Last Gasp of the Old World [MT, IC, APPLY FOR ENTRY]

by **South Reinkalistan** » Wed Mar 03, 2021 5:19 pm

OOC thread: viewtopic.php?ns=1&f=5&t=500013&p=38412455#p38412455

KaskiaRepublic
People's Federation of Reinkalistan

The hilly terrain in Central Kaskia is frequently used as a base area for Rekkutomel insurgents

"My time is up; yours has just begun. Do your ancestors proud, and by the Saviour's glory don't let us down."

Hattakan Foothills
7:04 PM

A light breeze blew through the lonely hills, clumps of foliage and small bushes rustling in its wake. The evening sun cast its light through the clouds, shadows stretching as the clock continued ticking down to nightfall. It seemed a land at peace, with little of man's intervention in sight. At this particular location, only a small dirt road betrayed the presence of the P.F.R.'s usually extensive public infrastructure, a utility long since fallen into complete and utter disuse. As peaceful as it may have seemed, however, this territory was no friend to Communists. Red Army motorised convoys would be frequently ambushed by large amounts of Rekkutomel insurgents, violent monarchists springing to kill the reds and steal their equipment, before fleeing with what they'd captured. Forged from a defunct military unit after the Reinkalistani Civil War, generations of dedicated royal restorationists had fought and died to realise the reinstatement of the Reinkalistani monarchy.

Following the fall of the crown in North Reinkalistan in the 80s, the Rekkutomel had lost a large amount of their foreign support, and began to slowly but surely fade away as a result. During this period, the leadership had fallen into disarray, and the protracted infighting saw the organisation's days - in the eyes of the government - to be quite certainly numbered. During these times, seen as chronic for the Rekkutomel, the son of the late Duke of Kaskia, Sarkos Tunchix, slowly managed to wrest control of the disparate factions and reunite the monarchist front under his claim for the throne. After a decade of subtle negotiations with the North Askander Defense League for support, along with careful management of resources, he had managed to build a rather solid resistance where many had seen a lost cause. By 2014, the Rekkutomel was back in full action, and the government was forced to commit more forces to the Republic of Kaskia in order to combat this new threat.

And it was now, seven years onwards, that Sarkos stood outside the Rekkutomel's base area, beset by a melancholy sense of defeat, itself carrying just the slightest hint of hope. A rounded scar on his cheek marked a previous close shave with death, while his greyed and wispy hair sat atop his balding scalp. Eyes once a brilliant green now looked sad and tired. For thirty-five damned years he had served in the Rekkutomel, and for twenty of those he had led them; despite that, the battle raged on, and the insurgency seemed to be failing to make any major ground. His efforts had seen the damned Communists frightened, all right -- but that just meant more of their armed goons marching through the region, oppressing his countrymen and slaughtering his soldiers. He sighed, gazing into the distance as the sun sank closer to the horizon. He was getting too old for this shit. He had to come to terms with the reality that he'd never be King of Reinkalistan.

And it came to him, as he had been thinking for many months now, the proper course of action. The Rekkutomel needed fresher, younger faces; not an old man weathered by time. To this end, he had multiple candidates in mind. But at the back of his head, there was a rather unorthodox idea. Titles in the Duchy of Kaskia had always been inherited by men. Women, unless there was no other option, had never really had much of an opportunity to see regal tenure. But Naranya Tunchix, daughter and youngest child of the aging Duke, impressed him far beyond any of his various sons, whose commitment and skills found themselves lacking at times. Her worrying ruthlessness aside, he saw much of himself in the girl. Charismatic, dedicated, and rather proficient in an understanding of the various functions of the insurgency, she would be the perfect choice, presuming he wanted to carry his House to the throne. Admittedly, he could place command in the hands of one of the higher-ups; and a small part of him knew that to be the better option. But he had sworn to carry on his lineage to the utmost, on his father's grave, and he wasn't going to give that up. Even now, he could feel the cold, dying hands of his old man, life draining out of the eyes of the figure to raise him. "You won't have died in vain, father." He whispered, words quickly lost to the wind.

Rekkutomel Base Area
9:23 PM

Naranya stood at the door to her father's room. She wasn't sure why she'd been summoned in such a manner. The Duke usually quite casual with her, reserving formality for those he considered more important regarding Rekkutomel politics. She'd led quite a few raids, and participated in even more, but despite this, Sarkos most certainly seemed to fail to take her seriously. The look in his eyes, however, when he had told her to meet him here an hour earlier, were anything but the condescending dismissiveness she had grown so accustomed to. She had not yet understood as to whether this was a good thing or not. Heart pounding, she creaked open the door and stepped in. The sight was, again, unconventional. Sarkos was seated at a table; he did not seem to have his typical glint of inspired brilliance in his eyes, nor the light-hearted, patronising aura he so frequently wore around her. His face was grey, a worn and serious expression plastered over it. It was not even calculative: he was grimly sincere.

"Father," Naranya began, taking a seat, "I've arrived."

She was greeted with a momentary silence, her father seeming to be thinking carefully. After what seemed like an eternity - though it could have been no more than ten seconds - he spoke. "Naranya." The tone was heavy and burdened. "I have called you here for a... rather important subject. It's a burden I have failed to bear, and that you must now in turn."

"What is it?" Worry flashed across the woman's face.

He sighed. Might as well get it out quickly. "I'm abdicating my title as Duke. With full control over the realm's inheritance, you'll be taking my place as Duchess of Kaskia and thus leader of the Rekkutomel."

Silence ensued. Naranya seemed to take the news relatively calmly, but there was no disguising the utter shock which had gripped her at that moment, seizing from her the confidence and determination she had carried herself with. "That... me? As... Duchess? That's insane! The rest of the council wouldn't allow it!" She cried.

"They will allow it." Came the stern reply. "I've been in charge for decades, and it's thanks to me they even have an army anymore."

"But... why me?"

"Because I have said so. I have considered it, and you are the most capable of leading both the House Tunchix and the Rekkutomel itself."

With frightened despondence, Naranya interjected. "I-I can't-"

"You shall." Sarkos said forcefully, irritation more than creeping into his voice. "You were born for this. As was I, as was my father, and as was his; it is a burden we carry, one we have always carried, on behalf of a people whose livelihoods hinge on our ability to prevent tyranny and secure the rule of law. It is my duty to ensure this lineage is maintained for the benefit of the country, and if I decree it to be your duty as well, then it shall be." He took a deep breath. "I place my faith in you so that you may not just maintain this rebellion, but bring it to its conclusion."

"Father, I'm... I'm only thirty-six! I can't run this!"

"Not much younger than me than when I took your position, Duchess. I'm announcing my abdication and resignation tomorrow." With that, the old man began to get up.

"Wait!" Cried his daughter. "You can't... you can't just drop this on me and expect me to take it in my stride! I cannot be burdened with duty whilst you forget that I'm human! You know the weight of what you place upon my shoulders, yet you leave it unattended and abrupt all the same. How can I stand with this weighing me down?"

Sarkos chuckled as he opened the door to leave. "That weight is the hopes and dreams of millions. Stop focusing on how it pushes you down, and think about how it will lift you up." With that, and before Naranya could protest, he stepped out of the room and briefly walked off, leaving a bemused and deeply worried woman in his wake.

About a week later...

Village of Terenna
12:58 PM

Sarkos stood with barely-subdued pride as he watched his daughter step forward. A camera was pointing at her, preparing to record. Hundreds of Rekkutomel soldiers sat gathered around, rifles in hand and somber faces. No doubt many of them were reluctant to see this woman become the duchess. But out of respect for Sarkos, and upon his insistence and command, they had accepted. She was to give her speech to the core group of dedicated revolutionaries to be under her command, and furthermore for it to be broadcast to the world. This, he reasoned, would mark a new era. One which would, with time, see his father's vision fulfilled, and the hundreds of millions on the subcontinent liberated from Communist tyranny.

He had helped her prepare a speech for the past few days, her reluctance quickly moulding itself into a steadfast, morbid dedication. Discipline ran in the House of Tunchix, it would seem. Now, as she stood before, the seconds counting down to her official inheritance, Sarkos looked fondly onwards. With a deep breath, Naranya began her speech.

Countrymen!

I speak to you having just succeeded my father, the honourable Sarkos Tunchix, as the monarch presiding over the Duchy of Kaskia.

I am now, also, the commander of this free army, dedicated to the liberation of our people from Communism.

It is an honour to serve. Upon our shoulders rests the livelihoods and liberties of everyone in this country. These are not fetters; these are wings.

For we fight knowing that behind each blow we strike, there is the full power of our compatriots underlying our efforts, not jackbooted thugs and brainwashed conscripts.

The authority of the police-state is derived from rifles and work-camps, while our struggle is legitimised by birthright and honour.

They expect that we will keel over and die. They expect us to go out without a fight! They wish to smother us, render us their puppets or meat on their bayonets.

We will not submit. Their blood will stain the ground, or ours will. It is the final battle for the soul of a nation.

I understand that not everyone here desires to see me lead this insurgency. You see me weak, young, inexperienced. That is fine.

I do not ask for your respect. I ask for the steel in your hearts and the courage in your veins. That which you have dedicated since day one.

Our leadership has shifted. Our objective has not: the utter eradication of the Communist filth, the enslavers of our kin.

The nation shall be reborn in fire. Today is the turning-point: the decisive offensive against the People's Federation begins.

To the death, countrymen. Fortune favours the bold.

And so it began. All eyes turn to Reinkalistan, now. Is this the nascency of counter-revolution, or just another small hurdle for the P.F.R.'s administration? As states once more scramble to pick sides, the future seems uncertain. The only guarantee is that blood will be spilled.

by **Allanea** » Tue Mar 09, 2021 2:14 am

The message is delivered by courier. It is the only way to deliver the message. It is not on any digital carrier – no key, no encryption. There is only a thin sheet of paper, so thin it is easily secreted, rolled up, in a pen on the courier's person, the letters so small they can be barely read.

The letter is for the Duchess' eyes only. Out of respect for her position, it is signed by the Queen of Allanea in person.

My dear friend!

To commence our communication, let me say first that I request that you destroy this letter as soon as you are finished reading it. I will provide proof that it is genuine – namely, three days after the courier delivers this letter, your men will hear the phrase "the memorial ceremonies for Colonel Douglas Shvenkov will make use of blue roses rather than the conventional red or black" on Allanea's Army Radio. However, the letter must be destroyed. It contains information and predictions that could be damaging to your cause if released. Burn it and spread the ashes carefully or use any other such method that would prevent reconstruction of its contents completely and utterly.

