1935-2000 Era War 4: New Beginnings (IC)

by **Socialist Slavic Union Kingdom** » Thu Aug 06, 2020 2:35 pm

[size=200]USSK Programs/size]

USSK Military Program/ Civilian Program

Military Programs
1.Order “Knights of Slavic “ - This program will increase USSK military from 800,000 to 5 million soldiers with 801,000 being active duty and 4,895,000 being reserves. Military factories will also get more funding to supply equipment for the new demands, which will lead to more jobs available to the general public. If a factory can not supply or make enough equipment, a new factory will be made to fulfill the demand. While factories are making equipment, new bases will also be built to house fleshly new troops, these bases will be located near the coast line and center mass of the USSK. Along with recruiting new troops, there will also be training of old troops to make them better and more ready if the USSK was ever under attack.

2.Order “ Honor” connect to Order “Knights of Slavic” - Program Honor allows prisoner a second chance by serving the army forces for 3 years. But this is only available for prisoner who haven’t committed the crimes of murder, rape, or Treason. When a prisoner decides to join the arm forces their criminal record will be erased. They will start a new life and once their 3 year of servers is over they can decide to stay or leave the army of their own free will.

3.Order “Sea Dragon” - This program is the scrapping of some USSK Submarines to use their metal to make Destroyers and Cruisers. This will give the USSK navy more types of ships and better use than having old submarines sitting at port. This order was given in 1929 after seeing that the USSK navy needed more Destroyers and Cruisers since most of them were outdated or sunk during the Civil war.

4.Order “ Rust Guard” - This program is to keep the old rifle from the Civil war and Ruskland to arm USSK soldiers. But these are only temporary once enough rifles are made for USSK soldiers the old rifle will be scape or sold off. This program is to ensure that all soldiers of the USSK are equipped and not lacking any weapons or equipment that would be needed to protect the motherland. This program was ordered right after the Civil war to keep the USSK arm and ready for a second Civil war.

Civilian Program
Order “ Path finder” - This program updates roads and signs that will allow better and safer travel through USSK. But this program will take a few years to complete due to the size of the motherland.

Order “ Devil can drive too” This program is to try and update devil road which is a long road that goes around the mountain and to the east coast of USSK. The road goes through the winter wasteland of the USSK which is a problem of its own but it is also near the side of the mountain. This will not be an easy task to complete but in doing so will lead to another way around the mountains. The road will have to be shoveled up since it is always snowing in that area. Then update the runs for better driving and add barriers to help keep drivers from driving off the road. Another problem we face is trying to keep the road maintained since there is no town and city near the devil road so plans for making a team to go clean the road every week are still on going.

Order “ Bear on the farm ” - This program is a 5-year-plan to industrialization that will allow faster farming and easier harvest for farmers. This will also increase the amount of farm goods produced.

Order “Beehive” - This program allows for better and cheaper housing for those who are not making enough money. This will create jobs for builders, carpenters, etc. The home will be cheap and easy to afford while at the same, the house will look nice and not like the homes from before the Civil war.

by **HypErcApitAl** » Thu Aug 06, 2020 10:05 pm

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

Deeply pitying the Newne Carribeanian Empire, and their KDR (Kill-Death Ratio), the Aimeslandish would've sent some trainers to them. Starting out with the Bare Minimum (or "crawling before they walked") and working their way backup to guns and explosives, though the Carribeanians had a weird way of classifying their ships, especially their "baby battleship."

Now, the Aimeslandish age for the Armedforces was 17+, and the ranking system was:

Landenforcer (highest)
Admiral (second highest)
Corporal (third)
Lance Corporal
Major-Corporal
Major
Sergeant
Lieutenant
Second Lieutenant
Fourth Lieutenant
Rank Corporal
Ensign
Cadet
Enlist (lowest of the low)

(land soldiers)

While the Airforce was ranked in-order of Color and colored uniform or stripe.

Airwarrior (highest)
Purplestripes
Greenstripes
Blackstripes
Redstripes
Bluestripes
Air Combatant (low, but technically high since they're teachers/trainers/instructors of pilots)
Graystripes
Cyanstripes (lowest of the low. They don't have a teacher because they're to learn and teach eachother and work as a group.)

Naval shared ranking systems with Aerial, and Marines shared with Land troops. (That system was "a sharing system," technically.)

Airforce also used blimps (Blimpforce), though now the war switched focuses from the Aimeslandish blocking the Nihonese with their Airforce, Navy and Blimpforce, to alot of land combat and using tanks, cavalry and whatever else the landtroops were armed with.

It was known historically that the Newne Carribbeanians lost alot of wars, even to Aimesland (though they were isolationist and non-interventionist, news still spread), which shocked them as to how a people were never able to win a war, or even tell gloves and shoes apart. Now, Aimeslandish Media and Propaganda weren't going to call the Carribeanians "animals," as they'd taken pity to them. They were a cousin race, maybe even a sibling race to the Aimeslandish and Westerosi peoples. Following the "What's yours is mine" principle, the Aimeslandish and Newne Carribeanians were going to grow even stronger for generations to come, and culturally/socially enrich eachother.

Being "white liberal," the first instinct was Pity and understanding, or Tolerance, but it was very-hard to "tolerate" peoples that wanted you, your siblings and your way-of-life dead or trampled-upon ("Don't tread upon me"), which is why the Aimeslandish quickly took-up hatred and anger, once realizing the horrible fate of the world they were in. Instead of staying in their corner and wishing/hoping "the bad" would "go away," or being naive and thinking their Progressivism was going to spread, now, they were going to actually do something. Even if they had to throwaway all of their peaceful hippy hipster principles just for the time being. Things had to change. Instead of misunderstanding and being doom-and-gloom, the Aimeslandish were going to be the Light. They were going to be the optimistic ones.

Maybe romanticism and Spring Liberalism couldn't be exported into other countries, but why not try Democracy, or Democratic-Republicanism? You may not be able to transplant all of Aimeslandishs' beliefs into another nation, but atleast you'd have an openminded, progressive nation that didn't go all out; that didn't see War as the first option.

At the same time, though maybe this idealism and optimism was toxic. Maybe Democracy just didn't work in this world, and the Aimeslandish had to return to Anarchs - return to Destruction, Deconstruction, Arson and Terror. No other ideology would work - they were vehemently antimonarchist. They resisted the boots of Communist-Socialism, Slavery, Serfdom and Feudalism. Theocracy was a very unpopular concept, and so was anything Puritan or puritanical. The Aimeslandish were passionate and emotional, or embraced Humanity and their bodies. Yes, they were Anarcho-Environmentalist, but that was the Past. That was no more.

Maybe Nihilism, Egoism, Pessimism and other self-hating ideologies and schools-of-thought were The Way, since Romanticism, Honor, Sympathy, and whatnot seemed to fail, or be failing. Maybe the Dream would never occur. Maybe it was all a lie, and Human Beings were meant to be subjugated. Maybe Tyranny was the natural path, and Mother Nature was some sort of sadomasochist that wished the very worst for her offspring. Who knows? Who knew?

Aimesland shan't lose Hope and Willpower. The Honor Codes shall be forever, eternal, immemorial.

(Green and Blue Lantern Corps were actually linked, so it was actually the Grue Lantern Corps since Hope and Willpower were linked. To have one, you must have the other, in this case. Hoping and Willing have alot to do w/ eachother; and not just "Hoping" and/or "Willing," but also "Dreaming," and Thinking.)

The Samston House

Senator Jared Springfield had came over to visit Sprout. Sitting in the Presidential Livingroom and talking it out over some juice.

"Well, I stand with you, do you stand with me?" Sprout asked.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, I've had faith in you since you were President-Elect." Jared answered.

"But, alotta people on your side - your supporters; your base, are very gung-ho. That kinda putted me off of you for a bit, but I've always liked you, or something about you. Maybe it was the Lemonade Thing, or maybe it was your speeches and how you stood with me through this Crisis. I dunno, but I'd much-rather stand on your side than be without you." He continued.

"I gotta say this; I missed all of you -"

She cut herself off, as she bursted-out in a laughing fit.

"- though y'all were all flirting with me. Now, I most-certainly enjoy The Senate, and also a good flirt, but..."

"I'm not Single anymore."

"Yeah. I could see that." Jared said.

"Everyone sees something - they try to grab it; the heart wants what it wants. No hope in trying to resist that." He continued.

Allegra walked into the room, playing with her hair.

"Ooh! A visitor!" She chirped.

"Yeah, it's just an old friend." Sprout told.

Jared stared at Allegra, smiling, before turning his head back to Sprout's attention.

Allegra sat down, before holding Sprout's hand underneath the table.

"Now, I dunno what to say now that she walked up in here." Sprout stated.

"Break the Ice, I guess." Jared responded.

"Um... I don't really like talkin' about myself..." Allegra explained.

"I'm from Ambercity, though I've never really clung to one place. I always was kind of a nomad-type girl." She continued.

'I just explore and get in alotta fights.''

"Woah, you can fight? You've never told me that." Sprout said.

"Well, I like this image of being a dainty, delicate girl, so I don't really like to talk about it..." Allegra responded.

"You never really revealed alot about yourself, we just flirted around and had alotta times together." Sprout stated.

"Yeah. It really do be like that sometimes." Allegra sighed.

"I like this Romance thing, though alot in the world has put me off - like I said the other day about Burning My Passport. I wouldn't haveta do that if everything was free and nice and fine. I'm scared to actually travel out the country because of all the Brutality and horribleness. They're not civil." She continued.

The more she talked, it felt like it was the more she was getting sad.

She turned her head and just looked at Sprout while the two politicians talked.

Being a Transformative Republic, it was also time that the Armedforces and Military Spending increased. Using all of the armaments from the new suppliers, and trying to increase firepower in a new world that disrespected their ancestors. A new age that dishonored Sword Users and Melee Combat.

Warfare was changing. War always changes.

Code: Select all: Message to Wargloria: Once again, we are humbly asking for supplies, though in the form of outfits. Though, not anachronistic or old outfits, but outfits that match and mirror the Aimeslandish's Sense-of-Fashion, as we have to make a Fashion Statement even when we're defending the Republic. We need things that are new, and recent, and fashionable. These uniforms, for an egalitarian armedforces and not some sexist army that only accepted Men. As we are fighting barbarians, we have to keep showing our Finesse and flexing our Beauty; that we are simply more pretty and beautiful than them, and that they are monkeys that eat out of Trashcans. They literally eat out of bins. Your leathers, your coats, your skirts, and some of your helms, atleast.

Essentially stating to kill the Slavers w/ High Fashion, but, eh. Whatever worked.

The good 'ole days of smashing your enemys' head in w/ a club, but times change.

Already, lobbyists and un-Aimeslandish/Anti-Aimeslandish, Centrists were talking about passing a bill that'd essentially kill self-defense, and also Aimeslandish's Warrior Culture. That didn't go down well, atall. Infact, it made the country almost go into a Civilwar.

Pretty-sure, if the bill somehow was signed into Law, Aimesland would've been in Civil War by now - and with Sprout and the gov't rebelling against the Centrists and lobbyists.

Nothing on that end, pretty-much, would work, since the Aimeslandish were very stubborn and prideful folk - they were proud of their culture and values and would fight tooth-and-nail and with blood/sweat-tears to make sure the Aimeslandish Ways don't die-out in the Future.

If someone to proclaim themselves "A dictator," or try to make laws radically-changing life and culture, or radically-changing the Gov't, Aimesland would set itself On Fire and mobs would start rabblerousing. Warfare would be in the Streets, as people would eat their own like the snake that ate itself.

Many traitors would have to die, to preserve Democracy and Democratic Principles.

In the end, it'd be Insane - it'd be like taking TNT to a mountain. Maybe blowing-up a face into some rocks, or something.

Armed Militias served a Purpose - to Fight Tyrannical Governments. To reclaim the Country from the Lost Ones. Restoring the Individualist Rights that the Republic was supposed to Enshrine. Liberty and Justice; for ALL.

Guerrillas and countrymen, a purpose too - once the gov't surrendered, it was time for the People to shine. The People would never surrender. The Government, maybe, but never the People. Citizenry was to never be Shackled. To live Young and to Die Free - Gimme Liberty, or Gimme Deth.

by **Vulkata II** » Sun Aug 09, 2020 7:31 am

Back to Business
Unity Hall

The Great Leader Alberto Aneñyo abruptly woke from his nap and bolted right up, scaring the clerks around him. Rubbing his eyes and gazing at the office's clock, it was 3:15 in the afternoon and took a moment to recollect as to what he was doing beforehand. It was only after looking at the notes on record's book on his desk that he remembered what it was.

Develop a new air force.
Plans to improve the navy.
Ease tensions with those Things.
Sylba, Rannoria.

A secretary came up to him and instead of bothering with a salute, he leaned forwards to meet the height of the Great leader in a chair.

"Great Leader, is everything alright?" Alberto closed the record's book and had it tucked under his armpit before pushing his chair backward.

"I am fine, just fell off of my chair in a dream." Then he made his way towards the door, ignoring everyone else while everyone else ignored him and focused on their work, be it accounting, auditing, or central communications, "And have the Island Representatives be here in an hour, I'm going to need their attention, divided or otherwise."

Two hours later

It was an insufferable cockpit of insults, jeers, and naked opinions about one another as Alberto stood in the middle of the parliament next to a large brass bell. Deadpan, the atmosphere continued to be aggressive and hostile until a bailiff entered the room with a mallet and the promptly rung all over the room, until it was the only noise in the room, and then silence.

"When I retire and if I survive this dictatorship, I am planning to run the nation's cockfighting league." Setting down the mallet, all eyes and attention were suddenly on him, "Gentlemen, the Confederacy, as you can imagine, has a joke for a navy with nobody in the world threatened by it."

For the first time in his career, Alberto heard laughter echo throughout Unity Hall. Said laughter could mean more than one thing though and he knew of this, either they were in disagreement as always or they were agreeing with him and burst our laughing. Whatever the case, he continued speaking.

"And so, I propose 'La Armada Unida,' The United Navy. With this, let us have our current fleet, besides the troop transports, rename themselves and contact foreign powers if they have any ships for sale or any ship design they're willing to depart with."

"And who do you have in mind?" A voice in the back says. The Great Leader only stared at where the source came from, witnessing an extreme sense of focus concentrated on just him.

"Perhaps Ruskland may help-"

"But they're a Protectorate of Wargloria if the newspapers are any true." Cuts in another representative

"And that brings me to my next suggestion: Perhaps that the Warglorian Reich may want to sell us some of their older ships. It won't be cheap I imagine but what are these days? Lastly, our neighbors down South may have too and delivery of any vehicles would come easier, and while I'm currently unsure of the quality of their naval shipyards, I'd rather not insult nor pass them off as a minor naval power compared to us.

"Lastly gentlemen, is the creation of a brand new airforce: La Bureau de Aeronautica.' And just like the navy, combine our current planes, how little they are, into one office. And I demand an office for both of these be established with help wanted and officers training with their men in airfields around the archipelago.

"Any objections?" There was a murmur around with looks shifting from one representative to another. In the end, the bell was rung and the Great Leader had one last say: "I don't care if you do, I want these offices completed by the end of the month. Dismiss."

Representatives got to their feet and approached one another, continued talks, and ignored the Great Leader even when the heavy double doors of the room closed with a loud thud.

by **Baharuthia** » Sun Aug 09, 2020 7:59 am

15th February 1935
Nordmark, Sveria

“I’m bored.” That was a phrase that Adler knew would bring chaos and anarchy into the mansion he lived in. You see, whenever Victoria is bored, she’ll do some weird shit to entertain herself, which does not disinclude riding his car around, above the recommended speed. Of course, this is away from populated areas, but still, she almost wrecked his car.

Which also made him somewhat depressed. But then he needs to be vigilant as she’s going to burst out with a fucking stupid idea once again. “Hey, Adler? Adler. Hey Adler.”

“What?”

“Can we go to the shooting range?”

“Oh Bahamut…” He muttered, this was not a rare occurrence, but not a common one either. By far…

She was a perfect markswoman…

To miss many shots before getting her hit. It’s very painful that she had to fire many rounds before getting a hit, changing guns didn’t work as well. Either they were shit, or she was with her aim. “...I’m not paying for all the bullet fees.”

“Meanie.”

“You know there are other things you could do, right?"

"Like what? Driving your car?"

"Hell naw." He crossed his arms.

"Mmmmm, this would be far more fun if we had more girls in the harem."

"What the fuck is with you and harems?"

"..."

"...Hahhhh, fine, fine, I'll follow your lead…"

"Really!?" She asked excitedly, Adler sighed, it wasn't according to the plan he had in mind.

"Yeah...I'll follow through."

"Ohhhh, I got so many on the list."

"...Wait what?"

"Hmmm, but there are only so few of the Dynasties who need heirs and heiresses." That clicked in.

"...In that case...I...suppose I won't mind then…" He really dug himself his own grave, didn't he? But then he got a hug from her, her face on his chest.

"Thank you so much, Adler." She mumbled out from his chest, he sighed knowingly.

"As long as you behave I suppose." He patted her head slowly, caressing it ever so gently.

"You're the best fiancee, a girl can ask for."

"That explains your immaturity."

"Yep."

"Figures…" She was proud of being childish…

Well, at least he does have someone by his side. "...So, marriage?"

"I'll have more women involved in it as well."

"...How many are we talking about?"

"Twenty Five."

"Well…"

It was at this moment that he knew.

"I fucked myself very hard."

"So you do masturbate to your hand."

"Fuck off!"

"You're learning at least…" Adler had taken her to the firing range after that fiasco, he really dug himself deep. The gun that Victoria was using was the Gewehr 98A, it was a bit of an old model, but not entirely unserviceable, despite its obsolete state.

At 500m, she couldn't land a bullseye. "The gun's broken."

"This is your 5th gun."

"Are you sure that these are Warglorian Mainland-made and not some backwater land from Wargloria?"

"I'm sure." Not really, they just received these and took them for granted. So, definitely no way of checking that. "You're probably shit at aiming."

"...That was mean…" She gave him a flat look.

"I wouldn't want to sugarcoat shit."

"At least, give me some honey?"

"That's still a type of sugar."

"Oooooh, fine…" She pouted, taking a breath, she took aim and fired away.

"...Nearly a bullseye." He observed with a pair of binoculars.

"Bahamut damnit, firing for a bullseye is hard."

"If it's so easy, Vicky. We wouldn't have to train our people now, would we?" His voice came out as a bit sarcastic.

"...True, I guess…" She sighed dejectedly, sitting on the supplied chair. "What number of shot was that?"

"Seventeenth."

"...I suck at aiming." She slumped down, being a bit depressed from her inability to fire accurately.

"I think we've established that two years ago."

"No need to rub it on me."

"Trivia."

"Hrmmmmmmm…" She gave out a childish growl.

"You'll get better at it." Adler shrugged as he took a sip of his cappuccino.

"That reminds me, what happened to Minnerva?"

"Oh...her?"

"You sure have a lot of work to do, Reichsauseher." Minnerva muttered as she took a cup of plain black coffee.

"Ja, it's mostly because it's the fact that I have no work that the finance branch thinks they could give me a load of their work."

"I see...the economy is on fire? Again?"

"Caviar farming expansion. They want 10kg/day as a new record, but some part of me thinks it's going to be 20kg/day." It wasn't hard putting two and two together for the Assistant.

"That's a lotta caviar."

"Obviously. Who in their right mind would buy 1250 Reichsmarks worth of a kilogram of fish eggs?" The man huffed, feeling a bit stressed.

"Obviously rich people."

"...Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

"No thanks needed."

"You're just as annoying to deal with that Minister of Justice, no wonder you got along with him." The man rolled his eyes as he looked through the papers, scratching his head as he read the context of each and everyone of them.

"It's the fact that we do have some similarities, I guess…" Minnerva cupped her chin, before having a sip of her coffee.

“Can I actually get some help with these paperworks for once!?”

“Sure. After I finish my coffee.”

“Gott verdammten!”

"...She got work to do."

"Huh...understandable." Victoria ditched her rifle before taking another G98A from the closet. Then took her stance before firing.

“...You hit one bullseye...after like...fifty shots.”

“...This gun’s broke, I’m telling you.”

“That’s the sixth gun you’ve picked up.”

“It is also broken.”

“...Woman, I’m not gonna ask for a seventh rifle.”

“Dew it.”

“No.”

“Mmmmmm…” He smacked her head, needless to say. “WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?”

“For being a dunce.”

“That was a tad mean.”

“I could care less.” And she smacked him by the back of his head. “...I’ll give that one to you.”

“You better.”

It wasn’t a strange thing between the two of them. Things had never really been ‘normal’ for any of them, so there’s that. “You’re done?”

“Yea…” She looked like she was going to sulk on the matter.

“No worries, you’ll get better soon enough.”

“That’s what you said a year ago.”

“We’re going through them one by one, takes time. Unless you want to ignore some of your work…”

“...Oh yea...I still have work to do…”

…

“ACK! I FORGOT! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!?”

“I thought you remembered many things.”

“TO SOME EXTENT!”

“Nahhh, I know you.” The man grinned, openly teasing the woman, who continued to pout at his words. The woman had been shifting uncomfortably from his words that she sighed and let it go.

“Uuuuhh...I hate you so much…”

“Luv ya too, sweety.” He responded with a smile.

Sverian Report

Sverian Battlecruisers, SMS Pedoleon and SMS Hydra accompanied by a handful of David-Class Destroyers and two Kaiserberg-Class Cruisers met an unspecified Capital Ship.

The Flag it raised was unspecified, perhaps a Jolly Rogers, the offending ship had given no warning before firing at the Patrol Fleet, the Fleet counterattacked, after a brief encounter, the Capital Ship slipped into the mists and fogs of the Svavic Sea, bordering the Sea of Martyrs as there are barely any form of convoys asides from the USSK.

Addendum 1 - 21st November 1934: Previously convoy ships have been disappearing with no surviving crew members and the ships nowhere to be seen. Of course this had been done with no forms of evidence or remains of where they were. This Capital Ship might have been the cause of those losses.

Addendum 2 - 3rd February 1935: Further investigation suggested that the Capital Ship was of the former Ruskland's Monarch Class Dreadnought. Despite its aging form, the ship had been sighted to be in fully working conditions.

With the encounter on the Sea of Martyrs, Sverian High Command has committed the Battleship, SMS Admiral Van Kruz to lead the Hunt. The other two Cerberus-Class have been also committed with a handful of Destroyers and Light Cruisers with the Aircraft Carrier, SMS Nordwind.

Long Range Bombers refitted as Reconnaissance Crafts had been set. By the Dawn of 17th February, the Hunting Party will commence the Hunt for the Capital Ship.

Code: Select all
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by **HypErcApitAl** » Mon Aug 10, 2020 12:24 am

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

Being the first-and-last DemRep, and also pretty-much the Bastion-of-Democracy-and-Freedom, there was alotta standards held onto the BRA. Though the country was at-war, its citizens were still itching to do something. (and the Curfew pretty-much exasperated the Boredom.) Some of them got drafted once the Nihonese (finally...) declared war.

Smelling a Profit, like a normal Capitalist country, the Aimeslandish citizenry (the ones who weren't drafted. Also note that the schools and colleges were also shut-down, so there were still many idle hands at-play here.) decided to enter Piracy - their privateering and buckling starting to also get state-sponsored, as the Aimeslandish Gov't and Winston Admin. had heard about Sveria and their Fish Escapades (tm) and decided to carpe diem - seize the opportunity of financial investments, and start sowing-down some seeds into the Fishmongering business, or the Fish Markets.

As Aimeslandia was a laissez-faire style of Capitalist, they saw it as getting their hands and fingers wet in the Business department. Though Capitalism can get pretty... unhinged, especially with Hypercapitalism, Corporatism and other variants, or Capitalism's step-sister, Merchantilism, there was alot of money to be made in that department; and the Aimeslandish could most-certainly need more Chi. The sweet, sweet sound of rubbing twopence together...

Though Aimesland's eastern cities were getting shelled, blitzed and bombarded by everyone and their mothers' forces, Aimeslandish could always try their western portcities, especially Halifax.

The North was a no-go, because alot was unincorporated. Despite being full Aimeslandish lands, the gov't didn't sponsor anyone trekking into the North and finding-out things; there were many cities, towns and villages on the East and West, and some to the South and Middle, but none really deep inside of Aimesland Proper.

The Gov't had an idea, since there were two styles of Cop; "Why not make a third?" Why not make Mounties and Rangers to deal with all the business and hubbub in the North? Already, Aimesland was tough-on-Crime, so this had to be done at some point (hopefully very-soon after the War was done with...)

(The hypothetical Aimeslandish Mounties, though instead Blue-clad)

The sweet, sweet sound of cash, cash, money. Allowing the peoples to refill-up their coinpurses, which lead Aimesland down the path of being a Commercial Republic instead of being very ideological and educational. Already, Academia was getting very huge; the gov't funded and supported Education, the bread-and-butter of the Nation. Though, people couldn't read forever. People had to gain their streetsmarts. Buying, selling, trading, and all sorts of Commerce.

Money makes the world go around - especially the Markets. Loadsamoney, doin' up the House. The House always wins - especially in Gambling and in Debts. $$$$$$$$$

There's two things that're universal, maybe three or Four; Taxes, Death, Human Stupidity and The Universe.

In Aimesland, this was certain; it was thus being better dead then Red, a whole mythology and history of Reds being the badguy, especially the Blueshirts and Redshirts as said Prior.

One had to fight Communism with innovators, tech, scientists, geeks and nerds. Studying and becoming Mathematical, hyperrealistic, post-relative, and so on. It was that Aimesland was to own their technical specialty - their Technocracy. Using the power to Create and be Anticommunist - to churn out Chi and Jobs. To be amongst the very-bestest of countries in World History. To conquer and become Imperial. Empirical Evidence and Facts; instead of being Mythical and Dramatic, to become something as cold-hard and factual as Timespace or Gravity.

Aimesland dabbled in Rumor, storytelling, Academia, myth, legend, talltales, campfire stories and so on, though now increasing its interests in Science. In a technological Reality. Disowning Mother Nature.

Marching through the mud, not dropping your weapon, staying everfocused on the Enemy - as the Enemy surrounded Aristonia. They were slavers, slavemasters, slavocrats, Communist-Socialists of all stripes, Traitors, Centrists, Fascists (especially the firstwave), monarchists, royalists, loyalists, the dumb, the stupid, the misinformed, the ill-informed, the uninformed, and so on.

Death to a Fair Individual is Stupidity. Knowledge is Power. Aimesland's students and intellects thus gave them the Power to conquer the world. A Nation Indivisible; no States. No federalists or unionists. Only Aimesland. Only perhaps taking-on frontiers.

Becoming Kingsmen and Kingmakers, in their own way. Aimesland, going her own way.

Falseflagging [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/False_flag], exploring, adventuring, taking all the Fish and the Fish Oil. All of the Omega-03, valuing Health, Medicine and not the pseudosciences. Leaving all of that Environmentalist nonsense to the past. Becoming a Pirate Republic, a Republic of Swashbucklers.

Spring Liberalism - becoming all-encompassing and impossible. Any company or business that grew too big - trustbusted. Having the country in the hands of the People and not Nihonese Anarchist Mobs. Challenging the Manticoran and Aydinirian threat - the slavers and monarchists that wanted a Disarmed Populace.
Fighting and never surrendering - becoming a Guerrilla Force.

Upraising the Jolly Roger alongside the Aimeslandish Banner; we are One. We are stronger together. We are a proud nation of explorers and pioneers and conquistadors. We are visionaries. We aren't childish, or ill-prepared. We aren't "Spoiled brats." We are better than you, simply because we are Cultured. You can't takeaway the Culture from the Aimeslandish People. You can't disarm them.

Yo-ho-ho, a Pirates' Life was for Aimesland. Upraise the Roger and batten-down the Hatches! Atheism, Sprout, Aimeslandia! Pax Aimeslandia! AVE DEMOKRATIA!

FOR THE REPUBLIC! WE WILL NEVER RELENT! KARATE KAMIKAZE BONZAI! (A Spring Liberalist mutation of the Nihonese warcry.)

We'll continue shouting our Slogans and battlecries! We will never die! Aimesland Eternia! Social Populace, Armed Respublico! (SPAR)

President Sprout Winston will win; she will be Exonerated! The Terrorists will lose forevermore! Upraise your sword! We are not Cowards!

Aimeslandish Knights, rise from your hidingspots! Ambush the Enemy! Don't let them gain Ground!

Assemble the Axis; Norcourt, Wargloria, the Newne Carribbean are our brethren!

Being a Pirate; we know this, Deadmen tell no Tales!

HAIL AIMESLANDIA, AIMESLANDIA RULES THE SKIES! WE WILL LINGER, LINGER, LINGER LIKE FLIES!

The Swordfish was the unofficial national fish along with the redfish and the rainbow trout, since Swords were the unofficial symbol of Aimesland since Antiquity. It'll be the symbol of the Republic in perpetuity, forevermore. As a Pirate Republic and a Commercial Republic, it is to become an official symbol - mandated by a new Exec. Order.

