Klaus' War {IC|MT|CLOSED}

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Thu Apr 11, 2019 9:13 pm

KLAUS' WAR

Capile has once more erupted into conflict and strife. The Communists, Fascists, and Royalists are at each others' throats,
waging a destructive war against their own country while the smaller factions nip at their heels.
Perhaps there could have been peace—
but the only reality now is war.

GUIDELINES

1. Your first entry must be an introductory post, detailing your government's official message of support to the faction of their choice and embarkation of men/supplies/etc. to their destination in Capile.

2. Every post must be formatted in some way. That could mean using one of my templates and adding images and quotes and line breaks, or simply adding a bolded header— both, and anything in between, are acceptable.

3. Do not spam this thread. Take time crafting each post (which should be four to five paragraphs in length at the least), and please make sure you can be proud of whatever writing you upload. This will also ensure that the other players have enough time to respond before you overwhelm them. If you find that you need to submit a post to keep the roleplay going but don't have enough to write about, then I suggest working on characters! A little character development never hurts, and will only make our roleplay more engaging.

4. In the same vein, always spellcheck your posts. Proofread your post at least one time before submitting it to catch any glaring grammar or spelling mistakes. (I recommend getting the free spellcheck service Grammarly.) Extensive grammar mistakes and/or poor post quality are both grounds for banning you from the roleplay.

5. Under no circumstances submit an out of character post to this thread. OOC is an immersion-breaking eyesore that can easily derail an in character thread. Absolutely all OOC commentary should be confined to the OOC thread.

6. Chemical weapons/weapons of mass destruction are banned and must be appealed to me via telegram for approval.

7. No god-modding, metagaming, future technology, taking control of someone else's character, etc.

8. You are highly encouraged to write both from the perspective of your nation and from that of characters in your nation. A good mix of perspectives from which to write could be, for example, the governmental leader of your country, a military officer commanding your forces, and a front-line soldier.

9. If you make yourself a nuisance (frequently getting into arguments that derail the thread) or break any of the aforementioned rules (posting multiple OOC posts to the IC, submitting multiple poor quality/short posts, etc.) you can and will be banned from the roleplay. I don't want to do this, but I will if you come between the other players and a good, immersive roleplay. Please respect my decision to remove you from the roleplay, and if you have any qualms, take them up with me via telegram.

10. Again, my telegram inbox is always open. Feel free to ask me questions concerning the roleplay, suggest ideas, seek approval for your own plans if you think they might be controversial, ask for help or inspiration, provide constructive criticism, etc.

TIMELINE

20 FEBRUARY 2016
Klaus I ascends the throne, and announces his plan to institute democracy in Capile.
1 JANUARY 2018
First Capilean Elections are held, and monarchist Wilhelm Knott is elected Chancellor.
FEBRUARY-MARCH 2018
Street riots erupt between political dissidents who dispute the election results.
15 MARCH 2018
Klaus I declares martial law and orders the arrests of prominent VF and BSU officials. VF leader Walther Nemetz responds with a military coup, seizing control of Saxtonburg.
MARCH 2018
The Grand Duchy mobilizes its military and fights back against the VF, but loses control of much of northern Capile.
1 APRIL 2018
The Royalist capital, Saxtonburg, falls under siege from VF troops.
8 APRIL 2018
The BSU declares a national revolution and seizes power in central Capile.
27 APRIL 2018
The Dutch Republic secedes from Capile, taking control of the Capilean East Coast.
5 MAY 2018
The French Free State secedes from Capile, seizing a pocket of north-eastern Capile.
JULY 2018
Various nations enter the war on various sides (see roster).
15 JULY 2018
The Republic of Saatland secedes from Capile, taking over a strip of the South Coast. A six-way civil war begins.
10 AUGUST 2018
The Siege of Saxtonburg ends in a Fascist victory. The Reichsrat is destroyed and very few Royalist troops escape.
12 AUGUST 2018
The BSU's Operation Anvil begins; Communist troops advance south-east from Kongsburg in an effort to break out to the sea.
14 AUGUST 2018
Walther Nemetz proclaims the transition of the VF into the Capilean Reich.
The defenders of Mühlburg surrender to the new Reich.
15 AUGUST 2018
The First Battle of Raus; German forces launch a probing attack toward Raus and are almost cut off and encircled, but Royalist air support ensures their rescue.
18-19 AUGUST 2018
Operation Anvil meets hastily-assembled Royalist forces at the Battle of Haakensburg; Royalist reinforcements prevent the city from falling and the Communist offensive is halted.
21 AUGUST 2018
Communist forces launch Operation Hammer, a pincer movement designed to captured Osthilt and conjoin Kongsburg with Raus.
An army of the Reich launches Operation Huginn in order to break the siege of Wolfcour.
German Army Groups land at Rochefurt and plan to liberate Stammburg from the Reich.
Dutch forces capture Krugersburg.
23 AUGUST 2018
Reich forces capture Wolfcour.
French forces capture Roappe.
The Reich launches Operation Muninn to capture Gravines.
Communist forces capture Osthilt.
26 AUGUST 2018
Communist forces capture Rulund.
The Reich launches Operation Hel to overrun the Rei River Valley.
Nordlingen surrenders to the Reich.
29 AUGUST 2018
The Reich captures Reiburg.
A Communist-controlled overland route is established between Kongsburg and Raus.
8 SEPTEMBER 2018
The Reich captures Gravines.
The Free French government flees to Roappe.
25 SEPTEMBER 2018
Reich forces capture Quassdorf, concluding Operation Hel.
28 SEPTEMBER 2018
Reich forces in Stammburg surrender to German troops.
1 OCTOBER 2018
Royalist forces launch Operation Panoply across multiple fronts.

ROSTER

Major factions displayed in bold and in the color that corresponds to their map color, with their allies in italics. Included with each is a brief description of their involvement in the conflict.
Grand Duchy of Nova Capile
Currently engaged in an existential, total war for its own existence.

The Federation of European Monarchies
Providing their old monarchical ally with full military and economic aid.
The Solisian Empire
Providing full-scale aid economically and militarily for the Royalists.

Capilean Reich
Currently engaged in an existential, total war for its own existence.

The Greater German Reich In-Exile
Providing covert military and economic aid to the Reich.
The Republic of Akordania
Assisting the Reich with war materiel and military support.

Socialist Union
Currently engaged in an existential, total war for its own existence.

The Socialist Commune of the Revolution
Providing discreet help to their brothers-in-arms, the BSU.

Saatland
Currently engaged in an existential, total war for its own existence.

Dutch Republic
Currently engaged in an existential, total war for its own existence.

Free French State

The Federal Republic of Luxembourg-Bavaria
Deploying a large force to assist the French struggle for independence.

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Thu Apr 11, 2019 9:16 pm

REIBURG
NOVA CAPILE

"Mama," Rudolf whispered, "I must go. I have to fight in this war." A frail hand squeezed his own, and he looked up at the invalid who lay before him. Rudolf's mother had been so beautiful, so graceful, so capable. Now she was a skeleton, lying on her deathbed. Her eyes looked out at him, frantic, wordless.

"I promise," Rudolf said, voice shaking, "that I will see you again." He slowly rose, and gave his mother one last kiss. Her skin was cold. A tear was welling in his eye; but Rudolf fought it back, and with tremendous strength, he gave his mother a grave smile and turned away from her forever. He left the room, and slipped into his family's kitchen. When he saw who was waiting for him, he groaned.

Sitting around the small dining table were two men. The first was a big bear of a man, with an impressive waxed mustache. His hair was white, and most of the power had left from his once formidable body. The man beside him was smaller, but he still bore the bear's square head, stern demeanor, and waxed mustache, though his was brown and less robust. The bear rose, and his imitator followed suit hastily.

"Where do you think you are going, son?" the elder repudiated.

Rudolf looked at his father and brother contemptuously. "To fight for my country," he ground out.

"No," Johannes, his father, responded. He took a step toward Rudolf, his youthful vigor returning and inflating his chest. "You're going to throw your life away fighting for a fascistic demag-"

"Nemetz is not a demagogue! He is an ordinary man. But he inspires people to greatness." Rudolf remembered the magnificent orations he'd heard at Colditz, and was emboldened. "Right now, the destiny of our country is being forged, and I'm not going to sit on the sidelines any longer!"

"Ever since you returned from Colditz," Johannes retorted bitterly, "you've been spouting off about Nemetz and his delusions. I've had it! Fascism is a farce!" he bellowed, turning red in the face and advancing toward his son. With every step, his strength returned.

"If you were going to fight, at least fight for the monarchy!" the other man broke in, clearly reveling in the humiliation of his younger brother. Ernst had always enjoyed torturing Rudolf, not least because only the latter had inherited his mother's good looks.

"The monarchy is weak!" Rudolf shouted. "We must restore the glory of our country! It is an honor and a privilege to fight and die for-"

"I will not have either of my sons die for a lost cause!" Johannes roared, bringing the room to silence. He rounded on Rudolf, towering over his son. "Nemetz is a lunatic. He wants to engulf our country in war, not to help it! I am your father, and I am commanding you to-"

"You will never be my father," Rudolf spat maliciously. A tinge of regret haunted him from the moment the words passed his lips; but as he looked back at his father, his heart hardened.

Johannes seemed to deflate, his vigor draining out of him like steam escaping a tea kettle. He looked just as pathetic as Rudolf's mother, now. Rudolf turned his back on the wilting man, and strode to the heavy wooden door. His hand hesitated at the frigid doorknob.

"Son," Johannes called from behind him. His voice was no longer commanding, but pleading. "I don't want to lose you. Don't go."

Rudolf's heart twitched, and then settled. He took a breath. "You lost me a long time ago." He turned the handle, slammed the door behind him, and left his home forever.

SAXTONBURG
NOVA CAPILE

"Vorwärts!" came the distant cries, echoing across the blackened city. For months now, the nation's capital had been engulfed in battle. Districts, streets, even buildings changed hands from day to day, hour to hour. The only thing that ever seemed to change was how hopeless it looked for the defenders of Saxtonburg.

General Erich Ulex peered through binoculars down the boulevard that stretched before him. Behind him rose the Reichsrat Building, still regal, dominating, and, surprisingly, unscathed. It seemed that the Fascists still had some respect left for Capile's old traditions. In front of the parliament building lay a massive promenade, ten lanes wide and extending across nearly one-third of the city, from where Ulex was standing to the Capilean War Ministry. Until yesterday, the Royalists had complete control over the entire street. Now, the enemy was advancing rapidly up the Großstraße.

Through the binoculars, Ulex observed the shattered roadway and the bombed-out buildings that lined it. Monarchist troops flitted across the street, manning hastily constructed breastworks. Erich lowered the instrument and turned, walking up the low stone steps to the plaza in front of the Reichsrat. A gaggle of officers, their grey uniforms worn and spotted with dust, greeted him.

"What is the latest news?" Ulex questioned.

"We've completely lost the banking district, Herr General," a young major reported, "and the harbor facilities are also coming under renewed assault. But General Faulkner has assured us that he will be able to hold the port."

"He had better," Ulex muttered.

"We have also detected massive enemy troop movements. It looks as if they're preparing for a concentrated drive. We have a few likely targets in mind, but-"

Erich fell forward as a massive explosion sounded behind him. He whirled around, dazed, to see a column of flame erupting from an apartment building on the Großstraße.

"Sir, radio reports of an enemy assault down the Großstraße!" the major shouted. Erich could barely hear him; his eardrums were pounding. He grabbed at his binoculars and shoved his eyes against them. Far down the boulevard, he could make out a sleek tank, painted with the runic raven that was the VF's secondary symbol, shooting down the street. Beside it, masses of black-uniformed soldiers were advancing, guns blazing. He watched the Royalists before them turn, run, and die in droves, and then threw down his binoculars in disgust.

"I want every unit that isn't fighting somewhere else here, now!" he thundered. "In fact, I want every unit here, regardless!" He fired out orders like a machine gun. "Get those AA guns working! They're bound to send in air support soon. Set up a barricade in the street, and get some anti-tank guns to bulwark it."

It seemed that chaos suited Ulex.

"General!" the major shouted frantically, "General Faulkner is requesting reinforcements. The Fascists are making a synchronized assault, and he doesn't have enough men to hold them back!"

"Tell Faulkner to hold them for as long as he can. All units have to be redirected here. If we lose the Reichsrat, we lose Saxtonburg," Ulex ground out. The Fascists were getting closer with every second. A few hundred Royalist soldiers, grey uniformed, were gathered at the end of the Großstraße, heaping together rubble and sandbags to build a barricade. Throughout the city, the monarchy had perhaps ten thousand men left, against possibly hundreds of thousands of enemies. Not to mention that, due to the Fascist blockade, Ulex's men were low on everything from cigarettes to food to ammunition.

"We can't lose this city," he murmured to himself, more of a question than a statement. He pushed those defeatist thoughts from his mind. "We can't!" Erich yelled. His hand found the pistol looped to his belt. "I will die before I leave the capital to these Fascist scum. Defend the Reichsrat, at all costs."

by **New Decius** » Fri Apr 12, 2019 12:34 am

Federation of European Monarchies
Berlin, Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire
War Room, Kaiserliches Kriegsministerium

Normally, the War Room at the heart of the Kaiserliches Kriegsministerium (GER: Imperial Ministry of War) was a place of calm and composure, panic was after all not the desired emotion in such a place where Generals ordered millions of men about or held the nuclear launch codes. Today was however the exception, for a rather heavyset man wearing more weight in medals on his chest than a sheet metal worker would lift in a day of work burst through the doors into the main situation room in quite the fit of anger and frustration. And he was not only boisterous in his physical activity but was screaming his lungs out at the same time, unfortunate for the poor Oberleutnant (GER: 1st Lieutenant) who was trudging alongside the man carrying his briefcase and having his hearing violently worn away by his commanding officers outburst. Though given the situation on their hands, no one could really blame him for reacting in this manner.

"How in the name of Wotan could it have possibly slipped our intelligence services! What are they doing over at the Abwehr eh? Sitting on their asses playing a game of cards while a satellite alert blams away and they take no notice!" The man slammed his hand down on a conference table, though the other two men at the table, themselves nicely covered in medals, took no notice and continued to read their briefings with intense concentration. The Oberleutnant placed the briefcase down on the table and opened it up so his own commander could read his own such briefings, trying to avoid drawing the ire of either his commander or the Abwehr (Imperial German Military Intelligence) Oberst (GER: Colonel) three feet away and glaring at the comment that their personnel were asleep at the switch. The young man tried to play mediator between his commander and the intelligence officer. "I'm positive that the intelligence services do the best they can with what's available Generalfeldmarschall (GER: Field Marshal) Wrangel."

Generalfeldmarschall Friedrich Wrangel, Chief of Staff and Commanding Officer of the Kaiserliches Armee (GER: Imperial German Army) and the second-highest ranking officer in the military services after Kaiserliche Marschall (GER: Imperial Marshal) Dietrich von Regensburg, the Chairman of the Joint Chief's of Staff, scoffed at his aide's attempt at mediation. "I'm sure." And then he dove into the matter at hand as he opened his briefing book to observe the satellite photos taken over Capile merely three hours ago, specifically of Saxtonburg and the drastic changes that had taken place in the last couple of hours. "How is it that in the last couple of hours, a situation that had been relatively stable and held in stalemate for months, changed drastically in favor of the fascist rebels?" His question was directed to Oberst Rolf Mehlen, the Abwehr Watch Officer in the Situation Room tonight and a man whom was not exactly his best friend; the two had previously clashed over the Abwehr's failure to secure accurate intelligence on militia activities during the German intervention in South Africa in 2003.

"Well Generalfeldmarschall if you will recall, we had to send most of our undercover assets in Nova Capile deep underground at the start of the civil war after Nemetz seized our Consular Intelligence Officers in Colditz and strung them up from the lampposts as 'foreign agitators' for a rally crowd. He has been issuing a lot of rhetoric lately decrying the close relationship Capile maintained with us, stating that a close relationship with its ancestral homeland is not in their nations best interest." He passed the three high ranking officers at the table transcripts of Nemetz's latest speeches, causing Wrangel to almost growl in anger at some of the rhetoric. The ironic point was that when the First German-Capilean Agreement was signed after the Second Columbian War, Walther Nemetz had been a major proponent of the military alliance, to the point of giving German defense contractors major access to Capile's economy in exchange for a mutual defense agreement. "And frankly General Platzen is not willing to risk assets in such an environment so hostile to our people and unless your willing to write the letters to the families of the agents who will be lost continuing full HUMINT intelligence gathering, I'd rather you lay off our intelligence services."

"Gentleman if we could move past whose fault it is that we were caught blind by this development and move onto a proper response." This came from His Excellency, Großadmiral (GER: Grand Admiral) Baron Joachim von Beernsdorf, Chief of Staff and Commanding Officer of the Kaiserliche Marine (GER: Imperial German Navy), a seasoned veteran of the naval services whom had seen actual combat commanding submarines during the Cold War and the German-Soviet War (1982-1987), and the oldest member of the Joint Chief's of Staff at seventy-one. "Currently Kaiserliche Marschall Von Regensburg is briefing His Imperial Majesty, he has dictated to us to prepare an appropriate response to these developments so let us examine what we have available to us to respond with. I believe that is my department, as the three ground divisions normally on loan to Nova Capile were recalled by the Reichstag last December when they were cutting our budget to expand infrastructure in Ukraine and Livonia, so naval is our only means of responding."

He took a remote and brought on a monitor at the head of their little conference room which displayed a world map then zoomed in on Nova Capile. "Currently the 7th Carrier Group is the closest formation to the combat zone as it is 230 kilometers from Saxtoburg and can be in operational range within three hours though if we pushed it its air superiority fighters could begin sorties right now but we'd be pushing it on how long they could stay in the air for. Carrier aircraft don't have as high fuel capacity as ground-based aircraft though with the two fleet carriers and the supercarrier Scharnhorst they can put just over a hundred fighters into the air."

"How long would it take them to deploy fully to Saxtonburg, and would it be safe to wait till the whole fleet was in range before we launched the aircraft?" General Karl Xavier, Chief of Staff of the Luftwaffe (GER: Imperial German Air Force) questioned as he looked at the distance between the carrier group and Saxtonburg. "Can the aircraft hold out that long without the added anti-air capabilities of the carrier group and would it make much of a difference without the CAS aircraft there to assist in ground operations?"

Beernsdorf shrugged his shoulders to indicate that the odds really were up in the air at the moment. "I really can't say, but I would say that if we are to gain air superiority we must go now. So I am going to give the order to the carrier group to launch its air contingent now, I would recommend on your seeing if there are any airborne battalions that can be airlifted to Nova Capile while I am giving the order." He turned to Rolf. "Oberst Mehlen you will inform any remaining assets we have in Saxtonburg to find the highest ranking Royalist officer they can and let them know that German air support is on its way. Have you anyone who can do that?"

Rolf didn't take more than a minute to come up with an answer sliding a file across the table to the Grand Admiral. "I have a man. He's a seasoned soldier turned military adviser and he's right in the middle of the fighting..."

Saxtonburg
Nova Capile

"You keep firing or I'll have your damn ass on my wall when this is all said and done with!" Hauptmann (GER: Captain) Willi Dernen shouted at the soldiers with him inside the ruins of the Deutsche Bank branch in Saxtonburg where the battle of the decade was taking place now. The G17A carbine rifle kicked against his shoulder as he fired back at the fascist troops coming up the street while one of his comrades sprayed death from an MG-65 light machine gun and another picked the fascists off from afar with a Kar73 marksman carbine.

It had all been so simple when he got deployed to Nova Capile back in November as a military adviser; Willi had just returned from extended deployment to Syria and been promoted to Hauptmann and then he had been reassigned to the Abwehr and told he would be sent to Capile to train their troops into guerrilla warfare countermeasures. He was to be provided for by the Embassy in Saxtonburg with a rather nice if Spartan apartment, which suited a career soldier like him just fine, a spending allowance of a thousand marks a month for personal purchases, and diplomatic immunity for any crime short of rape and murder. And to be honest Willi genuinely enjoyed training the eager young recruits to survive a guerrilla warfare scenario, they had all been so eager to learn from a seasoned soldier; though to be honest they all got more enjoyment making fun of his eye patch than anything else something the thirty-two year old lamented very much.

That was all over now, and most of his former students were dead, the training facility having been bombed in the middle of the night by Nemetz's vultures and Willi had held the hands of many of his students as they were born away to Valhalla in the arms of the Valkyries and he had swore he would do everything he could to help end these bloodthirsty fascists for good. Hence how he had now ended up in the bloody fight for Saxtonburg, though to be honest he didn't care where it was, only that he was killing fascists.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when the radioman, Helmut grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, apologizing profusely, Capilean's seemed to show much more fearful reverence towards officers than Germans did whom showed respectful deference rather than adoration. "Sir there's a priority call in from the aircraft carrier SMS Scharnhorst, of the German Imperial Navy." Willi took that right away, pushing Helmut and himself to the ground to avoid a volley of machine gun fire in the process, cursing as he felt that one of the bullets had nicked his right shoulder, nothing to worry about but a pity he had already run out of morphine. "This is Hauptmann Dernen, go ahead Scharnhorst, and speak up I don't know if you heard we're in the middle of a battle here." After a couple minutes Willi cursed again and dropped the radio which Helmut efficiently yet clumsily caught.

Willi turned to Helmut and helped him gather his equipment before issuing his orders. "General Ulex is still holding the Reichsrat isn't he?" Helmut nodded emphatically. "Alright send this message to him." Helmut got ready to start transmitting. "To General Erich Ulex, from German Military Adviser Hauptmann Willi Dernen, the German 7th Carrier Group will commence air superiority operations over Saxtonburg in the next hour. I repeat..."

by **First American Empire** » Fri Apr 12, 2019 12:57 am

Reiburg
Nova Capile

Orders to General Lara Dietrich:

Nova Capile is currently engaged in a six-way civil war between the ruling monarchy, the fascist Fatherland Front, the far-left Socialist Union, and three minor secessionist rebellions. To prevent the spread of fascism to Nova Capile, I hereby authorize a military intervention to defeat the Fatherland Front. You are to cross the Reiburg Tunnel into Nova Capile with 100,000 soldiers, and wage war upon the Fatherland Front until not a single square centimeter of Capilean land is under fascist control.

You are prohibited from attacking any of the other factions unless you are attacked first, and even then the destruction of the VF is your only objective. You are also prohibited from assisting any faction unless that assistance is directly related to the destruction of the VF. I know you may sympathize with the BSU, but you are prohibited from helping them in their rebellion against the Royalists. We need both the Royalists and the BSU in order to defeat the VF, and they cannot help us if they kill each other.

Any military aid you give to a faction must be given only under the condition that it be used only against the VF. You are required to give aid to the Royalists and the BSU under these conditions, but I will leave the decision on whether or not to give aid to the minor factions to you.