To be blunt about it, I have consulted the men and women who will normally consult a Queen on such matters, those ruffians who inhabit the dark passages under any Ministry of War worth its name, and their most expert judgement is that your cause is doomed. The absolute best case scenario is that you will be able to maintain the existence of the Duchy of Kaskia, the worst-case is that you are leading your men to a series of glorious, yet doomed, last stands. It is my moral obligation to warn you against this course of action.

Doubtless, you will believe that once the die is cast, there is no more of a way out for you, your men, and their families – certainly no honorable way out. There is only, now, the glorious struggle, a new Vandee, a new Don. Feasibly this is so. I propose, however, a series of actions that will allow us to preserve what can be preserved, while allowing you, and your closest associates, to take the other path. (Although, to be frankly, I do not believe it would be dishonorable to evacuate even yourself – I do not know if I can persuade you of this).

To be clear: you must not allow it to be published that I believe the above things. It would be a terrible blow to the morale of the brave men and women fighting at your side, and would make a tragic outcome more likely, and far faster. I need not elaborate the terrifying effect that panic may have on men's souls.

Then, we must conceive of ways to save what can be saved, and to inflict as much damage and suffering on the foes of liberty as we can.

For this purpose, I would like the option to work with your organization (which I will refer to as 'the government' henceforth) to provide it with help. For this purpose I would like to send out the proper contacts to your organization, to deliver aid in the form of weapons, volunteers, and instructors. In return I would like you to assist in organizing orderly, honorable evacuation – on return flights – of children, the elderly, and the injured to the Free Kingdom of Allanea, as well as those officials who will serve as ambassador, consul, military attache etc. to the Free Kingdom. I expect that, as part of their duties, these individuals will also provide the Ministry of War with such intelligence as may be needed for us to improve our assistance to the lawful government, that's to say, your[i] government.

Your friend,
Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, et cetera.

* * *

It was to nobody's surprise that the message was real, and indeed the necessary code phrase was in fact mentioned on Army Radio.

Now, the Allaneans waited.

by **South Reinkalistan** » Wed Mar 10, 2021 11:56 am

Fort Maykay
11:04 PM

Fire roared as the letter was engulfed in flame. The paper curled, swiftly turning black as Naranya herself sat solemnly, considering her next moves. The matter-of-fact statements from Queen Cassiopeia had not really been morale-inspiring for her; it was well-known that Allanea was no stranger to military confrontation and intervention. A declaration from such a position and under such circumstances that her rebellion was doomed did not invoke confidence so early into her leadership.

Admittedly, she had held on to the letter - against her better judgement - out of hope that the letter was fake, perhaps sent by the Politburo to unsettle her. But as the coded confirmation from the Allanean Army Radio came through just moments ago, it was taken on board and she burned the message. Quite upsetting, but to be taken in one's stride. No point in lingering on grim news -- she could not abandon her men so soon after promising to lead them to victory. The Rekkutomel would go all-in and die, or emerge victorious. If the former was much more likely, even inevitable, so be it. It changed nothing.

At least they saw it right to provide help. After all, their goals were aligned. Recent tensions between the occupier-government and Free Kingdom had been subject of much interest to the insurgency leadership, with differing reactions across the board. What was seen as the excessive liberalism of Allanea conflicted with the more conservatively-minded veterans of the war in Kaskia. What had been agreed, and indeed asserted by the Duchess, however, was that beggars couldn't be choosers and that both had vested interests against the false regime in Shikarewatis (no Rekkutomel soldier would ever dare to call it Turaniskidak).

Sighing, she decided to get started on her reply. After all, she couldn't leave the Allaneans waiting.

DUCHY OF KASKIA
OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE FROM HER MAJESTY THE DUCHESS

To: Queen Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky
Encryption: High
Regarding: Allanean Support for the Rekkutomel/Duchy of Kaskia

Your letter was received with much appreciation.

Regardless, it is understood that the Rekkutomel accepts the terms proposed by Your Majesty. The Rekkutomel - in the territory presently under its control - maintains a number of runways from which we can carry out this evacuation effort; those elderly and injured willing to leave will do so, as will children. Let us hope this is a temporary measure.

The representatives requested will be dispatched to your country, under the leadership of the former Duke, Sarkos Tunchix; he shall serve as ambassador. I personally thank you for your continued assistance against the terrorist-entity currently occupying much of the Reinkalistani subcontinent. The Duchy and the brave fighters on our side are in your debt.

Death to the Marxist fiend.

I have the honour to remain,
Duchess Naranya I Tunchix of Kaskia

by **Allanea** » Mon Mar 29, 2021 8:25 am

There were only two aircraft.

There were some, no doubt, who would be disappointed – whether Royalists who expected the Free Kingdom to open its wallets and armories, the weapons and money to flow like water, or Allaneans who expected the same. This was, however, not how such things worked. This was not how such things worked even in conflicts where one expected the faction one was backing to win – much less in a war where Allaneans expected nothing but a righteous, yet doomed struggle. Even in a conflict where a party fully expects victory, there are rules to be followed, checks to be made, before one hands a weapon to even the finest ally.

There were only two aircraft.

For their mission to succeed required days of planning – first, checks with the Rekkutomel to find which areas of the borders were least monitored, then, hours spent by analysts poring over satellite photography and broadcast records, cross-referenced with meteorologist reports – until, at last, a route for the two planes could be worked out that was more or less safe.

They flew low to the water, with the radar backscatter from the waves as their shield, and then followed inland. Once close to the enemy's border – and it was an enemy they faced, not an opponent nor an adversary – the two planes shut off their radar altimeters and radios. Satellite reception and terrain comparison was their only guide now, and if one of the planes suffered an emergency, it would be entirely feasible that all on board would perish, and the crew of the other aircraft would only find out when they arrived – if they arrived at all.

This time they were lucky.

The two aircraft flew their routes among the mountaintops, sometimes sneaking below the cloud cover, at others rising above it. Every time they vanished among the clouds, the pilots played a gamble with their own lives and the lives of their cargo. The dictum was as it had always been for mountain pilots – there, below the clouds, eternity lurked.

For the last leg of their trip they flew low over the plains. Below them, the yellowing autumn grasslands, the hills, the mounds of mining offal moved at speed. Those who looked up could not know what the planes were – perhaps those of the Reinkalistani Air Force, perhaps Rekuttomel planes, perhaps a smuggler – swift, grey shapes, passing overhead as the engines buzzed.

At last they descended towards the meeting point.

* * *

There were only two aircraft. From the first plane, several groups of men came down. They seemed all alike – four groups of twelve men, each carrying a heavy rucksack, forming in four neat rows on the landing pad before they placed their rucksacks on the ground. A fifth group of twelve. Where the first four group were clearly soldiers – all tall, all muscled, all bearing the marks of professionalism, all of the same hue of skin, all with their hair cropped to near-bald – the fifth group was mixed. Those were camouflaged too, but some were men, some women, some older, some younger. At their lead, a man in his late thirties, carrying a pistol and dagger, accompanied by a young woman with a submachinegun, who was shorter than him – just over five feet tall, while the Allanean officer (and one did not require any ranks to understand this man was an officer!) was a towering six-and-six.

The second plane was even now being unloaded. It carried pallets, for ease of handling by even the simplest equipment.

The man, meanwhile, turned to the woman alongside him. "Well, my erstwhile Anastasia, lead the way. It would be ideal if you found someone who's in charge here."

The interpreter – for this was the woman's role here – flagged down a serious-looking local. "This man here is Colonel Dianthus F. Carnation." – it did not require one to be a super-spy to understand this was hardly the man's birth name – "He desires to speak to someone in charge."

by **South Reinkalistan** » Fri Apr 02, 2021 7:37 am

Kuryekkin's Point
4:02 PM

It was most certainly an isolated base. A handful of rebels milled around performing their various tasks in what was effectively a glorified campsite nestled between the hills. Grizzled, scarred men and women alike were on break, sitting on boxes and on the ground playing cards, smoking cheap cigarettes - a luxury - or just staring emptily into the calm afternoon sky.

All in all, the two planes touching down gathered significant attention. While, of course, life in the Rekkutomel wasn't exactly boring, small outposts like 'Yekkin (a crude colloquialism for the location, honouring a warlord of distant antiquity) still didn't receive much attention from the higher-ups in the organisation -- much less foreigners. As the aircraft touched down, they most certainly had the attention of much of the base. Suddenly, a holler called: "Countrymen, ignore the planes and get back to work! These bloody boxes aren't going to move themselves!"

A tough-looking man stepped out with a female interpreter, and he marched over to one of the rebels. He said something in Russian to the interpreter, and she relayed the message to him. The rebel in question was rather short and stocky, covered in scars and carrying an assault rifle, an unfriendly expression on his face. Grunting, he motioned to a large, semi-permanent looking structure of white canvas with the three crowns of the Rekkutomel on the side. "The Captain'll be in there." With that, he went back to his empty staring at nothing in particular.

The interior of the quasi-tent was a most chaotic state of affairs. Books and papers and military equipment were all scattered everywhere, several tables with maps on set up and small counters designating unit locations. Rebel officers rushed about while soldiers ran through doing chores, an unusually animated scene to serve as the command post for such a sleepy base.

In the centre of this chaos, as if the eye of the storm itself, stood the Captain the rebel had mentioned. He wore a red beret and jet-black fatigues, his eyes wide and frenzied as he stared intensely at the map. "Planes, planes, planes! We can't take the amount of planes they have!" He called to no one in particular, "but I'm sure if we move our SAM sites..." he trailed off, noticing the arrival of Colonel Carnation. He smiled, a genuinely gleeful measure. "Ah, you have arrived, friends! The Duchess herself notified me that you would be coming! How can I help you?"

by **Allanea** » Fri Apr 02, 2021 8:01 am

"Good day, Sir." - spoke the Colonel. " I have with me several teams of Operatives – that's to say they're trained in direct action but also as instructors. There's also a plane that's loaded with supplies which I understand your men are unloading as we speak. Substantially, I'm here to organize assistance for your men, on one hand in the terms of training in a range of disciplines, on the other hand I'm here to observe your operations and get a better understanding of what your people need." - he waited for a few seconds as the interpreter relayed his meaning.

