As the Poppies Bloom (TWI ONLY | IC)

[Belle Ilse en Terre]

Belle Île, Belle Ilse en Terre
Several Days Earlier
Sir Jean d’Arnaud was sitting in his drawing room, in the late afternoon, reading a novel. He had been leading an irresolute life; crime had been less common, and he found politics simultaneously dull and disgraceful. He had hosted a tournament, and it had brought distraction and engagement for a time, but now it was over, and his manor still bore the effects of the revelry, and so he was surrounded by dirty furniture, cloth-cloaked paintings, and the unpleasant mix of cleaning odours and dusty smells, wafting lazily around him. He needed something new.
Frédéric, his chief servant, entered. “Sir, Lord Edouard conveys his desire for your immediate presence on his manor.”
Sir Jean looked towards Frédéric, and then he looked away, pondering the blind request. “Were you able to understand the urgent nature of the request?” asked Sir Jean half sarcastically and half seriously, coming off a bit sharper than anticipated. Lord Edouard was old, at least by Ilsan standards, and his brains were a bit addled.
“It appears that ‘our brothers’ are in terrible danger, to quote his Lordship, Sir. I was not able to get more out of him as of now... Sir.”
Sir Jean scoffed at the word brother, and the far variance of the supposed danger. If it was truly serious... but the king was being manageable, and mostly reasonable, San Jiminez was fine; Miklania was as strong as ever. Perhaps Athara Magarat had... He lost his thought. Perhaps his car had been aggressively overtaken on the road, or some former serf had advertised his new condition a little much; the Lord was used to the old way of doing things, which Sir Jean respected, and made his duty to come more manageable.
“Prepare my car, I suppose, and maybe the Lord Edouard will tell us.”
“Yes sir.”

---

His Lordship Edouard de Chappelle was seated in a high chair at the end of his great hall, his wife to his right, and his eldest son standing off to the left. A large number of knights and upper clergy filled the hall, and a few merchants were clumped together at the end, being of a lower class. Having been announced by a liveried footman, Sir Jean entered with only Frédéric in his train. He went direct to the throne and bowed before his Lord, and after a few pleasantries, he took his place among Lord Edouard’s assembled knights. His Lordship Edouard had made clear that he would wait until all of his vassals he deemed necessary arrived to share of the venture. Thankfully, it was a brief wait ere the remaining people came. Lord Edouard stood up, faltered, rasped out a few words, and sat fell down back into his seat. His son stepped forth, and assumed a position at the head of the room.
“My father, as you may know, has been close to death for some time, and for his many sins, which he has long considered, and his promised further the cause of Christ wherever he may he made in his youth has come to mind. He is running out of time and strength to fulfill that promise.
Observing the heathen invasion of San Javier, and being ill fit to campaign, he summons all of you to fight the heathen; a boat has been prepared, he only needs a loan to secure its payment, and some weapons are ready, to be delivered to the government of San Javier, as his dying wish. He has elected Sir Jean d’Arnaud to lead also a company of soldiers who can assist the Javieran government directly. He has also elected the venerable Father Jacques to provide spiritual guidance, and to act as Lord Edouard’s Ambassador.
After prayer and counsel, my father has received approval from our King-in-Exile, King Armand II, and his blessing, and God’s lies with all of you. God-speed, and may you be victorious.”

---

The BdCS Equus, a small freighter, lay at Port de Belle Île, and in the bridge, Sir d’Arnaud, Father Jacques, and Sir Laurence Surrey, a young hot-headed veteran of the Tolbert insurrection and Lortik War, convened.
Sir Jean began. “I see the ship will be readied within a few hours, and I assume our captain has plotted our course?”
“I have been talking to him, and he has assured me the young Lord de Chappelle has arranged for the port of call to be Castillo Verde; the southern coast seems to be patrolled by the Mênnans,” responded Father Jacques.
“So the young lord has decided not to come prove himself with us?” smirked Sir Laurence.
“No, he of course must manage the estate in his father’s decline,” said Sir Jean with a half-smile, not sure himself whether he was being ironic or serious.
“Naturally.”
“Gentlemen,” asked the priest, “I am sure his son is detained only by the strong affection for his father. What else could hold him back?”
Sir Jean and Sir Laurence exchanged a glance, nodded, and departed the bridge.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Agustin, San Javier
12 March, 1200
Corporal Perce Achterkamp, 2nd Squad, 1st Platoon, Able Company, 17th Airborne

An hour had passed for Perce since landing in Agustin and things had certainly been less quiet than expected. They landed on the house of a cartel member and his family and had only managed to fix up his chute and get his gear ready when the man, a burly looking piece of work who spoke nothing more than Spanish rushed out to the balcony armed with his rifle ready to blast at the Doraltic soldiers on top. It was fortunate that another corporal, Laetitia Favre, to which he was mildly disappointed to not share relations with the Favre political family, got a shot off first. The corpse of that intimidating man tumbled down the other roofs in the area, followed by the howl that was a wife losing her husband right in front of her face.

The squad quickly moved on from there, down the roof and through a few alleyways to connect with the rest of their platoon, who had been met with another squad of cartel members and had been stuck in a firefight for a few minutes now. As his squad moved through the city, sounds of more combat began to erupt as more and more people began to fight. Although the terrain of the favela could be considered impassable even on foot, it meant that vehicles would never be able to climb up and take on the brunt of the Doraltic forces. The few unfortunate souls sent further down the cliff and into more open areas of the city would have a harder time when the technicals came down the road, but at the same time, it is also those same unfortunate souls that had the heavier weapons, evening out the difference to some degree.

By the time 2nd Squad linked up with 3rd Squad, the fight intensified to include a few automatic weapons on both sides. “There’s going to be a lot of civilians in the cross-fire.”, he mentioned, to which Snijder responded quickly and plainly, “Then watch your shots, kid. This is war.” The fight continued for a while longer until they were granted permission to use grenades by their superiors, who were aboard the Union to ensure they could keep a close track of the situation.

Using grenades to flush out the Javerians was a risky ploy, it put plenty of civilians at risk of either the explosion or the fragmentation itself but it was either that or keep wasting precious bullets trying to score one good hit or two. With few other options, one of the grenadiers armed his underslung grenade launcher and sent a grenade into the shack where the opposing squad had dug in. Seconds later, the shack and some of the concrete around it had been blown entirely away, with body parts and blood splattering around. Those that survived the grenade scattered back into the favelas and continued to taunt and fight the Doraltic troops. This would be the standard practice for most of the afternoon, with most of the Anliana forces retreating towards the remains of what seemed to be a palace. It looked old and battle worn, some of the soldiers there remembered hearing an attack Covish troops made on the same building back in 2016, during their brief raid on the city. Whoever occupied it now did not immediately matter to them, but the palace looked like it would be an effective base. For the moment, however, penetrating it would not be feasible without heavy weapons and vehicles, and it would be almost impossible to get anything of considerable firepower into the city even if they tried.

By around 1400, the city had begun to considerably calm down, with most of the cartel in the city behind their walls in the palace, leaving panicked civilians armed to the teeth for them to secure. Perce and 2nd Squad had begun to patrol a few segments of the vast forest of favelas that disguised itself as a city, occasionally beating up a civilian that tried to assault them or killing a cartel member caught outside their palace. The fighting would persist for a while, everybody knew that, but for now, people could rest, eat, or otherwise calm down a bit before the next surprise comes at them from an alleyway that appeared too thin for a person to walk through.

Some civilians went about their daily lives as things calmed, markets opened up and people walked the streets freely, though giving as wide a berth as possible to the armed professional soldiers that now occupied their cities, some women offered their bodies to the Doraltic but ultimately the professionalism of 2nd Squad held out as they continued their patrol.

No reports of reinforcements came in until 2050, when a fireteam near the edge of the city spotted more technicals and a few lorries making their way across the winding road from the northwest, springing all Doraltic forces in the city to high alert. If the first fight wasn’t bad enough, this was likely to be worse.

---

URS Union, International Waters Near San Javier
12 March, 1500
Major Constantin Steffen, 1st Battalion, 17th Airborne Regiment, 5th Airborne Division

The lack of sunlight was starting to get to Steffen not even a few days aboard the Union, where he began to question the decision of heading here rather than going straight to Shuhakallu and meet with the Miklanians and Mennans. Regardless, he stayed put and coordinated the operation in Agustin as best he could.

From where he was, the operation was going well, Doraltic forces made strong headways in the city and towards the small port at the bottom of the cliff that would be commandeered for use by the navy once they arrived. The rest of the command staff of both his force and that of the Union were abuzz throughout this time as they continued to coordinate their efforts and communicate with both the Mennans and Miklanians on their situation, making both well aware of the situation and setting up a meeting in San Javier itself to hammer out an arrangement about the future of this ‘war’.

Even though he would technically be the lowest ranked commander among them, Steffen was confident that he could command the growing clout of his military to establish himself as a significant member of the operation, and would do everything in his power to emphasize Dormill and Stiura’s contributions therein. The Union was still quite a while away when he go the call from Miklania that Colonel Gavin, Prince-General Mipax Sul, and Prince-Admiral Shala were ready to meet in the command tent near the Mennan beachhead. Although it would take an hour or two to get there by helicopter, Steffen wasted nearly no time at all gathering his staff and preparing a VA.10 to head out and meet with them. As he walked on the flight deck of the Union, he couldn’t help but to think to himself as he boarded the tiltrotor, I hope that any tardiness is the least of my concerns. In a few moments later, he and the most important men in his command staff had taken off and were bound towards the delta of Rio Del Rosario.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Agustin, San Javier
12 March, 2105
Corporal Perce Achterkamp, 2nd Squad, 1st Platoon, Able Company, 17th Airborne

It only took fifteen minutes for the fighting to intensify to conditions much worse than the day before, and that was notwithstanding the annoyance that was trying to fight at night to begin with. It was a common rumor in the army that the frontrunners of military technology such as the Alterans failed to make reasonably sized or even remotely wearable night vision equipment. Unfortunately, these kinds of things are too expensive in any case, so the decision the three companies made were to make liberal use of flares where they could.

Most of the lights in the city were off either due to people wanting to stay out of the fight or were cut off from power as the fighting overtook more of the city, but there is only so much that can be done with just around 300 soldiers taking on a stronghold of one of the most significant cartels in all of San Javier. Everybody including Perce knew that if the Navy did not arrive soon, they would be forced out as the enemy built up more and more reinforcements, the forwardmost elements of the Doralitc invasion force suggested that the Anlianas were already matching them in manpower, and were bound to start outnumbering them before the break of dawn.

That was not to additionally mention the fact that there were still sections of the city not under control of Doraltic forces, either due to the thinly spread nature of the force present or that the enemy had actually managed to reinforce their positions in the city hall and the nearby radio station, where the Anlianas had been shooting out at anybody dumb enough to try and challenge the position, giving the Anlianas a perfect rally point near the more flat parts of the city to head to. The more that came, the harder the job became for the Doraltic forces there.

Fresh from yet another firefight and caked in soot and blood, 2nd Squad took a few moments to rest in an abandoned house overlooking a position held by the rest of the platoon.

“How’s that for a first drop kid?”, Sergeant Snijder asked, gnawing on some jerky that he saved from his MRE. A long sigh emanated from Perce before he responded, a mix of exhaustion both physical and mental, “I’ll chalk that up under ‘Unexpected’, sir.”

Snijder chuckled as he ate, looking down into the city, “Yeah, we all say that after our first jump.”

“What was yours?”, Perce asked, perked up with intrigue.

“Tempel, 2003.”, he began, recounting some of the last moments of the Central Gael War on Terror, “I was sent in with the rest of Able to take down a terror cell that had been hiding somewhere in the city. You were probably too young to remember that operation. They dug themselves in deep and were well armed, the old gates and towers were manned and no land unit could get in. And when Baimjedia failed to act for themselves, President Dreher ordered our unit directly to handle them by whatever means necessary. At least short of bombing one of our own cities that was.”

As the rest of the squad came around to listen, Snijder continued his story, “We went in just before dawn on 9th July, we had to circle around the mountain and come in from the south since intel reported the concentration of AA was along the northern approach. Nobody sought to remind us that morning that they moved some of it right over our flight path. I was about a few hundred meters down when our plane was struck. We were all lucky that we made it out but devastated for the pilots …”

As he continued his story, the radio chimed in with some good news for the night, “All Companies, this is Major Steffen. We have confirmed reports that Agustin Port is secured, the Union and her marines will be on station by morning. Hold out for the night, air support is available.”

“I guess I can save the rest of it for later. Get me the Captain.”, Snijder interjected, grabbing the radio from Favre. After a few moments of talking, the orders came in clear for the squad. “Alright kids, we’re Oscar Mike in five. We’re going to group up with the rest of the Platoon and take that radio station.”