Addendum: Due to the fact that Article XIV of the Capilean constitution would ban you and 56% of the expeditionary force from fighting, I hereby absolve you of any obligation to follow Capilean law. I will not let my army be ruined by unfathomable stupidity.

Signed, Emperor Norton VII, Emperor of the United States, Protector of Mexico

General Lara Dietrich put down the letter. "General, the BSU forces will be destroyed if we do not intervene", said Lieutenant Pari Qanbari, "We have to do something!"

"Can't, Emperor's orders. You can read the damn letter for yourself. I know, I don't like it either. That being said, I need some distraction from watching the bloodshed. How about another round of wargaming simulations? You play the VF this time. I'll play the Royalists and ourselves. I'll get Ambassador Grigoris Tassos to play the BSU; I need to simulate what happens if the socialists are lead by a clueless moron."

The game began. Tassos took Quassdorf. Explosions wracked the outskirts of Reiburg. Dietrich moved her pieces to break the siege of Saxtonburg. Screams filled the air. Qanbari moved north to attack Pritzen. A tank ran over several socialist rebels. Dietrich moved her armies to liberate Muhlberg and Nordlingen. Several socialist rebels screamed out their surrender, only to be silenced by gunshots. Tassos retreated from Pritzen and attacked Reiburg, losing all but three of his pieces in the process. The remaining socialist forces ran for their lives to their base south of the city. Dietrich moved every last piece back towards Reiburg, but was a turn too late; Qanbari moved her troops to take Reiburg from Tassos, detonated the tunnel, and cut the American Empire's only link to reinforcements. The battlefield fell silent. Qanbari encircled and destroyed Dietrich's army, and gradually took the entirety of Nova Capile over the course of the evening.

"This doesn't bode well."

"You always say that, Tassos", replied Qanbari.

General Dietrich swept up the pieces and put them back in the box. "These simulations are important. It is critical that we keep Reiburg safe from the VF at all times. We learned that can't trust the Royalists or the BSU to defend Reiburg themselves. In a worst case scenario, the two of them will weaken each other to the point where the VF can just waltz in and cut us completely off from reinforcements. We need a sizable defensive force in Reiburg at all times."

They walked out of the tent. "Tassos, send a letter to the monarch of Nova Capile notifying him that I'm coming in to break the siege of Saxtonburg." said General Lara Dietrich. "Don't bother asking permission, I already have a hundred thousand troops in one of his major cities. And for Gods sake, get him to repeal Article XIV before he chokes to death on his own idiocy!" The General surveyed the wreckage of the battlefield, and spotted a lone man in VF colors walking along the southern road. "Do you see that man? I want an artillery strike on his position. NOW!"

The VF soldier in question was unaware of the identity of the forces camped out in Reiburg, his impending death by artillery strike, or the fact that he was about to become the first casualty inflicted by the Imperial Expeditionary Force. He would not be the last.

by **Vanquaria** » Fri Apr 12, 2019 4:24 am

Autarch Scott Esic Tyeora
Grand Palace, Auraxis
16 July 2018

A sudden shuffle of papers roused the young Autarch from his slumber upon the striated oaken table, a slight dribble of saliva the only indication of what he had been doing for the past hour or so. Rubbing his eyes, he scanned the room, searching for the source of the disturbance. To his relief, he saw that he had left the window open on the far side of his office, the culprit being none other than the early morning breeze of Vanquaria's capital.

He pushed himself up from his woolen arm-chair and strode across the room, expending effort for the sake of keeping the cold away. Not that he was particularly sensitive to a chill but rather, Scott preferred the warm comfort of home to the stark contrast of the piercing winds outside. He looked out at the metropolis beyond him as he locked the glass panes together. Great spires rose up to the clouds, mega-structures daring the gods to smite them for their audacity. Though the Grand Palace was not the tallest structure in Auraxis, it was the vastest, encompassing the equal distance of a hundred football fields.

Such was the extravagant nature of his predecessors. Scott wondered if they would have known that their materialistic desires would reflect on his reign as the latest ruler of Vanquaria, the latest Autarch of an ancient dynasty of emperors.

Knock! Knock!

Pivoting around to face the large, black doors of his office, Scott said, "Come in."

Watching the golden knobs turn, Scott was soon beset by multiple figures entering the office. Most of them were irrelevant, mere handmaidens tasked with household chores for the Autarch. A few of the figures stood directly in front of Scott and bowed low to the blonde man. They were old men, grey beards adorning their wrinkled, weary faces. Their attire was pitch-black, the classical uniform of a Vanquarian officer. The young Vanquarian raised a bare hand.

"What is it?"

One of them, a portly man compared to the skinnier builds of his colleagues, rose up from his bow and said, "The communique has been successfully wired to Mister Walther Nemetz, we now await his reply."

"Mhmm," Scott nodded, taking in the news, then asked, "I take it that my orders for the fleet have been carried out?"

"Yes, my Autarch. CSG-7 has been deployed to Nova Capil-"

"Estimated time of arrival?" Scott interrupted.

"Uh, about a week or so, my Autarch."

"And VSOF?" Scott asked, 'VSOF' being an acronym for Vanquarian Special Operations Forces, an umbrella term for Vanquarian Special Forces in general. Their success in foreign and domestic operations being so well-recorded, the elite military units of Vanquaria were the executioners of the Autarch's will, apex warriors with their global reputation preceding them.

"C-17 aircraft standby to deploy the first VSOF units into Nova Capile. We simply need the permission of the Fatherland Front and the assurance that they are capable of securing Nova Capile's airspace for our force's arrival."

"...Do you think they are actually capable, Field Marshal?"

Blinking repeatedly, clearly surprised by the question, and stroking the wisps of grey hair exuding from his chin, there was a moment of silence before the Vanquarian general spoke, "I do believe the Fatherland Front is capable, my Autarch. The faction is made up of elites from all classes of society, including their elite Stoßwehr units. Out of all the armies in the island, the Fatherland Front is the only one, besides the stagnating Royalists, capable of providing the operational security the VAF demands."

"Ah, I see." Scott smiled at the old men and waved a hand, "Thank you, generals. Dismissed."

"Thank you, my Autarch!" They saluted simultaneously then briskly exited their ruler's office, perspiration evident on the backs of their necks.

Seating himself back down in his arm-chair, Scott tapped his fingers together. His smile suddenly curved further into a grin. Nova Capile? It was yet another country stimulating his interest in their domestic affairs. He made a mental note to request intelligence files on their Royalists be delivered to him. After all, the Fatherland Front wasn't the only party on Nova Capile piquing his interest.

Addressed to Parteileiter Walther Nemetz
Foreign Ministry of the Imperial Autarchy of Vanquaria
16 July 2018

The Fatherland Front's war in Nova Capile has reached my ears and it pleases me to know that your party is struggling for the tenets of Fascism. As the Autarch of Vanquaria, I share your belief that Communism is an ideology that must be abolished from a nation's government for its ideological ideal and its adherents are inherently detrimental to the progress of a nation-state.

Your publicized desire to install an economic system based on the existence of a social hierarchy would be the solution Nova Capile needs to turn around its current situation. The collaboration of the classes under a corporatist approach to economic policy-making is a fundamental pillar of Fascist economics and is what defines the economic success of Fascist nations. The Royalist's plan to stabilize the economy has not proved fruitful and your party is the culmination of the will of its people.

Nova Capile would achieve greatness on the geopolitical stage through aggressive foreign policy, enforcing the Capilean people's interests first is a hallmark of nationalism. However, the turmoil in your nation, particularly your party's struggle against the nepotic regime of the Royalists, is setting back progress by decades and will continue to set back progress unless urgent action is taken.

The Vanquarian Armed Forces have been the hammer of my will, utilized without discrimination against Socialist state entities to a great degree of success. Inspired by your party's struggle, I wish to offer the aid of the Iron Empire to the Fatherland Front. Militarily, economically and diplomatically, my nation can assist your party. I eagerly await your reply, in the hopes that you'll choose what's best for the Capilean people.

Yours sincerely,

Autarch Scott Esic Tyeora of Vanquaria

by **Castelia** » Fri Apr 12, 2019 6:12 am

The Benevolent Republic of Castelia
Office of the President, Grand Palace of the People, Castelia City

Surrounded by his trusted council of advisers, President Gregor Constance began his rounds of questioning. His advisers were a mixture of civilian and military personnel, all of whom had been briefed and aware of their ongoing involvement. He was being briefed about the ongoing civil war on The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile, one that was already being called "Klaus' War." All available information that could be gathered from news sources and people on the ground had been collected and organized, and now it was a matter of planning policy.

"Interesting. I take it our letter to the Grand Duke and Reichkanzler has already been sent?"

"Yes, sir. We've received confirmation from our embassy in Rochefurt that the letter is now on its way to them." was the reply from the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Ludmilla Cruthers. She was a middle-aged woman in her late 40's, with long wavy brown hair that reached her waist, a curvy figure, and a face comparable to that of a model. Indeed, she possessed great beauty, but she also had the brains to match. She had already served as Minister of Foreign Affairs for the past three administrations, and she had a great deal of achievements under her belt.

"And what of our planned support?"

"Non-military supplies and financial aid is already being sent. We've also organized an expeditionary force of 100,000 men, sir, and additional forces are on standby. The first wave are already on their way to Nova Capile, commanded by General Richard Klaxton." came the answer of Horatio Menzies, current Minister of Defense. Horatio Menzies was a former Army general, possessing actual combat experience both as a soldier and an officer. He was tall, well-built, and stood with all the strength and energy of a younger man, despite being in his late 60's.

"Good. Very good. Now, here's what I want done. Have the Armed Forces on standby ready to deploy to Nova Capile at a moment's notice. Conventional weapons only." At this, Menzies gave a nod.

"Also, I want spies on the ground, providing us information on the enemy, and possibly ready for assassination missions at any time. Think your agents can handle that, Ludwig?" Ludwig Marconi, Minister of Intelligence, also only gave a nod. A man in his early 80's, Ludwig appeared to be a wizened old man, requiring a cane to walk about. His hair was grey and white, and his skin was wrinkly and dry with age. However, this all did not impede Ludwig in his role as the intelligence chief of Castelia, and even now he was still feared by many of his political rivals.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, that'll be all. You're dismissed. I want an update as soon as there is one." Waving his hand, Gregor sent all of his advisers away. He then stood up and went over to the nearby drinks table, filling up a glass with vodka. He only had one thought about the whole affair:

"That's one more country under Castelia's influence, if we win."

Addressed to Grand Duke Klaus I and Reichkanzler Wilhelm Knott
Office of the President, The Benevolent Republic of Castelia

The Benevolent Republic of Castelia has heard of the recent civil war on your nation. Though our nations are far from being allies, we have heard the cries of your people, and we have decided to provide non-military and financial aid to Nova Capile in order to ease their suffering. We, in the past, have also experienced the horrors of war, and thus we wish to prevent any more people from being afflicted by this terrible specter of destruction.

However, at the same time, we recognize that among the factions fighting within this war, there are those who wish to spread the ideologies of Fascism and Communism. These two ideologies are the bane of any free civilization, and it has been the mission of Castelia to stamp out any organisation that seeks to spread such disgusting ideologies. Thus, in recognition of your fight against The Fatherland Front and The Socialist Union, Castelia will be deploying an expeditionary force of 100,000 men to aid you in your fight. Additional forces will be sent, should you ask for it.

In summary, I hereby extend the aid of the Benevolent Republic of Castelia to you, and wish you good luck in the upcoming days of struggle for the freedom and liberty of the Nova Capilean people.

Sincerely,
Gregor Constance
President of the Benevolent Republic of Castelia

by **Rehs** » Fri Apr 12, 2019 1:44 pm

Aviswell, Capital of the United Socialist States of Rehs

Chairman Donald Hákon marched briskly to Aegis, the Rehsian Situation Room, and said in an irate tone,"Why am I here at midnight? I have a meeting with a representative from the People's Citizen Union and I need to broker a trade deal with the Cooperatives!" One of the generals spoke up. "Chairman Hákon, I have wonderful news. The proletariat in Nova Capile has risen up alongside are Communist brethren of the Fraternal Socialist Union to end the reign of the Monarchy! However, they are only one faction in the six-way civil war, and thus we must aid them!" The Chairman sighed and said, "I'll send their leader a request to send forces immediately." As Hákon left Aegis, he mumbled to himself, "Never get any rest around here," before sitting down at his desk and typing the message.

TO:General-Secretary Terry Blücher
FROM:Chairman Donald Hákon
I represent the people of the United Socialist States of Rehs, and we have heard the Capilean proletariat cry out for Communism and freedom. We have seen your valiant efforts to free the people from the reign of the tyrannical Monarchs, your valiant defense against the Fascists who wish us to bend the knee, and your ferocious soldiers freeing the people. My people have given me permission to send one-thousand five-hundred expeditionary soldiers and twenty combat vehicles to help your revolution. We have also offered to fund your revolutionaries by sending fifteen-thousand Tyls, worth around ten-thousand Capilean Reichsmarks. If you deem that your revolution does not need aid, we will understand.

The Chairman, exhausted, still had one more task to do. He walked over to a special phone that connected him straight to Athena, also known as the Ministry of the Military, and said, "Prepare one-thousand five-hundred soldiers and twenty combat vehicles and get them just outside the borders of Nova Capile. Don't enter their territory until we are given the go-ahead by the Socialist Union." He then hung up with a sigh and walked back to his room. He had only been in one war, and that was to secure peace with the rest of the nations on Aestrora, but he looked forward to making another Socialist state in the world.

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 12:20 am

SAXTONBURG
NOVA CAPILE

"Herr General!" the major was panting, "Urgent radio transmission for you!"

General Erich Ulex was slumped against a crumbling marble pillar of the Reichsrat. His right arm was wrapped in a bloody bandage, and even as he moved to answer the major a fresh flurry of gunfire made him wince. The bullets bounced off the pillar, sending chips of marble glancing against Erich's shoulder.

The major tossed him a radio set, and after fumbling with it for a minute, he brought the receiver to his ear.

"...General Erich Ulex, from... Hauptmann Willi Dernen. The German 7th Carrier Group... air superiority operations... next hour," Ulex discerned through the crackling static and din of battle. He got the gist of the message, and flung away the radio.

"Friendly air support is on its way!" he called to his allies. But can we hold them off until they get here?, Ulex thought. He glanced out from behind the column, and grimaced as he observed the battle.

The makeshift barricade was nearly overrun, with a ragged, torn line of Royalists holding back an onslaught of enemies. The black tide poured over the battered ramparts minute after minute, and each time the effort to repulse them became harder.

"What are reports from the other sectors?" Ulex shouted over the sound of gunfire.

"We control less than fifteen percent of the city," the major yelled back. "General Faulkner's men have broken, and his last report was from almost an hour ago."

Erich swore violently, and clenched at his wound in frustration, as if by punishing himself he could gain penance for Capile's sins. A runner, ducking low to the ground to avoid the creeping machine gun fire of the enemy, approached the general.

"Sir, we're running low on ammunition, and the anti-tank guns are out!" he cried.

Ulex gulped. "We have no choice! We have to hold them here. German air support is coming!"

The young man took heart, and Erich was so relieved he made plans to commend him, should either of them survive this wretched place.

"Hear that men?" the soldier yelled, sprinting back to the barricade. "German air support is coming!" A hurrah blossomed out of the monarchist troops, fostered by the desperate hope that only men who already know they are dead can muster, and it carried the Capilean lines forward. They repulsed the Fascist onslaught for another minute, and redoubled their effort at holding the line.

Erich hoped it would be enough.

KONGSBURG
NOVA CAPILE

One could barely hear themselves think in a beer hall, Sonja Petersen thought, but perhaps that was rather the point. In the days of the monarchy the chaos of the tavern, the bottomless mugs of beer, the senseless, lewd conversation- it had been the only respite that Kongsburg's proletariat was granted. Now the Duke's tendrils had been pruned, at least from Kongsburg; but the beer halls remained, more out of habit than necessity, the locus of all after-hours activity in the metropolis.

Sonja had been frequenting the rowdy bars since she was sixteen; it was here, in these dingy backrooms, that she had first heard of Communism. At first, it had been whispered, passed down like forbidden knowledge, awarded only to the worthy; but now it was shouted out loud for all to hear. From those first secretive meetings, Sonja had been enraptured by the ideology; it was so foreign to everything she had been made to believe. Women could be more than just housewives, they taught. They could be workers, soldiers, leaders! And now here she was, twenty-three, and as fervent a believer in the doctrine as there was.

The revelry quietened somewhat- it could never be completely silenced- as a weedy man entered the low wooden stage that dominated the crowded room. Clearing his throat, he addressed the crowd.

"Ladies and gen- ah, comrades!" he corrected himself, attempting an inspirational tone. "We are honored to have with us tonight, Parteikommissar Horst Carossa!" The assembly belted out a few cheers as another man took the thin one's place. Sonja hadn't heard the name Carossa before, but she was struck immediately by his appearance.

Carossa, despite his allegiance, could very well have been the poster boy of the Vaterländische Front. He was well-built and tall, with blond hair, deep blue eyes, and pale skin. But there was one thing that set him apart from the Fascist fanatics, which Sonja could immediately notice. There was a wildness in his face that disavowed conformity and order. His body was poised to tear down the establishment, not to hold it up. His face was vaguely handsome, but the fire blazing behind his eyes made it more intimidating than attractive.

Sonja immediately began pushing her way forward, to hear what this Comrade Carossa had to say.

"Comrades," he boomed, his voice reaching the back corners of the hall without effort, "I have just come from Raus. The revolution there goes well!" A chorus of cheers rang out. "But I must say, your devotion to the revolution here is even more commendable. I can see that you have purified your city of the vestiges of monarchy, and that is all well and good. But there is more work yet to be done." The room reached a level of silence Sonja had previously thought impossible. She had reached the front of the room, and could now see Carossa plainly. He wore not the rugged uniform other Commissars had adopted, but the simple coverall most of the workers wore. A shiny collar pin bearing the hammer and sickle was the only sign of his seniority.

"The war has only just begun, and we must mobilize! It is imperative that we establish a land route to Raus. That is why General-Secretary Blücher himself has authorized me to begin recruiting for the People's Army. Our commune is in need of men and women- comrades!- who are willing to lay down their lives for our noble cause." Carossa raised his voice even higher: "I ask, who among you is willing to fight against oppression?"

"I am!" Sonja shouted, most of the hall's occupants joining her.

"Who is willing to destroy the blood-sucking leach of monarchy, the rabid dog of Fascism?"

"I am!" Sonja answered.

"It is time to decide, comrades: Will you sit out the war, working in the factory- which is all well and good, mind you. Or will you become a hero of the revolution? Will you fight against the hordes of enemies that gather on our borders? Will you liberate the proletariat that is still being crushed underneath the capitalistic bootheel in Colditz and Rochefurt?"

Carossa, eyes flaming, moved to his climax. "I ask you comrades, for the time has come to decide. Will you fight? Or will you allow the forces of evil to triumph?"

Sonja was nearing the front of the line. She had been waiting for nearly an hour now to enlist in the People's Army. She had made her decision even before Carossa had finished speaking. The man in front of her suddenly left the table, and Sonja stepped forward. Behind the knicked table was Horst Carossa. He smiled up at Sonja. Now that she was so close to him, the rugged handsomeness of his face was more apparent, and she flushed.

"Name?" he requested.

"Sonja Petersen." They ran through a number of additional, rudimentary questions, and before long she was a Private in the People's Army.

"Report to the Neustaße Barracks tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp for further orders," Carossa finished, handing her a handful of paperwork. "Long live the Revolution!"

"Long live the Revolution!" Sonja repeated. Hurrying away, she flipped absentmindedly through the forms and stopped when she saw a small scrap of paper. Written quite plainly on it were the words Tomorrow night, 9:00. 312 Fabrikstraße. Sonja stopped dead in her tracks, and wondered vaguely what such a message could mean. It could have any number of meanings. Perhaps it was an order to attend some Party function. Or perhaps it was an invitation to something more sinister-

Before Sonja could consider the paper any longer, a heavyset man bumped into her from behind, nearly sending the paperwork- and the note- flying. Muttering apologies to the gruff comrade, Sonja returned to her living quarters and spent the rest of the night contemplating whether or not she should meet Carossa.

"General-Secretary!"

Terry Blücher turned to see a young adjutant scurrying toward him with an envelope in hand. The General-Secretary had been shuffling across the hall of the government building, from his office to the war room. Normally, such interruptions to important affairs of state were forbidden, but the young man clearly bore important news.

"What is it, Comrade?"

"I have here a missive from the United Socialist States of Rehs."

"Ah, so we have finally received some foreign recognition, eh?" Blücher congratulated, wide ruddy face splitting in a grin. The adjutant nodded hopefully, handed him the paper, and went to attend to some other errand with a loose salute. Terry was too busy tearing open the envelope to return the gesture. He squinted at the missive and read it hungrily.

"I thought right," Terry told himself, pocketing the letter along with his mirth. He strode to the door of the war room, and made a mental note to write a reply to Rehs. Opening the heavy metal door, Blücher groaned inwardly as he heard the bickering of the officers within.

The socialist generals, still looking uncomfortable in their stiff scratchy uniforms, looked up at Blücher, but didn't stop arguing.

"I am the ranking officer here," an exasperated, red-faced man intoned, "and I maintain that our principal effort should be to establish a land route to Raus. It is the second-largest city we have control of, and we cannot allow it to become isolated and-"

"Nonsense!" another, bald man broke in. "A joint offensive toward and from Pritzen would not only link up two of our strongholds, but would overrun the Royalist capital in the same stroke!"

A third, bushy-eyebrowed man intervened. "The Royalist forces are far too entrenched strong to overcome. We must break out into the coast so that our foreign sympathizers can provide us with enough aid to-"

"Enough!" Blücher yelled. "Comrade General Schäffer, comrade General Hoffmann, I respect your opinions, but I have already made my decision, and I concur with our comrade Marshal Novack. Our chief concern is establishing a larger socialist state by linking up with our forces in Raus. I have already dispersed Commissars throughout the city to begin recruiting volunteer battalions. With these fresh recruits, we should be ready to launch our assault toward Raus within a week or two." He nodded to the still-red Novack.

"And there's more good news, comrades," Blücher continued as tensions settled. "I have just received a communication from the United Socialist States of Rehs. They are willing to provide us with supplies, as well as a small expeditionary force." At this, the first actual signs of approval emerged from the officers. "Wonderful news, eh comrades? Now, get to work drafting our operations. I want to be delivering a speech in Raus within the next three months."

To: Chairman Donald Hákon
From: General-Secretary Terry Blücher

Hail, comrade!

It is wonderful to hear from a fellow comrade, and one who has successfully seen the implementation of Socialism on a national scale. That the BSU's goal, and we are well on our way to achieving it. Your support will put us one step closer to it, and so we approve it without hesitation.
Here is to the establishment of a fraternal and everlasting bond between our revolutions.

Long live the Revolution!