"What we have in the plane are all manner of supplies which will make warfighting run a lot smoother, so to speak, for your men – night vision goggles, binoculars, uniforms, boots – seemingly minor things, you know. But you look like you know how important these can be. Going forward we need to see what are things you need. But for now I'd like to talk to you about my teams- obviously we're not going to stick all fifty men in one place – we'd need at least four locations where we can deploy them in decent conditions, probably three that are relatively secure training bases, and one that'd be closer to the action so to speak. Do you grasp my meaning?"

The interpreter spoke again. While she did, the Colonel looked about, taking in the details of the office – he did not come to be where he was in life by not paying attention.

by **South Reinkalistan** » Fri Apr 02, 2021 8:47 am

4:04 PM

The Captain's smile grew wider as the interpreter spoke on, seemingly undeterred by the small number of men to arrive. He clapped his hands together with elation, before remembering his position and reasserting his own composure. "Right -- well, I am sure this can be arranged. I don't necessarily have the authority to immediately make such deployments by myself; I will have to get you into contact and bring the matter up with High Command. You have my thanks - our thanks - regardless, and your help is much appreciated."

He stood up and nudged one of his aides. "I'd like you to contact Maykay, confirm the Allaneans have arrived, and request General Vanczyrska makes his way here as planned."

"Yes, Sir."

With that, the aide rushed out. The Captain turned to Corporal Carnation with a slight smile. "Well then, while we wait for a representative of High Command to arrive, you'll be here I suppose. Should I organise accommodation and food for you and your men? Must be tired after the long flight here."

by **Allanea** » Fri Apr 02, 2021 9:06 am

If there was any disappointment that Colonel Carnation felt, he did not not betray it. He said, simply:

"I understand. Please, direct my men to their accomodations."

by **Outer Acharet** » Fri Apr 02, 2021 5:36 pm

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───────────────

Prof. HARLAN AUGUSTIN

GRAYS COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES | LEYTON | ACHARET | DAY 0

It always rained in Leyton. Or at least, it seemed it did. Day in, day out. They said it didn't always rain, that it was just the monsoons that made it that way, just the rainy summers, or the rainy winters, or the rainy springs and the rainy falls, but nonetheless it rained. The streets were flooded with puddles, the river swelling its banks. There was water, water everywhere- water in the bay, water lapping against the barges' hulls, water tumbling down the River Elythe from the Crescent into the sea, water falling down to the sky onto a city grown used to the drum-drum-drum of rain ever-present through the days and months of its life, water beating against the windowsill of Harlan Augustin's dull, dreary classroom and tumbling down to the university green below.

Green- the same color as the lower field of the flag hanging behind him, the only splash of color in the collegiate whites and dun browns of the sideroom and the equally muted clothes of the precious few students in front of him. Only eight, there were- eight in the entirety of his political sciences class, eight people in the entirety of his program. None of them looked particularly interesting. Either they were the sons- always sons, never daughters- of some rich industrialist up north trying to get their kids into Acherton- no, Achar-Tam, they're calling it that now- or they were empty-eyed, sunken, tired people trying their damnedest to get a bit of sleep in between other, more relevant classes.

Relevant- it had been a long time since Harlan had been relevant. Professor Augustin, or August as his students called him, had had a full class precisely once in his entire educator's career. That had been back in the early eighties- or was it the late seventies? Only fifty-eight and his mind was already going, he thought- when those Reds had been stirring the pot abroad. Albish, they were, or maybe they were some other lot. People had cared, then, even if they'd only cared about the prospect of bombs dropping on their quiet homes or ships full of soldiers sailing out of their quiet ports. But no one cared any more. Anno Domini nineteen-ninety-three and all people could be damned to care about was where their next meals came from.

If Harlan was honest with himself he hardly cared any more either. A career spent teaching people passionate only for the career ladder they'd be climbing outside his classroom had done a number on him, the once-inflamed young idealist now little more than a broken middle-aged man with limbs slimmed by disuse and the faintest hint of a pot-belly poking through a worn tweed suit. There wasn't anything to care about, no causes to rally for, nothing that anyone could change in this country. There were wars abroad, soldiers killing each other and dying in ditches for crowns and scarlet banners and men in jackboots, but nothing here. Even the tanks those so-called revolutionaries were so fond of rolling down city streets were starting to show their age. It was the little changes one had to grow to love- the changes in the trees, the changes in the weather, the changes on the calendar.

Not revolutions. Revolutions were for other people, Harlan thought, watching as one of his students- a man in a suit far too expensive for him to have purchased with any sort of fair-won money- gingerly turned a page in his textbook. Or maybe it was a textbook- it could've been a bloody snuff novel and Harlan couldn't have done anything to take it from him, judging by that suit. That suit said many things, foremost of which was that this man was going places, and that marking him down as anything less than a perfect student would be the quickest way to earn a censure. His parents probably paid for a good portion of Grays, or at least the executives' salaries. And that made him exceptional, in more ways than one.

The only revolutions that happened in Leyton, Harlan knew, were those of clocks completing yet another loop around their circuits. And, he started to see, those proclaimed by the badges of the pair of uniformed men that with a slam blustered through his classroom's door and moved to seat themselves at the back of his room. They stepped with grace unbecoming of their entrance, and of their giants' bulk, and like whispers they somehow managed to fit themselves into a pair of students' desks. Another, leaner, balding man in a considerably plainer suit, his eyes framed by wire-glasses, stepped through into the room after them and took his place by the door. Harlan shifted a hand in their direction, his tongue frozen in his mouth, but the little one raised his hand, and struck dumb Harlan lowered it again.

Well, this was interesting.

Wait, the man mouthed, and gestured for Harlan to slip down into his director's chair once more. The professor did so. He hadn't even realized he'd stood. His eyes wandered to the clock on the far wall of his classroom, and as if the turning of some great machine or the convenience of God demanded it it rang, the old clapper sounding hollow throughout the room. One after another, his students shuffled from the room, and the muscle that had entered stood. As they stepped closer Harlan found himself shying away from them.

"Do you... do you need something?" he said, his voice quivering as he stepped forward to shake the balding man's hand. It was cold, clammy- like a fish. Well, that was to be expected- it was raining outside, after all. It always rained in Leyton.

Collected, the man's mouth opened. It moved tightly, precisely, the words it formed calm and measured. "Not particularly. Or rather, yes- you." His hand dropped to his pocket, and he produced a crisp, white notecard. On it was scribbled in blue pen a set of letters written just as precisely as he was. "Professor... Augustin. As in, the university."

"Hah- actually, it's tine, that school, Augustee-" Harlan was rather firmly reminded that he was not presently dealing with his typical dispassionate student by a snap of the man's hand and a corresponding subtle shift of one of the suits standing behind him. This particular individual was disinterested in Harlan's words for a rather different reason than most people he dealt with. "I, uh... yes. That's me."

"Political science?"

Harlan nodded again, this time curtly, whatever energy he might've put into it now devoted to not producing another snap. "Well, um, focus on world affairs. I... not many people care about it."

"Indeed. It's preferable to the alternative." The man turned back to his card, his aside going unmentioned and unacknowledged. "The alternative, Professor Augustin, is what I'm here for. I doubt you're aware of this, despite what your file says, but the Revolutionary Army- I'm sure you've heard of us- makes a habit of, well... keeping tabs on world affairs." He shook his head, the sole tuft of wispy grey hair on the fore of his head bobbing as he did. "It's a necessity of our mission.

"And, well..." he continued, "we sometimes see opportunity in what we see. We are not, Professor, as passive as what your tenure here may lead you to think." His thin lips curled in something that he probably thought wasn't at all an intimidating smile. He was wrong. "Sometimes we take a distinct interest in those opportunities, and sometimes we need specific people to look into those interests. I suppose you understand what I'm saying."

No, Harlan thought, I definitively don't. He nodded nonetheless.

"That's what I thought." The man stuck out his hand once more. This time Harlan grabbed it without a flinch. "The name's Sheffield, by the way; Ernest, to be precise. These are Brown and Keating." He nodded his head at the two musclebound, uncomfortable soldiers behind him, one with close-cropped hair in a buzzcut and the other a Marine-style block shave. They dipped their heads in turn. "Anyways, I believe I've something to ask you."

He leaned in closer now, as if conspiratorially. "Son, would you like to do your country a favor?"

"I..." By now, Harlan was sorely confused. This was moving very fast, especially for a man whose primary job consisted of watching rich assholes waste his time. But something told him that acting as if he was in any way not following the conversation would be a poor choice on his part. "...I suppose so." He turned to glance at the flag behind him. He bore no particular love to it, but he knew a man with a concealed firearm when he saw one, and both this Brown and that Keating very clearly were two such men.

"Good. Then I'd say it's on to the matter at hand we go." The RevArmy representative slid his card back into his pocket and produced another, just-as-anally-detailed second to its first. "Like I said, son, we've got eyes in most places, and, well... we've been seeing things, recently. In some place called..." the man, Sheffield, looked back down at his card, his nose curling as he did. "Wrinkle-Stan. Their, uh... Kaskia, more precisely. In essence, all you need to know right now is that the state's a People's Federation and their people are up to something decidedly intriguing to us. We'd like you to take a bit of a holiday there, have a bit of a look-see. On the Civil Service's dime, of course."

Warily, Harlan dipped his head in a nod. "I see." He did not. "But... why are you coming to me? What the hell even is this?" A pause, uncomfortably long. "I... sorry, sir, pardon my language."

At Harlan's outburst, Sheffield's eyes had narrowed in a way Harlan found quite ironic. But just as quickly as they'd tightened they fell back to a neutral, impassive gaze. "No trouble, no harm done. Anyways, why is simple enough. The list of people with any sort of academic reason to take an interest in foreign events and the political background to justify following Wrinkly-Land's particularly closely that we're aware of is an incredibly short one, and the second-nearest one's all the way across the Crescent. We're not all that fond of flying her in by helicopter if we can get you-"

Oh, so this was what this was all about. Something had told him that attending that Communist function back in his own stint at college thirty years ago was going to come back to haunt him, but he'd never been quite sure how. Well, now he knew. And apparently, Sheffield had known well before him: "-and even though we're sure you've moved on from whatever you believed in your wild youth, my good man, it's enough for our purposes."

"Oh, by the way- I don't expect you to say no." Sheffield stuck out his hand once more, and just as before Harlan took it. This time he was distinctly aware that the slime and the clamminess in Sheffield's grip was distinctly not the rain's doing. "Your calendar's been cleared already." He smiled at Harlan, and with cornered eyes Harlan returned the gesture.