[Wellsia]

Puerto Polo, San Javier
General 2nd class Frederick Conningham stood on the tallest building in the little port watching as his staff turned the port into a base for the brigade. The flat roof of the three story building was covered with radio antenna and dishes. Even thought he would soon be joining the brigade at Castello Verde, this building would be his eyes and ears for the whole island. So far things were going to easy, the 10th Battalion was moving through Santa Anna along the road toward Constantine, the 9th Battalion was in the process of heading to the same town by rail and already had troops in Constantine, and had even sent a Mi'at on to Pueblo Ignacia.
Reports were the Doraltics had launched an air borne attack on Puerto Agustin, but the 11th battalion would take care of that.
What bothered him the most, was what was Sul Mipax doing, it had been over a week since the attack at the mouth of the Rio Del Rosario, he had expected them to move fast on Pueblo Ignacia, but they still they set on the coast. Well if they wanted to give him the initiative, who was he not to take it.

Pueblo Ignacio, San Javier
Casey Oswald and Wallace Ponsonby stood looking out over the flat marshy land between the village and the River, the Rio Del Rosario was between a kilometer and two away, the area would be a perfect killing field, and Oswald felt sorry for any one that tried to cross it. Against militia, they might stand a chance, but against the machine guns and mortars that the Wellsians had, if would be a slaughter.
Against any other army, I would expect the attack from the river to be a feint, but the Menna, they usually stick to one thing and if it works it works and if it doesn't, then they regroup and do it again.
"Wallace, this could be it, we break them here and the war is over."
"Yeah, but I would sleep a lot better it the rest of the Battalion was here.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Agustin, San Javier
13 March, 0030
Corporal Perce Achterkamp, 2nd Squad, 1st Platoon, Able Company, 17th Airborne

When the task of simply regrouping is asking for death, it would be easy to suggest that the entire operation is going tits up, but that’s just how things were in Agustin, either because of the terrain that had a tendency to just stop at abrupt palaces or the continued and growing presence of Anlianas that had begun to flood the city with rocket launchers, heavy machine guns, and other nasty tools that made life for the men and women on the ground that decided to fight them just that much harder. Regardless, 1st Platoon successfully assembled around half a kilometer from the radio station that was still being used by Anlianas forces as a rallying point. It represented one of the last strong points in the city that had yet to fall into Doraltic control. And even though air support was available, the most they had were Jarofalkens that could be on station soon enough to make a difference. Helicopters would take too long and indiscriminate bombing of Agustin was not an option any commander wanted to take. And so it would be yet another infantry fight Perce would have to go through.

After getting a quick moment to relax by the Lieutenant, the entire platoon started to move out again. In the minutes before the attack, Perce took the time to check on his ammo, he was starting to run dry and this fight would be an expensive one. He had two magazines left for his FS-71/10D and three more for his Five-Seven pistol. It took some mental math to figure the situation out that he would have to be very conservative with his ammo usage and even more deliberate about where he placed his shots. He noticed his other squadmates doing the same, and guessed that they were all in a similar situation of ammo conservation as he was.

The Agustin Central News Station was a 5 story tall tower that stood in the middle of a large downtown business park, from the northeast where his platoon was coming in from, they would have to possibly fight their way through two other office buildings before getting to the radio station itself, and even then it would be a whole different fight to secure the station itself and hold out for reinforcements. Between the prior mentioned buildings and the station itself was a section of open greenery right in front of the main entrance to the station. Any sane tactician would have guns all over the place in both the adjacent buildings and the radio station with so many lines of overlapping fire that anything caught in it would be slaughtered from all sides. Being interested in not being so decisively killed, the Lieutenant decided on an otherwise normal strategy to deal with the situation. Squads 1 and 3 will take care of the two other buildings while Squad 2 took point and went after the radio station itself after they cleared things up. When the platoon got significantly closer, and after a few moments of scanning the area and trying to figure out where any hostiles were before the two other squads entered the building.

2nd Squad was posted up on the ground floor of an already empty shop where they could provide limited overwatch for the other squads, but it did give them a quick way to get to the radio station without exposing themselves. While they waited, Perce noticed how quiet things were in the area, he couldn’t even hear the distant fighting near the edge of the edge of the city where most Anlianas reinforcements were coming in from. It was an unnerving feeling at the very least, but he didn’t question it initially, even the lack of gunfire in either of the buildings that the other squads went in.

Then the explosion went off.

In just a few moments, the entirety of 1st Squad’s building was reduced to fire and rubble as everybody else realized the extent of the ambush. Sargent Snijder quickly took over the situation, barking into his radio to confirm the status of 3rd Squad, who were fortunately unharmed by the explosion but had dedicated themselves to figuring out if their building was equally at risk. Given that, Sargent Snijder made his next orders exceptionally clear.

“Squad!”, he yelled, “We’ve got to give 3rd Squad enough time to clear their building. We have to rush the station! Achterkamp, Favre, take point. We’ll be right behind!”

And with that, 2nd Squad rushed out from the old shop and sprinted for the entrance to the radio station, but were stopped when Favre was hit with a bullet square in the chest, throwing her onto her back. Perce was shocked at that sight but couldn’t stay standing, so he quickly dove towards a piece of cover right beside him.

He looked back for a moment to see Favre still writhing on the ground, alive but probably badly hurt from that gunshot. In response, one of the automatic riflemen in the squad began to open fire on the hole the sniper made in the window of the station, to which was responded by even more gunfire from the building as the firefight began to spiral out of control. With 1st Squad seemingly wiped out and 3rd Squad still trying to secure their positions, the entire platoon was essentially pinned down at the entrance to the radio station and at the mercy of the Anlianas that were inside and firing down upon them.

---

After a few moments of emptying magazines into the radio station, Perce managed to gain enough courage to run up towards the doors, breaking the glass with the stock of his rifle and creating an entrance for the rest of the squad, trying his best to clear the room while the rest of the squad collected Favre and followed him inside. Fortunately for her, the bullet lodged itself in her sternum, and was relatively easy to remove and dress up, which would at least ensure that she would survive. The squad’s medic elected to stay with her and make sure she got out in the end, prompting the rest of the squad to start clearing the building.

The fighting would only intensify as the squad marched further up the the radio station, with each floor being covered in bullet casings and dead Anlianas that had the misfortune of getting in the way of the squad, but soon enough after plenty of fighting, the radio station was secure. 3rd Squad came in several moments earlier after securing their building, it was still wired to blow but it seemed like the detonator failed to communicate properly, making the bombs in their building not detonate.

The next thing Perce heard as the remains of 1st Platoon rested in the lobby of the radio station was the sound of jet engines followed by the unmistakable sound of an airstrike, followed by radio chatter regarding it from the edge of the town. It appeared that the Union had bombed incoming reinforcements just before a bridge that another company was holding on to.

“Achterkamp,” Sargent Snijder began, tending to Favre as he spoke, “Go get some rest kid, you’ve got third watch at 0500.” He noticed the Corporal's eyes glance past him to the woman at his side, “She’ll be fine. Armor took most of the energy and her sternum took the rest, seems like a fracture but nothing that would be too dangerous. You did good taking point up there today, kid. You might have a place with us yet.”

“Thank you, sir.” Perce responded, saluting his commander and heading out to one of the cleaner rooms in the radio station where other members of the platoon were fast asleep already, where he laid out a small cot and sat on it for a while, contemplating the day and the fighting that ensued, before dozing off to sleep under the noise of light gunfire that woke the rest of the city up for the rest of the night.

[Thuzbekistan]

3-14-19
400km North of Townside

The whirl of the wind was the only sound as the soft morning breeze blew across the deck of the TSS Ashluv. It was a clear day, unusual for the time of year this far west of the Eterna. While Ercan enjoyed it, it was hardly enough to take the rather slow movement of the fleet off his mind. They had set out on the eighth, then told to hold place in the South Eterna while they awaited the response of other nations to the Prime Minister's call for a coalition. So far, there was none besides Dothrakia, who was set to join them as they got closer to San Javier. Athara Magarat had allowed the use of a port, but their distance from the Javerians was beyond useless. Ercan grumbled and pulled out a cigarette, struggling to light it as the breeze turned to a gust but for a moment. He grumbled, and tried again. Just as he was about to light it, the unmistakable sound of the ships Red Alert sirens made him jump.

In an instant, men scrambled across the carrier and the admiral watched as two Harut-U fighters were rolled onto the runway. But before the pilots could even make it out to the jets, the Admiral was running back towards the bridge. As he burst through the doors without touching them, a young officer saluted, his hand still other hand still on the door handle.

"Admiral on the bridge!"

Everyone jumped up to salute him, but were stopped with a quick "as you were" from Ercan as he marched straight up to the Captain. "Captain, what's going on?"

"One of our Corvettes, the Barlow, just had an incident with a Doraltik Frigate, sir."

"What kind of incident?" He asked quickly as he grabbed a report printing off and began scanning it furiously.

The Captain pointed to the digital map plotting the movements of several vessels. "We know they've been shadowing us for some time, but the Barlow just had to fire warning shots in what appeared to be an attempt to direct her off course. The Doraltik frigate nearly rammed her, but both averted at the last second."

"Damn," he breathed. "Contact the Dothrakian fleet and Ashluv. Tell them the Doraltik vessels may be hostile and ask for guidance."

"Yes, Admiral."

[Miklania]

The Navy would provide the ships, but the Army would have to provide its own helicopters. That was the arrangement. As a result, the LPD was packed full of Army Chinooks from 2nd Battalion, 9th Combat Aviation Brigade, 27th Infantry Division (Light). Colonel Michael Gavin had never been airsick before, but the glorified boat ride had not been pleasant for him. He was more than happy to be off the ship and in the air, on the way to solid land. The Marines could keep their job, as far as he was concerned. He would finally be meeting this "Prince-General" that had been put in charge of the Mennan operation. He hadn't even had the opportunity to talk to him over the phone before now. The man was a political appointment, apparently set in charge of the whole invading army by his mother, a powerful politician. He had been warned about that in his briefing papers. He had been mentally preparing himself to deal with a rich spoiled brat who didn't know a thing about what he was supposed to be doing. He was only in his early 30s too. Gavin had risen smartly through the ranks, to obtain the rank of Colonel and command of a brigade by the ripe old age of 47. This Prince-General Sul was at least leading from the front. Or at least from the same theatre.

The big helicopter flared to slow down and make it's landing. Colonel Gavin closed his field laptop and got his pack ready to move. The enormous cabin, big enough to hold a platoon with all it's gear, seemed empty with only a few members of his headquarters and a short, balding man. The ramp had been kept down the entire flight, but had been facing out to sea until just now. The smell of salt was replaced by a pungent odor of dead and decaying plants and fish. The silty beach stretched before them as they touched down, the ground beneath them making a disagreeable squelching sound under the wheels. The pilot kept the rotors turning, likely keeping some of the weight of the bird off the ground. Gavin held on to his horn-rimmed glasses and stepped off onto San Javier for the first time. The helicopter picked itself up and returned as soon as the crew chief reported the last passenger off. Without the rotorwash to keep things down, the smell only got worse. Fortunately, the Army mens' stomachs had recovered from seasickness, and they were able to put it aside and instead focus on the scene that lay before them. Tents sprawled across the beach and into the grass and swampy areas behind. They didn't look arrayed in any particular order, likely the locations were chosen based on the firmness of the ground. There were small tents for the rank and file, clusters of larger tents that were most likely for things like equipment that rated better conditions than people, and a large complex recognizable as a field hospital. It was quite busy looking. Mennan warriors all around who had been cleaning weapons, doing camp chores, or trying to relax were staring at the small delegation of fair-skinned soldiers. The Miklanians put on their confident faces and moved off the landing area with a purpose. A young man with officer's rank on his uniform moved forward to meet them.

"Colonel Gavin, I presume?" The young man asked.

"Indeed." He replied, offering his hand. The officer took it and shook with a firm grasp.

"Prince-General Hitap Mipax Sul is waiting, if you would please follow me." They did, and he lead them to one of the larger tents. Maps covered the folding tables set up inside. There were a few ruggedized laptops like Gavins set up on one side, as well as multiple radios on the other. News streams were being played on the computers, while the radio chatter was contained inside the headphones of the operators. Overall not a bad setup, the Mennans were certainly making a better first impression than they had expected. The man in the center of it all was wearing a colorful sash and seemed about the right age for the Prince-General. He looked up as his aide and the Miklanian officers entered. He looked tired and exasperated. Not what Gavin had been expecting after reading the news reports and intelligence analyses of the Mennan Army reveling in their costly victories.