Terry Blücher
General Secretary

COLDITZ
NOVA CAPILE

Rudolf Maier watched in awe as his hero mounted the platform. Clad in the solid black uniform of the Stoßwehr, silver insignia gleaming, Walther Nemetz was exactly as the posters painted him. He stood impressively tall, the same height as the towering black-coated sentries who ringed the platform. Nemetz approached the lectern that was position in the center of the platform, and looked out over his audience.

Colditz's summery square was packed. The men and women beside Rudolf were crushing him forwards, but he barely noticed. He was watching with bated breath as the black-clad figure, the sun rising above him, prepared to speak.

"My people," his voice rang out, strong and clear, throughout the city, "I have come to you to speak about one thing in particular. There are many issues I could have addressed, but this one, in particular, demands my attention." The crowd was held in rapt attention.

"Capileans, has it occurred to you that we are standing on the knife's edge of history? That there are two totally opposite realities facing us?" The same thought had occurred to Rudolf, had inspired him to leave behind his old life and forge one anew. Nemetz's voice was rising, taking on vigor and fervor. "One one side, is our utopia. It is a world where our nation, our people, our race triumphs. It is a world where hunger, pain, and oppression are eliminated forevor. Where degeneracy is eliminated, and we no longer fear for the safety of our children. Where we can be proud to be Capilean. Where we are the masters of our own destiny!"

A premature bout of cheering rippled through the crowd. Walther Nemetz raised a gloved hand and it died down immediately. "But there is a second world," he continued. "This is a world where our promising future is extinguished. Where the forces of Marxism prevail." Nemetz began building now, his words flowing with zealous passion. "Where degeneracy runs rampant. Where you cannot attend a cinema, an arthouse, not even an opera, without the enemy's agenda of pedophilia and perversion being shoved down your throat! This is a world where the bloated corporate conglomerates swindle the bread from the mouths of our children, where our government is overrun with corruption and stupidity. It is a world where we, the Capilean people, are enslaved to an international cabal, which is aligned with the singular goal of destroying us!"

Nemetz paused, gathering his hatred for that which hated him. "My people, I tell you, the world that I have just described, is the one we are living in right now!" he erupted. Outraged clamors of support welled forth from the crowd. Rudolf bellowed with them, imagining the faceless Marxist swine that he had learned so well to detest.

"Capileans! This is a new age. You can choose to stay asleep in this reality, and allow the enemy to win. Or, you can join me, and claim your birthright! You can join me, and seize your destiny! You can join me, and create our utopia! Come, Capileans! Let us ride down the red scum which have enslaved us for so long! Capile has for too long been asleep. Awake!" Nemetz commanded with volcanic fury, snapping his arm out in the Roman salute.

"Awake! Awake! Awake!" the crowd frothed, Rudolf chanting along and extending his arm in salute. Nemetz surveyed his followers while the drumline before him began to beat out the brisk tattoo of "Kapilea, Erwache."

Rudolf's heart was full. He turned, pressed through the tight knots of people, and headed for the recruitment office.

Walther Nemetz returned to his office in late afternoon, utterly exhausted. Speeches didn't drain him nearly as much as the hours of greeting and crowd-pleasing that followed. Collapsing into the hard-backed chair behind his desk, he removed his peaked cap and ran a hand through his blond hair. He still wore the uniform of Stoßwehr Reichsmarschall; the Stoßwehr was no longer a part of the Grand Duchy. It was his now.

The telephone on his desk rang needily. Walther sighed softly and picked it up. His secretary, a dutiful lad named Hellmacht, was on the other end.

"Congratulations on your speech, sir," Hellmacht praised in his sycophantic way. "I listened to the whole thing on the radio."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Nemetz said icily. "Now, I trust you had something important for me?"

"Ah, yes," Hellmacht answered. "You received a communication from the Autarch of Vanquaria." Nemetz was silent for a long moment. "I left it in your desk, in the second drawer."

Nemetz dropped the phone, flung open the drawer, and removed an envelope from a stack of dossiers and old family photos. He tore open the paper and read the missive rapidly.

"Good news, I trust?" Hellmacht's voice echoed from the speaker.

"Excellent news, Jürgen," Walther answered. "Compose a message in response to the Autarch," he dictated, turning to throw away the torn envelope. His eyes rested on a photo of his wife in the still-open drawer. "And find a day next week for me to take leave and visit Katherine."

To: Autarch Scott Esic Tyeora of Vanquaria
From: Parteileiter Walther Nemetz

Hail!

It is an honor to be recognized by such a great and righteous country as yours. Your intentions are good and your cause noble, and I am assured by your nation's proud and venerable history that you will only do my people good.

Thus, I grant you access to Nova Capile. United, we will defeat the Marxist insects that stand before us.

Signed,

Walther Nemetz
Parteileiter

ROCHEFURT
NOVA CAPILE

Wilhelm Knott sat behind a large mahogany desk, one meaty paw clenched around a glass of scotch and the other an envelope. His glassy blue eyes were staring out of the massive window of his office, fixated on the descending sun. Gradually, he shifted his attention back to the pressing affairs at hand.

As Reichskanzler, the brunt of the civil war's workload had fallen squarely on his shoulders. It didn't help that Klaus, who was supposed to be unifying the people, was sulking in his palace while his nation crumbled around him. The man took a swig of his drink. His grizzled face was square and grave, framed by thinning white hair and a bushy waxed mustache. His frame was impressive, even if diminished by seventy or more years of life. He could easily have been a champion prizefighter in his younger days. Unfortunately, one could not punch the national debt into submission. Even Walther Nemetz, that petulant dandy, was well beyond his reach nowadays. Knott vividly wished he could rewind time by a few years and beat Nemetz to a bloody pulp before he had a chance to ignite this civil war.

Turning back to the letter, he spread it on his desk. It was a generally positive message from Castelia, pledging a huge host of troops to the Royalist cause. He authored a brief response, and then turned his attention to matters of even great import. He left much of the strategy to his military men, despite his background in the army, but their musings still required his approval as Reichskanzler before they could be issued.

Thus, the Chancellor penned a second letter, this to Feldmarschall Kurt Doppler, the commander of Capilean forces from Reiburg to Wolfcour. He finished, downed the rest of his glass, and felt a pang in his extremities. His bladder wasn't what it used to be. Leaving the office of his private home, he dropped the letters into the urgent communications pipe on his way to the bathroom.

To: President Gregor Constance
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott
Greetings, respected ally.

It is a relief that some foreign governments still have the courage to come to the aid of beleaguered but rightful nations.

I will be frank; your help is welcome, and needed. If we are to prevent another good nation from falling to radicals, than full measures must be taken.

I look forward to cooperating with you in the future.

Sincerely,

Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler

To: Feldmarschall Kurt Doppler
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott
Feldmarschall,

In accordance with whatever directives you have received from the General Staff, I have new orders for you. The Siege of Saxtonburg is not yet over, and I want all possible measures taken to prolong it, and, if possible, liberate the capital. Likewise, the strongholds of Mühlburg and Nordlingen must be supplied. The suffering of the citizens and garrisons there must be alleviated as much as humanly possible.

If realistic, begin coordinating a new offensive to retake the initiative and break through to Saxtonburg.

Sincerely,

Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler

by **Vanquaria** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:54 am

Commandant John Perski
Imperial Air Base, Marie Jois
16 July 2018

John Perski winced and dropped his duffel bag, his eardrums throbbing, as a pair of Raptor fighters whizzed overhead, slicing through the grey, morning clouds above the coastal city. He hurriedly put on his FAST helmet, tightening the straps, the headset fitting snugly over his attacked ears.

"Motherfuckers!" the 35-year-old operator swore loudly, bending down to pick up his black bag.

"You know it's your fault, sir," a humorous tone remarked. It belonged to one of his men, Staff Sergeant Gregor Taeron, a young bloke by military standards, he was in his late 20s and was already good enough to be part of Perski's team.

"Fuck off!"

The grumpy Commandant walked ahead of the pack he was previously in, making an effort to ignore the jokes his men were making behind his back. The monotonous drone of Apaches and Ospreys saturated the air, the occasional passing by of fighter jets temporarily interrupting but not breaking the rote rhythm of the helicopters.

But the motley crew of stubbled soldiers was not going for the choppers. Instead, John's team was making a beeline for the big boy planes. The C-17s were massive, dwarfing other military aircraft on the airbase. John made out the appearances of other units, including the familiar sight of a fellow team also from the regiment. He waved at them before they piled into their specific Globemasters, a line of light assault vehicles and metallic containers, no doubt containing valuable war gear within, right on their tails.

The C-17 they were moving into was no different from the rest. However, instead of equipment, they were being accompanied by a special engineer battalion from the Marines. John watched as the Marines saluted their counterparts in the special forces and he responded in kind, having nothing but mutual respect with his brothers-in-arms no matter what corps or profession they were in.

This was not his first rodeo as Team Leader. But, if what the briefing had told him was completely accurate, this was a deployment into a warzone like no other he'd been to before. Multiple OPFOR of conventional nature rather than insurgents. It was going to be a hell-hole, a clusterfuck. And knowing that invigorated Commandant Perski.

He was leading a squad composed of 10 hand-picked soldiers, each a veteran of multiple tours of duty. His team was a unit from the Special Reconnaissance Service, an elite Tier-1 special operations regiment under the jurisdiction of IESOC. Their job? It was to be the baddest motherfuckers on the battlefield in the name of the Autarch.

John prepared himself for a long ride, listening to the pilot remind them that the journey to Nova Capile would be roughly 23 hours, give or take depending on wind conditions. He had a book within his bag just for the trip. It was his favorite, 'Mastery of War', written by Vanquaria's first Emperor, Valerius. There was no book more fitting given the context of his flight.

His destination was Colditz, the capital stronghold of the Fatherland Front.

by **Kingdom of Damascus** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 10:56 pm

Imperial Palace, City of Damascus, United Kingdom of Damascus
King Vaisilos V
July 16th, 2018, 14:00

"Never once was a Royal family in so much danger for so long until today. Never once was a people's culture and their very way of life at risk. The forces of evil that have once plagued our World so long ago, now return to plague the nation of Nova Capile. From the fascist hordes to the communist snakes have taken advantage of its instability, just as they plan to take advantage of the people of its nation, the fascists wish to twist its cultural heritage just as the Nazis did Prussian militarism, and the communists wish for its destruction, just as the Soviets destroyed so much of Russia's heritage, religion, and traditions.

Many of you wonder why we should care about this, why this is so relevant to us Damascians. It is relevant to us because it is important for us, as a free, Christian state in the Middle East, one whose constitution recognizes the God-Given rights of the people, who recognizes rule comes from both divine right and social contracts, who equally recognizes that law of nature does apply, who recognizes that we live in a creation of God, it is important for us to preserve these philosophies, and these beliefs that allow us to preserve such things by keeping the forces that want to destroy it at bay. What rights did the people of Nazi Germany have? The Soviet Union? Next to none unless you were either leading it our were a protected class. You had the right to serve, to serve the government, to quiet and die for a cause that you don't believe in, the right to die for a country who denies your God.

My people, my countrymen, my fellow Damascians, it is our duty to take every step humanly possible in preserving the throne in Nova Capile. What is saying that, after the fighting, in the end, they don't spread outside of their domain? What if it encourages other movements to rise up in their nations, to spread their cancerous ideologies to other nations and further infect our World, with the same chaos and devastation that they brought to nations before our time. It is why I, with the consent of the Patriarch of Antioch, have given the Greenlight of the Purple Guard to mobilize, not just to defend Nova Capile's Royal family, not just its traditions and its legacy. The reason for this mobilization transcends just protecting what makes up the people, but its people itself. They are fellow Christians, they are people of similar cultural influences, and they are human beings with their livelihoods in danger. The people of Damascus knows what it is like to have our culture, our religion, our very race threatened. It is why we fought so hard against the Saracen hordes so many years ago to defend our sovereignty from them. Again and again they striked Tripoli, Damascus, Jerusalem, and in the end, we, along with the Byzantines, prevailed, our national sovereignty preserved, our cities went unmolested, our religious standing retained.

The Communists are a Godless people, who will take God from the people of Nova Capile, and the Fascists will twist the word of God for self-serving reasons, effectively, take God from the people of Nova Capile. They will twist and destroy their legacy, their traditions, and lives will be lost at hands of greedy, aspiring dictators, and a nation shaken, and the sons and daughters of the current generation will live in fear. In these times, it is important that all Damascians must work together, it is important that all Damascians must keep as quiet as humanly possible about our actions overseas, for it will save lives, and it is important for us as Damascians to protect our Neighbors when they need protecting, in this case, those neighbors are the Capilians. May God bless Capile, may God bless Damascus, may God bless us all."

-King Vaisilos V, in his address to the people

Latakia, Province of Latakia, United Kingdom of Damascus
2nd, 5th, and 7th Antioch Purple Guard Brigade
July 11th, 2019, 04:30

"Wake up, Zayd!" Was the first thing he heard this morning. He was in bed, his eyes still shut. "Five more minutes..." Zayd mumbled, barely audibly as he threw off his covers and kicked his legs out, off of the bunk, landing on two feet and rubbing his right eye. "When the does that boat take off?" Zayd asked, finally opening his eyes to see his brother, Ignatios, carrying a backpack and a rifle by its handle. "Within about two and a half hours from now. I packed your gear for you. It's on the kitchen table. Half-awake, he walks into the living room to find the other two members of his fireteam inside their apartment the other two members being Medhat Amjad, his fire team's squad automatic rifleman, and Stephanos El-Mofty, the Corporal in charge of the fire team and secondary grenadier, drinking coffee and watching the news, the news of the outbreak of the Civil War in Capile. He continues to his right into the kitchen, and briefly checks his bag and equipment; his canteen, his knife, his rifle, and grenade launcher, his uniform and his ammo pouches, his radio and the sort. Everything was together where they should be.

After eating breakfast, having coffee, taking a shower and waking up, he'd take the time to put on his uniform, put on his gear and make way for the door, with the rest of his fire team, where the rest of his platoon would be waiting for him. They would all pile into trucks, that would take them to a port in Latakia, where several ships awaited to take them aboard. The drive was relatively short, and when they got there, it was crowded. You had thousands of men ready to pile into these boats, with many sons telling their mothers and fathers goodbye as they awaited to climb aboard the ships, to fight the new scourge of freedom, God and humanity in Capile. Eventually, they all piled aboard, and by Seven O'clock, took off, to ride in a boat for four days to Sudhoof.

In the mean time, they were introduced to our quarters, shown around the ship, and the sort. Afterwards, we conducted basic unloading exercises, physical exercises, and at the end of it all, we received a speech by our Brigadier General Haris Ajam,

"I am pleased to announce to you all that this week, we will finally see some action. Today, we have been given orders by God himself. The Patriarch of Antioch has approved of our deployment to Nova Capile. We will dock at Sudhoof, unload, and immediately make our way to retake Kongsburg, the current capital and base of the Communist forces in Capile. The Communist forces are believed to stand in great number over a concentrated area, and a great many of them are fanatics. Fulfilling our task will not be easy. Fortunately, we have allied forces most likely nearby, and the environment we will be fighting in is mostly forests, by rivers, and in urban combat. This is nothing compared to what we train in, and should not impede us. When we go into combat, remember your training, remember what you fight for, and remember God is on your side, and do not disgrace your ancestors with surrender nor retreat unless ordered. And remember, O Theós to thélei!"

The crowd of soldiers clapped and cheered, repeating the motto of the Antioch Purple Guard, O Theós to thélei! Afterwards, they exited the briefing room, and we all resumed our duties, or went to get some R&R.

An Official Communique From the Damascus Office of Foreign Relations
TO: Whom it may concern within the government of the legitimate state of Nova Capile

Greetings,

The Office of Foreign Relations was ordered by his majesty himself, King Vaisilos V to be issued to the government of Nova Capile. This message is to inform Nova Capile that we are indeed choosing your side of the civil war, in order to preserve culture, tradition, legacy, the royal family and to save the lives from the people from the oppression and simple chaos that fascism and communism brings with it, the cultural devastation both can bring is absolutely terrifying, and with millions of fellow Christians under threat, though they are not of the same denomination, the same race or the same culture, we still see it as our duty to protect fellow Christians, and the Patriarch of Antioch agreed.

So, we pledge our support to you, for the well being of all Nova Capile, for the well being of Damascus, for the well being of our next generations. Thus, the government of Damascus would like to offer you our fullest support. Currently, we can offer your weapons for lease, open up a refugee program, offer military advisers. For right now, we already have 15,000 men on their way to fight under the ranks of Major General Sotiris Zaman, coming in the form of 3 Brigades, each 5,000 each to assist in the southern front. If there is more you wish from us, we would be happy to oblige.

God bless you and God be with Nova Capile,

Minister of Foreign Affairs Gafar Iordanou

by **Vrijstaat Limburg** » Sun Apr 14, 2019 4:25 pm

Governor-General Theo Bovens
Gouvernementsgebouw, Maastricht
10:43 AM EST
17th of July, 2018

The governor-general had gathered his staff. His aging minister of foreign affairs, his home secretary and the commander of the Free Limburgs Legion. The governor-general had just sat there in absolute silence, tapping his ring against the wooden table. It had been more than three minutes before lieutenant-general Ralf Goossens of the FLL raised his voice and began to speak. His secretary had told him that this meeting was about the crisis in Nova Capile, a country in which political conflicts had thrown the nation in an all-out civil war in which six different factions fought one another for dominance in the region. Goossens had lead a military intervention in Brillemea, an island off the coast of Oppermenia, a year before. The FLL was the most respected branch of the Limburgs military, and its members were staunchly loyal to both the state and the governor-general. Goossens was the embodiment of his forces. Energetic, loyal and capable.

"This war in Nova Capile - it's a bloody mess. I've lost track of how many large and influential nations have pledged their support to whatever shit-faced despot they like the best. Besides, why not let the filthy prods fight? One less protestant is one less issue to deal with."

He closed his hands and looked around the room. The minister of foreign affaires nodded timidly. He'd been opposed to the military interventions in both Bavaria and Oppermenia, and thought that fighting in yet another war would drain Limburg's resources and funds. The governor-general continued to tap against the wooden table.

After approximately fifteen seconds of prolonged tapping, he stopped. He looked around the room, and faced Goossens.

"Hear that, Goossens? Those are monarchist boots trampling over the rich soil of a free nation. Sound familiar to you?"

During the revolutionary war, the Limburgse jagers under Goossens's command switched sides and joined the rebellion, and the governor-general effectively lead the troops up north where they faced a weak and degenerate army. None of the advisors spoke, as they knew that interrupting the governor-general or doubting his words could make them lose their jobs.

"Who helped us in our great hour of need? No one. We lost good men out there because cowards and fat cats refused to stand up for a free and independent nation."

He fell silent for a short moment, before continuing:

"I'm aware of Nova Capile's religious demographics, but there are good Catholic families out there, and we cannot simply watch as their villages are burnt and their children are killed. It's up to us to defend freedom and democracy."

The men gathered here looked at eachother for a split moment. "Freedom and democracy?" - this nation was run by the governor-general. The song of democracy was a false one - a façade for what Limburg claims to be.

"We can trust the Saatlanders. We share the same values, and we fight the same foes. Monarchists, communists, fascists and especially the Dutch shouldn't be tolerated, and it Saatland's their god-given right to repel the godless invaders."

The room was silent, as Bovens's guests were stunned. Would he be supporting Saatland? A nation whose leader was an aristocrat? A nation of protestants?

"Goossens, I want you to mobilize these units. Make sure that the Germans look polished and proper when they get on those C-130s. Appoint a commander of this "Limburg-Saatland defence corps", will you? Get a German, if you can. Make sure that he's loyal and he knows what he's doing." he said, before handing the lieutenant-general a piece of paper with some notes and names scribbled down on them.

The commander of the FLL replied with a quiet and weak "yes, governor-general".

"Haassens, I'll be writing the letters to president von Bamburg. I don't need you to fuck this up, do you understand me?"

The fat minister of foreign affairs quickly nodded his head, before looking down at the wooden table in defeat.

"Thank you gentlemen. Go and do the lord's work."

The governor-general dismissed his advisors with a broad smile on his face, waving goodbye. He knew that he'd put them under pressure, but he was completely aware of the fact that if he hadn't acted domineeringly, they wouldn't have worked as hard. He opened his desk drawer and took out a blue ball pen, before writing the following letter to the president of Saatland:

AN: Seine exzellenz Präsident Johannes von Bamburg,

Sehr geehrter Präsident von Bamburg,
[Continuing in German:]
The war that your people are going through at this very moment has proven to be destructive and barbaric. We have heeded the awful stories of vicious fighting, inhumane warfare and great sacrifices. It is in the interests of both Saatland and the free state of Limburg that this war ends as soon as possible.

I can only deeply respect the impressive resistance that your countrymen have put up against tyrants and bloodthirsty executioners for generations. Your fierce defence of the republic is an example to all of us. We, as a united Limburg rallied behind the glorious red lion, recognize the importance of the Saatlander state, and the willingness of your people to die for their freedom and their fatherland. We believe that your nation boasts a bright light of liberty, a bright light that must not be destroyed by the fascist hordes, the kings of old or the bolshevik threat. It is important that the freedom that your countrymen have fought and died for is preserved, and we feel that it is our responsibility, as a free nation under God, to put aside our differences and aid you in your defence against the autocratic onslaught of those that want to strip you of your freedom.

Limburg has fought a total war not long ago, and its scars run deep. We cannot stand idly by and watch yet another democracy die under the evil ideology of tyranny.

Präsident von Bamburg, I would like to propose an agreement, in which two independent and sovereign nations come out to defend liberty for God and country. My staff and I have been thinking about having troops fly into Saatland to help organize your forces and to hold the line. We would propose sending in more than three hundred men, as well as supplies to aid your cause. Six C-130 transport aircraft and eight Cessna A-37 Dragonfly attack aircraft would fly into your territory, and drop off men and supplies in order to strengthen your troops. Most of the aeroplanes are outdated, but we will have to make do.

My staff and I have discussed mobilising these forces, and we'd be able to get the troops up and running before the 21st of July.

I await your reply with a heavy heart, präsident von Bamburg. I will be praying for your people.

May God stand with you and your people in this hour of need,

Theodorus J. F. M. Bovens, governor-general of the free state of Limburg

by **New Decius** » Sun Apr 14, 2019 7:21 pm

Saxtonburg
Nova Capile

Deploying from the 7th Carrier Strike Group positioned only several hundred kilometers from Nova Capile, the 33rd Combat Air Wing had been the first unit in the air once the orders came through for the relief of Saxtonburg by German forces. Already three out of six squadrons had been put into the air and were on their way to Saxtonburg, a total of sixty planes, Messerschmidt-617A Air Superiority Fighters armed with air-to-air munitions to clear the skies while the remaining three squadrons were being outfitted with air-to-surface munitions to support the ground operations inside the city. Luckily there would be no confusion of targets as intelligence said that the Royalists had no air presence at all over Saxtonburg and the only aircraft belonged to the VF forces laying siege to the city, so they were weapons free within the city limits.