His lips moved, and the words they formed were ones he already despised. "...yessir."

Sheffield nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's a good man. Now buck up. Life is about to get a lot more exciting for you, my boy. You're finally making something of your life. It's going to be much better than this dreary old classroom, eh?"

Harlan didn't know what to make of any of this. And that- that scared him.

Dept.

of

FOREIGN AFFAIRS

REVOLUTIONARY ARMY of the STATE OF ACHARET to the DHOERISH UNION

ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ʜɪɢʜᴇsᴛ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ - ʀᴇᴄɪᴘɪᴇɴᴛ's ᴇʏᴇs ᴏɴʟʏ

^{Communique from the}
REVOLUTIONARY ARMY OF THE STATE OF ACHARET

THE PEOPLE'S VOICE SHALL NOT BE SILENCED

To whoever may find themselves in reception of this letter;

Firstly, thank you for your time in receiving this. I am well aware that both the symbolism of our organisation's name and the motto we so proudly center on this communication would be significant turn-offs, as it were, to any possible opportunity for cooperation.

However, I would like to take the opportunity to reassure you that despite the total and complete diplomatic silence of our state in regards to the majority of the rest of the world and your region of it in particular our own interests align rather closely with yours.

We are well aware of the ideological stench of any sort of communistic bent; we have dealt with it ourselves, on more than one occasion- the rifles gracing our seal aren't just for show. And to our foreign apparatus, this stench reeks most vehemently from these so-called "vanguardists". We have been through ways and means enlightened as to the specifics of a situation developing in the southern provinces of Reinkalistan we are certain you remain well abreast of.

With this knowledge in hand, we find it in our interests to act on it in some degree. What form this action will take is presently limited in scope- we do not intend to interfere in that which is definitively the Confederation of Reinkalistani States and your own state's sovereignty. The southern provinces of Reinkalistan are and will always be completely out of the right of the present occupying regime to administer. Nonetheless, though, we are as mentioned unfortunately at present an unknown to your state, or to your fellows. We apologize presently for this laxity; our previous unwillingness to interact on the diplomatic stage was one our circumstances dictated to us. Those circumstances no longer apply to our Civil Service, and thus we wish to begin to do what we can on the world stage to right its present wrongs- the regime occupying southern Reinkalistan a prime example of those ills, and one we would do well to oppose, albeit for the moment quietly.

However, certain obstacles we face at home persist and make the prospect of any sort of open participation in this situation a non-starter. We would wish to enter into greater cooperation with your state in regards to approaching this issue; the values of liberty you espouse are those we share, and while we are aware that our potential to take action in the region is far less significant than yours, we nonetheless are interested in seeking out opportunities for joint action.

Our proposal, then, is more or less a simple one: We wish to engage in intelligence-gathering operations in regard to the special circumstances currently unfolding in southern Reinkalistan. Furthermore we wish to foster cooperation between our two states. We have come into possession of a suitable set of individuals for the undertaking of such an action, but given the... uniqueness of the regime in de-facto control over the territories in southern Reinkalistan, and your own significant influence and stake in the region, we find it to our favor to inform your government as to our planned action and to secure your support.

Thus, my government's request: If you will permit our few liaisons your support and your bloc's support in entering Kaskia and conducting our planned actions there, we are prepared to offer you whatever fruits it may produce with full openness on our part and complete deniability on yours. We are, unfortunately, as yet an unknown- as we have said. We wish to rectify that situation, and offering our skills to you in this regard seems a suitable way to do so. Our people are professionals. An acceptance of this offer would do both our states much good.

I eagerly await your response and the coming period of cooperation between our governments.

Signed,

Undersec. of State Terence Maugher

by **South Reinkalistan** » Fri Apr 02, 2021 7:25 pm

Satychi
Dhoerish Union

Presidential Residence
8:02AM

President Frederick Elias. That was his name. It was a name that echoed the world over; one that evoked fear or adoration, hatred or love. For where Dhoeria stood, it was propped up by a military presence that inspired awe into its allies and envy into its enemies. Across the D'ailloustre Line - the division between Vanguardism and Liberal Democracy - the sight of Dhoerish soldiers was more common than those of the native armies which stood there. It was during Elias' 7-year Presidency that this utter dominance had grown from "powerful" to "suffocating". There were now significant opposition movements in the nations of the North Askander Defense League which desired to see the Dhoerish out, pacifists who saw them to be more occupiers than liberators. This challenge to his country's sphere of influence concerned Elias, but regardless he was still of a stalwart conviction: the line, and the forces currently stationed there, would be maintained.

Elias himself was a striking man. A stubble-dusted, pointed chin jutting upwards to form a sharp jawline, almost flawless raven hair punctuated by streaks of arctic grey. He was the ideal politician -- handsome, charismatic, intelligent, and more than anything ruthless. The will to utterly destroy his enemies, and the pretty face and silken tone to make it acceptable to the press. If there was anyone who was ready to bring down Dhoeria's professed hammer of liberty unto the communist, it was Elias. He of course had increased funding for the Rekkutomel in the P.F.R., something frustrated by what were rapidly becoming somewhat impermeable security measures by the occupier regime. He envied the pre '01 Presidents; Mozhkin Turaniski's father had been comparatively lax with state security, and shipping equipment to the rebels had been a laughably easy task. Not anymore. Now the flow of arms had been frustrated, greatly reduced numbers compared to what had once been. But regardless, Dhoeria would find a way. It always had done. As long as the tyrant stood and his shadow was cast over nations in chains, the free world would stand eternal and adapt accordingly.

He sat in his office, at his meticulously polished oak-wood desk, working on some more boring, non-descript work -- reading briefings, approving projects; the usual. This dull monotony was shattered by a most welcome knock on the door. "Come in." Elias' voice was deep and firm, yet with a softened quality to it. The door creaked open, and his secretary stepped in: a smiling, high-heeled, and eternally smiling woman named Krista. She held a sealed plastic folder in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. "Ah, Krista." He noted, quickly presuming that the message was uninteresting.

"Good Morning, Mr. President." Beamed the girl, deliberately ignoring his dreary, bored tone. "I have some important news, or so I should think." This caught the President's attention, his eyes rising from his work with a glitter of interest. "Well," she continued, "I presume so; it's a communication for your eyes only, so it better be relevant news at least."

"Interesting." He smiled. "Leave it on my desk, please. I'll get round to it soon."

"Of course!" She placed the folder - marked "PRESIDENTIAL VIEWING ONLY" - next to his laptop, nearly spilling his mug of tea while she did so. After a hasty apology, she hurried out, leaving Elias by himself to investigate the mysterious message. He cautiously cracked it open, and withdrew a printed piece of paper, containing a message from a Foreign Secretary he had not heard of, hailing from a country of a similar nature. "Acharet...?" He murmured to himself. The name didn't exactly ring any bells. Regardless, he read the contents, and was rather intrigued by said contents. A brief internet search confirmed that, indeed, a nation called Acharet did, in fact, exist; he picked up his phone, directly linked to Krista downstairs. It rang for a matter of seconds until it was picked up at the other end. "Hello?" Came Krista's voice.

"Krista, mind getting me through to the Foreign Office?"

"O-of course. Sending you through now."

DHOERISH MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS
OFFICIAL COMMUNICATION

To: Terence Maugher; Undersecretary of State; State of Acharet
Encryption: High
Regarding: Proposal of Co-Operation Against the People's Federation of Reinkalistan

Greetings,

The Dhoerish Union has received your message. We appreciate, greatly, your offers of assistance. As it stands, the "People's Federation" of Reinkalistan - an illegal occupation of territory which by right belongs to the Reinkalistani Confederation - is a threat to the liberties of all free men and women across the globe. Hundreds of millions suffer under its iron fist, the embattled masses crying for liberation against the uncaring Commissars and Partymen who treat them as undifferentiated human matter. Despite our relative lack of knowledge with regards to your existence, an unfortunate complication no doubt produced by your priorly isolated position (which, for the record, the Union does not necessarily oppose at all; foreign affairs and how they are exercised are a key part of the national sovereignty that we have no wish to infringe upon), we are willing to tentatively support your embarkment upon the operation you delineate.

Naturally, it is preferred that Dhoeria's involvement in your plan is best kept unknown to the world at large. This is a matter of national security relevant to the integrity of our commitments to the North Askander Defense League; however, we are willing to support your efforts in any reasonable capacity you desire. Obviously there are limits, but these limits are significantly more flexible given the nature of the adversary we both face. Of course, this is conditional support; namely, we would like to request the following:

That no harm whatsoever comes to the civilian population in southern Reinkalistan;
That Dhoeria is informed to a greater extent than at present with regards to the particular nature of Acharet's planned operations; and
That no existing Dhoerian intelligence networks in the region be disturbed. Further information might be provided on request.

These terms are generally non-negotiable. Apart from that, however, Dhoeria is wholly able and willing to support your endeavours.

Yours Sincerely,
Jonathan Kosch; Minister of Foreign Affairs; Union of Dhoeria

by **Outer Acharet** » Mon Apr 19, 2021 12:25 pm

◦ 1.1 ◦
───────────────

Dept.

of

FOREIGN AFFAIRS

REVOLUTIONARY ARMY of the STATE OF ACHARET to the DHOERISH UNION

ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ʜɪɢʜᴇsᴛ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ

^{Communique from the}
REVOLUTIONARY ARMY OF THE STATE OF ACHARET

THE PEOPLE'S VOICE SHALL NOT BE SILENCED

To my esteemed counterpart Mr. Kosch;

It brings me and the government I represent no small satisfaction to see our offer of cooperation so warmly received; we had previously considered that our state's previous diplomatic tendencies would have earned us some skepticism, and your acceptance of our proposal is certainly a welcome one. Of course we find your terms satisfactory; all things considered, they are incredibly generous. Declaring them as non-negotiable is, of course, to be expected, and my government understands as much. Similarly your request for absolute secrecy is one we will be pleased to uphold to the utmost of our ability.

Thus we may discuss the terms you have proposed.