"Thank you Lieutenant." He said, his voice matching his appearance. "I wish to speak with your leader, Colonel Michael Gavin." Gavin stepped forward and offered his hand again.

"At your service, Prince-General Mipax." Sul hesitated for a split second then shook as firmly as his aide had before. A large woman seated in the back of the tent was watching them with rapt attention, while the others in the headquarters made a show of minding their own business.

"Colonel I am very glad to have you with us." He sounded sincere, almost relieved. That was surprising. The Menna were supposed to be a proud and nationalistic bunch. "I have been drafting a plan for the taking of the next town. Would you like to look over it with me?" The Prince-General was right to the point. Gavin threw out the last of his preconceived notions. Reality was turning out to be very different.

"Absolutely sir." Sul cocked an eyebrow slightly at 'sir' but didn't say anything. The men turned their attention to the map. Sul began to spoke softly, as if he was afraid of being overheard. "This is the town of Pueblo Ignacio. It is the next step in our campaign. It will be a much more difficult position to take than many of the ones we have been through so far. And we have taken unacceptable casualties in those actions." Sul looked up to gauge the Colonel's reaction. He was surprised but didn't show it. Sul went back to the map. "The town itself is not that large, but it is surrounded by flood plains on one side, orchards and vineyards on the others, which must be crossed to reach it. There is a wall around part of the town, but it is small in size and extent, and not reinforced, so it should be a non-factor. A single road runs east to west, which we do not yet have full control over. There is a church tower here that overlooks everything for miles around. Based on our experiences thus far, it is sure to be well fortified and stocked with enough supplies for snipers or machineguns to hold out for days." He stopped again to look for a reaction. Colonel Gavin continued to look at the map, not betraying any emotion. "The plan that has been devised by my colleague Prince-Admiral Shala has us conducting little more than a frontal assault on the town." He spoke even more softly. "I do not believe this plan to be wise." A dramatic pause. "What are your views, Colonel?"

Gavin had been studying a similar map of the area for some days now. Red grease pencil marks showed three groups moving in from the west northwest, along the road from that direction. The center force moved straight in along the road, while the flanks did very little in the way of flanking. A frontal assault was an unwise plan, but not knowing the details of the plan, and having discovered that he knew exactly nothing about what was going on in the Mennan hierarchy, he hedged his reply. "What do you have in mind?"

Sul sighed. He recognized what was happening. He had seen it many times before in his home's politics. The two men were unwilling to state their true opinions until they knew what the other's were. The man in front of him was difficult to read. He was shorter than Sul and most other people in the room, including his own men. With his grey receding hairline and large conservatively styled glasses Sul could see him more as a geology professor than a military leader. But the moment he had heard the name of who he would be working with he had looked him up. He could not find much describing the man, just an official profile with an official photo listing his CV in dull language. The only thing interesting he had found were several articles the man had written for his Army's professional journal. Mostly they had to do with experimental exercises with different arrangements of motorized infantry.
He had read them between tactical updates on his flight out to San Javier. He found some parts of them interesting, but was unable to come away with anything concrete about tactics or the author. He was fairly articulate and seemed competent, but as Sul had been learning over the past few weeks, high office, theories about how wars should work, and actual competence did not always go together. Sul decided to break the impasse. The new arrivals had the firepower and logistics he needed to fight the war his way. If he couldn't trust them, the Grand Army was doomed to repeat the same costly battles it had already fought. "I believe we should split the attacking forces and take them from multiple directions at once." He pulled out a new map. This one showed a force moving along the road to the east as well. "If we send a group to attack this road from the east, we can cut off potential reinforcements, and gain control over the routes in and out of the city. The soft, hilly terrain and dense vegetation makes moving anything off-road very difficult. The main attack force can then move in with more confidence, and the eastern force can move to outflank the enemy strong points to split their fire if it comes to that."

Colonel Gavin paused to think before replying. What was he learning about this man? He was glad to have the foreigners there, he was not in agreement with the plan that some admiral had come up with, and had just explained, and actually justified to him, pretty obvious military tactics. Did he want affirmation? He was young for a man with such responsibility, and did not seem that experienced in the field. Gavin was still piecing together what was happening behind the scenes, but it struck him that the Prince-General did not seem to be in command. He may be in charge, but he didn't exude the feeling of control that Gavin was used to. His body language, his speech, it all said that he was focused inwards. The world around him, including the other people in this room, were acting on him. And now he was talking to a man whose position he didn't know at all. Well, it was a good plan...

"I agree, sir." The relief on the young general's face was visible. He quickly recovered control of his countenance, however. Gavin took another look at the second map. "It seems that the eastern force is going to have to move through some rough terrain to get to their first objective."

"Yes, that will take some time to do properly. I estimate seven hours for a group that size to move from this point to the primary objective without getting ambushed or worn out." Gavin concurred with the assessment.

"We could use my men and helicopters to cut time off the plan." It would be better for the eastern force to make it to their objective before the western force, rather than vice-versa. This plan had the ETAs rather close together. He pointed this out, and the two happily discussed the details of the plan for several minutes before another Mennan officer entered the tent. Sul turned around, seemingly surprised to see him. The man snapped to attention and saluted.

"Prince-General, Major Têtê wishes to inform you that he is commencing the attack."

"WHAT!?" Sul exclaimed, both confused and angry. "I didn't order that!" The officer seemed somewhat taken aback by the force of the reply, but he stood his ground.

"I am sorry Prince-General Mipax, the plan had the local commander attack when he saw an opening. Major Têtê was not informed that he was to suspend the plan."

"He knew damn well I wanted him to wait for my approval!"

"The forces have committed, it is too late to go back." Colonel Gavin was shocked at the man's near insubordination. His suspicion that General Mipax was not really in command was suddenly and horribly confirmed. The large woman in the background had stood up at some point, and had shifted her violent gaze to the messenger. Gavin wasn't sure if the man was safe standing where he was. Sul slammed his fist on the table, then gathered his thoughts. He stood back up and faced Gavin.

"Colonel Gavin, I want your men to take the eastern approach to the town now." There was a new confidence and sense of purpose in his voice.

He nodded in affirmation. "Yes sir." He turned to his S-3 officer, who had heard the command and was already working on it. With Sul's permission, he took his leave to coordinate his forces. As he exited the tent the regimental XO approached him.

"How'd the meeting go Mike? What's going on?"

"It was...informative. And we have a job to do."

[Menna Shuli]

Even from a distance, the village was clearly overflowing with people. Normally a town of little more than a couple hundred people, the population seemed to have doubled, with tents spilling from the rough boundaries of the roughly-maintained houses. The narrow roads were filled with people, and the vaguely-paved paths around the town rumbled with trucks and vehicles. Defensive fortifications had been erected facing the river, and the sounds of activity drifted even as far as the riverboats that were approaching up from the delta. There were still several kilometers between Amikiku's transport and the town, but she could already tell how fucked they were.

"Well, we're fucked," Pa said, echoing her thoughts. She glanced over to him. His bandaged hand was drumming a rhythm on his rifle. "That is a hell of a lot more people than we were expecting."

"That is a bunch of trained troops that have had time to dig in," said Shaka. "I'd say you're on the right path with the 'fucked' assessment."

Amikiku chewed her lower lip. The first riverboats were ahead of them, emerging from the slight tree cover of the thin jungle that followed this stretch of the river. As she watched them emerge, there was several long minutes of relative quiet, and then there was a dull pounding noise, a whistle, and a boom as a rocket sheered down from the church on the hill and smashed into the water a couple dozen meters ahead of the closest first boats. A few seconds later, a second rocket followed. This one struck the shore to the right of the front boat, the wake it caused barely noticable in the rough current of the spring floodwaters that were slowing the Mênnan procession.

"RPGs in the towers!" someone yelled, not that there was much that those of the troops in the riverboats could do. Amikiku glanced to her right at the accompanying soldiers on foot at the river's edge. At the distance they were at, there was little they could do, but at least they had a few armored vehicles that could act as mobile cover as they approached.

"Who the hell is that up there in the town with the Javis?" Shaka mused, despite the fire that was now coming down on the front of their attack. "Doesn't look like their regulars, does it?"

Pa scratched his chin. Some curled stubble was coming in on his cheeks. "No idea, too far away." He reached down to his hip and pulled out the pair of scratched binoculars he carried. He sighted up towards the town. "I think it's the same people who ambushed us on the river up in the church, but the others...huh..."

"What?" Amikiku asked.

"Wellsian, I think," Pa said. He handed the binoculars over to Amikiku, who glanced through.

She frowned. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"Well, fuck," said Shaka. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter to ignite his battered cigarette. "That's real bad news."

A rocket streamed down from the church, and for the first time it struck one of the riverboats. It was a glancing blow that was mostly turned away by the front armor of the vehicle, but as the explosion went off it ripped through the siding and the boat began to list sideways. Luckily, the soldiers within seemed fine, and the driver had the wherewithal to slow, turn aside, and ground the boat on the river's bank. As the soldiers within spilled out onto the shore, there was a distant rapport. Amikiku didn't see any of the men ahead drop, but she recognized that for a sharpshooter's shot. Of course. Standard Javieran procedure by this point. The whole journey up the river had been harried by attacks from the jungle with firebombs, concealed snipers and just all around bullshit.

"So we have a couple of kay upriver under that," Shaka said. "Then we have to cross a kilometer and a half up hill under even heavier fire."

He shook his head. Amikiku nodded. "Yeah," she said. "This is going to be a real shitshow."

Above and behind, she could hear the oncoming helicopters that were the battle's equivalent of air support coming in to start their jobs. The first IFVs and trucks had broken the tree cover to the right, followed by the soldiers on foot. The furthest boats ahead were pulling onto the shores to disgorge their troops. The Battle of Pueblo Ignacio was about to begin.

[Dothrakia]

Rear Admiral Gillian Lafayette sipped his coffee on the bridge of the DNS Poseidon as he overlooked the rest of the battlegroup. The Prince of Corellia was just off the starboard side, acting as the battlegroup defense coordinator for the rest of the carrier’s escorts. A little farther out the Dauntless, Invictus, and Enterprise Paladin Class Destroyers were stationed in a half circle around the carrier, prepared to engage any airborne threats that may come their way. Finally, completely circling the entire fleet were the frigates, Danae, Umber, Furious, Valor, Leander, Epoch, Zealous and Resolve. They had just linked up with a fleet replenishment ship, and were now steaming at full speed, hoping to link up with the Thuzbekistani Navy sometime in the next 12 hours.
Word had just come in from the Thuzbekistani Navy, a Doraltik frigate had just tried to ram a Thuzbeki corvette. Not unsurprising, he thought to himself, but still concerning never the less.
“Get another 2 birds in the air” he ordered. There were already 2 fighters on CAP at all times, but a little extra show of force couldn’t hurt, especially when it seemed like every other nation in the region had a bone to pick with San Javier. Their goal on this mission was peace. But if there was going to be a war, they'd be ready.

[Wellsia]

Capityan Hubert Eton looked at the boats coming up the river. As he stood there a RPG was launched from the church tower at the lead boat, a moment later a second fired as well. Eton smiled as he saw that General Sanjuro, the Javerian commander had placed men there. Father Riky Whitten, spoke in anger at Eton, "Capityan, I told you that the use of a holy place as a military stronghold would not be tolerated, I will pass this lack of respect on your part to my superiors, and I'm sure they will have a talk with yours. This sacrilegious attitude of yours will not be tolerated."
Eton turned and looked down in disgust at Whitten, "Priest, shut up, I don't care if you go whining to your superiors or not, those are Javerian soldiers in that church. If General Sanjuro and his men don't mind using their holy place as a fortress, who am I or even you to worry about, just go and pray and leave the fighting to those you know what they are doing."
Staffwatchmaster Kylr Thring looked at his commander. "Sir, we better get ready, this battle is about to start and when it does, we had better be ready. Have you studied their tactics and method of fighting, sir."
"What's there to study, they don't do nothing but run straight at our guns and die, this will be like shooting fish in a barrel."
"No, sir, it will not be, and if you want my opinion sir, you are a dumb ass, sir. The Menna's bread and butter offensive tactic is the human wave, and stopping it is not something done often and never done easy. They don't just run at you, they force you to spread your line to it will spread no more and then they will find it's weakness and exploit it, not try, but will. If you don't know what you're doing against the attack, they will sweep over you."
"Bah, you put to much credit in them Thring," I am a trained officer in the Imperial Wellsian Army, a graduate of the Imperial Academy, I don't need you telling me how to conduct a war, Sergeant. Now shut you mouth, and if you give me any more trouble I'll see you broken, you understand Staffwatchmaster, broken."
Thring bit his tongue, "Yes . Sir, what ever you say."
"Radioman, get me Steadholder Lawell, with 1st platoon, tell him I want Cassey Oswald and his section in ther Vineyard, I want him to keep watch on the river and let us know if they land men north of the town. I want him and the rest of his men here with me post haste, any delay in getting here will be considered an act of cowardice and I will deal with him as he deserves. You men will do as I say with out hesitation, you understand, I will not tolerate any sloth or argument. We will win this war here and now, and if you don't give me the victory I deserve, I will make each and everyone of you pay. Do you understand me, if we fail, it will not be my fault."