Sprout and her cabinet, not to mention her old Campaigning Staff were in the War Room with the High Command, not just talking about War Strategy but also plans. Chromists had good ideas, to fully technologize the country, though Spring Liberalism formed the bedrock of the Country for sometime, now.

If the Chromists were to enact their ideas and proposals in conjunction with everything pre-existing, Aimesland wouldn't just be the BRA, but it'd also be the BRASA, or "Blue Republic/Ageless and Spartan Aimesland."

If the Chromists were by themselves, and didn't engage with the Winstonites and Spring Liberalists, then it would've just been the ASA. Spring Liberalism was so potent an Aimeslandish Ideology that it was said that Chromism was the step-brother or step-child to Spring Liberalism. Where Spring Liberalism encapsulated all of Aimesland's Liberalness and Aimeslandish Thought, though now owning Technological Principles, Chromism was all about the Technical, strictly. It was the New Wave. It was for a new Future.

A more technological future depended on it, but it was just an idea - it didn't get enacted into Principle, yet. Already, Sprout had a very-high number of support/her Approval Rating (somewhere in the Eighties) and her base was fired-up. She ran on Aimeslandish Idealism, and enshrining it, but now the Winstonites have become a very-powerful movement in Aimeslandish Politics.

In the near-future, once Sprout is finished with her eight years in Office (The first term of Aimeslandish Presidents was 08 yrs. If a POTBRA was young enough, they'd be able to get an additional term. Sprout was 26, too old a President for a new term. Those were the Rules.), Aimeslandish Politics'll be all about whether the next guy is pro-Winstonite or decides to stray away from Winstonism. If the next Presidential Hopeful somehow gets President Winston's support, which is tricky - she is a fickle girl, then it'd mean alot. It'd change everything, pretty-much.

Being a Teenager/Young Adult State (YAS) and a Weird Democracy, it was like this. It was where Aimesland was the first, last, and best Democracy, pioneering and trailblazing and making-up multiple forms of Democracies and Republicanisms, such as Colored Republicanism, or the idea of color-coding, and the whole "White Liberal" thing.

From the old, Anarchic days to now. It seems shaky and wavy, but Aimeslandish believe in their heart of hearts that the Republic'll stand firm and strong. There was alot of contention and alot to shake-up beliefs, but they were a very stubborn folk - hard to swindle and hard to switch-up; if they were devoted to something, they were surely Devoted.

The Battlefield

"STOP FUCKING YELLING, YOU'RE RINGING-OUT MY EARDRUMS, GODDAMMIT!" One sergeant yelled.

"KEEP FUCKING FIRING! FIRE THOSE GODDAMNED CROSSBOWS! MAKE 'EM TASTE OUR WRATH! WE ARE THE DEVILS' DEN!" A major cried-out, waving his Sabre.

"WHERE ZA FUCK ARE THOSE REINFORCEMENTS! I TOLD THOSE HAMLICKERS TO GET OVER HERE, AND THEY STILL AIN'T HERE! WHAT KINDA ARMY ARE WE RUNNING?!" Another troop howled.

"RELOADIN'!"

"COVERFIRE, GODDAMMIT, I'M TRYNA CLEAN MY GUN, THIS RIFLE'S TOO DAMNED DUSTY. WHO THE HELL OWNED THIS, MY GRANDPA?"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I JUST GOT MUD IN MAH EYEZ, WHAT THE HELL! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE STEPPING, NEWBIE!"

"Sir, those goddamned Nihonese are killing us, sir. What the hell is happening?"

"Well, shit. We're doing our best, here. We're tryna hold-up the Line, but they just keep swarmin' us. There's too many of 'em. We could kill six of 'em, there'd then be seventy-two jumpin' out the bushes and slaughterin' us. It's crazy."

"Well, sir, we're trying every trick in the Book."

"Every trick? Wow. That book's old. First-off, stop. Second-off, everyone declared war unto us. Now, if we had allies, and our allies were into this, this probably would be like walking down Times Square Park in Ambercity, or something. I dunno, I'm not a City Boy!"

"Those goddamned cappachino-sippin' Sverians are killin' us, sir!"

"Hell yes, I know! We're trying! Heck, we're using new Firepowers and they're still somehow blitzing us!"

"Issa Draft, sir. We got forty-nine year-old newbies trying to shoot, with pistollas. They think they can rainshine us, and we got bows. Freaking bows. They don't even have the experience, and they're OLD. It's crazy, sir."

"The goddamned Yellow Barons are doing their bestest. They just recently took their losses."

"What about that Powerglide girl? She doing fine?"

"Yeah."

"Then, tell her, get her ass over here and kill all these men."

"Well, sir, she's probably defendin' the other Line. But, I'll try..."

"THAT'S AN ORDER."

"What za Hell?"

"Sir, I know you're da Commandin' Officer and all, sir, but you can't just shoot the Sky. You can't just command someone to fall into a Ditch. This shit takes time. It's called Work. It's called being Refined."

"True, true. But I need to refine these Nihonese soldiers to Hell!"

"I need to send 'em back to their mommas cryin!' Teach 'em 'what 'fer!' "

"Yeah, but..."

"ALRIGHT. LET'S STOP TALKIN', AND LET'S RETURN TO SHOOTIN'. TAKEOFF THAT-THERE RIFLE STRAP AND START BUCKEYING."

The Corsairs and Buccaneers made new ships and worked with the shipbuilders and shipyards. They wore White shirts and blackcoats, and were very hairy (both female and male pirates, note) though also hygienic. They made sure to grab some fruits-and-vegetables and stay Healthy. The goal was to get richer, and also Honor aswell.

Honor, Praise, Glory, Fame, Infamy and Fandom. If you were a very-successful Captain or Général, you'd have a Fandom. You'd have many ships, and would be amongst the best in all of Aimeslandish Records and Storytelling.

Since they were at-war with the Nihonese, and had many Nihonese flags (or knew how to imitate them), they'd fly under those falseflags or flying under a flag that was in Aimeslandish docks.

Working with the gov't to return with heaps of Fish, and whatever else was there - their Treasures, their Booties, and making sure they were heavily-armed as they done so.

Général wasn't even an actual rank, matter-of-fact, the Aimeslandish Navy didn't even have their own ranking system. They shared with the Airforce. Though, being Pirates, they made-up their own Ranking System, their own files, records, and Structure.

Pirates weren't Anarchists; if anything, they were a form of Democrat, with Hierarchies and Codes and everything. Thus, it was able to merge the two cultures together. Having the government actually enlist those men-and-women and endorse/sponsor them as their boys-and-girls.

They'd also take the Champagne, and the rest of the high-priced and exotic liquors, either drinking them themselves, or reselling them. Since the gov't endorsed this, there'd be no need for this to form into a Black Market. Already, it was White. Already, the Country made so much monies off of these things, though so much Chi had went to buying new armaments and modernizing militarily.

One of the highest and toppest/elite pirates, or self-declared, was Goldbeard - named so, because he was Blond. His hair looked Gold in the sun. Though the Pirates were very spiffy and clean, Goldbeard wasn't. He wasn't even manicured. He was very dirty and grubby and greedy. He was pretty-much a Kleptocrat; couldn't get his kleptomaniacal fingers off of the Product. He wanted 70-95% of the Cuts, and tried his very hardest to turn profits and make his own "Empire" from his name.

He tried to be self-made. Not asking or helping anyone with anything, and treating his Crew like it was strictly Business. Though pistols had changed alot, he was very old-fashioned and walked around with muskettes and flintlock-pistols constantly. He had 56 on his person, constantly.

Goldbeard always smoked a Stogie. He was pretty handsy with his Cigars. He always made sure his hat was on, and he made sure his boots were tightened, ifnot, shoved with many daggers and longknives. He had perfectionist tendencies when it came to fighting, always trying to be prepared or making sure he was.

Going back to Hygiene. The crews always made sure to wash, to bathe, to shower. And pretty-much becoming cleanfreaks; not wanting to eat close in the ship's compartments. The loot had to be washed repeatedly. Same went to the booze.

And, they also made sure to avoid too much Salt and Sugar. Yes, seasoning was good, but not on-sea. Too much Salt, combined with the Saltwater, was bad. The water possessed a stench, so the Captain had to always make sure his Ship and his Crew weren't dirty or even uncombed. Everything had to be just right - the Goldilocks Rule.

These pirates knew their Economics. If they didn't, they'd be nothing more or less than crooked thieves and criminals. See, Education is everything, and that since Aimesland prioritized Education and "booklarnin'," that all of its people were educated or well-educated. These people knew how to manage their Funds and the markets. World Trading, and whatnot. Aimesland was very-good at spending money because they weren't really Frugal. They weren't cheapo. They knew how to spend, though probably spent too much and had a culture of Shoppers.

Aimeslandish tried to prevent Consumerism and Unregulated Capitalism, when Capitalism goes way too far. Anarcho-Capitalism wasn't The Way, but Anarcho-Communism weren't "the way," also. It was Laissez-faire capitalism. To have balances. To have checks. Checks-and-Balances, in a Democratic Regime.

To be able to have Freedom, Freeness, Free Will, Egalitarianism, and so on. To be free-spirited. To be a freeman, was important.

Back to Goldbeard.

Now, he was as ruthless as they came, even for a Pirate. He was all about "no Mercy," whereas other pirates held-back their murderous ways with making many prisoners and putting many in the Brig or the Stockades. It kinda showed how wasteful he was, but also that he left no Stone unturned, which was kinda good, but also kinda weird.

How old was he? Pretty old, or atleast for Aimeslandish Standards. He was 35, about to go down the Curve. This made him more desperate and fearful, but also more of a crazy. More of a man to fear, since he essentially had nothing to lose. His ruthlessness was rank, but this rank ruthlessness was earned.

He was pretty-good with a Sword, but prioritized shooting and marksmanship, as said, he made sure to Carry. He was old-fashioned in that standard, but still very deadly and a man to not be messed-with.

In the accuracy department, he's good - but his flintlock'd become a crutch. That's where hopefully his leading would carry him out of that scenario, or someone in his Crew convinces him to get a better gun and stop being so Olde.

Though, it was "One shot; one kill," and not wasting fifty million bullets unto the Enemy. In alotta cases, it was Strategy and Finesse that made you win, but now, the Aimeslandish had to start learning about Firepower, and that sometimes it's good to waste Ammo. Making sure the enemy's Dead.

Code: Select all: Message to Norcourt: Thank-you for all of the support, we'd quite-like some planes too. The barbarians think they can focus their eyes on killing our Landforces, but they've seen nothing yet. We need a strong and stable Airforce; our President has been recently going-on about "Strong-and-Stable," and now we need all the Chesspieces to fit-in, too. A military is nothing without an Airforce, this we know.

At the end of the day, the Aimeslandish saw monetary symbols in their eyes.

Cha-ching.

by **The Manticoran Empire** » Mon Aug 10, 2020 1:58 pm

The increasing piratical activity around Aimesland had been tolerated by the Empire for several weeks and the shipping companies were making their displeasure known. Losses had been relatively light, with only 6 ships sunk or captured. But to the companies that owned those ships, the losses were significant and that meant that the Prime Minister was having many heated meetings with shipping company executives. And then there was last week's disaster when an Aimeslandish pirate attacked and sank the cruise liner Esther Island. Of 1150 passengers, 635 had been killed, including 77 children and a Tamirian MP. The people were enraged and demanded vengeance and Parliament had met the day after the attack. By the end of the day, the military had been ordered to mobilize while the Parliament worked out the diplomatic details of the declaration of war.

That declaration of war was issued today, 1st of March 1935.

Herein is writ a Joint Resolution between the House of Commons and the House of Lords of the Parliament of the Empire of Manticore in Vicuna, this the First Day of the month of March in this the year Nineteen Hundred and Thirty Five of the Common Era, declaring that a State of War exists between the Empire of Manticore and the Blue Republic of Aimesland and making provisions for the prosecution of the same.

Whereas the Blue Republic, through its words and actions, have supported the formation of pirate crews, the building and arming of pirate ships, and rewarded said crews for attacks upon shipping and, in so doing, have caused to be sunk no less than six Manticoran-flagged merchant vessels and killed not less than 800 Manticoran civilians and merchantmen, in attacks in direct violation of recognized international maritime law and Manticoran neutrality in the extant conflict between the Blue Republic of Aimesland and the Empire of Nihon, the aforementioned acts and words constituting unprovoked attacks upon the People of the Empire and the Crown:

Therefore be it Resolved that the House of Lords and House of Commons of the Parliament of the Empire of Manticore in Congress assembled, that a State of War, being thrust upon the Empire by actions of a foreign power, exists between the Empire of Manticore and the Blue Republic of Aimesland; That the Crown and Her Majesty's Government is hereby authorized and directed to employ the full might of naval and military forces of the Empire and the full power of the Government to carry on war against the Blue Republic; And, to bring the conflict to a successful termination, all the resources of the Empire are hereby pledged by the Parliament.

Passed by Vote in the Commons, this the First Day of March, 1,400 For, 48 Against, 12 Abstain
Passed by Vote in the Lords, this the First Day of March, 801 For, 8 Against, 1 Abstain
Passed into Law by Royal Assent, this the First Day of March, by Catherine Javette, First of Her Name.

With an official declaration of war on the books, the First Fleet, totaling 24 Battleships, 12 Battlecruisers, 18 Heavy Cruisers, 12 Fleet Aircraft Carriers, 5 Light Cruisers, 240 Destroyers, 27 Minelayers, 54 Minesweepers, 3 Ammunition Stores Ships, 9 Fleet Hospital Ships, 3 Fleet Repair Ships, 6 General Stores Ships, 9 Colliers, 3 Fleet Oilers, and 48 Fleet Tugs, put to sea on the Third, sailing for Aimesland with the goal of initiating attacks upon coastal infrastructure while the First Army, currently in Manchukuo, massed its troops for an amphibious invasion. The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Tank Brigades had fully transitioned to M1 Mediums while the 4th Tank Brigade had one battalion of M1s and 1 Battalion of Mk. 3s. Fortunately, two other factories were online and producing M1 tanks, meaning that as the war continued, the Army would field more M1 tanks, fresh from the factory.

While mobilizations and redeployments occured, the First Army's staff officers began work on their amphibious landing.

by **Newne Carriebean7** » Mon Aug 10, 2020 3:16 pm

Carriebean City
Imperial Palace
March 1, 1935

A crash of thunder and bright flashes of lighting lit up the sky, bringing an ominous tone to the cabinet meeting hastily called by the Prime Minister. While it struck many of the cabinet members as peculiar that thunder and rain were lashing the Capital in the middle of february, it had been known to clear up within moments afterwards, so there was no need to worry about flooding.

Still, the water had refused to halt as the horse drawn carriages reluctantly pulled up to the Palace, the members knee deep in it as they ascended the stone steps of the palace and entered inside, drying themselves off before waltzing into the main meeting room on the second floor. The members soon found the room devoid of any life, with them taking seats around the large semi sturdy looking oak table and the unstable bar stools and bean bag chairs that were placed haphazardly around.

As the members lightly chatted about how their weekends were and how many grandchildren they were able to brag to the local aides (much to their embarrassment and consternation), an aide to the Leading Minister popped his head in, forcing the conversations to halt at the newcomer.
The young man was no more than in his twenties, with an acne ridden face and nasaly voice that did not help accentuate the thick pair of reading glasses and frazzled black hair that dropped down from his face.
“Uh, gentlemen-Ac-Ah-Ahum? Gentlemen? The Prime Minister is running late, but the Leading Minister just pulled up, so we’ll start a meeting with him. Thank yu.”

Every minister politely waved off the man, waiting for the door to shut completely before simultaneously groaning at the news. The megacenterian Bantejø was a hoarse speaking, violent tempered and swearing white moustached monstrosity that slouched at 5 foot 2. Given the choice between a burning building and having to spend more than a half hour in the same room with the man without the Prime Minister, all of the ministers had sworn in a pseudo seriously binding pact for the former option over talking to the Leading Minister.

“Oh for fucks sakes!” started the Foreign Affairs minister Joseph Birmingham Harold.
Every other minister in the room nodded at the announcement before Harold continued.
“That ancient dumbass only has slight power over us because for some impervious reason, the Prime Minister opted to demote him to have his aging, sagging face stare at us for hours a week!”
“Well, giving Marchiba the benefit of the doubt, he was a former Prime Minister. It’s a custom and a tradition where Prime Ministers would give this title to their predecessor in office.” Education Minister Paula Edison Monroe replied to the enraged Harold.
“If that’s the case, then why isnt Travskaaløfiøke here? Why is it that god’s punishing us to sit with such an old, backwards, racist bastard?!”
“But..we’re all racists.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Well… still, he’s ancient compared to my sprightly sixty seven.”
“Look, we all don't like the bastard, but we just have to smile and keep eating our goddamned peanuts to prevent a full scale mental breakdown.”
Harold took a deep breath as he calmed down, crushing a peanut shell in his hand and licking the salt off before sitting back down on the stool.
“Fine. Just keep up appearances to preserve our sanity.”

It was with that final note, the door creaked open as the short and old Leading Minister waltzed into the room, waving his cane at every single minister with a scorned look on his face. Or it might have been how he always looked? The man was nearly one hundred and forty years old, so no one really knew if he was truly infuriated until he spoke.
“Fer the love a christ on a shit pike, can we g’an an’ git this meetin’ on the road?”
“Yes Leading Minister.” Minister of the Army Jackson Potters began. With a reluctant sigh, he unfurled a screen and fiddled with a reel of tape, swearing several times as it slipped from the projector.
“For fuck’s sake how do I fit this goddamned thing in here?”
“I think you’re doing it wrong.”
“Well how the fuck do I do it Harold? Why not show me in your foreign policy expertise that clearly included how the flying fuck to work a motherfucking projector!”
“Well, for starters, it’s upside down.”

Potters sheepishly turned it the right side up before snugly fitting it in the correct way and slamming the button down. The elderly machine spun to life, with the blub flickering with the intensity of a very depressing sun that shone a slew of technical information on a blackboard.
Minister of the Navy Sampson Norrington then stood up proudly and pointed at several formations.
“I have taken my authority as Naval Minister to deploy Carriebeanian submarines into packs of three submarines, organized as A, B, C, D & E. "
“That amounts to fifteen submarines. Where are they deployed?”
“They shall be deployed along Nihonese convoy routes where they are expected to aggressively monitor their positions, but not open fire or sink the enemy ships. The most they are permitted to do will be an attempt at ramming that we can shake off as poor navigation.”
Foreign Affairs Minister Joseph Birmingham Harold sighed.
“We cannot afford to sour relations with the Nihonese, so aggressively annoying their convoys with our submarines will prove to be the next best thing.”

Bantejø laughed at the absurd assumption that ramming an allies ships would be the best they could do. Clearly there had to be a better way of doing things. Taking a long drag on a doctor’s ailment brand cigar, he spoke up.
“Boy, that’s the stupidest god’amed plan t’at I’ve ‘ere heard in my live s’far! If we’re g’an to war, we don’t just annoy a tiger and hope he dosent strike back, we need to get out the fuckin’ gun and take t’fuckin tiger out! Either we declare war on Nihon or we don’t! There’s no real alternative, namby pamby option y’all wanna g’an an’ take! We vote now!”
With a dry lump in Harold’s throat, he acquiesced to the Leading Minister’s wishes.
The vote proceeded down a predictable 7 to 1 against war, with only Wilhelmina Constance voting in favor of war, not knowing what was happening.

“So the motion is tabled, we’re not going to war with Nihon. But how about we supply provisions and arms to the Aimslandish?”
Bantejø thought long and hard, squinting at his cane he rested on with both hands in the chair, cigar still loosely fitting through the gums in his mouth before smiling.
“I tink we can do zhat just fine. If we give themes Aimians-Aimslandians-Assholians firearms and plenty of, how you say… boom sticks, we can fuck with the Nihonese.”
“But what if the transports are stopped and searched, then what do we say?”
“Well, if they’re searched, we deny ever knowing who the fuck Aimsland was. If they’re sunk, that’s even better.”
“Why’s that? It’ll be an attack on Carriebeanian merchant smuggling and a clear violation of our national sovereignty, we’d be foolish not to declare war on the Nihonese for such an act!”
“We’d be foolish to even suggest war with them in the first place. If they’re sunk, then the Nihonians don't not know we ever sent them hippy liberals boomsticks and firearms to begin with! Plauseebal deeniability yeesiree!”
“But there will be wreckage, and-”
“We’ll say it’s driftwood. Driftwood that has the names of Carriebeanian cargo ships on it because god created such creatures. Blame a storm for sinking the boat, declare a jihad on Neptune and have everyone else let us sail another few transports to embark on a war with the sea. I told you acting like an incomprehensible failed state has proved wonders for us.”
“You do know we’d actually do that.”
“Which adds to our incompetent invisibility. A face of cunning covered up with a mask of incompetence and foolhardiness.”
“And what if this incompetence leads to war?” Barked out Harold, furious at the suggestion of sinking Nihonese transports. Before the Leading Minister could reply, Harold slammed his hands on the table in a rage.
“Carriebeanian-Nihonese relations will be set back by a quarter of a century at best! A war with them means no more raw materials, it means no more food supplies and it sure as hell means no more military advisors or the embassies. Is that what our goal is? To ruin our relationship with one of our few allies?!”
“Calm your nonexistent tits Harold.” Bantejø hissed while fumbling around with a cigarette. “ If there’s anyone who can manage the Nihonese, It’s Loretta Burns. That honored Prostitute won't be so easily persuaded to be as gung ho on the Nips as the rest of the cabinet. Maybe the Aimslandish propaganda’s working or something.”
“Well, they did send a letter warning us not to interfere-”
“Have they discovered us so far?”
“No, but that’s because we haven't done anything that would antagonize the Nihonese.”
Potters let out a slight smile before scribbling something on a piece of paper, folding it up and handing it to an aide, who promptly left the room in a hurry with the note.
“Give it a few days. Burns will wish she was the Ambassador to Sveria or the Independent Carriebeanian Republic of Domitar.”

To: Government of the Blue Republic of Aimsland
From: Carriebeanian Ambassador to the Blue Republic Jasper Fischer Fox III
The Carriebeanian government hears your cries for military assistance from the Nihonese, despite our ideological differences and your unfathomable left wing policies, the Carriebeanian government wishes to see our supposed “ally” of the Nihonese knocked down an inch or three if we’re lucky.
Given the circumstances, the Carriebeanian government hereby approves the sale of:
30,000 1888 Hunting Rifles
20 Pope Talos 1926 Armored Cars
1,000 Vinegar Machine Guns
10 x 1917 105mm Cannon
The total cost to your government shall be at a 85% Discounted price due to the urgency at which your government needs modern weaponry.
Cost: 503,224 Chi

The Carriebeanian Government shall also authorize an expeditionary force, formally designated as the Aimslandish Defense Unit, comprised of 20,000 somewhat experienced Carriebeanian Militia members organized into twenty Tensuns of 1,000 men each and commanded by Flanks General 2nd Class Quentin “Trish” Morgan. The military forces shall leave as expediently and as practically as they can leave port and arrive to defend the culture, traditions and national pride of Aimsland, preferably to the last man.

Tin Cruiser Rambler

The Imperial Carriebeanian Navy was on the move. Sailing in a half-assed formation were the battleships, baby battleships, light cruisers, destroyers and the country’s singular aircraft carrier making their way due west towards the ancestral homeland. Nearly two hundred vessels left the harbor, slowly maneuvering their ways through

Since the fleet had been ordered to relocate to the capital over the objections of the Naval Minister, morale among the men had risen sharply. There were no longer threats to tie an anchor to one’s feet (partly because half of the anchors had snapped off during a tropical storm and the manufacturing minister couldn't get off his fat ass and go about ordering new ones).
The Admiral himself opted for a change of scenery, opting to take overall command from the Armored “budget” Cruiser Rambler instead of the slower moving and need of keelhauling Battleships. It had been a change he was getting used to, with the smaller quarters for his staff and the lack of free meals. The point he acquired an issue was with the meals, as he had already handed over his account information to the Graveyard bank he owned stock in, and that was barely enough to cover the slightly smelly bowl of milk and half bag of crushed up wheat that was served.

Admiral Eugene Von Bismark squinted at the map emblazoned on the somewhat sturdy looking oak table that shook with each wave that passed over the lightly armored cruiser. According to the chart laid out by a helmsman that wasn't blind in both eyes or death in either ear for once in his unlucky partnership, the navy was nearing the coast An abrupt knock on the door startled the easily nervous man. Before his mind raced to see who had disturbed him, a slight smile met his lips as the eyes locked with Captain Eustage Bagge.
“Letter from the President.”
“Oh for fucks sakes-what the hell does he want now? I already sold him my good part of my brain.”
Bagge’s eyes widened at the insinuation.
“There’s a good part of your brain? I thought it was all bad.”
“It’s amazing what modern sciences we have these days. Apparently there’s a good and a bad part of my brain. I sold him my good part, so I’m stuck moping about with the bad part. Anyways-”
He mused through the wrinkled up letter addressed bluntly towards the “commander of the navy”.

To: Commander of the Carriebeanian Navy
From: Leading Minister Marchiba Bantejø
The Carriebeanian Nation continues to wrap it’s incompetent claws around certain sections of the untamed globe. Now more areas than previously mentioned will be able to enjoy solid incompetence on full display. There are urges by members of the Cabinet, (the Foreign and Manufacturing Ministers to be accurately specific) to shore up our position on the recently rewarded portion of Sibir.
In order to ensure Carriebeanian territorial integrity is preserved, I command you to dispatch at least a few warships loaded with marines to take command of unruly garrisons that had been previously landed and forgotten about up north.

Ensure that the portion of naval warships sent will not compromise the strength of the main fleet, and subsequently our eventual reconquest of the sacred and ancestral Carriebeanian homeland.

“Blech. You taste that? That’s colonialism in the air. Not what we’re doing, which is reconquering the sacred motherland. Fucking colonials.”
“Well, who do we dispatch?” Bagge questioned the Admiral, who closed his eyes, spun around in a circle and pointed to a pair of torpedo boats before throwing up over the sides of the bridge onto a poor sailor below.
“Uh, fuck I dont know, umm...those two over there.”
“The ones on my right?”
“No, the ones on my right.”
‘We’re both facing the same direction you dumbass.”
“Turn around then.”
“What.”
“Turn around then.”
With a reluctant huff, the Captain spun around and looked at another pair of torpedo boats.
“Them? Really?”
“On your left.”
“But you said they were on your right.”
“I meant your right, my left.”
“So your left and my right.”
“I told you I was right, not left.”
“You are aware you moved to another deck of the ship so we can’t see where either of us are, right?”
“Oh. Fuck.”
Admiral Eugene Von Bismark then sheepishly left oodling the strong looking men shoveling coal in the boilers to return to the bridge, where he shared a laugh with Eustace Bagge.

Upon mopping up the absurd amount of vomit and garbled up shit chowder the commander had chugged ceremoniously before casting off, two Carriebeanian minelayer/torpedo boat hybrids flashed an acknowledgement back with the working search light.

Carriebeanian Pirate Ship Monty Python
"Yo ho Yo ho a Pirate’s Life for me!"
"Ye know the point be not to be sued- right?"
"Aye."
"Then why in the hell be ye usin' Cotton from Pirates o' the Caribbean."
"Thar not be Cotton, thar be new character- uh-uh- fuck- um.. It be Arnold Billy Sulieman Abdullah Fox Augustus Macaroni of Carriebean!"
*flips notes*
"Alright, you got lucky, but Disney's coming for yer ass, prepare for ye cease and desist, Y'har!"

-Conversation between the narrator and a Disney Lawyer that sounds like a pirate

Sit down me brethren! I be about to spin a tale of murder, lust for treasure, and possible lawsuits from a whole bunch a studios fer usin’ their propertee, arrg! I be the Pirate Narrator, and I be tellin a tale as old as me humor, which stretch back to thar naypoleonic era. Y’Harg! Grab yer-self some re-freshments, popcorn and whatever the bilge rats said fuck no to. Our tale begins on the open sea, with a two hundred foot long wooden ship fitted with fancy sails and grand ol’ cannon. The vessel be the pride of the Carriebeanian side, comin back from some mill in Wargloria- If ye figured our me was ripping off the Edmund Fitzgerald, ye need better ears.”