While we are not able to confirm with absolute certainty that this will be the end result of our operations, we are nonetheless happy to comply within limits. We will make all due effort to prevent causing undue harm to an innocent and indeed oppressed populace; however, should in the event of unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances our operatives be forced to evacuate the region we are prepared to offer compensation for damages incurred. Some degree of flexibility must exist in all statecraft, I'm sure you understand.
This is absolutely understandable; in the name of operational security we were previously intentionally quite vague about our response. Our proposed operations are as of present incredibly limited; the intent as of present is to (with Dhoerish assistance in conveying our people through the League's assets near the militarized zone) insert a small number of (functionally redundant) personnel into Kaskian territory by any means possible and conduct observational work regarding the ongoing crisis there, as via a small, unaffiliated presence we would be capable of conducting much closer observation of events than more prominent operations might be able to achieve. Similarly our personnel will via intermingling with the local populace begin the cultivation of an Acharetian network in the region. By doing so, we intend to in essence demonstrate the potency of our state's intelligence framework in light of conducting further operations. In addition to our operational detachment we intend to deploy a small response team for the purposes of necessary extraction, on the scale of two to three light rotorcraft. These will not be employed except in the direst of circumstances facing our own operational unit.

In essence, good sir, what we intend to offer your state is redundancy. By constructing our own structure independent of your own, we are capable of providing you with a second route into the region that might survive should catastrophe occur, and are capable of keeping an information flow out of southern Reinkalistan in circumstances where other methods might otherwise fail. Two heads are better than one, as it were.
Of course. We will conduct ourselves with the utmost professionalism and discretion. Acharet has never failed to do so in previous operations, and we do not intend to blemish our Civil Service's good reputation now.

As an aside, the primary reason for the Acharetian state's limited foreign engagement notwithstanding we would most certainly be open to the provisioning of information and engagement in the future. Anything for our cooperation, my good sir.

Signed,

Undersec. of State Terence Maugher

by **Polska Rzeczpospolita Robotnicza** » Tue Apr 20, 2021 1:03 pm

Warsaw, Polish People's Republic.
23:25

The streets of Warsaw lay silent, Warsaw never really had an outstanding nightlife but with the renewed curfews, it would seem as though all activity in the city had come to a halt by this time. Every once in a while you may see a BTR-60 belonging to ZOMO moving through the streets or set up in a blockade, but other than that the city was entirely dead, as though someone had just pulled the plug and turned off the sound. In the dead of the Warsaw night, a dim light could be seen moving through the road by a ZOMO patrol, getting brighter and brighter every second it approached. When the light had turned into the silhouette of a small black car, a vintage FSO Warszawa, the ZOMO forces quickly moved to block it off, moving onto the road to cut off access for the car. As the vehicle came to a stop after seeing the officers, the man driving would quickly open his door and display a card to the men, before they would back away and let him through the roadblock. Damnable buffoons, he thought, those morons should've been instructed I was on my way. Despite his ill-thoughts towards the ZOMO, MO, and the SB that ruled over them, he sighed and tried to remain somewhat composed.

The small car continued on its journey towards its destination, the building of the Central Committee of the Polish United Workers' Party. As the vehicle continued upon its course, other ZOMO groups stood down upon seeing the vehicle, having been ordered to after the first roadstop incident in order to avoid wasting time. When the vehicle arrived at the building itself, the occupant of the car quickly moved to exit, and rushed into the building as though he were late for something of incredibly importance. Heading into the building, the man quickly rushed into the meeting room, where some nine other men, all particularly annoyed looking, were sitting. The man took off his coat and moved to sit down for the meeting, which had been apparently called for such short notice as it surrounded an issue that the other members of the Politburo were already eager to get on with. Unfortunately for the tired and late man, he was the Minister of Foreign Affairs, someone who was critical to this meeting and who should've not been trying to get to sleep when his phone blasted across his home in the middle of the night. The dishevelled man stared blankly at the First Secretary of the party, before the meeting was officially started.

The First Secretary started off with his usual greetings to the members, before commencing with the true reason the men had been assembled. "Gentlemen, as I'm sure you know, you have been called here to a meeting of the Politburo to discuss the current state of affairs in Reinkalistan..." Reinkalistan. Reinkalistan. There was something off about the name, it simply didn't roll off of the tongue of the man, as though it were a foreign name to not just Poland, but the entire goddamn planet. He knew what it was, of course, but there was something about it that always made him feel uneasy when hearing it, something to do with the way it was said perhaps, or just his fatigued mind infecting his thoughts again. Either way, there was still something that felt off to him, but nothing that he could really do about it. "Comrade Mozhkin Turaniski is a vital potential ally in that region, and the Polish People's Republic must do whatever it can to assist a strategic interest against those who would not be collaborative with the interests of the Polish working people." The First Secretary continued on, acting as though he had just convened the entire Central Committee instead of a bored and gloomy Politburo that would rather he just got on with it instead of filling the room with pointless, wasted words better spent on younger and more enthusiastic cadres. Nevertheless, one was not usually in a position to say anything against the general, at least not to his face anyway. Regardless, the meeting rolled on into the night.

Thankfully, once the First Secretary was done presenting the issue, most of the Politburo agreed that it was necessary to dispatch aid to the South Reinkalistani regime, in order to assist them in their fight against reaction in the north. Unfortunately, discussion on how to achieve that aim would lead to a divided consensus. The other military men saw sending armed support as volunteers and assistants for the Reinkalistani armed forces as the most viable method, with forces to be flown in through air-freight along with equipment, both small arms and other, heavier pieces such as artillery and armoured vehicles. The other members preferred that only small arms be sent until the situation in Reinkalistan could become more clear, worried that sending Polish forces could damage the economy through keeping them in Reinkalistan, and also worried that shipping over what amounted to a battalion's worth of troops would probably not be considered friendly by foreign regimes that could turn their gaze upon Poland next. The disagreement only worsened once one of the generals suggested what amounted to a repeat of the Afghan War, an actual invasion of Northern Reinkalistan with aid of the South Reinkalistani forces. Needless to say, this idea was swiftly beaten down, but the discord prevented any proper productive solution from being found for a few hours before the Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the verge of collapsing from weariness, suggested a mixture of a limited number of troops to train the Reinkalistanis in using their equipment, and equipment to assist the People's Federation in their fight. How and why nobody had suggested this before was dumbfounding, but needless to say, the men had mostly come to a consensus on the issue by around four in the morning. Closing the session, the First Secretary was about to embark upon another one of his verbal tirades before one of the other members fell asleep, cutting him short with their snoring. In the end, the session was closed by everyone's fatigue, not by the First Secretary, something he would definitely get back at the other Politburo members for at some point in the future.

As the minister trudged back towards his car outside the building, he stopped and stared at the ground for a second, attempting to get his bearings after having nearly collapsed walking out of the meeting room. Slowly, he would begin to make his way towards his vehicle again, before falling asleep at the wheel as soon as he sat down in the car. He was woken up by a MO officer on patrol outside of the building a few minutes later, and was escorted home aboard a MO APC, preventing him from dozing off in his car, which would only be a threat to his own safety and presumably not a fantastic place to spend the night either. Regardless, the minister dreaded the task that awaited him tomorrow, writing a communique to send to the Reinkalistanis was something that he had no patience for at the present time.

Warsaw, Polish People's Republic.
08:00

Having been awake so late the night before, the minister was certainly not happy to have to wake up now, and was extremely displeased at the prospect of having to write any message to anyone, let alone an official government communique to the Reinkalistani government. Nevertheless, it was an unfortunate necessity, something of vital importance to the Polish state and to the PZPR itself, especially in the wake of the collapse of the vast majority of the USSR's forces during the invasion a decade or so prior. Regardless, the strain of continuous government work since the the 1990s had put considerable stress on the ability of the minister to function, and as the party continued to age, more and more formerly enthusiastic men were becoming worn out and broken, with the strange exception of the First Secretary, who still behaves as though he had just saved socialism from the traitors of the Round Table or whatever the fuck they called Solidarity and the ex-PZPR negotiators these days. Moving to dress himself, the minister thought about resigning from his position and appointing some youthful underling to his place, but let go of that thought when he realized that they would never accept his resignation and would keep him in that office until the day he dies. Not exactly a comforting thought as you were about to go to that exact office, but the only one he could really provide himself with.

Stepping out from his house, the minister was disappointed to find that his damned car hadn't been dropped off to his house, but expected no better from ZOMO regardless. He began his slow and painful walk through the streets of Warsaw, heading in the direction of the Central Committee building, hoping to find his car before he goes to his actual place of work. A few minutes of walking wasn't so bad though, it allowed him to clear his mind of the anger he had been feeling that morning, returning him to his usual, calmer self. Well, until the next infantile incident in the party anyway. Luckily, his car was still parked where he had left it, and nobody had touched the damn thing in the time it had taken for him to get there. Of all the places to leave your car, at least the Central Committee had reliable constant patrols that made sure that the vintage thing wasn't stolen and driven into a ditch by some drunken teenager, or sold in Ukraine by some sleazebag Russian immigrant hoping to get rich quick.

Piecing himself together, the minister drove towards his most hated building in his entire life, the fucking Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Getting out of car after parking it, he trudged inside the building, before walking up to his office and planting himself in front of his telegraph machine. Better than those old computers that hadn't evolved in the last three decades at the very least, he quietly thought to himself, still wandering around in his mind, thinking about what to type to the Reinkalistanis. Although more ministries were adopting the computer as more commonly seen hardware as opposed to the venerable old typewriter or the telegraph, it still remained the preferred way to send most official messages between countries. He quickly dusted off the old typeface, which was stamped with official government seals signifying the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, before beginning to type his most important message.

Official Communique from the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Polish People's Republic
Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła!

TO THE OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE PEOPLE'S FEDERATION OF REINKALISTAN

We are aware of the intent of foreign powers to assault the righteous People's Federation of Reinkalistan, and as internationalists we are compelled to support Reinkalistan in her struggle for freedom and democracy against those who would so eagerly strip Reinkalistan bare of anything of use. As to ensure the victory of Reinkalistan, the People's Republic of Poland has authorized the transfer of the following materiel for the defence of the Reinkalistani nation against foreign imperialism:

Ten-thousand (10,000) units of the 7.62x39 chambered AKM produced in Poland for export purposes.
Five (5) SKOT-2A armoured personnel carriers mounting a 14.5x114 chambered KPV Heavy Machinegun along with a coaxial 7.62x54 chambered PKT Machinegun. Each APC is capable of carrying up to two (2) crew
and ten (10) passengers. Horsepower is rated at 177 hp with a Tatra T-928-14 V-8 diesel engine.
Fifty (50) units of the GROM MANPADs system. Each launcher is single-use with a reusable gripstock and thermal battery system, allowing for components to be recycled when the launcher is expended.