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
10:31
Pueblo Ignacio
Under fire from the town above, the Mênnan vessels began to pull ashore and the soldiers within began to cross the incline towards the town. Bullets tore down from the defenses of Pueblo Ignacio, mostly kicking up plumes of dirt from the red earth, but occassionally striking the hulls of the grounding boats or the soldiers who were disembarking from them and running up the hill. The distance was too far to make the defenders accurate or for most of the weapons to be in effective range, but the stray shot or lucky round was still useful against the front point of the Mênnan line. The rockets from the towers of the mission church still came down, joined by the more frequent concussive blasts of the sniper rifle, usually heard slightly after the shots themselves.

Amikiku's boat was angling towards the shore. Their were twelve of them on it. Of course there were Shaka and Pa, but the rest of her squad was there too. There was Matu, who had the distinction of being one of the rarest things in Mênna Shuli, a Catholic warrior. There was Old Lawa and Young Lawa, as well as Titushu, Aktitash, Kulat, Kunat and Mu. The commander of their unit was Sergeant Ikwu Ukanwê, who was the one steering the boat. Amikiku, scanning the shore and seeing the hellstorm that the troops were pushing through, made her way to the back of the boat and tapped the sergeant's shoulder.

"Sergeant," she shouted over the din of the boat's airmotor. He met her gaze.

"What is it, corporal?" he shouted back.

Amikiku pointed up the river. "Don't take us to shore yet! See that up there?"

The sergeant followed the gesture. Amikiku was pointing about five hundred meters upriver, to a point near a bend in the water. The floodwaters were rushing there, but just off the obvious rapids was a manmade wall of stone forming an artificial pond or tidepool off of the main body of the water. A local had obviously constructed it as a launch for his boat, and it likely would have made a nice, warm pool both for leisure and catching crayfish. There was a one-story boathouse of well-worn boards just off of it. None of the Mênna were pulling towards it for two reasons. Firstly, the rapids there were much faster, which would have slowed any bat pulling towards it. Secondly, the grade of the hill was much steeper, which would have made climbing it slower and harder.

However, the grade of the hill was also a huge benefit. The point where most of the boats were pulling up was clearly visible from the church. The grade of the hill further forward would act as cover against the fire from above until they were halfway to the town, limting the length of time a squad attacking from that point would be under attack. It was a slower, perhaps more physically taxing route, but it would cost them less in terms of blood. It also had the benefit of sheltering their boat, so that the enemy couldn't blow up their only means of retreat.

The sergeant nodded. "Good eye, corporal," he said, and adjusted course. They passed by the other landing zones and entered the swifter rapids, their speed decreasing markedly. The sergeant gunned the engine, their nose lifted, and they bounced heavily over the flood current and disappeared behind the rising hill, an explosive kicking up a plume of water in the river behind them.

It took several long minutes to reach the manmade pool. shaka and Young Lawa pulled out the emergency oars and probed the waters ahead of them as they moved in, all too aware of the boobytraps hat had damaged or sunk boats on the journey up the river. Thankfully, there were no explosives hidden just beneath the murky algae in the pool, nor were there any sharpened metal poles that could tear out the bottoms of their boats. They pulled to the side of the pool near the boathouse and cautiously disembarked.

Kulat, Mu and Young Lawa made their way over to the boathouse while the rest of the squad took up defensive positions, aiming up the steep hill. After a few minutes, the boathouse was cleared.

"Nothing inside but some old canoes and a workbench," Kulat reported. "One room, nowhere to hide."

The sergeant nodded. "Alright, let's move. Our goal's the church, if we can get there. Spread out to the north, make sure the rockets can't get any two of us at once and give the sniper's a hard time quickly adjusting their aim. Try to stick to cover once we reach the bend of the hill. We're not going to be able to communicate once we get up there, so this will be our fallback point if things go really bad or if any of you get injured. Pair off and keep within sight of your partner. If anyone gets to hurt to keep fighting, their partner drags them back here. Got it?"

There were words of assent.

The sergeant nodded. "Private Aktumak," he said, gesturing at Kunat, "you're with me. Keep to my left. I'll take the southernmost approach. Let's go."

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
10:39
Pueblo Ignacio
Amikiku's squad was ranged across the crest of the hill, lying on their stomachs and surveying the scene ahead of them. The graveyard was large, sprawling out from the rear of the church without a clear sense of order or maintenance. It may have surprised some to see a graveyard so large for a town so small, but the village was two hundred years old, and the last fifty of those had piled bodies on bodies. Most of the graves were marked by only wooden crosses or small stones. Others were marked with headstones in the western style. The whole thing had an air of pitiable decrepitude and a lack of care that made Amikiku's skin crawl. With no Law of Decipherability, the place had grown out of control, and weather had taken its toll on the graves. The Javis had no respect for the dead, it seemed.

On the other hand, the graves were useful. If the squad could clear the hundred or so meters to them without being caught under fire, they'd have fair cover from some of the stones, and the back side of the church would block line of sight from the towers. There were obstacles, however. While most of the Wellsians who seemed to occupy the village alongside the Javieran militia had moved south to fend off the main attack, a few still lingered. Among them were a few vehicles, technicals with weapons that could cause the squad massive problems. While the squad had yet to be noticed and the heavier weapons were in the narrow, unordered streets past the church, once the squad was spotted it would take only moments for them to clear the perimeter of the buildings and start mowing down Amikiku's squad.

She glanced in the direction of the sergeant. He had a hand held up, his right, and he waggled the two forefingers. Calm. The message was passed down the line by each soldier in turn. The sergeant's hand lowered and he shimmied backwards down the hill. Covered by the sound of gunfire and explosions to the south, whatever motions he made were unlikely to be noticed if they hadn't been already. He belly-crawled along the hillside to Amikiku's position.

"Corporal," he whispered.

"Yes, sergeant," she answered.

"You used to do savanna tours, yes?"

Amikiku nodded.

"You have experience with how rebels sometimes raid stalled convoys?"

She did. If a convoy out in the savanna stalled out, either accidentally or through deliberate malice, it was common to be hit by a band of rebels or bandits. Little difference there, really. A technique they often used was to send a small fighter, usually a child, to sneak in on the convoy and climb under the vehicles. They'd place explosives of some sort and sneak out before they went off. The most common way of doing it was to lodge grenades with strings attached to the pins in the undercarriage of the vehicle. As the raider crawled away, the strings would pull the pins and the grenades would blow out the undercarriage, usually totalling the vehicle. The cleverest ones would attach the string to the inside of an axle, so as the vehicle finally moved it would pull the pins and blow the whole thing sky high. Warlords sent kids because they were both small enough to fit under the vehicles easily and without being seen, and because they were disposable. It was incredibly easy to accidentally detonate whatever makeshift explosives were being used while under the vehicle, taking out the raider along with it.

She could see where this was going. Amikiku was all muscle, strong and tough as any soldier in the squad, but she was also shorter than any of them by a fair amount, and her muscle was wiry and thin, not bulky. It cut her silhouette down in comparison to any of them by a huge margin. If anyone in the squad could sneak into the square beyond the church and get explosives into the vehicles there, it was her.

She nodded. "You want me to place charges?"

"We don't have charges," the sergeant whispered. "We have grenades. And string. Worst case scenario, you throw them into the back of any vehicle you see if you get spotted. Best case, you're back to the graveyard before the things go off, giving us a chance to regroup with you while they're confused."

Amikiku thought that was a little inaccurate. The worst case scenario was that she got either spotted and shot down before she got halfway, or she got trapped under one of the vehicles while rigging the makeshift timers and they went off with her underneath.

No, she thought, the absolute worst would be if the rest of the squad got noticed and taken out before she even got back, and she was trapped somewhere in town, alone and surrounded by hostiles. That would be the worst.

Regardless, she had a job. It wasn't the Law to act the coward. She shrugged off as much of her bulky gear as possible without the sergeant even needing to ask her to do so. Meanwhile, he grabbed a trio of grenades and began tying string to the loops of their pins. He handed them over after a few moments and nodded towards the town.

"Go," he said, and Amikiku began crawling towards the graveyard with only her sidearm and three grenades for company.

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
10:40
Pueblo Ignacio
Amikiku wormed her way over the crest of the hill. She moved carefully, slowly, relying on her dark skin and the dried, red mud on her to cover her motion. Once she hit the tossed shadow of the cathedral, she came to her feet and darted in a low crouch to the first of the headstones of the graveyard. Covered by barely enough stone to hide her silhouette, she took a few moments to catch her breath and look back towards her squad. She was happy to see that the curve of the hill almost entirely hid them, even from her. Breathing a sigh of relief that, barring incredible bad luck, her squad would be fine in their current positions, she turned back to her mission.

Keeping low, she moved from headstone to low headstone. At one point, she stumbled on a weed-choked headstone the size of her head, likely put there for an infant or stillborn child. Regardless, she had tumbled forward, her elbow striking a nearby cross and cracking the rotted wood. The sound seemed explosive, and she sprinted for the cover of a crooked treestump which may have once been a beautiful shade tree. She could hear voices speaking Spanish off near the church, but a few moments later they faded. She breathed deep and checked her throbbing elbow. A shard of wood had sliced it a bit, but it was no more than a flesh wound and the blood was already slowing.

The rest of the way to the church's rear, she moved with smaller, more cautious steps. Finally, she reached the cracked stone and pressed her back against it. Off to her right, she could see the church's rear door, a wooden slab likely as old as the whole building and probably made to withstand seige. To her left was the southern end of the church and entrance to the town's streets. The rectory was also on that side, one of the tallest buildings in town aside from the church itself. The shutters were closed, though, and there was no sign of anyone within who might spot her. She expected that most of the towns noncombatants had probably locked themselves in their cellars or pantries and were waiting this shit out.

From above, there came a thump and Amikiku tracked a smoketrail as it etched through the air, over the town, and towards a helicopter to the east. The helicopter peeled sideways away from it and the rocket disappeared off to somewhere unseen. The helicopter doubled back, strafing unseen combatants below. The village blocked line of sight to the actual combat.

Amikiku edged towards the corner of the church and poked her head around. A path led between the church and the rectory to the cobbled streets of the town. Beyond, there was a main town square, with a worn old fountain that was empty of water and old, colonial buildings surrounding it. There were men in the square, although not as many as Amikiku had feared there would be. They seemed to be primarily Javis, dressed in hodgepodge as opposed to uniform. They carried old, battered rifles, for the most part, as well as a fair amount of automatic weapons with banana magazines. There turned out to only be a single technical idling in the square, with heavy machineguns mounted in its bed. There was a small group of Wellsians in command of the vehicle, practically respledent in their combat gear next to the more casual Javieran militia.

The men there seemed to be waiting, with the Wellsians clearly speaking with someone on the radio. Amikiku couldn't hear it clearly, and even if she could it was almost certain that she would not have understood. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. There were more men there than she had expected, but fewer vehicles. She thought, maybe, that the other ones she had seen had been pulled south to the battle. She could only hope that they weren't patrolling the streets, minutes away and ready to swoop in at the sound of an explosion in the square.

She waited until no eyes were in her direction, then crossed to the back side of the rectory. The new angle let her see the front side of a tavern with a flickering neon sign in its window stating that it was open, despite the battle going on just to the south. The widows were grimed with dirt, so Amikiku had to wonder whether there were actually locals inside, having a casual drink while an invasion flared around them. She supposed that if you ahd spent fifty years at war, you might take the chance to have a nice, last drink whenever you could.

There were rear windows on the rectory, and Amikiku had a sudden thought. She went to the nearest windows and jimmied the shutters with her fingertips. The room inside was a sparsely furnished living area, with a small table for dining, a threadbare sofa, a well-worn rug, an old cabinet record player and a shelf of books that stood next to a fireplace with a crucifix and a portrait of an elderly gentleman in military uniform hanging above the mantle. There was exposed, rubber-coated wires stapled along beams and walls to allow for electric lighting, although all the lights were off. There was no sign of anyone within.