With that, the narration faded away, slightly picking back up whenever the narrator’s ex-wife stumbled into the bar and berated him for “failing as a husband”. The decks were a rustle as several crewmembers anxiously hunched over one another, with various cards and cutlasses being tossed into a pile off to one side.
“I bet me mom’s ass on blue!”
“Blue? Shit. This aint about blue ya bloody parrot fucking mormon. It be about votes! Pirate democracy be weird, arrg. Now to say again, I bet me sister’s arm on red!”
“I bet me own hook on yella.”
The two crusty looking pirates, adorned in somewhat traditional clothes, gave a long stare at the man who had betted his amputated hook on the color yellow.
“Well, It be yer loss Fester.”
“Fester? Thar be a pathetic name for a pirate. Why not Jack Sparr-”
The Pirates soon looked at a menacing attorney for the Walt Disney Corporation who walked onboard the pirate ship, waiting for the unwashed savage to finish the sentence.
“Jack Sparrdiggitymcswordman.”
The Attorney, now with pride that the prized Disney property would not be soiled by some nationstate’s RolePlay, walked the plank and landed with a splash into the briny depths below. With that fourth wall break now doing laps around the ship from a collection of man eating sharks, attention returned to the gambling.
“Now, me be saying in thar pirate speak that where in the hell be Arrnold. Arr-nold be a fantastic name, and we have no lawyers be suin our polished behinds!”
“Arrnold be inside with a sea wench.”
“I had no idearr he be a sailor.”
“No, he be not thar homosexual, just confused. Arr.”

Captain Arnold Billy Sulieman Abdullah Fox Augustus Macaroni soon burst out from the captain’s quarters out onto the quarter deck, where the sight of the card game enraged the man. Macaroni’s build was a moderately bulky one, great for hauling cannon around deck and terrible for saving baby birds. As many pirate captains had, Macaroni’s face was a black abyss of large, unkept hair. The only thing resembling a jacket was a tattered old blue and red army uniform that belonged in a revolutionary war museum rather than on any smelly pirate. On his left hand was an actual hand, with five working digits, skinny enough to see the veins move up and down at an entrancing speed, and on the right hand...was a hook. He wore an eyepatch over his left eye, his sense of balance, purpose and humor being bolstered by a furry friend.

“Squawk, you motherfuckers be playin pokar, arr?” The Parrot cracked out, shitting on the Captain’s shoulder as the white gloop baked itself again on his army jacket.
Macaroni’s first mate, a Gideon Ripley flashed a smile at his superior officer.
“Ahoy me cap’n. They be just sportin in good fun.”
“Sportin? Squawk! No time for sportin fun! Squawk! Make ready to cast off ye bilge rats!”
“Aye Cap’n! Look lively you piss-poor excuses for sea men! To your posts, run up the foreyard, raise the anchor and batten down some hatch!”

With a rush of commotion from the crew, the poker game ended as sailors raced to their posts, with some manning the capstan to raise the anchor, while others with a bit more courage grabbed the rigging for dear life and began to scale in order to unfurl the sails. The mechanical “clink clink clink” of the anchor being raised brought a smile to Captain Macaroni, despite him being deaf, the vibrations of the wooden decks never failed to bring him joy from preparing to set sail.

by **Guuj Xaat Kil** » Tue Aug 11, 2020 7:09 am

February 10, 1935
Presidential Palace

Early morning in the Confederation

He awoke to the crackle of a slowly dying fireplace, the warmth of his bed, and to the moderate chill in the air. Quickly looking at the clock, then the window, Galen couldn't help but smile a bit, "Huh, what great luck," remarked the recently awakened President as he looked outside the windows of his bedroom, revealing a clear early morning sky, "Timetable's gonna be followed quick." This was just as the weather forecasts yesterday predicted, clear mornings and afternoons with a high chance of evening rain and thunder, and for a few days too. He quickly opened up the window after getting off the bed, letting a gust of crisp and cold morning air come in and shake off the remnants of sleepiness from him.

"A beautiful 4 AM in the Confederation," he said with a deep intake of breath, "A great start today, let's make good use of it." And once again, he committed himself to his daily preparatory routines, although he noticed a quicker finish than usual, seeing the clock still at 4:24. "Huh, aren't we a little eager to get going." He thought with a tinge of humor.

Closing the windows, he then arranged his tie, and left the room without another word. The fire crackled one more time, before the last bits of wood were finally charred and unable to give out flame. A chilly but good day today.

As he walked through the corridors, he came to the realization that most of the assistants and maids haven't woken up just yet. "A single person every five hallways, how lonesome- And good morning to you too." Moving again, he found himself in the corridor leading to the kitchens, and the lone maid sweeping within. She had given him a single, heavily accented "Goo' mornin Mr. President" as he turned into the corridor just a moment ago.

"Ah, miss Nicole, the northerner maid." she'd been hired a few weeks ago, and quickly revealed herself to be a dutiful worker, "Incapable of making food though, a shame." Quickly clearing his throat, he turned to her. "Say miss, anyone working the kitchens awake yet?" He asked her, to which she quickly replied with a shake of the head.

"No Mr. President, ah haven't seen anyone enter this here kitchen since I started cleaning this corridor, no sir." Her reply was brisk, and his, a quick nod.

"Understood, carry on then." he replied as he opened the kitchen door, finding it as cold as the room he'd left a few minutes earlier; unused as well, "Hmm, perfect." Perhaps it was time to bring out the cooking specials today, he had time.

A trinity of deliciousness

Quickly rummaging through the cupboards and through the top-notch fridge he bought and set-up just yesterday, he decided that today's breakfast would be pancakes and scrambled eggs, with blueberries both syrupy and fruity. Quickly getting his hands on the ingredients for said foodstuffs, he quickly got to work, firing up the stoves and somehow pushing both food quality and efficiency of cooking to the limit. It wasn't long before he was finished, and upon the table stood a pile of warm and fluffy pancakes with creamy scrambled eggs, and a side of blueberries and a bottle of said fruit's syrup.

How fortuitous, that Lillian would arrive just a few moments later just as he finished readying the kettle for boiling. A surprised look upon her face as she looked at the breakfast meal upon the table. "This is... A bit surprising." she told her thoughts about the matter, but would quickly seat herself with spoon and fork, "Not that I'm complaining. Finally we get a blueberry meal, my favorite." Then she dug in, and Galen noticed a small smile forming on her face as she chewed, and he couldn't help but grin in satisfaction as the kettle he was holding was now placed over an active stove.

"Grandpa's cooking wins once again." He boasted mentally as he took a bite out of his flapjacks. A silence ensued, with nothing but the small sound of chewing and the faint hiss of the stove. "I think you know already- ah to hell with it, I know that you know where I'm going today," he said, breaking the silence, "You and your newspaper reading."

"Going to Soo, then to Norcourt," she quickly went over his travel plans for the week, "Overseeing the new ship's sea trials, then for a summit; yeah, I know gramps." She had a smile, although he quickly noted a tint of nervousness beneath. "I guess I'll be overseeing my self huh?" her voice was taut with nervousness now, "Both literally and this house."

At this Galen sighed with his eyes closed, and a small smile on his face. "Kid, you seem nervous about taking care of the place," his eyes were slightly opened, and he was staring directly at her now, "Don't worry, there's nothing that'll be placed on you that you can't handle. Besides, you've got lots of people behind your back here, and as for me." He winked at her. "I'll be back before you know it."

Some nervousness evaporated, that's a start. "Well, thanks I guess." And just on time, the kettle began whistling loudly. "I'll get it!" Before Galen could stand up, she already had rushed over to the kettle and placed it upon a holder. A few moments later, the pair had cups of milk coffee. Blend courtesy of her grandpa. Minutes passed, silence ensued, and soon breakfast was over.

"Well kid, I'm off, I've got a big week ahead of me," he told her as he walked towards the doorway, there he paused to look back at her, "Don't you worry one bit, I'll come back as soon as I can. I need to anyway, gotta settle the whole army-navy fiasco." He gave her a single wave before leaving, and here she waved back.

February 12, 1935
Over and off the coast of Susanne

Schematics of the Jurchen-class
(click for detailed image)

"Thank God its a clear day today," joked the president, "We wouldn't be able to see the show!" Some of the men laughed, a few had a hearty chuckle, and most only smiled. Although it was merely seconds before the silence- or rather the sound of wind passing by- returned. They were currently flying over the blue-gray waters of the Sea of Botany in an observation zeppelin. The gulf usually was a cloudy place, but as luck would have it, there was a high pressure zone currently flying over the body of water. Clear skies as far as the eye could see, and a clear view of the waters below, and the ships maneuvering for their sea trials- more specifically, their maneuvering trials- afterwards came the commissioning.

"Six Jurchen-class Battleships Mr. President," remarked the admiral next to him, "Six vessels of comparable power to her contemporaries, if not superior for her classes' time." Of course, Galen knew that was a bit of a hyperbole, but he would admit that he did a good job in getting the ships up and running and crewed properly. And then there were the other ships, most especially the carriers, "And then there's our carriers," took the words right out of his head, "Six Sheiyksh-class carriers with an average carrying capacity of 100 planes, although our naval aviation planes are somewhat backwards- no offense Mr. President- due to funding limitations."

"We shouldn't have to worry about that, funding will come soon enough," Galen replied to the man with a pleased nod, "And besides, these carriers were designed to carry the next possible step in naval aviation, they will carry planes at their 100 plane capacity without any issue." He made a hand gesture, waving away that supposed issue in the aircraft carrier. He would then squint through a pair of binoculars they had handed him earlier, trying to get a good look at the third class of ship, one that was constantly overlooked. "D-35 class, the next step in destroyers..." He thought with a smile as he placed his binoculars down, today would be a good day, he was sure of it.

"Maneuvering trials have been completed sir," an aide came to the admiral who simply nodded at the new information, "Armament trials starting." Oh now it would be getting interesting, the guns of the six Jurchen-class ships would begin firing in a few moments, afterwards came the carrier action. And so they waited, and waited, and there they go. 72 whole 15 inch guns opening up on a bunch of old liners, assorted transports, and outdated ships in general placed into formation, about 100 in total. 52 were hit, 4 sunk shortly after, and 30 sunk a bit longer.

"Not bad, not bad at all," the President commented with a grin, placing the gunnery crews of the earlier and similar Soo-class into the Jurchens' gunnery proved to be a good decision, "And now for some carrier action, this should be good." Six hundred planes out in the air a few moments later, travelling over to the remains of the 100 target ships, and soon began raining death upon them. The results were pretty mediocre, but that was to be expected when your naval aviation was lacking compared to other nations with carrier planes. Around 20 ships sunk, 5 immediate, and the rest a slow sinking, out of a total of 75 targets hit when both results were combined. "75% hit rate with a 54% fatality rate," his face was thoughtful, "Well, beggars can't be choosers, it's a start alright."

There were more trials to follow today, and afterwards came the commissioning. Then, a good night's sleep. "Here's hoping there won't be any delays..." He rubbed his eyes, the rubber on the binoculars was a bit irritating.

There were no delays.

Norcourtia, Norcourt
February 15, 1935
Co-written with Norcourt

Galen thought about the aircraft he was flying on, an obsolete piece of technology that was better off used in the 9 Years War of the past. However, civilian usage still persisted to this day, and considering the luxuriousness of the flight, he couldn’t complain one bit.

As he continued to think about the zeppelin, the captain’s voice rang out on the intercom, telling them to prepare for landing. He for one would stay once more in the window halls, with its panorama of the airfield below, and the city in the distance. There was already a crowd forming at the bottom, most likely in preparation for him.

The other passengers would disembark on another ramp, while he would disembark facing the crowd that he was already waving at from the lowering blimp. Sooner or later it finally landed, and by then he was already at where the disembarkation ramp was, along with his two guards.

Then the ramp lowered, revealing the already waiting entourage of Maranossos at the bottom. His guards came down first and last, with him in the middle. “I wish you greetings into the realm of Norcourtia, the heart of the Elixosphere,” Maranossos greeted Galen, who in turn nodded with a small smile, “We are all honored and obliged to share your presence, and await further interactions, my brother.”

Galen greeted the crowd and Maranossos’ in extension with a wave that shifted into a victory sign, symbolizing a shared peace between the two nations. “And I bring greetings to the fine people of the Norcourtian Empire,” he replied, “I hope this summit will prove productive, friends.”

Unlike the Aclusian & Warglorian presence, the peoples of the Confederacy were just as native to the continent as the Elixians, and despite ethnic barriers were able to see reason, opening arms open to discuss talks of potential alliance. And with the soon to be occurring summit, said alliance would become reality, God willing.

As the guards entered their own cars; Galen, for pure symbolism, joined Maranossos in his well guarded automobile. On the left side of the car, flew the flag of the Confederacy, and on the right, the Norcourtian Standard. In disregard for his own safety, Maranossos stood up upon his seat, lifting his arm in the air, to the crowd of Norcourtians surrounding him…

The Alliance Itself…

Soon they would arrive at the palace, and after making themselves comfortable, they settled into a table with a large and detailed world map covered in glass lying on it. The talks slowly but surely brewed up, shifting into a full-blown discussion as the minutes passed.

In order to maintain a stable military and political alliance within the southwestern regions, especially that of the Zeelandian Continent, both Norcourt and the Confederacy had been seeking a shared, yet still sovereign, coalition of the two nations. Perhaps the foreigners had intended to prevent this through the various attempts at distancing the two, and much to their surprise, this would backfire and give the unintended effect of pushing the two states closer.

Shared technology, interests, and perhaps most important of all in the eyes of the pragmatists, a shared common enemy that wouldn’t go away any time soon. Not to mention the rising powers on the continent of Indianum, who had threatened the interests of the nations of Zeeland & Europea, both groups having footholds on or near the Indianum continent.

A joint vanguard was also in question, as it was thought that perhaps a special corps of Norcourtian & Confederate divisions, on land, sea, and air, would be plausible for the future. But as of now was still a task for the not so distant future.

“I assume a mutual defense pact, if not a full blown military alliance, is feasible.” inquired Galen as he took a glance at the map, taking note of the Solomon Islands, “Perhaps a 2nd Summit is needed for talks with the Solomon Islanders as well.” He took a sip from his wine glass, savouring the taste of Norcourtian wine.

“Ahhh, the Solomon Islands…” started Maranossos, a thoughtful look on his face, “Undoubtedly a place of much strategic value. Though we do have ports and naval bases in both the Drales, and in Afrika. Perhaps the Solomons themselves will prove a good ally to have, in terms of their own military capabilities.”

“Though they are rather obsolete in many aspects,” his face shifted slightly, “Their industrial capabilities will allow the production of simpler, yet more modern military vehicles, and ordinance, while also focusing on developing their military strategy, according to our own. But first we must gain their allegiance of course.”

“Of course,” responded Galen with a quick nod, “Placating them will be easy, although that in itself presents a new issue in trying to get them on our side: they’re too easy to placate. But I assume we already have the necessary tools in order to get them on board with our coalition without issues.”

“Perfect. We shall do this as smoothly as possible.” Maranossos said.

His gaze fell upon the Confederation’s lands, “Speaking of tools, there shall be an economic pact to this whole coalition,” he nodded with certainty, “The power of trade within the lands of Zeeland must be firmly in our grasp, sharing it with the Warglorians and Aclusians- even a tiny amount- will be suboptimal. The moment we let them have some they’ll be ready to trample us no doubt.” There was a masked vitriol behind his voice against the Aclusians in general, the Occupation was not so easily forgotten after all.

“It is with great regret, that we are facing the likes of the warmongering Hoosier,” Maranossos skillfully steered the conversation elsewhere, but he had nodded in agreement with Galen’s idea of an economic pact at the very least, “Who as you know has invaded northern Sirvanska, and has proven to be a danger to our commonwealth in Leersog. What do you think of the current state of Indianum?”

This time it was the Hiramson’s face that grew thoughtful in appearance. “Indianum… A hotbed of conflict that continent, with all its vitriolic ideologies, and the radical men leading them,” he noted with a grim look on his face, “It is truly disheartening, these occurrences in Sirvanska, and it is my hope that the same will not befall the Sirvanskans in Leersog.”

His gaze looked at the rest of Indianum, and glanced slightly at the continent just west of it, where Aimesland lay. “The rest of Indianum is no better, with the only states being palatable there being Rachana and Breyburg,” he further noted, “The likes of Aydinir and Nihon are a blight on man’s record, but at least the former’s good business, the latter is just a stain, nothing more.”

“To be quite frank, I do have some hope for the Aydinirians… Otherwise, I care not for the other socialist nations in the northwestern sectors, as they are a plague to our civilized society.” an unfortunate opinion in Galen’s eyes, but one that he could accept, those nations could be changed in due time, “I have begun making preparations for war in the Sirvanska, whether it be defensive, or offensive, time will tell.”

“And with the creation of this pact, we will be on your side.” Galen added with a certainty in his voice.

It was at that moment that the server had brought upon the table a platter of Ulca steak, cooked medium rare and marinated with soy sauce, onions and garlic. Alongside it, hearty beans, mashed cauliflower, a large tankard of wine, and a toasted loaf of fine grain Norcourtian bread, sliced and spread on it butter, & garlic, with a small bowl of olive oil to the side.

“Ah, a fine bounty of Norcourt, thank you my friend for the meal,” politely began Galen with a small grin, “And now, let us dig in, shall we?” He may be the guest of honor, but it would’ve been inappropriate to eat first rather than Maranossos, whom he gestured to. The man received his gesture and began eating the meal, with Galen following soon after.

“You know...Norcourt has gone through many a change since the old days of the 1870s, and 80s…” Maranossos spoke quietly, “When I was exiled by the Elixian Councill in the early 1900s, I contemplated my service to my nation. Spending years fighting for, and alongside my people, during the crisis that was the 1890s…”

The man shook his head, “I spent years confused, developing a hatred for my beloved father, Alistair Caneius. Now, after 30 years, after overthrowing that joke of a council of greybeards, I see reason, and I realize why my father did what needed to be done…" He spoke, not sadly, but in the tone of a man who has been through many more than most.

"For once, in years, I have finally felt the peak feeling that one feels for his nation, for his people. I have done much for my nation, admittedly, but not enough. With this new alliance, I am sure things will be somewhat easier than before. I shan't let it get to my head, but I must do more.”

Galen raised his wine glass to that, “We all, must do more,” Galen continued from Maranossos’ last statement, “Every man, woman, and child, each must do their duty.”

"Indeed. Cheers my friend, to the glory of both Norcourt, and the Confederacy." Maranossos lifted his glass, joining Galen.

Then Galen took a more somber note, “I can’t really say that I relate to your situation. In the dawn of this century, my father raised me as well as he could, a bit distant yes, but he was a good father,” his eyes darkened, “Though it makes me rather sad, I can’t say the same for myself, my position as a politician distanced me from my kids, perhaps that’s why they resent me…”

“Even more so when Gideon was born, and Yukame dying due to complications afterwards; that and me remarrying to get a position that would let me springboard to where I am today, must’ve been the final nail in the coffin,” his glass was empty, and he was already refilling another one, “They all left, even my kids from the second wife. Nobody came to the reunions, except Gideon and his kid.”

“And then he left too,” He shook his head sadly, and tiredly, “God above, I really do need to forget about that day...” Maranossos studied the man's demeanour, he couldn't help but try to understand the man, for it would prove vital in their future relations. “Ah, enough of this old man’s wallowing, I got the future to take care of, a present to fix mistakes, and a past to think about.” he continued with a firm shake of his head, “Other than the whole Solomon Islands talk, I assume there is a bit left to talk about, yes?”

"Of course, my friend" Maranossos spoke, "I am considering the furthering of my current state of mobilization, especially in the likes of Leersog, on the Sirvanskan border. Perhaps, a decently sizable Confederate Expeditionary Force, could be sent in support, if and when needed?"

“Of course, will- say a division or so- be adequate?” Galen offered, “This doesn’t even include naval assets, perhaps a small carrier task force will do? We do have fresh new ships that require… Experience, so to speak.”

"Make that 1 division, including an armored, and artillery brigade, and that'll do just fine my friend! Those ships will supplement the Indianum Fleet well, perhaps these new carriers will work jointly in combined arms against those in our way haha!"

“Indeed, although our armor is a bit lacking due to my predecessor’s… Let’s just say he was a navy man at heart, too much of a navy man,” Galen grimaced, Jonathon Issacs’ shipbuilding programs had nearly bankrupted the nation- hell, when he started on his own Presidency, the treasury was nearly empty! But at least it was going to be back on track at the very least, especially with this new pact, “We shall be sending a pair of divisions instead, with two artillery brigades and a single cavalry brigade.”

Maranossos was glad of Galen's decision, though was unsure of the effectiveness of the cavalry brigade. And so he insisted "Perhaps your good ol' cavalry brigade could be retrained and reequipped with some fine Norcourtian Armor. It had already been done with the Leerian Cavalry Divisions, so I don't see why it wouldn't with the Confederacy's. This will maximize their effectiveness, for the modern world, and will be the first stepping stone between our nation's armies. The AM31-L, is a proven Light Tank design, perfect for former cavalry units. What do you say?"

“Yes, the tank and the training should be more than sufficient to begin shifting our cavalry to armor, and good training as well for our own light tanks,” the President agreed with him, it was about time they phased out the old cavalry for more modern armor, “You have a deal, Mr. Maronossos.”

“Speaking of deals… On a more important note,” his voice grew serious, “Perhaps it is time- that we declare our nation’s pact to the world? To show them that Zeeland is no mere backwater in the south?”

"Wonderful! Let it be known, that our Coalition of Independent Nations, shall reign over the southern hemisphere!" A hand was extended, a hand that Galen received with gusto.

“Indeed, may we be sovereign brothers in arms, friend.” A firm shake, and a picture was taken by a servant waiting for such a moment. Another servant came as well, holding a draft of the pact, which already had Maronossos’ signature upon it, Galen’s quickly followed.

“A most productive day for both of our nations, Mr. Maranossos my friend,” he looked outwards, through a window and at the city that lay beyond, “But my visit is not over just yet, there is much to see in Norcourtia, it would be a shame to just let them go unseen now wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed friend, let it be known that Norcourtia and Norcourt as a whole welcomes their southern Confederation brethren with wide, open arms.”

COIN, was born, what this means on the international stage remained to be seen…

by **HypErcApitAl** » Tue Aug 11, 2020 5:54 pm

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

The increasing piratical activity around Aimesland had been tolerated by the Empire for several weeks and the shipping companies were making their displeasure known. Losses had been relatively light, with only 6 ships sunk or captured. But to the companies that owned those ships, the losses were significant and that meant that the Prime Minister was having many heated meetings with shipping company executives. And then there was last week's disaster when an Aimeslandish pirate attacked and sank the cruise liner Esther Island. Of 1150 passengers, 635 had been killed, including 77 children and a Tamirian MP. The people were enraged and demanded vengeance and Parliament had met the day after the attack. By the end of the day, the military had been ordered to mobilize while the Parliament worked out the diplomatic details of the declaration of war.

That declaration of war was issued today, 1st of March 1935.
Herein is writ a Joint Resolution between the House of Commons and the House of Lords of the Parliament of the Empire of Manticore in Vicuna, this the First Day of the month of March in this the year Nineteen Hundred and Thirty Five of the Common Era, declaring that a State of War exists between the Empire of Manticore and the Blue Republic of Aimesland and making provisions for the prosecution of the same.

Whereas the Blue Republic, through its words and actions, have supported the formation of pirate crews, the building and arming of pirate ships, and rewarded said crews for attacks upon shipping and, in so doing, have caused to be sunk no less than six Manticoran-flagged merchant vessels and killed not less than 800 Manticoran civilians and merchantmen, in attacks in direct violation of recognized international maritime law and Manticoran neutrality in the extant conflict between the Blue Republic of Aimesland and the Empire of Nihon, the aforementioned acts and words constituting unprovoked attacks upon the People of the Empire and the Crown:

Therefore be it Resolved that the House of Lords and House of Commons of the Parliament of the Empire of Manticore in Congress assembled, that a State of War, being thrust upon the Empire by actions of a foreign power, exists between the Empire of Manticore and the Blue Republic of Aimesland; That the Crown and Her Majesty's Government is hereby authorized and directed to employ the full might of naval and military forces of the Empire and the full power of the Government to carry on war against the Blue Republic; And, to bring the conflict to a successful termination, all the resources of the Empire are hereby pledged by the Parliament.

Passed by Vote in the Commons, this the First Day of March, 1,400 For, 48 Against, 12 Abstain
Passed by Vote in the Lords, this the First Day of March, 801 For, 8 Against, 1 Abstain
Passed into Law by Royal Assent, this the First Day of March, by Catherine Javette, First of Her Name.

The Samston House

"Goddammit. Why did my friend Goldbeard have to get so close?" Sprout asked.

"No harm; no Foul." Allegra responded.

"Well, now we're at-war with the Manticorans. And, I have no one to blame, but myself. Yes, we're getting pretty damn desperate, but I'm tryna minimize Loss here. We already have the Sverians, Hoosiers, Warmongering Nihonese attacking us. And now, Manticore? As the Nihonese say: 'Yare-yare daze..' " The President stated.

"Apparently, I cannot go without making things hard for myself. They're already blitzing Ikesville and other coastal cities. We don't need to add the West to the firepit. I don't need Halifax getting stomped-upon. We're already Pirate raiders. Atleast do ourselves the favor of minimizing all the Damage..." Sprout held her head in her hands, sighing.

"Well... what about the Economy? We had ninety-nine problems; all that Spending shouldn't be one." Allegra told.

"I know." Sprout continued to sigh.

"We shouldn't be like that; shooting ourselves in the Foot. If we continue, we'd be worse than Newne."

"We're better than them, right?" Allegra asked.

"Well, we've won one war; a Hyperwar. We lost a war, to the Ocean and Water deities. That's one-one, right there, but no one counts that because we were Anarchist when that happened. We haven't lost every single damned war we were in, but I'm sure we'll lose this one right here. There's no point in disputing that." Sprout replied.

"Well, wouldn't Norcourt and the Confederates hop-in the War?" Allegra asked, again.

"I know. This makes no sense. They gave us alotta weapons, but we need more Manpower. Already, they've been swamping us. I will not give the Warmongering Nihonese too much Credit, though; the Barons have been killing 'em off. We've been surviving. But, Manticore just joined-in. We cannot win wars by Diplomatic Insult. We have to win by Ingenuity, by our Bootstraps..." Sprout answered.

"It's like we've been Driving with our feet, this entire time!" Allegra interjected.

"Worse than playing Sax with your toes; trust me, I've tried. I mean, I can make it work, but that's freaking driving a Car. You'd need hands." Sprout told.

"You cannot be a girl that walks in heels, with her hands! We have to do something, anything!" Allegra cried.

"Firebombing? Flamethrowers? I mean, we could burn 'em; commit Arson. Mass burnings. Do not let the Warmongering Nihonese kill us and loot our shit. That is it." Sprout said.

"The Manticorans are not Warmongers. They did what we'd done. They're defending their Waters. I understand this, that's why I ordered the blastings of those ships; to protect our Ancestral Homelands. But, I cannot cry over spilled water or spoilt Milk. I have to shake hands with the Pirates and say: 'Well-done. Your valiant Efforts make us proud. You've not only made us richer, but yourselves. Your personality shines like a Heart-of-Gold. You have earned your reputation as our fine boys-and-girls,' and that'll be it, for that time. But, I will not relent. I will keep-on until this is etched-out in the Historybooks. They won't say: 'Well, Sprout was a weakling,' or 'She wasn't Tough,' they'll probably be writing songs about me... and the Senate. My friends will be so happy to be remembered." She continued.

"I dunno; I wish Goldbeard was smarter. Instead of just killing people all the time, he should've locked-up those people. What happened to a good, 'ole-fashioned Ransom?" Allegra inquired.

To: Government of the Blue Republic of Aimesland
From: Carriebeanian Ambassador to the Blue Republic Jasper Fischer Fox III
The Carriebeanian government hears your cries for military assistance from the Nihonese, despite our ideological differences and your unfathomable left-wing policies, the Carriebeanian government wishes to see our supposed “ally” of the Nihonese knocked down an inch or three if we’re lucky.
Given the circumstances, the Carriebeanian government hereby approves the sale of:
30,000 1888 Hunting Rifles
20 Pope Talos 1926 Armored Cars
1,000 Vinegar Machine Guns
10 x 1917 105mm Cannon
The total cost to your government shall be at a 85% Discounted price due to the urgency at which your government needs modern weaponry.
Cost: 503,224 Chi

The Carriebeanian Government shall also authorize an expeditionary force, formally designated as the Aimeslandish Defense Unit, comprised of 20,000 somewhat-experienced Carriebeanian Militia members organized into twenty Tensuns of 1,000 men each and commanded by Flanks General 2nd Class Quentin “Trish” Morgan. The military forces shall leave as expediently and as practically as they can leave port and arrive to defend the culture, traditions and national pride of Aimesland, preferably to the last man.

The High Command - the War Room

" 'Vinegar machineguns?' That sure is strange." Waterenforcer Springleaf said.

"Betcha ass that that isn't the strangest thing." Admiral Sanders replied.

"No, idiots. The strangest thing is letting Ikesville get ransacked and sideswiped by Warmongers. The strangest thing is Anarchist Tyranny." Sprout verbally-pimpslapped them.

The two Commanding Officers sighed.

"They're most-certainly dyin', though." Sanders replied, in an attempt to Gotcha the President.

"Because we're getting Lucky, that's why. And, they used to live by the Sword - they're dying by it, currently. Do not let Warmongering Nihonese propagandas get to you, we're killing 'em. We may be taking some losses, but it's not the End Of The World, here." Sprout stated, adding insult-to-Injury.