The People's Republic of Poland is also willing to provide training assistance to the People's Federation of Reinkalistan in order to facilitate the usage of these weapons systems and ensure that maintenance will be carried out as expected by current Polish People's Army specifications. If the People's Federation of Reinkalistan is uninterested in the training assistance, then the Polish People's Republic will be willing to export the desired materiel with necessary maintenance manuals and kits as to ensure proper function in Reinkalistani hands. The people of Reinkalistan can be assured that the Polish People's Republic will continue to act in the best interests of the international proletariat, and that the working people of Poland will struggle alongside the Reinkalistani people against the imperialist menace.

We shall continue to recognize the independence of Reinkalistan under the banner of the Reinkalistani People's Federation, those of the imperialist world that do not recognize the freedom of Reinkalistan will shudder as the combined arms of the working people march against the Northern Reinkalistani reactionaries and their foreign capitalist puppet-masters who desire nothing but to bleed Reinkalistan dry in the name of imperialist plunder and cruelty, along with funding their mercenary allies and arms manufacturing cabals. If the People's Federation has any particular requests, then the Polish People's Republic will be open to negotiations for exact arms shipments and deliveries, along with necessary repair equipment and training should the People's Federation have an interest in more complex gear that is currently in the hands of the Polish People's Republic's stockpiles. If not then Reinkalistan can place an order for continued materiel deliveries, and the Polish working people shall deliver upon production request.

May the friendship between our people continue onwards into the new dawn of a socialist world order, and the final victory of the working people over the vile reactionary cliques that threaten our brave parties and people. For an eternal cooperation between Reinkalistan and Poland in the name of socialist fraternity!

Signed by the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Polish People's Republic, Władysław Stankowski

by **South Reinkalistan** » Fri Apr 23, 2021 4:24 pm

KaskiaRepublic
People's Federation of Reinkalistan
~~⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀~~

Merely shows immediately relevant information. Is not exhaustive.

Joskakiczkiy RRA Base (JOSRAB)
9:23 AM

The way that Lt. Josef Yariskavich saw it, three words had governed this region of Kaskia since the Rekkutomel had popped up again: pain, terror, and uncertainty. Be it from the Republic's governor acting with brutal force against suspected enemies, or for the raids of the Rekkutomel to result in pointlessly destructive conflict -- this region had been a destabilising force which had afflicted his country for too long. He didn't even care what was right or wrong anymore, to be frank. As far as he cared, he just wanted the killing to stop. And like it or not, the best hope for stability was the leadership of the Turaniskidak government. The rebels could try all they wanted, but they couldn't change that simple fact.

Yariskavich was sitting in the back of a windowless truck, entering the base. Around him, about two dozen other soldiers sat in a sort of companionable silence. A few of them were smoking, while one or two were greedily eating what remained of their rations. They were wearing military fatigues, armed with with rifles and grenades, and a few had scars. All of them had a deadened, steely look in their eyes -- men who had seen combat. Hardened veterans of multiple interventions by the Socialist Revolutionary Defense Force, they were now dispatched to train and lead the impromptu "People's Emancipation Civilian Defense Companies" as a counter-insurgency technique. This new initiative would see a generally "independent" militia force organised from Kaskian locals many of whom, occupants of the largely rural republic, knew their local regions like the back of their hand. From towns close to the conflict, those seen as ideologically-dependable had been enlisted and sent to a nearby Red Army Base. Joskakiczkiy was the largest of these, an impressive holdout of munitions and military organisation. It was also the command centre for the entirety of the campaign against the Rekkutomel -- had been for decades.

The truck hit a bump, jolting the men. A few more bumps followed, no response as the vehicle shuddered abruptly, like it was being shaken by a giant hand from outside. Eventually, it drew to a stop and a shout came from outside: "get out of the vehicle, you lazy sods! We're here!" The back of the truck was opened, and the gathered men blinked at the scathing light of day reaching into the dark, enclosed space. Outside stood Cpt. Terocz Hyurezivicki, a mean-eyed, thin-jawed weed of a man with a surprisingly deep voice uncharacteristic of his appearance. He had a rattish expression on him at all times, his face screwed up in an eternal squint. Truly, he was a comical enigma of a man. Didn't mean Yariskavich hated him any less. He was such an authoritative, such an arrogant character, rising rather quickly in the military because of his father's links to the War Commissariat. And worst of all, thanks to said aforementioned links, bad-mouthing him became rather difficult. He'd get away with abuses and insubordination, enjoying the relatively measly amount of power he had at the expense of his comrades like the malignant little gremlin he was.

Of course, Yariskavich couldn't say any of this to the man's face. He just nodded as the Captain smirked at them with his paper-thin lips, motioning for his unimpressed men to depart the vehicle. Of course Hyurezivicki had asked to come here. And of course his grotesquely obese, invertebrate father had managed to worm his son's way into this shithole. The young Lieutenant sighed, lighting a cigarette and nestling it between his lips. "Good morning to you too, Captain." He hopped out, followed by his entourage of companions. The base was impressive; large, pale yellow concrete walls dotted in guard towers and topped with barbed wire. It was also full of various tents and impermanent shelters, some for command purposes and some merely to provide the soldiers a place to sleep. The sun was reaching into the sky, and the oppressive Kaskian heat was just beginning to emerge. Yariskavich sighed, turning to Hyurezivicki. "Where are we needed?" He didn't want to waste any more time than necessary, especially not with this fucking clown. In response, like an opening wound, the shorter man's lips parted to reveal a sly grin.

"With me, naturally. Your unit will be under my command, the men you'll be training working with the men I'll be training." He let that sink in to the despondent soldier, whose only response was pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling casually. Hyurezivicki stepped backwards, displeased, avoiding the smoke.

"Is that all, sir?" Yariskavich seemed totally unbothered. His superior seemed unsure what to say.

"Yes, I suppose," the Captain said, looking around awkwardly. "Shall... shall I introduce you to the locals we've picked up?"

"That'd be great. Where are we going?" Yariskavich was still nonchalant, determined not to yield ground to his tormentor. Hyurezivicki pointed at what appeared to be a distant gap in the tents, a few heads vaguely visible.

"Right over there." He said brusquely. "Come on then, follow me!" He then walked off, without another word. One of Yariskavich's men turned to the Lieutenant.

"I think you pissed him off, sah."

"Well-observed, Comrade. I think I did." Yariskavich nearly smiled. If being subordinated to the man didn't endanger the country he'd sworn to protect, he'd have maybe found it funny.

CentralTuraniskidak
People's Federation of Reinkalistan
~~⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀~~

Exterior Commissariat (COMEX)
5:22 PM

Everything about the Exterior Commissariat building was uncomfortable. The air was stuffy and warm. The hallways were cramped and narrow. The men and women inside were grey-faced and stern, working in the eternal monotony of the gears behind the South Reinkalistani state. Its exterior was not much better, a large concrete block dotted with small windows and adorned with faded red flags. It was a sobering atmosphere, but also a suffocating one. Get up, go to work, do your job, go home, eat, sleep. Rinse and repeat day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Rinse and repeat until you put the barrel of a pistol to your fucking head, or looked where you weren't supposed to and got a knock on the door from the Ideological Office, or even just associated with the wrong people. You couldn't trust anyone, and even if you could it was best to keep to yourself.

Revolutionary solidarity and companionship, it appeared, was at a premium. Keep your head down, go through your day, and go home. At least nobody took their lives for granted here. At any moment it could all be snatched away from you, losing everything with no hope of recovery. Perhaps you just had to take the fall for the mistakes of a higher-up. But for Head Ambassador Vandov Desket, he felt alone. So alone. There was nothing to do, nobody to listen to him. Apart from one man, he supposed. But that wasn't meant to be talked about, it was meant to be suppressed. Never think those thoughts in public, or even around other people. That's how you gave things away, made people suspicious. If the Ideological Office suspected something, they would find out sooner or later. But regardless, there was always a silver lining for Desket. He knew that one day, emancipation would come. The revolution would prevail, crimson banners unfurling over all of Askander, over the North, over Dhoeria, over the entire world! Then there'd be no more of this. A temporary measure, it had to be! The Party would prevail, as it had been divinely sanctioned to do.

Suddenly, the phone on his desk rang, shaking him from his thoughts like he was wrenched from a dream, his arm fumbling for the phone, picking it up and putting it to his ear. "This is Head Ambassador Desket, how can I help you?" He instantly recognised the voice on the other side.

"Comrade Ambassador, this is Commissar Turnov." Desket almost smiled warmly despite himself, before making a swift self-correction. He knew there were cameras in his office. But the voice of his old friend - colleague, they were colleagues - was welcome.

"How good it is to see you, Comrade Commissar. Why do you call me?" He maintained a steady tone, a steady rate of breathing.

"Your work-station has been sent a communication from..." Turnov paused, as if he was reading something from a piece of paper. "The Polish People's Republic. You have been tasked with responding on behalf of the Commissariat of the Exterior. It is regarding aid for our revolution against the reactionary scourge in Kaskia. You are to draft a statement accepting the aid from our Comrades, and send it back to me so I may edit and send it on behalf of the Exterior Commissariat. Have you understood?"

"Yes I have." He looked at his monitor, quite an outdated thing, but functional nonetheless.

"Excellent. That will be all. To victory."

"To victory." Turnov hung up, and Desket put the phone down, trying to mask his nervousness. The revolution did not need weak men. He looked at his workstation, where he had been sent a basic list of general outlines for his statement. He set himself to work, drafting. This wouldn't be published under his name. Despite his station, he was really just another pencil-pusher, better served for meetings and writing things like this for the higher-ups. But he liked it. He liked Tur-- working for Turnov. So he tapped away at his keyboard, writing more and more until it was finished. He then emailed Turnov with the final product. Desket then sat back and sighed, before sitting back up again swiftly.

The revolution had no place for idlers, either.

People's Federation of Reinkalistan
Exterior Commissariat

Regarding: Offer of Polish aid to the masses against the counter-revolutionary insurgency in Kaskia
Encryption: High
To: Władysław Stankowski, Foreign Ministry of the Polish People's Republic

23rd April, 2021

The President, Comrade Mozhkin Turaniski, has received your message, and on his behalf I would like to express his thanks, as well as thanks on behalf of the Reinkalistani Communist Party and the proletarian dictatorship consolidated within the People's Federation of Reinkalistan as a whole. The Reinkalistani working people greatly appreciate the assistance of the Polish People's Republic in their mighty quest to establish a precedent for the expansion of Proletarian Vanguardism and the mutual fostering of internationalist ties with other states broadly aligned with the goal of global working-class emancipation.