When the first of the German aircraft entered the airspace over Saxtonburg it came as quite a surprise to the not quite so numerous VF pilots in the sky, and not exactly a happy one at that. It was almost a sight of confusion and amazement to the VF soldiers in Saxtonburg when the first pair of VF fighters spiraled out of the sky in plumes of smoke and then it changed to horror as more planes were shot down by the arriving squadrons of German aircraft. A couple of the fighters even dived and sprayed the fascist troops with their machine guns and autocannons. Now with contenders for control of the sky the fascists were deprived of their air support thus giving the Royalists a brief respite from the skies.

Willi Dernen saw the chaos and confusion among the fascist forces and decided this was their moment, he had no rounds remaining for his carbine but he had plenty for his pistol and there were plenty of weapons lying around next to dead soldiers. He turned to the twenty-seven men remaining under his command and grinned like a madman as he loaded up extra magazines for his Walther P78, grabbing a few of the remaining hand grenades while he was at it. “This is our chance boys! The fascist dogs are distracted by their airpower being blasted from the sky and by God we will take advantage of it!” He pointed to the smoke arising in the distance, the battle for the Reichsrat a mere five blocks over. “Our comrades are holding the Reichsrat five blocks from here and we’ll use the enemies confusion to get to them!”

“Even if we’re all going to die, its better that we all die together eh boys!” With a hearty laugh he turned towards the ruined doors of the bank and raised his fist high, giving out a strong hearty cry before rushing forward and bursting through the doors, promptly shooting a fascist soldier near the doors in the head. He was followed by all of his men in their ruined uniforms and with their hodgepodge of weapons charging up the street shooting the fascists who had only half an hour ago been battering down their door. “Don’t Stop! Keep Going!” Along the way, Willi picked up an abandoned HKG36C assault riffle and grabbed a magazine off a dead Royalist soldier, slamming it in he began firing right away. They were moving up the street surprisingly taking no casualties but clearing out fascist soldiers like a warm knife cleaving through butter. There was almost trouble when a fascist IFV turned a corner and began to turn its cannon on them until one of the Royalists seized a Panzerfaust 3, one of many German weapons supplied to the Capilean Armed Forces, and fired it destroying the vehicle utterly and completely. “Fight! Fight for your Wives! Fight for your Children! Fight for your Homes!”

They went clearing streets as they made their way to the Reichsrat unfortunately taking casualties as they went but giving back three times what they received as they left a trail of bodies in their wake. By the time they turned the last corner there were only eight, including Willi, remaining and two of them were walking wounded, but there before them lay the Reichsrat and they didn’t take a moments notice. They all gave forth with their greatest cry and charged, firing their assortment of guns as they went, into the square quickly drawing fire from the Reichsrat as they came and thus they dove into the fire...

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Sun Apr 14, 2019 10:33 pm

KONGSBURG
NOVA CAPILE

Sonja awoke, quite embarrassed, at seven o'clock. She should have been up at five. The sunlight spilled through the small, square window of the bedroom onto a bed that was not hers, and she roused herself to see Horst making coffee in the next room. The smell of him, vaguely sooty but not unpleasant, covered the sheets.

"I just wondering if I should wake you up. It's getting close to the time you are supposed to report to your unit," Carossa called from the kitchen, sitting at a spindly table with a cup of coffee in hand.

"Mein Gott!" Sonja cried, flinging the covers off of herself and jumping out of bed. Flushing with embarrassment, she gathered her clothes from the clapboard floor and dressed hurriedly.

"Care for some coffee?" Horst said conversationally, watching her dress with an entertained expression. Sonja came into the kitchen, took the mug from him, drank heavily, and then passed him back an empty cup. He laughed. The coffee was chicory, and obviously ersatz.

"Thank you, comrade," the woman said mockingly, turning her back to Carossa and opening the door to leave.

"You are welcome, Sonja," he said softly as the door closed. "I have big plans for you."

Outside, Sonja half-ran to the subway. The barracks where she needed to muster was halfway across town. Glancing at her watch, she slowed and allowed herself to catch her breath. She still had a little more than enough time.

Her rendezvous with Carossa hadn't been purely carnal; at least, that was the story she was going with. In the beginning, Horst had plied her with a glass wine, and they had discussed at length the policies of the BSU. Horst was a radical, or so it seemed. He had hated the monarchy, and now that the monarchy was all but gone, he hated the Commissariats. As long as there was a government, he claimed, he would resist it. Of course, it was wartime, and Carossa recognized that against such a massive threat to the Revolution, some form of government would have to be organized to resist it. Sonja had argued with him for a few hours about the necessity of the government; but gradually they found common ground, discussed art and music, and realized that they had mutual attraction.

Unlike the other comrades she'd spent nights with, Carossa didn't immediately fall asleep after they had finished. Instead, as if they had never stopped their conversation, he went on talking with her about art and politics. Sonja decided she liked him better than the others.

She was now on the subway, which, thanks to the Revolution, was a free public service. The subway car was packed with people, and Sonja couldn't find a seat. Most of the comrades around her were shabbily dressed and stained with grease and soot. The war effort spared little time for personal hygiene. One could clearly identify the members of the BSU by their red armbands or collar pins; the majority of the cover-all wearing workers around her were members. But there were exceptions. The portly, balding little man beside her, for instance, wore a black business suit, and looked very ill-at-ease among so many Communists. And a little way down the car was a mousy woman whose arms were thrown protectively around two small children; she wore no socialist markings, and kept glancing furtively at the people around her, as if they were criminals.
A few months ago, they would have been.

Sonja got off at her stop and rushed out to the Neustraße Barracks. The building was sleek, modern, and easily recognizable amongst the stout, crumbling apartment blocks that surrounded it. Pulling her new pilotka over her sandy hair, she rushed up to the building for her first day of training.

LUDISLAU
SAATLAND

Column after column of Saatlander militiamen marched past the Bamburger Haus, as the residence of the President and seat of government had come to be known. From the balcony of the impressive Greek Revival-style manor, saluting to the brave men who were the backbone of his republic, stood Johannes von Bamburg. From below, the "Saatlandlied" echoed up to him:

" From Ludislau's bright shining shore,
To the Saat River's plain,
From your mountains filled with ore
To valleys ripe with grain!
Saatland, oh my Saatland, sweet land of liberty!
My every breath, until my death
Will only be for thee! "

The song carried on for many more stanzas, but Johannes lost track of them. His mind was occupied by more pressing matters. For one, the hordes of men who wished to see his budding nation wiped off the face of the Earth. And these men, these boys, their chests puffed up with nationalism and good intention, would be holding them back. He had to stop himself from physically shaking his head no. They weren't ready, could never be ready for the horrors of war.

He had been the same way. Forty years ago, when he was still just a nobleman's son, full of piss and vinegar, thinking that it would be romantic to give his life for an idea. His idealism had vanished after a few weeks on the front.

But his belief in Saatland had survived. It wasn't that he was no longer ready to give his life for his country at a moment's notice. It was merely that he now knew that it was longer the point of one's life to die on a battlefield for some abstract idea.

His mind, as it tended to do, shifted toward the positive. Earlier that same day, he had received a communication from the Free State of Limburg, informing him that Saatland had its full support. It was the first foreign nation to support his fledgling country; he hadn't expected any. It was a ray of hope, another great log to throw onto the fire of Saatlander Independence.
It was reassurance that he was not going to be strung up on a meathook three weeks from now as a traitor.

To: Governor-General Theodorus J.F.M. Bovens
From: Präsident Johannes von Bamburg

Honorable Governor-General,

The nation of Saatland rejoices at your promise of support! It is wonderful that a foreign country, not to mention one so august as your own, has recognized our sovereignty, and the nobleness and sincerity of our cause. We do not fight out of spite or hatred, like the other factions, but because we wish to protect our homes and our families.

Your expeditionary forces would be most welcome in Saatland. They are welcome to arrive at either Steighof or Ludislau. Both have secure harbor facilities, but Steighof's are the most extensive, should you require specialized equipment. Our militia is steadfast, but the unholy coalition forming against us is massive, and any support you can provide could be necessary to repel it.

I look forward to working with you in the future.
Sincerely,

Johannes von Bamburg
Präsident
Count of Eismar

To: Minister of Foreign Affairs Gafar Iordanou
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott

Minister Iordanou,

I am relieved to see that another nation has recognized the rightful government of Capile as the legitimate administration of our island. Your dedication to the continuation of tradition, freedom, and order, despite the lack of a formal alliance between our two great countries, is commendable.

It pains me to write it, but the assistance you are pledging to us is sorely needed. A great deal of our military surplus, as well as a significant portion of our arms and munitions manufacturing plants, has been captured by our enemies. Thus, your lease of weapons will be most welcome, and will aid us in outfitting newly mustered units.

Without meaning to cause offense to your benevolent nation, the Capilean General Staff is among the finest in the world and is on the cutting edge of modern military strategy. However, due to the lamentable defection of a great number of Capile's officer corps to rebellious elements- the Fatherland Front in particular- your military advisors would be of great help, if they could serve as trainers, drill sergeants, and temporary commanders to the large number of newly formed units that are currently undergoing training.

As to your offer of a refugee program: Rochefurt and several other secure Royalist holdings, such as Osthilt and Jaroburg, are already beset with tens of thousands of Capileans fleeing Communist and Fascist rule. While many of these people will be put to work in our armaments factories, there are many women, children, and elderly men who should be spared the horrors of war. Providing your country can support them, I would be forever indebted to you if you allowed them to temporarily stay in your nation, until the war has been resolved and they can return to their homes.

Finally, I also approve your offer to send troops to fight on the monarchy's behalf. I wish your men good fortune in the battles to come.

It will be an honor to fight alongside your noble nation.

God bless you,

Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler

COLDITZ
NOVA CAPILE

Walther Nemetz's personal residence was a large and grandiose manor in the heart of Colditz. Originally, it had belonged to the Count of Colditz, but owing to his allegiance to the Grand Duke, it had been confiscated. Nemetz hadn't wanted to live in the home, preferring the unassuming cottage that his wife and children still inhabited in rural Colditz. But Kristof Neuenreich, a propaganda-minded member of his inner circle, had advised him that he had to be seen as a symbol of power and unity in the center of the Front's capital. With no one but Walther and a small staff residing in the huge estate, it often felt empty. But today that would change.

A large black van pulled into the back entrance of the compound, a pair of Stoßwehr honor guards closing the wrought-iron gates behind it. The doors of the vehicle opened, and black-coated men spilled out. They dove into the back of the van, retrieved a figure from it, and carried the silhouette into the house. Walther watched them from the window of his study intently. When they had vanished from sight, he returned to his desk, and finished writing the unimportant memorandum he'd been working on.

A few minutes later, a light rap on the oaken door of the office roused him from his work.

"Come in," he authorized. The door swung open, and a short, friendly-looking old man entered, wearing a white doctor's coat. He saluted Nemetz, and the thick white mustache above his lip curled in a smile.

"Doctor Hartmann," Nemetz greeted him warmly, foregoing the salute. Gustavus Hartmann had been his family physician since he was a boy. "How is the, er, 'patient'?"

"She is doing excellently, Walther," the doctor answered. There were not many alive who could address Nemetz by his first name. "By my reckoning, she was treated finely by your men until now. If you are satisfied with that, then I will return for the psychological evaluation at three o'clock."

"Superb, Doctor. I shall see you this afternoon, then."

After Hartmann had been seen out, Walther, moved by curiosity, walked to the bedroom in which the prisoner was being held. Like the other rooms of the house, it was finely upholstered, and so the prisoner would feel at home. Unbeknownst to her, the windows had been triply reinforced, the door given a bulletproof and impenetrable metallic core, and the floorboards lined with concrete. There would be no escape.

A tall Stoßtrupp sentry stood outside of the door. Nemetz dismissed him and opened it. The prisoner was none other than Elizabeth, Princess of Austria and Hungary, a dear cousin to the German Kaiser, and an important bartering chip for Nemetz.

He entered the room, wondering if she was awake, and, if so, if she would be willing to talk.

SAXTONBURG
NOVA CAPILE

A large black jeep, a white stylized wolf emblazoned on its hood, swung through the streets of outer Saxtonburg, gleaming in the sun. The pavement had been cleared of rubble, bodies, and blood by the Stoßwehr, who were treating the city as if it had already been fully captured. A few gaunt faces peered out at the shining vehicle from the smoldering buildings that lined the streets, but otherwise, Saxtonburg was lifeless.

The shined jeep slowed in front of the Capilean War Ministry. Unlike almost all of the other buildings, it still stood unscathed. Outside of the impressive three-story complex, a small delegation of black-coated men waited. At their head was a middling, bespectacled officer who bore the rank of Stoßtrupp Major General.

As soon as the jeep rolled to a stop, a Stoßtrupp Lieutenant leapt forward, opened its door, and saluted crisply. Uncurling from the vehicle's interior, a tall, lanky officer stepped into the open. His peaked cap sat atop an angular face; his cold blue eyes surveyed the capital with haughty triumph.

"General Schadel!" the officer with glasses greeted him, saluting. Those behind him followed suit. Schadel returned the gesture half-heartedly, deliberately not looking at his subordinates and instead continuing to inspect the captured city. "You have just returned from Nordlingen, have you not, sir?" the major general inquired. "How goes the war there?"

Dietrich Schadel finally rested his eyes on the man in front of him, and walked forward, into the War Ministry's courtyard. "Good; Major General Klemm has captured nearly half of the city so far. But your success here, General Heller, is of far more importance. Which is why I am here today."

Heller fell into step behind him. "Thank you sir, but I am afraid my forces have yet to overrun the-"

"That is irrelevant," Schadel cut him off, towering over the shorter man as the ascended the steps to the War Ministry's entrance. "The Reichsrat is currently being held by a hundred starving men with more bulletholes around their waists than bullets, if what I have been told is correct. It will fall within the day, and then we will have an official ceremony of surrender, which will cement the Front as a legitimate state."

Heller listened to Schadel rant disinterestedly. He rather thought that Schadel had shown up right before victory was declared for a reason. As the ranking officer, the Stoßwehr's success would be attributed to him, rather than to Heller, who had actually led the troops from beginning to end. Before Schadel could finish his tangent, there was a flurry of exclamations from behind them.

Both generals whirled around to see a wing of aircraft spreading over the city. By their markings, they were certainly not friendly. Schadel watched, pale face turning red, as the enemy planes swept over Saxtonburg, their screams enraging him.

"Where are our planes?" he ground out. "Get them in the air!" he yelled, not waiting for an answer.

"Colonel Spahn says that he's already lost over a dozen planes!" a young radioman reported from nearby.

"Well find more!" Schadel roared. He whirled around to face Heller. "A handful of planes isn't going to stand between me and the capture of this city. Shoot those damn things out of the sky and capture the Reichsrat. If you don't have this city on lockdown by tomorrow morning, you'll be fighting on the frontlines yourself!"

Heller clenched and unclenched his fists as Schadel threw open the doors of the War Ministry and stormed inside. He didn't take kindly to threats; but there would be plenty of time to outmaneuver Schadel after the war had concluded. For now, he was the man's subordinate, and like it or not, if he didn't do as he said, there was a very real chance he would lose his general's stars.

Hissing under his breath, Heller ordered Colonel Spahn to scramble ten squadrons from nearby airbases and reestablish air superiority.

Erich Ulex stood behind the barricade alongside his men. It didn't matter that the shoulders and collar of his bloodied uniform bore a general's rank, or that he hadn't actually fought in fifteen years. What mattered was that he was a Capilean, and that he was going to die fighting for his country.

Around him, the last two hundred or so of his men manned the barricade, half of them firing while the other half scrambled to salvage more ammunition. Of the remaining defenders, many were officers, radiomen, truck drivers, policemen, even civilians, who had abandoned their previous posts to join in the last ditch effort to hold back the Fascists from the Reichsrat. Once a Fascist jackboot laid foot in that sacred hall, it was all over.

Feeling in the pockets of his uniform for bullets, Erich found a stash and shoved them into his pistol. Beside him lay a pile of discarded weapons that he'd used all of the ammunition for. Closing his eyes and repeating his final prayer for the tenth or so time, Major General Ulex dived above the barricade and surveyed the situation.

In the broad street, a thick wall of Fascist troops was creeping ever forward. Most of their cover had been blown apart by a day's worth of crossfire, but they didn't seem to care. Stepping carefully over the carpet of fallen men, they advanced mindlessly, emitting occasional volleys of intense firepower against the makeshift barricade. Taking careful aim, Ulex fired his pistol, and caught an enemy in the torso. His other bullets bounced around harmlessly; his aim had deteriorated after years of generalship.

Before he could dive back into cover, a piercing mechanical scream filled the air. Erich glanced over his shoulder to see a flight of planes, marked with the symbol of Germany, swirling overhead.

"They're here! German air support is here!" the general cried jubilantly. A cheer rose up from the weary defenders, and the block of enemies advancing on the Großstraße faltered as machine gun fire began to rain down on them.

"Herr General," a familiar voice said. Ulex turned to see the major from before. "I've also received a transmission from the OKR," he informed, referring to the Capilean General Staff. In conjunction with German air support, they are sending two squadrons of fighters along with a supply plane filled with ammunition, medical supplies, and rations. It should arrive within the hour, provided the Germans are able to maintain air superiority."

Erich looked up hopefully at the skies. "We shall see," he said in answer. Before the major could speak, another cheer resounded; but it came not from the men in the barricade, but from a location ahead of them. The major general turned back around to see a legion of soldiers in Capilean uniforms burst from a side street onto the Großstraße.

Machine guns spitting hot lead, these men fell upon the phalanx of Stoßtrupp soldiers from behind. "Come on men," Erich yelled, "catch them in the crossfire!"

Hollering their warcry, "Für Thron und Reich!", the Royalists opened fire as one. Caught between the guns of Willi Dernen and the barricade, the phalanx was shredded. Like a scythe slicing through wheat, the bullets cut through the Fascist ranks. The blackcoats scrabbled back down the street, fleeing for their lives; few made it.

As a lull in the fighting began, Erich straightened up and looked at the man who seemed to be leading the relief force.

"Major General Erich Ulex," he called, realizing that his rank would be near unrecognizable; his peaked cap was gone, as was his greatcoat, and his uniform was covered in bloodstains and dust. For some reason, it seemed almost funny. "I can only assume you are Hauptmann Dernen?"

by **Vrijstaat Limburg** » Mon Apr 15, 2019 5:05 am

Tom Ramaekers
Free French waters, 20 mi from Gravines
09:31 AM local time

"And if you go chasing rabbits, and you know you're going to fall..."

Grace Slick's powerful and loud tones thundered through "Captain Tom" 's ears. His playlist of psychedelic and progressive rock had been blasting through the unmarked T-6D's speakers for about two hours. He took his eyes off the skies and started watching the azure blue waves, the serene and gentle movements played with his mind and slightly hypnotised him.

Ramaekers was an excellent pilot, however, and he managed to keep his aeroplane steady and controllable, even if his mind stumbled off, as it often did. He straightened his head and watched the clouds, before peeking down at a small map that he'd set up. He tried to find out where they were right now, using the map as support.

"Klote" (shit/fuck)

He swallowed down some spit and looked to his right and left, seeing nothing but the sea and the clouds.

"Hey, mike, dickhead. Wake up. Check out this shit."

He handed the map over to the man behind him, while trying not to mess up the steering.

"Shit. Are we flying over Free French waters?" his co-pilot Maikel "Mike" Dumont asked him in a distressed tone.

Tom kept his mouth shut and clenched his jaws. He moved his hand over to the radio device on his right, and started trying to make a call to whatever French-looking radio station he could find before the T-6D would be shot out of the air by some highly modern AA battery.

Grace Slick's singing could still be heard in the background. The words "When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, and the white kni-" slowly faded away as Dumont tried to tune down the speakers. Tom could speak some French, and he prayed to God that he would be able to get some kind of connection with an air base in Gravines.

Finally, he heard a deep voice talking to him. Raemakers couldn't make out the words. The accent was quite thick, and he wasn't that good at speaking French. Once the man on the opposite side of the radio had stopped speaking Tom replied:

"Bonjour, mon copain!
(cont. in broken French)
I'm afraid that I could not understand you properly. Could you please repeat what you said?"

The French man kept mumbling a language that cavemen must've spoke. Maikel Dumont remarked that he might be on kraut radiolines, that this sounded like some old monarchist who just wanted to retire. Tom knew that this wasn't German. The French were known for their regional dialects, and the French settlers must've done something to create a standalone accent of their own.

"I'm sorry, mon copain, but I don't think that I can understand you. Is there somebody that speaks English, or somebody that speaks a tad bit clearer? Please don't take it as an insult." Tom said in French, in a slightly distressed tone. He started to get worried at this point. Any discrepancies could result in the "Texashoer" (or "Texas slut", the name that the men had given their T-6 Texan aircraft) being lit up by AA fire like a Christmas tree.

Silence now filled the old trainer aircraft. The two men had chosen this aeroplane, as Tom's forefathers were air pioneers, and they had bought a T-6D shortly after the nazi occupation. They managed to hide it from the Dutch government, and took great care of it. Well, it's difficult to maintain an aircraft like the T-6 "Texan" in dirty WWII-era hangars. Compared to modern aircraft, this T-6 was more like a flying brick. Its speed limit and aerodynamics were laughable when compared to modern fighters, and its three .30 cal MGs were nothing short of embarrassing. The two men had been former pilots. Tom joined the air force and Maikel worked at Lufthansa, but both were kicked out for serious offenses. Tom Ramaekers abused drugs, and Maikel's aggressive behaviour is what got him fired.

Desperate for money and adventure, the two men joined forces and decided to give the T-6 a good ol' spin. So approximately half a month ago, the two men embarked on their journey, flying from country to country, from isle to isle, refueling, repairing, and enjoying their time abroad.

For them, this was as much of a vacation as it was a business trip, but the Free French state needed cool-blooded killers, so they would have to square up their behaviour when they landed. Nobody expected them to live. This conflict was far too destructive and dangerous to let these two men fly around in a scruffy WWII-era trainer aircraft. Everyone knew so but those two young men, who couldn't think of anything but the money and the petite French girls that were waiting for them.

by **New United States of Columbia** » Mon Apr 15, 2019 5:23 pm

Imperial Palace
Imperial Center (Columbian Mainland)

Monarchy can easily be ‘debunked;' but watch the faces, mark the accents of the debunkers. These are the men whose tap-root in Eden has been cut: whom no rumour of the polyphony, the dance, can reach - men to whom pebbles laid in a row are more beautiful than an arch. Yet even if they desire equality, they cannot reach it. Where men are forbidden to honour a king they honour millionaires, athletes or film-stars instead: even famous prostitutes or gangsters. For spiritual nature, like bodily nature, will be served; deny it food and it will gobble poison.
-C.S. Lewis

Foley stared out of the window of the top floor of his home, looking down on the orange colored streets below him, seeing his imperial subjects as they went about their evening routine. Sitting at resturuants enjoying coffee together, heading home from their shifts at the factories or offices, strolling down the lavish streets of the capitol, or simplying enjoying their kith and kin, everything seemed to be going well. This reverse of fortune greatly pleased the young monarch. He remembered when these streets were in ruins, when he was not King of an Empire but a leader of men amongst the hellish battle that was his war for Columbia. He remembered how, before today, he had waged a counter insurgency campaign against his most hated foe, Johnanthan Hancock, and his Republicans, now termed the National Council for Restoring Columbia. Bombs going off in city centers, mines burning, families of Loyalists slaughtered like animals. Paul had gone to great lengths to hunt them down. Sure he had lost an aircraft carrier from the Pacific Battlegroup, but at least his subjects were safe.