She moved to the back door and checked the handle. Out of all probablity, it was unlocked. She slowly opened it and slipped inside, keeping low. She crossed the living space to the record player, which sat under the window on the front side of the building. The shutters were closed here too, but the risk was still there that she might be spotted, so she moved slowly and carefully. She lifted the top of the record player, took one of the grenades with the strings and placed it within. She stuck the top high enough that the string could run out unimpeded, but low enough that the grenade couldn't slip out, then she ran the string across the room to the handle of the rear door. She tied it there and then slipped out. If she slammed the door shut, the string would yank and the pin would pull, detonating the grenade slightly down the street from the technical. The response would likely be that they would move the vehicle to get clear of a potential blast. In addition, that distraction could be enough that her squad could all cross to the square while the enemy scrambled/

She returned to the corner of the rectory near the path and checked to make sure she hadn't been spotted. This would be the roughest part of the whole thing. She had to make it to the idling technical without being seen by anybody, then crawl underneath it, rig the grenade, get out and get back. Luckily, the technical was a small distance away from the some fifteen or so Javis who were loitering in the square. Unluckily, there wasn't any of the traditional grass cover that usually allowed for rebels pulling this stunt to get close without being seen.

She reached into her pocket and touched the shrapnel that had severed part of her ear. As if something in the act had shifted fate, one of the Javis, who had a radio set up on a table outside the tavern, shouted a jumble of Spanish. The troops suddenly split apart, leaving only a single fireteam in the square as the rest disappeared southwards though the streets. Amikiku glanced skywards and thanked her ancestors, especially her Grandfather, then dropped to her stomach and crawled along the path towards her objective.

[Miklania]

March 18 2019
10:35
Pueblo Ignacio
"All right lads, listen up!" Sergeant Merrell's loud voice competed with the turbines and twin rotors of the CH47. "The story, as far as it has been revealed to me, is that a brilliant plan was prepared to take this town, involving two flanking forces from the east and the west, but the Major in charge of the western force jumped the gun and went off before the eastern force could move into position. It would take several hours to march them overland to the points they need to be at. We are now the eastern force." The soldiers seated on either side of the cabin paid close attention, as much out of curiosity as professionalism. Sergeant Merrell walked slowly up and down the aisle, making sure that everyone in the inwards-facing seats could hear him. "Since we had no notice, we do not have any nice and fancy briefing materials prepared. What we do know is that at the LZ there is a small clearing around a bend in the MSR. We, A Company, are going to offload there and prepare an ambush for enemy reinforcements. B Company is going to head closer to town and prepare to assist in the assault." The sergeant stopped at the front end of the cabin and held onto straps in the ceiling as the big helicopter hit a patch of turbulent hot air rising from the jungle below. "We do not anticipate the enemy using any heavy vehicles, so our small arms should be more than adequate to handle them." The elder of the two LAW gunners aboard looked slightly relieved, the younger a tad disappointed. "That said, the enemy is known to have large numbers of technicals which may be mounting a range of machine guns, recoilless rifles, and all sorts o' other nasty business. So watch yourselves." More turbulence shook the aircraft, then the intercom to the cockpit clicked in.

"Sixty seconds!"

"Alright gents, final checks!" Merrell shouted before mentally going over his equipment for the tenth time. The soldiers in front of him adopted their more serious faces. Weapons were charged, radios connected, and straps tugged on. The rear ramp opened, the ramp dropping the upper portion retracting into the top of the fuselage. The decent from a mere 200 feet was short. The helicopter touched down with four others, the rotors kicking up grass and dust. "Everybody out!" The sergeant yelled. He was the last to step off the ramp, the troopers in front of him filling out and immediately establishing a perimeter. The sound of the engines increased and the big helos began to lift off the ground, one by one exiting the clearing. The officers and sergeants took charge, organizing their platoons and preparing them for the ambush.

March 18 2019
St. Michaels City, Miklania

"So you see these here? They're gone." Erin clicked to the next satellite image. His boss stared over his shoulder. Four Thuzbek ships had left the port since yesterday's satellite pass. "And there's heat blooms in the powerplants of all these." Erin added, switching to infrared. Half the ships in view suddenly glowed from their centers.

"We'll have to call this in, Navy'll want to know."

March 18 2019
10:40
Pueblo Ignacio

The town hove into view out the port side of B Company's helicopters. There was tracer fire all along the opposite side. No one was taking pot shots at the helicopters, over a mile away. The CH47s began to turn into their LZ, a clearing next to the road with some cover from the town itself. A lone white pickup truck moved along the MSR towards the town.

"Grizzly 3-1, you see that truck on the road?" One of the pilots asked over the radio.

"Yeah 3-2, I tally."

"Can you see any weapons 3-1?"

"Can't tell from here, doesn't look li...RPG! RPG!" A white line of smoke shot from the back of the truck into the sky. The helicopters scattered, banking hard to evade. Their unbuckled passengers fell into one another in the back. 3-1 spun around, bringing the gunner on his starboard side to bear. "Smoke 'im!" A stream of red poured from the minigun, tracing lines across the truck and the dirt around it. The vehicle stopped, it's entire length smoking. No further fire came from the wreck. B Company recollected, landed, and prepared to storm the castle.

March 18 2019
Aubreyston, Miklania

Admiral Budiash put the telex down. "I want every ship in Third Fleet moving to blockade San Javier, now. Tell Threnody to move north and find their surface force, or any submarines if they have any out. Get Stormkeeper's battle group ready to go."

"Aye aye sir." Admiral Hipper replied as he left the office.

[Wellsia]

Pueblo Ignacio Churchyard, San Javier

Underwatchmaster Anley Tweedle, wasn't very happy, his squad of seven men had the job of helping protect the Church from attack, besides the Wellsian squad was a platoon of two dozen Javierians, with a machine gun equipped technical under a Lieutenant and a Sargent. Except for the Sargent and the technical crew, most of the rest of the Javierans were raw conscripts, some of which had never fired a gun.
Tweedle was alomost lost in a day dream when the radio operator,begin speaking quickly in Spanish at the Lieutenant and Sargent, walking over Tweedle waited till his interpreter translate what the radio operator was saying. It seemed that a strong push by Mennans was causing the line just south of the church to crumble, the only troops nearby were those stationed at he church yard. Talking it over with the two Javerian, it wqs decided that the breakthrough had to be stopped. Leaving the Technical and a team of rifles behind, the rest of the the two units left the courtyard.

South Pueblo Ignacio, San Javier
Capityan Hubert Eton stood next to Javierian General Alesandro Sanjuro and watched the battle unfolding, so far the combined force of Javierians and Wellsian seemed to be holding the line, the few threats to the defense line had been countered and Eton was now feeling good about the battle. This would be a great feather in his cap, if this battle ended in a victory, he would be untouchable, the man who defeated the Mennan invasion with but a single company, politics be damned, he would become the youngest Fieldmarshal in history, Blood Francis, better watch out, this victory and showing King Harold, that he was the greatest military leader Wellsia had, he could see himself being given the Golden Star, the highest honor possible and a promotion that would be more equal to his genius.

Constantine, San Javier
Commander of Battalion Wallis Goodenough looked at the reports that were coming in from Pueblo Ignacio, the Mennan attack so far had been contained, but he was worried, Eton, was a pompous ass, who couldn't see the forest for a tree. Eton thought he knew everything about combat, but the truth was he lacked the instinct to know when something was about to go wrong, he was good enough when the problem was in front of him, surprised, he fell apart.
The 9/2 company and half the machine gun company were mounted in civilian vehicles moving toward San Ignacio on the only road into the village, with luck they would arrive in time to prevent disaster form overwhelming 9/1 company. Capityan Gerald Graham was senior to Eton and would take over command of the half battalion in Pueblo Ignacio.

Vineyard, Pueblo Ignacio, San Javier
Watchmaster Casey Oswald, watched as the helicopters came in fast and low to the northeast of the village, it wasn't hard to make out they were Miklanian, and to many just to be a fly over, from the number he saw, at least a company of Miklanian regulars would be moving against the town and the only thing on this side was him and his section of 17 men. Turning to the signalman, "Send word to Capitayn Eton, let him know that the Miklanians are landing at least a company to the north, reinforcements needed."

Puerto Polo, San Javier
General 2nd class Frederick Conningham stood in the command net set up by his communications platoon to keep contact with the extended units of the 3rd Rifle Brigade. So far reports from Pueblo Ignacio were good, the single company assisting the Javerian Brigade there were holding there own against the Mennan invasion force, and other elements of the 9th Battalion were in route to the Pueblo, 10th Battalion was moving south pass Santa Anna, and even though moving by foot, would link up with the 9th in Constantine.
Looking at his campaign map he saw that lead elements of the 11th Battalion would soon be in Rio Pena, word had it that Doraltic paratroopers and Marines were also headed toward Rio Pena, but he was confident that the 11th backing up the locals would be more then enough to hold Rio Pena and push the coalition troops back to the beach.
The 12th battalion was set up south of Castello Verde and could move by rail to join the 9th and 10th or move by road to back up the 11th.
At the moment things were still looking good. While having no official command over the mercenary battalion sent by Balniki, if they were any where near there reputation, they would be an asset around Constantine, as much as he distrusted mercs, he knew he need to contact them and set up some form of cooperation. Now if only Thuzbekistan and Dothraki had Marines with their approaching fleets, he might still win this thing.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Captain Sacheverell Ross
URS Raphaël Van Horn
18 March 2019, 1330
International Waters of the Lotus Sea

Captain Ross was a unique figure within the Navy when compared to his contemporaries. While it was seen as typical, even softly required, for naval captains to maintain a log of the events they have undergone in their service, Ross had used video recordings for his logs where his contemporaries more often either wrote or typed these. He sat down in his chair with his phone already recording, and began to speak in his typical deep baritone.

“Captain’s Log. Ross, Sacheverell. United Republics Ship FFH-207 Raphaël Van Horn. Today is 18 March, the time is 1331 local. I should apologize for the break in the daily recounting of my logs, the situation at sea demanded my undivided attention, so I will pick up from where I last left off.

After passing by Swaneeak and being refueled at sea, the group split in two. I was detached with Captain Williamson to shadow the Thuzbek fleet that had turned due northwest according to data gathered from an earlier patrol aircraft that left from Swaneeak as we arrived. The second group would continue on its path to finish the exclusion zone around San Javier. We sailed for a few hours with myself ahead of the Peter Hart by about half an hour at best speed. Radar got solid readings on a Thuzbek ship around 0950 local, sonar confirmed it was a Boyan-class Corvette, screening the rear of the fleet that was led by the Ashluv.”

He rubbed his hands across his face, clearly stressed by the past events before continuing.

“We had orders to keep our emissions low so I did not contact either the Peter Hart nor command on the contact, and proceeded as we were to follow it. CIC reported about ten minutes later that the ship had dramatically dropped speed to around 5 knot, I had no clue why the ship had dropped speed but I made the call to maintain our speed and heading. After another five minutes, I ordered a helicopter armed with ASMs to take off and loiter outside of CIWS range of the Thuzbek ship. I hoped having that fly around would force the ship to speed up or take on a potentially hostile aircraft, however the ship was undeterred when after a while longer I was forced to bring the helicopter back after it tripped up their automated CIWS system. It was around then that the ship made a hard turn starboard, presenting its broadside and allowed us to identify who we were following. Turned out the ship was the Barlow based on her hull number, and she had completed her turn to face her bow directly at us. Then things got concerning … deck observers noticed that her main gun had started to turn to track our bow. In an act of reactive emotion, I ordered the ship to flank and to turn towards the Barlow’s bow. I hoped in that moment that she would turn away as we came in at flank, but instead sonar indicated that her propellers were also turning at a speed that should be flank. Honestly I’m still not sure which array caught that but the moment I heard that, I knew we were caught in a game of chicken. The Barlow was shooting the water ahead of us by the time I ordered a hard turn to starboard, she also turned hard as well and we barely scratched paint. The bridge was dead silent when this happened, and I immediately ordered for the Peter Hart to be contacted to ensure that they wouldn’t respond to the situation in a more radical manner. It only took another twenty minutes from there to see a pair of Thuzbek fighters buzz us and the Peter Hart.”

Just before he could continue, he heard hard knocking on the bulkhead that was his door, “I will continue this tomorrow. End log.”, after wrapping up he grabbed his phone and stopped recording, putting it back in his pocket and opening up the door to be saluted by one of his bridge crew. “Sir,” he began, “Communications from the Union with orders.”

