but better safe than sorry eh?”

“Aye, sir. Missiles away, sir.” Came the response from tactical.

“Good. Conn officer better get us out of here sharpish. It won’t take a genius to figure out where those missiles came from. Even rebel scum aren’t blind.”

by **Skjoldur** » Sat Jan 12, 2019 6:31 pm

New Yanni, Harren Island

Torturous rubbed his eyes he was tired. He had been on the phone for the last three hours discussing the problems with Myraxia and Rome’s ruling of the hegemony. There had been several debates and four breaks and two threats of violence whilst they discussed what to do. As the debate rumbled on one thing came clear, that the conflict on harren would escalate. They had come to the decision not to back harren. Skjoldur didn’t think there was much hope there. Sadly, as well they decided not to back the Myraxians. Although a deal would have been prosperous, Skjoldur didn’t think there was to be gained in turning against an enemy considering the people they were helping would already of been kicked off the island by the Asgarthians and Romans although Skjoldur hoped to remain on good terms with them. So the decision was made to back Rome and Asgareth, two close allies who were bound to win. After another hour of arguing and a vodka “break” Skjoldur decided to send another 75,000 men to help Asgareth and Rome fight for the hegemony. In addition to this Skjoldur sent another raiding fleet and forty ships to join the naval force there, this included a few aircraft carriers, submarines and destroyers.

by **Auruum** » Sat Jan 12, 2019 9:17 pm

Somewhere in the Heartlands of Harren Island

"Shit...Fekkin' Asgari piece o'..." A sixth shot rang out from a nearby bush, the barrel of a rifle retracting inside of it before the leaves rustled and a Goblin stepped out, decked out in the same gear he had on since the Nuke erased Prokopios. Jax had been lucky enough to escape the fallout and the radiation, as well as to survive the ambush that cut him off from the rest of his squad that he presumed dead. For days now he had survived off of scavenging and looting what he could from random patrols and the occasional aftermath of a terror attack. It wasn't pretty or noble but it was all he could do to stay alive and make his way towards the republic.

He'd make his way to the bodies, the Asgarethians stopped to take a drink break when he shot at them, though the last one apparently needed two shots in his head to kill him. The Asgari clearly couldn't make a bullet worth firing. His ears were on a swivel, keeping an ear out for any noises or sounds. "Sorry friend-oh...Would've loved to hear you scream some more but I'm not sure how far away your buddies might...Fuck I gotta stop talkin' to myself..." He'd say as he hastily grabbed extra rations, ammunition, and medical gear. A radio crackled on one of the bodies, He'd quickly read up on the name on the tags of the soldier before he'd clear his throat and call upon his use of mimicry to answer. "Uh sorry about that, Squad Leader Densi Pasquna here, We secured the area, just havin' a drink break."
The radio crackled to life again "Well next time call it in first...You're lucky we can't take away your ale rations for the rest of the day."
"Yes sir...Won't happen again sir." Jax said, holding back a snicker before a stick broke in the distance.

The Goblin whirled around and trained his rifle towards the source of the sound, which turned out to be a rather frightened looking little girl, about his height and covered in grime stained, and tattered clothes. A finger moved to the trigger, All it took was a scream to bring any nearby soldiers right to them. The Goblin cursed and held a finger up to his lips, his ears swiveling this way and that. "Alright..." he whispered "Stay quiet, Nothin' bad happens okay? Nod if you understand." Jax said slowly approaching, keeping the gun trained on her. "Any Bad People put anythin' on you...A vest or a pouch? Collar maybe?" He'd ask taking another step closer as she shook her head no. "Okay...Hands up..." he'd say, quickly patted at her sides and back before he'd finally lower the weapon. "Alright, hands down...Fuckin' tuggin' at the heartstrings here kid..." he'd say before cursing and scratching at his head.

"Alright...Here's the deal. I'm headin' to the Republic...Lot nicer folks there..." He unslung his backpack and plucked a ration pack and his water canteen, nearly throwing them into the little girls hands. "You've got ten seconds to eat and drink, then we are headin' south. It's gonna be long, it's gonna be dangerous. It's important that you stay absolutely quiet. You see something, anything at all, You point it out to me quietly. Okay?" She nodded, opening up the package and taking a few bites from the dried ration. "You got a name, kid?" Jax asked taking a drink from his canteen, the girl swallowed a mouthful of food before she meekly whispered "Rhea." The Goblin nodded in response "Jax, Jax Fizzlefist." He'd say before he'd stash the rations and canteen back in his pack and grabbed his rifle. "Alright...Lets move."

The Skies above Archon

"Alright Boys, I know some of you are slow so lets remind ourselves why we're out here." a voice spoke through the comm channel for the fleet of airships, troop transports and escort fighter craft mostly. "Romans and Asgari used Harren Island as an excuse to kick us in the teeth, and have been using the poor damned souls there to send a message to the world that they are so big and strong for beating down people weaker, and in some cases, smaller than they are. So the kind folks who have signed our checks at Kryon Security felt it was a good choice to show the world that Aurum fights for the little guys...And we like to use really big fuckin' guns. Thankfully the Myraxians gave us an in to get what we're really after...So the official company mission statement is this: Aurum is pissed off and ready for Round Two." A Roar of cheers and possibly sinister laughter answered back.

Around Fifty thousand Goblins, Orcs, and Troll PMC soldiers were feeling pretty good about their chances, Helped along thanks to another fifty thousand newly approved Combat Androids, All outfitted with bleeding edge technology and highly advanced Artificial Intelligence, complete with a unique personality matrix...to help the bots fit in with their organic allies.

And bringing up the rear was a final Ten thousand Hobgoblins, purposely fed the minimum required to keep them under control. Their Handlers would have a slightly tougher job than those that took place in Red Rain Conflict, but these Hobgoblins would remain completely under control...So long as there was plenty of Roman, Asgari, Caerleggi, and Skjoldurian prey to kill and eat.

by **Harren Island** » Mon Jan 14, 2019 7:41 pm

Republic of Harren

Five missiles shrieked through the air. Their destination was Element 44 and it was blissfully unaware of the incoming ordinance, however, ever-vigilant Myraxian point defences and anti-missile systems whined in operation before firing off their own shrieking munitions in an attempt at interception. Three of the five missiles were destroyed in time but two successfully breached the defence perimeter and hit their intended target but only one had needed to do so.

Fig. One of the five roman missiles immediately after launch.

In a split second, the stout and immaculate concrete edifice of Element 44 had two holes punched down and into its roof. If that moment had been caught on camera, it would have seemed that the missiles had simply slipped into the building and done no damage apart from a couple neat holes. An instant later, the entire surface cracked open like an eggshell and expanded upwards and outwards like bread rising in an oven. The ground around it burst up almost in sympathy before collapsing back down and subsiding. Concrete chunks rained back to the earth, sending up their own gouts of dirt upon impact.

Slowly, almost apologetically, a fine white and brown powder drifted down, carried gently by the wind. Most of it settled across the estate and the surrounding grounds but some was blown east, downwind, into the woodlands.

“Awesome ‘Dat Power”.

“Nah, don’t be stupid, that’s obviously not it.” Morio mulled it over as he sat astride a wooden crate, feet idly kicking tufts of dead grass, “Area Defence….. Penetrators?”.

Shaking his head, Vadik refuted it whilst sitting on the dirt with his back resting against the wheel of their artillery piece, “Penetrators are used against tanks. Those shells are labelled Anti-personnel.”

“Could be a secrecy thing.” Morio said as he laid back, gently resting his head on the splintered wood and clasping his hands together on his belly as his legs still swung at the sides, “Make a new Anti-Tank round but tell everyone it's good against troops?”.

Vadik grunted vaguely at Morio’s theory before a grin crossed his face, “Airbursting Dart Projector!”. He clapped his hands together laughing, “You know, I actually think that’s it.”.

Then an alarm rang out shrilly across the fortified encampment. It’s keening wail rising and falling in an ululating rhythm. Morio jerked in shock, falling sideways off the crate and spilling it with him. He frantically scooped the charge bags back into the crate as Vadik leapt to his feet, planted his helmet on his head and then passed the other one over to him. Men were spilling out of their tents and dugouts, racing to their positions by the guns, some hadn’t put on shirts or shoes, one guy had shaving foam under his chin. Wings of jets screamed overhead, from North to South, it wasn’t possible to notice colours or flags but they hadn’t come from friendly territory. Then the siren cut out. It was followed by static and then a piercing voice, “The Republic is under attack. Load, Frag-HE. Batteries one, two and three, sustained volley fire at sighted zone Charlie, grid square H7. Battery one, fire when ready!”.

In less than a minute the guns were lowered and rotated on target, then the first thirteen guns bellowed, followed by battery two four seconds later and then the third battery four seconds after that. In moments the crushing bombardment started to land in their target zone, thirteen shells screaming in every four seconds.

The spotters, two teams in armoured cars nestled up in the rocky mountain terrain along the south-western edge of Mount Kyllini, stood awestruck as they watched the rippling explosions creating almost visible shockwaves in the lowlands to their North-west, just south of the previous border. Looking through their binoculars, they tried to gauge the efficacy of the bombardment but couldn’t see their targets through the smoke, airborne dirt and bright flashes.

Fig. the 130mm artillery park opening fire on the advancing enemies.

The first lines of the Roman tanks burst forth from the smoke, engines roaring, gouging lines behind them in the grass and dirt with their tracks. From what the observers could see they seemed to have taken only light damage, losing ancillary equipment and paintwork. The subsequent waves of the armoured assault were swinging around the bombardment zone to the north and south to avoid it. +++Battery one, walk fire north, Battery three, walk fire south+++. The bombardment thinned and spread out but it was still nowhere near enough to prevent the armoured assault along so large a frontage.

The observers were now able to make out the shapes of two Roman tanks, having lost tracks, still within the bombardment zone. As they watched, one took a direct hit and the top machine gun was blasted away as it lost bits of reactive armour but apart from the fact that it was pushed down deeper into the dirt, it still seemed entirely operational. “Our one-thirties aren’t enough to put ‘em down.”.

They called off the bombardment to conserve ammunition and then scanned the horizon for other targets. Spotting subsequent waves of lighter vehicles crossing the border they retargeted the batteries and prepared. When the vehicles reached the position of the two tracked tanks, the crews of which had gotten out and were desperately trying to repair them, the spotters gave the signal and the bombardment started up again. Walking the bombardment, they followed the largest group of vehicles for two minutes.

+++ Hold Fire. Hold Fire. +++

The whistling of shells abated and the observers were able to tally up the butcher’s bill, sixteen armoured personnel carriers destroyed with a further thirty-two disabled. They marked down the three greatest concentrations of vehicles and then transmitted them to the individual batteries.

+++ Load ADP, batteries fire on your designated targets when ready. +++

Within moments, rumbling was heard in the distance and seconds later white bursts puffed into existence above the APCs and a white-brown powder floated down to settle on vehicle and man alike. No immediate effect from the dust was observed but a chill went down the observers’ spines as they noticed that many men had evacuated their APCs to effect repairs or to prepare for potential ground attack and were now covered in a coating of powder; they knew what the dust would do.

Harrenian Hegemony
Dio hadn’t expected to be going to war with Myraxia and the Republic so soon. Rampant rebel issues and the fact that infrastructure was still damaged across the country from the rebellion, then Balthazar’s attacks and the Heartlands’ stand, prevented the Hegemony from performing at peak effectiveness.

He had however, still made plans with the expectation that it would eventually happen. He rapidly greenlit them, including one to send his amphibious forces across Ritsa’s Bight and another to swarm fleet ‘Screech’, led by H.H. Vispanius Agrippa.

+++
Fleet ‘Screech’ is to make way at once.
Base out of Kos and establish an interdiction zone between Kos and Friendly Island.
Intercept and sink any Myraxian vessels passing into the interdiction zone.
+++

Two hours later one hundred and twenty one vessels left Cyma’s harbour, the H.H. Vispanius Agrippa itself in loose formation with its thirty dedicated escorts and the other ninety fast attack craft arrayed in nine separate squadrons. Looking out the harbourside window and watching them depart, Dio almost wished Gautima was here to see his swarm fleet doctrine in operation.

Despite all the Chaos, Rome’s Praetorian Intelligence detected a faint civilian broadcast to the Iryllian fleet. It went on long enough for them to triangulate its position, originating from the shipyards in Nara.

+++
The Iryllian Consulate was destroyed by Balthazar about eight months ago. One of your consulate members survived and was hosted by Balthazar at the Naval Academy in Cyma. Her whereabouts are currently unknown, she has not been seen since Balthazar’s execution.

Rome, Asgareth, Skjoldur, Caerlegion operate in the north in the Hegemony, combined, over a half a million strong. Myraxia operates in the south in the Republic of Harren, estimated one hundred thousand. Valyrien has established a protected zone in the midlands, unknown strength. Aurum was operating on Harren but was pushed off.

We offer a base next to Archon, bulk quantities of fish and a grateful vassal nation if you can free the Hegemony from its status as a Roman puppet.
+++

The marines and their armour had spent the night moving up to Tsuru, hoping that and the ensuing chaos at the border would keep the Myraxian satellites from spotting them. They’d also been ordered to maintain radio silence to keep their assault from being detected as long as possible. Unbeknownst to them, they were detected the moment they slipped out of Tsuru, rolling down the stony beach and into the frigid, black water of Ritsa’s Bight.

The task force was entirely mechanised and amphibious. Leading the way were twenty-five light tanks, followed by fifty APCs carrying a Marine regiment and two hundred trucks, one hundred carrying militiamen and the other carrying supplies, fuel, ammunition and fulmen AA missiles to be set up when they arrived on the other side of Ritsa’s Bight, north-east of Taygetus’ heights.

Fig. One of the Hegemonic amphibious light tanks shortly after slipping into the water at Tsuru.

As they chugged through the water, leaving foaming trails with their water jets, the clouds began to darken and the waves became choppier, hindering progress and reducing visibility. Soon after that, rain began to fall, plinking on their hulls and rippling across the surface of the sea.

Seeing no enemy ships and receiving no alert from his spotters along Ritsa’s Ridge, Brigadier Titan began to relax and think about the next stage of the plan, swinging south and rushing past Rie towards Kalitea and his final objective, Saya. They might just do it yet. Then they heard them, the scream of dozens of jet engines echoing across the water. Putting his binoculars to his eyes, he tried to look for the source in the overcast gloom as water droplets ran down his lenses. He spotted them as they circled around the Northern tip of Peak Tate.

Oh dear god. They were twin-engine, anti-armour ground attackers and they were screeching towards his vehicles which were slow, exposed and vulnerable as they chugged along the surface. His heart began to race as he attempted to count them but they split apart into flights before he could get an accurate count, he would have estimated at least fifty.

+++ HQ, this is Brigadier Titan, I need Anti-Air Support ASAP. Myraxian strike craft inbound! +++

Receiving no response, he signalled to his task force to prepare for the incoming strike.

Hatches on the top of the APCs opened and men frantically brought out their MANPADS and set them up, each marine squad was equipped with one but the militiamen weren’t so lucky, having to resort to setting up machine guns on the truck cabin roofs. The tanks themselves also elevated their guns but only the autocannon ones would even have a chance in hell of hitting anything. Then the Myraxian flights converged on his task force from multiple sides and angles.

Fig. A small section of Ritsa's Bight.

Salvos of missiles lit up the sky, screaming up from handheld launchers and down in clusters from the strike craft. Men cheered when their handheld launchers scored hits, bursting behind the attack craft and spraying shrapnel into their tails, however more often than not the resilient jets merely shuddered in response and continued on attacking. Tanks rocked under multiple hits, rolling belly up with spinning tracks, others slipping under the surface in seconds or detonating spectacularly. One tank had luckily aimed its turret in the direction of an incoming flight and when it opened up with its 57mm autocannon in sharp, crashing thuds, its burst of shells found its target. In a blinding flash that sprayed burning aviation fuel across the sea, the plane was cored and its pieces splashed down in an arc. Then the planes were among them, darting around and firing blaring bursts of gatling cannon fire into unarmoured trucks filled with men and material. Streams of tracers leapt up and waved across each other as they tried to track the blisteringly fast aircraft, some hits were scored causing some planes to trail smoke or lose bits but none were brought down.

Brigadier Titan winced and covered his eyes with a hand to protect them from debris when one of the strike craft cartwheeled out of the sky, missing a wing, and slammed down on top of one of his APCs. He was sure he’d heard screams the second before impact. His APC rocked under him from the wave. Looking around, he tried to assess the damage from the first pass while the jets were screaming around and coming in for another run. None of the tanks were afloat, some APCs had also taken missiles and sunk and it looked like a quarter of the trucks were gone as well. Men floating in the water, some missing limbs, held onto wreckage and screamed for help. If trucks or APCs passed any, they were dragged aboard to rest on top, those that were behind were left behind. They wouldn’t last long in the cold water and considering the coastline in this area was mostly cliffside, they were as good as dead.

The jets came in again, converging on the APCs that were now at the front of the task force after the loss of the tanks. The water was turned into froth by the rain of 30mm shells and the sound of rending metal and rapid detonations echoed from the cliffs. The Brigadier watched as one of his marines, standing in the hatch of an adjacent APC, fired his shoulder-mounted launcher before being blown into red giblets. The APC had also been ripped open and was rapidly flooding, men tried to clamber out but the torn, sharp metal and rushing influx of water kept them trapped. The hull slipped under the water and was lost to sight. An explosion lit up the sky above and fragments spat down.