"We'll swoop-in, send more Tanks, alongside some Flametroopers. We'll also start using firebombs and Molotov Cocktails." She added, letting-down the new Strategy.

"Molotovs? Isn't that what Anarchists do?" Sanders tried playing Hardball by questioning.

"Shut the heck up, Sanders, before I demote you. Stop asking stupid questions and fishing for dumbass answers. We're tryna do anti-tank stuffs, here." Sprout verbally-curveballed the man.

"I thought you were smart. I thought you dogfaced-pony soldiers and Inglorious Basterds knew Strategies. Why am I, and Pat Springleaf doing all the work here?" Sprout continued.

"Your lack-of-Faith disturbs me." Another CO stated.

"Well, boo-goddamned-hoo; I do not care. I just want these damned Warmongers to feel the Burn." Sprout replied, annoyed.

"Waterenforcer Springleaf, I most-do-certainly appreciate your Valiant efforts. I'd most-certainly promote you if Waterenforcer weren't the highest rank in the Command Structure. You've made this gal proud." Sprout smiled, complimenting the other man and recognizing him as a Better to Sanders.

The Admiral facepalmed.

"I'm sorry, sir." Sanders apologized.

"Heh." The other CO-who-refused-to-identify-himself laughed.

"Is there something you goddamned find Funny? I'm not at a Comedy Club; I don't expect laughter up in here. This shit is serious, yo." Sprout verbally-pistolwhipped the person.

"Very-good, sir. I do not even know who the Hell this person is, here. In all my years in the Navy, I've never seen them." Springleaf commented.

Commander-in-Chief Winston smiled.

"Perhaps they oughta identify themselves - or they're gonna be tasting my foot - up they Sphincter." She threatened.

"Gosh, you don't have to be that way." The unknown CO told.

"Name's 'Landenforcer Dynamite,' and I really don't want The Presidents' foot up my ass." Landenforcer Dynamite introduced.

"Okay, then." Sprout said.

The Waterenforcer laughed heartily, knowing President Winstons' newfound Favoritism.

Cap'n Goldbeards' Vessel - The Cruelhearted One

"Yarg! Throw they ass Overboard!" Goldbeard commanded, still smoking his Cigar.

"Yes, sir." One of the shiphands acknowledged, a scar on his face because of his Insolence - now, the entire Crew openly mocked him and called him "Scarface."

Now, there were so many barrels of smelly Sverian fish, and so much fire and flame. The ship had tried Stealth, but being stealthy was hard to try in the midst of Night. They were heroes, though Goldbeard made himself the Evilest Man In All Sectors. Killing so many, needlessly, that it'd made his Crew shiver. It was stereotypical that a Pirate had a winged friend, but Goldy ate his - in the First Day, mind you. He didn't need friends, and wasn't intent on making any. His heart was as cold as the many knives he held.

And then, with all the hatred and vitriol of a man like he, his heart shrunk-down three sizes, or was assumed by the Doctor-onboard.

The Presidential Shootingrange

"Goddammit! If only Shelby were here!" Sprout cried-out, dual-wielding two Armins.

"Who's Shelby? You have much to ex-"

Sprout cutted-off Allegra with gunfire, precisely-hitting her Targets.

"I thought I told you. She was my friend. We were like twinsies; we always dressed the same at-School." Sprout informed.

Sprout blubbered her lips, reloading her pistols.

"I can do this all day, I toldya. I'll talk ya to Sleep, if I haveta." Sprout told.

"I sleep fine, with you here. Though, your feet are pointy-as-Heck." Allegra commented.

"That's crazysauce." Sprout laughed.

"All of the practice I've done, it makes sense, but...atleast I don't toss-and-turn when I sleep. When I'm at-rest, I'm most-certainly at-rest." Sprout stated.

"Well, excuse me, Beauty Queen, but..." Allegra commented again.

"I am proud of that title." Sprout laughed.

"I cannae understand why, but I'm having a hankering for Caviar right-now." She added.

"All of these Sverian Fish Escapades (tm) make me shudder." Allegra commented.

Sprout laughed again.

"I like fish, as much as you do, but... I feel weirded-out by this." Allegra told.

"Why? Is that the first occurring that weirded you?" Sprout asked.

"I don't mean it to, but... this Pirate thing gives me the Chills." Allegra replied.

"Like you told me earlier, the Economy. A-duh!" Sprout cheered.

"I love it when you cheer and chant, sweetie." Allegra complimented.

"And, I really-do-like when you call me 'Sweetie,' making me feel like The Only Girl In The World." Sprout replied.

The couple smiled.

They continued their bantering and laughing, and shooting 'til they were really bored, and then they ate like there wasn't a Care in the world.

Aimeslandish factories worked overtime, making more and more rifles, pistols, and other armaments. Fulfilling its own duties, sadly. More and more work was involved, and the bosses at High Command didn't let-down. Especially when it came to Uniforms, Tanks and Planes.

The Blimpforce had tried its hardest, teaching new pilots that tended to be 36+, since a Draft was ongoing. To replace all of the deadmen. All of the Proud who'd died at the earlier Defense, before the Navy had to scuttle.

Aimeslandish Resilience proved itself, both economically and militarily.

Seadogs, Yellow Barons and other forces had to be replaced, and its veterans heavily-rewarded in Rations - to fight another Day instead of getting steamrolled, apparently by Nihonese tanks.

With either the Warglorian weaponry, or Aimeslandish gunnery, many have hoped tides would turn - as it wasn't the "ineptitude" of the HC, but chalked-up to dependence on Honor and other olden ideals, tactics.

President Winston found herself getting angrier and angrier with the HC, and sending comedians to the Samston House to entertain herself, whilst also drowning herself in Misery/Sorrow. She still had Allegra by her side, as was the Case now, but she felt her anger increase by tenfold as she tried to micromanage the Battlefield.

More, more, more - but More was Less?

"The War is not Lost!" Sprout yelled at the HC, breaking writing utensils and bringing-in Dummies instead of breaking the War Desk with her feet.

"AND YOU CONTINUE TO DISAPPOINT ME, SANDERS, GODDAMMIT. DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF. I KNOW I'M THE PRESIDENT, BUT SHIT! AM I REALLY TO MYSELF HERE? IT DOESN'T TAKE A MATHEMATICIAN TO FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT!" She exclaimed whilst breaking something with her signature handchop.

"TEAR THE GODDAMNED WALL DOWN, AND STARTOVER."

"MASS MANUFACTURE THE GODDAMNED TANKS AND SHIPS, GODDAMMIT. I CAN'T JUST HAVE MAH BOI SPRINGLEAF SIT HERE WITH HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS FOR THE REST OF THE WAR. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And more screaming and breaking things. Or drinking mass amounts of Winery.

"OH MY DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYZ. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I KNOW WE HAVE PIRATES AND ALL, BUT LET'S NOT."

by **Vulkata II** » Wed Aug 12, 2020 6:43 pm

Civilian Works, and Civilians Working

Unity Hall, Leaders' Office

It would be a hilarious joke if you compared the Leaders' Office to a lobby in a hotel. As big as the office was, the wooden floors, ceiling fans being the only cooling electronic in the office, ashtrays on every clerks' desk, cubicles, and blinds on the windows in case a sharpshooter thought he could get an easy kill, suggests otherwise. Alberto Año was at the far back, pinching the bridge of his nose while shaking his head for he was being told that some projects were being canceled in favor to create the offices that he demanded.

"What kind of project heads and accountants do I have? Perhaps it's time for a national audit, check to see how much money's being used and how much stays in one's pockets." He says to himself. He pushes aside some of the paperwork and notices one project that wasn't canceled: The manufacturing of airplanes by different companies. Back then he was asking for fighters and the recent submissions had photographs of monoplanes, biplanes, and triplanes on them.

For the first thing in weeks, something was going his way before the map of the Confederacy underneath the glass on his table caught his attention, the island of Samov specifically. It was one of the agricultural heavy islands, where their grain, coconuts, potatoes, and vegetables in general usually came from though not the only. Reports from him have been saying that expansion and larger-scale production has been made impossible either due to the lack of farmers or equipment and crop-rotation would be rendered ineffective if more farmers came to island in droves. And not only that, but ferry companies have been increasing the prices of transportation on both goods and people, most likely due to the lack of competition.

The nation's telegram system could also have an upgrade with many people infuriated at the current system and the depleting knowledge/interest in learning morse code; The paper beforehand had inspired a lightbulb to flash in his head and immediately grabbed his phone and phoned the new "Direktor de Conception d'Avion," Charles Rudegalf. Once he was passed through his secretary, a very confused Charles was on the other line.

"Great Leader, what do you need of me?" The soon to be Direktor asked.

"Remember a Far Bomber design that we've concluded wasn't up to match and should be shelf until the proper development of paratroopers?" The Great Leader bluntly asked.

"Uh... Ye-Yes, the FB-39. There's currently 50 of them in storage, either awaiting scrapping orders or active duty. What do you need them for?"

"After this phone call, I want you to contact Manuel Darunde and tell him to develop a new Air Mail branch, and after that, I want you to contact your Research and Development office and tell them to include a prototype cropduster. In five days, the new metal fighter design should be available correct? Once we pick one, I want you to commission and retrofit the slowest one as a cropduster."

There was a long silence at the other line, long enough for Alberto to wonder if the other man was still listening to him only to hear the shuffling of papers in the background before his return.

"You ask a lot from this fresh Direktor, but fear not, I wrote it all down. Just hope that you're expecting flak from the old man and the engineers about this. Not to mention the engineers of the few companies attending the competition. Hopefully, you're ready to throw the house out the window."

"Not a penny less." And then the two hung up to one another before Alberto Año contacted the War Department, La Officina de Kriegsmarine, which was the nation's naval office until his Armada would be built. Once he was phoned by the office's secretary and was forwarded to the current director, the two men had a chat as to what nation they should buy from and if the economy can handle it.

They hung up once an agreement was met and the latter began writing a message to two nations.

Code: Select all: To: Das Warglorian Reich From: Director der Kriegsmarine, Confederacy of the Solomon Islands Greetings and salutations to whom this may concern, The Confederacy of the Solomon Islands wishes no hostilities between our two nations, but we are currently attempting to modernize our navy for the defense of the nation's waters and trade. With this in mind, we promise to protect any trade between our two nations and ships from your nation passing by our straits indiscriminately and ask if you any ships you'd like to depart with. Name your ships, what they can do, and name your price. The Confederacy will contact you once we are interested in any offers you may bestow upon us. Sincerely, Reinhardt Sigsivich.

And another was being written as an alternative choice.

Code: Select all: To: The Confederacy Foreign Affairs From: Direktor der Kriegsmarine, Confederacy of the Solomon Islands The Confederacy of the Solomon Islands wishes no hostilities between our two nations, but we are currently attempting to modernize our navy for the defense of the nation's waters and trade. With this in mind, we promise to protect any trade between our two nations and ships from your nation passing by our straits indiscriminately and ask if you any ships you'd like to depart with. Name your ships, what they can do, and name your price. The Confederacy will contact you once we are interested in any offers you may bestow upon us. We hope that our relations with the two confederacies improve in anyway

In a few days, the people of the Confederacy will see a new poster with the words written on it possessing different languages depending on what was the local dialect.

At the bottom was an advertisement from the National Post Office asking for people interested in aviation.

by **TENNOHEIKA BANZAI NIHON** » Thu Aug 13, 2020 11:27 am

Gokyo, Nihon
Imperial General Staff Headquarters
February 26, 1935

Commanding General Kozuki stood and bowed towards the Supreme War Council and started his presentation. "So far 6 Imperial Nihonese Navy Special Landing Forces divisions, 3 Type A divisions, and 1 Field Kenpeitai had been deployed to Aimesland. Yesterday, the transports we had sent initially arrived back and some crews replaced with fresh men. This morning, we deployed another 6 divisions; 3 Type B and 3 armored. They carry with them 462,400 tons of supplies aboard 48 cargo and civilian merchant ships to last the men 17 days of heavy fighting. In addition, we have loaded aboard these cargo ships 16 Army Kawasaki Ki 10 Fighters and 12 Army Kawasaki Ki 3 Light Bombers, to be reconstructed at the airbases in Aimesland we have captured and hastily repaired. Soon we will send more land based planes to help relieve the Navy."

There was some light applause from the Army Generals before General Terauchi rose. "Very good General. We have been doing very well in the course of this war and with our secure supply lines, we will achieve victory very soon. I predict once we get our armor on the ground, and our bombers come in, the war won't last more than another 4 months. We are meeting our recruiting goals and I think training is going rather well."

Major General Tojo smiled at his turn to speak. As head of the Kenpeitai, he had a crucial report. "Gentlemen, my reports from my officers on the ground say so far we are being met with slight resistance from local civilians. As per orders from Colonel Saki who is deployed there, our men have been going house to house, disarming the populace and arresting those who have attacked our men or have dangerous thoughts."

"We have gained some collaborators, however, they are rare to find. I think 'reeducation' is in order. Yesterday, 3,764 prisoners of war landed here in Nihon. 236 of the captured men had died on the journey, but the rest are somewhat fit for reeducation and work. We sent the other less desirable workers, 914 of them whom we deemed too radical in their beliefs to work for us, we sold them to Aydinir, for 10-100 Manticoran dollars, each. I think we sold them to the Great House of Mekhrān? I do not know what they call themselves, but it is good business. The other prisoners will be interrogated once more, then we will send them to work on our planned Imperial General Staff Headquarters bunker."

There were nods around the room and then Major General Yamashita stood to give his assessment. "Sirs, it is my belief a push into the Aimeslandish countryside will achieve the results we are looking for. So far our advances have yielded significant results but when we fight over the cities, we face more enemy troops which slows us down. I say we push south before continuing into the undefended west. They have no supply lines that reach there, and any resistance will be quickly crushed. Once we land the fresh divisions, we can push to the north where we will capture their ports and other important infrastructure."

The meeting would continue discussing the specific details for another hours but soon orders would be sent out to commanders on the ground to advance south, encircle enemy positions and then move west.

Aiemslandish Waters
February 28, 1935

Captain Suo of the Mogami looked out across the sea though his binoculars. In the recent days, they had sunk numerous Aimeslandish merchant ships. He looked to Myoko alongside his ship and then though the morning mist he sighted the outline of a ship. He looked to his second in command, "Looks like another Aimeslandish merchant ship. Ready the torpedo tubes."

The man took a look into his binoculars. "No sir look at the flag! It is Nihonese. It is our own ship."

"What!?" Came Suo. He looked again in his binoculars. "Ah it is so." He paused. "It has a civilian flag. What is a Nihonese merchant ship doing here, so far away from our trading routes?"

"Sir there it should not be here. I have checked, no Nihonese merchant ship is registered to be even near here."

Suo nodded "It can't be an ship our men on the ground commissioned could it?"

"No sir, we are too far from the landing grounds, and out next shipment of supplies is not due for another week or so."

Suo frowned as he scrolled though the list of registered Nihonese merchant ships himself. "Send a message to the ship. If it doesn't reply, we will open fire and board."

For 15 minutes the men, all at their stations, waited. When no reply came, the two ships opened fire with the 8 inch main guns, disabling the mystery ship. The ship fired back, but with low caliber weapons, the Heavy Cruiser where invulnerable to anything that was being thrown at them.

Withing the hour, a boarding party led by the second in command had seized the damaged hostile ship and taken the people aboard prisoner.

Suo smiled as he stepped aboard, applauding his men for their successful capture. "Report?"

"Sir we have found good aboard, weapons, and it seems a black flag with a skull on it."

Suo walked over and examined the flag. "How curious. No nation uses this flag to my knowledge."

Captain Goga from the Myoko walked over and laughed. "Ha, is that a pirate flag?"

Suo frowned, "Nihon has not faced piracy since the Aydinir crisis. The time before was in the 1600s. I did not know pirates have flags."

Goga chuckled. "No, I lived in our embassy in Manticore for a year. I once saw a children's book that depicted a flag like that on their pirate stories."

Suo gave a grin. "So we have captured pirates you say? I thought this was just an armed merchant ship. Let's make an example of them. Once we dock, we will have them executed."

Goga smiled, "Have you read the old stories? The punishment used to be a whipping."

Suo glanced at his men. "Bring the captain here."

The poor man was brought forward, already injured from the brief firefight.

Suo walked forward, grabbing a long length of thick rope before calling over one of his sailors. "In the name of His Holiness the Emperor, I hereby sentence the captain of this pirate vessel to 12 dozen lashings." He turned to one of his men. "Take a dozen men and bring this port flying our flag back to one of our ports. We will have them executed later."

Aimesland Front
March 1, 1935

Over the past weeks, Nihonese forces had made significant progress, with tanks and infantry pushing hard in the south and west, with intentions of later linking up with Hoosier and Sverian forces to the North. Work had been done to rebuild the destroyed airbases and ports, using Aimeslandish POWs and civilians enabling Imperial Nihonese Navy planes and ships to better support the forces. They had so far made significant progress, continuing to advance with the goal of crushing Aimeslandish forces. Hundreds of tanks currently were advancing into Aimesland supported by infantry and bombers from the carriers.

With increasing examples of piracy, Nihonese ships were put on alert to sink all ships flying a false Nihonese flag on sight rather than wasting the time to board. Major shelling had occurred at numerous Aimeslandish ports, and further mines had been placed.

Kenpeitai officers continued to seize anything of value to the Aimeslandish, expanding to seizing horses, vehicles, and looting museums. Any wealth they could find would be shipped off to Nihon, and anyone who did not fully comply would be shipped off the work in Aydinir or on Nihonese projects.

Current state of the Nihonese-Hoosier-Sverian Advance

Gokyo, Nihon
Imperial General Staff Headquarters
March 1, 1935

General Kan'in slammed the desk, causing several junior officers to look up in surprise. "Damn those Manticorans! They always have to get involved. This complicates everything."

Vice Admiral Yamamoto walked over and pointed at the map. "I don't see what the problem is, they will most likely be attacking somewhere in the west. It doesn't endanger our operations, it just means the war will be over quicker and we won't have to patrol so far."

Kan'in shook his head. "I still do not like the idea that our troops will eventually be so close in proximity. It increases the chances of an incident."

Yamamoto gestured to the diplomats in the room. "That is what the deescalation line is for."

Kan'in frowned. "We will have to send out a message to the Manticorans alerting them of the presence of our mines in several Aimeslandish ports. We should send them a map of mined locations if possible. Alert them of our patrols as well. We should intensify our push. End the war as quick as possible to decrease the chances of an accident. Have our forces in the south move to encircle the enemy there and then we will begin to push north to link up with our allies."

Yamamoto nodded. "The navy will intensify its efforts as well. The reason why the Manticorans are getting involved is because of the Aimeslandish pirates, but our navy is dealing with them fairly easily. We have been working on efforts to destroy the ports they dock at."

"Very good. Very good." Said Kan'in. The meeting continued, discussing the pirate issue and planning to reinforce the escorts with the newly purchased Warglorian ships, which by now had been outfitted with a crew. The war would be quick and the Aimeslandish would soon regret taking on two major powers in an impossible war.

by **HypErcApitAl** » Fri Aug 14, 2020 8:07 pm

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

"Lemonade! That's the Voice of the Nation! It's sour, just like us! And we'll hit 'em hard - where it hurts! What we do?! We don't give-up, or in!" She cheered, before taking the boy's request for a refreshment.

They'd walk out of the halls, until sighting a Lemonade Stand.

The stand was nearby, and it was very clear.

Clear to not just her, but the Senate itself, that she was going to use it and the Prideful Workers as an example, as a part of her filibuster.

She started to have a flashback... well not just a flashback, but actually several.

Back to her days, her time as a Student, as a Band Girl and Cheerleader. All of her ad-libs, and all the many times she spoke out and was a Chatty Patty. All the times she confronted squares...

She shook her head, shaking the memories away.

"Um... I forgot to bring my Purse." She confessed.

"That's okay, I gotcha." The boy smirked.

"Give this wonder a tall glass 'a Lemonade, please... and make sure it's sweet, too." He requested to the stand-man.

The boy nodded, before serving the politician her drink-of-choice.

Sprout gave a thumbs-up before giving it a taste-test, then smirking back at the senator.

The senator would pay-up his Chi, then tipping his hat to the stand-man.

The duo walked off, and back into the Floor/Halls.

Now, she paced herself, walking back to the podium and sipping on the Lemonade.

"Now, as a Girl of Her Word, I promise you, I promise this Hall that change is bound! That we can make it - we can endure forevermore! Yup! We can do it! We'll beat the Communists! We'll beat the Slavocrats! We'll get 'em all! Just watch 'n' learn! I promise you, I'll make my term worthwhile! We're gonna get 'em, give them that one-two!" She cheered, making hand gestures and even punches.

"They think, just 'cause we're quiet, that they can beat us... but no! It'll never happen! Nope! It can't be done! I say this: that the Republic shall prevail! We will stand! We are here, let's make that clear! We are here; let's make that clear! We are here; let's make that clear!" She waved her arms around like she held Pom-poms.

The senate clapped and cheered loudly.

"It is time, time that we shine! We will tremble to no one! You hear that? TO NO ONE! Let's do this! This is the power! They're just out here beating and controlling their own people! I'll make a good expansionist arguement; and that's that we've never been an Empire. We've never taken shit over. The Manticorans and Carribeans and whatnot have conquered and stolen everything; and we've just tapdanced! It's time to do somethin'! It's time we make the boat rock! Make the boat rock! Make the boat rock! Yes!"

'Make the boat rock,' The Senate cheered on, smiling and waving.

She'd punctuate by sipping her Lemonade, again.

She'd then lift-up the glass.

"This, is a symbol of the Aimeslandish people! Like. I've. Said. Earlier. These warmongers think they can scare us, think they can milk us or suck us dry, like a lemon! We'll sting 'em! We're like hornets! The symphony of buzzing! The sounds! But, they think they can trifle with us and finesse us, they think that they can kill our Spirit, kill our culture! They think they can stop us from Achieving and Succeeding! We'll do this! I'm not scared of the Centrists! I'm not scared of the Opposition! I can do it!"

"I've had enough of these grifters and liars in gov't! I mean, there's not that many anymore, but we have to purify our system. We have to continue purifying our Culture and Democracy. We'll show 'em! Aimeslandish Idealism and Romanticism isn't flawed! We're the sails on the ship keeping the world moving and afloat! What are they doing? Progression is not shooting yourself in the foot, yeah - It is advancement, and we can advance with what we've got; we don't have to throw away what's good, what's worked. It's like throwing out Conditioner just 'cause you don't see your hair getting anymore shinier, or the Glitz and Glam - just give it Time. We're good, the way we are, but we can't stop - we mustn't stop."

She continued shaking and stirring and bobbing up-and-down, being a hypeman or quaking like a person Possessed.

Lemonade Republicanism.

Standing for the Dream. For all of the POTBRAs before her.

The Most Esteemed Sprout Winston, a true Hero.

And they tried to scar the Nation. They tried whipping and lashing, not with actual whips and shackles, but with their Words. They tried scarring The President, and saying she was as toxic as the Aimeslandish Coiled Snake, but not really. Not truly.

Breaking the Chain, the Wheel of oppressive Government. Being all about that Praxus. Ruling democratically, not through Royalty or Bloodlines. She wasn't going to be soft and let the Oppressor put Aristonia in a Chokehold. She was gonna defend her Country, she was going to be a Statesman. Sprout, in all of her glory, but they came-at her Sideways sadly. She worked to Strengthen the Nation, not doom it. She never killed off the "Landed Elites," she embraced Capital and Business. If anything, she was the Exceptional.

Who are 'they?' Quite obviously, the Reds.

They tried to use Sprout's words against her, to try to make her commit Bloody Murder. They tried turning her into Bloody Mary - into some sorta Ghost, Spectre, some sort of madwoman when infact, her mind was in the right place. An inspiration to not just the Aimeslandish, but every upright-standing-individual.

They refuse to understand Peace, so, infact, we'll give 'em War.

They refused to understand Economics, so Aimeslandia became Pirate. 'Piratical,' one of the Reds said.

They sent their ships to Aimeslandia, to Westeros, so they fell - and fell hard by Aimeslandish Artillery. No mistakes, and no Apologies.

All was fair in Love and War; Aimesland was a nation of Romance and Romanticists, but also a nation of Hesitant Warriors. They played around, they spun the Blade in Aimeslands' face, thinking they weren't going to play with it, well...

Aristonia played around with Mud, Sand, Dirt and Snakes - accidentally becoming Medusa, herself. The Earthrealm, or Earth Nation. They said "there's no War in Bah-Sing-Say," which was true - to some extent - the Olives were in two wars, three technically, but no one counts the Strife between Earth and Fire.

Anarcho-Environmentalism, Spring Liberalism, Chromism, and Deepstatism.

Aimeslandish Ideologies; the Olives, Neons, Silvers, and the Metaphysical, or colorless - though sometimes they used Violet and Lilac.

The anarchs; Earth.

Spring Liberalists; Water - always changing and flowing, as Progressives do.

Chromists, Air and Steam - Steam formed Smog, which came from Machinery, Product, Factories, and all made from Steel and Iron.

Deepstatists - Fire. A corrupted form of Spring Liberalism. The aberration - Frankensteins' Monster. The secondwave of Fascism, since the Firstwave didn't work. The secondwave weren't as blunt as the first; they were Cryptofascists. They were Masonic Fascists. Gothic Fascists. Pessimists and Haters. Essentially the polar-opposite to Spring Liberalism. Their blood boiled, like Fire. They destroyed everything. Deepstatists were like Dragons; their ideology was already Draconian and Tyrannical.

(The Deepstatist flag)

Deepstatists were Destructive, both self-destructive and corrosive. This ideology being very twofaced, as it both was and wasn't.

In effect; the Deepstatists were Fascist, nonetheless, proud and unabashed Fascists. They seemed like Anarcho-Fascists, though sometimes. Or, National Bolshevists; taking elements from both the Firstwave of Aimeslandish Fascism and the Aimeslandish Communist-Socialists.

There are no "strings" on Deepstatism. The Great Fascist Spectre Arises - Crimson Dawn.

The Thirty-Minutes Of Hate.

Rock the Boat, or the Boat rocks you. What Sprout was trying to say, but people twisted her words and made her the Evil Villainess. Trying to turn her into Maleficent, when she was really Snow White.

Metal, Sand, Earth, Lava and Plasma. Plasma not just in Blood, or Bloodbending, but also the fourth stage of Matter alongside Gas, Liquid and Solid.

Gases and Liquids were fluid, the Fluidity.

Plasma was in cells. It connected, binded, held things Together. A unity, togetherness.

Plasm was also in Lightning.

Plasm was also connected to Ectoplasm.

It was a weird alliance between the Aimeslandish Antiracists and the Newnecarribbeanian racists and slavers; both sides never questioned or talked about this despite this being common knowledge.

Atleast it was Egalitarian. Atleast it was Feminism.

Were they???

The Newnecarribbeanians acted like they didn't know what a Woman was, much-less a girl.

Shame.

Though people mocked Aimesland and said they were "Technobarbarians," Aimesland was Ultraprogressive and up-with-the-Times. Infact, they based themselves around being Current and the Younger People, or kidfolk.

Aimesland already was Egalitarian. Already not needing a Revolution, in that way. And, it wasn't just Advertising and putting women all-over billboards. It was alotta social messenging. Alot of messages that combatted both Corporatism and Anticapitalism. Alotta messages that supported Entertainment and Business; though Aimesland didn't prioritize Businesses and Business-owning. They went for the Intelligentsia, or the know-it-alls and nerds.

Nerd Culture already was Aimeslandish Culture, it just wasn't spoken. It was thought, but no one said it. Implicit v. Explicit.

And not just being Progressive, but also self-love and exhibitionism. Although Aimesland was a Republic for a long-ass time, it still erred on the side of Nudity. Nudity v. Prudity, or "not showing Skin," and the Aimeslandish were to the Former, they didn't shame their bodies - they were pro-nude.

It made no sense to shame yourself, or what was Human - the Natural. Already, the Aimeslandish were Naturalists.

Though, back to the weirdness.

It seemed weird that the Aimeslandish had more purpose, and that the Newnecarribbeanians prioritized War and Consumerism, or, just eating without thinking.

An Aimeslandish would think too-much and barely eat. Hah.

Suo walked forward, grabbing a long length of thick rope before calling over one of his sailors. "In the name of His Holiness the Emperor, I hereby sentence the captain of this pirate vessel to 12 dozen lashings." He turned to one of his men. "Take a dozen men and bring this port flying our flag back to one of our ports. We will have them executed later."

Corporal Punishment. How barbaric. Hah - those fools only gave-in to the stereotypes of being Warmongers.

The Aimeslandish would never use such a Draconian punishment, not even unto their own people. The Nihonese were so strange, a buncha bullies who continued to mock the great Aimeslandish Tenacity - it was that they fought hard. Live Free or Die.

State-sanctioned Terror against the Aimeslandish People, the valorous Youth and Adventurers. How horrid and tragic.

“Never compromise - Not even in the face of Armageddon.”