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
10:42
Pueblo Ignacio
Despite all probability being against her, Amikiku made it to the cover of the front veranda of the rectory without being spotted. The remaining technical was a short dash ahead, but there were men inside it and milling around the general area, making a sprint a fantastic way to be spotted. Instead, she needed a distraction. Edging along the stout wooden wall that demarcated the boundary between the front porch and the street (the cobbling was the same, and so there was no other differentiation), she found cover behind a trellis of climbing rose vines and reached around to snatch a garden stone from the roots. With her projectile in hand, she popped her head out for a moment to gather her perspective and target, dropped back down, then blindly hucked the stone over the wall with as much force as she could muster. She quietly celebrated as she heard the resounding smash of a window across the street followed by the quiet tinkle of glass and the confused yells of a few of the soldiers. She popped her head back up, saw the attention of the nearest enemies turned decidedly away from her, and wasted no time darting to the technical.

As soon as she reached the vehicle’s side she dropped to her stomach and slipped underneath. She lay still underneath, waiting for a spray of gunfire from the slits of light around her that would indicate she’d been spotted. Fortunately, no bullets bullets ripped into her. She took a few seconds catching deep lungfuls of oil-smelling air and slowing her raging heart. Then, she took the grenade out.

Carefully as she could, she lodged the grenade up and into the exposed undercarriage of the truck. She made sure it was lodged as snuggly as possible, so that it wouldn’t be pulled out of place as opposed to just its pin. Then, she wound the string around the axle and tied it off. She left just enough slack that it would take a full couple of rotations to grow taut and pull out the pin. Makeshift time bomb set, she now had to pull the most dangerous portion of this entire job off and get out from under the vehicle and back to her team. This was dangerous on two fronts. It was both the most likely time for her to be seen and shot down, and it was also the most likely time for the vehicle to move unexpectedly and for her to get caught in her own trap. Especially since Amikiku had no idea what was going on down south and when these people could be pulled in, she was walking a tightrope here.

From her position, she could hear the words of the soldiers around her, although she had no idea what they were saying. She checked for the shadows of boots around her, her vision limited to the gaps between the undercarriage and the ground. Thankfully, they all seem clustered on the side of the vehicle where she had broken the window. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her shrapnel, tossed a prayer to her Grandfather, and slowly tugged herself back out towards the rectory.

Whether her ancestors were looking over her or not would have been a debate for priests. On the one hand, her exodus was far from uncontested. On the other hand, she got very, very lucky. The theological implications of how the souls of the departed affected reality and their capacity for change was something best left to experts when it came to the sorts of fine details Amikiku’s situation wound up presenting. As she tugged herself out from under the truckbed, she pulled herself into a crouch to begin her dart back to the rectory veranda. Unfortunately, at the exact same time that she took her first step she heard a shout in Spanish from back near the fountain. By her third step there was a clatter of gunfire that trailed just behind her. By the time she was leaping the veranda wall, she could hear more shouts from back at the truck. She turned her landing into a stutter step and her forward momentum into a dive. The bullets that were beginning to cut the air around her tore through the shutters and glass ahead of her, weakening them just enough that her half tackle, half dive through them didn’t stop her dead. Instead, she landed on her side in the rectory under the gaze of the stoic painting on the mantle. Glass tore into her arm and hands and knees as she scrabbled for purchase and bullets whizzed over head. Keeping low, she sprinted to the back door as soldiers approached the window she had just leapt through.

Diving through the crack he had left, Amikiku slammed the door behind her. Without slowing, she sprinted towards the hillside where her squad waited, blood trailing behind her. She could hear shouting and an engine rering behind her. After several steps and long seconds, this was followed by a boom as the grenade in the rectory went off. She heard a few screams, probably from soldiers who had clustered near the window to try and get a shot off at her as she escaped. As she found cover behind the curve of the hill, she heard the movement of the technical so that it’s guns could aim down the path between the rectory and the church. The sergeant shimmied towards her, pulling out a medical kit. Just as he reached her, there was a second boom, and the technical was suddenly launched a half-dozen feet off the ground as the explosion in its undercarriage redirected directly into the cobblestones and the shockwave sent it leaping.

“Good work, corporal,” the sergeant said as he began covering the worst of her glass cuts. “Although I would have preferred you getting out of there without alerting all the guards that we’re on this side.”

“Bad luck,” Amikiku gritted her teeth as the bandages wrapped her hands and forearms. The sergeant handed her her equipment and then made a hand signal to the others. With their hiding spot compromised, they had to move now. Confusion would be on their side for mere moments.

“You good to go?” he asked her as the others shot to standing and began their charge towards the graveyard and the square beyond the church.

Amikiku grabbed her rifle. “I’m a rhino, sergeant,” she said.

He grinned. “Nice,” he said. Turning, he charged with the men, Amikiku on his heels.

It was far from a perfect attack, but it could have gone a lot worse. Young Lawa and Kunat both took pretty awful wounds that laid them out as they reached the square. Aktitash and Mu both went down during the ensuing fight, and Kulat took a glancing blow when a trio of armed people burst from the tavern unexpectedly. All in all, however, taking the square was devoid of casualties. The enemy withdrew fairly swiftly when things went sideways, clearly assuming they could return and take out a single squad of soldiers when they had more support. This was especially likely as long as the men in the towers still covered the square itself. From the cover of the arch of the entry to the church, the squad couldn’t be fired upon, but they also couldn’t take out the soldiers within.

The sergeant pointed at Shaka. “You still have a blowtorch with you?”

Shaka nodded. “‘Course I do,” he said.

“Pop the lock and get us in there,” the sergeant said. “Anyone whose still standing and mobile is taking those towers. Anyone who can’t stand but can fire a gun will cover the entrance while you do, and I’ll treat the wounded as best I can.”

Shaka made his way to the smaller door that was cut from the huge doors of the church arch. It had a fairly modern lock on it, but he wasn’t going for a stealthy pick. Instead, he pulled out a blowtorch from his pack and lit it with his cigarette lighter. Then he aimed it at the metal. It grew red, then white. The sound of metal and old wood warping reached Amikiku’s ears, and then the lock popped and the door swung open.

“Alright,” Shaka said. “Let’s appropriate some culture.”

[Athara Magarat]

Nagesia-Dhari Limited Branch Office

Têhaêvu, Menna Shuli

Unlike most intelligence agencies, Athara Magarati Intelligence (AMI) is relatively unknown even within Magarat. Everyone has heard of the Oster Vaalar je Aanevord (OVAST) once in their life. Everyone in Gael knew of Samudera's Samuderan Agency for Foreign Intelligence (SAFI). Everyone knew that the Thuzbeks or the Svalbardians had intelligence agencies, but AMI? Non-Magaratis would most likely picture girls if they heard AMI for the first time. Even most Magaratis believed that AMI had ceased to exist after the end of the 20th Century.

To Tarisa, this was a great advantage. Her agency mostly utilized diplomatic missions, Magarati companies such as Nagesia-Dhari and Third Country techniques to obtain information while remaining elusive.

Magarati Intelligence A was one of the departments in the External Wing under Major Rakisha Pahari, the the Sub-Director of AMI. Tarisa's Khusi-didi. Another External Wing department, the Magarati Intelligence Z, was focused on counterintelligence mostly aimed at MSTO. Unlike MIZ, MIA as a department was there to establish contact. Other departments in AMI often said that MIA was the rogue element of the agency for having contacts with criminal elements and so-called "moderate Isles Native armed groups". But criminal gangs and armed militias were not the only ones MIA consorted with. It was MIA that contacted OVAST or SAFI or the Noronnican Foreign Intelligence Service (FIS) while exchanging information on the behalf of AMI.

The Sub-Director had told Tarisa that MIA would contact the Thuzbek Intelligence Agency (TIS) to check whether they were involved. Deep down Tarisa was sure to herself that the Thuzbeks were more than involved already. Just like the last time in Santa Ana where both AMI, through MIA and its recruited ragtag bunch of terror groups supposed to train communist guerrillas, and the TIS were involved; unknown to the international community and Magarati citizens. Considering the fiasco that happened in Santa Ana, AMI (or more so MIA) was lucky that its involvement in San Javier alongside the Thuzbeks had never been discovered. Tarisa wondered how things would go this time.

[Thuzbekistan]

Ashluv, Thuzbekistan

It was still dark when the old man set out on his walk once more. Despite the protests of the past months, the tired Director had continued his walk to work along varying routes against the protests of his security personnel. He'd lived through many protests, he'd argued with them. He doubted ones as minor as the recent ones would be the one to kill him. Still, his early morning walk was shadowed by security agents with cars parked along his route as well, full of agents ready to respond to a threat. For all the fuss, you would have thought it was the Prime Minister himself. But after Orsandia, the Agency had received many bomb and assassination threats. They were dealt with, but at least Zeki understood the security, despite the frustration he felt at the interruption of the only peaceful time of his day.

When he finally reached the palace gates, he was waved through in a rather nonchalant manner. He shot the guard a dirty look, but didn't have the energy to reprimand him. From there, he walked his way through the winding halls of the Palace and down the elevator to its lower levels. The doors had hardly opened when he heard the shout of "Director on Deck!" He saluted them, despite his hatred for the last vestige of Navy in the TIS, and went straight to his office as the TIS went back to work. His Assistant Director was already outside the office when he got there.

"Not meeting with the Prime Minister this morning, Director?" She said warmly as he approached, pulling a file out of the stack she carried and handed it to him.

"No, no, Elene," Zeki said slowly as he waved it off. "He has some meeting with the Imam Council Chairman this morning." He looked down at the file and frowned. "Ultra Top Secret, hm?"

"Yes, sir. You'll want to read that in your office." Her usual half smile she wore like a plastic mask disappeared as she said it.

"Well, you might as well join me."

She nodded and, together, they walked in. As he sat down at the desk and opened it up, Elene took a seat opposite him. After a minute of flipping through the few pages, he closed the file. "So the Magaratis are in contact with Communists on San Javier? Interesting. I thought they had mostly been wiped out in Santa Ana."

"They were, from what we gather." She pulled a tablet out and swiped a map onto the Directors computer, which he began to slowly look over. "The Isles of San Martin and Mujeres were relatively untouched by the actual fighting in 2016. The Communists had strongholds there, but mostly of popular support rather than any military presence. They were mainly congregated around Santa Ana, but after that city was leveled, they ceased to be a factor."

"But now that the fighting is starting up again, it seems AMI is wanting to get in touch and restart."

"Yes,sir. I'm not totally sure what their intentions are, though."

Zeki looked over the map again, then to the file. "Looks like they reference our friend at the Magarati embassy. Set up a meeting between yourself and the AMI there and figure out what they want to know. We don't have anything there, but I'm sure the Prime Minister will like to start placing assets there immediately." He handed the file back to her. "Now, what's next?"

Elene shook her head. "Nothing important sir, but I did want to ask you about something."

An eyebrow cocked as Zeki listened. "What about?"

"Agents Serhan and Yalcin."

"We've been over this before, Elene." Zeki said as he sat up a bit firmer. "They don't need to be in the field. Not after Orsandia."

"Sir, to be frank, they were given an impossible task and they made one hell of an attempt out there." Elene pulled a file out and gave it to Zeki. "This is the file on a Naval Intelligence officer that arrived in Samudera just after Agent Yalcin had set up the Listening Post in Samudera. He took command of the situation and outranked her, making almost all calls regarding logistics, handling, and communications. And," She handed him another file, "this is the file on the SAFI agent that blew the cover, resulting in an ambush that kick started the war."

"And got the whole country sanctioned." He pushed the file away. "Those agents are lucky I didn't dismiss them or have them shot, You understand Elene? They blew the entire operation. No one else can be blamed."

"That simply isn't the case," Elene said bluntly. "The Naval Intelligence officer made key mistakes in the handling of security at the docks, in communications and smuggling operations, and in the handling of the set up of LP2 in Orsandia. And the SAFI agent was just-"

"Stupid, pathetic, and untrained." Zeki said as he clasped his hands together on the desk. "What's your point, Elene? Serhan was the lead agent, Yalcin was supposed to be in charge of logistics, even if a Naval officer told her to fuck off."

"Sir, I am saying that we aren't giving them credit where credit is due." She handed him another file on the initial contact. "Agent Serhan, who was highly experienced in Charbagnia as well as advising communist parties around the region, made initial contact. He found out what they needed, enabled secured lines of communication, engaged in intelligence gathering and aided in the direction of the war effort with Valmacid. Then, he coordinated the entire withdraw of 57 advisers to the PLF, Volunteers, and all but one Spec team. Under Agent Serhan, the PLF pushed all the way to the heart of Orsandia before the combined forces of Ostehaar, Dormill and Stiura, and Orsandia pushed them back. The Whole time, Agent Yalcin directed communications and logistics, a task all on its own. The whole operation being a failure does not condemn these two agents. We need to look at what actually went wrong there and try to fix the problem rather than punishing two highly effective and decorated agents. They should be awarded for their service in Orsandia, not stuck behind a desk reading foreign newspapers and blogs all day."