It seemed to be over. Then a broadcast crackled in from HQ.

+++ Unable to provide anti-air support. We’re at the edge of effective range and engagement radar can’t get a lock anyway. We believe that’s because they’re below the level of the cliffs. Good luck. +++

The next few hours passed without further attack, however one of the heavily damaged APCs had to be abandoned and its men were evacuated to other vehicles. Finally, the task force had crossed the Bight and were surging up and out of the water onto dry land. Brigadier Titan gave the order to establish a base, setting up the Fulmens first in case of further aerial attacks and then a field hospital for the wounded. The delay cost him a further three hours.

+++ HQ, this is Brigadier Titan, we have one thousand and seventy-two KIA or MIA presumed dead, with a further three hundred and twelve wounded. I have set up Base Apollo and am leaving a detachment with the damaged vehicles to man the AA and guard the wounded. Proceeding on mission. +++

With that, six APCs and just under seventy trucks rolled out, heading south.

by **Journey Collective** » Wed Jan 16, 2019 6:48 pm

Military Installations, Kos

0023 hrs
The night sky is warm and sticky with a humid mist that clings to the buildings, people, guns. . . It almost feels like it should rain, but that's not in the forecast. The ground is a bit slippery, but the Roman boots worn by the Hegemony find firm grip and no one is tripping. The shifts are supposed to change in a little over half an hour, and it's been a quiet day, again, so many of the soldiers are at ease even if they shouldn't be. They say the fleet is supposed to arrive at 0500, but the new shift is gonna be on by then.

0024 hrs
There's a strange crackle on the radios, at least the radios that have been working since the last outage after the terrorist attack. Static whooshes into the frequencies, filling them with a fuzzy sound that blocks out everything else. Some people who hold portable radios look down at them. A few moments after the disruptions begin a black cloud looms over the island. . .At least that's what it feels like to many of the soldiers.

All at once, thousands upon thousands of people. . . no. . . monsters appear all across the island. They stand over every individual. They crowd around every vehicle, machine, and door. Within seconds, an instant, the nightmares have filled the island and seem to be physically preventing the Hegemonians from moving about. The few that do manage to fire off a spray of shot from their Haglgveaers. As they do the crowd of beastly men gets thinned. . .while the blood and spores which reside in the individuals get spread into the air. It's no use though, the monsters quickly overrun everything and literally pin everyone to the ground, there's a distinct lack of violence though.
The radio waves go silent for several hours, though it might be expected for the underfunded island to have such issues.

0420 hrs
The radio from Kos reconnects with the fleet. The voice from the other end sounds jittery and static occasionally fills the channel.
"This is -krrsshhhht- reporting from Kos. Everything is fine. There are no problems here."

There is a familiar sound of a clicking static that fuzzes through Ladon's radio. It sounds as if it's cycling through channels, and a voice begins to come into focus as the static fades away. Once again, many speak as one.
"Ladon of Harren, are you able to hear us?"

Ladon, who was busy distributing a cache of weaponry didn't look over but responded, "Yeah, what do you want?"

"This is not a secure channel. We must speak of an important matter. Are you able to access a secure channel?"

"Fine. Gimme a second." she gave some orders to her men and picked up one of the SMGs for herself, checking the bolt and chamber before picking up a drum mag and then walking into her rear room and closed the door. She flicked on her radio in the room, "This is the best I've got.".

This will suffice. We are pleased to see the injuries inflicted to the Romans and Asgaris from your behalf. We are pleased we were able to assist in bringing the proper order back to Harren. We notice you have yet to join the network, we are disappointed, but we are not surprised."
There's another whoosh of static, and a moment's pause

In the pause, Ladon clicks the drum into the gun and then racks the slide with a metallic rattle.

"We would like to inform you we have reclaimed the Harrens who were brainwashed by the Romans, and stationed on Kos. To this end we have also claimed Kos, with the infrastructure intact."

"Define reclaimed.".

"You surely know what we mean by this. The threat we pose to all sentient life."
There are no screen alight, but it surely feels as if Journey is smirking.

She nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought.". She should have kept to her initial instincts, they're correct more often than not and now she felt dirty for working with them. After all, they were also foreign invaders like Rome and Asgareth even though Nathaniel had approached them in peace despite of that.

"We're done.". She reached over and clicked the radio off.

"What a shame." The radio doesn't inform her. "We wished to turn that installation over to you."

by **Greater Slavacia** » Wed Jan 16, 2019 11:36 pm

Krasnogvardeyskoye Airfield, North Slavacia, Early morning
Rows upon rows of heavy transport aircraft lined the airfield. Some were already taxing to take off, while others were still being loaded onto the aircraft. Major-General Vasiliy Spitsyn was sitting inside the command staff vehicle, a specially designed paradroppable APC. Of course him and his staff were not expected to see actual combat and were not going to participate in the landing, instead remaining behind with a single company. He felt the taildoor of the aircraft shut and moments later, he felt the heavy cargo plane begin to taxi.

Two more cargo planes taxied onto the runway, and began their run, in approximately 30 minutes, the whole division was expected to be en route to Harren Island, they were not going to insert straight away, but rather land at one of the republics airfields and then plan their offensive from their.

"This is flight number 256, requesting clearance for take off."
"Flight 256 you are cleared to take off, wind is 2m/s bearing 032, good luck out there 256."

The general was pushed back into his seat by the growing acceleration. He looked down at the tablet in front of him and began to think. To get all of the men and equipment from Slavacia to Harren, they would require over 510 flights. The entire Slavacian transport fleet could only deploy one regiment at a time. This also caused problems in the aerial assault operations - only one regiment could be deployed at one time to one location. To deploy all three, as well as the artillery and the tanks would require significant logistical prowess. Without noticing it, the constant whine of the engines and the slow methodical rocking of the aircraft put the general to sleep. 12 hours were left until the first Slavacian troops were to reach the island.

by **Valyrien** » Thu Jan 17, 2019 2:31 pm

Elias, Southern Harren

The a meeting was planned to take place in Elias, where Valarisk soldiers had escorted the Asgarthi out of the city and later aided the inhabitants who’d survived the bloody slaughter. It had been a perfect representation of what Harren had been before the war with its modernization and traditional heritage. With the massive construction efforts taking place, even those of a slower mind could guess Valyrien intended to rebuild it in their own image and use it as a symbolic example for what the rest of Harren was supposed to be.

The main road through the city had only recently been cleared of rubble, allowing the convoy of armoured jeeps to smoothly make its way towards the city hall... at least, that would have been the case if an armoured battalion hadn’t suddenly appeared and decided to make its way across the very same street without the slightest care or interest for the Harrenese, one uncomfortably close Sfvartsabel even breaking the right front light of the leading jeep. Thankfully the rest of the drive continued without any incident.

(The jeeps in question)

There wasn’t much of a reception outside of the city hall only a small delegation waiting on the steps of what remained of the building after the bombing raid. Stepping out of the jeep, Maria made her way towards the small crowd, her keen eye noticing that heavy curtains covered all the windows on the upper floor. She greeted them with a simple:
“Maria Otome, at your service, I appreciate Valyrien’s invitation.” Reaching out for a hand shake.
“You are most welcome, we’ve been looking forward to your arrival! Please let me escort you to Her Excellency Ambassador Ulfstadt.” The man placed a hand across his chest and gave her a short bow in response, ignoring the outstretched hand and gesturing with the other arm for her to enter.

The thick fabric did an amazing job of blocking the sun and left the comparably dim lamps as the only source of light on the entire floor, forcing her eyes to adjust slightly from the brighter lower floor. The room Maria had been directed towards was oblong, the windows blocked like the rest of the floor, yet a small ray of light pierced through a tear in the fabric and landed on the heavy oak desk placed at the far end opposite the double door. Only when she passed the threshold could the silhouette of a woman be made out through the thick cigar smoke. One of the guards closed the doors behind her without a word, leaving the two strangers alone.

Maria approached whilst trying to breathe in as little as possible, but was not met with any handshake or word of greeting as the Ambassador remained standing, facing the northern wall decorated by a large portrait. The motif was a uniformed and heavily decorated officer most likely the High Marshal, but she couldn’t be sure.

“The way I understand it, the Valarisk don’t like to mince words, so I’ll get straight to it. What’ll take for Valyrien to join the Republic against the aggression of Rome?” She was the first to break the rather awkward silence.
“Feel free to take something to drink, I’d recommend you try the wine.” Came as a short reply, the woman moved to drink from the glass she’d been grasping behind her back.
“The inland region of the Blue Bay is supposed to have excellent grapes, I’m sure your countrymen studying there is enjoying themselves.” Ulfstadt turned and walked a few steps to the right, only facing the President with her right side as she sipped the purple-ish wine.
“I preferred the Heartland vintages myself,” Maria tried to gauge the individual before her, “that was until they were nuked.”
“Terrible shame that, the forces from the Aurummite territories took some horrific damage in the assault.” The Ambassador turned for the first time to face Maria, trying the gauge the individual before her. She had nice features, on the right side of her face at least, scarring on the lower left made her look like she'd been sculpted and abandoned by the artist halfway through their work. The medically inclined could see hints of the jaw having been reconstructed and the one gifted with any form of sight could see the left arm missing entirely in the empty sleeve.
“You are correct that we Valari don’t like to mince our words, though that only applies to when there’s work to be done.” She gave Maria a thorough inspection as if confirming something, making no effort to hide it.
”You can rest easy President Otome, I've already ordered my forces in Harren to strike the Coalition along our territory.” She emptied the glass, and continued after a short paus "The Imperium has already created an Entente with Myraxia and Slavacia to combat the Romans, though the matter of turning over the administration of the Valarisk cities is another question."

https://i.imgur.com/VppZ7lg.png

Harren, The Entente Headquarters, a Day Earlier

There was low murmuring, soft gesturing and quite a lot of coffee being poured. The mood was cordial and calm as representatives from three different nations exchanged opinions and offered up their expertise, sometimes even with a small joke or an appreciated anecdote. The Valarisk general had the ornate coat hanging off her shoulders, making the missing left arm less noticeable and heat less sufficating. “Are we agreed, gentlemen?” von Ulfstadt eyeing the Major-General Vasiliy Spitsyn with the one good eye, turning to shoot a glance at General Hyrkan Vyr with the bad one.

Telegram to Coalition Forces
"Till alla styrkor af koalitionen, Valyrien kommer endast acceptera eran underkastelse pâ skriven Valarisk Standard."

A telegram was wired to the forces in northern Harren, though what was probably intended to be a declaration of war couldn't even be read before the Valarisk divisions had started advancing into northern Harren, the self-propelled howitzers and the Sfvartsabel MBT firing upon all patrols and aiming to overrun the hopefully caught off-guard forces. The 11th Heavy Division was tasked with disrupting the Coalition assault on the Myraxians by punching through their side, whilst the 33rd was kept in reserve near Elias to repell the Coalition forces should the Myraxian line break. 44th and 5th Divisions were ordered to attack and encircle Momoe and Kanae

Figure 1. Eldrôrsartilleri T5 during exercise in Archon

by **Iryllia** » Thu Jan 17, 2019 10:19 pm

The Diplomat.

The air was hot and heavy, wind sending the gentlest ripples through loose fabric. Dozens of ships ambled gracefully through the harbour as the sun shone great golden bars of light down onto the city of Cyma. Picaresque certainly, if not for the piles of rubble still about the place. Beautiful even. The few ragged Harrenite flags hung limp along side the Roman, Asgari, Caerlegion, and Skjolduran. Occasionally gracefully brushed by a gust of wind. No one was looking up on this beautiful day however. Gotta keep your head down or you might find a bullet in it.

Kathrin was as ever, in a cafe. A beachfront one this time and since she seemed to be one of the few actually looking up on this fine day, she found her spirits somewhat lifted. It really was quite beautiful here sometimes. Almost like it was before this whole mess kicked off but then again before she didn't have downtime like this. Also a few weeks of constant fear and paranoia put some of the more petty things to the back of her mind like why she was here in the first place! If all that had just gone over as it should she wouldn't be here, wouldn't have to deal with any of this crap. The coffee was good though. At least there was that.

Something was definitely up though. From the apartment she'd been crashing in she'd seen a lot of people marching down that street. A lot more boats in the harbour. Word was from a Harrenite sailor she'd been drinking with a couple days ago the carrier was going to set sail, didn't know where just that they were preparing. Though another thing she'd heard was that the Asgari had set up a working nightclub on the northern edge of town so not all of it was important.

That night though, that's when she was going to make her move. Civilian traffic was heavily restricted and a lot of grumpy fishermen had been complaining about being stuck in port. From the soldiers something was brewing on the border. A lot of familiar faces of Harrenite militias and some Roman soldiers had vanished. More and more people were flowing through rather than staying. It wasn't just the heat making the air heavy. It was tension.

Not a cloud obscured the sea of stars that washed across the nights sky. The stars hung without a moon, and more lights shone in the harbour than they did in the city. While it was cooler the complete lack of any wind made the air feel heavy and stale. Like moving through soup. The fishing docks were as she hoped, almost completely abandoned. The old man was asleep and the angry dog was happily chewing on a bone. A rumble echoed over the harbour from somewhere distant and she looked up from the shadows on the docks. Half of the lights in the harbour went out and the quiet ambience of the night began to buzz with something.

This boat here, old looking with a forest of antennae. Probably wasn't alarmed and had been rocked up here in port for a few days now. She'd kept an eye on it. Another rumble, distant again as she smashed a rusted old lock with a pipe wrench. The dog didn't start barking. Even less lights were on in the harbour now but she could see ships moving. Black moving on black. She felt her way inside the boat, trying to quell the tremors in her hands. Click went the little red light torch as she felt her way over the panels. Another click, a mechanical clank and a rattling hum filled the cab and the emergency lights came on. The radio set began to whine and now she was in business. Right, fish out the paper, set the frequency... encryption? Cypher? Damn this set looked a hundred years old. Signal boost, check. Power boost, check. Static whispered into her ear as she held her hand over the transmit button. She was about to kick the hornets nest.

Wired: ID: KATHRIN NAUMANN k271634823n
DIPCOD EMG 21792KAPPA

Requesting immediate extraction. Unsafe to transmit, unable to receive response. Location: CYMA, CHARLIE, YANKEE, MIKE, ALPHA. Hostiles present. Roman, Asgari, Caerlegion, Skjolduran. Others present on island.

Sensitive information enclosed on person.

- Kathrin Naumann, Iryllian Diplomatic Corps.

The Smuggler, one week ago.

The hot days reminding her of home, the cold nights of places she'd rather forget. The work gangs were keeping her busy in the days, and idle conversation with those friendly goblins late into the nights. The plan was, so far at least, to simply wait until this all died down a bit and hop on the first freighter out of here, legally or not. But she had this niggling feeling in the back of her head, different from the constant nerves brought on by the Myraxian presence. No this was a different feeling. An older one, a warning signal. Things weren't going to calm down here, not in the slightest.

The next day she was standing off by one of the piers she'd helped build. The water was blue and swirling, frothing white around the water breaks and rocks. Ships and subs passed through here on the regular, objects floating across the deep blue ocean. She'd swindled a packet of cigarettes in a rigged game of poker last night, not that she'd slept since then, she hadn't been the one to rig the game but she'd certainly played the sucker. A long, welcome drag followed. She blinked

The pier was a lot colder, a lot greyer. The water was the colour of iron and sleet was not far off. Breath came in an icy fog in between the cigarette smoke. Her ears rang, the silence after the constant noise of months was deafening. A ruined city bellowed smoke behind her back as she stared out into the icy waves. The barest warmth caressed her grime covered face as the stick glowed. She weighed the dog tags in her hand and the others round her neck. Home, they were going home apparently. Well, she didn't think she would ever go home again. So, she pulled the tags from around her neck and cast them into the icy waves. "Hey!"

The water was blue and the sky clear and warm. She blinked again as she turned, a Myraxian stood there, "Hey," he said, again or for the first time? "You know you just threw your pack of cigs in the ocean right?" She looked down at her empty hand slightly dusty and with distant scars. "Yeah, well, I've been meaning to quit." She chuckled entirely emptily. "You're still smoking the one in your mouth." She shrugged, "Meaning to quit, haven't actually. What do you want? Come to take away my alone time?"
"Yeah, something like that. Come this way, it's your lucky day."

It wasn't her lucky day.

No was the next, as she found herself out in the beating sun, on parade line. In front of fucking Myraxians. She'd been fucking shanghai'd into the god damn militias. Called it, fucking called it that bad feeling had. They were obviously gearing up for something. Last she heard her work gang was being shipped north to dig fortifications along the border. Suppose that meant she got lucky. Hell she'd probably be digging trenches by the end of this anyway. The Myraxian was posturing, swaggering around and giving a speech, why were you here? Why should you fight? I'm here to whip you into shape and whatever. He was going around each asking them why, some he took close and whispered in their ears.