Turning away from the large crystal like window he retreated into the center of the room, a large study and library filled with books, maps, documents, artifacts, and other wonders of the land. Here he could be at true peace. Whether he was examing flora from foreign lands or reading up on one of the famous composers of the German Reich, he tried to better himself here in the mind and soul. He had to do it. It was his duty as father of his country and...
He shut his eyes. While the wound had healed, the man doubted he’d ever truly “get over” the death of his dear friend Hans, the former Grand Duke of Capile. As he seated himself, he thought of the recent news he had heard. The outbreak of Civil War in Capile and the secession of lands in it.
“To think my war was bad...” he muttered to himself, as his hazelnut eyes scanned the report that was on the coffee table next to him. A brief rundown of the factions and their location in the land was on it. It appeared the three largest were the Royalists, the Fatherland Front, and the Socialist Union. As he finished reading it and placed it back down on the table, he began to pace the room in circles thinking. His heart was racing as he thought of what was going on over there. Cities blasted to ruins, a countryside burned and poisoned by the sheer volume of shells and bodies, innocents suffering over the delusions of mad men. His hands clenched into fists as he thought of them. He headed to the entrance of his study, threw open the door, and stormed to the War Room. The guards saluted him as he strode by and entered, seeing several dozen officers and his son seated around a large table. On the metal table were several overlayed maps of Capile, showing the topography, important locations, and the color coded holdings of the many factions. The rough face of Titus looked up at his father.
“Have we agreed to a plan?” asked Paul as every man and woman in the room stood up to salute their liege.
Titus nodded and pointed to a part of the map. It was Pritzen, next to the delta for one of the branches of the Rei River.
“We’ll be sending two volunteer Expiditionary Forces. The first shall lay siege to and capture Pritzen. It’s one of the centers of power for the Socialists and, more importantly, a port where they can recieve outside aid and troops. Once we’ve secured the city, which could take months, mind you, we’ll head up river towards Reiburg. From there they’ll rest and recouperate and train up local forces to provide security to the city and surrounding territory. Once that is done they’ll be turned east to assist in capturing Raus. Once that is done and we potentially link up with allies, they’ll provide support in taking Konsburg, the ‘capital’ of the Capilean Socialist Union.”
Foley nodded as Titus explained this to him.
“And the second force?” He asked.
One of the other officers there, Colonel Vivan Monroe, one of Columbia’s finest artillery officers, took over.
“I’ll be leading the second force. After the first force takes Pritzen, my men and I shall be sent in to train up the local populace and help rebuild where possible. After Reiburg is taken, we head up there to gather a few local forces who shall help lead us to Landrath and lay siege to it, hopefully drawing off Fascist forces that are currently, if Military Intellgience is to be believed, laying siege to Saxtonburg.”
Paul nodded to show he was following along. He didn’t quite get where they thought the forces would be pulled from Saxtonburg, but the plan so far made sense. Only problems he could see so far were a heavy reliance on holding Pretzin to get supplies and reinforcements and how they second unit would be in heavily controled Fascist country.
“I suppose there are other plans to fall back on?”
“Of course, my lord.” Vivian answered.
The King nodded and left, informing his officers to begin preparations to sail to Capile.

Flight Deck
H.E.S. Hans Wilhelm VII (Pacific Ocean)

All within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing agaisnt the state
-Benito Mussolini

Hancock hated the cold.
Ever since he was able to leave New York, he had been a happier man in the warmer climates. As he stood on the deck of the H.E.S. Duke Wilhelm (Which he intended to rechristen the C.S.S. Manifest Destiny), he stared out into the cold ocean before him. The glistening blue waters would be inviting if he were at some tropical area but, as he was out at sea and on a very important mission. His allies in the Fatherland Front had finally gone to war. Now it was his turn to help them. Looking down at his watch, he saw he had half an hour before his ‘friend’ was supposed to arrive. He smiled as he thought of this. His friend had done much to help him and his small band of true Patriots. Funded them, given them shelter, shared intel on Capile and Columbia, and in exchange Hancock gave them various prototypes of advanced Columbian weaponry. Exosekeltons, advanced fighter aircraft, tilt-rotor transport helicopters. Not much but it was able to get him allies abroad. If not, his little band would probably already be executed for war crimes that had been committed during the Great Division.

Turning back to fact the rest of the flight deck, he watched as his men did their day to day routines. Runs around the deck, maintaining what aircraft were on the carrier before they left San Diego, checking up on the automated defense systems, doing exercise, and even set up a makeshift firing range to keep their handling with weapons up. Heading to the bridge and control tower, Hancock began to reflect on what had led to this moment. Yes he and his inner circle and select followers fled when it was clear they had lost the civil war. Then they headed to Capile and sought allies there.

by **New Decius** » Tue Apr 16, 2019 1:38 am

Federation of European Monarchies
Berlin, Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire
Stadtschloss, Imperial Residence

In 1983, when Wilhelm Augustus III ascended the throne as King of Prussia and Emperor of Germany, the Stadtschloss gradually returned to being the residence of the Imperial House of Germania, now that most if not all government ministries had their own buildings and the Reichskanzler’s office was moved to the Reichstag, it became a home once again. Though it was still used for official purposes such as greeting foreign heads of state or hosting state dinners, the vast majority of the palace was sealed off only for the usage of the imperial family, almost a necessity given that Wilhelm Augustus III had five children as well as a total of sixteen siblings (Though sadly only twelve remained alive by the time of his ascension to the throne) and their children whom also could reside in the palace. In his later years, His Imperial and Royal Majesty, took to gardening in order to calm his mind, particularly after the death of his wife, Helena, in 1999 and began to setup a special garden as a memory to his love; he would visit it first thing in the morning and last thing at night, sometimes he skipped cabinet meetings to come work on the garden. After his second son and third child, Erwin Ludwig whom ascended the throne as King of Prussia and Emperor of Germany in 2014, died of lung cancer after only ten months of his reign, the former Emperor began to setup a new portion of the garden dedicated to his fallen son and so spent even more time there planting special white roses in memory to his son whom passed long before his time should have come.

It was here in the garden dedicated to Helena and Erwin, that a certain distinguished person found his elderly and equally, if not more, distinguished grandfather, sitting on a garden chair reading a book next to Erwin’s white roses and bathing in the afternoon sun. Even at the age of seventy-four, Wilhelm still retained a twinge of youth to his aged visage in his eyes, those cerulean gems had never lost their sparkle of imagination that had been refined during childhood and which even the hardships of life could not vanquish. His neatly combed hair, once golden, now gray with the passage of time was kept short and refined, no untidiness would be allowed even among former monarchs. Wearing a gardeners overalls and boots one might almost mistake him for a servant rather than a man who was once one of the most powerful rulers in the world, if not for the confident air he carried about him, his whole person screamed commanding and aristocracy.

Standing in the doorway leading out to the garden was none other than Josef Franz Albert Stadtfeld von Germania, better known as Josef Franz I, King of Prussia and Emperor of Germany, or as Josef Augustine I Emperor of Europa. At the age of only thirty, Josef retained all his youth about him but by his expression he had aged another thirty years in the last half hour. His features matched that of his grandfather’s when Wilhelm had been young; cerulean eyes, lush golden hair, and a strong build about him all garbed in the white uniform of the King’s of Prussia as he had just come from a formal meeting with Reichskanzler Baron von Richthofen and Kaiserliche Marschall Von Regensburg regarding the new developments in Capile. None of those developments were good, the Royalists held much of the country but appeared to be rapidly losing ground to both the VF and BSU while Grand Duke Klaus was holed up hidden away from the world rather than leading his people in this fight. Capile was one of Germany’s most steadfast allies and one of its strongest, it could not be allowed to fall to a fascist force that would surely embark on a brutal campaign of military conquest which may include the colonies of the Reich or to a socialist force which could invite revolt among the Eastern Satellites in the former Soviet Union. But the worst news of all had come at the end...

“Grandfather, may I speak with you?” Josef questioned hesitantly as he approached from behind, far too hesitantly for the most powerful man in the nation. Yet he was addressing not only the family patriarch but also his predecessor.

Wilhelm gave out a light chuckle at the deference his grandson rendered unto him. “You need not ask permission my boy, remember that this is your house now. You sit on the throne, though I do appreciate your respect to your elders all the same, something I do wish your cousin Ernst would learn always running around in my garden.” His Royal Highness, Ernst Henri de Napoleon Prince of France, was only nine and loved to run wild in his grandfathers garden, much to the older man’s annoyance.

“Well Grandfather it would seem that the situation in Capile has taken a turn for the worse.” Josef pulled up a chair next to his grandfather and clasped his hands together before him. “All our intelligence says that the Royalists can hold onto Saxtonburg for no more than a day at best, three if we’re lucky but it is very likely we shall have to assist in evacuating the city and the forces there to the 7th Carrier Group.”

Wilhelm looked up to the clouds in ponderous thought, a flash of memories coming to mind. “Saxtonburg, I remember visiting it many times...such a beautiful city and what delightful people there were. Such a shame to have something so beautiful be destroyed.” He placed his book down on the table beside him and gazed down at the white roses with a caring expression. “I remember visiting with your father once while Grand Duke Hans was still alive, for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what the visit was for...but everyone was smiling. Hans was a good man, a good ruler, and a good friend, it was a pleasure to work with him. A shame that Klaus didn’t inherit his fathers tact and bravado nor his iron will.”

“Yes it would seem that Grand Duke Klaus has withdrawn to his palace and Reichskanzler Knott is shouldering the brunt of the workload trying to unify the people. I have already discussed with Reichskanzler Baron von Richthofen ways in which we can ease their burden, financial aid to help heal the gaping economic wounds this crisis has caused and such.” Josef hesitated before moving on but pushed forward all the same. “Grandfather there has been some movement on another front. The search for Elizabeth in Capile has become hot again.”

This was a painful subject for the former Emperor, his great-niece having been in Capile at the time the civil war broke out, pursuing a relationship with Prince Karl, Klaus’ grandson and vanished shortly after the crisis began. With the lines of communication so sketchy and information untrustworthy there had been no word at all on her whereabouts which had certainly put her father, Maximillian I, King of Austria and Hungary, into a state of anxiety and depression since she went missing.

“As best we can tell, she was grabbed by agents in the employ of Nemetz and we believe she has been taken as a hostage, likely as a bartering chip to try and prevent our assisting the Royalists in their struggle. Other than that we have no idea where she could be but believe you me, we will find her and we will bring her home.”

Colditz
Nova Capile

Finally stirring from a fitful sleep, Elizabeth, Princess of the Dual Kingdom of Austria and Hungary, was roused and rose up on the bed she had been placed upon. The last she could remember she had been in a car as part of a motorcade taking her to an airport to return to Europe, she had asked to stay with Karl in Capile but he had told her she would be safer back in her homeland; there was an explosion and that was as far as she could remember. Though as best the confused woman could guess, she had been kidnapped, likely by the fascist Fatherland Front as the socialists so despised the monarchy that they would probably have killed her outright, and why not after all. She was second-in line to a European Royal House and also the cousin of the current Emperor of Europa, not to mention romantically involved with Prince Karl of Nova Capile for some time now, and so would make a useful hostage for one trying to leverage either the German or even Capilean governments.

Upon noticing Walther Nemetz standing in the room, she rose to her feet and regained her composure, in moments going from confused girl unaware of her surroundings to a cold vision of an unwavering wall. Unlike some of the members of European Royal Houses whom were fragile and delicate like dolls, Elizabeth did not fit this category at all and in fact was both highly intelligent and well-experienced in diplomatic matters, having been groomed for government service for most of her life at the insistence of her late grandfather, Heinrich the former King of Austria and Hungary, and her great-uncle Wilhelm the former German Emperor. She had even been considered to be Austria’s Ambassador to the United Nations before the European monarchies were federalized and only one representative spoke for the Federation, that representative coming from Germany. Elizabeth immediately recognized Nemetz, having met him on several official occasions such as state visits and treaty signings, as well as his face being all over the news networks now that the Capilean Civil War had broken out.

“Reichsmarschall Walther Nemetz, I Elizabeth Maria, Princess of the Dual Kingdom of Austria and Hungary, a member of the Royal House of Hapsburg and linked by blood to the Imperial House of Germania, do hereby demand my immediate release and return to European soil. You have unlawfully taken prisoner a member of a European ruling house and if this is arrest of any official capacity have also violated my diplomatic immunity.” If looks could kill, Nemetz would be dead on the floor right now.

Saxtonburg

Even though he was exhausted beyond belief, to the point where even a pile of stones would make a comfortable bed, and mentally worn to pieces, Willi still managed to sketch out a smart salute for Major General Erich Ulex as they met in the square outside the Reichsrat during this brief respite in the battle which they had been granted. Above them all, German aircraft continued to own the skies as they held a significant advantage over the fascists, unlike them the Germans hadn’t been fighting a prolonged battle which exhausted their fuel and ammunition reserves as well as wore down their pilots many of whom had been in the air for so long now it began to affect their skill. “Major General, its a pleasure and an honor sir, I’m glad we finally we’re able to meet up with you.” Looking around at the survivors of his march to the Reichsrat, Willi felt guilt welling up inside him as he saw just how few of them remained alive after the fight. “I only wish I could have brought more back with me, but at least those who did fall died with honor and were carried off to Valhalla by the Valkyries as true warriors.”

Unfortunately they would not have much time to rest or regroup during this very brief respite they had won for themselves as it would not take the fascists long to restart their offensive against the Reichsrat. The worn and tired defenders quickly set about stripping their dead enemies of anything useful, weapons, ammunition, food, as well as gathering up any stray weapons and munitions they could from around the area though that did not bear quite so much success. While gathering up the weapons and bringing them back behind the barricade inside the Reichsrat, Willi got a further chance to speak with Major General Ulex. “Sir, right now the 7th Carrier Group is on its way here to do what they can to relieve the siege and possibly reinforce us. The aircraft up there right now is a first wave solely of air superiority fighters meant to clear the skies for an incoming second wave of CAS (Close Air Support) strike fighters incoming within the next hour, at which time they will begin airstrikes on the fascist controlled portions of the city.” Willi picked up an assault rifle and checked it for any damaged parts then began looking for any magazines he could find for it. “When the second wave arrives the air superiority fighters will have to withdraw back to their carriers so they don’t run the risk of running out of fuel and not making it back and also so they can rotate out pilots. To fill the gap they’ll leave will be the responsibility of the carrier group’s surface warships which by that time will be in range to cover the city with their SAM batteries and also hit the fascist positions with cruise missiles.”

He took another look around at the battered survivors of the force that had defended Saxtonburg so valiantly and given the enemy back thrice whatever it took and felt sorrow rising up in him. Even with German air and naval support it was impossible for the Royalists to win this battle now, they had lost too much in the way of equipment and manpower to come back from defeat, all they could hope to do now was prolong the battle as long as possible and kill as many fascist troops as they could. Germany wasn’t in a position to offer ground troops at the moment, even all the Seebataillon troops in the Carrier Group serving as guards on the ships only added up to five thousand men, and it would take six to seven hours to put an airborne unit in the air and get it to Saxtonburg. Unless of course they went with a different option...

“Major General if I may be frank?” He received a curt nod. “Our situation is hopeless and defeat is imminent all we can do is ratchet up the body count on both sides before it ends. Even with German air and naval support we have simply lost too much in equipment and manpower to win this battle and we are encircled on all sides by enemy forces. However, there is a chance of evacuating our remaining forces to the 7th Carrier Group and not only saving a large amount of now very experienced soldiers, but also leaving the city open to...full bombardment.” Willi knew what he was suggesting sounded quite mad, destroying the very city the Royalists had spent so much to protect. “If we can evacuate our forces to the fleet, I would propose that Saxtonburg then be put under a naval bombardment by the surface warships and undergo carpet bombing by the aircraft. It would likely destroy a sizable number of fascist troops and also possibly take out their command post here in the city.”

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Wed Apr 17, 2019 12:29 am

GRAVINES
NOVA CAPILE

"Capitaine!" a young, fervent voice behind him called, echoing in the dark confines of the bunker. Pierre Crommelin turned to face François, the eighteen-year-old radioman who'd been assigned to his company. The dim lamplight cast dark shadows on François' youthful figure.

"Yes?" he responded, wincing as he heard the distant impact of a shell on Gravines' soft earth. The Royalists had kept been persistently bombarding the French capital for months. The fervent radioman was hardly dismayed by the enemy shelling.

"Sir, I've been trying for several minutes now to communicate with a plane on the radio. Their French is atrocious, and they want someone who can speak English. Do you feel like humoring them, sir?"

Pierre had come from a landed Huguenot family, and had been fully educated in German and English in addition to his native French. He glanced back at the logbook he had been meticulously toiling over and decided that he would revisit the airfield's logs at a later date. "Very well."

He followed the young serviceman out of the bunker and onto the firm pavement of the airfield. Not a single plane was to be seen; most had been scrambled to defend against this latest Royalist air raid, and Crommelin's airfield rarely saw much traffic anymore. The newer, larger LeChuck Airbase was more than sufficient to berth and supply the fledgling Free French Air Corps.

Making his way across to the tiny communications tower, Pierre mentally rolled over to English. By the time he had sat before the radio set, he felt fluent again. François primed the radio, and Crommelin leaned over the microphone.

"This is Captain Pierre Crommelin of the Free French Army, broadcasting from Fluery Airfield." His accent was rich, reflecting a dialect barely recognizable to any Frenchman from the metropole. "I repeat, this is Captain Crommelin from Fluery Airfield." Pierre was intrigued, and wondered what an English-speaker would have to do in the French State. In any case, they would be facing a thick language barrier. He decided to have mercy on them. Likely this plane was a supply liner who'd been lost in a storm. "Unidentified airplane, you have clearance to land on airstrip three."

Crommelin made a gesture, and promptly bright green lights were illuminating the black strip upon which a massive white number three was painted. He had François man the radio, and then turned to leave. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder to the young Frenchman.

"Private- have a squadron of soldiers assemble near airstrip three. You can never be too careful."

H.E.S. HANS WILHELM VII
NOVA CAPILE

A sleek black helicopter, flanked by an escort of fighter jets, descended to the deck of the aircraft carrier. The jets, screaming ahead of their master, landed first. Their pilots disembarked, black flight suits contrasting starkly with the mottled green-brown of the Columbian crewmen all about them, and talked amongst themselves.

Gradually the helicopter joined its escort, landing smoothly on the capital ship's small helipad. Immediately, a pair of black-uniformed guards, each closer to seven feet tall than six, jumped out of the transport. Black helmets gleaming in the sun, they stood on opposite sides of the helicopter's door, shouldered their carbines, and extended their right arms in rigid salute.

"Party Chief Kristof Neuenreich!" the rightmost sentinel announced. A tall, lithe figure emerged from the helicopter. His hair was black and swept back from his pale, bony face. A long nose, flanked by piercing gray eyes, ended in a toothbrush mustache. His fashion attempted to make up for his angular looks; he wore a finely-cut suit of the European style. Upon its lapel, a pin decorated with the ubiquitous symbol of the Party, the wolf, marked him as a Party Chief. The handful of individuals that held that utmost rank served as a Nemetz's makeshift cabinet, which had yet to fully transition from a political party to a government.

Neuenreich strode confidently toward Hancock and extended his arm in a half-hearted salute. "President Hancock," he said, his voice deep and amiable. He used the title Hancock had so long denied. "I must apologize, as Parteileiter Nemetz was unable to attend his scheduled meeting with you today. The war effort calls." He gestured lamely to the fighter jets in the background.

"Now, as to the topic of my visit. I trust you do not want to discuss it here, in the open?" Neuenreich was already walking toward the bridge.

SAXTONBURG
NOVA CAPILE

Erich Ulex stared at Willi Dernen coldly. A few moments ago he would've embraced him as a friend, but now he felt ready to put him down like the Fascist dogs that now littered the Großstraße. The Hauptmann faltered, well aware that he had offended Ulex; the only noise that could be heard was the distant mechanical whine of the air war overhead.

"Do you mean to tell me," Erich broke the silence, "that your battleplan is to lay waste to Capile's oldest German city? To destroy more than three hundred years of Capilean history? To tear down the Reichsrat, the Saxtonburg Gate?" The general's words took on more of an edge with every accusation, until he was virtually holding a blade to Dernen's jugular. "Do you mean to tell me," he seethed, "that you intend to level the city I have sworn to protect?"

"Believe me," the Capilean erupted, face incandescent with rage, "I would sooner die than leave this city to the Fascist swine! It is only because I have to think of the lives of my men that I will assent to your plan of evacuation." A weight left the chests of all of the men behind Ulex.

"But!" Erich yelled, taking a step toward the German, and rising to his full height of six feet, six inches. His hand plunged toward his belt, and he drew his ceremonial officer's sword from its scabbard. Brandishing the weapon, Ulex pointed it at the ground at Dernen's feet for emphasis.
"I will sooner run you through with this blade than allow you to bombard this city!"

Regarding the Hauptmann with disdain, he turned his back to Dernen before he could make reply.

"Men! We will evacuate the city. We will live to fight another day! And I swear to you, we will return, and we will reclaim this city from the Fascists!" he rallied. "And it will still be in one piece," he added in a mutter to the German.

"Major," he called to his faithful subordinate, "send a message to all surviving allied forces, ordering them to fight their way to the harbor for evacuation. And I hope for your sake, Hauptmann Dernen, that your ships will be there, because the Fascists will undoubtedly hear that signal too."

"Now- to the docks!"

As the men raced across Saxtonburg, they found few enemies to resist them. The odd Fascist patrol skirmished with them, but they were quickly overcome. Eventually, the tossing gray waters of Saxtonburg came into their sight. An energy that only the hope of survival, not dedication to a lost cause, could inspire emerged. As one, the Capileans charged toward the harbor. Along the way, they met scattered holdouts of Faulkner's army, and exchanged information.

General Richard Faulkner had last been seen leading a valiant defense of the Capilean Admiralty offices, and was presumed dead, based on his statement that he would sooner kill himself than surrender. Erich was disturbed by this information, and removed his hat in respect; but, he reflected, he could very well be in Faulkner's place, slain during a last-ditch defense of the capitol building.