"I've told you that report is still being compiled. We are looking at what went wrong." He leaned back. "Until then, they can evaluate threats from behind their desk."

Elene sighed slightly. "Just, if this San Javier thing comes up with an opportunity, give them another chance. There's not any other set of qualified agents that could set up as strong a presence as these agents were able to do with such short notice. Until then, I'll set up the meeting."

"That would be best."

"Thank you, Director." Elene then stood and left the room.

Southern Sea, 200 Kilometers east of Nadiharu
March 19th

Ever since the Encounter with the Doraltik vessel, the fleet had been on high alert. Scouts and ASM helos had been kept on constant patrol and there were regular reports coming in. But nothing had prepared them for what Ercan was reading now. An entire battle group occupied the space between them and San Javier. After the last encounter with a hostile vessel, the Admiral was not about to take this lightly. "Captain, are you sure about this?"

The Captain nodded. "Yes, Sir. Multiple fighters and subs have reported Miklanian Flags. We've also been able to verify that it is the Stormkeeper's escort group, though we haven't been able to identify her position yet. They have placed themselves squarely between us and San Javier and appear to be maneuvering as we do."

"So we've obviously been detected, though the chance for evasion was lost a long time ago."

"Yes, sir. The Doraltik vessels have continued to shadow us."

Admiral Ercan sighed. "Contact the Dothrakian fleet and inform them if they don't know already. But Ashluv has given us orders. We will continue to San Javier."

"And if the Miklanians decide to challenge us?"

"We'll deal with that then."

The Captain nodded uneasily, but gave a quick "Aye, Aye" and followed the orders.

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
10:59
Pueblo Ignacio

As they entered the white-washed interior of the old mission church, Amikiku saw Matu dip his fingers in a bowl of water and hastily mark his brow, chest and shoulders. Having never been in a Catholic church before, she didn’t know if this was standard practice when planning to take it as a military installation or if Matu was just being a bit of a dick about his religion. As she helped him carry Young Lêwa to a pew that would act as a temporary medical bed, she jerked a chin at the painting on the wall above it, which depicted the Christ-Man on being whipped and beaten beneath a roman numeral VI.

“Anyone ever tell you that your religion is a bit on the morbid side?”

Matu shrugged. “‘unuxâ temples are usually walled with the graves of people.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t paint pictures of them being tortured on the walls,” Amikiku grunted as she lay down Young Lêwa.

The sergeant glanced over at them and jerked a thumb at the entrance to the north tower. “Enough chit-chat! We have a job to do.”

Amikiku nodded and glanced at Matu. He nodded too and they jogged over to the door to join Shaka and Pa, who were bracing the door they’d entered the church through with a pew, for what little good it would do.

“Alright,” Amikiku said, checking her weapon one last time. “Let’s do this.”

Shaka nodded. “Righto,” he said, and he and Matu went over to the door. On the count of three, they tossed it open and ducked for cover, worried about the potential of either a boobytrap like the one at the lighthouse or fire from the soldiers within. When none came, they each made the bushsign for clear, and the four soldiers entered the tower.

It was old and tall, hollow through to the top. Wooden stairs ringed the outside in a squared spiral, while a series of ropes and pulleys ran through the center, presumably to allow one to ring the bells without having to climb to the top. That purpose wouldn’t last long, however, because as soon as the four soldiers made it inside, there was a popping noise from somewhere above, a single clang, and a metallic object the size of a carry-on suitcase fell from the top of the tower. It smashed against a portion of the stairs knocking apart the railing and a few steps with a bang before pinwheeling the rest of the way towards the group. Amikiku managed to snatch Shaka by the strap of his rifle and pull him out of the way before the tumbling bell caved in his skull. Instead, it bounced once on the stone floor, cracking several tiles and sundering before clipping Matu’s hip and rolling a foot to stop against a wooden pillar holding the stairs. The noise of the collapse nearly deafened everyone within.

“Father’s name!” Matu swore, grabbing his hip. “That hurt!”

“Are you alright?” Amikiku asked, trying to clear the clamour from her ears.

“I’m standing,” Matu said. He tested his hip. “It’s not broken, I don’t think.”

“Good, then you stay with us,” Amikiku said. She pointed up. “Watch for more falling bells. Also, ‘father’s name’? I thought you were Catholic. Shouldn’t it be ‘Christ-Man Jesus’ or something?”

“It’s cultural,” Matu grunted.

They began to ascend the stairs. “Watch for grenades,” Pa said.

“They won’t take the risk of damaging the tower’s structural stability,” Shaka replied. “Now Molotovs and incendiaries…that is a real issue. These wooden stairs aren’t structural. I’ll bet they’d be willing to burn them to stop us getting up there.”

They didn’t. Oddly, aside from the initial dropping of the bell, there was little resistance as they mounted the stairs. No explosives came from above, nor any gunshots. There were no tripped explosive devices or other booby traps. Even as they mounted the last landing to the top of the stairs, there was nothing. They did hear gunshots from beyond the trapdoor that marked the exit to the final platform of the tower.

Shaka darted forward and tested the door, but resistance from the side above prevented him from opening it.

“They have it locked or blocked from the other side,” he said.

“Damn it,” Amikiku glanced around. There was an open hole in the middle of the ceiling, about five or six feet out from the landing they stood on, through which the ropes for the bells rang. It was also this opening that had allowed the bell to be dropped at them. Unfortunately, while they had been climbing the hole had been mostly covered, save for a few small openings between whatever boards had been pulled across to allow for the ropes and counterweights that were dangling in the center of the tower. Amikiku scratched her chin.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Let’s get back down.”

“What?” Matu asked.

“Just trust me,” she said.

They made their way back down to the bottom. Amikiku moved to the center, where the loops of the bell-pulleys were attached to a block in the ground. She withdrew the last grenade with string around the pin, then began tracing the loops and lines of the pulleys. The three other soldiers let out simultaneous groans of understanding.

“You know they have a lot of explosives up there,” Shaka said, “all those rockets they’ve been firing?”

Amikiku shrugged. “Then we’ll need to run when we cut the ropes.”

Shaka shrugged and lit his battered cigarette. “So long as we’re fast.”

Amikiku tied the string to the block of pulleys, then cut the spare slack with her knife. Quickly, she used the spare string to attach the grenade to the rope she had determined to be her best bet. Pa came over and pulled on a different rope. Somewhere above, a bell clanged once. Amikiku used the slack he had given her to take the rope and begin sawing through with the serrated back side of her knife. It took close to a minute to slice most of the way through, and by the time they were done Matu and Shaka had joined Pa to help hold up the counterweight.

“Alright,” Amikiku said. “Three...two...one…”

The three men let go and all four darted for the door. Above, there was a clamour of bells ringing as the ropes suddenly snapped. Counterweights pulled, ropes flurried, and the grenade shot skyward. The pin was pulled by the sudden motion. Amikiku slammed the door shut behind her just as the grenade whizzed upwards and out-of-sight.

“Hey,” the sergeant said. “What the f---”

He was cut off by a sudden, massive explosion from above. Plaster dust rained from the walls and ceiling. Amikiku looked at the sergeant. “I think we dealt with the snipers.”

“You think?” the sergeant shouted.

Amikiku opened the door. Inside, the lower portion of the tower was pretty much as before, although there was some smoking wood debris scattered about the area. Looking up, however, the platform blocking sight directly to the bells was completely gone, and much of the last five feet or so of stairs. The stone of the tower was in surprisingly good condition, although the bells high above were dangling at precarious angles, and there was quite a bit of twisted and blackened steel high above. None of the ropes were still running the vertical stretch from ground to sniper’s perch, and there was no sign of the snipers themselves. Dust and woodchips were settling on the ground around them.

“That was not a subtle way of handling things, corporal,” Matu said.

“Nope,” Amikiku answered.

“I think,” Pa said, “that we should probably get ready for visitors.”

“Yup,” Amikiku said.

[Wellsia]

Front lines Southeast of Pueblo Ignacio
General Sanjuro listen to the reports of Miklanian Airmobile units landing north of the village cutting the road to Constantine. Moments later an explosion mixed with the the ringing of falling bells filled the air for everyone to hear. There was no doubt that the church had fallen to the Menna, the tower with its snipers and spotters was now lost.
Sanjuro smiled as the sound faded; "Radio operators, send out the the word to begin to withdraw through the village, keep up a fighting retreat, but it's time to get out of here. I know what I need to know now."
"ARE YOU INSANE", screamed Capityan Eton; "What do you mean withdraw, this is my victory, this is my chance to so how great I am, this is a conspiracy, this is to discredit me, you and Goodenough are afra." At that moment a third red eye manifested itself in Eton's forehead, as he fell back into the grass.
Staffwatchmaster Thring, spun around in time to see General Sanjuro holster his pistol. "That puta was boring me. Sargento Primero Thring, let your people know that we are retreating to the north, if possible, have you people in the viineyard keep the Miklanians from trapping us here, we will need these men at Constantine." Turing to his staff commander, Sanjuro spoke "Ricardo, let them know that Prince-General Mipax, is not just a pretty face, that he is a capable enemy. I expected him to do something to attack from two fronts. but the use of MIklanian troops, wasn't what I expected, he may have been to good, also the commando attack on the church, that was completely unexpected. Let High Command know what he did here, and tell them to prepare Constantine, for defense, if I don't make it out of here."
As the Javerian-Wellsian force moved back through the town in a fighting retreat. As the command motorcade passed in front of the damaged church, General Sanjuro ordered his driver to stop. Against the protest of his guards and staff General Sanjuro stood up in the back of his jeep faced the church and saluted. "VIVA EL CAMPANADAS (Long live the Bellringers)". Waving his hand forward, the motorcade continued on its way.

Vineyard, Pueblo Ignacio
Casey Oswald, had be in many fights, but this was one of the worst, his job was to keep the corridor open between the Vineyard and the river so the Javieran-Wellsian Brigade could survive Mipax's trap. He now had nearly forty men from both forces fighting to stop the Miklanians, the Miklanians were as good as he had heard, and only desperation was keeping them from closing the trap.

Constantine Road, just north of Pueblo Ignacio
Capitayn Gerald Graham sat back in ther passenger seat of teh pickup truck he was riding in. The Rifles, normally walked into battle and the luxury of getting to ride was an enjoyment. The pickup was third in the convoy of confiscated civilian vehicles
carrying the 9/2 and part of the MG company to reinforce Pueblo Ignacio. The ride had been uneventful and Graham found himself fighting from falling asleep. He wasn't sure if he or the sleep had one when the lead bus disappeared in a ball of flame and destruction. Before anyone could react, the woods on both sides of the road exploded with automatic rifle fire, mortars and rockets tearing into and through the Wellsian company. By the time a battle line could be formed, a third of the Wellsians were dead or wounded and any thought of making it to Pueblo Ignacio was lost.

Puerto Polo, San Javier
General 2nd class Frederick Conningham was for the first time since arriving on San Javier a worried man. He had been told about General Sanjuro's intentions to use Pueblo Ignacio as a test ground to see what kind of general Mipax was. Cnningham had not agreed with this action and had withheld the information from Goodenough, now half the 9th had been shot to pieces.
THe only good news for the allies was that the 11th had engaged the mixed force of Doraltic Paratroopers and Marines and fought them to a stalemate at Rio Pena.

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
11:12
Beach Lion Command, San Javier
Sul sighed in a combination of relief and worry. The reports coming back to him revealed that the defenders of Pueblo Ignacio seemed to be withdrawing, leaving the town to be taken by his forces. The objective seemed to be secured, in part thanks to a "daring commando raid" that he had apparently ordered. He had no memory of doing so, but if he were honest with himself he couldn't admit to know every order that he had agreed to in the last hour. Regardless, he seemed to be getting credit for the victory from everyone nearby. Everyone, that was, except for Shala. The Prince-Admiral was back on his flagship, and the communiques coming in from there were substantially less congratulatory than anything else Sul was hearing.

PG Mipax
Have received report on PI
Capture of town important step to victory
Ensure that PI is pacified as next step
Will be coming ashore at earliest opportunity
PA Shala

Messages like that had the air of orders, not suggestions. Of course Sul knew that the next step for the warriors on the ground was going to be the victory celebrations, which would mean that pacifying Pueblo Ignacio in the short term was not going to be a problem. The warriors would deal with that on their own initiative when they went trophy-taking. It was going to be the longer term that was difficult, as campaigns always were. Locals would either flee or stay in town, but either result would lead to disgruntled locals. If this had been an old style Mênnan war, as between tribal chieftains before the Unification, the tradition would have been to extend a hand to the people and provide them the offer to either join the conquering tribe as equals, live as slaves or die. Princes would have been ransomed to relatives in other locations. The trick, of course, was that the people of San Javier were casteless, and therefore were effectively non-people. They could not be given the opportunity to join the tribe, especially considering it wasn't even a single tribe that had defeated them. Slavery did not exist anymore, of course, and slaughtering an entire town of people would neither let Sul sleep at night nor be the correct optics for the war.