He got to her, looked her up and down. She didn't blink, he was much taller than her of a much larger build. He leaned forwards, "Your arm, trainee. Your left one, what happened there?" She brought her arm up as ordered, a mess of scar tissue covered her forearm, a by now unidentifiable tattoo was present in the mess. "Dog attack."
"Hmm, and why are you here?"
"Because if I'm not who will?" She locked the hard eyes of the Myraxian with her own stare, a stare with no description just feeling. The mans gaze narrowed as he moved on without saying anything. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"This rifle, will become your family. You will respect this rifle, you will love this rifle. You wil-" She tuned out the drill instructor at this point, they'd spent the previous days doing basic marching concluding with a short route march with bags of rocks to their billets. The Harrenites had mostly collapsed where they stood. She'd stayed awake, pondering how to get out of here. She focused on the rifle, familiar like a half remembered dream though changed slightly. The instructors took the thing apart, showed each of the parts, showed the cleaning kit. Demonstrated.

She sat cross legged with the disassembled piece in front of her, a bemused private checking his watch. "Hey sarge? What's the company record again?"
"Nine and a half seconds private, why?"
"Sarge this cadet just did it in eight!" The Marine sergeant stepped over another cadet struggling with theirs, peering down suspiciously. "Cadet Hall, What the hell is this?"
"It's a rifle Sergeant."
"No cadet it's your rifle, how the hell do you know it so well?"
"Just lucky I suppose. Sergeant."
"Lucky huh..." His gaze lingered for just too long, "Carry on cadet." He said as we walked off. For the rest of the day he was watching her, she could see it out the corner of her eye."

"Hot damn Cadet hall you've done it again!" The Private hollered over the cracking rifles on the improvised range. "That's the tightest grouping I've seen all week!" He took a knee, patting her on the shoulder, her face twitched beneath the goggles. "Hey sarge, come look at this!" He grinned, handing over the binoculars to the sergeant. "Well, well. They don't even make these rifles to be accurate!" He laughed a fake laugh. "You got a gift Cadet, had you been born in Myraxia you could have been a Marine!"

"Today we will be doing knife drills. Tomorrow you will be paraded and sent to your units." The sun beat down heavier than before, the cicadas screaming their song into the air. A single bead of sweat dripped down Valentina's brow. Jungles, just like home. Too much like home. "But before we get onto that, those Romans like to fight dirty, you know that. Some of you have witnessed it first hand! They will use everything they have when they come across that border. They will bomb you, they will rain fire down from the sky like hell it self opened up to take a shit right on top of you personally but most importantly they will use gas. So I am introducing you to your new best friend, your rifle is your family, you will die for you family but this baby, the Gas Respirator Mk. IV is your best friend. They kind of friend who always gets you home at the end of a messy night. The kind of friend who's always there in the middle of the night when you need to talk. That friend who is by your side no matter what because this friend will save your life. Your rifle will keep you alive but this thing will save it." The Sergeants assistant handed him a canvas pouch, from within he pulled an industrial looking device of black and clear plastics, round filters and fibre straps. "If you smell gas, if you see gas, if you think there is gas you will yell out gas. Three times, as loud as you can, as quickly as you can. Next person to hear it will also shout it. You will only shout it once before putting your mask on as quickly as possible because if you don't you will die a very painful death." The Sergeant stared grimly, some of the cadets wore very painful expressions on their faces, he then demonstrated how to put on the mask, slowly, he went over it a couple times. Everyone grabbed their own and began to practise. The sergeant stalked the group, Valentina eyed the man, watched as he drew in his breath and shouted at the top of his lungs "GAS, GAS-"

"GAS!" The shout echoed down the dark and dusty tunnel, deep below a ruined city. The almost complete darkness broken at intervals by small spots of lights coming from glow sticks. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder and below it a metallic smell. Out, on, strap, strap then clasp. Pull up the collar. She peaked over the barricade as a huge wall of smoke blasted through the tunnel towards and then over here. She sucked in painful breaths through the filter, barely breathable but better than not. She couldn't see a foot in front of her face but could hear the twisted sucking, choking and gurgling behind her. A distant shout, not an Iryllian shout star-

"Very well done Cadet Hall." She was on her knees breathing hard, she looked up to see the Sergeant, and the other cadets still struggling. "You really are a natural." He squatted down in front of her, the inquisitorial glare of earlier covered somewhat by concern. "You must tell me how you do it."
"It's just," she paused to catch her breath, pushing the mask up out of her face, "I'v seen what gas does to people, don't really want it to happen to me." The Sergeant nodded, "Fear is a powerful motivator Cadet." He held her gaze for a little longer, a curious expression on his face

"Now, knife drills. We're not gonna stay long on this since your average roman is going to come at you with a sword, not a knife but you might face Hegemony troops. So knowing this will come in useful anyway." The Sergeant as ever brought up his wonderful assistant. "So, an attacker comes at you with a knife? If you have your own? Stab the other fucker before they stab you. If you don't? Well, watch. You let them lunge." The private lunched with a fake plastic knife, "you grab the wrist, using your opponents momentum to..." he demonstrated flipping the private over his shoulder, the private in question obediently assuming the position on the floor. "Now you're got the advantage, disable your opponent, a punch to the throat, snap their wrist. Whatever, use whatever you have. A spade, a rifle. Doesn't matter as long as the bastard dies and you don't. Now, any volunteers? Cadet Hall?"
She hadn't put up her hand, in fact she'd been deliberately avoiding the mans gaze. Great, she stepped up anyway. Trying to clear her head of the nagging sensation that had clouded it since the gas drills. Maybe the work gangs would have been better, probably wouldn't be dredging up so many bad memories. "I assume you know what to do cadet?" The Sergeant asked with the barest hint of a smile. "I'm a fast learner." She shot back, the man nodded and lunged-

-Could barely breath, could barely see in the smoke and the dark. Her breath rattled loud in her head, was the mask leaking? Was the pain from lack of oxygen or was she done for? No breath. Just breath. The yelling was getting closer, boots were thundering and echoing down the tunnel. The gurgling had subsided, the poor man out of his misery at last. Step back, wait. A soldier came barrelling through the smoke and the dust trusting with a blade. She grabbed the man at the wrist and flung him with a strained yell over her shoulder. Bullets loud and heavy whizzed through the smoke either side of her, people screamed. Grenades banged. The man impacted the rubble with a sickening crack she could hear over the din, the knife slipped from his grip and she grabbed it. Pushing high over her head the blade plunged towards the mans chest and-

-And the plastic blade snapped off the Sergeants plate carrier. The man actually looked surprised, the rest of the group stared in silence. She stood, sweat flicking from her face, offering her hand to the stunned sergeant. "Sorry, I uh, took self defence classes. Been mugged one too many times..." She chuckled a weak laugh, hauling the much bigger man to his feet. "Yup... Very good cadet," He turned to the rest of the group, "Well, practise just like that." His hand was firm on her shoulder as he turned his face back to her. She couldn't untense, wouldn't either. "Come with me."

"Listen Cadet. I don't know who you are or where you're from. I don't want to know. All I know if you've done this before. Whoever it is you were then, and whatever it is you are now. I just need to know one thing." His gaze was firm and inscrutable. His side arm was right there, it'd be your death but you could take a couple with yo- "Are you willing to keep these people safe?"
"What?"
"I'm making you corporal. There's something big coming soon and hell if at least one of these sorry Millitias can make it through that'll put by conscience at ease."
"I- What? Me? No, no no."
"Listen. If you don't do it, who will?"

The next day she stood in front of the mixed bag of Harrenites as the Sergeant have another speech. She didn't listen to this one, she didn't really want too. She was tired, the last few days had felt like months and she'd barely slept. Yadda yadda so proud, protecting the republic something something not one step back. "Corporal Hall, if you'd like to say a few words?"
She blinked for a moment before coughing to clear her throat. "Errh, well..." she paused again for a moment, caught off guard. "I think that, well... For all of us here, no matter what we did, or have done or maybe even will do. I think we've reached our line in the sand and well..." trailing off again. "We'll end up on the other side of this, maybe not as we were or even what we might have been but we're here. When no one else is, doing what needs to be done and I think, I think that's important." She nodded to round off her sheepish speech. Gesturing to a set of waiting trucks. "Well, uh, come on then." She smiled, a weird feeling behind the smile she couldn't quite shake. Something she hadn't felt in a very long time and she really wasn't certain if it was good or not.

The Myraxian Sergeant stared her down as the trucks drove off. She never did remember his name in the end.

The Admiral

The fleet had moved east through the shimmering waves, partly to avoid a squall heading in partly to keep the shadows on their toes. The Admiral was now in possession of a pretty clear picture of the area. Huge numbers of men and material were gathered here, dozens of ships in the harbours and yet more arriving. Worryingly and part of the reason why he'd moved his fleet was the rest of the Myraxian 7th fleet was racing down towards this island, no doubt in response to their presence. He now had half of his subs out on permanent tasking. There was a bloody Roman made carrier docked up in Cyma he had to keep an eye on, half a dozen Myraxian attack subs trailing his fleet trailing his subs and being trailed by his own. They were desperately dancing around each other down there but not firing because no one fucking knew whether the other could see them.

And now there were more radio transmissions!

+++
The Iryllian Consulate was destroyed by Balthazar about eight months ago. One of your consulate members survived and was hosted by Balthazar at the Naval Academy in Cyma. Her whereabouts are currently unknown, she has not been seen since Balthazar’s execution.

Rome, Asgareth, Skjoldur, Caerlegion operate in the north in the Hegemony, combined, over a half a million strong. Myraxia operates in the south in the Republic of Harren, estimated one hundred thousand. Valyrien has established a protected zone in the midlands, unknown strength. Aurum was operating on Harren but was pushed off.

We offer a base next to Archon, bulk quantities of fish and a grateful vassal nation if you can free the Hegemony from its status as a Roman puppet.
+++

This was fantastic, the admiral had fumed. They could obviously fucking hear this, whoever this was, was putting their own life and a lot of others at risk for what? A useful scrap of intel. Right, consulate survivor. Okay, not quite confirmed if it was his little cousin. But solid, solid. The sun was beginning to set, one of his subs was reporting unusual activity in Cyma harbour. An hour later a different one positioned to the north west of the Island reported in that large amounts of Asgari shipping were moving about. Another hour passed, another sub said similar in the south. Two of his Roman shadows had slipped their tails and disappeared in the direction of the Island.

The Fleet started to move south, planning to loop back around north. The sun swept down below the horizon and a moonless night faded in across the sky. The stars made their presence known, reflecting in the calm waters of northern Harren. A vague plan was beginning to form in Alexander Naumanns mind. A raid, perhaps. Like those Skjoldurans liked to do. Hmm. Reports broke his reverie, Harrenite ships leaving harbour, heading east by north east. Large numbers of small vessels spotted, Roman shipping moving to the south. Lots of radio traffic, working on decoding...

Another radio message, civilian again. That's right he hadn't replied to those government dogs. There wasn't much he could do with that... Right, this new message.

Wired: ID: KATHRIN NAUMANN k271634823n
DIPCOD EMG 21792KAPPA

Requesting immediate extraction. Unsafe to transmit, unable to receive response. Location: CYMA, CHARLIE, YANKEE, MIKE, ALPHA. Hostiles present. Roman, Asgari, Caerlegion, Skjolduran. Others present on island.

Sensitive information enclosed on person.

- Kathrin Naumann, Iryllian Diplomatic Corps.

Well. Shit.

The Admiral stared out across his red light bridge. The stars swam overhead, eerily beautiful. "All ships, condition red. Battlestations. Battle orders to be relayed shortly, fighters into the air I want the strike craft prepped and ready to go. Marines saddle up we're going on an old fashioned raid. Helm! Set course for Cyma! Fire upon any and all Roman and Harrenite shipping you find in your way!" The great hulk of steel and gun that was the cruiser Both Here and There turned gracefully, cutting it's wave through the calm ocean as her sister ships turned with here, Two more cruisers, backed by four carriers and a dozen destroyers. Lights dimmed, radar blazed as dozens of aircraft thundered from the decks of the carriers to join those already in the sky. The frigates on the fringes of the fleet pulled up their speed. The fleet making their own waves in the black water.

Below the fleets subs sharply turned, their sonars immediately going active as they pursued what targets they knew. Torpedoes loosed and dived into the deep dark depths.

Just outside the port of Cyma, an Iryllian Nuclear powered attack Submarine Misused Gravitas crept along. It's silent crew bathed in a red light. The passive array sonar showed a very large surface target. The Harrenite Carrier H.H. Vispanius Agrippa. The boats captain nodded to give the order. Two tubes hissed open unleashing two torpedoes into the water shooting for the surface. For the carrier, as the sub pulled a hard turn, accelerating to immediate flank speed and diving as deep as she could. Listening for counter launches.

The metal fish and their deadly payloads swam towards their target. Soon to split the night in twain.

by **Journey Collective** » Fri Jan 18, 2019 7:42 am

~~Kos Island~~
Tsuru Island
The Hegemony was no longer on this island, the Collectivists had fully taken control of the military installations, people, and indeed the entire island. The soldiers who had been trained under Rome were now part of the Collective, being enlightened as to what the matter of the world truly is. There was much discussion regarding what to do with the island now that the rebellion didn’t want it. Some wanted to smash everything on the island and return it to a pristine natural state, some wanted to contact the Republic and hand the island over, but a growing sentiment was that the island could be converted into the new “True” Harren.
With great speed and skill many Collectivists went to Kos and began to build it into a place that seemed strangely reminiscent of Tsuru. There were open fields, small shanty-like homes, even a place that could be considered a town center with shops and vender stalls. The amount of manpower and determination the Collective was able to produce meant the construction efforts proceeded quickly and smoothly. Everyone knew this was the easy part, what came next would be the hardest thing Friendly Island or Journey Collective had ever faced.
The Harrenese which were part of the Collective were too deeply ingrained to safely remove the spores and fungal paths from their bodies. If things were stopped or pulled out now it would surely mean the death of everyone affected. Early on, before the spores create a deep link between the mind and body of an individual, the spores are in a fragile state and can be removed with relative ease, and with minimal consequences for those involved. The state everyone who was in the Collective meant removal was not an option.
A small amount of Harrenese deeply yearned to go back to their traditional roots, before Journey, before the war, before the pirates. . . Back to the time when Harren as a truly free place, and people could live as they choose. Those who yearned for this spoke up and pushed for this plan, the rest of the Collective agreed, they had wanted to give the island back to Harren anyway, so who better than the Harrenese that were already there.
The Tsuruians, as they decided to call themselves, began to settle into the island, making a go of things and adapting to being now separated from the network. The separation was fairly easy, it was very much like the Collectivists were fully ignoring the Tsuruians, and the Tsuruians were fully ignoring the Collective. The spores which had filled the island still drifted around, but were quickly settling to the ground and trees, and were soon no longer airborne. Even the spores on Tsuru were being ignored by the rest of the collective, with no connection these were becoming inert.
Once the island was built up in a way which seemed strangely familiar, with and the Tsuruians were situated, the Collective left. The Harrenese, the Tsuruians were left alone, in silence, for the first time since the war began they were living in peace.

by **Asgareth** » Fri Jan 18, 2019 1:36 pm

Odele, Harren Island

Two Weeks Ago
Odele had been a failed city before the conflict. For centuries it had stood forgotten about in the north of the island. Its civilians were poorly treated, poorly paid and susceptible to disease. Slavery rings were prominent in the city, and it was not uncommon for organ harvesting to take place. Children starved on the streets; Balthazar had never cared for their welfare. Police brutality was prevalent, with people being killed for little things such as theft, speeding and murder. Alcohol was prohibited, and the locals frequently used for Balthazar's illegal experimentation. Newborn babies had been snatched from their mothers, and forced to join Balthazar's army.

The Asgarthian liberation of the city had improved the lives of the citizens tenfold. Slavers were shot on sight, the police swiftly removed from power. They had plenty to eat and drink; the alcohol flowed freely. The city enjoyed healthcare, education and transport. Unemployment became a thing of the past, with locals working in the war machine. The civilians were well-paid, and given plenty of leisure time. The children played merrily in the city, their stomachs full for the first time in their lives. Their parents knew that they would be safe under Asgarthian protection. Swiftly, the Odellians came to love their liberators. Asgarthian troops were regularly invited in for cups of coffee, or dinner, or given bottles of ale and whiskey. The city of Odele flourished, its citizens prospered. And all seemed right at last.

That all changed, one fateful day. Terrorists had contaminated the water supply with irradiated soil. The supply was cut off as soon as the Asgarthians had realised; though it would indeed be too late for many Odellians. Children died in sheer pain, crying out for their mothers. Old women collapsed where they stood. Newborn babes died in the arms of their mothers who sobbed as their hearts broke. The fit and healthy fared little better. Death lined the streets of the city.

But the survivng Odellians refused to be beaten. The community rallied together, searching for heartlander sympathisers. The traitors were given summary trials, and promptly shot along. Their families met similar fates, or were taken away to be sold as slaves, their homes were set on fire, their belongings stolen.

The terrorists had hoped to scare the civilians into submission. Instead, they had unleashed an army worse than any Asgarthian or Roman.