It has been decided that we graciously accept your offer of munitions and of aid, though it is not expected that the soldiers of the Reinkalistani Red Army will not require any particular training in the operation of any of the equipment listed, nor will any special maintenance assistance be needed. The Polish People's Republic is still, nonetheless, thanked greatly for their offers.

That being said, it is understood that an initiative of the People's Federation to combat the insurgency in the form of units constituted of aptly-trained and conscripted locals near war-zones, properly audited for ideological correctness in the face of the battle for superstructural dominance now faced by the combative social forces of the Reinkalistani workers and the bourgeois reaction initiated in the occupation zones of the Kaskian republic. It is held in accordance to proper socialist military doctrine that it is ultimately the whole mass of people who determine the ultimate outcome of a conflict, and therefore it is helpful to root the conflict in the centre of the masses so that it may be fought between the decaying force of capitalism and the extending force of socialism as they exist basically, in their purest form.

In any case, Polish troops helping the training of these units, especially in a situation as delicate as this, would be appreciated by the People's Federation, as would the Red Army. Currently the largest unit of this type, the 2nd PECD Company, headed by Cpt. Terocz Hyurezivicki, would benefit the most from your assistance, especially from training with the equipment you provide. The PECD units do not exist under the Red Army.

It is trusted that the Poles understand the relative delicacy of this information and that knowledge behind the purpose of the troops is generally kept as a secret. It is also trusted that the Poles will handle this information wisely. Your aid is, again, most invaluable in the struggle against the reactionary.

The People's Federation of Reinkalistan hopes that it might use this to embrace a further greater relationship between the Polish and Reinkalistani states.

May the revolution against the imperialists, settler-colonialists, and reactionaries be ultimately successful.

Signed: Exterior Commissar L. Turnov
Release authorised by the Ideological Office

by **Allanea** » Sat Apr 24, 2021 8:16 am

Kuryekkin's Point
3:02 PM

General Iosef H. Vanczyrska did not have the air about him that suggested 'rebel commander'. He most certainly bore the uniform of one; but everything else about the man seemed doughy, fabricated, and unimpressive. His chin - one of many - was short and fat, his face round and poorly shaven, covered in rogue tufts of hair. His eyes were small and green, his form rotund and portly. He was also rather short. That said, he spoke authoritatively -- with an edge of experience to his voice, a hint of something deeper which betrayed a nature different to his outward appearance. He greeted Colonel Carnation with a slight smile and a nod, gesturing to a chair by a table in the centre of a tent. "Please, sit down Colonel. It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

“Good day, General.” - the Colonel spoke. “I am here as the direct liaison of the Free Kingdom Armed Forces. I am sure that you’ve been briefed already but I would like to go over the work that is ahead of us so that we can get started properly.”

The man nodded. "By all means, please. Do continue."

“Now, as you are already gathering, I’m a representative of the Organization for Armed Shenanigans, which is the main intelligence body of the Free Kingdom. To be even more precise, I’m an Operative, which means I am a special operations man of a particular type - a sort of mix between a spy, saboteur, and diplomat - none of which I say to impress you, but to explain the nature of this mission. My task here is to organize better training for your men, while also helping them in carrying out a range of direct actions. Simultaneously - and this is where the ‘spy and diplomat’ part comes in - we’ll be helping you gather information on enemy operations - as well as helping you gather information on your own operations.”

"Mhm." This was mostly known to Vanczyrska, through a general mix of the admittedly relatively small amount of information the Rekkutomel possessed, and guesswork on his part. Regardless, this was definitely a boon of sorts; though the Duchess - and ex-Duke - had perhaps expected more. But beggars could not be choosers. "I see. Do carry on -- what's your plan, Colonel?"

“Substantially we will need to work out a training program where we will work with the different tiers of your organization - the Terretani, the Voynatani, and the Ludczieki. We will try and ensure that they make the best use of the equipment that’s going to be provided. Going forward this will mean that their performance will improve in tangible ways. On the other hand, this will help us figure out what equipment to provide going forward - night vision goggles, or rifles, or encrypted radios. We’re in a situation where we can’t exactly move a cargo ship full of tanks to your door, but what we can do is try and get the things in that can be moved in small amounts and yet change a lot of people’s lives for the worse. You are beginning to see the possibilities, I hope.”

The Colonel paused. “General, medical science teaches us that a knife that penetrates an inch beneath the skin may be lethal if you but know where to strike. In some places, blood vessels come up so close beneath the skin that they can be sliced with a mildly-sharpened butter knife. In a state oppression apparatus there are also such blood vessels and nerve centers. Which means that the other side of this operation will be one where we work to identify them. And then, general, it is time for the knife.”

by **Polska Rzeczpospolita Robotnicza** » Sat Apr 24, 2021 6:28 pm

Warsaw, Polish People's Republic.
10:00

Stankowski was not a particularly ill-tempered man, but his disdain of computers was one of the only things that could serve to make him legitimately angry. Never particularly good with the new technology, his strained face stared at the little white boxes with nothing short of contempt most of the time. He understood the vital necessity of having computers, as they were useful for mathematical or storage reasons, but he never particularly saw them as a great method for communications. Most communications systems he had seen set up on these things were primitive, having usually been small building-sized computer networks conducted through bulky cables that made him wonder why they even bothered instead of relying upon older telegraphs or if they really needed a message sent, wireless communication, such as radio. Nevertheless, the ministry that he commanded recently received a transmission from Reinkalistan in the form of a computer encrypted message. His annoyance at this fact was known by anyone who worked under his command, with others working at the ministry knowing that he was particularly unwilling to utilise a computer to send a return transmission to the Reinkalistanis. The decryption process had been surprisingly easy though, as the computers available to the Poles were able to decode the message the Reinkalistanis had sent using a decryption key provided by the Reinkalistani consulate at the request of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Stankowski stared at the message on a sheet of paper handed to him by his secretary, the printed version of the Reinkalistani communique, knowing that information of such importance would need to be handed along to the Minister of Defence as soon as possible, so that dispatching the resources needed by the Reinkalistanis could be achieved.

The message that had been sent from nation to nation had definitely approved the transfer of military weaponry to their country, which was useful, as that much had already been agreed upon by the Polish government during the previous meeting of the Politburo and then rubberstamped by the ministers in the government afterwards. Stankowski knew that these weapons were definitely going to be handed over to paramilitary forces, although transporting them would be a pain, due to the fact Poland only possessed around two functional transport aircraft, both of which were An-12s of Soviet vintage. Unless the Reinkalistanis could help with transporting the Polish weapons back to their own country, then Poland would have to make multiple trips in order to drop off the SKOT-2As that they promised to the Reinkalistanis. The weapons could be easier, but it was still a matter of transporting some ten thousand AKs, which would still take time and effort, along with large transport aircraft to move such a bulk amount. Hopefully, Stankowski thought, the Reinkalistanis could be asked to help move the equipment from Poland to their own country.

Stankowski was well aware that the Reinkalistanis were offering to allow Polish forces into the country in order to facilitate the training of local militia groups against the rebel groups within Kaskia, however, whether the Minister of Defence would overreact to the issue or not was to be seen. The Minister of Defence was never a particularly agreeable individual, a former military general, the minister was stereotypically belligerent in his way of thinking, believing that he could brute force a conclusion to a conflict and that merely killing everyone who disagreed would be a suitable end to the conflict. He was one of those men that had earned his place through his loyalty as a commander and through his willingness to align his forces with the First Secretary's visions, his powers stemmed not from his popularity, or approval, but from his willingness to whip the military into line. The First Secretary had at one point also been a general, having used his forces in support of the People's Army coup in 1989. In addition to having to meet with the Minister of Defence, now the Chief of Staff would also have to be informed of the plans to transfer units as part of a training force to Reinkalistan. The Chief of Staff was more approachable than the Minister of Defence, being a militaryman first and foremost meant that the Chief was not as involved in the politics of the state, and would actually give useful military advice to those that needed it, including disapproval if need be. Finally, the First Secretary would also be involved in some capacity, for his position as First Secretary meant that he could effectively force the ministers to do something through the fact that the Council of Ministers was little better than a rubber stamp entity for the PZPR.

Leaving the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Stankowski began his journey to meet with the First Secretary and organize a meeting to determine the allocation of assets to the Reinkalistanis. On his way to visit Kor, his face was blank, the look of unenthusiasm incarnate stared back at itself in the car mirror. Stankowski hoped to God, if he existed or not, that no stupid decisions would come of this.

Warsaw, Polish People's Republic.
12:00

The meeting with First Secretary Kor was going as well as one would expect, at the start, Stankowski had showed up asking for a meeting with the Minister of Defence and Chief of General Staff along with the First Secretary. And then, of course, in true Roman Kor style, the general had started lecturing the Minister of Defence on the phone, talking about the necessity of duty to the international revolution and the strength of internationalism driven forward by the People's Democracies. He went on for what seemed like a good thirty minutes about why he should show up to the meeting, but thankfully, he let the Minister of Defence inform the Chief of Staff on his own, preventing another long wait for Stankowski as the First Secretary was unable to ramble any longer. Of course, when the Minister and the Chief of Staff actually did show up, he would probably go after them in person, which would be an issue all on its own.

Waiting in the First Secretary's office was not uncomfortable, the headquarters of the Central Committee of the PZPR was a relatively nice building, and the chairs were of high quality in comparison with the more usually seen chairs that the general populace used in their daily lives. The walls were covered in artwork, including a painting of Lenin behind Kor's desk, likely made some time during the twenties and then preserved somewhere in the USSR until the Poles got their hands on it. The meeting place would no doubt be in an actual meeting room within the headquarters, and when it was announced that the Minister of Defence and Chief of Staff had arrived, the First Secretary and Stankowski would go to meet them in a private room. Stankowski awaited the meeting between the First Secretary and the other two with nothing short of dread. If the experience of the late night meeting of the Politburo was anything to go off of, then this was surely Kor's revenge. Kor always had one, and this time the payback would be nothing short of a solid few hours of pain and conversation that would inhibit Stankowski from doing his job and actually being useful for the day.