The Capileans found only a handful of Fascist troops near the dockyards, and dispatched them with ease. Quickly, Erich found himself in charge of organizing more than ten thousand men, all of who had been hopelessly mixed up by months of nonstop fighting. In the end, he found it easier to simply sort the evacuating troops by their divisions; divisions hardly numbered more than a few hundred men, anyways.

After the officers had pressed their troops into the neatest lines they could given the circumstances, Erich spotted Dernen and approached him. Slumping against a wall beside the German, he stopped to catch his breath. He was an old man, not in condition to run for miles on end, to fight in the street for days, to get shot in the arm! But what had exhausted him the most wasn't the sprinting, nor the fighting, nor even the bleeding; it was admitting defeat that crushed him.

"Alright, I've done my part," he panted to Dernen, clutching at his arm and chest. "Now where in the blazes are your ships?" He glanced anxiously at the streets leading to the heart of Saxtonburg; from deep in the city, one could make out the dome of the Reichsrat rising above the other buildings. "A Fascist army could come barreling down that street any moment now!"

"Sir, are you sure tha-"

"Yes, Major Kühn, I am quite sure!" Dietrich Schadel cut his subordinate off coldly, reaching for his binoculars. Through them, the Stoßwehr commander could make out quite clearly the air war taking place above Saxtonburg. A jeering smile split his thin face as he watched a German fighter explode upon contact with an anti-aircraft missile. Since he had ordered the deployment of both hand-held and vehicle-mounted anti-aircraft missiles, the air battle over Saxtonburg had been turning in his favor.

The much younger Major, brushing sweat and brown hair from his forehead, persisted. "But, Herr General- shouldn't we press forward and destroy the enemy entirely?"

Schadel slowly lowered the binoculars, and turned to face Maximilian Kühn. He could hardly have been twenty-five; the fact that he possessed a relatively high rank for his age spoke volumes about his potential. But someone had to teach Kühn the hard lessons.

Smiling sardonically, the Lieutenant General spoke in the manner of an antagonistic schoolteacher. "Kühn, I requested you as my adjutant for a reason. I thought you had graduated from the officer's academy with the highest honors. But evidently-" he raised his voice to a yell- "you haven't passed basic training!"

The major's intelligent blue eyes dimmed, and he recoiled slightly as Schadel towered above him. "You cannot overextend your forces," Dietrich lectured, resuming his patronizing tone. "We have already won a great victory today. Slaughtering a handful of enemy soldiers will add nothing to it except unnecessary casualties. We have already destroyed the enemy's manpower, equipment, and morale. There is nothing left to attack."

Satisfied, Schadel turned back around, and began to raise his binoculars. A spark flickered in the major's eyes. "Herr General?" There was a weighty pause.

"Yes?" Schadel ground out through his teeth, lowering his binoculars once more.

"If we allow them to evacuate all of their troops, and do not threaten their fleet, then will they not bombard the city?"

"Preposterous!" Schadel scolded. "The Royalists are too proud to destroy the very manifestation of their own hubris. Besides, there are still civilians left in the city."

"Yes, Herr General," Kühn finally assented. "I will order General Heller's troops to halt, and Admiral Kuenitz to return to port."

"Good," the general breathed, relieved that his adjutant seemed to be done challenging him.

"One more thing, sir." It took all of Dietrich's self-control to stop himself from striking the major.

"Yes?"

"Only for your personal safety, just in case the Royalists do decide to bombard the city- should we perhaps move our headquarters out of the enemy's range?"

Schadel looked at his aide incredulously. "I do not fear the bumbling gunners of the Royalist fleet! We shall stay put, as shall our men." He shook his head. "I shall make something of you yet, Kühn."

"Yes, Herr General."

COLDITZ
NOVA CAPILE

Walther smiled softly as Elizabeth launched into the spiel he imagined that she had been trained to repeat whenever she came into danger. He strode to the window as she spoke, and looked down upon the grounds below. From behind the estate's wrought-iron fence, he could observe Colditz's busy streets. The Party had brought new life to what had once been nothing more than a small rural town.

"I'm glad that you're awake," Nemetz said when she was finished, turning his eyes upon the German princess. "Unfortunately, royal demands and diplomatic immunity have such little currency during a civil war," he continued darkly, stepping toward her.

"Now, I suggest you consider yourself lucky. There are far worse holes that I could have thrown you down, but instead, I chose to hold you in my own home. If you prove yourself cooperative, you'll be back gilded palaces of Europe before you know it." He paused, and his eyes locked with hers knowingly. "Or should I say, the palaces of Capile."

"You know, I came to be quite acquainted with Karl before this war started," Nemetz revealed conversationally, turning away from Elizabeth. "He's not like his grandfather or his father. He's not loyal to democracy." He paused heavily, and grinned at his prisoner. "I've been considering names for our new order. We can't be known as the Fatherland Front forever." As if considering his options, the ex-general sifted through his mind.

"What do you think of 'The Greater Capilean Empire'? If we were to go with that, we would need an Emperor, of course." Smirking as Elizabeth realizing his intentions, he made them clear. "Emperor Karl- do you think he would like it?" He turned to leave. "And he would need an Empress, of course!" he called over his shoulder, laughing.

Closing the oaken door behind him, Walther was greeted by his secretary, Jürgen Hellmacht.

"You've assembled the missive?" Hellmacht nodded emphatically, and handed him a manila folder. Walther rifled through the contents. There was Doctor Hartmann's report, proving she was physically healthy; a photo of Elizabeth, taken while she was unconscious, against a black background (a VF pin had been affixed to her dress to prove its authenticity); and finally, to ease all doubts, a lock of her hair.

Walther dropped these carefully back into the folder, and handed it back to Jürgen with a nod of approval. "In the letter, tell our dear friend the Kaiser that Elizabeth has been well-treated, and if he wants her to stay that way, he would do well to lessen his support for the monarchy."

"At once, Parteileiter! Oh, and sir," Hellmacht said, clearly overexcited, "have I told you that Anna gave birth to our son yesterday?"

"Congratulations," Walther said, taken aback.

"We named him Norman, sir- after you."

Walther looked at his secretary, confused. "I beg your pardon?"

Hellmacht seemed to need Nemetz's approval for this act of utmost dedication. "We named him Norman, after the N in Nemetz," he said hopefully.

"Ah. I see. Thank you, Jürgen, I am flattered," the Parteileiter managed. Hellmacht was elated.

"Thank you, sir, thank you! I will get to the letter immediately!"

Walther retired to his study, more than a little disturbed.

by **New Decius** » Wed Apr 17, 2019 7:02 am

Saxtonburg
Evacuation of Royalist Forces

Willi was exhausted beyond belief himself and had to regain his composure before giving an answer to the Major General's inquiry as to where exactly the German fleet was located, and took a special flare from his belt and aimed for the sky before letting it off. A bright green flare soared high into the sky serving as the signal to Admiral Wilhelm Kreutz, the commander of the 7th Carrier Group, to begin the first phase of the evacuation which was an airborne ferry until the warships were close enough to dock and begin taking on men. "The fleet isn't close enough yet to dock but they are going to begin ferrying men to the ships via aircraft." Willi managed to pant out to Ulex as he tried to calm his heart rate down. "The super carrier Scharnhorst alone carries twenty-four H-99 Eagle VTOL craft* and the two fleet carriers also have seven of them apiece, each of these can carry twenty-four men at full load which will bring approximately 912 men to the fleet per trip. These will be accompanied by the fifteen NH90 helicopters attached to the surface warships, each of which able to carry twenty men apiece at full load giving us another 300 men evacuated for each trip." Willi finally managed to get back up on two feet and regained control of his breathing as the hum of rotor engines filled the air and the first of the H-99's appeared out of the fog that obscured the waters beyond Saxtonburg and began descending for a landing.

As the aircraft descended and came in for landings, their back doors lowered and German medical officers sprang out of them, six officers to a H-99, their intent being to get the more severely wounded aboard first and into the medical bays on the carriers as quickly as possible while the less severely wounded were asked to wait for the choppers to arrive. Stretchers were on hand to get those who could no longer move aboard the craft while the soldiers still in fighting condition or at least not wounded were called on to assist the medics in getting some of the stretchers aboard in the case where there were more than they could handle, which was sadly often the case. The aircraft were being filled as fast as they were arriving and even the arrival of the fifteen helicopters did not much ease this pace though the German personnel did they best they could to get as many aboard as they could each trip.

Willi and Major General Ulex were at the side watching the evacuation proceedings with worry and impatience aplenty as behind them the sounds of battle, explosions and gunfire, continued unabated as the fascist forces dealt with the few remaining Royalist holdouts. There was a heavy air of distaste and mistrust hanging around the men, regarding Willi's suggestion of bombarding the city once the evacuation was complete and Ulex's vehement refusal of such an outrageous proposal.

"Major General, understand that I did not mean to offend when I proposed bombarding the city after the evacuation nor did I mean disrespect for Capilean culture as if to say your monuments and symbols were not of value. I have been a soldier for fifteen years now, since I was eighteen years old, and I have served on some of the most hellish battlefields in the world; in Russia, France, Indochina, Libya, and Syria I have seen all the horrors of war at their most bloody and brutal. I have lost friends and family during all those years of war, including my best friend whom was killed during the Siege of Aleppo in 2011 when an IED blew him and six others to pieces." Where most men would have been emotional in some way by this point in such a tale, Willi maintained a blank expression of almost frightening indifference as if to show the true effect of all his years of service. That all happiness of life, all joyful emotions had been stripped from his being by the horrors he had seen and taken part in. "Quite frankly sir, emotion has no place on the battlefield for it will only get you killed or cost you men and equipment. Monuments, regardless of their symbolism or importance, can be rebuilt just as any building can whereas the men who hold them unwavering against wave after wave of enemies cannot be replaced. A tactical commander's duty is to his men and his orders, whereas a strategic commander's duty is to his government and his people. However both must think not in the short term but in the long term as to the consequences of their actions, and I ask you this sir."

"If we leave Saxtonburg as it is now, even given the destruction it has undergone, it can still be used as a valuable military resource, its industry can be repaired and its civil services can be repaired and moved to a military usage. Regardless of this, the symbolism of allowing the fascists to capture the Reichsrat, a seat of the Capilean government and a symbol of your nations legitimacy as a nation, is devastating to the Royalist cause." He pointed to the Reichsrat in the distance, visible even through the haze of smoke that obscured most of the city, still standing largely intact despite the pounding it had taken during the siege. "The fascists mean to use the Reichsrat's capture as a method of giving their movement legitimacy in the eyes of the Capilean people and the world, probably an official victory ceremony of some kind before they 'reopen' the parliament full of 'elected' members of their movement and proclaim it as the only legitimate Capilean government. Germany will never abandon one of its closest allies in the midst of their greatest crisis, but the rest of the world may not be so steadfast, and I mean no offense here, but there may be an even greater crisis among your people if they begin to assume the mentality that the fascists are going to win and have already setup a stable post-war government before the war is even over."

By now the German fleet was beginning to enter the bay, it would be a magnificent sight if the situation wasn't so grim in its nature. At the center of the fleet was the 110,000 ton Kaiser Wilhelm Augustus I-Class Nuclear Supercarrier, SMS Scharnhorst, accompanied by two 85,000 ton Kiel-Class Nuclear Fleet Carriers, SMS Jena and SMS Leipzig, upon which the H-99's continued to take off and land at a rapid pace while ferrying troops from the docks and to the carriers. Surrounding the three carriers were the surface combat units of the fleet, made up of the 50,000 ton Hesse-Class Nuclear Battlecruiser, SMS Charlemagne, along with three Stuttgart-Class Guided Missile Cruisers, and fifteen Baden-Class Guided Missile Destroyers, all told it was a mighty display of firepower and strength. The first of the ships to dock and begin taking on men were three of the Baden-Class DDG's each of which had a capacity to hold about 105 men if they crammed in which it would be necessary to do so, while the Guided Missile Cruisers could carry 180 men apiece, the two fleet carriers could carry 1800 men apiece and the supercarrier could carry almost 3000 men and finally the battlecruiser could carry 500 men. Altogether the German fleet would be able to evacuate something around 9,300 men from Saxtonburg though this was by pushing each ship to its maximum capacity and would leave the majority of the fleet unable to conduct combat operations if they were attacked on the way to Rheilord.

Willi pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and searched his person for his lighter before realizing he must have lost it at some point during the battle. "Shame my father gave me that lighter when I joined the army." He pulled a packet of matches from inside his right boot, an old soldiers trick, and lit up the cigarette. Turning back to Ulex he went on with his emotionless explanation. "When we took Moscow in 1985, before the Soviet's withdrew their troops against the advance of the 7th and 12th Armies, they used artillery and airstrikes along with pre-planted explosives to level the majority of the city including the Kremlin, St. Basil's, and the Bolshoi. Now the Imperial German Army had done its absolute best to avoid extensive damage to Moscow, because we needed it to end the war. The Soviet's knew that if we could have our victory parade in Moscow, that if we could setup Grand Duke Vladimir Kirillovich as the new Emperor of Russia in Moscow, it would cause the Russian people to lose faith in the Soviet government and believe the war was already over." He took a long drag of his cigarette and went on. "The French did the same thing in 2003 when it seemed Paris was about to fall, they collapsed the Eiffel Tower, they blew up the Louvre, and they set fire to Notre Dame. All so we wouldn't have a proper foundation to crown Jean-Christophe, the Prince Napoleon as King of France and thus declare the French Republic illegitimate."

Rubbing out the cigarette beneath his boot, Willi look onward as the line of evacuating soldiers became shorter and shorter as more ships took on the evacuees though it was quickly becoming apparent that the entire force of Capilean troops would be unable to be evacuated at least not in one go. At least several hundred men would not be able to be evacuated at all, the only way they could be taken on was by literally cramming them onto the decks of the aircraft carriers which was quite clearly not a viable option. There was however a method to prevent this or at least make it less torturous for the Capilean forces.

"Major General, by now the fascists have moved enough anti-aircraft units into the city to make any airstrike on the Reichsrat and the Capilean War Ministry, the enemy headquarters by all reports, nonviable or too costly to execute. However, even if not bombarding the whole city, I urge you to allow us to execute cruise missile strikes on both locations. Not only will it prevent what I predict is the sure to be coming fascist claim as the only legitimate Capilean government, but also assist in another situation." By now only approximately four or five hundred Capilean's were left to be evacuated, though among those remaining were soldiers that the German medical teams and Seebataillon warship guards had determined were most fit for continued duty. "Our fleet will be unable to efficiently evacuate the remainder of your men without putting our own capacity to evacuate them in serious danger, the ships are crammed beyond capacity as it is, and the only way we could take on the rest is by literally cramming them on the flight decks of the carriers, which is out of the question. However, those soldiers remaining are those determined to be most suited to immediately continued combat duty, and we can give them weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies to sustain them and allow them to break out of the city at another point and slip away into the countryside while the fascist are distracted by the confusion of the loss of their headquarters. You'll notice that crates of munitions and supplies have already been brought ashore, and there is one chopper remaining."

He pulled a radio out of his satchel and held it up for Ulex to see. He switched it on without transmitting and began to explain the final condition. "This is a secure line to Admiral Kreutz on the Scharnhorst and he is awaiting your call. All you have to say is the word Go and the strike will be carried out and the evacuation will declared complete. You can either board that last chopper and give the order from there while withdrawing with your men...or stay behind with myself and those five hundred of your men who couldn't be evacuated and give the order from this radio. I am staying behind because I am still attached to the Abwehr and so someone has to stay behind to report on intelligence here in Saxtonburg in the aftermath." He had a sad smile on his face which said all it needed to about the mission, he knew full well what the fascists would do to a member of the German Abwehr if they caught him and he was willing to fae that risk. "Choose."

by **Kingdom of Damascus** » Sat Apr 20, 2019 10:47 am

Imperial Palace, City of Damascus, United Kingdom of Damascus
Minister of the Economy Dimitrios Karimi, meeting with business representatives
July 18th, 2018, 11:00

Dimitrios entered the meeting room in Damascus, many business representatives, namely from their steel, petroleum, chemical, agriculture, and firearm and other arms companies sat around the table. "Apologies, I didn't realize how short of time I actually was." He said to the representatives, before taking his chair. They'd hold a moment of silence to make prayers before opening up their discussion. "It is in the interest of Damascus to supply aid to Nova Capile. Fund the Royalists, help them arm their men sufficiently and effectively." Spoke Dimitros. He would pause for a moment, examining the room for a moment before continuing, "As you know, Nova Capile is in a state of war. A Civil War at that, with sides that make the Yugoslav Wars seem like a sick joke. We have full intentions to begin funding the Royalists with war materials and weapons, and we're offering to directly subsidize and fund the mass production of weapons and needed war materials. The war materials needed, we believe are mainly steel, polymer, petroleum, and whatever weapons we can give them. I would like to discuss just what we can do to make this possible."

Moments after he finished talking, the representative from the Damascus Patriotic Arms company spoke up, clearly interested in the proposal. "Well, I agree that we most definitely will require payment for such a plan, and especially given the scale of how economics work in the modern World." Along with this very many other representatives from the company would speak up as well, almost unanimously in favor of the proposal, however with adjustments. At the end of the meeting, they came with a compromise. The compromise would simply entail that Damascus will subsidize and pay for the armaments and raw materials being produced that will be sent to Nova Capile. In turn, the companies involved guarantees they will not sell the debt owed or do anything of the sort that could leave the nation at risk of being backhanded economically by foreign powers that could be in support of one of the opposing sides.

Port of Tripoli, Province of Lebanon, United Kingdom of Damascus
Shipping company
July 20th, 2018, 11:00

The Port of Tripoli would be getting loaded with a wide variety of cargo crates, each carrying a wide variety of different goods. Food, steel, barrels of petroleum, polymers that are usually used to make modern firearms, and on top of all that, actual weapons and armored vehicles, all home-produced in Damascus. The sheer amount of supplies being loaded up here would seem almost unprecedented, and a breath-taking amount especially for a simple Kingdom in the Middle East. It almost as if they were mobilizing for war. It was quite clear that Damascus has zero intentions of directly entering the conflict, however this did not mean that they weren't more than happy to help the Royalists win at any means necessary. Sending them supplies was just the least they could do.

Sudhoof, Nova Capile
Captain Michail Andreas, 7th Antioch Purple Guard Brigade
July 15th, 2018, 13:00

"...You are now in Nova Capile. You are in foreign land. You will abide by their laws. When in battle, you will fight as if you were to honor your ancestors. You will fight showing great resilience, you will fight showing them no quarter, you will fight them showing no fear nor sign of wavering, you will fight relentlessly, and you will follow the orders of your officers. Do as we instruct, and I guarantee you our enemies will fear our steel and shot just as our ancestors before us made the Saracen invaders fear it, and this war will be that much closer to being over and done, so we may return to our loved ones. O Theós to thélei!"

The crowd below him chanted "O Theós to thélei!" several times, before his First Lieutenant Dionysios Kader got the rest of his Company on the move out of the room and to begin unloading with the rest of the Brigade. With them, they'd unload rifles, equipment, tanks, AA guns, the whole package; practically everything a division worth of soldiers would need in order to fight a modern war. Unlike much of the Commissioned Officers and the Field Officers, Michail got down with his men and helped them unpack. It was funny to him how he was one of the few to be down there beside his men, working to unpack while the rest did what? Watch? Drink coffee? Shout orders redundantly and not participate alongside their men? Nonetheless, he didn't let it bother him nor discourage him.

An hour and Forty minutes later, after unpacking their gear and equipment and getting it passed the port, they would begin to roll out onto the streets of Sudhoof. The place was much smaller than Michail had imagined, much less people, and much more...traditional than they expected it to look. As their units rolled off of the harbors in great number, rolling down the streets and marching on the sidewalks as to avoid impeding traffic, as if they had integrity for the locals. The forces in the city would spread themselves out more, to appear as if there were a larger number of them than there actually were, and would along the way chant a great many things, but most notably they would chant Orthodox Chants, sing patriotic Capilian songs, and sing patriotic Damascian songs in German such as No power can overcome us to allow them to understand what they were saying. In spite of this, they still tried to make their way through the city as quickly and efficiently as possible, placing the initiative of war primarily above power display.

For much of this, however, Michail sat in a truck moving down the streets along with the rest of his men, this time alongside a single squad. He would listen to them talk and actively engage in conversation with them. This is something that every good leader should do, he thought to himself, Get to know whose serving you, guide them like a father, lead them like a king. The Army would make their way to the frontline, to halt, kill, and remove the many cancers that have plagued their nation. They would start with the Communists.

Sudhoof, Nova Capile
Pfc. Zayd Papadopoulos, 2nd Antioch Purple Guard Brigade
July 15th, 2019, 12:54

Zayd was out on the top-deck when their ships began pulling into Nova Capile, their flags raised high and with a notification sent out to the nation in advance that they were coming and with what equipment. He saw the city from a distance. To him it looked, peaceful, calm, cultured; unmolested by the war. God willing, it'll stay that way. He thought to himself. "Papadopoulos, Zayd, get down here! We're going to be unloading the moment we show up, get a move on!" He heard a loud, almost aggressive, but smooth and clear voice. It was his Platoon leader, Lieutenant Tariq Michelakis. He grabbed his gun's sling, holding it steady as he fast walked to the lower decks to its unloading bays to join the rest of his platoon in getting equipment and whatnot ready to be unpacked.

As they unpacked, his Fireteam leader, Corporal Stephanos El-Mofty, spoke to Zayd, starting with the question, "Are you sure you're ready to commit to something like this, Zayd?" Zayd would respond somewhat hesitantly, "Of course. Why do you ask?" El-Mofty would grunt as he set down a large crate of ammunition and grenades and reply, "I know how your parents felt about you joining the Guard to begin with. They aren't exactly too keen on letting you join, let alone convert, especially them being Muslim and all."
"I don't get you. How is that relevant?"
"I'm just making sure you're willing to commit to well..." El-Mofty would stop talking for a second, clearly in deep thought, trying to articulate what he's trying to say. "You're going to be killing people. In the name of God and country, in a foreign nation, far from home, and with parents whom strongly disprove of your conversion to our faith in the first place, and now you're going to be killing for it. I see it as my duty, as a friend and a comrade to make sure everyone under my lead is in the right mental state to go on this mission." Zayd would remain silent for a moment, his facial expression appearing deadpan, would turn to El-Mofty and reply with a simple "I'm fine, if I wasn't I would not be on this boat right now. I frankly don't care what my family thinks of this mission."
"That's all I need to hear." El-Mofty replied respectfully. Deep down inside, he knew El-Mofty was right. Zayd's family was already upset with him for leaving the faith, as well as upset with his brother too. Now they're going under a military mission with a Christian military organization to kill for...For what? For kafirs? For infidels? They're going to completely disown him for this and he won't hear the end of it. Whatever, He thought to himself, it isn't my problem they don't have the stomach to kill for their country and for its preservation. It isn't my fault either that they can't accept me for what I've become. So much as thinking about this brought him dread, however he suppressed expressing it. He simply continued to do his job.