Upon being stopped, Basil had been taken to an Asgarthian detention centre. There he was placed in a cell, and forced to wait for several hours. He was laid down on a table, naked, cuffed at the hands and feet. The guard on duty refused to give him any drink; though some would say this was a blessing, and only provided him a block of Vorka cheese for food. He’d been forced to piss where he sat, and was in desperate need of another bodily function, by the time two men unlocked the cell and walked in.

“My name is Captain Tackos. This, is Lieutenant Packnia. We do not come in peace. Now, we’re not going to bother interrogating you. You’re simply not worth the time. Nor are we prepared to deal with you. We do not deal with scum.” Tackos smirked. “But we do need to send a message. A message to all who dare attack us.”
Tackos slowly withdrew a large knife from his belt. He made eye contact with Basil and pointed his finger towards Packnia, who was stood behind a camera.
“Smile!” Packnia stated.
Tackos moved the knife towards Basil.

Within seconds, he began to finely lightly cut away at Basil’s chest. He started on the right nipple, and slowly made his way down. Within seconds, Basil began to scream in pain. Tackos held him in place as he slowly made his way back up with the knife. Blood poured oozed out of the torso, and a bloodied sword symbol could be seen, pointing towards the left shoulder. Tackos set to work on the other side, and swiftly copied the symbol. The swords of Asgareth were now displayed on Basil’s chest. Packnia pointed the camera down, and zoomed in on the swords. He paused there for a few seconds, before turning the camera back on Basil’s face. Tackos moved his knife towards Basil's right ear and slowly began to cut through the cartilage. The ear soon fell away, to the merciless screams of Basil. Tackos smirked, as he handed the knife to Packnia. Packnia held the knife above Basil's left eye, and stabbed it. He slowly withdrew the knife, and with it an eyeball. Picking it off the knife, he placed it in Basil's mouth. "Eat." He decreed. "Or you'll find yourself short of a ball or two as well!"
Basil slowly began to chew on the eyeball, as the camera watched on. Packnia and Tackos smirked.

“Now that pleasantries are out of the way, you’ve been warmly invited to live out the remainder of your days in Vorkatrov." Packnia stated, as Basil continued to eat. "I suspect a hillbilly, such as yourself, probably hasn’t heard of Vorkatrov before? Well, you’ll know all about it soon enough.”
The two men laughed, as they walked towards the exit. They locked the door firmly behind them, leaving Basil alone again, bleeding out from the ear and eye. His torment had only just begun.

Asgar House, Asgar, Asgareth

General Edmund de’Lance was preparing to go live across the world. With the Imperiali officially busy with members of the war council, de’Lance had been chosen to deliver the message. ACNC cameramen were ready to livestream the message across the world.

A voice came on to a dark screen. "This is an urgent appeal to the civilised world. Please stop what you are doing, and listen. Just listen."

The camera's went live, and de'Lance could be seen standing by a podium. He blinked, and then began to speak:
"My fellow Asgarthians, Honourable delegates of the world, my fellow humans,

Tonight it is my solemn duty to confirm that the missile attacks on Flight AS4029 as well as the attacks on the Roman flight MCDXLVI and the Noctish flight NC233 were carried out by the same people that have already committed atrocities against civilian populations in Larka and Odele. We now have confirmed proof that these attacks were carried out on the orders of and funded by the Auruumite state.

The goblins, realising that they cannot win on the battlefield, decided they would carry out heinous crimes against civilian populations. They have acted in the most cowardly way possible, have proven themselves to be incapable of socialising with the civilised world. When they emerged from their hellhole, just over a decade ago, Asgareth was the first nation to reach out in an attempt to form a strong friendship. Instead, we swiftly realised they do not value the sanctity of human life. They would happily set in motion the extermination of all humans in their conquest for gold.

Further questions must now be asked. The Valarisk Empress claims herself to be Overlord of Aurum. If this is true, it is clear the Valarisk have lost control over their servant, and we urgently request the Valarisk retake the reins, and stop this menace. We call upon the international community to stand against the vermin leading the Aurmite state.To this extent, Asgareth is prepared to lead the cause for all that is right in the world. Due to these atrocities, carried out on helpless civilians, Asgareth has no choice but to declare war on Aurum.”

The feed cut off almost instantly. The general turned to Oscar Larkin and Rupert Merritt, who waited in the wings.
“Edmund!” Oscar exclaimed. “The Romans have launched an attack against Myraxia.”
The general nodded. "Pertika has already informed me. Do not worry, Oscar. We are already planning contingencies."
"We?" Oscar enquired.
"The Imperiali allowed Rome to gain too much a foothold over Gautima. But the foothold only lasts as long as the Hegemony maintains superior numbers. A sudden change of heart will end the hegemony."
"What of the Caerleggi? The Skjoldurians? Would they not be useful in our fight?" Rupert asked
"King Louis, and the Caerleggi forces are too closly tied with Caesar. They'll do as they are told. As for the Skjoldurians, they are mercenaries. You can't trust them to stay on side, once someone else offers more."
"General, our list of enemies grows exhaustive." Oscar stated. "You might want to start making friends again."
De'Lance tutted. "Do not worry, Oscar. The list will grow shorter, soon enough."
"Speaking of enemies, general, the Valarisk have declared war on the Hegemony. Well, I think they declared war. Either that or they asked for the blood of an orphan."
"Why not both?" The general smirked. "That will not be too troublesome soon enough. They have declared war on the Hegemony. Not on Asgareth." He nodded at the pair, before heading off.

Archoni Islands

New orders had been issued across the Archoni forces. The Romans, and the rest of the Hegemony had been declared enemies of the state. The troops on Harren were to dig deep, into defensive fortifications. Half the 19th ground force would be shipped out from the Isle of Gespe, to provide further cover in north west Harren. Once there, they would prepare for an offensive war in north Harren. The 12th fleet, already in position in Harren, was to maintain its position, north-west of the island. Meanwhile, a message was relayed to the 14th and 15th fleets, stationed on the Isles of Vil and Quenti. The orders were were clear. The Skjoldurians would not be granted access to Asgarthian waters. Their ships were to be fired upon on sight. Raiders blown to hell. The Skjoldurian ships would now face a choice. Go around the entire coast of Archon, head further west towards the dreaded friendly island, or face Asgareth on their home turf.

Meanwhile, in North West Harren, the Asgarthian forces had been busy establishing its foothold. Whilst the army stationed between Odele and Tsuru were busy preparing defensive fortifications, the Asgarthian Propaganda machine found itself hard at work. Posters decrying Auruumite attacks, with slogans saying "Remember Odele... Fight the Green Menace" and "Larka Suffered, So You Didn't Have To" were swiftly displayed alongisde Heartlander propaganda against the Romans and Skjoldurians. Frequent regional broadcasts from the ACNC denounced both heartlander and hegemony attacks, and called for the withdrawal of all international troops. In contrast to this, Asgarthian troops frequented households, seeking recruits to join the Harrense People's Army. Those that did join were paid handsomely, and provided free ale at their local bars. They were provided a few days training, before being sent up to the border to help with the defences. Those that refused to join were deemed traitors, and promptly shot.

Kalitea, Harren Island

Rufus T. Perkins had flown directly from Asgareth. He was tasked with meeting the Myraxians on the island to discuss the possibility of a collaborative offensive against the hegemony, and to discuss their aims for Harren Island. The Asgarthian view was clear. A Harrenese state, free of outside control and led by a Harrenite, was best for the world. A Myraxian controlled island would provide them a base in west Archon, something Asgareth was firmly set against. A Roman controlled island... well, the thought was unbearable. The Harrenese had suffered enough. The Iryllians... another unbearable thought. And a Valarisk island would mean having an ally of the goblins right on the doorstep. Harren had to be free of all outside control. And it was up to Asgareth to make sure it was.

His taxi pulled up outside the embassy, as Perkins reached for his wallet. He tipped generously before he bade his driver farewell. He stepped out of the taxi and took in his surroundings. He took in the embassy before walking towards the main gate.He approached one of the armed guards, and spoke
"Good afternoon. I am Rufus T. Perkins, Minister of Defence for Asgareth. I have an appointment with General Vyr."

The guard studied Rufus for a moment, before reaching for his identification and diplomatic papers. He grunted as he read the information, before motioning for Rufus to follow him. The gate was opened, and he was swiftly led inside and up several flights of stairs. Eventually, he was told to wait outside an office, whilst the guard knocked.
"General?" He asked. "The Asgarthian ambassador is here to see you."

by **Greater Slavacia** » Fri Jan 18, 2019 11:15 pm

Above Harren Island,
"Sosna, this is 401 we are beginning the suppression of air defenses, not safe to launch the assault, many bogeys in the air"
"This is Sosna, we copy you 501, begin immediately"
"501 to flight, activate jamming, standby anti-radar missiles, report when ready"
"502, ECM on, missiles ready"
"503, same here"
"504, done"
"Alright, I am enabling the targeting system, do the same... Bloody hell, There are at least 7 active contacts in the lower targeting range, one appears to be ship borne, launch immediately, missile spread according to targeting computer"
"Captain, confirmed missile lock"
"Stay calm 502, don't break formation"
The tone that until now was beeping, indicating that a radar was operating in search mode had changed to a higher pitched monotonous one - the radar had locked on.
"This is 501, Fire missiles, and prepare for defensive maneuvers"
"Shit, shit, shit, they've launched!!"
"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."
"504 here,fired off and beginning evasive maneuvers. "
"601 here, begining attack run"
The Slavacian supersonic missiles reached the Hegemony's radars before the radar operators had any idea what was going on, each radar disappeared in a violent explosion, one by one. Soon, none were left. The Hegemony's flagship, was also targeted, the missile exploded above the deck of the battleship destroying not only the missile guidance radar, but also the fire control and navigation radars. To make matters worse, the explosion cleared most of the communication antennas from the ship. The vessel was now effectively left blind and mute, fires had started on deck from the high explosive filler and shrapnel caused damage to other parts of the ship. But the brave Slavacian pilots were not given time to savor their victory, one by one, each plane was found by a missile and destroyed. However, not only were Hegemony's radars destroyed, the 8 active roman missile guidance radars that were detected were dispatched as well, their missiles much more accurate, devastated the second squadron, and although the air was clear for a paratrooper landing, this was a Pyrrhic victory, as none of the Fighters performing SEAD returned home.

Official Losses: 8 Aircraft lost, 5 pilots confirmed KIA, 2 pilots MIA, 1 pilot rescued

Approach to Momoe, same day
Hundreds of transport aircraft approached the sleeping city, in front of them, akin to a barrier flew all of the fighter aircraft Slavacia managed to redirect to the island - 4 flights with 32 fighters spread between them. Elsewhere, directly above Kanae, a group of attack aircraft as well as countless decoy drones simulating another cargo fleet were performing a mock paratrooper operation. This, coupled with the damaged and destroyed radars of the hegemony, meant that even if fighters could be scrambled in time, they had to be split into two groups, as the drones used various countermeasures to increase their radar crossection.

by **Skjoldur** » Sat Jan 19, 2019 7:10 pm

Ribe, Skjoldur

A fleet had been scrambled together after hearing the Slavics betrayal. Luckily the 5th fleet had been resupplying and was ready to block the slavs from reaching harren. As the fleet set off a message was sent from high command. A carelegion fleet had been dispatched to help with Skjoldurs peace efforts. As the fleet approached the Slavic fleet a message was broadcast

Emergency broadcast calling all Slavic ships. Do not advance, repeat do not advance, we offer you this one chance for peace. Do not start a war over a pointless island

Cyma, Harren Island

Commander Asgan tore the flag down, the roman flag was been folded up and handed back to the troops. The mission had been quick and without bloodshed. Without any warning the 75,000 skjoldurian reinforcements had easily overpowered the skeleton roman crew. The Skjoldurians troops already on harren had withdrawn and were reinforcing the border. Skjoldur had established the Democratic Republic of Harren and invited the people of harren to create their own government.
A message was sent to all forces on harren
Skjoldur regrets the actions of the hegemony and wishes to make amends. The free nation of Harren has been established for the people of Harren. We invite all nations to come to a peaceful conclusion and anyone people from Harren who want to live in a free democracy are invited and welcome.

https://adamdjpw11.imgur.com/all/

by **Myraxia** » Tue Jan 29, 2019 9:42 pm

Kalitea, Harren Island

"Minister Perkins, a pleasure to put a face to the file. Hyrkan Vyr." The General stood up to shake Rufus' hand, before motioning him to a seat. The General's office was somewhat spartan in nature, a simple pre-fabricated room with little in the way of furnishings. A pair of frames behind the desk held a copy of his first commission and a small landscape painting.

"Whilst the implications of your visit at this time aren't lost on me, I'm afraid I must ask you to speak quickly and plainly, Minister. The Hegemony and their Roman masters are pushing hard for the capital, and so my presence will very shortly be required elsewhere. I have a meeting with Entente command in half an hour, and I still need to meet with the senior Aurumite PMC before that. Whilst I believe I can hazard a guess at the reason for your visit, I'd prefer to hear it from you. So; why are you here?"

City of Galatea, Harren Island

Holding a barely fortified border against an armoured advance with little more than infantry was one thing, Colonel Razek reflected. Now the Romans and Caerleggi had them pushed back into the outer limits of the city, and were pushing to cut the city off completely. The Romans thought they had the advantage.

But if there was one thing Myraxians were particularly good at? It was city fights. Rygan had been the biggest city fight in the history of modern warfare, and it had been the Myraxians that emerged from that city victorious. They'd do the same here. And with the Romans extending their flank to take the city, he was confident the Valarisk Armoured would take them in the back like an Acadien whore. Now... to the business of war. He had a counterattack to prepare, whilst his marines and their militia allies bled the Romans in the suburbs. The Myraxian reserve would hit the Roman probe towards Saya, whilst his forces simultaneously staged a breakout from the city to link up with the Valarisk 33rd. Should be a piece of cake.
The Militia had acquitted themselves well - clearly the training and equipment they'd received was a big help - but it was evident that without the Myraxian marines backing them up in the hottest spots they'd have crumbled far sooner. He cursed the fact that he had so few to work with, although by all accounts the balance of Seventh Fleet was steaming this way at best speed - they only had to hold out a few days before reinforcements would arrive. Hopefully the Romans wouldn't do anything even more stupid in the intervening time.

Aboard the Myraxian Fleet, off Harren Island

"Signal intercept, sir! Iryllian emergency channel, transmitted in the clear. Transcribing now..."
Ralyn set aside his mug of coffee and made his way over to the comms station, where a junior officer ran a printout from the machine into his lap. "Well, Ensign?"
"It looks like an emergency comm from a civilian set somewhere in Cyma harbor. Some Iryllian diplomat trying to contact the fleet."
"Sounds like a problem for one or both of our enemies to me, Ensign. What are the Iryllians doing about it?"
We're seeing some fleet movements, subs too. Maybe they're getting ready to make a play to recover their people."
"More power to them, in that case. Get me Nought-Three-Six, have them maintain their shadowing."

Aboard Combative Submarine, S-036

"Tell the Grave message received, maintaining shado-"
"Conn, sonar, launch transient from the Iryllian sub!"
"Evasive maneuvers! Right full rudder, 30 degree down angle."
"Conn, sonar, revision - launch transient bearing 200."
The Commander frowned. "Helm, scratch maneuver. Maintain previous heading."
"Helm aye."
The XO approached the Commander, a quizzical look on his face. "With that angle, they're not shooting at us. Who's out there?"
"None of ours, Commander, they're all spread out behind us. Only other thing we know about in this area is that Hegemony swarm fleet."
"Hm." The Commander paused, scratching his beard. "Take us to periscope depth. Let's have a look at what they're shooting at."
"Periscope depth, aye."
There was a brief pause as the sub ascended, then extended their periscope, giving an excellent view of the carrier, the Vispanius Agrippa, beginning to sink. "Well then. Extend the comms mast, fire off a tight-beam signal to Ralyn, then retract all and dive us down. Let's get out of here before her escorts come looking for whoever fired those torpedoes."
"Aye sir."

by **Harren Island** » Wed Jan 30, 2019 4:45 am

Harrenian Heartlands – Undercity Embassy

“I want the infrastructure up and running as soon as possible, simple power station, dormitory blockhouses with heating of course considering the damn cold environment, water collection, you know, the works. Everything we need to become self-sufficient as quickly as possible.”, Rezi’s assistant was tapping away at his keyboard, typing down all instructions. “As to industry, like always, we need to focus on fishing, for the time being we can rent vessels from Aurum. We could also farm grains even though that’ll take a little while to set up due to the harsh lands of the broken shore but nothing that hard work and fertilizer can’t fix.”.

Taking a moment to check through his mental notes, he exclaimed, “Oh, I’ve also earmarked a potential spot for a vineyard down the line, the cold weather in Meridia makes things more awkward and obviously we’ll never match the flavour or the quantities that the Heartlands once produced but we could establish a respectable industry here, with a little time, care and experimentation with grapes in the local climate.”. Rezi stood up and looked out his office window into the huge, brightly lit cavern of the Undercity. The rock above felt immovable and the hive of twinkling lights gave a calming sense of activity. He relaxed, a long sigh escaping his lips as he momentarily allowed his brain to forget the issues at hand.

“Send a letter to the Trade-King. Thank him for the land grant and all of his continued aid. I’ll sign that myself.”. Turning back to his assistant, he picked up the transcript of his orders that had just chattered out of an older printer and quickly read them through. “We also need to decide who’ll be the colony Governor.”.