A few crews were caught by Nihonese hands - such Treachery. The Nihonese had used to live-up to the Honor Code of Bushido. They'd never allow their own men-and-women to die cowardly, or dishonored - and what're they doing now? Cruel and Unusual Punishment.

"...I did not know pirates had Flags..."

Surely, the swords and skulls. The Aimeslandish will make sure now that the Memento Mori is now burnt-inside of many a Nihonese Seamans' head.

There was so much Sverian fish... and other bounties. Though some were lost to Neptune, but that was okay - everything the Pirates plundered was going to help-out the Economy anyways. So much spoils.

And then, the Nihonese kowtowed to the Sverians. So funny, though already they would've tended to be Pro-Sverian anyways.

While the Aimeslandish did indeed have their own fish, there still was much need and thirst over exotics - much like how the barbarians pillaged Ikesville for Aimeslandish goods and relics.

Alas...

The pirate-crews, the Airforce, the Blimpforce, the Navy...

So many losses.

SIGH.

Technically, it wasn't Loss; a city wasn't burnt-down. They literally didn't lose Legacy, if anything, the Aimeslandish gained alot from this War.

Factories and industry tried so hard to keep everything flowing, running.

The Aimeslandish Warmachine?

Two new weapons were made: the "Empurata" light-machineguns and the Shockwave Demolition Grenades (SDGs), as the Aimeslandish literally needed antimatter. This war was heading towards anti-tank and anti-plane warfare and how the Aimeslandish would adapt to it, or if they'd get crushed and buried alive by another goddamned Nihonese tank.

The Aimeslandish Cornucopia - Horn of Plenty, had to survive. Only the Strongest had to Survive - like Sprout said.

The High Command - the War Room

Sprout smoked a cigarette, as it was very rare for her to smoke Tobacco. She usually kept-up this appearance of being calm/happy, though with this War, she was very angry and annoyed, or aggravated with everything. She'd spent so much time with Allegra, and also reaffirmed her friend Jareds' trust, but she felt like everything was at a Downturn or Downfall.

She just needed something to take the Edge off. She used to have trouble sleeping - she shook and stirred-up alot ever since she ordered the blastings of Nihonese ships, and felt very Bloodguilty over it, though Allegra eased her mind. Now, she drunk alot, but not because of earlier - before the War, when she was kinda bored and didn't feel anything. She'd had now three years in her Presidency, since those transitional days of her being President-Elect, and her Campaigning. She worked hard, and worked to keep-up the Country and its Classicism. She got so much done. So much change and progress, though now, it wasn't just the Political Landscape that changed in Aimeslandia - it was the literal blood and soil. The ground shook with Artillery and horses neighing. Tanks crawled, and planes swarmed the West.

So much has changed, in three years.

Now, she was yelling and screaming and getting hoarse over the High Command, though still congratulated and complimented Waterenforcer Springleaf, though recently, he was now promoted to Grand Moff. He was the only Grand Moff ever, not just the only Grand Moff in the Aimeslandish Navy, but the only in all of the Grand Army of the Republic.

If she was on-edge, then heck, the entire Blue Republic was on-edge. Everyone was stressed-out, with Piracy being one of the ways the citizenry relieved themselves since the Curfew and Martial Law exasperated the Aimeslandishs' boredom. Goldbeard turned profits and made his Empire from his Name, like he'd wanted. A very-successful crook, in the eyes of those he killed or stole from.

Aimesland felt changed.

She sat there, silent. Already screaming-out her opinions and insults towards the COs in the HC. There was no point, though every bone in the womans' body fought for her Nation. Everything that'd led-up to this point made her her. The World disrespected her, the POTBRA, and pretty-much the last actual President in the last-and-first Democracy. It was like nothing was Sacred, like her Position as Executive wasn't sacred, or like the Resolute Desk and the Wakefield Office weren't sacred. It seemed like everything was a lie, but she'd pushed those thoughts out of her head.

She opened-up her mouth one more time, letting-down another Strategy. Annoyed that she had to micromanage and take-care of everything. She had friends, friends everywhere, but Friendship didn't work with this war, for some reason.

If it wasn't Sanders and Dynamite, it was all the many reports of Soldiers dying that annoyed the everloving shit out of Winston.

She said:

"Okay. Let's go get some smokebombs. Let's try hard to atleast minimize Loss, like I kept saying earlier and earlier. Let's think with our heads, and not..." She stopped, to gain her breath and meditate - not wanting to give-into her explosive rage and break something else.

She cleared her mind, free from Allegra, Chamberlain, Politics, her life, Aimesland, Westeros, and everything else. She was just there, but she had to regain herself.

She sat there, meditating, and meditating.

The Battlefield

"BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN!" Callsign 'Inferno' shouted, firing his Flamethrower violently.

"Taste the Heat, not The Meat." Another Flametrooper said, whilst he burned-down the Nihonese who were startled at the Aimeslandish arson.

"I'm Pro-Pain," The other Flametrooper followed-up-with.

"I feel Golden. I feel like a GoldenPyro out chère." The other Flametrooper emoted, and using Rhyming Slang, rhyming "Chère" with "Here."

"BURN YA TO PIECES!!!!" Inferno yelled.

"Yes. Hell yes, Inferno." The other Flametrooper agreed.

"Okay, Octane." Inferno acknowledged, also identifying his fellow soldier, 'TheGoldenPyro,' as "Octane."

So, Octane was both "Octane," and "TheGoldenPyro."

"Or, maybe 'Goldbee,' I quite like what I heard from the Presidents' Filibuster about bees buzzing and us being Hornets." Octane followed-up, again, now going-under three aliases.

"Well, Octane, I'm a Fireant. Always been. Always was. 'Why do we burn things, Montag? To keep people happy. If we didn't burn Books, we'd have Riots. Things that're not Politically-Correct, we must burn. Set to-Flame, play around with Fire, my dear Montag. And then, if the entire World is Intolerant, we burn them, too.' " Inferno told, then he started quoting Fahrenheit 451.

" 'Why, Montag? b/c we're Firefighters.' " Inferno added, still quoting the Book.

"Pierre, come out here!" TheGoldenPyro cried.

"Grass grows, Sun shines, Birds chirp, and Brother, I hurt People." Octane continued.

"I'm gonna slit some necks!" Tonto cried-out, waving around his "Endurance" rifle and the Bayonette that was attached.

"THIS IS SPARTA!" Tonto let-loose a Warcry, and then he started firing at Nihonese soldiers.
He ripped-off his uniform shirt and then, as his gun ran outta Ammo, he started skewering Nihonese until he got scared and ran back behind Friendly Lines-of-Fire, and towards the Flametroopers he saw burning things.

More Flametroopers threw their Firebombs and Cocktails at the Enemy, yelling and screaming-out to distract the Enemy, or even yelling "AVE DEMOKRATIA!" ad-nauseum.

Aimeslandish infantrymen slid into Position, firing their "Endurance" rifles or the newly-bought USSK rifles. A female soldier made-sure her helm was on, tightly, before reloading. The rifle sounded like it made a "CLINK!" sound, but could've possibly been the girl hearing things. She was so unused to all of this yelling and screaming; not even at her own House did they scream like this. It was crazy, in her eyes. Now, both sides were doing things Unknown, or things no one'd knew about or had ever seen before - but, it's War, so some of it was to be expected.

Some of the soldiers disgraced the Nihonese corpses by tapdancing and doing the Timberland Shake on them, or finding other ways to disturb them and laughing, or pointing-and-laughing.

More Aimeslandish Lancers rushed-in, alongside soldiers armed with Bats and Batons, or Cricket paddles. Using Deadly Force and hitting or spanking the Enemy, and unleashing their rage.

"STOP FUCKING YELLING, YOU'RE RINGING-OUT MY EARDRUMS, GODDAMMIT!" One sergeant yelled.

"KEEP FUCKING FIRING! FIRE THOSE GODDAMNED CROSSBOWS! MAKE 'EM TASTE OUR WRATH! WE ARE THE DEVILS' DEN!" A major cried-out, waving his Sabre.

"WHERE ZA FUCK ARE THOSE REINFORCEMENTS! I TOLD THOSE HAMLICKERS TO GET OVER HERE, AND THEY STILL AIN'T HERE! WHAT KINDA ARMY ARE WE RUNNING?!" Another troop howled.

"RELOADIN'!"

"COVERFIRE, GODDAMMIT, I'M TRYNA CLEAN MY GUN, THIS RIFLE'S TOO DAMNED DUSTY. WHO THE HELL OWNED THIS, MY GRANDPA?"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I JUST GOT MUD IN MAH EYEZ, WHAT THE HELL! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE STEPPING, NEWBIE!"

"Sir, those goddamned Nihonese are killing us, sir. What the hell is happening?"

"Well, shit. We're doing our best, here. We're tryna hold-up the Line, but they just keep swarmin' us. There's too many of 'em. We could kill six of 'em, there'd then be seventy-two jumpin' out the bushes and slaughterin' us. It's crazy."

"Well, sir, we're trying every trick in the Book."

"Every trick? Wow. That book's old. First-off, stop. Second-off, everyone declared war unto us. Now, if we had allies, and our allies were into this, this probably would be like walking down Times Square Park in Ambercity, or something. I dunno, I'm not a City Boy!"

"Those goddamned cappachino-sippin' Sverians are killin' us, sir!"

"Hell yes, I know! We're trying! Heck, we're using new Firepowers and they're still somehow blitzing us!"

"Issa Draft, sir. We got forty-nine year-old newbies trying to shoot, with pistollas. They think they can rainshine us, and we got bows. Freaking bows. They don't even have the experience, and they're OLD. It's crazy, sir."

"The goddamned Yellow Barons are doing their bestest. They just recently took their losses."

"What about that Powerglide girl? She doing fine?"

"Yeah."

"Then, tell her, get her ass over here and kill all these men."

"Well, sir, she's probably defendin' the other Line. But, I'll try..."

"THAT'S AN ORDER."

"What za Hell?"

"Sir, I know you're da Commandin' Officer and all, sir, but you can't just shoot the Sky. You can't just command someone to fall into a Ditch. This shit takes time. It's called Work. It's called being Refined."

"True, true. But I need to refine these Nihonese soldiers to Hell!"

"I need to send 'em back to their mommas cryin!' Teach 'em 'what 'fer!' "

"Yeah, but..."

"ALRIGHT. LET'S STOP TALKIN', AND LET'S RETURN TO SHOOTIN'. TAKEOFF THAT-THERE RIFLE STRAP AND START BUCKEYING."

The war would be quick and the Aimeslandish would soon regret taking on two major powers in an impossible war.

The Major and his squad had finessed his way to living another Day, teaching the Nihonese that Nothing, indeed, ever is "Impossible." Though, they've learnt their lessons and adapted, now just keeping their melee weapons onto their sides and firing their Crossbows or Firearms.

Some soldiers still had the olden-style of Crossbow, in-which, they had to PULL onto the damned thing and crank it, as if it were on some sorta Pulley or Primitive Technology.

"Goddammit. We don't have all time for you to be crankin', get your fucking Derringer and fire at them Cowards!" the Major yelled-out.

Several crossbowmen tossed-down their weapons-of-choice and quickdrawed their Derringers, or their Armins, or other pistols from their holsters. Some of them preferred Silence, so they'd then attach Suppressor-Silencers onto the barrel.

Riflemen, new soldiers, now accompanied the Major and his Squad, at request. Some armed with Airrifles and others with Huntingrifles. Some weren't truly "riflemen," but were actually Shotgunners that also specialized in Riflery.

Some soldiers chewed Gum as they fired, to upboost their Morale. Now, the collective Morale of the GAR/Aimeslandish AF was still pretty-high, but the individual Morale of soldiers had differed, as some of them were Veterans and had seen soldiers get demolished by Nihonese explosives or ran-over by their tanks, their weirdly-designed tanks. Others had heard tales of this, and were very anxious to fight.

Many, many had learnt from old experiences or retellings of such experiences, so now, they were very scared to pull-out their Sabre or Longsword, Katana. Some still stuck to Throwables, either throwing around some sorta Shuriken or some other handheld weapon. Throwingdaggers, axes and knives were also very-good, so others had stuck to them. Some still were very rebellious, and still used Battleaxes and Warhammers.

Though, the Aimeslandish themselves were a stubborn people - that's not really a bad or wrong thought-to-think that they'd still would be up-to Old Habits. As they say: "Old Habits die-hard."

Other soldiers carried Shovels, Spades and Entrenchers, digging-into the Ground and obscuring Mother Nature with their own feet - but they had to, to Survive. It was Survival of The Fittest, and the Aimeslandish had to prove the Nihonese that they were Fit, not the Emperor and his Diet.

Powerglide had climbed-up the Ladder very-quickly, and now, she was an Airwarrior. She still loved Battle, perhaps now mixing herself with her fallen comrade Warpath. She was now leading squadrons of Pilots into Battle, and she had alot of Esteem since not only was she a Yellow Baron, but she was also a Veteran of several battles and firefights. She didn't fight alongside her fellow Yellow Barons, as now, the force was split-up to fight the rising Nihonese aerial threat. Though, they had this habit of sticking-together, as they very-much feared Death. They feared dying by-themselves. Heh. It may seem "pathetic," to the Nihonese, but the Aimeslandish were Humanists. They took pride in their Humanity and the Social. They were passionate creatures from a time that was Anarchic. The Aimeslandish seemed more lovey-dovey, and the Nihonese seemed more... Barbaric, in-response.

Her status was very-high, though she'd never forgotten where she'd came from, when she was a Redstripe. She remembered to fight alongside her comrades on the land, even friending some. Major Tomgommery and his Squad had seriously-impressed her, not only because of how they've carried themselves, but also because they were fellow Veterans of battles. Now, they were very war-weary, though still had blood coursing and rushing through their veins, feet and toes. They still wanted War, perhaps now growing ever-bloodthirstier. The Nihonese had saw Warpath and quickly-learned of how Bloodthirsty he was, though now, some Veterans and Soldiers rivaled Warpath's bloodlust or had a higher Lust than he.

Goldbeard was the second occurring the Nihonese had had w/blood-hungry individuals, so now they were learning. They learned that the Aimeslandish might have been hippies and Hesitant Warriors, but they were to also be feared - feared for their Resilience and Tenacity. Feared b/c Aimesland was Adaptive. Aimesland was a Transformative Republic - transforming and responding accordingly to Crises. This was a Crisis, not just the Aimeo-Nihonese War, but the Crisis that Winston's advisor had told her, earlier this Year, about the absence of fellow Democratic nations.

The Airforce still carried-on, as more and more new Pilots joined their ranks, as Cyanstripes and Graystripes. Elite pilots thus refilled-up the Yellow Baron ranks, though the Yellow Barons wouldn't have it like they did - at the beginning of the War.

Riflemen and other brands and classifications of Aimeslandish Soldier used their Bruteforce, butting their Rifle's butt-ends to the Enemy and Clubbing Them To Death. They then used their swords, getting brutal, but that was to combat the Nihoneses' brutality.

Optimism, to combat Brutalism. Aimesland was the Light. Pessimism, Egoism and other Deepstatist ideals of self-hatred aren't The Way. Aimesland has to remain a self-loving state. A College State, that taught its people the very-best, not subjected them to Propagandas and Vitriol.

Captain Suo of the Mogami looked out across the sea through his binoculars. In the recent days, they had sunk numerous Aimeslandish merchantships. He looked to Myoko alongside his ship and then though the morning mist he sighted the outline of a ship. He looked to his second in command, "Looks like another Aimeslandish merchantship. Ready the torpedo tubes."

Aimeslandish Propaganda would quickly-hear of this, either through Rumor or Spy, slandering them ten-times more than what they were already saying about the Nihonese, now calling them "Rabid Pigdogs-with-no-Life" and such-and-such a phrase, or insult.

The propaganda already was kinda Protofascist, as many papers, flyers and pamphlets upraised the Aimeslandish Gov't and treated Sprout as if she were some sorta Goddess or Supernatural Entity.

In another response to the Nihonese firing, either on Merchantships or Pirate-crews, was to work harder on Armory. They'd add more guns onto the ships, and also work on Density, making the ships armor 10-to-12 times denser than it already was - trying to combat the Nihoneses' artillery and snipers.

Propagandas would have a quote of Sprout calling the Nihonese "Superpredators," and that the Aimeslandish had to "bring 'em to-Heel," that they have "No Conscious, no Empathy," though the POTBRA had never said anything that vitriolic - not even about the Nihonese.

Aimesland adapted to the quick Deepstatist threat, with mobs arising and killing them or some sparing them and giving them to the Police. The Police would, in-turn, turn them in, to the Gov't. Some of the Fascists would be interrogated and tortured and the rest would be used to make new Technologies for The People, but also Military tech.

Like the Spring Liberalists adapted to the Communist-Socialists, they would've adapted to the Deepstatists, though culturally-appropriating and stealing their Red. They'd then make a new flag, using that Red but having it in a cogwheel.

So, it was the normal Aimeslandish Banner, but with a new Red Cogwheel on it - symbolizing Multidirection, or being Multidirectional. Already, the Aimeslandish Cross represented Crossroads. The Deepstatists mutated that crossroads into four axes, but there was no need for Axes in the first place.

The Cross would remain, as it was a long-time symbol, but it'd also now be complimented by the Red Cogwheel on it. Already, the Cogwheel was also a Technocratic symbol, so it also had a dual-meaning. That Aimesland's Technocracy shall now stand strong, with everything else in her History.

The Aimeslandish Gov't worked hard with Radio and Jukeboxes, not just to counter the Deepstatist Remnant and their Radioshows, or faux-Deepstatists, but also with Aimeslandish Propaganda and the Newsmedia.

Though, since the Deepstatists were mostly-killed off, or their radical ideologies weren't allowed to fester, the faux-Deepstatists were moreso Statists. They were pro-Police State, and also corrupted Militiamen. They used their Militias to terrorize the Aimeslandish Citizenry, and so the Aimeslandish Policeforce, across all cities, had to work together. They had to RSVP and collaborate to destroy the Deepstatists and Faux-deepstatists.

(Another fascist flag)

Deepstatists were mystics and mysticists, using the olden Anarcho-Environmentalist Aimeslandish religion of Paganism, and transforming it into Cryptopaganism. Paganism, but not really, or "secret-Pagans."

(Art of one of the old Aimeslandish Goddesses)

Code: Select all: ˙ʎuuɐɹʎ┴ lɐǝɹ pǝɔuǝᴉɹǝdxǝ ʇ,uǝʌɐɥ no⅄ ˙llɐℲ llᴉʍ noʎ - ƃuᴉɥʇou sᴉ ʎɔɐɹɔoɯǝp ɹno⅄ ˙ʍou sn ɹɐǝℲ ˙sʇsᴉʇɐʇsdǝǝp ǝɥʇ ǝɹɐ ǝM

(Translated - "We are the Deepstatists. Fear us now. Your Democracy is nothing - you will Fall. You haven't experienced real Tyranny.")

A message that was sent to the Aimeslandish Gov't, by a Deepstatist Scout. Said scout was intercepted before he could hide, and then he was summarily-executed VIA a Policeofficers' Truncheon.

A countermilitia sprouted, calling themselves: "ANONYMOUS."

Code: Select all: Citizens Of The World; We are ANONYMOUS. We are the Shroud-of-Secrecy. We are the Cloak-and-Dagger that'll fight-off the Masons. We do not forget. We do not Forgive. Expect us.

ANONYMOUS, the Countermilitia (or "the counter to the Fascist boogeymen," or, "the John Wick that'll beat-up the Baba Yaga into pieces.") to the Faux-deepstatists, Fascists and Deepstatist Militias is now state-sponsored, and they've been now sending Antifascist messages, since Aimesland was Antifascist for sometime now. Sending them not through the Airwaves, but also through Telegram, Morsecode and Mail.

Code: Select all: Remember, remember, the 5th of November. Guy Fawkes Anarchism.

Code: Select all: The Deepstatists upraise their Blackflag, well, they don't know the true meaning of Anarchy. We have Returned. We were always here. Expect us.

ANONYMOUS' supporters and the Guy Fawkes Anarchists attacked the Deepstatists when they were meeting-up at a bridge in Theed.

In an alley, one of these Guy Fawkes Anarchists had fought-off Deepstatists, said Deepstatists insulted the man and waved-around his Gun. They tried shooting-at him, but the GFA was too damned agile. He then threw his Daggers at them, killing them.

They weren't a fair match to him.

Code: Select all: ˙ㄥㄥㄥ ˙ʎuuɐɹʎ┴ ǝnɹ┴ ʍouʞ llᴉʍ ll∀ ˙ǝᴉp llᴉʍ sƃop ʇɐɹɔoɯǝp lnɟᴉʇᴉd noʎ ɟo ll∀ ˙ǝᴉp llᴉʍ no⅄

(Translation - "You will Die. All of you pitiful Democrat dogs will die. All will know True Tyranny. 777.")

Another message was sent, to another Governmental Building, but before the second Scout could leave, the mobs appeared and burnt him Alive on a Pagan cross.

Faux-deepstatist militias and ANONYMOUS countermilitias shot-at eachother in Broad Daylight, the ideological war now in Harkness.

More dueling and shooting'd take-place, though it would've never gotten to Halifax or Chamberlain or Ambercity, those cities crawling-to-the-Brim with Cops and militiamen.

Code: Select all: ¡sɥʇɐǝp ɹnoʎ ɹoɟ ǝɯᴉ┴

(Translation - "Time for your Deaths!")

Instead, rite hangings of Deepstatist Remnants and Fascists happened. The Secondwave would never take Grounds, not in Aimesland.

"Not in MY House!"

The Winston Administration ordered: "Anyone caught aiding-and-abetting the Deepstatists, or any other brand of Fascist, in Aimeslandia, shall be shot-and-killed. Either by hands of Militia, or the Gov't. Effective Immediately."

The Samston House commented: "These foolish idiots aren't even Aimeslandish! We're stripping them of their Citizenship! They are no more than Dirt beneath our Feet! To save Democracy, we must gatekeep."

The Most Esteemed Sprout Winston was too busy to comment.

by **The Manticoran Empire** » Fri Aug 14, 2020 9:21 pm

300 kilometers off the coast of Aimesland, the region of Chamberlain
8 March 1935
0735 Local Time

The First Fleet steamed at the better part of 30 knots, wind whipping across the deck as the deck crews made final checks on aircraft. Every command had to be shouted or given by hand signals over the din of aircraft engines. And what a din it was. Each of the twelve aircraft carriers had 72 planes on the deck. Eighteen F2F fighters, eighteen SBU scout bombers, eighteen BG dive bombers, and eighteen BM torpedo bombers.

The BMs weren’t loaded with torpedoes this time as their target was Chamberlain, an inland settlement and the capital of the Blue Republic but those 454 kilogram bombs would be more than enough. Six hundred and forty eight bombers would take off and attack Chamberlain, targeting government and industrial buildings as the opening salvo of the Empire’s war on Aimesland.

The flight would take just over 75 minutes, putting the armada of aircraft over Chamberlain at 0850 local. Most of the population would be commuting to work, hopefully limiting civilian casualties. But the pilots didn’t really care. Aimesland hadn’t cared about civilians when they sank the Manticoran ships and for some of these pilots, they’d had family on the Esther Island when she sank and today was the day for vengeance.

The final all clear signal was given and planes rumbled towards the end of the flight deck. As they lifted into the sky, the enormous battlefleet appeared as little more than specks on the great blue expanse of the ocean. And then the planes were off, racing towards their target at 200 kilometers an hour.

Right on time, the sprawling expanse of Chamberlain appeared before them. The city had never been attacked yet in the war, with the Nihonese focused on supporting their invasion to the East. As such, there were no air defenses, no patrolling fighters. Nothing but open blue skies and plentiful targets. Short, concise, pre-arranged radio signals were sent out and the squadrons peeled off to attack their assigned targets. BMs dropped low, skimming above the city at barely 1,000 meters, racing towards the major government and financial buildings while the dive bombers climbed to 6,000 meters, ready to dive on their targets and release their payloads. The fighters, meanwhile, launched their own attacks, diving on the streets and strafing them with machine gun fire.

VT-3, the torpedo squadron from the HMS Ranger, flew towards the home of President Sprout Winston. If they were dropping torpedoes, they would fly at barely 10 meters, a mere 33 feet off the waves, and at barely above stall speed. But they were dropping bombs so they were roaring in, engines at full bore, fingers hovering over the bomb release. At the perfect moment, eighteen planes hit their bomb release levers and eighteen bombs were kicked free. The planes roared skyward in near perfect unison as the bombs continued on their path, almost gliding as they fell. A short few seconds after they were released, eighteen 1,000 pound bombs smashed into the house of the President of the Blue Republic and exploded.

Glass shattered, wood splintered, and concrete was reduced to fine powder as nine tons of high explosive ripped through the venerable structure that had housed every president of the Blue Republic since its formation. Servants and staff never had a chance to react, the pressure waves caused by the explosion shoving them into walls before crushing them to death with debris. Some lucky members of the staff were thrown from windows, if they were truly lucky close to the ground and free of obstacles. If they were not, death met them a short few seconds later, thanks to gravity.

But most of them were dead before they hit anything that might crush them. The true lethality of a bomb isn’t in the steel shrapnel of the casing or the debris it throws around at extreme velocities. It is the rapidly expanding wave of compressed air that kills you. At 10 PSI, hardened buildings are damaged, severe injury to the heart and lungs occurs, and limbs can be ripped from the body. At only 4 PSI, fatalities are likely, no one within that range is uninjured and only a concrete structure will remain standing. At 2 PSI, fatalities are possible, injuries common, but many structures can survive. But unfortunately for the house of Sprout Winston, 18 bombs detonating ensured its destruction and, for the people within it, death was a near certainty. Of the nearly 400 people who worked for President Winston, barely thirty of them would live and only two would ever walk unassisted. Even some of those who survived the blast would not live to be rescued, dying of their wounds before emergency services could reach them.

At the headquarters of the Armed Forces, VB-9, a dive bomber squadron with BG bombers, came screaming in at a 60 degree angle, pulling up at barely 300 meters while releasing their bombs. The half ton bombs screamed into the venerable structure that housed the senior officers of the Aimeslandish Air Force, Aimeslandish Army, and Aimeslandish Navy. Many of those same officers were standing at the window, looking in shock and horror at the clouds of smoke rising from the ruins of the Presidential mansion and staring helplessly at the buzzing aircraft as they ripped apart the gleaming jewel of the Republic.

And for the entirety of the General Staff, that would be the last thing they ever saw as a 454 kilogram general purpose bomb exploded in the middle of their staff room, killing all of them instantly. Only a few of them would have bodies or even recognizable body parts to be recovered by burial details. For most of them, the only evidence they had ever been there was a smear of gore across the rubble and bits of flesh and bone.

Many of the other officers and enlisted persons working in the Headquarters would also be killed by more would survive here than at the home of President Winston, if only because the staff was larger. But even surviving the bombs didn’t guarantee their troubles were over.

Even as bombers tore the city apart, demolishing banks, government buildings, factories, warehouses, railyards, and anything else Navy Intelligence had deemed important, the fighters wreaked their own havoc. A fighter would line itself up to fly down a street and, after reaching the rooftops, would fire its machine guns. 7.62mm bullets would tear into the streets, the buildings, and the people. Men and women, the young and the old, none of them were safe from the terrible punishment of modern airpower. Mothers held their infants close to their breast, hoping against hope that if they held them tightly enough, the bullets wouldn’t hurt them. In many of these cases, both mother and child died with the mother still believing that her death had saved her child.

The Aimeslandish held a curious belief, that the young were inherently better for society, more vigorous and full of innovation. Those over 35 were expected to ostracize themselves, avoiding contact with the younger people and self-segregating into their own communities. But bullets do not care about age or philosophy and a 7.62mm bullet from a Manticoran fighter would kill a 50 year old just as readily as it would kill a 5 year old. And they did. The fighters would sweep back and forth along the streets until the corpses covered the cobblestones and the blood ran like a river. Along one street, a person looking down it would see horses riddled with bullets laying on the ground, screeching in pain as they bled to death, all the while the cart driver and his passengers were seated, slumped against their benches with bullet holes in their own bodies. Young children, lucky enough to avoid being killed by bullets, knelt beside the corpses of their parents and wailed. “MOMMY! POPPY! WAKE UP! PLEASE! WAKE UP!” And, maybe a dozen yards a way, a woman would make an inhuman screech as she realized the bullet that missed her had killed her infant child.

And it was only now, as the Manticoran planes flew away, their bombs dropped and their bullets expended, that the Aimeslandish of the Capital had learned what their leaders had done to them. This was not some grand adventure. This was not some glorious march of triumph for the Blue Republic. They were deluded. All that awaited them was death and deprivation. Perhaps a few hoped that this attack would be the last. The coming weeks would soon correct them of this delusion.

The Aimeslandish had poked the Manticore, thinking it a mere kitten. Cute and playful. But even the Nihonese and their allies knew the truth. The Manticore is not a kitten but a beast, powerful and vindictive. The roar of a lion, the teeth of a tiger, and the biting sting of a scorpion.

And Chamberlain had just been stung.