While they were unpacking, a series of Officers and Drill instructors walked by, chattering to themselves. "What're they doing here? Didn't we already pass training, and do we not have enough officers already? Spoke Rais Metaxas, the fireteam's fourth member and close quarters specialist. "They," El-Mofty began to reply, "are military advisors, Metaxas. Likely here to help whip some foreign Capilian solders into shape and help em' where their officer corps are lacking."
"I thought Capile had some of the best officers in the World?"
"Yeah, well apparently not all of said officers have the same loyalties."
Suddenly, a new voice, it was deep, strong and clear, "Is there a problem?"
El-Mofty would abruptly turn around, facing a tall man, who appeared to be about in his mid-40's. He'd be dressed in an Officer's uniform, and would have a Lieutenant General patch "No sir." El-Mofty would reply clearly. "Good. Get back to your business." The Lieutenant General would walk away. El-Mofty glanced towards Zayd, then to Rais before continuing the unpacking process.

After unpacking, the men would roll out in companies, in trucks, and APC's with IFV and tank support, and in columns. There was fifteen thousand of them collectively. The place seemed so...Old fashioned. Buildings made from stone, old Tudor houses, gargoyles, cathedrals everywhere. The place was clearly built a long time ago and appeared as if it has always been unmolested. Down the streets they would march and drive singing songs along the way, Germanic songs such as Plaestinalied and Damascian songs such as No Power can Overcome us, as if we were trying to give off a vibe or send a message, that they were there to protect them, to fight a crusade against the evils of communism and fascism. They'd receive many looks on the way. Some of them appeared relieved, happy, optimistic about seeing them march down the streets in such great number. But most people gave them cold, disapproving looks, simply shaking their heads at them. Zayd wasn't sure what it was- pessimism, fear, cynicism, or what it was about that majority. They were coming to protect them, why show such negativity? Nonetheless, the town was quite small and didn't take much more than thirty minutes for them to get in and out of the city, into the countryside and move towards the frontlines.

They would be at the front lines soon, and it would be the men's first taste of action. For God and Country.

An Official Communique From the Damascus Office of Foreign Relations
TO: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott

Greetings again,

I was asked to give you an update on our assistance.

We should shortly be opening up room for about 40,000 refugees, particularly targeting women, children, elderly, and fathers and we are ready to take them to Damascus whenever you are ready. We can furthermore confirm that we have the support of Damascian domestic businesses in support of our cause, and we have secured a deal with them that should help such industries financially boom, and in the process secure you weapons that you can use in the long term and in the short term. Our first supply runs should supply you with enough firearms to support a few battalions maybe enough fighter aircraft to maintain air superiority in certain areas of importance, and a large supply of petroleum to fuel your vehicles, however as it is right now, you will have to wait for following supply runs for much else, for we are just getting started. Furthermore, our military advisory and drill instructors have arrived to help with military training and war planning. Until then, this is all we can do. We will see about whatever else we can do regarding sending additional aid.

God bless you and God be with Nova Capile,

Minister of Foreign Affairs Gafar Iordanou

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Sat Apr 20, 2019 9:16 pm

FAEN
NOVA CAPILE

Faen spread out like the village if a miniature train set before the generals. Its high-steepled church was the only thing of note about the entire area; the rest of the town was nothing more than a clot of shingle-roofed cottages puddling out from God's house. Long lines of gray-uniformed ants trooped through the village's cobbled streets, waving to the humbled townsfolk. Beyond Faen, green valleys stretched nearly endlessly, finally tumbling into the foothills of the Kongs Mountains in the far distance. In fact, the only raised ground in sight was the grassy hillock upon which the group was taking their afternoon tea.

"The war has yet to touch these parts," General Dexler ascertained.

"Yes, the Lord has spared us so far," Reverend Ahrendt interjected eagerly. The tall, slim, and gaunt man of the cloth had taken to naming the slightest good fortune as an act of God, as if his zeal would rub off on the military men. The generals were all Lutheran, at least in name, but a lifetime of service to Death had taken most of their faith.

"And it has yet to touch our men, too," General Jonathan Kirstin digressed, looking keenly over the gray ants that were swarming hamlet. "They're still fresh, and are raring to fight."

An attendant came to the small table around which the men were seated, and placed upon it a tray of cakes. Kirstin and Ahrendt abstained, but General Drexler reached forward greedily. A dusting of crumbs in his thick brown mustache, Drexler addressed his superior.

"Well General Kirstin, we've got it settled, then? The best defense is a good offense, eh?"

Kirstin nodded stiffly, regarding his slobbish subordinate with pity. Not everyone could be afforded the etiquette of a country gentleman and a career officer, as Jonathan had.
"Yes, General Drexler. We'll be launching our assault on Kongsburg next week, following the build-up of our forces at Gemberg. I believe foreign forces, from the Kingdom of Damascus, are even to join us. And then, in conjunction with 8. and 9. Army, we'll crush the Communist insurrection from all sides. Just like old times," he added softly, visiting the faint memories of his youth, policing the plebian masses of Kongsburg as a yeoman.

Before Jonathan could finish his fantasy, he was startled by the scream of a shell overhead. Before he could even look up, there was a titanic crash behind him. His right eardrum imploded and then ceased to function. He was thrown from his chair and tumbled to the soft grass, a wave of disturbed earth following him. Limb twisting painfully over limb, Kirstin rolled down the grassy knoll, vaguely conscious of chaotic shouting and the scream of more shells overhead. He had not even come to a halt before he sprang to his feet, ignoring the agonizing jolt in his ribs. Sprinting up the hill, he surveyed the remains of the wrecked tea party.

Split in half, the spindly wooden table upon which they had eaten had fallen limply into the dirt. Directly behind was a massive shell-crater, a deep scratch upon the earth strewn with splinters of wood and flesh. The general turned to his left and observed the broken form of Drexler, his right side sloughing away from the left, before quickly looking away. His gaze rested momentarily on the reverend, spread-eagle in the grass and unconscious but otherwise unharmed. Two medics rushed forward and heaved the minister onto a stretcher.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Jonathan said drily as the man was ferried away. Drexler wouldn't need a doctor, but a coffin. Jonathan removed his hat, but didn't have time for more of a tribute, as the scream of more shells reminded him.

Luckily, most of the shells seemed to be falling on Faen itself; the bomb which had struck their tea was an outlier. Still, reckoning that he shouldn't tempt fate, Jonathan crept down the other side of the hill, striding toward the temporary headquarters his men had set up. His sense was returning to him; he stood tall, and leapt forward into a huddle of junior officers.

"What in the blazes is going on?"

"Sir, it seems that the Communists are launching a major offensive aimed at conquering Südhoof. There is a massive force, outnumbering us by at least three to one, moving out from Kongsburg at an alarming rate. There are also armored forces approaching-"

"Stop right there, I've heard enough." Kirstin looked around the flat valley his men were defending. "There's no possibility of us holding them here. We'll have to retreat, and organizing a defense. Order all allied units to assemble between Poldorf and Südhoof. There's a town there, Haakensburg, I believe. It will suffice for a meeting place. We need to organize a defense, and quickly."

SAXTONBURG
NOVA CAPILE

Erich Ulex looked at the Hauptmann for what seemed like an eternity. His sense of propriety and his rationality engaged in their own battle across his mind. At last, the forces of reason stormed across his brain and into his tongue.

"Very well," the general gave in heavily. "But, I will remain with my men. Perhaps God will still let me die a hero, even after this," he said, grabbing the radio from Dernen and walking around him. He looked at the men who remained and were now hopefully eyeing the overloaded transports.

"Men!" he yelled over the clamor, the whir of helicopter blades. It quietened enough for Ulex to make himself heard. "I can no longer claim to be a Major General. I have lost this battle, and I don't deserve these stars." With a wrench of his stomach, Erich brusquely grabbed his shoulder pads and tore the epaulets off. He did the same to the two stars that adorned his collar. There was a gasp from some of the soldiers, who had never seen a uniform so vandalized. Dropping the meaningless scraps to the pavement, Erich continued: "I can't order you to follow me any longer. I can't expect you to. But," he urged, anger and desperation pulsating from him, "I can urge you to listen to what I have to say. If not for me, do it for your country!

"Men, the transports are full. We must remain here." There was a violent clamor from the soldiers, but Erich used the last of his respectability to calm them down. "Men, listen, please!" It was difficult for him to refrain from resuming his strict officer's orders. "If you want to survive, you will have to follow me and Hauptmann Dernen. We- I am going to order a missile strike on the Reichsrat and the Fascist headquarters. In the ensuing chaos, we will slip into the countryside and escape to friendly territory."

The men digested this information, and then, as one, assented. Erich could feel it; they would follow him, one last time.

Dishonored, exhausted, disgusted with himself the general clenched the radio with his sweaty palm. "Alright then, get moving! Use the side streets to get out of the city! Split up and meet at the South Gate!" Erich was alluding to Saxtonburg's main southern road entrance, an Autobahn route encircled by a large arch.

As the men reloaded their guns, bit off scraps of food, downed painkillers, divided into groups of twenty or thirty, and then rushed off, Erich looked at the instrument of destruction in his fist. So small, and yet so potent. He was about to obliterate Capile itself.

"God forgive me," he muttered, finger pressing the button. He let out a breath, pocketed the radio, cocked his pistol, and then rushed off with the final group of men.

"General Schadel, our men have observed the remaining enemies. The German fleet and air complement has ferried the majority of them, including all of the wounded, away, but a small force, perhaps two hundred, remains. Our scouts report that they are attempting to escape through the city's side streets," Major Kühn reported.

"Interesting," Schadel replied, steepling his long, bony fingers from behind the desk that had once belonged to the War Minister. "I will deal with these leftovers on my own. Now, what of the Reichsrat?"

"As per your instructions, sir, it was unharmed by our men, and they have already entirely cleared it, the Großstraße, and the surrounding area for the ceremony."

"Excellent. And the enemy officer?" It was necessary for an enemy to be present at the surrender, if only for ceremonial reasons.

"Ahm, the highest-ranking officer we could capture alive is a major, sir. We have him in our custody." Schadel frowned.

"He will do. Compose a message to the Parteileiter. Inform him that the enemy has capitulated entirely and that the Reichsrat is prepared for the ceremony."

"Right away Herr General!"

Major Kühn trooped out of the War Ministry, jogging out into the street and stopping at a small table surrounded by a gaggle of officers. Requisitioning the radioman, Kühn ordered him to signal Colditz immediately.

"Inform them that the Reichsrat has been captured intact and is ready for the ceremony. Also, that Saxtonburg has fall-"

Shouting rang out all around him. Kühn and the radioman looked up to see a missile, broad and shiny, falling through the sky, moving almost sluggishly, pointed directly at the War Ministry. The major's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, and turning his back, he ran. Seconds later, as if time had been sped up, time and space cracked in two, the sound barrier was shattered, and Kühn was thrown forward with gigantic force. Skidding along the pavement, he turned to see a flat mound of earth where the War Ministry and surrounding buildings had once stood.

Sound rushed back into his ears and was deafening. A torrent of dust flew over him, coating his pristine black uniform in grime and his eyes in irritant. Bits of marble and stone crashed to the ground everywhere. He did not see a bony finger, or a bright blond scalp, or even a shred of black cloth fall to the ground. But somehow was quite sure his superior had been obliterated.

"Saxtonburg has fallen," he lamented, "and so has General Schadel."

HEUSSBURG
NOVA CAPILE

Faces gaunt and bony, eyes black like snuffed candles, the long lines of refugees filtered across Heussburg. They were bound to Rochefurt, but it was a long way yet. From Saxtonburg, Colditz, and Raus they hailed, and many other places that had fallen under the thumb of oppression. Aside from the dust and occasional bloodstains on their unwashed clothes, they could easily be told apart from the natives by their broken, forlorn demeanor.

"What will we do with them, sir?"

"Our newfound ally, the Kingdom of Damascus, has offered to harbor some of them, those who cannot be made to work. Those who can will soon find jobs, food, and, God willing, hope in our southern strongholds," the Reichskanzler replied, looking gravely at his aide.

He shut the drapes of the window, blocking out the endless line of ghosts.

The square was crowded, but most of those attending were refugees. Milling about, they talked rarely and buffered the locals out to the far edges of the square. A military band struck up, easily drowning out their low mutterings with a forgettable, upbeat tune. Striding up to the platform, needing no introduction, the wide frame of Wilhelm Knott seized the stage.

"Capileans!" he roared, projecting his voice to the far reaches of the square even without a microphone. "I will not lie to you. These are trying times. A great many of you are standing here today because you have been thrown from your homes by an evil which has chosen to consume our nation.

"But hope is not yet lost. God does not forsake His followers. He tests them, He tests their faith, but He does not abandon them. When Daniel was thrown into the lions' den, cornered by hungry beasts, God delivered him! When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were cast into the fiery furnace, with towers of flame all about them, God delivered them!"

Knott looked out into his crowd and saw unimpressed, sullen, ghostly faces. He was offput, and then redoubled his efforts.

"Now, I am no biblical champion. I do not claim to have the Lord's favor. But I know for a fact that our nation does. So we must not lose faith! If our homes are taken from us, then we must build new homes! We must create new labor, new energy for the holy war! If our enemy strikes us, we must strike back with divine wrath! This land was given to us by God, and He expects us to fight for it." Wilhelm approached his climax, pouring his heart into his speech and forgetting his notes.

"So Capileans, I urge you, in God's name, to fight for your land! Do not despair! If the enemy takes your home, fight to reclaim it! We stand not on the verge of an unraveling, but of a reclamation. We have just been thrown down into the lions' den, cast into the fiery furnace. We can now choose whether we want to reject God, and to be devoured by those lions and burnt up by those flames; or we can believe in our God, and we can emerge unscathed!"

By the looks of the crowd, he was dealing with an entire congregation of non-believers.

To: Minister of Foreign Affairs Gafar Iordanou
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott
August Minister Iordanou,

God's blessings be upon you. Any degree of aid is so highly appreciated, and the current burden you bear is enough for Capile to be forever indebted to your good Christian nation.

A large number of refugees from all over the country is currently proceeding under my orders to Rochefurt. Estimations are very difficult to make due to the widespread loss of both government and citizen records, but by our counts upward of 100,000 individuals will be unable to live in Capile in the current situation. This number, unfortunately, will continue to rise as the war goes on.

By no means am I asking your nation to harbor all of these refugees; but know that I am grateful for each and every downtrodden man, woman, and child that you take in.

As to your military supplies, they are also most welcome. As I have previously confided, great stores of military equipment have changed hands in the early months of the war, and with our chief industrial areas under occupation, we have yet to produce enough materiel to arm our new recruits. Your surplus will greatly assist us in that dilemma.

Finally, I have also been informed by the local garrison of Südhoof that your forces have arrived there. It has come to my attention that a major Communist offensive is underway with the presumed objective of occupying Südhoof. I will encourage your forces there to coordinate with local commander General Jonathan Kristin as much as possible. According to my personal communication with theatre commander Feldmarschall Heinz Zaiser, a redoubt effort is being spearheaded from the city of Haakensburg. I would advise your troops to assemble there.
Once more, sincere thanks for your never-ending aid.

Sincerely,

Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler

by **New Decius** » Mon Apr 22, 2019 8:57 am

Reichstag, Berlin
Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire
Federation of European Monarchies

“So Regensburg, what you are proposing is to involve us completely in a conflict that could potentially span another three years or more, cost billions of Euromarks as well as hundreds of thousands of our soldiers never mind the rest of the conflicts casualties, and have our armed forces active in all four corners of the world simultaneously?” His Excellency, the Honorable Baron Julius von Richthofen, Imperial Chancellor for the German Empire and Federal Chancellor of Europe, queried to His Excellency, Dietrich von Regensburg, the Imperial Marshal of the Empire and the Head of the Joint-Chief’s of Staff while discussing the Capile matter in his office. Rather than a lavish and spacious office meant more for grandeur than actual usage for the affairs of state, Channcellor von Richthofen had an almost spartan office with none of the gilded grandeur of some of his predecessors. The office was clearly meant for government work and the only items not meant for such were a couple of family photo's adorning the walls, including one of Manfred von Richthofen the 'Red Baron', whom the Chancellor was the Great-Great-Great Grandson of.

His remark to Regensburg had been almost sarcastic in nature as he lounged in his office chair with the situational assessment of the OHL in a manila folder in his hands. Richthofen's sarcasm was almost mocking towards Regensburg in the manner that he couldn't believe he was proposing such a venture or that he couldn't believe the military thought the Reichstag would go for such an idea. Just reading the OHL's financial cost estimate alone made Julius want to laugh, it was in the range of tens of billions of Euromarks potentially hundreds of billions depending on how long the conflict went on for. "Dietrich we've known each other for about twenty years now, I like to think we know each other fairly well, and I know you've always been a bold man. Never could keep a good man down, couldn't keep an idea suppressed. But this..." He waved the folder in the air. "takes the cake of all your bold ideas. Your proposing the mobilization of six, I repeat six, field armies to ready-alert status for possible deployment to Capile. That's six hundred thousand men, of which we will have to supply them and transport them half-way around the world, not to mention all the vehicles and aircraft attached to these units." He set the folder down and walked around the desk to stand in front of Regensburg. "You really think that the Reichstag will approve this emergency intervention at these costs, half of them are worried about energizing underground fascist and communist movements in Europe by actively involving ourselves in this matter. Perhaps at a smaller cost and a smaller force the Reichstag will approve an intervention, but not at these costs. Unless you've forgotten the military needs the approval of the Reichstag to engage in an intervention in a foreign land."

Regensburg, who up until now had been completely silent on the matter while the Chancellor had told him exactly why his idea was impossible, pulled from inside his jacket a long white envelope though did not yet hand it to Julius. "I am aware of Article 28 of the Constitution Julius, though thank you for the assumption that I am an idiot, it fills me with confidence. However, we do not have to worry about Article 28 if we can invoke Article 30." Article 30 of the Imperial German Constitution stated that the Kaiser would have the authority to declare a state of war to exist, upon such declaration the military was freed from the Reichstag's oversight and could operate without needing the parliaments authorization. "Now His Majesty has been reluctant to invoke Article 30 for fear of bogging us down in a long and bloody conflict while he is so new to his reign, but I have in my hands a letter that will convince him otherwise. As you know, ever since the disappearance of Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth of Austria and Hungary, the Abwehr has been monitoring all correspondence to the Imperial Household for any information as to her whereabouts, this letter answers the question as to her disappearance though thank God they got the letter before His Majesty did." He used a pen knife to open the letter and then passed it to Julius.

The Chancellor's eyes nearly bugged out of his head the further he read and a great fury began rising within him. "Nemetz has the Princess and is using her as a hostage to try and get us to withdraw from the conflict. The vile fiend, he truly has no honor at all." Now he understood why the Abwehr had prevented this letter reaching His Majesty; The Emperor was still fairly young for his position, and very new to the throne, and also was famously emotional when it came to his family. If this letter reached him he may have broken all ties with Capile just to try and get his cousin back safe and sound. "How, do you intend to use this letter to invoke a state of war with the Capilean factions? Surely His Majesty will simply bow to all Nemetz demands in order to try and protect his family."

Regensburg then pointed to the portrait hanging above the fireplace in Julius' office, it was not a portrait of the current Emperor Josef Franz but of his grandfather His Imperial Majesty Emperor Wilhelm Augustus III. "By taking the letter to His Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm Augustus III, rather than to our current monarch. The former Emperor is a much more rational and cool-headed man whom will put country before family and indeed has on several occasions done so costing him the lives of two of his brother's before he ascended the throne as Emperor. I believe he will be able to convince His Imperial Majesty Josef Franz that it is in the best interest of the nation and the world that he invoke Article 30 and give the military full authority to act on its own without needing the Reichstag to vote on authorization."

They spent the next several hours discussing the matter further, the Chancellor having finally been won over by his confidence that His Imperial and Royal Majesty Wilhelm Augustus III could convince his grandson to invoke Article 30, and so moved on to the actual deployment of troops to Capile. It would take at least five weeks to work up six field armies to ready-alert status and then another week to sort out the logistics of transporting them half-way around the world, but there were measures that could be undertaken in the interim while the full offensive was being planned and prepared. Five divisions, three Infantry along with a Mechanized and an Armored, were already on ready-alert status in Southern France having been on training exercises with the Royal French Army, and could be airlifted to Capile within a week, putting 125,000 German troops on Capilean soil to help them resist the current Communist and Fascist offensives taking place. Additionally, the Pazifikflotte would release the 15th Carrier Battle Group to reinforce the 7th already in Capilean waters, while the Atlantikflotte would release three squadrons of attack submarines to the zone of operations.

Afterwards the rest of the evening was spent in discussions with first His Imperial and Royal Majesty, Wilhelm Augustus III, whom though saddened by his niece's current state of affairs, agreed that in this instance country must come before family and also agreed to convince his grandson of this. While the former Emperor went to discuss the matter with the current Emperor, the Chancellor had the entire Imperial Cabinet convened in an emergency meeting in his office along with the Chairs of the Reichstag Committees on Foreign Affairs, Foreign Intelligence, and Military Appropriations, where he informed them that the Kaiser would invoke Article 30 and that five divisions would be immediately prepared for departure to Capile while a total of six field armies was to commence mobilization to ready-alert. Though there were some harsh words spoken during the meeting, the Cabinet and Reichstag were largely in agreement that with the Reichskanzler and Kaiserliche Marschall that something must be done, not that they had much choice; once the Kaiser invoked Article 30 they could only overturn it by removing him from his throne and as his son Karl Friedrich was only two years old they would end up establishing a regency under His Imperial Majesty Wilhelm Augustus III whom would then invoke Article 30 again.

By the end of the evening, a short phone call to the Reichskanzler's office confirmed the motions success and he was informed that His Imperial and Royal Majesty, Josef Franz I Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia, had signed an Imperial Edict invoking Article 30 of the German Constitution and said Edict had been distributed to the Office's of the Imperial Cabinet and all 456 members of the Reichstag. The Edict was also distributed in this format to all embassies within the German Empire.

By the Order of His Imperial and Royal Majesty, Josef Franz I, Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia

Let it Be Known That This Imperial Edict Has Been Delcared

His Imperial and Royal Majesty, Josef Franz I, Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia, has signed and declared an Imperial Edict as he is empowered by the Constitution of the German Empire to do. As such let it be known that His Imperial and Royal Majesty has invoked Article 30 of the Constitution of the German Empire and does declare an official state of war to exist between the German Empire and the following belligerents:
-The Fatherland Front
-The Fraternal Socialist Union
-The Republic of Capile
-The Dutch Republic of Capile
-The Free French State
With the invocation of Article 30 of the Constitution of the German Empire, His Imperial and Royal Majesty, does hereby temporarily strip from the Reichstag its powers of authorization of the Imperial German Armed Forces and enable the Imperial Marshal of the German Empire as the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces to act as they see fit for the good of the nation and the successful completion of the war. So it is declared and so it shall stand by the order of His Imperial and Royal Majesty, Josef Franz I, Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia.