His assistant cleared his throat before interjecting, “If I may be so bold, may I suggest Tabor Doi?”.

“The vocal Prokopios survivor saved by the Skjoldurians?”

“Yes,”, his assistant nodded before continuing, “he has the respect of the people and is highly motivated, not only that but he’s actually qualified for the position considering he was the district planner there for five years.”.

Rezi shrugged, “Alright, I have some reservations due to his hard-line militant stance but that’s understandable and the choice makes sense, so, do it.” The clacking of the keyboard started up again. “Anything else I’m forgetting?”.

His assistant stopped typing and flipped through a notebook on his desk, “Ugghh, ah, yes, the volunteers being trained by Aurum will be shipped out to assist in the reclamation of Harren within the week.”

Harrenian Heartlands – Myraxian Emergency Defence Line near Kalitea

With the rapid collapse of the Republic’s front line in the face of advancing enemy forces, Ladon had been reminded of the Heartlands’ earlier downfall and not wanting a repeat of Roman occupation, she mobilised all of her cells in the Republic and drummed up support from among the Heartlander refugees. Within hours, tens of thousands of volunteers were flocking to the Myraxian Emergency Defence Line.

Fig. A cache of Heartlander Harrenian SMGs.

A few thousand had been equipped from hidden caches of Harrenian SMGs but most were simply employed to help dig trenches, anti-tank pits, earthwork gun pits, emplacements and tunnel networks using Heartlander expertise. Ladon herself had gotten involved, wearing Kevlar body armour and carrying an SMG over her shoulder on a strap, directing construction efforts and organising the armed volunteers into a couple brigades.

Coordinating with the Republic militia, minefields were seeded throughout the earthworks and one of their artillery regiments was set up and dug in along the defence line. If the Romans made it this far, they would face the Heartlanders again and this time they would be thrown back.

Republic of Harren - Galatea

The outskirts of the city had become a warzone. After being encircled by the tanks, Roman ,Caerleggi and Hegemonic troops poured in, attempting to overwhelm the Republic Militia and the Myraxian Marines with massed assaults. Fighting was close ranged and brutal. An order had come down from the Myraxians to bleed the Romans in the suburbs whilst a counterattack was being prepared.

Corporal Hall and her militiamen had been assigned to the south-western quadrant and considering this was the defence of the capital, special-issue weaponry had been assigned to the frontline units. A few grenades, two thrown and one launched, with painted orange casings and letters, ‘ADP’, stencilled in white on the sides. They had been told to use them sparingly and only against clustered groups of enemy infantry.

Having been assigned to a section of the suburbs, Corporal Hall established a killzone between two detached houses on opposite sides of the street. Normal grenades and simple explosives were set up with tripwires in the rear gardens, two machine gun posts deployed in houses further back with overlapping fields of fire down the street, holes were cut in wooden fences alongside the houses and makeshift flaps were made to cover them up. A jeep was prepared as bait, equipped with a machine gun and sat at the end of the street, facing towards the city centre, behind the machine gun posts.

Fig. One of the grenade traps being set up.

When enemy troops, ahead of APCs, appeared at the beginning of the street, spread out and sweeping the houses for infantry, the Jeep fired a burst of 13mm bullets into the front ranks, cutting down some of the Hegemonic troops who had been sent in first. It launched off with its tyres squealing, leaving burnt rubber on the asphalt as it swung out and fled towards the city, turning the corner and disappearing from sight before the APCs could get a bead on it. Believing that the Republic troops had fallen back, the APCs surged forwards with their own men running alongside to keep up.

When the APCs and troops entered her killzone, she gave the order to open fire. The flaps in the fences dropped open and RPGs screamed through, smashing into the sides of the front two APCs and blowing them open, the machine guns began firing seconds later, cutting down the supporting troops on both sides and turning the entire street into a death-trap, mowing down Hegemony and Caerlegion men as they tried to find cover. After firing their RPGs, her men by the fences fell back under cover of rifle fire from the windows of the two detached houses, long bursts of which shredded surviving Romans as they spilled out of their ruined and burning APCs into the deadly sprays. The Roman body armour was extremely resilient and many bullets were stopped by the large, overlapping ceramic plates but enough were in the air to find weak and vulnerable spots. Despite that, many of the Romans did still survive but were severely wounded.

Seconds after that, all of her men were abandoning their position as planned, fleeing out back and through the gardens, rendezvousing with the machine gun posts before falling back further to the next street and the next site she had started to prepare. They heard detonations behind them as more enemy soldiers were killed or maimed by the traps they had left behind. The Romans, Caerleggi and their Harrenian puppets would advance a lot more carefully from now on.

Republic of Harren – Elias

Considering the fact that the Roman armoured forces had swept down and surrounded Galatea, Maria was effectively cut off from the Republic and trapped in the Valyrien Zone. From what she’d been told, the war was turning against the Romans, Momoe had been recaptured by the Slavacians and the Valarisk forces were pushing across the entire front.

Sitting in her armoured jeep in the middle of her convoy, Maria took the cool blue phone from Phoebe and transmitted orders to her admiralty in Galatea.

+++
Captured submarines must be relocated to prevent possible capture.
Make port in Kalitea for extended evaluation but if that’s lost and there aren’t other viable ports, stay at sea and await further orders.
+++

Harrenian Hegemony - Cyma

“Gautima was right.”, Bemus laughed as he analysed kill and loss reports from across the front, “His ideas for cheap but good enough tech used en masse works, in practice, not just in theory.”

Dio’s secretary held up one of the files and looked at him quizzically, “Are we even reading the same reports? We lost these engagements and took more casualties. Look at this! Over a thousand dead crossing Ritsa’s Bight from Tsuru!”.

Bemus shook his head, “Yes, we lost more men,”, he pulled the folder from her grasp and opened it to point out the equipment losses, “but look here, our material costs from that engagement come to just over seventeen million ruons. Each one of the Myraxian birds would have cost more than that, our intelligence estimates say about twenty million per. That’s two hundred and eighty million destroyed, for our cost of only seventeen!”.

She cocked her head and looked at him, talking slowly to highlight her point, “We’re still losing the war. The costs are irrelevant.”.

“That was because we weren’t ready for war.” He stood straight and looked out the window, “With a shoestring budget, limited time to implement the doctrine and in the case of the crossing of Ritsa’s Bight, understrength units, we’ve still managed to do a fuck ton more than we’ve taken. Gautima’s plan all along was to make every Ruon count, make attacking Harren as economically challenging as possible, to make them pay for each step. His plan would have worked.”. As he watched, anti-air missile batteries across the city opened up, sending Fulmens curling up into the sky, followed by puffy trails.

Harrenian Hegemony – Swarm fleet ‘Screech’, 24 km North of Cyma

Emon and the rest of the deck crew watched in awe as racks of Fulmens, on the H.H. Vispanius Agrippa’s deck, were discharged and sent screaming off and up into the brightening sky in pairs. The fleet hadn’t long left Cyma when it had been called into action to help defend the Hegemony from Slavacian air attack. Whilst he hadn’t been informed about the exact nature of the threat, the fact that command had ordered all fifteen launchers to fire and that they could clearly see trails from missiles fired by air defence batteries in the Capital itself, it was obvious that the threat was significant.

Emon and his crew immediately set to work reloading the racks, sending men down in the cargo lifts to retrieve more missiles from the munitions bunker and preparing the deck cranes to hoist the missiles out of the lifts and onto their launchers. A brusque voice blurted out of the shipboard speakers, “Brace for Shock!”, the Captain’s voice, “Brace for Shock!”, it repeated. For a second, Emon and his team froze having not been expecting that order, however they burst into action when flare launchers disgorged bright streams of blinding, burning blobs and miniature missiles whistled out of decoy and chaff launchers in an attempt to disrupt and intercept incoming ordinance.

“HIT THE DECK!”, Emon grabbed one of the slowest of his team and threw him flat on the floor before following him down, shutting his eyes and covering his head with his arms. The chattering whines of the trio of close-in-weapon-systems drowned out all other noises and threatened to deafen them. Emon was sure that he felt a couple thuds of nearby explosions like a heavy bass beat, intercepted missiles. Then with a shriek, a blast lit up the conning tower above them and caused the deck to quiver. Debris cascaded down around them, torn metal from the destroyed radar and communication systems along with flaming bits of wreckage. Emon climbed to his feet, pulling the man up with him, “DAMAGE CONTROL STATIONS!”.

Fig. Damage Control fire-suits.

The damage wasn’t too bad, a few casualties but no deaths among those who had been near the radar at the time of impact, a couple small fires that had been rapidly extinguished and one fuel line leak that was being dealt with along with the destruction of the radar and comms gear. He sent a damage control report up to the bridge along with an estimated time to return to combat effectiveness. Emon had just started to relax but then an awful tingle went down his spine when he noticed one of the sonar station NCOs, out of breath and drenched in sweat, arrive on deck as he sprinted up the cold metal stairway three steps at a time towards the bridge. Why would he be up here? In such a hurry. Emon looked out across the open water with rising dread, seeing the cordon of escorts and beyond them the swarm fleet itself slowly orbiting the H.H. Vispanius Agrippa in their nine squadrons.

Emon’s world became white. Foaming water surrounded him, washing across the deck and carrying men and material overboard in a surge. He was crushed against one of the launcher frames by the force of the driving water and the wind was driven from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he was slammed to the floor as the deck rushed up. Then the water was flowing away, draining over the sides of the deck as the world seemed to be returning to a semblance of normality. Shaking his head clear, Emon looked fore and then aft. For a second, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing and then he realised that the ship was dead.

The front was sitting up at a thirty-degree angle and between that and where the bow connected with the rest of the hull was only snapped decking and bent metal. Looking towards the stern, Emon could see a bowed section, sagging amidships, where an underwater explosion had stressed and snapped the keel. The minor fuel leak had ignited and pools of burning liquid coated the deck, dripping over the sides to float on the surface of the water below and pouring into the hangar underneath. Looking back towards the front, Emon watched as the bow tore lose, falling forward away from the rest of the shuddering ship with a screech as water filled it and rapidly pulled it under with a spray of water that splashed down onto the deck like rain.

He moved, retaking his feet and yelling at the top of his lungs, “ON ME,” it was a miracle that the rear two thirds were even still afloat and there were over a thousand men below decks that needed to be evacuated, “ON ME!”. He rallied what was left of his crew together, sending a few to deal with the deck fires as he stumbled across to the cargo lift opening to assess the situation in the hangar below. The hangar had become an inferno, filled with curtains of roiling flames and cloud banks of swirling smoke. The fuel tanks meant for extended glozing operations had ruptured and spewed tens of thousands of litres into the hangar and from what Emon could make out through the black fog, filled the entire hangar in at least an inch of flammable liquid.

Through the smoke he made out the metal grill cargo lift itself, jammed about two thirds of the way up and stuck, its metal supports had twisted been knocked out of alignment by the torpedo hits. There were men trapped in there, the men he’d sent down to retrieve more missiles, with arms reaching hopelessly through the metal slats as they screamed for help. Emon directed the rest of his crew to spray water down to try and push back the flames that were licking up at the men from underneath the lift. There were four missiles on the lift itself, one had rolled onto an unfortunate individual who was no longer moving. Emon swore, it was all he needed for there to be ammunition literally cooking in front of him. Then a worse thought occurred to him, “LADS.”, he roared to try and get their attention over the noise of the alarms, whooshing water and sizzling flames. “LADS! THE AMMUNITION BUNKER! WAS IT SEALED?”. With water jetting from his crew’s hoses, the fire was being blasted back from the lift itself but they were making no dent on the rest of the hangar’s blaze. The men in the lift were huddling in the top corner, staying in the cooling streams, Emon could now see that they were already covered in burns and a couple seemed blinded. He pulled his face mask off, instantly feeling the wash of heat across his skin, in order to call down clearly, yelling loudly to try and get through to them, “AMMO BUNKER! WAS IT SEALED?!”.

One of the less badly wounded ones clambered up as far as he could, using a missile as a platform to get to the grill at the top of the lift and then yelled up, “Not sure sir.”, coughing profusely from the strain before continuing, “Probably not, a couple guys were prepping the next load of missiles to be brought up.”. Emon cursed but thanked him, promising to get him and the rest of the men out of the lift. He stood up and reaffixed his fire-fighting hood.

Looking around at his men as they battled the fire, spraying water from their hoses, he ordered the few fighting deck fires to abandon their task and assist with the hangar one as a priority. “Corporal, grab a man and a saw, use that crane to get down to the lift and cut them free.”, before the man could leave, Emon grabbed him by the rubber collar before looking him in the eye through their facemasks, “You’re in charge until I get back. If the fire gets worse, ensure those missiles don’t go off even if you have to abandon the men.”. The Corporal nodded and Emon let him go. Then Emon darted off, hoping that even if the main ways down through the hangar were cut off, that he’d be able to find a route through the conning tower.

He made his way across the deck, not sprinting but carefully picking his steps and avoiding the spreading puddles of flickering light and heat, noticing as he went that the whole ship had settled lower in the water and was developing a slight list to starboard. He suspected that damage control teams were frantically battling flooding down in the lower decks. Time was running out for those on board.

The conning tower was in chaos, burned men who had managed to get to the upper decks were strewn around and being tended to. Another damage control party covered in black grime, came up a stairwell and collapsed after shutting the hatch behind them, yanking their hoods off and drawing in clean breaths of air. The leader of the group, a fellow with dark blonde hair plastered to his face and bloodshot eyes, noticed him, “Chief, we tried to get to the foam tanks in the main hangar.”, he looked around at his men, “Lost a couple. There’s just no way through. What’s more, we made it worse by letting ignited fuel spill out into the sections below us.”.

Emon took a couple of their oxygen tanks as spares and grabbed an extinguisher before preparing to make his way belowdecks regardless of the warning, “You tried, that’s all that matters. Now get your men up and help my team out on deck, they have a situation with cargo lift two.”. As they left, he paused with his hand on the hatch to the staircase going down, knowing that he might not be coming back up. Fuck it. He yanked it open with a scrape of metallic metal, orange light spilled up and silhouetted him as smoke curled up and licked around his legs. It looked as if he’d opened an entrance to hell.

Fig. Emon making his way inside.

Fighting his way down, he went as fast as he dared, leaping over patches of fiery oil and charred corpses, only blasting his extinguisher in clouds of white foam when he found his passage entirely blocked by walls of flame. Despite his suit, the heat was growing unbearable, the rubbery material was sticking to his back from the sweat and his throat was dry and sore. He came upon a sealed door blocking his path but he could feel the heat radiating from it and so was forced to find an alternate path around that section. Using the last of his extinguisher’s contents, he got to the ammunition bunker and saw that the hatches were open.

Sprinting in, he was relieved to find that the fire hadn’t yet spread into the bunker itself. Then he recognised the voice of one of his men calling for help, following it he found one of his ratings trapped with his leg crushed underneath one of the Fulmens that had been in the process of being lifted off a rack when the torpedoes had hit. Emon handed one of his spare oxygen tanks to the lad and then left, “I’ll be back for you if we don’t all die.”. Shutting the doors leading to the ammunition bunker and locking them, sealing away the rating and his plaintive cries for aid, Emon paused with his hands pressed flat against the main hatch and his forehead bowed against the hard metal, wondering if he was sealing that boy away inside a steel tomb, forever.

Clambering back the way he came, careful not to slip now that gravity was pulling him towards the starboard side due to the angle of the ship’s decking, he stumbled past a door which had been recently opened. Fiery fuel had pooled against it due to the list and the individuals within had opened it in order to make their escape. Glancing inside, Emon nearly puked when the sight and smell of the horror washed over him. He forged on ahead, trying to ignore the images that were now burnt into his memory and the nausea that came with them. Eventually he made it to the starboard side and the stairway that led up but the bottom steps were inundated in fire. He sprinted forwards and tried to leap over the flooded section but he misjudged the distance, legs plunging into the thick liquid. He desperately splashed up onto the stairs with his legs aflame and pulled himself up the steps on all fours, swinging open the hatch above him and rolling out onto the deck above among the wounded in the conning tower.

Someone shut the hatch behind him but he didn’t much care, he was screaming and rolling on the floor, beating at his legs whilst others put fire blankets on them to help put him out. When it was out, Emon clambered to his feet with his suit legs scorched and smoking, his own legs felt wet inside the suit and he knew he was suffering from severe burns but he was pumped up on adrenaline for the time being and couldn’t stay still. Stiffly limping, helped along by one of the other ratings, he hopped up the steps to the bridge before collapsing against the wall and sliding down, coming to a rest, taking off his hood and giving the Captain his damage report.

The bridge itself was a hive of activity with engineers working on repairing communications, damage control teams pinning status reports to the ship’s chart and a makeshift med bay set up at the rear filled with wounded and medics. One of the engineers came over to the captain and made his report, “I think we’ve maybe just restored the ability to transmit morse. Nothing more than that but do you want to send a message, sir?”.

The Captain, having seen all the status reports, nodded, “SOS,”, he took down an emergency box of the wall, “and keep transmitting till we’re dead or rescued.”. Opening the box, he took out a flaregun and handed it to one of his midshipmen along with a bag of flares, “Launch one every minute until you run out.”. Then he walked out onto the Conning tower’s balcony, backlit by the orangey-red glow of the conflagration from the deck below and struck the colours.