First Army Headquarters
Hsinking, Manchukuo
8 March 1935
1100 Local Time

Colonel George Colin Marshall was the war plans officer for the First Army and he’d been tasked to come up with a detailed battle plan for the First Army’s landings in Aimesland. To do that, he’d spent the last week coordinating with the First Army’s air commander on air support coordination after the landings. However, during the landings would be a different story, with First Army relying on Naval air support for its air support. And so he made a phone call to Naval Base Garapan in the Mariana Islands, the headquarters of the First Fleet and scheduled a meeting with the First Fleet’s commander and the commanders of the Battle Force, Carrier Force, Cruiser Force, and Destroyer Force. With confirmation of the successful attack on Chamberlain, he was now finishing collecting all the papers he had already prepared on the plan and loading them into a briefcase.

With his papers collected, he put his coat on and collected his hat before picking up the briefcase and walking out the door. It took him about 10 minutes to walk from his office to the staff car waiting outside and it was an hour and a half before he was at the water for his flight. He would then board a Clipper flying boat for his trip to the Marianas. The 4,000 mile journey would take almost 22 hours, meaning he wouldn’t be landing until the early morning of the 9th. As such, he prepared himself for his long flight by ensuring the pillow he had was comfortable and everything else was ready.

Naval Base Garapan
Mariana Islands
1000 Local Time

Colonel Marshall arrived at Garapan Naval Base late in the morning and was greeted by a pair of naval officers and a marine escort. They loaded into a staff car and raced for the base headquarters. The drive itself took approximately 20 minutes and it was another 10 before he had arrived at the conference room. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before opening the door and walking in.

Present in the room was Admiral David Wilson, First Fleet's commander, who was joined by Commander Jason Sison, First Fleet Chief of Staff. Next was Vice Admiral Jason Grant, Battle Force Commander, joined by his Chief of Staff, Commander David Perry. Then came Cruiser Force Commander, Vice Admiral Peter Ochoa and CRUFOR Chief of Staff, Commander Randy Rich. Then there was Carrier Force Commander, Vice Admiral Everrett Phillips and his Chief of Staff, Commander Michael Butler. Finally was Destroyer Force Commander, Vice Admiral Alexander Barefield and his Chief of Staff, Commander Peter Miller. Colonel Marshall walked around the table, greeting each officer in person before finally standing at the front of the room.

"Gentlemen, please be seated. I'm sorry to have called you away at such a crucial juncture in the campaign but it is of vital importance that we get the ball rolling for the next phase of the operation." He opened his briefcase and produced a series of folders for each officer. Once the folders had been handed out, he tacked up a large map of the operational area to the white board behind him and continued. "Operation Blue is going to entail the landing of three full armies to Aimesland's West Coast. These landings are going to depend heavily upon coordination between the Army and the Navy in order to succeed. Naval gunfire and air support will be crucial in covering the landings themselves as well as assisting in the capture of airfields where the Army can position their own planes. Even after Army aircraft are in place, naval support will remain vital as we advance up the coast, as well as to ensure our supply lines remain secure from pirate attacks. What you have before you are fully detailed initial plans, complete with wireless, flag, smoke, and flare signals which will be used by the landing forces to coordinate gunfire and air support. Under ideal circumstances, we would have the time to conduct drills and you would have the opportunity to formulate more efficient signals with your personnel and the landing forces. Unfortunately, our political masters have insisted upon an invasion by the first week of June, meaning we have only three months in which to do a year and a half of work."

The briefing would continue for nearly four more hours and would turn into a week of meetings and planning sessions before Marshall and the naval officers could return to their stations to continue their preparations, now with a more complete understanding of their roles in the operation.

by **HypErcApitAl** » Sat Aug 15, 2020 3:27 pm

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

After the bombarding of The Capitol, most Aimeslandish now wanted to turn-in and surrender. Morale was very high, but thanks to Manticore, it had plummeted to Four. Now, Aimeslandish soldiers were getting desperate and starting to use Suicide Tactics - though not the Airforce, as the Aimeslandish highly-valued their Airforce. Same went to their Blimps. 'Tis a shame that the Nihonese had killed so many Blimpmen.

There'd be no way that Aimesland would turn to Deepstatism, but there was no going back, since Chamberlain was struck.

The Executives - the Wakefield Office was hit pretty hard. The literal Office was gone, but it, as a symbol was still there. All of Sprout and her power was still there, even if the Samston House was now ashen.

The Symbol of the Nation was destroyed - sent-to-Hell, and there was no Hope.

People outright-refused to believe that The Capitol could ever be destroyed. That it was as immortal as Time itself. But, that's just how the Aimeslandish were.

Conveniently, no one important was killed - only the Hands, or Staff. The Senate aside from a few foolhardy senators, were all in bunkers deep below-Ground, as Aimesland had many, many bunkers - it was finishing-up the touches on some when the War started, so...

The Samston House wasn't where all POTBRAs slept-at. There were a few POTBRAs in Aimeslandish History that hadn't resided there - as there was a time where the House wasn't built yet, but a time where Aimesland still had Presidents. There was a time where Aimesland still held the Office, but without the actual Wakefield Office, as the Office was named after an actual President in Aimeslandish History. And so was the House. Samston wasn't just a label. Samston was a President, too. A noble man who would've sacrificed everything for his Country. But, he was no Sprout Winston.

None of the past Presidents were on Winstons' level. She was too great. She may be eclipsed at some time, but definitely not now - so the Aimeslandish still had loads of time for Hero Worship.

In Chamberlain, there simply was too much Legacy. Too much to lose. Now that Aimesland didn't have Chamberlain or the Samston House anymore, it had nothing to lose. It was like the olden anarchic days back when the Aimeslandish worshipped their Goddesses at the Shrine, or the Altar. It was like those olden Nudist "State" days when they simply frolicked around in Mother Natures' hands.

And it was only now, as the Manticoran planes flew away, their bombs dropped and their bullets expended, that the Aimeslandish of the Capitol had learned what their leaders had done to them. This was not some grand adventure. This was not some glorious march of triumph for the Blue Republic. They were deluded. All that awaited them was Death and Deprivation. Perhaps a few hoped that this attack would be the last. The coming weeks would soon correct them of this delusion.

The Aimeslandish had poked the Manticore, thinking it a mere kitten. Cute and playful. But even the Nihonese and their allies knew the truth. The Manticore is not a kitten but a beast, powerful and vindictive. The roar of a lion, the teeth of a tiger, and the biting sting of a scorpion.

Aristonia endures. Aristonia always endures. But she always knew not to play around with Mythical Creatures or Pandoras' Box.

Aimesland was now Breaking Bad.

Aimesland was The Danger. Aimesland was the thing to be a-scared of. She was a vicious rattlesnake, or a King Cobra, or literally any other Snake you can think of. She was Medusa. She was Trickery made Manifest. She was Dramatic and cunning and witty. She was sneaky, very sneaky, and always demonstrated the Power of Finesse.

The Most Esteemed Sprout Winston was The One Who Knocks.

And the Snake, a vicious, venomous snake - not Toxic, but Venomous. Filled with deadly, killing Poison.

Aimesland was going to strike the shit out of both the Chrysanthemum and the Manticore, or Chimera, or whatsoever.

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

Cobra!

Honorkillings and Mercykillings would also take place, to not let the Enemy see Weakness. To be innocent was to be Weak. To be a victim was to be Weak. To be at your most Merciful state, was Weak.

Aimesland would never be a Leper Republic. Aimesland was to be Strong. Aimesland was to grow beyond its Humanity - Transhumanization.

Code: Select all: Message to The Newne Carribbean: We need reinforcements! the Enemy is killing us! Please help!

Code: Select all: Message to Wargloria: We need reinforcements! the Enemy is killing us! Please help!

Code: Select all: Message to The Confederacy: More guns, maybe?

She made her own guns, her own Firepower, but still asked from her Ally. Maybe they'd help, like lasttime. Or maybe that lasttime was a Raincheck. Who knew?

If they were in a war, Aimesland would most-definitely help-out, but that's maybe because of Aimesland's Altruistic and Humanitarian philosophies.

Everything was bombed, but the Aimeslandish were clever and resourceful knowing to not put all their Goose eggs in one basket. They had duplicates of everything, and even Triplicate in some cases... All the files, everything - in Bunkers, deep down.

All they tried to do, was defend their Ancestral Homeland, but the Nihonese were rascals and bastards - they got usurped by the Manticoran quickness, though.

The Manticorans had only striked at Dawn. No one was up. No one really heard anything, and the Elite in-gov't weren't lost. What were lost were staff. Just people that cleaned and wrote things down, or waited-on people hand-and-foot (though got paid ALOT of Chi; this wasn't modern-day Slavery.)

Most of the gov't were in Bunkers, as said, aside from some foolhardy senators - though they weren't in Chamberlain either. Since Sprout placed the Country in Martial Law, the Senate was cut-off and Sprout had to depend on her old Campaigning Staff or her rarely-used Cabinet.

As said, already.

The House still stood, symbolically. Ideas are bulletproof - they cannot be Killed, and that's what ANONYMOUS was trying to prove to the Fascists and Wannabe Dictators.

So, what would happen next?

Theed would be made the Honorary Capital until all of this madness ended. Though, it wasn't going to truly end - the Manticorans were probably gonna bomb the Theedians too.

And then, go to Troy, bomb them or throw Cannonballs at them.

The Manticorans wouldn't stop - they were more ruthless than the Nihonese, though the Aimeslandish never fully-considered them their enemy. It was Nihon. It was the foolish Emperor and his Diet down in Gokyo. It was the Ex-samurai killing the Pirates and Romanticists. It was fake Spring Liberalists - Pretenders, the Nihonese would use the Cherryblossom and the Chrysanthemum, knowing they were no match for the Aimeslandish and their Broadswords or their Flametroopers quoting Fahrenheit 451, or anything that Aristonia had possessed.

Do not tread-on the Aimeslandish Coiled Snake.

Step-away from the Spring Liberalist Hornets' Nest.

And for the entirety of the General Staff, that would be the last thing they ever saw as a 454 kilogram general purpose bomb exploded in the middle of their staff room, killing all of them instantly. Only a few of them would have bodies or even recognizable body parts to be recovered by burial details. For most of them, the only evidence they had ever been there was a smear of gore across the rubble and bits of flesh and bone.

Many of the other officers and enlisted persons working in the Headquarters would also be killed by more would survive here than at the home of President Winston, if only because the staff was larger. But even surviving the bombs didn’t guarantee their troubles were over.

"But even surviving the Bombs didn't guarantee their Troubles were over."

Either killed by Honorkillings and Mercykillings, or bombarded-at with insults from the POTBRA and called "Traitors," to their face as Sprout broke more things. She got so angry that she finally demoted Sanders to Corporal and told him to "Get the Hell out. I don't ever want to see your face again, you Waste-of-Space."

Allegra had also survived and was also in the Bunker, too scared to ever leave Sprout alone.

The Resolute Desk still survived, also - it had to. It was the symbol of the Executives' Power. It was the Symbol of Presidency, ever since it was carved-out of ancient wood from a tree in Spratsberia.

There was always more Trouble - don't worry. Either a Manticoran bomb or the literal President of the Blue Republic throwing her own Highheel at you, that would be the Trouble. Being labeled "Treasonous," to your face was the Trouble. Disappointing Winston was the Trouble, not getting hailstorms of bombs or getting killed en masse by Nihonese infantries. It was the Wrath of President Winston.

Death-by-Disappointment would soon kill any unruly CO or anyone met by the angry woman.

A 7.62mm bullet from a Manticoran fighter would kill a 50 year old just as readily as it would kill a 05-year-old. And they did. The fighters would sweep back and forth along the streets until the corpses covered the cobblestones and the blood ran like a river. Along one street, a person looking down it would see horses riddled with bullets laying on the ground, screeching in pain as they bled to death, all the while the cart driver and his passengers were seated, slumped against their benches with bullet holes in their own bodies. Young children, lucky enough to avoid being killed by bullets, knelt beside the corpses of their parents and wailed. “MOMMY! POPPY! WAKE UP! PLEASE! WAKE UP!” And, maybe a dozen yards a way, a woman would make an inhuman screech as she realized the bullet that missed her had killed her infant child.

The remnants were also placed-in bunkers, but loudly scolded by Cops or any Authority Figure for not-taking-Actions. It was no ones' fault, but everyone was angry and sad and crying nonetheless.

The Manticorans were dishonorable Child-killers, and that gave the Aimeslandish more reason to commit to their Arson, burning-down anything Nihonese without a blink or second-thought, and telling tankers to smash their tanks into other tanks then quickly jump-out, or capturing Nihonese men to only spank them with Cricket paddles. There were no women or girls in the Nihonese Army, but know that there was always a softspot for Females, so they would've been saved and probably used as pack-mules to carry a soldiers' rifle or his other Essentials.

The Nihonese were sexist for not using Girls to their full-potential, but Gender didn't matter. Many were whipped and spanked by Aimeslandish soldiers, both male and female infantrymen - not just the male Aimeslandish.

by **HypErcApitAl** » Sat Aug 15, 2020 11:06 pm

Code: Select all: Message to the Manticoran First Fleet/Theatre Commander: We've had it with this war. We're throwing-in the Towel. Sadly, we have to betray our Warglorian friends in the end, but that's better than losing the Centerpiece of the Nation or having your Head-of-State throw her shoes at you over a mistake. Yes, it was a deadly mistake, but... All of that aside, we'd like to Surrender. We're done - Finished! We don't want to fight anymore. Too much blood has spilt and too many insults have been traded between our Respective Nations. We'd like to formally-apologize for all of the rude things we've called your Prime Minister, and even your Nation. There is no point in being angry anymore. Time shall heal all Wounds. Let's bury the Hatchet. Nihon, Sveria, Hoosier should also be invited to this peace deal. We have dishonored the Warglorians, Confederates, Norcourtians and Newnecarribbeanians. There is no point in continuing this Insanity. This doesn't mean that our respective peoples can be enemies - if anything, we can learn from eachother. Let us hope despite our respective ideologies that we join hands into a new world. Peace between our Nations, finally.

by **Nordstralia** » Sun Aug 16, 2020 10:35 am

16th February, 1935

Overview of the Confederate Protectorates of Livonia

The Provisional Government named the Confederate Protectorate of Livonia had just been proclaimed as semi-independent or as mostly known, a nation under Protection, the Central region of Ruskland had been partitioned with Livonia receiving better land and more population within the integrated states.

Now the nation is home to 84 million people, but for now, the nation is still a bit unstable with the radical cthulhuists, of course, there are less radicals than there are the conservatives and the more accepting ones. The nation is currently led by the Rusklandr, Willem Reves, who’s been appointed at the young age of 34 to lead the nation under supervision of the Warglorian Reichsauseher, Henrietta Blavatsky.

With the formation of Livonia, the nation is riveted with instability and the places with quality infrastructure would’ve been Thatcheron and Scinfaxi, those states are relatively more stable with an existing government beforehand, currently enough the most developed area would be Thatcheron, as Wargloria had been building and repairing its infrastructure and its land.

The current Capital of the Nation would be the City of Arkengelsburg, which was placed in the Western parts of Thatcheron. Then the next largest being the city of Lennoria in Scinfaxi, the current government is currently placed within Lennoria with the strictest of security, so by technicality, Lennoria is the Capital, but by the law, Arksengelsburg is the Capital.

To conclude, Livonia is, but a pale replacement of the previous nation of Ruskland-Preuben. As of now,
technology and infrastructure aid are coming from Sveria, in hopes to put more time into Oil Rigs and extract oil as soon as possible.

End of Overview.

“Honestly, I am shook by the fact that they chose me instead of someone else to govern the place.” Willem Reeves, the current Chancellor of the Protectorate mused to himself within his office. The City of Lennoria had been placed as a Governmental City, meaning it is the place of where the officials are placed within for the time being until the state of Thatcheron, formerly the states of Rußkland and The Mess, had been stabilized after the sudden integration of it.

Scinfaxi was in a better condition, having many shattered infrastructure being fixed, new roads and renewed factories to produce more weapons. Until Thatcheron had been finished renovating, Scinfaxi would be the Capital Province in name only. “I’ll probably need the Army to be up and running, probably get some more kinds of weapons to arm the men with.”

Listing the amount of paperwork had his mind a bit jumbled up honestly, being presented with the heavy duty of being the Chancellor and all. “Alright, what do we have first?”

Priorities for Livonia

As of now, the Top Priority of Livonia is to stabilize the nation, then repair and modernize infrastructures or replace them to fit their new standard. Mainly Sveria is sending workers to work on the shipyards on Scinfaxi, while patched up, they were far from ready to produce ships or repair them. Many Sverian aid goes to the Noocaluth, where they are going to construct Oil Rigs to help extract oil from the state.

With Sverian help, Livonia might be able to train their pilots onboard the SMS Nordwind Trainer Carrier, but for the time being, the focus shifts more to the Infrastructure and Stability, other than that, Livonia is devoted in training a Special Force to help traverse the current terrain with the help of ‘Armee Hirtens’, a rough translation translates that to ‘Army Shepherds’.

Onboard of the idea were the interests of rebuilding the Navy and Air Force, which is honestly dead in the water or the coast, due to the fact that a Warglorian Fuhrer-Class Dreadnought was left stranded on the Coast of Scinfaxi. Which is absolutely stupid, and would be expensive to maintain, currently the plan was to order tugboats in the dozens to pull it out of the coast and bring it to the drydock, possibly a decent patching might be able to do the trick.

But that had been done a year ago with Sverian soldiers patching it up, but due to the quality, it was better to send it to the drydock to be repaired and modernized to fit in the current age. Other than those news, that ends the Priorities that Livonia is needed to prioritize.

“Well, I guess more work to do.” And so he did, rummaging through the piles of papers and files in order to get his work done. Skimming through most of the files and reading them as thoroughly as his tired eyes would allow him as he continued this for several hours. By the end of the day, he barely made a dent to the pile of paperwork.

Knock Knock!

“Yes?, Come in” The sound of the office door creaking echoed through the silent office.

“And I thought you were already finished with your work, honestly, Kanzler…” The woman in front of him sighed, the Assistant Overseer, Karin, simply shook her head. “But still, diligent as always, huh?”

“I had paperwork to do, so obviously, I can’t leave them unattended, now could I?” Willem asked with a raised eyebrow, as he continued to look through the pages.

“At that point, you’re better off taking the night off, better go rest up and continue the next day, it’s not as if we’re on a rather tight schedule.” She shrugged as she walked towards his desk before taking a file. “Honestly, you’re such a pain in the back to keep track off, how long have you been going on with these?”

“...Several hours, give or take. I need a dose of coffee at this point.”

“You’re better off sleeping, Kanzler.” She pursed her lips, adamant on getting the man to rest, to which he sighed and gave up on trying to argue with the woman.

“Geez, you're more stubborn than an ox.”

“Still stubborn for a rather good point, don’t you think?” She asked with a prideful grin.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be proud of that one-”

“Shut your trap.” She interjected with a scowl. “Anyways, go home. We’ll continue this later on in the next day.”

“...Yeah, sure, you go ahead.” The woman shot him a look before sighing.

“Yes, I’m taking off for the night.”

“Take care.” As she leaves his office, Willem can only gaze at the towers of files before sighing. “...I’m gonna need a shot of vodka after this…”

by **Baharuthia** » Sun Aug 16, 2020 10:37 am

17th February 1935
Skies above Sea of Martyrs

“This is Seer 1, reporting nothing on my end.” The Do 17 Schnellbomber was a new aircraft for the Sverian Air Force, it was capable of taking on multiple roles, Night Fighter, Fast Bomber and Reconnaissance, the third being its current role.

"This is Seer 2, reporting a negative on our end," came the second Do 17. The onboard radio gave out its distinct static.

"This is Seer 3, I believe we have found the suspect Ship, bearing 120, orders, over?" The pilot on the third aircraft questioned.

"Maintain altitude, where is it head?"

"For the moment it looks like its headed for the Sea of Martyrs. We have cancelled all shipping plans from the East Coast, right?"

"..."

"Don't tell us that we haven't." The pilot within Seer 1 muttered aloud.

"We weren't expecting them to move down here! We will send in the Navy ASAP!"

Fafsneer Air Base

The Air Base within the Sverian Air Base of Fafsneer roared as airmen and pilots alike began to run to their aircrafts. Messerschmitt Me TB2s were quickly manned as the pilots began to check their aircrafts.

Checking for fuel, the pilots quickly checked that off their mind. Then came adding pressure to the oil, pumping the lever, the pressure rose slowly rising. Flicking the ignition key, the propellers began to spin as the gas pedal was stepped on.

Stepping on the side pedals, the pilots checked their tail flaps for their left and right turnings. Then push and pull the yoke, trying out the flaps that help aircrafts dive or rise, pressing one of the buttons, the wing flaps pulled themselves down, reaching towards two levers, the pilots pulled one of the stick lever before pushing the more robust lever before turning the ignition key once more. That was when they pushed back the single stick lever to the front and flicked the flicker of the engine from off to on. Pumping more pressure, each aircraft began to move.

"Blixt Squadron, you are cleared to take off. Åsknnal Squadron, you are cleared to take off. Örn Squadron, you are cleared to take off." The speakers blared as the whirring of the aircrafts filled the base's air. Airmen gestured with their hands to help the pilots move, the Örn Squadron was a squad filled with Bf109s, twelve to be precise.

All of them marked with their blue nose, and golden cross. "First day on an actual mission. Finally!" An enthusiastic member cheered, his radio broadcasting his thoughts.

"Yeah, well, don't get too ahead of yourself." Another scoffed with a smirk on his face.

"Come on, it's an old Dreadnought. It'll be a cinch!"

"Don't underestimate an old Capital Ship, it still has enough firepower to take us escorts out of action."

"Geez, fine, I guess…"

"Alright. Örn Squadron! Take off!" Two of the aircrafts began their movements in their respective Airstrip. The bumpy ride began with the rocky cement strip as the aircrafts soon took off to the skies. Another five times, the entire Squadron was in the air.

The next were the older model, TB 2s, while old they weren't out of the fight just yet. "Fuckin' hell, we still haven't gotten an upgrade."

"Heard the trade with Nihon is going fine, but still…they're arriving later on with the carriers."

"We're getting new carriers?"

"It was on the news."

Sverian Naval Aircraft Order

5th January 1935

Trade Deal with the Nihonese Empire or Dai Nihon Teitoku.

The Nihonese Empire is willing to make the sale of 80 B2M Naval Bombers and 100 A5M Naval Figters to the Protectorate of Sveria.

The total cost of it will be 10 Million in Manticoran Dollars. The Deal has been settled, but will arrive with the two Kaga-Class Aircraft Carriers, which are ordered by 1930.

Thus there shall be a delay on the arrival of the Aircrafts.

Sveria is well aware and has agreed to the circumstances.

"...Fuckin' hell…"

"Don't worry, these old ladies handle themselves just fine." An older Aclusian-Sverian pilot laughed at the rookie's weariness.

"Easy for you to say, old man! You have nothing else to live for!"

"Excuse me, laddie? I'll have you know I have plenty to live for, thank you very much!" The polite and furious response set the other members laughing, the Åsknall Squadron filled with 24 Torpedo Bombers soon made their way to the runways before they did the same and took alongside the Örns.

"Alright, upgrades. Upgrades. First time flying these things outside of practice." A pilot grinned as he looked at the gizmos laid out in front of him.

"Just remember that these are quite new. So they do have some problems," his co-pilot spoke with a weary tone.

"Of course, that would be stupid to not know of their problems. Now that's out of the way, Tally-ho!" The Ju87s numbering 16 began to make their way to the runway before they took off, the Blixt Squadron had quickly taken off into the skies.

The formation of 52 aircrafts began to male way towards the suspected Capital Ship.

SMS Admiral Van Kruz, Sea of Martyrs

The Commander of the Ship, Royal Admiral Monika Ode von Gaia sighed as she looked through her binoculars into the foggy night. "Herr Admiral, the Air Force has been mobilized with 52 Aircrafts.” An officer on deck reported, the Admiral simply nodded, knowing full well that the Air Force has been mobilized, her Fleet of ten ships, the flagship, SMS Admiral Van Kruz, the two Cerberus-Class, and the Screen Ships being made up of two Tyrfings, the rest being Gråhajar-Class Destroyers.

“The moment we make contact with a Capital Ship, send them a warning through both radio and light signaling.” The woman narrowed her eyes as the fleet of ten ships continued their journey, with them would be the second Fleet on deck, the SMS Nordwind, as the Flagship. She was covered by Light Cruisers and Destroyers, the best to boot as of now. But with quite obsolete aircrafts, mainly recon planes that Wargloria produced.

“Aye aye, madam!” The officer quickly relayed it. The entire deck was on high alert, the ships moved in their cruise speed of a subtle 17 knots, quite fast for the current situation. But they were overconfident, thinking with the immense power they had in their fleet and air superiority, they would immediately destroy the Capital Ship.

Oh how wrong, they were.

The moment the 1st Hunting Fleet made contact, the Capital Ship was already sailing away from it, it already took the hint from the flying Do19 Recon plane, 5 355mm cannons turned towards the approaching Sverian ships. The cannons let loose.

The 5 shells dropped short of the SMS Admiral Van Kruz, the ship had declared its hostility, and now the Sverian Capital Ship and its escorts made their move, firing their shots, 8 380mm shells and 16 330mm shells flew across the air, the retrofit that lasted a year for the Cerberus’ had improved the gun handling immensely.

The shell trajectory was a bit more shorter than before, but the muzzle velocity increased, the shells flew and they flew false as only a single 330mm shell made impact and disabled the rear turret that was filled with two 355mm cannons. The ship blew out some smoke, the turret was disabled from the battle, but not the triple 355mm cannons. That one fired off another salvo, that salvo grazed the side armor of the SMS Admiral Van Kruz, the ship remained afloat however, the side had not been penetrated, but was grazed.

The Capital Ship, however, began to sail off into the ever growing mist as it soon generated smoke from its onboard Smoke Generators. The smoke began to engulf the ship’s figure, and alas, through sheer overconfidence, the engagement was cut off by the ship’s smoke generator.

Air Wings above the clouds were called out. ”This is SMS Admiral Van Kruz, we have lost sight of the target, over.” The Bf109 formation looked at each other as the radio transmission came through.

“Che, this is Örn 1, we copy, change of plans?”

”We will save up and strike in another time,, SMS Admiral Van Kruz, has been hit, we are returning to port to restock and evaluate the damage, over.”

“...Will copy, over and out. This is Örn 1 to all Wing Squadrons, mission abort.” The radio came in with a bunch of cursings from disappointment. “Return to Base.”

A collective amount of reluctant sighs came through as the aircrafts soon began to turn. ”Is it not possible to intercept that damn ship, Cap’n?” The voice of a disappointed young female cadet came into the communications, questioning his decision, the lady had been a bit too enthusiastic for his taste, but it was something that the Air Force needed, enthusiasm for the cause.

“Negative, Örn 4, we’re returning to Base and wait for another day.” The Captain snorted. “Bloody seadogs, can’t even pursue that damn ship.” The Captain swore to himself, the Air Wings soon enough turned tail and waited for the rest of the day, backing away from a possible air engagement on their own without naval support.

“So, that was a total bust.” Grand Admiral Janet sighed as the Council simply nodded. The mission on the Hunt was a bust with a simple disable of a twin gun turret, at the cost of a grazed ship hull. "We might've damaged it, but didn't cripple its entire form."

"To be honest, we should probably destroy it via Air Superiority." Adler muttered out. "Scout it with Recons carrying bombs, have fast ships track it and encircle it before bringing the big guns in."

"...On theory, that sounds nice. But the bombs our aircrafts are using are High Explosive Bombs." Svein, the Air Marshal argued.

"...What does that mean actually?" Minna asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"It simply means that they won't be able to penetrate the ship, but essentially would start fires. Damage the superstructure, but that's all."

"Our Main Objective is to neutralize it, not destroy it. I don't see a problem there. We could honestly use it to arm West Ruskland." Adrian spoke with a shrug.

"Arm West Ruskland with a ship of that caliber? Bullshit, I call it. Bullshit!" Svein yelled out.

"Alright, that's enough, I will side with Svein here. West Ruskland is a relatively new Protectorate, who hasn't stabilized itself enough. Now we're going to arm them with a Ruskland Dreadnought?" Minna asked.

"It's more or less the ticking time bomb of Europeia at this point." Adler commented off handedly. "We'll need to help stabilize them and then arm them. There is no point in arming them if they wreck havoc amongst themselves."

"...Very well, we shall capture and take it as our own ship." Adrian sighed in defeat. "Minna, you are responsible for reverse engineering those guns. I won't doubt that those cannons might be a good jump for the future."

"Of course, Adrian." The woman smiled, ready to take the ship and reverse engineer what Rusklandr Engineering had to offer. "I will have my best men and women to reverse engineer it."

"Svein, you are in charge of the Air Wings in duty."

"Expected."

"And Janet, I'm entrusting the Navy to do its job."

"Aye aye, skipper."