The only model that the Mênna had for a war on foreign soil was the Keverai Expedition, which was certainly not a model that should be followed. They were on new ground here. Sul could order his troops to follow the model of western nations when they occupied enemy territory, but war was a political sphere in addition to a combative one. Sul wanted to support the traditionalist politics that his mother represented in the Sâtêp, and doing so would require a distinctly Mênnan approach to things. He couldn't bend too much to how his foreign allies would handle things without betraying his own politics. At the same time, he couldn't wait too long or Shala would arrive and take command before Sul had time to put his own stamp on how the rest of the invasion was to be handled.

"Father's name," he grumbled.

"What was that, Prince-General?" asked an aide.

"Nothing," Sul said. "Have our men entered the town?"

"Main combat has fallen back towards the town, especially as the Wellsian forces are withdrawing," the aide said. "There's still resistance from locals and holdouts in the vineyard, sir. There's difficult resistance near the church. It appears to be a counterattack against your commandos there, sir."

Your. Sul sighed again. "Are our men holding out?"

"We don't have radio contact with that group, but other forces are reaching the area and the church still seems to be in our hands," the aide replied. "Even if it fell, however, one of the towers is completely destroyed. The other has been taken, but was less well-stocked anyways, since it had a worse line-of-sight to the south. It shouldn't be long now, sir."

Sul nodded. The trophy-taking would likely be starting even as he mulled his options. That meant Mênnan soldiers entering Javieran homes and taking what rewards they could grab. He thought again about the Javierans being casteless foreigners, and about the Hêluk Kima. He knew, of course, that the Law of the Warrior gave the soldiers permission to take their pleasure after a victory from anyone of a lower caste. Refusal was not an option. He was only now considering what that meant, and how it might be perceived by the Miklanians and his other foreign allies. There was not putting brakes on it, though. Not now. Besides, it was the warrior's right, stretching back to the Mihêna. The best he could do was try and mitigate the damage.

"Make sure we're avoiding too much permanent damage to the town's buildings or infrastructure," Sul said. "It has to be our staging ground for Constantina. Limit explosives within the walls and make sure that food supplies aren't destroyed during any feasting."

Those in command assured their assent and began passing on orders.

[Miklania]

March 18 2019
11:00
Pueblo Ignacio

"Assassin 2-3, Assassin Actual."

"Go ahead Actual."

"Grizzly mentioned possible movement along the MSR to the east. We may have visitors soon. Rampage updated the ROE, it says we can fire if they have weapons."

"We don't have to wait for them to fire on us?"

"Negative."

"Understood Actual. 2-3 out." Sergeant Cohen put the receiver for the field radio down quietly. There was no sign of the enemy yet, but that didn't mean you got to slack off. What if they had someone out there trying to be as sneaky as you were? Assassin 2-3 was the furthest forward of the company's elements. While the rest were set up in an L-shaped ambush position, 2-3 was waiting at the bend so that they could spot any approaching vehicles. Once they rounded the bend the ambush would be triggered. Trying to drive out of an ambush was difficult enough when all you had to do was drive straight forwards or backwards, going around a 90° turn on a dirt road in the middle of a jungle would be so difficult as to be impossible. Especially once 2-3 started shooting them up to prevent their escape.

March 18 2019
11:05
Pueblo Ignacio

B Company was making good progress of their own. The defenders of the town had not been expecting to be attacked from this flank, or if they had, their defenders had moved to other areas once the fighting started. The soldiers made their way forwards steadily, suppressing the few points of resistance that they could find. Some were in the orchard, some were in the town itself. The church tower was a particularly obnoxious one, what with the snipers and all. The machine guns were doing a decent job of keeping it quiet enough for people to move. As far as the company commander could tell, no one had been hit yet, so at least he had that going for him. A loud crashing noise in the distance was followed by dust (or was it smoke?) pouring from the steeple top. Had the Mennans hit it with a rocket or something? Whatever had happened, the sniper fire stopped, and no one was going to complain about that.

March 18 2019
11:15
Pueblo Ignacio

Their forms were hidden beneath the green tropical foliage they had tied to the backsides of their clothes and body armor. The men in the approaching white trucks had no idea they were there. Sergeant Cohen had made the movement to get the handset next to his face the moment he heard the sound of engines.

"All callsigns Assassin, 2-3. We've got multiple approaching victors, some technicals, all with armed men."

"Solid copy 2-3, hold fire until after we've initiated."

"Roger."

The lead vehicle rounded the bend. Grips tightened on rifles, breaths were halted, eyes remained fixed forwards as the column passed by mere yards away from the squad. Just as the last one was about to come around the bend, a loud crack split the air. It was instantly followed by more, the distinctive sound of M16s. The vehicles screamed to a stop. Now there were the explosions of grenades to the soldier's right. The tailing truck started to reverse. Cohen and the rest of 2-3 put a stop to that with a few bursts through the windshield. They walked their fire up the line. Those fighters that realized they had enemies behind them too tried to bring their weapons around, but it was to no avail. The high velocity 5.56 rounds ripped through the unarmored vehicles and into soft flesh like a swarm of angry hornets. The slaughter was over as quickly as it had begun. No one in 2-3 even had time to change their first magazine. Silence fell along the jungle road. As their ears recovered a few whimpering cries in Spanish could be heard.

March 18 2019
11:15
Pueblo Ignacio

"Infantry in the open! Two hundred yards!" B Company's second platoon pivoted to the right in time to see dozens of the enemy attempting to flee across the flood plains to the north of the town. The soldiers dropped to one knee or one their bellies and began to pour fire on them. The machine guns were merciless, cutting a swath through the enemy soldiers. The cease fire order came as the last one dropped into the tall grass. A few 40mm grenades made sure that any that had escaped by hitting the deck would not be bothering them as they continued their advance towards the town's walls.

March 18 2019
11:16
Pueblo Ignacio

Sergeant Cohen stood up slowly. The occupants of all the closest vehicles were very dead, none had fewer than five bleeding bullet holes. Some men further down were already moving through the lead vehicles, checking them for survivors. One wounded Javerian was already being dragged free of the burning wreck of his pickup by a medic. The exhilaration of total victory wore off swiftly, as the aroma of cordite drifted away and the smell of sticky blood and burning rubber took over.

March 18 2019
11:16
Pueblo Ignacio

Firing on the other side of town seemed to have stopped, save for a few shots here and there. There was no more enemy contact as the Miklanian soldiers reached the edge of the town. A few squads overran the positions they'd been firing at for the last several minutes, confirming that everyone in them had either been killed or fled. Platoon and squad leaders regrouped, and started to discuss a plan for clearing the streets when the sound of screaming began to rise from the center of town.

"...The fuck?"

[Menna Shuli]

March 18 2019
11:18
Pueblo Ignacio

Amikiku stepped from the church when it became clear that the enemy had withdrawn. Shaka was at her side, offering her a battered cigarette from a battered pack.

"That wasn't as bad as it could have gone," Shaka said as Amikiku declined the proferred tobacco.

"Not by half," she replied, fingering the shrapnel in her pocket.

"Only three deaths in the whole squad," Pa approached them from behind. "I'd say that's a decent ratio."

Amikiku nodded. There were bodies in the square, of course. The Mênnan troops were going door to door and street by street, clearing the remaining opposition and taking their victory prizes. "We better get in on that if we want to walk away with anything good," she said.

"Yeah, probably," Shaka groaned as he sat down on the steps to the church door. He lit his own cigarette. "Forgive an elder for taking a few moments before he goes looting."

Amikiku and Pa sat down as well. Pa grimaced and put a hand over the side of his chest. "I think I popped a few stitches in the tower," he said.

"Should go get that checked before it gets worse," Amikiku replied.

Pa shrugged. "The medics will have more important things to deal with than an old wound."

"Fair enough," Amikiku replied. They sat in silence, watching as a Mênnan soldier dragged a man with a gun from a house down the street. The man's wife was pulled by her hair by a second, female soldier not a second later. The first soldier got the man on his knees in the street while the second dragged the screaming woman away. She was scratching at the hand of the woman dragging her away, but a warrior endured worse than that on the compound almost every day. The man with the gun shouted and begged as the soldier put his rifle to the man's head.

"Better for everyone if they wouldn't fight this," Shaka sighed. "Quicker and easier."

Amikiku shrugged. "They're casteless. They don't understand the way of things."

The gunshot didn't echo, not with all the other noise going on. The male soldier went to join the female one with the woman. Amikku stood up and stretched.

"Alright," she said. "I'm going to see what there is to take in the tavern. Care to join me?"

The other two nodded and they made their way down the steps.

---

Operation Valiant: Battle of Pueblo Ignacio
Mênnan Forces Engaged: 821
Mênnan Casualties: 214
Percent Casualties: 26.07%
OBJECTIVES SECURED

Javieran Forces Engaged: 210
Javieran Casualties: 45
Percent Casualties: 21.43%
RETREAT

[Menna Shuli]

April 1 2019
13:45
Pueblo Ignacio

The past several weeks had turned the town of Pueblo Ignacio into a proper military encampment for the Mênna. While the remaining villagers were allowed to go about their business under the watchful eyes of the occupying force, many had been selected to go out and level ground and construct the requirements for a temporary airfield outside of the town. A tent village had bloomed out from the town as the airfield became operational, and the Mênnan presence in San Javier began to feel real.

Sul had spent much of the time since the battle in the church, which the Grand Army had sequestered as their main command.Their Miklanian allies had not appreciated that. There was much that the Miklanians had not appreciated about the past dozen days. Sul felt that, if he were being honest with himself, he couldn't blame them. He wanted to be able to harden himself against the foreign interlopers, but knew that he could not fully distance himself against their arguments. The prizetaking had been something to read about and something very different to experience. Sul had spent many sleepless nights considering his ancestor, Hitap Mipax Imex, who had conquered a dozen tribes during the tribal wars and had taken a hundred concubines looking for one who could give him children. The thought of the prizetakings that had passed and the ones that would come sent fitful shivers through Sul's spine.

He'd been corrupted by Westernization at some point, he thought. It had probably been the foreign tutors who had taught him other languages, or perhaps it had been professors at the University. It didn't matter one way or another. If anyone ever discovered the knots that his stomach had been in since he had seen Pueblo Ignacio that first night after victory, he'd be ruined. Worse, his family's prestige would take a hit, and with it his mother's growing influence in the Senate. His brother had confided in Sul that he intended to run for the next space to open for their tribe on the Sâtêp as well. Victory for Sul in San Javier would be a great feather in the Mipax family cap, but any cowardice or break from tradition...

It didn't bear thinking of. Sul would grit his teeth and bear it. That was what vêhitap'at did, after all. Decorum and dignity. Such was the way.

He considered the map of Constantina that he and his advisors were surrounding. The town was vaguely oblong, spilling from a central point in the open fields of the steppe like a stain. Flat lands all around it, poppy fields stretching away and away and away. The oil rigs sprouting in clumps from the red fields were black dots on the map, like blackhead acne on a sunburned face. Little cover. Little defensive points. It operated negatively both for the defenders and the attackers. The Mênna could sweep across the landscape like a wave, but Constantina was a rock that they would have to break against. Even if they cut the city off from the rest of the country, Constantina was the most well-supplied, well-stocked location in the country. It had fuel, it had food, it had everything it needed to withstand siege for ancestors' knew how long. The only chance that the Mênna had of taking it without dreadful casualties was to take it swiftly and cleanly, but doing so would mean funnelling their troops into the tight warrens that composed the streets of the city. Constantina was not "designed" so much as "evolved", and the tight-packed labyrinth of roads would be deadly to an invading force.

What Sul needed was a plan, but even now their information was spotty. That was his first concern. They needed, more than anything, efficient ways of surveilling and scouting unfamiliar landscapes. This was not the Mênnan area of expertise, as they had always fought within their own borders, in familiar surroundings. If they kept operating on partial information, they would eventually come up against something that they couldn't simply force through with numbers.

Shala disagreed. He believed, of course, that any delays to an immediate attack would simply give the Javierans and their allies a chance to fortify and defend the city. He wasn't wrong, Sul knew, and Sul in fact wondered how much of his own consternation was simply cowardice in ordering another attack. Still, if a week or two's delay meant better information, then he was willing to take that chance.