Fig. The H.H. Vispanius Agrippa, aflame.

Harrenian Hegemony

The Skjoldurian attack came out of nowhere, surprising Roman garrison forces and Hegemonic militias alike. What had appeared to be a general reorganisation of units on the eastern side of Harren island turned into a simultaneous attack across eight hegemonic cities and the intervening countryside.

Ad-hoc resistance groups formed from disgruntled civilians and they attempted to assist Skjoldurian forces by interrupting Roman and Hegemonic movements with molotovs and other improvised methods. Actual resistance cells chose to use the chaos to converge upon Emi in an attempt to seize the vital crossroads there to hinder enemy logistics across Harren but were thrown back by the Roman garrison that had been alerted by the Skjoldurian attacks.

Mobilising Militia units, the Hegemony and the Roman forces assigned to assist with internal security moved to counter the Skjoldurian attacks and local uprisings. Those units that hesitated to follow through with their orders had their leaders purged from the ranks by the Harrenite Internal Security Service, HISS, and crucified as an example to other would-be traitors.

Having been stretched too thin and unable to focus enough strength, the Skjoldurian forces and the resistance groups were repulsed one by one and so they retreated north towards New Yanni and Cyma. The retreating forces gathered together and now in significant numbers were enough to capture the capital. Bemus evacuated his marines and staff from the Naval Academy when it became obvious that the city would not hold, fleeing to the ‘Great Horned’, Legacy Fleet, in Cyma’s harbour.

Bemus, on the bridge of the H.H. Ascendancy, was not oblivious to the irony of his situation. This whole thing had started when Balthazar had been pushed off the island and onto his fleet and here Dio was, the acting-premier being pushed off the island and onto his fleet. He felt the deck vibrate under his feet as the engines throttled up to carry the vessel out of its berth.

A midshipman came up to the Premier, “Sir, we’ve just received a report of mechanical troubles with the old Club-class monitors, Spike can’t start her engine and Dimpled’s just tore itself lose from its housings. Dimpled suffered minor flooding as well.”

“Have a couple of the cruisers take them under tow,”, Dio picked up his binoculars, gazing north towards the conflagration near the horizon, “we can’t afford to have them and their fifteen-inch guns captured by the Skjoldurians, especially after the loss of the Vispanius Agrippa.” The midshipman saluted and departed.

Admiral Calan came over and clasped Dio roughly by the arm, “You haven’t been to the fleet since being made, acting-premier, by the Romans.”, he said scornfully as he eyed him up and down, “Good job by the way. I see we’re back where Balthazar left us except this time, we’re at war with half the world to boot.”

“I suppose I deserve that.” Dio bowed his head and nodded, laughing gloomily at the sarcasm, “Yeah… things aren’t looking good for the Hegemony. I’m open to ideas.”.

Calan pulled out a cigarette carton, sliding out a cigarette for himself and offering one to Bemus, “Surrender.”, flicking out a lighter he lit both cigarettes before continuing, counting off nations in his head, “We can’t fight Valyrien, Myraxia, Iryllia, Slavacia, Aurum, Skjoldur, Asgareth and the Republic. I think I got them all.”

Dio rubbed his forehead, massaging stress away as he mulled it over, “For now, get the fleet into firing position. I want them ready to bombard Skjoldurian positions. Get back to me when you’re ready.”. Calan acknowledged the order and left him alone to stare out the window at the darkening sky.

Whilst Hegemonic and Roman forces still fought on Harren, the outcome was guaranteed. Beset on all sides, the Hegemony would fall, it was only a matter of time. If they fought to the bitter end, they’d lose everything and the Hegemony would cease to exist. If they surrendered, their enemies might accept a negotiated peace. The question was, did he even want the Hegemony to survive? It started as a beautiful dream of a united Harren, standing alone against a cruel world that had only taken what it wanted from their people. The Hegemony now was nothing more than a twisted and tortured slave of Rome. It must end. So how should it end? Gracefully. That could be achieved through an unconditional surrender, then allowing the Hegemony to be subsumed by the Republic. Something good would become the legacy of the Hegemony, not fire and blood. What remains of you when you’re gone.

Dio had made up his mind when Calan returned half an hour later, “Acting-Premier, do you wish to give the order to open fire?”.

“Yeah, about -“, a sharp crack resounded across the bridge and Dio felt like he’d been punched in the back as he was knocked forward into the window. Rebounding and turning, he noticed the smoking barrel of an 8mm clutched in Calan’s hand, “no, you idiot -“, the pistol cracked twice more and Dio collapsed as his knees suddenly turned to jelly. He hadn’t lost consciousness but his vision was blurry and he felt weak and short of breath, he raised a hand, marvelling at the bright red blood coating it, his blood, swallowing painfully he started trying to speak again through the phlegm that was lining his throat, each word accompanied by a pained inhalation, “I… am….su-”.

Calan never let him finish his sentence. He placed the hot barrel between the acting-premier’s eyes, pushing aside the outstretched, blood covered hand and pulled the trigger one last time. Bemus’ head snapped back and blood spurted out onto the Admiral’s uniform and up onto the window. Calan reached down and pulled out Dio’s handkerchief, using it to wipe the 8mm pistol clean before throwing it back onto the unmoving body. The bridge had gone entirely silent, none of the officers or crew said a word and they simply watched, waiting for Calan’s next move. Standing straight, Calan gestured at Dio’s cadaver, “Clean him up.”, then he attracted his radio operator’s attention with a snap of his fingers, “Prepare to broadcast, open channel, maximum power.”.

+++
This is Admiral Calan of the Hegemony. The Acting-Premier Dio, is dead.
Hegemonic forces that receive this broadcast are hereby ordered to cease all hostile actions. Fall back and hold positions. Do not fire unless you are fired upon. To all enemies of the Hegemony, we desire to negotiate a cessation of hostilities. In the meantime, I offer an Armistice until an agreement can be reached.
+++

by **Journey Collective** » Wed Jan 30, 2019 6:27 am

The Power of a Phone Call

Negotiations with Harren Republic
0230

A phone rings. The sound of people in the fish market rises and falls. A phone rings. Other vendors yell out as they haggle with buyers. A phone rings. Dogs bark and steal scraps as people get distracted sellers hawk their goods. A phone rings.

A phone rings in the presidential jeep and is immediately picked up by Maria's aide, Phoebe, "Report."

There is a pause which is slightly too long, but not so long as to be worthy of comment. The voice sounds rather neutral of gender, though there may be some sort of interference because it sounds like many people are speaking at once.
"Kos island has been secured.
Hegemonian forces there have been neutralized.
We are Journey Collective.
We wish to speak with President Maria Otome."

Phoebe looked quizzically up at Maria and then handed her the phone, "It's for you. Someone saying that hegemonic forces have been neutralized on Kos."
Maria took the phone from her, "Who am I speaking with?", with the blue handset held to her ear she gestured for the driver to start moving back towards the Republic's lines and then on to Galatea.

"We are Journey Collective.
We are made of Harrens and Friendlies.
We are pleased to speak with you, Miss President."

"I think it's the goat people and their converts", Maria whispered to her aide with her hand over the microphone, "switch on the recorder and keep quiet.".
Taking her hand off the microphone Maria settled back into her seat as she looked out the window at Valarisk vehicles and troops moving with alacrity towards the frontline. "Journey Collective, is it? I'm pleased to speak with you as well, is there anything I can help you with?"

"We are Harrens and Friendlies.
Of this you may be aware.
We appreciate that you recognize us as the Journey Collective.
We are pleased that you ask if there is anything which you can assist us with."
There's another pause, and it sounds as if a frequency is tuned.
"We wish to establish a working friendship with you and the Republic of Harren.
The island of Kos has been secured.
A refuge for Harrens who wish to be away from the conflict and horrors of the bloody war in our homeland has been established there.
We wish for it to be known that we are Harrens, and we wish to have open peace and free exchange with the Republic."

"I am willing to establish a relationship with you as well but it will have to wait. As you know, there is a war on but I believe it will be over shortly, the Hegemony and what's left of the Roman coalition cannot stand." Maria wiped the edge of her lip with a finger before delicately picking up a bottle of water in her doorside pocket and taking a swig. "I will freely admit that we have a.... okay, to correct myself, had, a research project to do with your spores in our bioweapons facility that now lies in ruins. If we are to have open peace and free exchange, people would have to join you willingly and not be exposed to your spores without consent and if we are to trade, trade without the fear of assimilation. In addition, as a measure of good faith, assistance in the weaponisation of your spores for the purposes of a deterrent. We need to ensure a lasting peace on Harren after the war."

"All of these are terms with which we are willing to comply.
A weaponizable form of us can be provided to a location of your choice.
The specifics of other issues can be addressed at a later time.
The more pressing matter is of course the war with Rome.
We wish to provide direct assistance in cleansing our home of the Roman plague.
We have a foothold still in the lands of the Heartlands.
We can stage a force from inside of the Roman occupation, and use this force to cleanse and reclaim Harren citizens and land.
Will you permit us to aid in this way?"

Maria was rather pleased with how easily these negotiations were going, "By all means, assist in throwing out the Roman occupiers. I wouldn't blame you if the Asgarthians and Caerlegion were to be forced off either. However, I must stress the earlier point of not exposing Harrenians to the spores. If you can meet that requirement, we will gladly accept your aid."

"Very good.
We also look forward to our long and pleasant relationship.
We will remain in contact and keep you up to date on our movements.
We wish you a pleasant day, President Maria Otome."
With that there's little more than the sound of a click as if a phone was hung up.

Negotiations with Rome
0235

A phone rings near Caesar.
Ba-ring!
Ba-ring!
Ba-ring!
It continues for several moments…
Caesar orders the nearby slave executed for not answering on the first ring.
A more with it slave quickly answers the call on the former's behalf. His eyes widen as he listens, and then moves the phone away from his lips.
"It...it's for you, Cesar..."
“Who is it?” The mighty man deigns to utter.
The paler than a sheet slave speaks into the phone, or almost does as the answer is given before he can ask.
"They say they're.... Journey Collective? They are uhm...part of Friendly Island?"
“Do they have an appointment?” Caesar asks.
"They say they have an appointment." The poor fellow responds.
“Fair enough then, consider that flogging an execution that's twice now.”

Loud enough for Caesar to hear, the voice speaks louder.
"Caesar, we wish to speak with you directly.
Your intermediary is useless."

Caesar sighs and puts down the sandwich then takes the phone.
“This is
Gaius Octavius Gemellius Caesar: Filius Dei, Princeps Civitatis Novae Romae, Pater Suae Patriae, Genus Iulii Caesaris, Aeneaden, Pius Felix, Dux Militum Romanorum, Qui Tribunica Potestas Habet, Autokrator Dominusque Romanorum et Imperator Romae in Perpetuae. To whom am I speaking?”

"We are Journey Collective, the sister of Friendly Island.
It is a pleasure to speak with you Gaius Octavius Gemellius Caesar: Filius Dei, Princeps Civitatis Novae Romae, Pater Suae Patriae, Genus Iulii Caesaris, Aeneaden, Pius Felix, Dux Militum Romanorum, Qui Tribunica Potestas Habet, Autokrator Dominusque Romanorum et Imperator Romae in Perpetuae.
May we refer to you as Cesar?"
The voice of many that speak as one comes from the other end of the phone.

"Mighty Caesar will do." He responded dryly. "Imperial majesty gets used now and again and my dear wife prefers father of the country, but whatever will get me back to lunch quicker..."

"Mighty Caesar, we wish to request use of your might on Harren Island.
We wish to work together to flush the horrid Asgarethi monsters from the land.
Is an alliance to rid the land of these foul creatures something which you can agree to?"

"Harren...Harren." Caesar replied, tapping a finger on his desk. "Sounds familiar, some bother with some bloody foreigners I think. But what do you wish to do to the Asgarthian dogs?"

"We wish to gut them.
We are currently staging a large distraction at one of their larger bases.
We suspect this will keep them distracted.
During this time a combined force, from several nations, should be able to enter their lands and eviscerate them.
Can we request your awesome forces to aid with this trivial matter?"

"Several nations eh?" Caesar said, his voice melancholy. "I believe im currently at war with nearly all of then, the only exception being Asgareth. Although I would happily see the fat bastards fry; Roman forces are preoccupied with an advance against the rebel scum in the south currently..."

"It would be a wonderful chance to demonstrate to the other, clearly inferior, powers that you are not an enemy.
We have several who are willing to listen to our words, and should we say you are not an enemy, they would likely agree.
Many seem to be eager for the chance to serve the bastards an ample portion of punishment, and seeing you deliver the same would very much appease them.
We are offering you the chance to turn enemies to allies, while crushing the pissant known as Asgareth.
Can we consider you an ally in this matter?"

"Material and men will be unavailable for some time." Caesar drawled. "But im more than happy to deflate those massive heads of theirs...you may consider me friendly to the friendlies." He laughed at his own pun.

The sound of a million chuckles joins him.
"We are very pleased to hear this.
We will be staging this distraction very soon.
We simply request some of your forces are ready in the coming minutes and hours.
We will inform you the appropriate time to deflate the weak Asgareth.
We thank you, Might Caesar.
We look forward to continued amiable interactions."

"Indeed. If you will excuse me, my lunch is waiting. Good afternoon." He hung up.

Negotiations with Skjoldur
0240

A phone near the commander begins to ring.
Drrrrrrring.
Drrrrrring.
Drrr- "Pick up the phone, Commander Esgaerth" the plural voice says before the receiver is even lifted."

Esgareth pick up the phone hesitantly
“Hello this is commander Esgaerth”

"Commander Esgaerth.
We are the Journey Collective.
You have made peace arrangements with our sister, Friendly Island.
We are very happy that you have answered this call.
We wish to know if you wish to continue choosing peace with our people
And to what extent this wish extends."

Esgaerth swallowed nervously he had heard of the friendlies and decided to approach this cautiously.
"Skjoldur does not war on harren. They will assist anyone who seeks true freedom for the people of Harren"

"We are Harren.
We wish for peace on Harren.
We are the voice of the people.
We are the people.
To fight with us means to fight with Harren.
We are endeavoring to bring freedom and peace to our home.
We believe our causes align.
To this end, we request your assistance in ridding Harren of the Roman and Asgarethi monsters."
The voice of many speaking as one continues through the phone, though it feels like the phone itself isn't really needed…

Esgareth sat back in his chair pondering. He was slightly perturbed about what this creature had said about the people of harren. But he was also interested in what these creatures had planned.
"What were you thinking" he asked.

"We are creating a large distraction near the west coast of Asgarethi controlled territory on Harren.
While they are distracted another force can strike their unprotected bellies."

"Sounds interesting, and I'm guessing you will want me to be the other force?”

"We are coordinating with several forces, and wish for a large combined force to perform this gutting.
Will we be able to rely upon you for this? "

"A chance to kill a Asgathian I'm sure everyone will be up for it, of course are troops will help establish a border the the free democratic republic of harren, but we will help you."

"We are pleased to hear you will work with us.
We will be contacting you very soon to inform you of where the combined forces should land.
Please be ready, this will be happening in the coming minutes and hours." The sound of a phone hanging up can be heard.

Touching base with Harren Republic
0300

A phone near President Otome begins to ring, and even before the call is answered a voice of many from the other end can be heard.
"Answer the call please."

Maria took the handset from Phoebe again, "Otome speaking."

"This is Journey Collective.
We shall be distracting the Romans.
Perhaps a strike on Roman invaders can be arranged.
Would you care to be involved in this matter?"

"An attack on the Romans would be greatly appreciated." she pushed her hair over with her left hand, sliding it behind her ear, "I don't see how we could involved though. We don't have any mobile elements to spare.".

"We can assist if you have manpower to spare."
There is definitely nothing at all ominous or off putting about the way this is said.

Maria's eyes narrowed, "Explain the details of your plan."

"We can provide a means for your men to move very swiftly.
This can be achieved by utilizing our network.
Of course one must have a connection to our network to utilize it.
We doubt you will agree to exposing your men to our spores, we ...shall leave that at that.
However we can provide a means of utilizing the network.
One of us can come to your men, and serve as a link into the network.
Once networked your men can be located to anywhere on our network, and we have laid a vast network through much of Harren."

"Without the risk of contamination?"

"We wish we could say we guarantee absolutely zero risk of contamination, when time is appropriate we can discuss that further.
We will be doing everything we can to limit the risk of contamination, it will be effectively zero though not actually zero risk."

She shrugged, "Good enough. I'm loathe to weaken the fallback line but if we can threaten the Rome rear, it might be worth it. "

"We are pleased to hear this.
Please inform us where the individual should be placed."

"Rie, I can have a specially equipped squad ready there within the hour. If you can get them somewhere they can maximise infantry casualties, it'd be muchly appreciated."

"We will rendezvous at Rie in one hour.
We currently have no other needs to address.
If you are satisfied we will end communication."

Touching base with Rome
0305

Caesar's phone rings again, and a slave quickly picks it up from the receiver. After uttering a few hushed words turns towards the man.
"Err uh... Mighty Caesar, it is the Journey Collective. They wish to speak with you, Mighty Caesar."