"Adler...well...I don't think we need you just yet." Adler looked pretty neutral.

"Yeah, sure, what can a Minister of Justice do? Punish the pirates for plundering?" He asked. "They prolly would walk the plank than be taken alive."

"I...just get on with it. This meeting is dismissed."

Sverian Hunting Fleet

The Sverian Navy Group had failed on intercepting the Capital Ship aside the destruction of one rear turret, housing two main guns. The ship had been investigated, with files within Livonia, while many files were uncovered to mostly be either hoax or distractions, many files had been burnt.

Asides a few priority files, the Capital Ship in question could be the Monarch-Class Dreadnought, an upgraded trial variant of the previous Duke-Class Dreadnought, but other speculations suggest other forms of Dreadnoughts of Ruskland variant.

The Air Group had failed to reach its destination quickly enough to make a decisive move, Recon Wings had been spotted too early. Plans for the next Hunting Session will take a span of a few days, now that they have moved to the Svavic Sea, the Sverian Hunting Fleet would need to move to the Protectorate of Livonia, Hunt been put onto a halt, all elements shall be stationed and placed on hold within the Western Coast of Livonia.

by **The Manticoran Empire** » Mon Aug 17, 2020 8:52 pm

300 kilometers off the Aimeslandish Coast
15 March 1935
1630 Local Time

Admiral David Wilson sat in his office aboard the battleship HMS Averland as the yeoman brought him the Aimeslandish message. "It wasn't encrypted or anything, sir," the yeoman said as he handed the admiral the strip of paper. "What's it mean, sir?"

HypErcApitAl wrote:Message to the Manticoran First Fleet/Theatre Commander:

We've had it with this war. We're throwing-in the Towel. Sadly, we have to betray our Warglorian friends in the end, but that's better than losing the Centerpiece of the Nation or having your Head-of-State throw her shoes at you over a mistake. Yes, it was a deadly mistake, but...

All of that aside, we'd like to Surrender. We're done - Finished! We don't want to fight anymore. Too much blood has spilt and too many insults have been traded between our Respective Nations. We'd like to formally-apologize for all of the rude things we've called your Prime Minister, and even your Nation.

There is no point in being angry anymore. Time shall heal all Wounds. Let's bury the Hatchet.

Nihon, Sveria, Hoosier should also be invited to this peace deal.

We have dishonored the Warglorians, Confederates, Norcourtians and Newnecarribbeanians. There is no point in continuing this Insanity.

This doesn't mean that our respective peoples can be enemies - if anything, we can learn from each other. Let us hope despite our respective ideologies that we join hands into a new world. Peace between our Nations, finally.

Wilson read the message four times in total before he replied. "What it means, Petty Officer, is that Aimeslandish are finished. Get to the bridge, let the Captain know I'll be up there shortly."

After the yeoman had left, Wilson took his uniform jacket off the back of his chair and buttoned it. He took a moment in front of the mirror on his door to ensure all of his decorations were on straight and then he placed his cap precisely on his head and walked out his door and to the bridge.

It took him only a few minutes to reach the bridge and a Seaman First Class rose to call the men to attention, but Wilson hushed him before he could even open his mouth. Wilson then walked over the commander of the Averland, Captain Nathaniel Ellis, and said, "Tell me, Nathan. Are there any hostile warships about?"
"Is that in reference to the strange message the enemy sent us about surrender and all that?"
"It would indeed be in reference to that."
Ellis thought for a moment before replying, "Nothing's been reported by the CAP or by the screen, Sir. I imagine their fleet's still got its tail between its legs." Wilson spent a moment of his own in thought before he said, "Then they just might be telling the truth. Set a course for Kent. It's the nearest port to Chamberlain and we'll be able to secure control of it to bring in the Army." He then walked over to the wireless operate and began to dictate a message.

To Aimeslandish Government

Your offer of surrender and ceasefire is presently accepted. The Royal Manticoran Navy will be moving forces to occupy port facilities and will require the immediate surrender of all naval forces. Army and air forces are required to isolate themselves within pre-war garrisons until approached by Manticoran authorities. Any acts of violence upon Manticoran forces following this transmission will result in the resumption of hostilities as well as the seizure of civilian hostages.

by **Norcourt** » Tue Aug 18, 2020 4:21 am

Oh Motherland of Leersog, Oh Fatherland of Norcourt...

Upon establishment of COIN, a select amount of Norcourtian high ranking officers of the Norcourtian armored divisions, had been sent down to the Confederacy to assist in the training, and conversion of previously cavalry divisions, into the likes of light armored cavalry divisions. With many new Norcourtian tanks entering service, production of the newer Deciter Medium Tanks and Sovrano Heavy Tanks, were not yet their main concern of most military factories, as some older Ulca Light Tanks, and Titano Heavy Tanks, were to be exported to both the Confederacy, the Solomon Islands, and to Leeria.

It was not to say that the previously (and still presently) serviced Ulca and Titano were obsolete however. The tanks themselves were still considered to be significantly modern, and capable of going toe to toe with the likes of any other nation around the globe. Their simple construction, and relative cost effectiveness made them the choice for the Norcourtian Armored Committee to export to allied nations in need, and the Confederacy, Leersog, and Solomon Islands fit those roles.

Some Norcourtian Tank Crews had finished initial stages of training with the newer Sovrano heavy tanks, and Deciter mediums, upping their maximum firepower and armor capabilities, to perhaps the best in all of Indianum, and maybe the world.

Of course, the Ulca and Titano tanks did remain still in heavy service throughout the empire, full on replacement and retraining would be too costly, and these perfectly adequate and advanced tanks would not need to be replaced for the coming years, though several tank companies began fielding the newer tanks.

Military expenditure in Indianum had significantly increased, and native Leerian manpower exceeding 1.5 million, as the balanced form of professional mandatory service came into place. Mobilization of natively organized militias, had also arisen in most major towns and cities, for those older than military service age, bringing in a pseudo-montenegrin doctrine into the populace, with all men being encouraged to possess at least one or more firearms for each man, in their own respective households.

Meanwhile, as tensions increased on the Leerian-Hoosier border, the Leerian Army had mobilized a proper conscripted force, 1.6 Million serviceable troops, prepared to die for their Republic. Any attempts at border conflict with the nation of Hoosier, would result in the likes of a warning, whether vocally, or signaled. The Northern Leerian Mountain range had protected it's people from northern invaders for hundreds of years, however there was one problem, the city of Syrissa north of the mountains, ahead of the Magnar Line...

The Hoosier Invasion of Leersog had provoked much worry into the Leerian People, striking a strong sense of patriotic fervor in the heartlands of both Leersog and mainland Norcourt. The Leerians had begun further developments in their military, and under the support of Norcourt, had modernized their military structure, conforming to the likes of the fatherland.

Border Incidents had increased in the past two months, worsening the already terrible relations with the northern Hoosier. With a handful of Sirvanskans fleeing from the north due to the Hoosier Invasion, resulting in several minor standoffs on the border, most notably when elements of the Leerian 12th Rifle Regiment, were engaged by the likes of a Hoosier Patrol, searching for runaway Sirvanskans, resulting in the deaths of 21 Leerian Soldiers, and 19 Hoosier Patrolmen. Both sides had claimed the other had fired first, and there was thought in the public mind that war is but only a foot away...

by **HypErcApitAl** » Wed Aug 19, 2020 7:26 pm

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

To Aimeslandish Government

Your offer of surrender and ceasefire is presently accepted. The Royal Manticoran Navy will be moving forces to occupy port facilities and will require the immediate surrender of all naval forces. Army and air forces are required to isolate themselves within pre-war garrisons until approached by Manticoran authorities. Any acts of violence upon Manticoran forces following this transmission will result in the resumption of hostilities as well as the seizure of civilian hostages.

The Bunkers

" 'Acts-of-violence upon Manticoran Forces,' sheesh! We've surrendered, "surrender," means "surrender." What do you think, because we're a Pirate Republic, we don't know how to take a Surrender?" Sprout complained.

"I know. It's enough they fucked Chamberlain to the Ground, now they think we'd "surrender" and then ambush them, or something! Jeez, argh! They've been killing us - we don't want this motherfucking War to continue." Allegra agreed.

"Like I've said in the Past, I let 'Fair' mean 'fair,' now, if the Manticorans do not understand Fairness, now that's on them." Sprout replied, annoyed.

Code: Select all: Message to Airforce: We've surrendered to the Manticorans, so do not be surprised when they come over here. I repeat, "do not be surprised."

Code: Select all: Message to the Navy: We've surrendered to the Manticorans, so do not be surprised when they come over here. I repeat, "do not be surprised."

Code: Select all: Message to the Landforces: We've surrendered to the Manticorans, so do not be surprised when they come over here. I repeat, "do not be surprised."

"Now, I assume the Manticorans are much-much fairer than those Nihonese Swine, so hopefully they don't pull the Sand over my eyes." Sprout hoped.

"And so now, I'll not 'bite the Hand that feeds me,' but only kiss it. Already in my 26 years-of-life, I've done too much - so, I'd much-rather be a good 'lil girl to the Manticorans." Sprout added.

"I'm not really that surprised that the Warmongering Nihonese didn't ACCEPT THE GODDAMNED SURRENDER. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THEM, ARE THEY MENTAL? GOOD GRIEF." Allegra instantly got angry.

"I mean, I don't think I've seen you get Angry, but... that really wasn't much. You should see me, when I get Angry." Sprout responded.

"I've heard stories - that's good enough for me." Allegra told.

She heard Sanders and Dynamite singing. She angrily walked over there, barefooted.

"I'VE HEARD ENOUGH OF YOUR SHIT, CORPORAL SANDERS! GODFUCKINGDAMN. THAT'S WHY I LIKE PAT SPRINGLEAF, HE DOESN'T MAKE SONGS MOCKING ME. AND YOU TWO..."

She instantly made a throat-slashing gesture.

"Shut the fuck up, Sanders, do you seriously want her throwing her shoes at us again?" Dynamite asked.

Sanders gulped.

"Okay then, idiot!" Sprout insulted before walking back into the other room.

"Now, I'm very-scared for my Life, right now, but I know how to fight. There's a reason why I've been practicing my swordfighting so much, Allegra. I just hope they don't sneak-up something unto me. It's getting to the Point where we're going to have to talk in Coded Language and sneak around, even sneak around our own Property. It's scary. I'm the first Wartime President; I haven't seen this shit before. I don't know what to do, they may kill us all with a Firingrange." Sprout cried and touched her long hair.

"You're fine; you already admitted your Sorrow, so what's the Point in crying over it? I do not understand that, Sprout." Allegra calmed.

"Because, you're not President. Now, if you were in my shoes - and you don't even wear shoes, lasttime I checked, you'd know that I had to go through alot. And that was just in Three Years' Time. Imagine if I make it to see my Fourth and Fifth. Imagine if I get to finish my Term and then Retire, instead of dying or whatever. I hope the very-best for you, because I know you don't take Pain well, Allegra. The thing is, when we got up in here, you were all on me. I know you love me, but I don't want you to be Fortysix and depressed because your Girlfriend got executed, or whatever." Sprout continued to weep.

"They're. Going. To. Turn. Me. Into. A. Martyr. And. The. Winstonites. Will. Kill. 'Em. All." Sprout clapped inbetween every word stated.

"You're speaking-on shit that isn't happening yet." Allegra said.

"Now, let's switch the Subject." Allegra added.

"I'm not switching-up shit. I know that if I get martyred... Look. I have a high-ass approval rating. It's in the fucking Eighties. Now, if I get killed-off, this Country will be in an Outrage. You think you've seen riots, well think again - there'd be so much rioting and burning shit down that they wouldn't know how to Respond." Sprout cried, still.

She couldn't stop crying, it was as-if her eyes were leaking. Already she'd seen so much carnage. The war was won, because they've survived, but when the Manticorans came and bombed Chamberlain, the Aimeslandish stopped Surviving, so they had to throw-in the Towel.

There was no point to Return to Anarchy; already, the GFAs (Guy Fawkes' Anarchists) and Deepstatists were sparring all around Aimeslandish Cities, and before, the Olives were all condemned, cause there was no need to digress and regress into Anarcho-Environmentalism, or Anarcho-Primitivism, or whatever people had wanted to call this Aimeslandish Ideology.

Already, people get Desperate - such was it at the end of the War, when Aimesland was spiraling into Dishonor. That was the problem with fighting the Nihonese, was they would make their enemies become Dishonorable if you kept fighting with them for a long time.

So, the Aimeslandish and their GAR (Grand Army of The Republic) would obey, placing their forces back in old Garrisons, though they didn't understand the point of Regression - that's how the Aimeslandish almost Lost, it was because they didn't technologically-advance. Tryna technologically advance had messed-up their Economy a bit, so they had to Engage in Piracy, and Goldbeard's Empire. Goldbeard made the Manticorans join the War, alas.
[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garrison]

So, they had to put-away the Memento Mori and Jolly Rogers and everything during-War and wait for another Time. Already, the Nihonese were very-strict, so there had to be s'more Finessing to do, such as hiding guns in Bunkers deep below (Stashing), or if slavers came, they'd run and hide or try to fight. They'd also sail away with their oars and canoes and other smaller Aimeslandish Boats, but also bringing some food or something with them so that they didn't Starve or die-of-Thirst. So, they'd have Canteens and Hydroflasks.

Any acts of violence upon Manticoran forces following this transmission will result in the resumption-of-Hostilities as-well-as the Seizure of Civilian hostages.

Obviously they wouldn't do that, so the polar opposite happened. Any cakes or treats the Bakeries had, they'd shower the Manticorans with foodstuffs.

At this point-in-Time, there was no need for unfriendliness amongst both the BRA and the Manticoran Empire, unless the latter'd really-messed-up, much like the Former had done with Cap'n Goldbeard and his Crew.

The Aimeslandish would atleast try listening, but there was no point in fighting-off Deepstatism and Mindslavery only to become a Mindslave (and an actual Slave) to the Enemy. Already, Aimesland was a State-Sponsored Atheist State, and any attempts of shaking-off this Atheism have went to Nil, as the People do not harbor a Belief-in-Gods, but if they did, they would've defaulted to Paganism, the olden Aimeslandish religion.

Spring Liberalism will Survive. Spring Liberalism is the Current. There are no Racetraitors. Westeros for all Westerosi.

The Resurgent Left will never die. The Harvest is upon us, time to Reap the Progress that we've sown.

by **Norcourt** » Fri Aug 28, 2020 2:06 am

War Birds

Norcourtian Pilots of the 342nd Wing, flying over Leeria, in their new Zaragena ZC.35a "Arcangelo"s

In Leeria, much of the Leerian Air Force were still using the slightly older Bucerri BC-32 "Rhino" Biplane fighters, with their pilots training religiously with the older machines, learning them in and out. However, a small contingent of the Regia Aeronautica de Norcourtia's officers arriving to train a select few Leerian Pilots in operating the newer planes, and then soon the rest of the Leerian Air Force.

Construction of 4 more airfields were to be built in Belorois, Polypoli, Ashturos, & Sirvo, to supplement the more northern air bases in Tefruet, Toerberg, and Alyse.

After the recent adoption of the Sovrano Heavy Tank, the Norcourtian Armored Committee, had found it's 75mm Howitzer main gun, adequate for facing lighter armored tanks, but a tad bit uneasy when it came to using it against other heavier armored tanks. The simple addition of the already serviced Pontus 47mm AT-Gun, and 15mm composite armor side skirt (which would later be added to the Sovrano I's), would fill that role decently, with the newer variant of the Sovrano to serve alongside the first model being the AM35-A2(P), referred to simply as the Sovrano II, entering production.

by **Baharuthia** » Tue Sep 01, 2020 2:34 am

27th February 1935

By the ports of Northern Thatcheron, the Sverian Hunting Fleet was stationed with sailors on alert, it wouldn’t be lucky for the Capital Pirate Ship the next time they met, they were down a Super Dreadnought, but four Battlecruisers had been sent out with the remaining Destroyers and Large Destroyers, Cruisers were sent with more Air Squadrons on notice.

Speaking of them, the Air Squadrons were placed within Arkengelsburg’s Air Base. Five of them to be exact, the Örn Squadron, the Åsknnal Squadron and the Blixt Squadron, the previous Squadrons, who were a bit upset with the fact that they had not seen combat. The two others were made of some other type of aircrafts, one was placed within the coastal’s seaplane docks and the other being a squadron of 4 He111s.

All of the previous included men were bitter about their limited foreseen action, they knew how bloody a battlefield could be and stubbornly they didn’t care about it. Friends being torn, families ripped apart, comrades falling left and right. All of them didn’t really care, for whatever they can give, they give to the Sverian Motherland.

“Honestly, that pussy of a Dreadnought shouldn’t show them faces to us if they were gonna run away like a darn pussy.” An Aclusian-Sverian muttered in distaste as he lit a cigarette, it was currently Fun Hour, so, they were currently free to do what they wish for the time being until the next hour comes and passes.

“Yeah, yeah, old man. Don’t push your luck.” The Messerschmitt TB2 pilots hung out with the other pilots as they had a heart-to-heart conversation, but never too close. The mental breakdown of a loss of a life might affect their performance as their higher-ups tipped. Obviously they had lost their own comrades from previous combat service.

The average age of senior pilots were mainly in their 30s or 40s, with young enthusiasts at youngest being 22, pilots start training by age of 18, hence 4 years of theory and practice and training, before they can get their hands on the stick of an actual combat aircraft, to which they are supervised by a senior in their patrols.

“So when is the next sortie, Cap’n?” The eager pilot enthusiast, also speedfreak, who tried to break the sound barrier, Shirley Axil, the too young, too bright kind of pilot simply interjected, wanting to know when she’ll be sent to her next combat sortie in her Bf109.

“Not until a few more days or a few more hours.” Her Captain shrugged, sipping his cup of coffee, sitting on a box of ammunition. “Take some time to relax, it won’t be a constant war on our end, considering the situation at hand.”

“But what if there is someone controlling our every movement and action?”

“Excuse me?” Her Captain lowered his head to align with her height.

“Errr…f-forget what I said?” He simply sighed at her, she was sometimes a dumbass at times, and knowing that she’s from the Ichivail Dynasty, he knew that she could be somewhat not right on the head at times. As all Dynasties have.

“Right…” Well, today was going to be an uneventful day with constant boring stuff and no form of funny things that could happen.

“Wow, this train is fast.” Victoria muttered in amazement, as she sat in a First Class passenger car. Adler had grabbed her and Belle to get them to the City of Selvaria. “How fast is it?”

“Err, I think the official statement is 140km an hour.” Adler muttered out. “Of course, this is a Warglorian-made Locomotive, so yeah.”

“Oooh, we should build our own, we could, right!?” Victoria had a grin on her face, well, he couldn’t really shoot her enthusiasm down.

“Well, you’re a handful, sure, we’ll have one commissioned, maybe take lessons from Wargloria.” He simply smiled at the woman, who squealed in enthusiasm.

“You’re the best.”

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your own devices.” Belle smiled as she left the two to their own devices. The two of them glanced as the maid simply walked away from their compartment and went to the other rooms within the car.

“...Hey, Adler?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you remember the oaths we made to each other when we were young?” Adler blinked as he inwardly cursed within his mind, he forgot bits of those words.

“Y-Yeah…”

“You didn’t, huh?” She didn’t look a bit disappointed, she just smiled. “But that’s what I’m here for. You wanna recite them?” If there was anything that Adler had taught her, it was on how to be a good leader when they were young. Surprisingly he was more mature than she thought he should’ve been back then.

“...It’ll be embarrassing…”

“Won’t it always? You just feel it’s embarrassing, because you’re thinking that reciting promises would be embarrassing.” She smiled as she stood up. “First. I will not go to school without an empty stomach!” She yelled with a wild enthusiastic voice.

“...Second. I will go out and play with my friends when the weather is nice!” Adler felt like he was going to die off embarrassment, but…

He didn’t really care for that, he was reliving a moment of his past, rekindling that moment and just remembering the nostalgia from before then. “Third! I will watch out for vehicles when I cross the road!”

“Fourth! I will not rely on others to do my tasks!”

“Fifth! Never forget about kindness, encourage and help others in need!”

“Sixth! Move towards the future with hope, never looking back!”

“Seventh!” She opened the compartment’s window. “KEEP DOING WHAT YOU CAN AND NEVER GIVE UP!” She yelled for the world to hear, a wide grin on her face. Adler can only grin on his own, he couldn’t really stop himself, she was on a whole other level. He was a Minister of Justice…

He couldn’t really hold back his fundings to break down the corruption within Sveria, so hope to Bahamut that she won’t falter from her current standing. She’s honestly a treasure to be kept, a mature, yet lax woman, who tries to relate to her people and try to help others.

Just like how he helped her, she’s now trying to get back at it with the people. “Hey, Adler?”

“Yes?”

“Can we...make these 7 Oaths...the official Oaths that children should obey and be taught in school?” He simply smiled at her.

“Of course, it’ll be a good implementation for the future generations.” Kindness and supporting each other…

Those things aren’t really lost, are they? “We should make a show of it, when television technology advances forward, we should get an icon that helps children understand the world isn’t lost to violence.” She was thinking like a child again, but then again, he won’t bother trying to make her look at the harsh reality. She’s already been hit enough with them, so he’s eager to help her get back to her feet. She’s thinking about the lost lives and the violence around the world. “We should also connect everyone together! Adler! We should invest more in infrastructure to connect people around Sveria! More locomotives!”

“T-That’ll be expensive though…”

“Use up my savings! I don’t care!” She yelled, an adamant look on her face. “Oath number seven! Keep doing what you can and never give up! I won’t give up on those dreams to help the people in Sveria to be better in the future! Maybe bloodshed will be around, but our people will know better! Kinder. More caring. Despite the harsh realities, they’ll challenge those realities with a good mentality! That’s my goal! I won’t abdicate until that becomes a reality!” She fistpumped into the air.

Honestly, she was a handful. But he couldn’t turn her down. “Hahhh, troublesome, but alright. I’ll do everything in my power to fulfill your wishes.”

It’ll be hard as the government wouldn’t really support the idea, they were leaning to protect Sveria, he could understand, but if too much funds go to the military, the people will be slowly starved out of happiness and joy and Sveria will be another bland nation. So, he’ll take the burden. Just for her sake, for her ideals and her wishes to better the people as a whole.

…

That’s probably what made her beautiful if he was going to be honest, he can only chuckle inwardly to himself about that. If only he could retain her enthusiasm. Her courage. Her selflessness. And every redeeming thing about her. It was too late though, the only thing he could do is do what he could do to better Sveria.

“Well...honestly…” Adler was a bit tired as he began doing maths to fund an existing Railroad System, the Nordeisenbahn Ausdrückenwerke, the biggest Locomotive Organization in Sveria, well…

He was going to fund them to work a way to make more stations to connect more people around Sveria. Victoria was asleep, it was 3 in the morning, bags were under his eyes, but he couldn’t really sleep, he took a sip off his coffee before looking back at her sleeping form, it was quite far from Nordmark to Selvaria. “Anything for her, huh? Hahhhhhhhh, I’m wasting my money for her…” He chuckled on how much of his savings he was going to waste for her.

He shivered, the Northern Wind had been cold for the season, he only wore his plain black shirt, a pair of thin leggings, and a pair of flip flops, because they’re nice to wear. Writing his current saving numbers, packed within his traveler’s pack, he looked at the amount of money, he’s going to lose before he chuckled to himself.

“Well, I did say I’d do it.”

Nordeisenbahn Ausdrückenwerke Headquarters, Blauverg

“Huh...so we got a mail from the Minister of Justice…” A Nordeisenbahn official spoke to the CEO, and founder, Zakaria Seval van Nord. The man simply blinked before he took the mail from the official and opened it.

“Huh, to expand the railroad system and possibly expand the tracks to connect millions of people with each other and to make a better locomotive that could outpace the current models.” He thought for a moment. “...If it’s to better the lives of the Sverians, then I’m all in for it.”

“Sir?”

“Leave my office, I will write my responding mail.”

Sverijke Nordeisenbahn Ausdrückenwerke

With a funding of a total of 100 million Reichsmark, the Nordeisenbahn Ausdrückenwerke will try and begin to expand the amount of stations and depots to refill coal for the locomotives, the new model of Locomotive will be developed and finished in the year of 1940 with an extension of 1 or 2 years if need be.

Max Speed would be at 150km/h or possibly higher if need be, it should be easy to mass produce and easy to maintain, if it cannot be done, then a repair station would be needed and some tug locomotives to help push them if they get stranded. Each locomotive needs to have a radio to communicate with train stations as standards had laid out.

Ordered number of Locomotive is 500, and possibly counting more locomotives in the future.

4th March 1935

Adler had a grin on his face as he received a mail from the Nordeisenbahn, it was going as planned, mass production Express Locomotives, streamlined ones as well, maybe not now, but nothing good comes out rushed. He’ll need to be patient, but still, it was a good day.

150km/hr on max speed, Victoria would be fucking ecsthatic on knowing this. But it’ll be a surprise for her, so he’ll keep it a secret until the unveiling of the first prototype. So right now, first thing that comes to mind is to bring her to a good local coffee shop and get her cappuccino.

“Hey, Adler, why are you smiling so much today? Did something happen?” His fiancee asked, a bit concerned.

“Oh, yes, something good, but it shouldn’t concern you that much until later on. Let’s just go to the coffee shop, alright?” Victoria was about to protest before she halted that thought and sighed.

“Fine, I’ll follow you for the day…” She said, clearly wanting to please him as she had done the same with him days before. “So what do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see.” He grinned before they turned around the corner and looked at.

“Ah, the Manticoran Coffee Shop, Leeway’s, you know me so well.” She smiled at him. Adler rolled his eyes playfully, for once he was gonna have some good times. As they sat on their seats, they quickly were greeted by the waiter, having placed their orders, they simply waited and looked around. The place had a more Sverian touch to it than before, maybe due to the change of managers, but the two weren’t sure.

“Nostalgia much?”

“It’s only been a year, so nahhh.” She gave her answer with a wide smile. “So, how’s work?”

“Nothing much other than commission orders.”

“Oooooh, may I see?” Adler raised an eyebrow before realizing that she was a weapon nut, always interested in weapons.

“I mean it’s no secret, so yeah.” He took out a small piece of paper that he wrote to keep track of the things that were commissioned by other nations.

Sverian Ship Commission List

To the Empire of Aclus:
- 25 Balmung Class Large Destroyers

Total Price: [redacted between Sveria and Aclus]

To the Empire of Norcourt:
- 25 Tyrfing Class Large Destroyers

Total Price: [redacted between Sveria and Norcourt]

“More money to spend?”

“Yes.”

“More GDP to waste on locomotives and infrastructure.” She fistpumped, having more money to spend on infrastructure meant that more things that can be done. “We should also go for other industries.”

“Like what?”

“Autobahn.”

“...Oh, car roads?”

“Yes. We should also have better airports and better ports for travelling ships.” Honestly at this point, she can shove her title of weapon nut and go for something else for her focus on civilian work. “Maybe even subsidize the farming industry!”

“...” Adler had to blink at that. “Excuse me?”

“Farmers will get free seeds and fertilizers, of course, government funded, it will be good for us to be able to get farmland worked on, mostly in the south, then export them outside. We won’t have to import crops anymore if we make an abundant amount of food.”

“So what you’re saying is to subsidize farmers...that’s fucking wild.”

“No, no, no, no, It is possible.” She wagged her finger at him, Adler put his hands in front of him as if to stop her.

“I’m not saying it isn’t, but that’s fucking wild.”

“Well, I guess I’ll need to do this myself actually...I do have power, don’t I?”

“I mean, partially, but technically yes, I won’t doubt that you can pass some laws on your own.”

“Oh...that’s cool! Guess I’ll just pass laws then to better the lives of my people!”

“But that would decentralize our nation.”

“So? Fuck Centralization. If I can help better my picture and the Sverian’s picture from an Exilvanian perspective then I might as well.” Victoria gave her pout.

“...Is this the effect of you having the Water Dragon Zodiac?” Adler gave her a stink eye.

“Haha, yeah, probably, it’s somewhat...accurate actually…” She murmured a bit, after her short laughter. “...”

“...You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, dear Bahamut, I probably should just take it slow for a while. I think I’m going too fast around this time…” She muttered out. “...A-Anyways…”

“Sir, m’lady.” A waiter came with some of their beverages. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Ja, danke.” Adler gave his thanks, Victoria simply smiled at him.

“Cheers to the nation.” Adler rolled his eyes with a grin.

“Sure sure, for Sveria. Cheers.” The two bumped their mugs.

8th March 1935

”All pilots, begin to sortie! This is not a drill! I repeat this is not a drill!” Pilots began to run as they got to make sure that their uniforms were kept and maintained. Handfuls of them quickly got to their hangar, air base officers and conscripts quickly helped them get up to their planes and removed ladders to them.

“Alright! Two times the charm!” Shirley grinned as she began to start up her aircraft.

“Remember. By the time you wasted your payload of bombs. Return to Base effective. Immediately. No reason to dilly dally longer.” Her Captain spouted through her radio.