For Throne and Empire

7th Carrier Battle Group, Imperial German Navy
Just off of Saxtonburg, Territorial Waters of the Grand Duchy of Capile
Saxtonburg Evacuation Successful

From the bridge of the SMS Scharnhorst, Admiral Wilhelm Kreutz of the Kaiserliche Marine, commanding officer of the 7th Carrier Battle Group, watched the cruise missile strikes launched by the destroyer SMS Limburg successfully hit their targets and obliterate them from the face of the Earth, the massive plumes of smoke rising from the former locations of the Reichsrat and the Capilean War Ministry serving as a reminder to the fascists that even in retreat, the German fleet could give them a sharp blow. Now however was the time to turn to where exactly he would transport his over 9,000 evacuee's to, the fleet didn't have the supplies to quarter them for a long stretch of time and the ships were overcrowded as it was, but the nearest port at Reiburg was a Communist stronghold and Rheilord was far too close to another Communist bastion, so Rochefort it would have to be. The journey would be long and arduous but they would make and these brave men who had held Saxtonburg would not only see their families again, but would serve their country again as dutifully as they did before.

Turning to the Captain of the Scharnhorst, Admiral Kreutz ordered him to set course for Rochefort and to alert the Capilean authorities there that the German 7th Carrier Battle Group would be arriving soon with just over 9,000 Capilean troops evacuated from Saxtonburg. While the fleet set course for Rochefort, Kreutz opened the hatch on the port side of the bridge and stepped out onto the viewing balcony so he could watch the city fade away in the distance. However instead he found himself watching the flight deck where several hundred of the Capilean soldiers whom could not fit below decks along with those less severely wounded, were tended to by an army of medical officers from the supercarriers infirmary, though there were not nearly enough medical officers leading to many of the pilots and Seebataillon guards aboard the ship lending their limited first aid knowledge to try and help as many men as they could, even the flight crews, whom should have been seeing to the refit of the recently sortied aircraft below deck, were doing what they could to help the medics. Many of these Capilean's were on the verge of death from starvation or had been forced to make hasty patchwork first aid in the heat of battle that had not prevented the infection of the wound, though the ones below deck were far worse off; Kreutz had already been informed by his chief medical officer, Major Gunther Stressmann, that at least ten percent of his patients were so far gone the only thing they could do was to make their death a comfortable one. Many of them would have to have limbs amputated to stop the spread of infections, or would need major surgery to remove bullets and shell fragments from their body. As a method of comfort, many of the German's were lending the Capileans their phones so those still capable of coherent thought and brain function could call their families.

And yet while Kreutz felt a great sadness wash over him as he surveyed these tired, hungry, and injured men whom had been through hell for months, as well as guilt that he could not have reached the city sooner and maybe relieved the siege rather than evacuating the city, he felt something else. Though they were not his men nor under his command he felt proud to call these men soldiers, for they had withstood so much, endured such harshness, and yet they fought on almost to the death to defend their country and their honor. Kreutz wished he had a thousand crates of medals to shower them with but he didn't so he would have to settle for verbal praise and a salute to them all. He went back into the bridge and through the door to his private office before turning on the intercom and opening the channel to broadcast to the entire fleet so he could address the Capilean's.

"Attention to all the brave men aboard our ships, we welcome you as honored guests and comrades in arms, and to those of you clinging to life but not meant much longer for this world, you shall be carried most assuredly to Valhalla by the Valkyries as only true soldiers are. That is what you men are, what you have proved yourselves to be in deed and in conviction. You are soldiers true and proud, do not feel dishonored or ashamed by the fall of Saxtonburg, for know that you did not give up to the enemy the jewel of your country, you fought them tooth and nail nearly to the last man. You destroyed vital infrastructure and points of strategic value leaving the enemy with no gain at all and forced the enemy to spend much to gain very little. You have retained your honor as soldiers and you will see your families again and you will be able to fight those wretched pieces of fascist filth again and you will serve your country and the world dutifully again in defeating fascist tyranny. Not only have you done your nation proud, you have done the world proud. You men are the prime example of what true honor, bravery, and nobility embody in a soldier, we thank you for your service and the German Empire salutes your duty."

by **Vrijstaat Limburg** » Mon Apr 22, 2019 9:48 am

Tom Ramaekers
Free French waters, 14 mi from Gravines
09:31 AM local time

"This is Captain Pierre Crommelin of the Free French Army, broadcasting from Fluery Airfield. Unidentified airplane, you have clearance to land on airstrip three."

Tom looked over to his co-pilot mike, and nodded his head. He casually turned his head forwards again, and responded:

"Bonjour monsieur le Capitaine! Merci for being so friendly and helpful. We'll stay on this channel. We'll be in Fluery in fifteen micks. Ramaekers out."

The pilot slowly flicked his finger over a black button, and stopped the radio broadcast. Ramaekers then smiled, from cheek to cheek, before pressing yet another button. The button on his iPod. Before the unsuspecting co-pilot behind Ramaekers could comprehend what was going to happen, Jimi Hendrix could be heard shouting through the aeroplane's speakers.

- 26 minutes later -

A nasty sound could be heard coming from the aeroplane's wheels. The co-pilot described it as "an old cat being squeezed to death". Flying around in a 70-year-old trainer aircraft with major modifications and changes is not only dangerous, it's extremely bad for your hearing. Once the aeroplane came to an unstable and obnoxiously loud halt, captain Tom could spot some vehicles driving towards his rusty T-6.

"Kiek's doar, Mike" he said, trying to alert his co-pilot. "Vuur hant bezoek doa." (There's some guests)

Ramaekers opened the canopy, and stood up. He enjoyed the sun on his skin, before leaning over the glass window in front of him. He observed as the vehicles were getting closer and closer, which started to stress him out more and more.

by **Castelia** » Mon Apr 22, 2019 9:31 pm

The Benevolent Republic of Castelia

RCAT General Numerian, 25 kilometers off the coast of Rochefurt

"Commodore Porton, I think you should inform Rochefurt's harbor master of our approach. I can't risk their harbor defenses firing on our convoy by accident."

"Understood, General. Captain, if you would be so kind as to raise Rochefurt on the radio."

"Rochefurt Harbor, this is the Royal Castelian Army Transport General Numerian carrying the Castelian Expeditionary Forces to Nova Capile, do you read me? Requesting permission to dock on Rochefurt harbor. I repeat, this is the General Numerian..."

General Richard Klaxton stood inside the bridge of the General Numerian, looking towards what he believed to be the shores of Nova Capile. It had been a week since his forces had set out from the port city of Mordonia, Castelia's so-called "Gateway to the East." The city had been his home for so long, him having been assigned overall commander of the local Army units located there. He was himself a combat veteran, having participated in various battles from when he was just a lieutenant. He had served his country for so long now, he hardly had any memories that wasn't associated with the military. Then again, that was fairly common among Castelia's soldiers, who were often expected to serve until they either reached retirement age or died.

Carried by a convoy of Army transports commanded by Commodore Patrick Porton, the men he was bringing with him had been under his overall command for over a year now, making him familiar with them and him with them. He was confident of their capabilities, and now he could finally test their mettle under fire.

The Castelian Expeditionary Forces to Nova Capile, called CEFNAC, had set out from Mordonia just over a week ago. They were organized under four infantry divisions in one Army group, each one having the same equipment and number of men. However, it was in their experience and quality that they differed.

The 7th Division (Infantry) The King's Men was a battle-hardened division, considered one of Castelia's most elite infantry divisions. All of its officers and men were combat veterans of some conflict or other, and they were even specialized in urban warfare. Klaxton had at one point in his career commanded one of its component units, so he was familiar with their experiences. The fact that they had an honor title was proof of their quality, as only elite divisions and those with glorious histories were given the honor of having a title. The division was commanded by Major General Jonathan Porter, a career officer who was considered one of the experts in infantry combat.

Meanwhile, two other divisions, the 19th Division (Infantry) and the 20th Division (Infantry) were regular front line divisions. Both units were frequently deployed together on various assignments, causing them to be called The Twin Divisions. These two were regular infantry divisions, with their men being a mixture of combat veterans and new recruits. While hardly prestigious divisions, Klaxton considered them and their men reliable. The 19th was commanded by Major General Louis Clemson, and the 20th was commanded by Major General Martin Henry.

However, Klaxton regarded the last division to be problematic. The 77th Division (Infantry) was a newly raised division, having only been active for 2 weeks. Its assignment to CEFNAC would be its first military deployment, and almost all of its junior officers and men were either fresh recruits or military reservists who had the poor luck of being deployed to combat. Klaxton had even thought that its deployment with CEFNAC was a mistake, until he learned that the 77th was the only one who could be deployed with the other three on such short notice. It was commanded by Major General Charles Mooton, who was also recently promoted to command the division. Klaxton considered him a good man, but the 77th's inexperience might become a problem.

Watching as the ship's captain continued to try to communicate with Rochefurt, Klaxton turned his thoughts towards his planned course of action. His first order of business was simple: meet the local Royalist military commanders. He needed their acquaintance and support if his first planned operation was to succeed, after all. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but if he could take out the forces within that city, the pressure on Rochefurt could ease up and they would have another port to use for resupply.

I need the city of Stammburg. I only hope those damned Fascists hadn't reduced its port facilities to rubble...

Office of the President, Grand Palace of the People, Castelia City

"All of your orders have been followed, sir. The Armed Forces have been put on standby, and we're preparing additional forces to send to Nova Capile."

"The spies are on the ground, Mr. President. They're on their way to their assigned areas of operation as we speak, and I expect the first intelligence reports to come in within the next few days."

"We're preparing a draft letter to send to the Royalist government as we speak, sir. Our intention to send more forces to Nova Capile would be welcomed, I believe."

Gregor watched as his ministers reported the recent events. For Gregor, everything was going as planned, for now. CEFNAC had already reached the shores of Nova Capile, and the spies he had sent out had already been deployed. The Armed Forces, currently on standby, were now in the process of preparing additional forces to bolster their presence in the ongoing civil war. Gregor had hoped that 100,000 men would be enough, but the recent news of Saxtonburg's fall had prompted him to act more cautiously.

"Alright. Menzies, how many additional men can we deploy to Nova Capile?"

"50,000 men and 400 tanks in two armored divisions right now, sir. If you're willing to wait for a few more days, we can send a total of 150,000 men in 4 infantry and 2 armored divisions, sir."

"Alright. What do we have in the form of air and naval support?"

"Not much, sir. The Air Force is taking longer than usual to mobilize all available assets, but we do have naval aviation assets ready for deployment. The 3rd Carrier Strike Group, comprising the Invincible and the Triumphant are currently providing cover for the CEFNAC convoy, but we could have them deployed for combat. Additionally, the 6th Carrier Strike Group of Enterprise and Illustrious are on standby in Mordonia, awaiting deployment."

"Alright, I will wait for a few more days, then. Have the 3rd CSG on standby for potential combat operations. Good, you're all dismissed. Once again, I want an update as soon as there is one."

Watching as his ministers left the office, Gregor slunk back into his chair and relaxed.

Addressed to Grand Duke Klaus I and Reichkanzler Wilhelm Knott
Office of the President, The Benevolent Republic of Castelia

I have heard of the recent fall of Saxtonburg to the Fascist hordes of the Fatherland Front. Your soldiers have fought bravely, defending the city with courage and valor. Their sacrifices, I believe, would not be in vain, for they have fought and died to protect the innocents and to defend the ideals which make up the greatness of your nation.

Thus, I write this letter to you to offer you additional support from your Castelian allies. In addition to the 100,000 men already on their way to your shores and the ships of the 3rd Carrier Strike Group currently operating in defense of these men, I offer you 150,000 more men, plus 400 tanks, and the ships and planes of the 6th Carrier Strike Group.

Rest assured, my men will do everything in their utmost to provide you strength and security in these days of strife and conflict.

Sincerely,
Your Friend and Ally,
Gregor Constance
President of the Benevolent Republic of Castelia

by **The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile** » Tue Apr 23, 2019 9:43 pm

SOMMERPALAST
NOVA CAPILE

The Herzogspalast, the official residence of the Grand Duke until it had been overrun by Fascistic forces, had been built in the traditional Germanic style. It was a rustic and towering castle, surrounded by tall pines and built into the side of a majestic mountain rage. The Sommerpalast was very much its opposite.

As if inspired directly by the Palace of Versailles, the gardens of the estate began before the castle itself could even be seen. Sprawling for miles, the grounds were home to hedge mazes, fountains, orchards, stables, botanical gardens, even a small zoo; it was all maintained by an army of gardeners. In the center of this aristocratic playground was the manor itself, a baroque rectangle looking down upon the greenery from a thousand shining windows.
Klaus did not care at all for the place; it was all too clearly an example of monarchical excess, a hypocritical smudge on his record. But within this labyrinth of ballrooms, corridors, and apartments, he could be truly alone.

The Duke had banished even his family from the place, and forbade servants from directly contacting him. Afraid to come within his line of sight, they only ever entered his chambers to refresh the bottle of wine and plate of cigars in the wee hours of the morning.

It was alarming, then, when Klaus heard a sharp knock on the door of his bedroom. He whirled around from his desk, upon which a mass of crinkled papers was scattered, and watched as the double oak doors were thrown open.

His broad shoulders nearly filling the doorframe, the towering form of Wilhelm Knott strode in. The strength of youth might have left his body, but his gleaming eyes held startling vigor. Knott surveyed his monarch with unhidden distaste.

The Reichskanzler's eyes flicked from one troubling sight to the next. Klaus was in horrible shape. Wearing a wrinkled smoking jacket, the Grand Duke was slumped in his seat, his backbone limp. His hair, once tawny, was now almost fully gray, uncombed, and in need of a wash. The desk upon which he had been writing was covered in scrawled-upon papers, half-baked battleplans and crumpled-up decrees; a pipe, evidently dropped by the Duke in his surprise, spilled ash over the mess. The smell of putrid smoke hung heavily.

Knott walked up to the man he had once respected, and looked down at his unshaved face. Klaus' eyes were clouded and dreary, sapped of their intelligence.

"Who let you in here?" the monarch demanded, his voice clearly unused to speaking. "I gave explicit orders that no one should be allowed into my apartments."

"You will remember, Your Grace, that you endowed me with equal power in the Constitution you authored," Wilhelm responded patiently. "Klaus, I have come to speak to you plainly." The chancellor sat in a vacant chair and faced his liege.

"Perhaps you have heard- Saxtonburg has fallen." Klaus said nothing, and looked intently at the desk. Wilhelm pressed on: "Our people are discouraged. They need someone to rally them, to tell them that hope is not lost, that we will shortly drive back the rebellion. They will no longer listen to me. They need a fresh face." He sighed heavily. "They need you, Klaus."

There was a long pause. Klaus' chest heaved, and Knott realized that a tear was welling in the Grand Duke's eye. "I tried," he choked, "I tried to tell them! And look what they've done!" Klaus suddenly jumped to his feet, and seized a heavy manuscript from the table. Wilhelm saw that it was one of the original copies of the Capilean Constitution. He and Klaus had written it only a few years ago, but it felt like a past life. "I gave them democracy. They rejected it!" Klaus threw the papers against the floor, and they swirled out in different directions.

"I can't do anything more!"

"But you can!" Wilhelm pleaded, standing too. "Klaus, you must be patient with them. We all made mistakes. Now we can move past them." The older man placed a comforting hand on his leader's shoulder.

"Your people need you now more than ever, Your Grace. Give them what they need. Become their leader once again. Do it for Capile."

Klaus stood in silence. "You are right," he said finally. "Your are right," he repeated spitefully, "and I have been such a fool." Not wasting another moment, Klaus fell back into his seat, swept the scribblings from his desk, and drew a fresh sheet of paper. Hand flying across it, he spoke to Wilhelm without looking up: "Tell my people I will make a public address at Rochefurt in two days' time."

Knott grinned. "Jawohl, mein Herzog!"

GRAVINES
NOVA CAPILE

Forming a wide ring around the ancient airplane, the French soldiers slowly closed in on it.

"What is this piece of junk?" one young recruit asked aloud as Captain Pierre Crommelin approached the cockpit of the aircraft. His left hand cautiously drew his pistol, whilst his right rapped patronizingly on the cockpit.

Behind him, the Free French soldiers raised their rifles a half-inch, as if a Royalist army was about to surge out from the old plane. As their captain had said, one could never be too careful.

ROCHEFURT
NOVA CAPILE

"General Numerian, you and your fleet are cleared to dock in Rochefurt Harbor. The shipyards are being emptied presently to provide enough space for you."

General Konrad Fleischmann nodded curtly at the callow radioman and then swung his tall, gaunt form toward the exit. Descending from the control station like a gray ghost, the man swept silently across the harbor until he was standing upon the edge of a long dock. Over the horizon, the bows of the incoming fleet's foremost ships were emerging.

"Give me what you know," Fleischmann ordered, knowing his adjutant was there without looking.

"The Castelians," his aide stalled, shuffling through a mass of papers. Konrad focused on the advancing armada. "Ah, here we are. Intelligence has told us that the Castelians have sent a broad mix of soldiers to us. Most are reliable veterans, but one of their divisions is freshly recruited. The commander of the Castelian expedition is Richard Klaxton, an officer with quite a career under his belt."

"Interesting," Fleischmann replied vaguely, turning his gaze at last from the sea. "Assemble my staff, and tell headquarters to prepare a full briefing of our situation. We will give General Klaxton a proper welcome."

To: President Gregor Constance
From: Reichskanzler Wilhelm Knott

Dear friend of the Duchy,

it is magnificent to hear from you again. Your continuous pledges of support are most enheartening, and knowing that you have only the best interests of Capile at heart, I approve your proposal to send reinforcements to our beleaguered nation.

The fall of Saxtonburg is lamentable, but it is a defeat that we were prepared to accept, and we are already recovering from it. In conjunction with the host of allied forces now arriving in Capile, my General Staff plans to unleash a coordinated counteroffensive against our enemies in the coming months which will turn the tide of the war.

I regret that the brave and honorable soldiers of your nation will fall in battle for mine, but you are prepared to make that sacrifice in order to forestall the forces of tyranny, proving your noble character.

I wish you the best.

Sincerely,

Wilhelm Knott
Reichskanzler

SAXTONBURG
NOVA CAPILE

Heinrich Heller stood in front of the smoldering mass of bricks that had once been the seat of Capile's government.

The cruise missile had completely destroyed the central hall of the building, where the offices of the Reichskanzler and other important officials had been. The building's famous spired dome had been driven forcefully into the foundation of the building and smashed into a million unrecognizable pieces. The flanks of the Reichsrat still stood, to an extent. The hallowed halls where the Volksrat and Edelrat had once convened had been mostly disintegrated by the blast, but their tall exterior walls remained, cracked and crumbling, surrounding the gaping hole in the middle.

General Heller surveyed the massive pile of shredded brick, busted marble, and ruined masonry with distaste, and then finally turned from the mish-mash of rubble. Behind him a large workforce of Fascist soldiers, their black uniforms traded for coveralls and fatigues, stood in awe.

"Have at it, men! The Parteileiter will be arriving shortly, and he wants to see us at work!"

At the officer's words, the entire contingent sprung into action. Young officers led the excavations, ordering their able-bodied men to throw aside the rubble and clear the foundation. Carrying off the wastage in wheelbarrows, presently the men had nearly cleared the entire compound. With perfect timing, the screech of tires on Saxtonburg's worn pavement announced the arrival of the Parteileiter.

Heller turned to see the shining black jeep stop sharply at the end of the Großstraße. The vehicle was very much like the one General Schadel had arrived in, except that a small flagpole on its hood bore the personal standard of Walter Nemetz.

The jeep's door swung open, and the VF's leader lunged into the open, electrified blue eyes surveying the damage that had been done to Capile's capital. Heller saluted, and Nemetz's shocking eyes focused on him before the blond man returned the gesture.

"Congratulations on your victory, Lieutenant General Heller," he complemented warmly, striding toward the remains of the Reichsrat.

"Major General, actually, sir," Heller corrected pedantically, falling into step behind the taller man. Nemetz looked across at his subordinate and grinned. Heinrich Heller realized his mistake as the Parteileiter began to speak, and cursed himself for his idiocy.

"Formerly Major General Heller. But the untimely death of Lieutenant General Schadel has left room for a man of your caliber to advance."

"Thank you, sir!" the newly-minted officer replied, stopping hastily behind Nemetz as the leader halted at the base of the Reichsrat. Nemetz did not respond, his mind shifting toward the bombed-out building before him.

"No, this cannot be salvaged," he lamented. "We will have to blow it away completely," he continued with a gleam in his eye.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Heller interrupted, confused. Nemetz grinned down at him, the mad idea in his eyes intensifying.

"My friend, the Royalists' destruction of the Reichsrat will suit our purposes even better than if we had captured it intact. You see, our Party intends to wipe out the old order and replace it with the new. And every last trace of the old will need to be purged before the New Order can be instated."

"I see," Heller commented, beginning to catch his leader's drift.

"We will spread the word across all of our territory. The Saxtonburg Rally must draw a million people, and millions more must watch and listen at home. We will not be just a Party anymore. We will be a nation."

by **Vrijstaat Limburg** » Wed Apr 24, 2019 1:18 am

Tom Ramaekers

09:50 AM local time

"Bonjour, mes amis!"

Captain Ramaekers said cautiously, while a group of soldiers seemed to be keen on killing him.

He turned towards the captain at slug-speed. "Vous êtes Capitaine Crommelin, oui?" he tried to say in the calmest and least startled tone he could find.

"Je-je... I'm going to grab my security contract to show you the authenticity of my orders."

He nodded his head, slightly, and carefully grabbed a sheet of paper that he'd kept near the cockpit for emergencies and situations like these. He presented the sheet of paper at first, and then slowly rose up again to show the guards that he had nothing of importance.

The contract was written in both French and English, and the seals were authentic, at least, he thought they were. He'd been talking to a Free French diplomatic attaché in Amsterdam, the kingdom of the Netherlands, and he provided them with the contract. "They'll pay over there", the French fat cat had told the men.

He opened his mouth, and slowly continued speaking English, so that the French could understand it more easily.

"We've entered into an agreement with your government. We'll fly ground runs and reconnaissance operations for a monthly sum of money. The Texas whore-" he affectionately slapped the side of the brown airplane "will assist us in doing that. I've been informed about the fact that there won't be much AA fire, or any fighter operations, so if this baby goes down, it's because the chewing gum that we used to keep it together got hard and yucky."

He tried to keep up a smile, and he tried to speak comfortably, but it was difficult with the weapons pointed at him.

"Mes amis, can't we be friendly? We're all copains here, eh? We're not pointing our guns at you..." he said, not thinking about the three .30-03 M1919A4 medium machine guns that were strapped on the airplane.

Klaus' War {IC|MT|CLOSED}

Klaus' War {IC|MT|CLOSED}

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