"Just when I was hoping for a quiet evening." Caesar muttered darkly as he took the phone. "This is Caesar."

"Greetings to the Mighty Caesar.
This is Journey Collective.
Our operation in Tsuru shall commence in one hour's time.
We request assistance from any of your illustrious forces which can provide assistance from the nearby posts."

"As I stated previously, the lion's share of our forces are tied up in the south." Caesar replied evenly, calling up his last briefing. "With the imminent Iryllian attack, the Skjoldurian betrayal and the Vakrisk advance, we are spread very thinly."

"Very well.
Should any be available, it shall be a wonderful time.
Regards and good day to you Mighty Caesar."

"I will instruct my forces to provide aide where possible and prudent. Good day."

Rie, Harren Island
0400

It's crisp. The sun isn't even peeking over the horizon yet. The crepuscular animals forage for scraps as the predators settle down from a night of hunting. The base hasn't appreciated the softness of the morning, as they have been a bustle of activity. Men line up in formation, preparing themselves for the upcoming events.

Collectivst hazmat suit, visual distortions near Collectivists are common

Just inside the gates of the base, something suddenly appears. It’s child-sized, and is dressed in all white. A pair of horns jut from its head, though these are also covered by the same white clothing. He begins to walk towards the men. While he moves it becomes more and more evident that the white clothing is some sort of hazmat suit. Where his face should be is a transparent window with some sort of breathing apparatus sticking out. The soldiers are approached and he gives them a polite bow.
“Greetings.” He begins to speak, but his mouth doesn’t move.
“I am Jon Gor from Journey Collective.” His voice is one of millions which chorus together, though his is the loudest.
“We are happy that all of you will be working with us to crush our oppressors.”
“We shall be working with Skjoldur forces for this operation.”
“We have roughly one hour before insertion.”
“Our destination shall be near the Vardar river.”
“Please make any final preparations now.”
“We advise breathing masks, as we will be running an operation in Tsuru as well.”
For the next fifty minutes Jon Gor gets to know some of the soldiers, and lets them get to know himself. They discover that he’s an easy guy to talk to, and he’s happy to be a part of Journey Collective. He identifies as Harren, even though clearly he’s not born and raised here. He’s happy what they’re doing will help to bring peace and stability to Harren, even if it means some people will get hurt.

? ? ?
0415

From over a nearby hill three flashes of white can be seen, and they are quickly approaching the base. Whatever they are appears to be running very fast, heading straight towards the fortified position. As they gets closer it becomes evident that it’s several fauns dressed in hazmat suits. Before much more than a minute the fauns get to the Skjoldur forces and begins to address them.
“Greetings.” They begins to speak, but their mouths doesn’t move.
“I am Bast Oto, this is Kay Wan and Jo Kip, we are from Journey Collective.” His voice is one of millions which chorus together, though his is the loudest.
“We are happy that all of you will be working with us to crush our oppressors.”
“We will be working with Republic forces for this operation.”
“We have roughly forty five minutes before insertion.”
“Our destination shall be near the Vardar river.”
“Please make any final preparations now.”
“We advise breathing masks, as we will be running an operation in Tsuru as well.”
For the next thirty minutes the trio gets to know some of the soldiers, and lets them get to know themselves. The men discover that they are easy to talk to, and they are happy to be a part of Journey Collective. They identifies as Harren, even though clearly none of then were born and raised here. They're happy what they’re doing will help to bring peace and stability to Harren, even if it means some people will get hurt.

Vardar River
0430
A small platoon of Roman soldiers marches northwards, heading to the nearby base in Tsuru. They are mostly composed of Hegemonians who are armed with what would have been modern thirty years ago, and don’t even have tanks or artillery. They weren’t even fully briefed on what to expect, and why they were being dispatched. All they knew was the were to aid in an attack on Asgarethi troops.

Tsuru, Harren Island
0500
It’s an early morning in Tsuru, with dew still clinging to the leaves and grass. It’s already warm, and the humidity is only making it feel warmer. Birds call and sing their songs, many of them are looking for mates, others are greeting the rising sun. It’s hard to hear the sound of nature over all the roar and murmur of the troops who have been stationed here.
“Easy. . . Easy. Straight back, just like that! Perfect!” A man calls out as he helps guide a truck into a loading bay. In the belly of the vehicle are new arms which are going to be distributed to the soldiers which need them. This isn’t the only truck of the day, or even the first. “Okay! You’re good! Straight out!” Another man calls to another truck that’s just loaded up with spare parts which will be brought back to a refit depot. Shipments come and go at all hours of the day in this busy hub.
The ebb and flow of activity in the distribution center was mirrored by the activity of the rest of the base. In one field troops were practicing with targets, lining up shots and taking them. Other soldiers were running PT, getting into shape for the fitness test that was coming up. Still others were lucky enough to have some time off and were relaxing at a pub, drinking as much beer as their bodies could handle. Nothing about this day seemed particularly out of place for any of the men, it was a day like any other.

0505
A wave of static washes over the telecoms of the base. People who were on phone calls find themselves disconnected with only a dialtone. Those who were surfing on computers find their screens replaced with a view of static-snow. Poorly secured devices begin to blink, flicker, static, and generally not respond. Well secured devices seem to experience issues as the frequencies become full of garbled traffic, raising the levels of frustration over the malfunctioning equipment increases. The sound of gunfire rings out from one of the bars, then more fire from a pub, people can be heard shouting, while some flee. It’s followed quickly by an alarm that blares over the base and brings everyone to attention. Some soldiers shout out in confusion, trying to figure out what was happening, who's attacking them. Many begin to rush towards the sound of the commotion, their arms at the ready.
In the middle of the confusion and rushing more individuals begin to come into being. For the troops familiar, they recognize the sight of the fauns. For some locals who have been supporting the Asgarethi troops, the faces of some of the humans are recognizable as friends or family. The trained men quickly open fire on the individuals as they appear. Scores of the Collectivists, for they are from the Journey Collective, are mowed down while offering literally no fight. The bodies of the dead and dying spray spores into the air as they lie on the ground, bleeding.

Asgarethi soldier bravely standing against Collectivists.

It becomes quickly evident that the Collectivists are not slowing down or stopping, they are in fact rushing in with greater and greater numbers. What was merely a dozen individuals quickly ballooned into hundreds, and even into the thousands. In virtually no amount of time the land in and around Tsuru becomes quite literally filled with living, dead, and dying bodies. No one is able to move due to the closeness of everyone involved. It becomes difficult for the troops to even hold or aim their weapons, as the invaders are preventing movement and even using many many hands to take away the weapons from the soldiers. The spores from the almost 100,000 Collectivists begin to find their way into the struggling Asgarethi troops...

0506

Spore cloud enveloping soldiers

The Hegemony arrives with their light presence, looking over a wonderful ridge that looks down onto Tsuru. From this vantage they are able to take potshots at the Asgarethi, and even at the faun. Everyone below seems a bit too wrapped up with the fighting and smothering to be bothered to try and notice the row of make-shift snipers who are picking people off one by one. Before too long they do get noticed by the Asgarethi and start receiving counter fire.The Collectivists begin to focus on the soldiers who are firing on the reinforcements, grabbing them, pulling them, ripping at their exposed skin, yanking their guns away. As the struggling in the base intensifies and the thick choking clouds of spores get denser, so too does the cover fire provided by the forces mounted on the ridge. Some of the Hegemonians are able to tell that the faun seem to be working with them, so the furry beasts start receiving less friendly fire. Unbeknownst to these men, the spores from the battle below are already entering their lungs and bodies.

Vardar River, Harren Island
0515

Bast Oto, Kay Wan, and Jo Kip arrives near Vardar River, at a Hegemonian installation, with the twenty five thousand soldiers from Skjoldur. They tremble and quake as they all collapse to the ground breathing heavily. Bast sits up and gently pats the others before motioning to the troops to start pushing a front line.
Jon Gor arrives near the Vardar River, at a Hegemonian installation, with the 500 Republican forces. The boy seems rather exhausted and breathes very heavily after landing with the entire battalion. His legs begin to quake and shake, before he collapses to the ground. It doesn’t appear that he’s died, but rather that he’s spent every last ounce of energy in his body. With a hair’s amount of strength he vaguely gestures, indicating they should follow behind the Skjoldur forces. After a few moments he siddles up with the other faun who are gasping for breath, which is made more difficult by their breathers.
The Hegemony seems to put up no resistance as the combined Skjoldurian and Republican forces enter installations and start to prepare them for Republic use. The Hegemonians seem as if they are doing their best to get along with the forces as they enter. This process is repeated as the combined forces the Collectivists raised march northwards to join the battle at Tsuru.

0630
The combined forces seem to have an amazingly easy time pushing the residing forces further and further into Asgarethi controlled territory. Before too long the soldiers have squashed the Hegemony between the fighting of the Asgarethi and Collectivists and themselves. The remaining Hegemony troops are joined by the massive fighting force which has been lead here. The combined forces of Collectivists, Skjoldurs, Hegemonians, and Republicans lay a heavy siege onto Tsuru.

by **Nocturnalis** » Wed Jan 30, 2019 3:54 pm

Milos, Harrenian Hegemony

The island of Milos is a very scenic location, lush and green with vegetation, sprouting forth from the deep blue waters of the Eastern Eristys Sea. Eristys' shore was visible from the island on clearer days, such as this one...the shore inhabited and garrisoned by a people that few, if any, Harrenites had ever made contact with, and yet people that had ostensibly been attacked by Harrenites in the past few weeks. The digging continued, the Hegemonic marines on the isle of Milos desperately trying to complete the island's defensive network as soon as possible, though there remained a lot of work to be done. A few scattered bunkers and coastal guns dotted the landscape, yet this was not enough to protect the island, given its paltry defensive force of 50 marines and ancillary support. Even worse, word of a potential armistice had spread amongst the ranks in the days following the fall of Cyma. Needless to say, in spite of the island's beauty, the atmosphere on Milos was very tense, with morale among the marines having plummeted in the last few days. The occasional sighting of weird shapes in the distant skies above Milos had done little to assuage the doubts of the Harrenite marines.

One such marine, Vavrinec, had been busying himself with laying the foundations for one of the walls of the next bunker in the defensive line. Although the day was young, it grew to be quite hot as the late-morning sun beat down on the working marines. Taking a lull in the work as an opportunity to fetch some water, Vavrinec gazed out absent-mindedly to the blue seas, and to the lands of Eristys further beyond. Southern Eristys was much like Milos: very green, tropical, moving, and quite picturesque. How fortunate would it be to vacation there someday?

Wait. Moving?

Although just barely visible even in this broad daylight, given the distance between the two lands, Vavrinec noticed several dark, long shapes moving along the waters off the Eristys coast. Or were they moving away from it? Ships? Vavrinec called out to his superior officer, motioning towards the distant movements. The older marine produced a pair of high-powered binoculars, setting his improved vision upon the coast...which only confirmed the suspicion; seven ships, what looked to be frigates or light cruisers of some description, were moving away from the Eristys coast, and towards Milos. A military exercise, perhaps? The people on the coast had never been outwardly hostile towards the Harrenites, why would that change now? And then he saw it, several long pillars pushing out from the ships, tailed closely by streams of white smoke. Missiles. In their rush to establish the island's defences, the Harrenians had yet to establish a proper anti-missile defence network over the island.

By now, every marine on the island had taken note of the dozens of missiles screaming towards the island, if the suddenly-blaring alarms were not enough indication. Men rushed into their bunkers and trenches, if not to secure their equipment than to at least secure their lives. Few of them wished to die for a regime that was already on life support, and yet none of them knew why they in particular were being attacked. None of that seemed to matter, however, when the missiles came crashing down around the Harrenites. Explosions crashed around them, leaving craters in both ground and bunker alike, and spreading many fires throughout the base. The barrage seemed to continue for hours, though in reality it had been only minutes.

Vavrinec poked his head out from the rubble of the half-constructed bunker he had sheltered himself in, as did other holed-up soldiers. Marines called out to marines, confirming what to them seemed to be a miracle: all 50 of them had survived the barrage, in spite of the carnage. Much of their installations, bunker and gun emplacement alike, had been damaged, if not outright destroyed. And yet the alarms kept blaring, and thus the soldiers manned what emplacements remained. What had been a clear day had suddenly turned into a fiery, smokey mess. Even through the smoke, the advance of several airborne shapes became visible, advancing on the defenders like hungry vultures. The few anti-air emplacements that remained opened fire on the invaders and yet, despite inflicting minor damage on some of the aircraft, could do little as the terrifying shapes spat back, more missiles and gunfire wiping out those that opened fire.

This second attack was followed by a third, as half a dozen larger aircraft descended upon the base - transport helicopters. The insignia on the sides revealing their origin; the Nocts of Eristys had come to the island in retribution for the Harrenite attacks on them in the past few weeks. As Noctish troops streamed forth from the helicopters, a harsh firefight ensued. Some of the invaders fell, yet each one that fell brought with it an equivalent blow to the Harrenite defenders...and the Nocts had brought more forces with them. Seeing the inevitable, Vavrinec joined many of the Harrenites in opting for surrender, their weapons dropping to the dirt with loud thuds as they too dropped to their knees.

Cyma, Harren

Kneeling soldiers, destroyed bunkers, and burning guns were all images that greeted Admiral Calan as he hosted the Noctish Inquisitorial delegation aboard his ship in Cyma, what effectively remained of the Hegemony's government. The tension on-board the ship was palpable as the two representatives sat across from each other.

"We really did not wish it to come to this," the Inquisitor Veriko Eteri stated plainly to the Harrenite admiral, "but enough Nocts have died to your people - if not necessarily your government - that you have forced our hand."

"We have been fighting the Heartlander terrorists. All you've done is support their cause" Calan spat back, more than a hint of bitterness in the Admiral's voice.

"Believe me, the Heartlanders will get what is due to them in time, that is ultimately why we are here." Eteri responded ominously, "But that does not absolve your government of its complicity in the attacks on our people. It was your government's ineptitude that led to the destruction of one of our aircraft. In such an environment, we cannot allow you to exercise control over areas so close to our...areas of operation. My government considers the island of Milos an adequate concession for the hundreds of Noctish lives your people have ended, given the threat it could potentially pose to us if it fell into the wrong hands."

"Nice excuse for an imperialistic annexation of our territory. Not like we're in a position to refuse." The Admiral was right, the Hegemony, in as dire straits as it was, was in no position to bargain or negotiate here. One of the guardsmen in the Noctish entourage approached the table, setting down a pair of glasses and pouring out a bottle of a dark purplish beverage for the two representatives.

Eteri paused briefly, lifting the nearby glass and downing its contents. "A half-built military base is hardly territory. We can assure you that your people there will be treated well, it is quite unfortunate that many of them had to die. Since you are in no position to refuse, you are going to give us what we want most. What we really came to your islands for. We want every scrap of information you have on these Heartlanders...strongholds, numbers, who's supplying them, what supplies they have. More importantly, although we have doubts about your government's knowledge of these particular details, we want to know precisely who was behind the attacks on us. And, naturally, any prisoners related to the affairs to be delivered to our hands.

We can see how this war will go for your government, and the outlook is grim. Perhaps you would like it better on your beloved Milos."

Calan lifted the glass to his mouth, smelling its contents. Non-alcoholic, just great. The Nocts invade his territory and storm aboard his ship, and didn't even have the decency to bring alcohol to this meeting. "We claimed it, we settled it, we built upon it. It was our territory. Regardless, we would have already cooperated regarding information against the Heartlanders, we want them gone too. The prisoners are yours, as also, already promised."

"Was your territory." the Inquisitor repeated, as if to further remind Calan of the attack that had just taken place, "And it is ours now. Be lucky that we have chosen not to...involve ourselves further. Your people will be allowed to remain on the island, and should any of your supporters choose to leave Harren after your government meets its inevitable end, Milos will be open to them - provided they recognize the island as ours. The prisoners will be taken by my men, and extradited back to Noctiya for judgment and sentencing. Our agents will work to unveil and capture the remaining perpetrators of the attacks on us, while doing all in their power to weaken the terrorists. We look forward to working closely with the Hegemony's intelligence networks." Eteri stated firmly, laying out the conditions for whatever terse cooperation between the Nocts and the Hegemony was to be borne out of this tense meeting.

Ignoring the implication about the end of the Hegemony, the Admiral responded with barely controlled anger, fingering the clip on his pistol holster. "HISS, the Harrenite Internal Security Service, will coordinate with you on the matter. For now, we shall say that you are assisting with internal security, even though in the future, when things have settled down and order is restored, we will revisit this matter and Milos will return to Hegemonic control."

The Inquistor's guards snapped to action, raising their weapons threateningly. Eteri himself remained stoic, placing the glass back on the table. "We have an accord, then." he affirmed, rising from his seat. "We thank you for your hospitality." he finished, turning away from the table and swfitly exiting out of the room, followed by his guard detail. As expected, the four prisoners assigned to be shipped to Noctiya were handed over to the Noctish delegation, being roughly shepherded onto one of the helicopters that carried them to the Hegemonite ship. They would be of immense value to the Ministerium of Inquiry before having their lives cut short by the wheel of Noctish justice.