“Aye, sir! Hehe...time to show these sons of bitches what we’re made of!” She grinned before putting her aviator goggles. Her fellow comrades can only cheer in response, as the propellers began to whir, their Bf109s began to move slowly towards the airstrips.

The Örn Squadron began to make pace as they taxi’d the runway. “This is Örn 1 to Tower. Standing by.”

”This is Åsknnal 1 to Tower. Standing by.”

”This is Blixt 1 to Tower. Standing by.”

”This is Khaos 1 to Tower. Standing by.”

”Örn Squadron, you are cleared to take off.” Tower spoke to the Squadron, the Örn Squadron all, but complied.

“Thank you, Tower. Taxiing to the airstrip.” The Bf109s made their slow taxiing before they soon reached the airstrip. “Remember people...retreat when dropping the bomb, that is the plan. We come home, living, alright!?”

”AYE, SIR!”

“Good! Örn 1! Take off!” The engine of the Bf109 quickly sputtered and crackled louder as it soon began to gain speed, the amount of vibration from the engine’s power was now a common occurrence at this point. As that happened, several more Bf109s joined in and began to gain speed.

SMS Quartz began to kite through as 15cm and 9cm cannons fired away, placing themselves at the Max Speed, the Tyrfing-Class was quite much baiting the Dreadnought to a trap. Going Western towards the Battlecruisers, 4 of them, eager for vengeance and Destroyers coming from the East to intercept them with torpedoes if the plan fails.

“Bahamut damn it, where’s the fleet?!” The Captain questioned as his ship was being chased by the Pirate Dreadnought.

“Well, a few kilometers out apparently.”

“Fuck it! Evasive maneuvers! Hard right! Then a Hard Left!” The helmsman quickly turned the helm immediately, slowing down as seconds later the sounds of wheezing 355mm shells came down and crashed down by their area, sending waves that pushed them away.

“Turning left!” The sound of three cannons firing resounded, firing High Explosive Shells as they beeline towards the Main Fleet.

“Where the hell’s our Reinforcement!?” That was probably a cliche time to say that as multiple cannon fires open up. “...Well, bugger me, where were they a few hours before!?” The total of 32 330mm cannons resounded as they fired for the Dreadnought, which began to turn. “Alright, we’re going to leave these to the big boys! Helmsman get us to a Port!”

“Alright, sir!” As they passed, the 4 Battlecruisers passed it with waving officers and sailors, some giving them some commendations and thumbs up. The four Battlecruisers followed by Screen Ships, namely a pair of Kaiserberg Light Cruisers and five Air Squadrons in the air.

“SMS Pedoleon here, so we’re gonna fuck em in the ass?” The casual conversation between Commanders began. Captain Saer

”Yeah, definitely, bombard them with High Explosive Rounds for all I care.” The Commander of the Cerberus shrugged on his end.

”Perhaps destroy the turrets first? Knowing that they’ll just hit and run and suddenly think we won’t know that we’ll have a is a very peculiar thing…” The Commander of the Hydra spoke her words of wisdom.

”And you’re too paranoid, sister. We’re just going to smash through and haul its ass back to Sveria!” The Commander of the Behemoth, Grace Marie von Fafnir laughed through the radio. ”For the Glory of the Sverian Kaiserin!”

“...Fine then, dear sister…we shall go for them your way.” Hydra’s Commander, Wyndia Marie von Fafnir, the woman simply sighed on her end. ”I’ll follow your lead, sister.”

“Alright then, all ships begin to flank and fire immediately.” The ships began to spread out, before they fired at the turning Dreadnought. “And like hell am I gonna let you leave without a scratch, not like before!” The symphony of 32 guns followed through, gunning out the Dreadnought. Out of 32, 15 made their mark and set fire and blasted the superstructures into oblivion. The flaw within the Cerberus Class was the fact that they did not have forward firing secondaries, not like they needed any as the Kaiserberg-Class Light Cruisers fired their main guns and secondaries.

An all out attack to which the Dreadnought was not prepared for, the shells that rained down upon it were mostly as vengeance for the humiliation they received. The Air Wings were already bitter with not seeing action and were pissed at how long they had to wait for it to appear again. The Fighters fired their machine guns at the onboard crews, riddling them with 7.92mm Mauser caliber bullets.

Ju87s quickly climbed up as the Bf109s passed through the dense AA fires, but without clear visual from the fog, they were not able to land a shot as the Bf109s got as close to the sea without even touching the waves. With the large silhouette and the burning wreck of the superstructure, it was easy for aircrafts to pick it off.

Namely the Ju87 began to approach their target from above, ascending before dropping down, descending rapidly before they released their payload. The bombs were high explosives, which would mean that they wouldn’t be able to penetrate through the citadel, but they would do a hefty fine on the superstructures as the moment they made contact.

BOOM!

They left quite a mess behind, tearing apart the crew members who were unfortunate enough to be caught within the shrapnel’s effective range, the superstructure ripped itself apart from the ship. Men began to jump overboard to escape the fires, more fire erupted as ammunition exploded from the heat, causing sparks and fires to start.

The Battlecruisers soon reloaded their main guns before firing off another salvo of 32 330mm cannons fired at the Dreadnought, half of them made contact with the slowing Dreadnought, the fire continued to get brighter and more spread out. The amount of shells fired was faster than usual for the Battlecruisers, mostly due to the fact that they got humiliated.

That was until the Rusklandr Pirate schiff was set ablaze and burning with the Torpedo Bombers withdrawing themselves as it would seem that the Battlecruisers had this in the bag. As more men jumped off, the Battlecruisers soon ceased fire as the pirates had gone overboard.

"Alright, send a boarding party on that ship and take control of it." The two Light Cruisers began to take over as more and more crew jumped overboard, no guns were operational, the chaos of being blasted by multiple 330mm and the chaotic fire caused complete disorganization.

The Light cruisers quickly swooped in, their armed auxiliary marines quickly set up the ladder when the ships had come close, well, the training didn’t really cover the burning parts, but they were equipped with gas masks and fire extinguishers.

“Assume control of the Dreadnought, kill everyone on the ship. Clean up.” The Sverian Boarding Leader spoke before the party of a hundred men quickly nodded and swarmed through. Getting to an entrance door, a squad of soldiers went ahead and began to clear out the deck. Looking above for any possible shooters on the platforms or upper level windows.

"On the door! Halt!" A few soldiers got to the other side as they soon took out their guns and then slowly reached for the handle. “Easy-”

“Fuck it!” The lead soldier quickly kicked the door open and went in with his MP28, sticking to the wall before his fellow squadmates went in and looked around. “Check the corners! Check the walls! Check everything! Down the hull! Make sure they don’t scuttle this ship!”

“Understood!” The soldiers split up as they cleared the superstructure from living pirates, the soldiers quickly climbed up the stairs before checking the floor. As soon as a sailor got onto the ground floor, the men fired. 9mm Parabellum rounds riddled through his body and caused him to drop dead immediately. “Check the upstairs!”

“Jawohl!” The men quickly moved out towards the upper floors, quickly receiving their first casualty, a pirate with his self-maintained gun, taking out the initiator before getting bloodied up by a marine rolling and firing his AGG88 Sapper Rifle at the general direction, hitting the perpetrator by the arm joint before another soldier came over with a HAS A.3 Shotgun and blasted him with a 12 Gauge.

“Check him for a pulse! You two! Clear the floor!” The two marines nodded as they cocked both their guns, while a marine checked the fallen man for a pulse. As the men cleared the floor, more soldiers came in to secure it.

As that happens, a bundle of soldiers got through to the hull’s stairwell as a soldier kicked a pirate and sent him tumbling down the stairs. “On me.” The soldiers quickly got to the heavy metal door before trying to push it. “...It’s locked!”

“Anyone got grenades!?”

“Only one! We’re not supposed to blow up shit! This was only by chance that I brought this with me!” The man who yelled took out a grenade on his hand.

“Bahamut damn it! Find some shells we can use on the naval cannons!” Men quickly scrambled upwards as the sound of an explosion took place within the hull. “Damn it! Hurry up! We’re sitting ducks over here!”

It was a few minutes that a few soldiers came back with 15cm shells with blood on their uniforms and face. “Had to go through a bit of security. But where do you want this?”

“The door! Put it by the door! Now!”

“You heard him!” The men quickly squeezed through the marines before putting the shells by the alloy door.

“Get back! This’ll get splintery!” The Commander took the grenade from his man before he pulled the pin out. “Fire in the hole! Go! Up the stairs!” The High Explosive Shell quickly exploded as the grenade got set off. The door blew inwards with anything behind it being thrown backwards from the force. “Move in!”

The marines quickly jumped into the hull before getting shot at, a few managed to get in as the sailors armed with the 1920s era weaponry, which were maintained throughout the years. The Sverians quickly hid behind objects that were big enough to shield them from the bullets. “Don’t suppose anyone has another spare grenade!?”

“Ah fuck off.” Taking a fallen soldier’s MP28, a marine fired away at the opposing force, suppressing the men for a while, causing other marines to be able to open fire. The initiator reloaded the MP28 as he crouched down by his fallen body. Seeing that the man was alive, he ushered a few marines to bring him up the deck.

As the men ran through, they began to overrun the crew within the hull. Sooner or later, the entire ship was captured within the day.

“Honestly…” Adler looked a bit tired for the most part, a day used for catching a Dreadnought spent well. Now he’s on permitted leave by Victoria, who said word by word. ‘You should get some rest, all of the work has driven you insane at this point, dear Adler.’

He can’t blame her honestly. He was making weird designs over the days and weeks, and more bizarre by each day. “Hey, big bro! How do you think this looks on me?” He turned to find, what he couldn’t say was more a heresy.

His little sister, Erika Kruger von Fafsneer was bringing for the both of them. But then Adler really eyed her outfit, examining it. "What's with the get up?" He asked, the girl stopped on her tracks, looking a bit embarrassed and concerned.

“Well…”

“You know what? Never mind that question. Just sit.” The young woman promptly sat before pushing the glass of beer towards the man, who sighed at her. “What’s with the getup?”

“Nothing much, honestly. Big bro.” Her embarrassment washed away by her attitude. She addressed him, bubbly, honestly she was just like that at times. “I just wanna see your reaction to the dress, is it pretty? I’ve been saving it for the boy I met in school.”

“You’re...dating?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, he didn't look startled like an overprotective dad, but he was concerned on the matter.

“Err, not yet…” She spoke with a blush on her face. “I was meaning to ask you about what I should do, since you are a guy and in that phase.”

Adler had to choke on his beer, Erika can only look at him a bit worried. She was about to open her mouth, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Fucking hell…” He muttered a bit, Erika looked a little smug from her seat. “What?”

“Swear.” She spoke the one word, which got Adler to have a red tinge on his face.

“You know we can swear by twelve, right?” He asked, as if she didn't know about the matter.

“I know, but I just wanna see your reaction.” She giggled before breaking it to laughter. “A-Anyways...about the advice?”

“...Maybe tomorrow, I haven’t feel like it for the time being.” He responded with a still visible blush.

“Aww, but come on, big bro. You’re probably going to go out with papa fishing or something.” She gave him a pout of indignance.

“Why don’t you come along and we’ll have a bit of a chat about it?” Adler gave her a lazy stare.

“Well...tomorrow is a holiday…yes!” Her face turned from concerned to happy in a moment’s notice.

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me. I got some things in my room to attend.” His sister nodded, eager to wait for tomorrow. “For the meantime, do you fancy a game of Battleships?”

“You’re sure you’re going to challenge me on that?” Erika smiled innocently, a sweet, yet cruel smile on her face.

“I’ve been getting better, so we’ll see who’s going to fall first.”

“Ten Reichsmarks on the table.”

“Bet on it.” Erika jumped out of her chair, leaving the two brewed beer glasses on the kitchen table as the two headed for their old shared room from before Adler moved out. Well, siblings will be siblings, especially ones who had bonded over the slow years.

by **HypErcApitAl** » Wed Sep 02, 2020 11:20 pm

BRA (Blue Republic of Aimesland)

The Bunkers

"Can we change the Scenery, atleast? I'm sick-and-tired of being in this bunker; it's depressing." Sprout queried.

"Yeah, but everything we've known got bombed-to-Shit. Yeah, we may have archives and whatnot, but, just..." Allegra replied.

"Some people just do not know the meaning of 'Sacred,' Sprout." Allegra finished.

"Yeah, I know, Allegra... but..." Sprout acknowledged.

"They dunno Honor either. Shit, even the Deepstatists had more honor than to do... what had happened." Sprout placed her head in her hands again, sighing.

"And now, I'm stuck in a bunker with nitwits. Curse this."

The Chromists had tried sparking-up deals with Sprout Winston and her followers, the last time, it was a marriage between the BRAs' Spring Liberalist ideas and the Chromists' more technological ideas. A fusion between the Blue Republic and the Ageless and Spartan.

The BRASA (Blue Republic/Ageless and Spartan Aimesland) being a result of this political merger.

Aimesland was Technocrat, Futurist, and other ideologies already, but the Spring Liberalists had only placed their feet in the water. The Chromists were entirely technological. Yes, the Spring Liberalists had an adaptive ideology, and much political and historical clout, but the Chromists were more viable.

It essentially made the Spring Liberalists a technological half-measure. It was like a plant being hit with some sort of mechanical infection or pathogen, making it slowly Techno-organic, overtime.

So, at some point, the Chromists and Spring Liberalists would meet-up, and eventually, the merger would've been made - same goes to the Deepstatists, albeit the latter being symbolic. A United Front against all invisible enemies.

The fascists were too extreme and radical, a weed that lingered. The firstwave got killed off, thus causing the Secondwave to appear - Deepstatists, Faux-deepstatists, and other forms of Secondwave Fascism.

In Aimesland, this was going to make Fascism come in waves and spurts, but due to Deepstatisms' nature, it'd be hard to tell if a third or fourth wave appeared, as Deepstatism was cryptic and esoteric; dealing in the Shadow.

Spring Liberalism was the light, and Deepstatism was an aberration of it - pure shadow.

Aimesland had to become Mechanical.

Aimesland had to become the nightly shadow.

Aimesland was Vengeance, already being a Vigilantist state, but there was always a Plan B - there was always a second plan or contingency plans.

Loyalty, Honor, the Sacred, the Vigil, and so on... becoming no more as times change.

Maybe it was right to use Dirty Tactics - to fight like how the Enemy fought. Waging war by spitting in their faces and sucker-punching instead of fighting gracefully and with Poise.

Was honor and chivalry dead? Say 'nay!'

In the end - nothing is "Divine" under the Sun. Spring Liberalism is the cleanser. The purifier. The Progressivist Tidalwave will never relent.

There will always be Tidewater.

Democracy is a tree that needs to be Cultivated.

Water the Tree; Trim the Hedges - our President, our Gardener. The Sun shall rise on Aimesland, and the Flowers of Liberty will bask in the Light.

The Shears of Justice will prevail over the weeds. Over the malignant growths. Over the absence of moisture, the Desert that is tyranny. That is autocracy. That is Monarchism. That is Tyranny.

Sic semper fi.

Progressivism. Regeneration. Futurism. Technocracy. Meritocracy. Absurdism. Satirism. Surrealism. The Avant-garde. Accelerationism.

Being proactive; never Reactive.

Technocracy will supplement Spring Liberalism, but there was always... Chromism. Becoming purely technological and fully casting-away the old relics of the past, but still flowing freely like a waterfall or gliding like a leaf in the wind.

In the bunkers below, Aimeslandish Nationalists chanted, "AIMESLAND WILL NEVER DIE - AIMESLAND ADVANCES," they were at-work. No matter what happened, the Reds were always there, but there were always ways. The Aimeslandish were a cheery, optimistic folk.

A rebellious, proud people.

"LET HAIL DETH UPON THEE ENEMEE WITH THINE ARROWE!" A girl yelled.

And the once-peaceful were becoming warlike, like demons that never slept. There was never Pacifism, or forcing civilians to Carry, but there was an Armed Republic - everyone should be Safe. Safety ensured happiness; so on - so forth.

There was no concept of the Model; Aimesland and its peoples had broken the Mold, long-time ago. And there was now a fierce individuality, a fierce teenage independence, a fierce valor - the Bravehearted. And what, to kill? But the tree would always regrow, re-sprout, resurface, as it is what Trees do - comeback in Spring.

Spring, always Spring - no time for the Cold, no time for the Furnace, and definitely no time for the Decay of Autumn.

"Kid? You say 'Kid' like it's a bad thing!"

by **Guuj Xaat Kil** » Tue Sep 08, 2020 1:26 am

February 17, 1935
Presidential Palace Grounds

Rainy night down in Tlat'uu...

"Down south, sunshine's a dream." The old saying went, and right now sunshine was a dream. Heavy evening rain pelted Galen's umbrella as the lights that were the windows of his home glowed from a distance. A long sigh came out of him, one of gladness; he was finally home. The sounds of his boots squelching down the muddy path floated in the air, and the outline of the house slowly but surely grew clearer and clearer as he came closer to it. The next thing he knew, his muddy boots were on the wooden porch. He sighed deeply, "Home sweet home..." Galen muttered as he gave his now-closed umbrella a thunderous shaking, and his coat a single strong shake. He would've opened the door and slump a few moments later on the couch if not for the door being locked. He gave it three firm knocks and an "Anyone home?", distant shuffling from within the house followed.

Another sigh came out of the president, "She always locks the damn doors." One of her many little quirks that he picked up on as he spent time around her. Soon enough the door opened, revealing an embarrassed Lillian behind it, Galen quickly raised a hand to quiet her statement, "No no, its already nighttime, the doors should be locked anyway," he told her as he entered the already warmed hallways, the heat was balmy, pleasing to the senses, "Besides, the housekeepers always know to lock all doors by this time anyway." A small bait taken when he heard hear "hmm" behind him as he closed the door and locked it once more. He shook his head, no harm no foul after all, "Its alright, I know you did it but as of the moment, I don't care," he began walking to the living room, with his granddaughter following close behind him, "Just don't do it during midday or something." He let out a lot of pent up tension and aching in his body as he slid into the couch with a sigh.

He felt the couch shift as his granddaughter sat a feet or so away from him, and upon giving her a peek he saw that she was looking at the blade on the wall again. "Well, she's the one inheriting it after Gideon's murder," he exhaled hard at the reminder, making Lillian's eyes turn to him, "Welp, now or never." He stood up from the couch, then stood up on his toes to reach up to the blade's holder. "R-right," he struggled to say the word out as he fiddled with the holder, eventually grabbing the blade and putting it on waist level, "Knowing that you're getting interested in this thing, I guess its my duty to teach you the ropes as I taught all my kids; after all, someone's gotta know use this thing after I kick the bucket." She was staring at him intently now, with a face that exuded excitement; a soothing sight, he couldn't help but slightly smile at it. "Alright then, seems like someone's excited," he said with a grin, "Know that with all my presidential duties I'm gonna be hard pressed to train you everyday, don't be surprised if I don't show up one day to teach you."

"Speaking of duties, why aren't you in bed squirt?" he grimaced slightly, "That was a bit weak, you ain't lil' kiddo with the face people like to squish around now, are you? Regardless, head on to bed now young lady, you be thankful there won't be much tomorrow." She quickly fled the scene, and he could clearly hear her footsteps up the stairs. He stood up, placing the blade back in its holster. "Well, I should also be in bed." He said with a long yawn, it had been a long day and the possibility of being under warm covers as soon as possible was beginning to be an attractive prospect every second. He eventually followed up, leaving the living room then entering his room, bathing himself first before flopping unceremoniously onto the bed, sleep engulfed him quicker than usual.

The following day

Morning in the Tlat'uu Highlands

A dreamless sleep, but a refreshing one. And that was all that he needed to start the day on a good foot, "Slept like a baby too," he noted as he hopped off the bed with a quiet yawn, "Damn, I'm probably an hour or so late from my usual wake-up times. Oh well, I've dealt with the whole COIN thing with little to no sleep, they can handle me sleeping in for a few hours." Morning routine, slower than usual, but it was more refreshing. And he left the room with a small spring in his step, today would be good. Until a letter was delivered to him, but perhaps it would be different.

And... It was different? Definitely different than usual, it was from that Senator Armstrong, proposing that the Congress begin talking about a second, smaller naval arming law. "But doesn't the senator understand how unpopular the previous naval arming law proved to be?" he thought about the contents of the letter, and of the circumstances in which he got elected, "For Christ's sake, I got elected because they wanted the economy to not be crap" But perhaps he could allow this, let the Senator make a fool of himself and knock him and the Patriots down a peg, but not so much as to alienate the Armstrong family. Pocketing the letter, he proceeded to the kitchens for his breakfast, and knowing his granddaughter, she would be just behind the- yep, she was already there, eating. She looked at him, and he looked at her.

The stare held for a bit, before she broke it, "I guess you slept nice?" to this he gave a sigh as he seated himself at the table to eat the meal that was waiting for him, "Well, its good that you're well rested, don't want you "kicking the bucket" as you say." She did air quotes as she said those three second to the last words, she probably didn't believe that the old man would die that soon; Hiramsons were known to live long after all! "I think the food's kinda... oily," she muttered out loud enough for him to hear, "There's taste but its buried."

He chuckled at this, "Well, Hiramson cooking is a trade secret," he told her as his chuckles slowly leveled off into a smile, "And once your tongue goes "HirAM", you just can't go back." Chuckling once more at his pun, this quickly died as he saw the flat stare of his granddaughter, resulting in him coughing awkwardly. She suddenly raised four fingers.

"Four out of ten, I've seen better, but eh." She replied to him with a small grin. He sighed again, once more returning to the finishing of his breakfast. He'd get that 10/10 one day, he was sure of it. But for now...

"I can barely taste something from this egg..." He thought with a smidgen of disdain, but perhaps the rest of the day would go fine.

Later that day, at the Combined Chambers

It did not go fine, not one bit.

That Senator Armstrong was craftier than what Galen thought he would be: a loud, muscle-bound, parrot repeating whatever the Patriots fed him. Now however, he wondered who was doing the feeding, and as loathe as he was to admit it, the senator was the hand with the crackers here. It was bad enough that the man was going full sensationalist with his whole "the Nips and their cronies are coming to get us" rhetoric, but he also had to jump on the recently received offer from the other confederation in this world, the Solomon Isles. Said nation was looking for ships to buy, and the man had incorporated that into a need to sell outdated equipment and replace it with new equipment. The sale alone he said, would be enough to fund the proposed new naval armament act's ships, and still have funds to spare. And speaking of said NAA's ships.

"Assuming the sale of our entire outdated submarine fleet and D11 class destroyers for about 6 million dollars each, which results in a gain of 1.92 billion dollars," the senator began with a deep breath as he read from a paper in his hand, "We can construct a 5.5 million dollar destroyer and submarine class without issues. Some 1.1 billion dollars will be spent on 100 destroyers and 100 submarines, leaving us with some 820 million dollars to spend on other things." He looked at the paper again. Taking another deep breath inward, he resumed, "This 820 million dollars can be spent on other naval equipment, and we can leave out an extra 20 million for other things," he looked at the listening crowd, "I propose a new class of battleship costing us 200 million, two ships bigger and better than what we have now; then a 2nd set of Sheiyksh-class carriers, five of them to be exact, costing us another 200 million for each 40 million dollar carrier; and finally, a new cruiser class costing us 40 million per ship, yet another 200 million for 5 cruisers."

"What if the sale only goes through partially?" Another senator, one from the Democrat party questioned out loud, and soon arguments began cropping up. But these were silenced by the Patriot party senator raising his hand and clearing his throat.

"Gentlemen, if you let me resume." he said, "If the sale only goes partially, then we make the necessary cuts in the budget of this new act. Let's try getting a reply to those Islanders as quick as we can so we can get this whole thing over with." He drank from a bottle, and the promptly resumed. "If we can't get the full deal, we cut the carriers and cruisers by two ships each," he told the assembled senators with a finality in his voice, "We cannot afford to have outdated destroyers and submarines, especially with the potential of a blockade on the horizon." Galen could see some senators now looking expectantly at him, but most were still debating among themselves.

Sighing in acceptance, he told them that he would get to getting that reply to the Solomon Islanders as fast as he could, much to the cheering of the Patriots.

A reply from the Confederation to the Solomon Isles
ENCRYPTED

The offer the Confederation of the Solomon Isles presents is an intriguing one, one that we are willing to accept if the aforementioned party is willing to purchase these items from the Confederacy's naval assets:
300 Unit Submarines
20 D05-class Destroyers
For the price of 6 million dollars each, for a total of 1.92 billion dollars. Attached are documents pertaining to their capabilities, we hope that you will accept this most excellent deal.
D05-class Destroyers (20 ships)
Unit Submarines, Type 1910 (200 units)
Unit Submarines, Type 1913 (100 units)

by **Vulkata II** » Tue Sep 08, 2020 6:27 am

Somewhere in the islands, San Gloria's farm

"So what'ur t'lling me, 's tat I can shave 'off of a fue bucks 'ef I use yer fansy-shmansy wudberning mashsean?" Farmer David San Gloria once again reiterated to the men in overcoats, in which they rolled their eyes and sighed.

"Yes, that's correct Mister San Gloria. Any wood chippings that you produce, or any dry flammable material, you use to power your tractor, such as this vehicle right here," One of them patted the wood gas gasifier to emphasis his point, "will not only contribute to the nation's understanding of technology, but the government will also award you with a grant of 500 Confederate Dollars. Construction of your own will net you another hundred."

"I d'nt want yer' fansy-shmansy tech-hoohah, now git off me farmstead or I'll shoot ye." A younger San Gloria man tugged on his sleeve, pulling him so that the older man may not even lay a finger on the duo.

"Dad, the papers say that there's going to be a recession soon. It's probably best to find an oil alternative now before we dip into the red."

"I d'nt care fur sum reseshon. Those politishuns in Unity 'all just want moore muni from 'ur pockits than wirk a day in der lives, lik' dese two no good men-en-black!"

As the family bickered, the two civil servants tip their hats and headed towards their car, wishing them farewell. Inside the car though, one began banging his head on the steering wheel with no interruptions whatsoever from his partner, with the car being empathetic to the man's frustration by honking. After a minute or so, he stopped.

"Why the hell are we being 'nice' to these islanders for? Fucking dogs are smarter than them, and yet we're supposed to go farm-to-farm, house-to-house and telling them that the government wants them to test a fucking theory? Why the hell do we want an alternative to oil anyway? Don't we still have a few years or so?"

"Calm yourself Alphonse, you heard the boy awhile ago. There's going to be a recession soon, and it won't be pretty. Great Leader wants to try and improve the quality and quantity of grain and yada, yada, we've been told this at the patent's office."

"Oh please, someone with half a brain would know to get out of this shithole." He sighed and recollected his thoughts, which took a quarter of a minute, before grabbing hold of the steering wheel and turning the ignition of the car, "There's still a dozen or so, let's just get this over with."

Men-in-suits were scattered all over the Confederacy, pitching the same ideas and having mixed results. It was true though, the export of grain wasn't doing well and there were only so much fish in the sea. Alberto Año was not only trying to unify his country, but to make sure it was worth something.

Unity Hall, Leaders' Office

Speaking of such man, he looked outside his window and saw the heavy downpour that was the weather. Another week delayed for his new planes, and it was a depressing time. Alberto slowly walked back to his cubicle, with his arms at his back and passing- by every table and its clerk that he could need before finding his own desk before immediately burying his face on his hands and disappointment.

"Another week." He muttered, "Another week of waiting, and I still don't have any proper fighters defending my own nation, much less cropdusters flying around." He threw whatever was on his desk to the side (which was to say, a pen and pencil,) and proceeded to count with his fingers as they tapped on his forehead in vain as the the Great Leaders head collapsed on the glass on the table.

"Nothing's going right for me this week." Then a clerk came forward with messages and soon enough, he scanned all of them one by one with his eyes growing bigger with each word, alongside a smile, "Norcourt arrived to train our troops? Wonderful, if any of the officers stubbornly refuse to listen, be they young or old, I want them sacked immediately. Hell, tell the old 75th Cavalry that any Norcourtian officer that they get was recommended by me personally, and I want a response written now. Get me on the line with the Minister of Foreign Affairs!"

And so, he made a few phone call which transformed itself into a telegram, which was forwarded to the officers of the Navy.

Code: Select all: To: The Confederacy Foreign Affairs From: Unity Hall, Confederacy of the Solomon Islands. Encryption: HIGH To whom it may concern, We, the represtantives of the Leaders' Office, have considered your offer and thank you for considering ours. And with much deliberation and weighing of our options, we have agreed to pay the 1.92 billion dollars upon delivery and successful transaction of the assets. Once again, thank you for offer and we shall await the agreed products with the payment being wired to your national bank upon completion of the transfer.

1935-2000 Era War 4: New Beginnings (IC)

The rise of the Pirates

"Lemonade! That's the Voice-of-the-Nation!"

Post-Chamberlain Reality

Aimeo-Nihonese War

The Emergence of the Confederate Protectorates of Livonia

Manticoran Empire

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