The Open Seas, 20km North of Cyma

The Venaimin and its escort trundled along their route back home to Eristys, their mission in Cyma - for the moment, at least - completed. An alarm came to the ships crew as pillars of black smoke were spotted in the distance, accompanied by flashes of light piercing the sky - clearly, some ship was in dire straits. A mangled distress call - in Morse code - reached the ship's communications array, and with that the Noctish flotilla sped towards the burning in the distance.

by **Auruum** » Thu Jan 31, 2019 3:11 pm

Skies over Harren Island

"This is Commander Dax Copperpalm, of the Kryon Security force On-contract from the Myraxian Republic. Hope we arrived in a dramatically appropriate time! Have your folks clear us a parkin' space so Me an' My boys can get in on the action!"

The Aurummite Transport fleet had finally arrived. Massive Aircraft loaded up with enough firepower and soldiers to wage it's own private war would descend towards the Myraxian Republic Controlled areas to assist in the conflict. The Fleet's escort craft already beginning to secure the airspace and clear a path for the large Dragon-class Transport craft to land and allow it's passengers to disembark. Roman and Hegemony Aircraft would be engaged with Aurummite Air superiority craft, while enemy naval positions would immediately be hit with quick and nimble strike craft. The latter of which, strangely would purposely dive into the water and begin attacking enemy submarines or the underside of enemy battleships and carriers before leaping out of the water and right back into the air again.

*Fig A Dragon-Class Transport preparing to leave Undermine City.

*Fig An Aurummite Reaper Air Superiority Fighter.

*Fig A Nightmare-Class Air and Sea fighter, One of Aurum's many Unorthodox means of waging war.

On the ground, Harrenian Republic

When they were able to finally land, the Goblins wasted no time at all, Unpacking their transports and organizing their forces, readying themselves to be unleashed upon the enemy. Greenskin mercenaries stood in their squads, awaiting orders with a malicious excitement. No Stone-faced soldiers here, just a bunch of combat trained scoundrels looking to put their itchy trigger fingers to use. The Mechanized Infantry units were much more orderly and organized, marching in unison and awaiting further instructions, If interacted with their pre-programmed personality matrixes would allow them to respond as though they were a flesh and blood soldier, Hopefully to the desired effect of easing any fears of fighting alongside cold and lifeless murder-bots. The Hobgoblins however probably took the longest to prepare, Dressing them up in their battle armor and giving them their weapons as well as their final meals for the day. If they wanted food, they'd have to go and hunt down the targets their Handlers tagged. Naturally this made the Hobgoblins particularly angry and a bit anxious to be around but as their usual roles were frontline fodder and living siege weapons, that shouldn't be an issue.

*Fig An Armored Hobgoblin Squad marching.

In addition to the Bots and the infantry, it would seem Aurum decided to pack in some extra toys for the Mercenaries, Including several Morozoff-Model Heavy Assault Tanks, as well as a few Bi-Ped Model Goliath-Class Mechs. According to the Mercenary commander, these vehicles were to be put to use re-enforcing the Myraxian Lines, Securing captured territory and generally being a serious thorn in the Hegemony's backside.

*Fig A Pair of Goliath-Class Mech's securing the area.

*Fig A Morozoff-Class Heavy Assualt Tank, with Myraxian Soldier to Scale.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Fri Feb 01, 2019 9:07 am

Throne Room, Imperial Palace, Nova Roma, Imperium Romae in Perpetuum

“So, let me get this straight.” Prince Nero snarled. “In addition to a combined Myraxian, Valyrian and even Iryllian front! Asgareth and Skjoldur have stabbed us in the back and now even our tame Harrenites have rebelled!”
The prince was seated on a, notably smaller, throne on the right of his father’s vacant one atop a raised dais. To his own right stood Aelius Sejanus, the head of Praetorian Intelligence, and below were assembled a series of senior senators, military officials and courtiers.
“This does appear to be the case, Imperial Highness.” Replied Sittius Fabillus, the Imperial Secretary. “If we are to have any hope of retaining our hold over the island, we would either need to send substantial reinforcements immediately or...”
“Or?” Nero said menacingly. Fabillus looked around anxiously but found no support from his compatriots.
“Or attempt to negotiate with the belligerent powers supporting the rebellion.” He said quickly.
“Negotiate.” Nero sneered. “Show weakness to those Rusinian vultures! Never!”
“The prince is wise, appearing cowed to these foreign scum will only endanger us further.” Sejanus interjected assuredly. Fabillus sighed softly to himself, that upstart Sejanus’ friendship with the eldest of Caesar’s sons had the potential to cause serious friction.
“As his highness wishes. High Command has placed the Legio XII and IV on alert and we can have them on Harren Island in…”

“No.” came a quiet, yet forceful, voice from the other side of the room, a voice Fabillus knew all too well. The Imperial Secretary, along with everyone else in the room, bowed deeply as Gemellius Caesar walked into his throne room. The great man was wearing a simple white toga and his fingers were ungarnished save for a heavy gold signet ring, engraved with the Imperial Eagle. Caesar climbed the dais and sat on his throne, his Skjoldurian Guard taking up a perimeter around him and his son. A number of hithero unnoticed slaves darted out from their hiding places to gently correct and smooth Caesar’s toga before one carefully placed a golden laurel on his brow.
Barely even acknowledging his son, the Emperor of Rome gestured lazily for Fabillus and the others to rise then continued.
“I will not throw away more resources in a doomed fight.”
“But father!” Nero began, shocked by the Imperators sudden entrance. “You cannot be suggesting we kowtow to these…barbarians!” As soon as he’d said it the tension in the room spiked dramatically as the father turned slowly and fixed his piercing gaze on his son. Even Fabillus found himself holding in a breath he didn’t know he had taken.
“I suggest nothing of the sort.” Caesar said icily. “I will not only deny the enemy the chance to push us back, but I will also deny them strategic control of the area. In short, I will fix your mess.” The prince was wise enough to hold his tongue as the Imperator fixed his attention to his underlings.
“Inform High Command they are to prepare Thermonuclear strikes on every city on that accursed island, as soon as possible. 5 guided warheads each in a MIRV will suffice, including those Harrenites on those pathetic islands of theirs. The heartlands are also to be targeted with a series of biological and chemical weapons, due to the lack of cities.
“140 required.” Blurted out one of the freedmen secretaries. “At last count” he added sheepishly.

“But…Lord Caesar.” Fabillus said astonished, looking over some quick estimates provided by one of his freedmen. “That much nuclear material invites the possibility of nuclear winter as well as retaliation from the northern barbarians. Not to mention we will be unable to withdraw the two cohorts currently engaged across the island”
“Then they will die for the glory of Rome and her Caesar!” Nero snapped, rising from his throne, having recovered himself from his father’s rebuke. “What is a paltry 100,000 compared to proving to the so called Rusinian powers that the Imperium does not accept defeat!”
To this Imperial Secretary merely bowed deeply. “As Mighty Caesar commands, so shall it be done.” He said reverently before he quickly left the room, closely followed by the other ministers.

Nero waited until they had all gone before turning to discuss the matter with his father, only to find that Caesar had already left the throne room. Even Sejanus had snuck out, likely to try and pull his more valuable operatives off Harren before it was reduced to faintly glowing rubble. The prince looked around the, mostly deserted, throne room silently seething to himself. He walked slowly towards his fathers’ throne and sat down.
“Soon.” He muttered to himself, enjoying the feel of it. “Soon…”

I.R.S Valentinian, South East of Harren Island

In retrospect the Skjoldurian attack had been extremely advantageous, Agrippa mused as he walked around his ready room. Without it he would have still been in Cyma when he’d received the message about the imminent destruction of Harren and would have been scrambling to get himself out, let alone some choice possessions and his personal staff.
Twenty minutes was all the warning he had received, and he had no doubt that there would have been considerable debate within High Command to bother warning him at all, he would have to find a convincing scapegoat to come out of this with his property (and life) intact. Luckily, he had just the fellow in mind…

Before he’d had a chance to form a proper plan, however, Tribune Paulus walked in, having finally changed his uniform since the withdrawal from Cyma. Agrippa was glad the raiders had been delayed long enough for even his staffers to escape with their wardrobes, a delay bought with Harranite lives, of course.
“Praefectus, your final orders have been relayed to Senior Centurion Macro, his men have launched an all-out offensive to distract the Myraxians and Valyrians from the incoming attack.”
“Good. And the garrisons?”
Paulus inhaled deeply. “Have been ordered to start exterminating the Hegemonic and Heartlander populations, as you commanded, sir.
“They may as well have some fun before they are called to Tartarus. Furthermore, you’re to instruct whatever agents we have left on the Hegenomic fleet to begin sabotaging their vessels with the intention of destroying them, if possible, our agents on the Ascendancy are to stab this new premier in the throat.”
“And Vulpa, sir?”
“I believe its time to end the first and last ‘President of Harren’.” Agrippa smirked. “Offer her the usual reassurances and request that the death be as painful as she can make it. How long now?”
The tribune checked his watch
“14 minutes, sir. Shall I have your body slaves summoned?”
“Oh yes.” The Praefectus said, a glimmer in his eye. “It’s showtime.”

13 minutes later

Bzzt.
Bzzt.

The same signal was broadcast all across Harren Island. To Harrenite rebels, traitors, as well as to the foreigners that continued to support them. Even those on the distant island outposts were not ignored.
Simultaneously the resplendent gold eagle of Rome appeared on all screens, public and personal, accompanied as always by the same four letters on an imperial red background. Praefectus Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa was addressing the people of Harren for the last time.
As always, he was dressed in his full military splendour, his every feature groomed to perfection.
“I did warn you.”

At the appointed time a series of 28 MIRV Mars Augustus Mk Is were launched from a selection of strategically placed submarines in the Mare Nostrum. Each missile carrying 5 warheads with a 1MT yield each. At the same time a group of intermediate ranged missiles, carrying a choice selection of Roman bio agents and chemical concoctions also broke the surface.

Roman High Command had decided that the risk of surface missiles and their subsequent fallout would not only cause fewer casualties but expose the Imperium to unnecessary fallout. Therefore, airburst warheads had been selected to bring the wrath of Caesar upon the doomed souls of Harren. The missiles quickly reached their apex, but their target had been clear from the start, every city and major installation on the island. Hegemonic or Republican, Asgarthian or Roman. The Harrenites had made their choice.

They chose poorly.

by **Harren Island** » Wed Feb 06, 2019 2:12 pm

by **Greater Slavacia** » Sat Feb 09, 2019 5:24 am

Slavacian Main Centre for Missile Attack Warning, Gornyy-56, Slavacia, several minutes before Roman launch

Slavacian Early Warning Radar, Gornyy-56

All was quiet, as it should be. The radar operators sat at their posts, some looking intently at the screens, others quietly reading books or newspapers - a regular day in the center. The burly man in the corner looked at the clock and sighed - his shift was still hours from completion, out of boredom or perhaps tradition he began reading aloud, as he did everyday, the latest match scores for the ice hockey leagues.
— SCA Petrograd - Dalynegorskiy Shakhter, 5-6
The room buzzed with excitement and disappointment.
— Can you believe it? The miners bet the army! — a young officer from the city in question exclaimed — My brother plays for that team! Gotta get him a drink sometime.
The room quietened down once more and the burly man continued
— SKF Novosergeevsk - Renskiy Metalurg 5...
Suddenly, a siren wept above. The young officer who previously boasted about his brother looked up at his screen:
— Multiple missile launches detected!! Origin - Rome!
The other officers quickly threw away their books and newspapers and returned to their posts. The mood because sombre and heavy
— 28 missiles are being tracked
The commander of the unit stormed out from his office:
— Where are they going? Where?
— Just a moment comrade colonel, we are still calculating their trajectory.
— All done - the target, Harren.
— Harren?! ... Mayakovsky, immediately contact the high command and have them inform the expeditionary force. This is not a drill.

Slavacian 1st Expeditionary Force Headquarters, Kalites, Harren, several minutes before the strike
A buzzer rang in the Slavacian expeditionary command center - this was a priority message, the communications officer on-duty drew out the paper from the printer - still fresh and warm from printing. He glanced at it and froze. The message read:

Code: Select all: URGENT, SECRET TO: THE CURRENT RANKING OFFICER IN THE HEADQUARTERS OF THE 1ST SLAVACIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE A NUCLEAR ATTACK HAS BEEN LAUNCHED AGAINST YOUR LOCATION. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. IF THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE, ALL ARE ADVISED TO SEEK SHELTER IN A CLASS-5 BUNKER AND HIGHER. GOD IS WITH US, GENERAL STAFF OF THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GREATER SLAVACIA

The communications officer picked up the paper and ran to the commanders office - shaking and white in the face.

Approach to Momoe, I-41 fighter aircraft, same time

Two Slavacian I-41 fighters

— This is Almaz, distance to target - 15km, no hostile air activity detected
The voice in the headphones sounded almost clear, but still he couldn't exactly call it perfect either. Ever since the start of the operation, there has been heavy static on short range communications
— Copy Almaz
The captain glanced at the clock in his cockpit, they were several minutes ahead of schedule. Good he thought Be back home in time for lunch. Suddenly, a voice came over the radio. Even through the static, he could tell that it was shaken and worried.
— 101st, this is Almaz, I repeat, this is Almaz
— Copy you Almaz, what's wrong?
— We have just received word from base, there have been several nuclear launches towards our positions. Your orders are to try to intercept them, while the transports are ordered to head out to sea with the closest possible route. We are receiving targeting information and are relaying it to you currently. Tactical intercept details are at your discretion, God, save our sinful souls.
— Squadrons! Nuclear alert, I repeat nuclear alert. Cargo aircraft, head bearing 181, maximum speed. Fighter aircraft, prepare for missile interception. Targeting computer is calculating the optimal assault trajectory. Follow it's instructions. Good luck everybody.
With that, he slammed his afterburners to full and raised the nose of his aircraft up, towards the zenith.

Slavacian 1st Expeditionary Force Headquarters, Kalites, Harren, 1 minute before detonation
Major-General Vasiliy Spitsyn was standing outside the building smoking a cigarette, he was reflecting on his life. 56 years is not too short for a soldier. Shame I can't say goodbye to the kids and wife. Also a shame that his staff wouldn't have time to escape. He could hear their frantic running and muffled yells. He turned his face towards the warm ocean breeze. Lucky people, the Harennites, being born in the very south of Slavacia, he grew up in the bitter cold of Slavacian winters. Here, the air was warm ans scented with the smell of flours. The General finished his cigarette and squashed it with his boot. He looked at his watch and then to the sky. What he saw exceeded his expectation. Hundreds of white lines shot towards the sky, some ending their path in a distant fireball. The sight was mesmerizing, the general watched, without realizing that he was saved and that he would in fact be back to see his kids.

Skies above Momoe, 2 minutes following missile intercept.
— This is Almaz, I don't know how you did it, but the radar is clear. I've sent the callback signal to the transports, the order still stands. Capture Momoe. Any fighter that has cannon ammunition or anti-ground weaponry is to begin clearing the site for the assault. The ground attackers are RTB and will be here in 40 minutes. Any fighters that still have air-to-air missiles and fuel are to barrage in the area and provide aerial superiority, any one who has no AA missiles or low fuel, RTB immediately.

First paratroopers landing to secure the
site.

And so, hundreds of IFVs, tanks and APCs began falling from their aircraft onto the town bellow, the sky painted white from parachutes and aircraft smoke. With the first parties on the ground, they began securing the landing area for the heavier vehicles and infantry, to regroup and finally liberate Momoe from tyranny.

by **Journey Collective** » Mon Feb 11, 2019 7:38 am

“One~
Two~
Three~”

It was a calm and beautiful day. Everyone was enjoying the peace and freedom from war they had found on the island. Journey was nearby, but not interfering with anyone at all. Life seemingly couldn’t get better.
Johnny was running along a path, his bare feet flying beneath his body and carrying him at a high speed. Behind Johnny was Brian holding two water balloons, and a wet shirt. Sarah was sweeping the kitchen with a bristly broom, pushing dirt out through the door. Hubert was on his way home after being called in for a late shift, he was tired after working all night.

“If you close~
The door~
The night~
Could last~
Forever~”

Ural was digging a ditch, setting up an irrigation channel for his farm. Yani was too young to properly help his father, the ditch digger, but he was watching the man work anyway. Beatrice was sitting at home, reading a favorite book “The Network.” Thomas was lost and wandering the small forest, or perhaps he was not lost and wondering about the world.

“All the people are dancing~
They’re having such fun~
I Wish It Could Happen To Me.”

Journey watched the new community silently. An ever present gaze hung towards the experiment, the precious children of war. It knew. They knew. Peace could not last. Peace was not long for this world.

“But if you close~
The door~
I’d never have to see the day again~”

The product of hate and confusion was unleashed upon them once again. The pain of the sun shone upon their shores. There was no time for warning. No time for escape. No one was left. The island of Kos, then the island of Tsuru, now known as Hate, is a permanent scar upon the world.

There was a stunned silence which washed over the Friendlies, the Collectivists, the Divers. There was the anticipation of hearing the song of Tsuru once again. There was only silence. It was the first time, since ancient days, that an entire community vanished in an instant.

[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

We come in peace; visiting the neighbors

The Saviours of Harren

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