Arriving in the room the First Secretary and the others would take a seat, with Stankowski blankly staring at the First Secretary's face. Stankowski's eyes tracked Kor's lips, waiting for them to open and spew forth the dialogue to end all dialogues, a plague of locusts disguised as words that would fill the room and consume the energy of those exposed to them. When Kor began to speak, Stankowski knew that it would take a long time before this day would end. The Minister of Defence had suggested that the Polish People's Army should send a company of mechanized infantry in BMPs to support the Reinkalistanis, which was surprising, given that one would've expected him to suggest an entire army or some other ridiculous proposal instead. It was evident that the Chief of Staff was already playing his card and using the minister as his mouthpiece, a move which only served to further show the fact that the Chief of Staff was one of the more capable military men in Poland currently, and would more than certainly be a useful Minister of Defence, atleast if Stankowski was running the cabinet. The company was agreed to be a company from the fifth Kołobrzeski mechanized regiment from the twelfth Szczecin mechanized infantry division. Under the command of a Major Janusz Staszewski, the mechanized infantry company would be used to aid in the training of anti-reactionary forces in Kaskia, along with having a large enough presence to act as a combat unit if needed. The meeting was surprisingly brief, considering that Stankowski was paranoid about Kor getting his revenge upon them for the incident at the Politburo a night or two ago. Needless to say, Stankowski was relatively pleased with this fact, and especially now that the arrangements for sending troops and equipment to the Reinkalistanis had been thought out and a request for assistance in transporting some items could be sent to Reinkalistan with approval from the other more important men in Poland.

Parallel to his exit from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Stankowski's exit from the Headquarters of the Central Committee was more enthusiastic, his movement was less sluggish than usual, and he seemed less drab than usual. He may still despise the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, wondering if he had wasted his life in becoming a diplomat, but ultimately he was pleased enough with himself and the arrangements made at the meeting to actually make an effort to smile on his way back to the Ministry, happy that he'd finally had his own way. Despite the fact that the meeting had gone relatively well, however, Stankowski was still concerned over the logistical effort that would have to be made in order to transport the necessary equipment over to Reinkalistan, in addition with how exactly the soldiers would feel about being sent over to such a country as Reinkalistan, especially the.. Afghan area of the country. Not resigning himself to that thought, Stankowski quickly reshuffled his mind, bringing his attention back to the task at hand, which was going to be requesting assistance from the bloody Reinkalistanis if he was ever to actually be able to move all of these units and the associated equipment into their country. Granted, the Poles did have infantry transports that were fairly reliable, just hardly anything to transport the heavy equipment if needed. As his car pulled up in the parking spot outside of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he would stare at the building and sigh, knowing what he had to do.

He entered into his office and moved to look at his desk when he suddenly saw it. A bloody computer was now sitting on it. His Telegraph machine was still there, but it had been shuffled to the side, and the computer was now loitering on his private space, mocking him with its pasty white plastic panelling, the dark monitor screen stared at where he should be sitting at his desk. Granted, Stankowski had said that he would need a computer for actually encrypting messages with modern methodology, but he had not exactly expected it to have been moved into his office while he was busy. Whatever, he thought to himself, I can work with this fucking thing. Atleast that was what he hoped he could do. Sitting behind the keyboard of his new device, the minister began composing his new communique to the Reinkalistanis. This computer, a ripoff of an IBM PC XT, was surprisingly not as bad as he had thought it would be, although he missed the clack of his old telegraph keys, and the typeface too. But, it was necessary to communicate with the new world, and so it was his replacement for the foreseeable future.

Official Communique from the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Polish People's Republic
Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła!

TO THE EXTERIOR COMMISSARIAT OF THE PEOPLE'S FEDERATION OF REINKALISTAN
Encryption Level: HIGH

The Polish People's Republic has reviewed the contents of the message sent by the People's Federation, and has decided to authorize the deployment of the following as part of the training mission to the Republic of Kaskia and the PECD units currently requiring training as to prevent the victory of capitalist reaction in Reinkalistan:

A single Motorized Rifle Company from the Fifth Motorized Rifle Regiment of the Twelfth Motorized Rifle Division. This company will be dispatched with one hundred and ten (110) soldiers, led by Major Janusz Staszewski. This company will be equipped with twelve (12) BMP-1 Infantry Fighting Vehicles as part of their compliment, with three infantry platoons to be assisted by a single support machinegun platoon with three PKM general purpose machineguns as part of the support compliment. The BMPs will provide transport for the company if needed, allowing semi-independence from the Reinkalistani logistical structure in terms of troop movement.

With this in mind, the Polish People's Republic is currently unable to provide full transport for the units without multiple return trips. For ease of movement, the Polish People's Republic requests that the People's Federation assist in transporting the military aid that the Polish People's Republic had authorized previously, in addition to aiding in the transportation of the Motorized Rifle Company's heavy equipment, such as the BMP-1. The Polish People's Republic is capable of providing transportation for the infantry, but our low numbers of heavy transport aircraft prevent the easy movement of armoured vehicles and bulk equipment. With assistance from the People's Federation, the Polish People's Republic would be much less strained in our transport capacity. Cooperation between the Poland and Reinkalistan could be shown through the usage of Reinkalistani aid in transporting Polish forces, displaying the fraternity between our two nations. If the People's Federation is, however, unable to assist, then the Polish People's Republic shall try to the best of its ability to transport its own materiel to Reinkalistan.

The enemies of socialism would wish for the destruction of our nations and our popular governments, and although the Polish People's Republic still remains a people's democracy, we are willing to aid our more advanced comrades around the world. Poland and Reinkalistan shall live forever as eternal allies and friends, our people shall sing songs of praise of one another. May Reinkalistan come out victorious from her great struggle against those who would want nothing more than the sale of its people into a brutal and corrupt slavery. May the fascist rebellion be struck down by our agreement of friendship, and may those who would dare to threaten the working people be crushed by the international cooperation of labour!

For the eternal struggle of the working people against their enemies!

For a free working class!

Signed by the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Polish People's Republic, Władysław Stankowski

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Sun Apr 25, 2021 8:13 am

April 25th, 2021 - 10:52 p.m

0.99 PALV

Pan-Asiatic States • Estados Pan-Asyatiko • 泛亚洲国家
News • Balita • 通讯
ENGLISH • INGLES • 英语

Exercise Scarlet Zenith: Pan-Asiatic States Drills Reinkalistani Red Fleet
Pictured: File Photo of P.A.S Type CL-498B Dayang-Class Fast Missile Boat Badik Performing Live-Fire Missile Tests, 2017

In coordination with the South Reinkalistani War Commissariat, the P.A.S Type BBGN-097A Zhou-Class Battleship Ho Chi Minh, along with the P.A.S Type V-334 Moriya-Class Aircraft Carrier Sandakan; P.A.S Type BBG-100G Song-Class Battleship Mahathir Mohamad; P.A.S Type CAG-112C Yuan-Class Battlecruiser Zongdao; P.A.S Type CL-498B Dayang-Class Fast Missile Boat Badik; and P.A.S Type CL-498D Dayang-Class Fast Missile Boat Clurit - joined by a convoy of companies E and F of the 10th Pan-Asiatic States Marine Division - is scheduled to depart from Yulin Naval Base in Hainan at approximately 3:00 tomorrow afternoon for the purposes of participating in a scheduled combined arms military drills off the coast of the Ganvadak Strait, in the People's Federation of Reinkalistan, designated by the Pan-Asiatic States Ministry of Defense as Exercise Scarlet Zenith.

According to a communique by the Pan-Asiatic States Ministry of Defense, Exercise Scarlet Zenith, which will take place over the course of two (2) weeks beginning on the 27th of April 2021 hopes to enhance the People's Maritime Army's crew proficiency destroying simulated enemy off-shore targets in a live scenario, galvanize the strategic command coordination of Reinkalistanian-Asiatic allied military operations, as well as plan for a potential evacuation of the strait-side city of Tarratek.

International observers note that this exercise comes at a time of domestic political turmoil for the Kaskia Republic territory of the People's Federation of Reinkalistan. The Rekkutomel, the reorganized military wing of the underground pro-monarchist terrorist plot to overthrow the democratic socialist government of Reinkalistan, has heightened its activity over the past month and declared a new offensive for the restoration of the title of the former duke of Kaskia as King of Reinkalistan. Their concentration in the North-East coastal periphery of the Reinkalistani People's Federation has reportedly concerned many strategic advisers in Neo-Manila, who believe that the subsidence of the Kaskian region would hurt both the geopolitical and commercial interests of the Pan-Asiatic States, that engages heavily in low-tariff trade with Reinkalistan, particularly through Kaskian ports.

"Exercise Scarlet Zenith is an example of the Pan-Asiatic States' routine maritime presence in international waters—it is a display of our commitment to security, stability, peace, regional cooperation, and economic prosperity for all communist nations around the world," spoke the Second-Ranked Vice-Chairman of Asian Military Command (AMC), Air Force 5-Star General Muto Sachio regarding the current deployment, during a press conference at 3:30 this afternoon. General Sachio further confirmed that he would be coordinating the Asian side of the exercise, and would be absent from the political engagements of the AMC until its' conclusion. When pressed for further comment regarding future joint Asiatic-Reinkalistani military exercises, the Second-Ranked Vice-Chairman said that there were none such planned currently and that the media would be informed of any such exercises as soon as they were drawn-up by the Asian and Reinkalistani governments.

The Secretary-General has not released an official comment on the exercises, but was mentioned by the Second-Ranked Vice Chairman of the AMC as the exercises' "brain".

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Pravda Asiatica: General Community Quarantine Lifted Across Neo-Manila, Amidst TSSR Ranking #1 At Coronavirus Response In the Pan-Asiatic States
^{April 5th, 2021}
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by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Sun Apr 25, 2021 9:17 pm

WEEKS BEFORE EXERCISE
NEO-MANILA
AMC CENTRAL MISSION CONTROL
PEOPLE'S FEDERATION OF PAN-ASIATIC STATES
THEME - The Hall of 4000 Voices

The situation room, a wide and decorative bunker filled with portraits of various Communist heroes and paintings of epic historical struggles for the Pan-Asian cause, was flooded by the Pan-Asiatic States' top-ranking military officials. At the center of the majestic congregation was the Secretary-General himself, the de jure Chairman Executive, speaking from a tall podium in front of the crowd. Sitting around the Pan-Asiatic States' topmost military leader were the members of the Asian Military Command's High Council: First-Ranked Elected AMC Vice-Chairman Naval Großadmiral Qiu Hanying; Second-Ranked Elected AMC Vice-Chairman Air Force 5-Star General Muto Sachio and of course, the Commissary of Army Marshals Zhang Youxia.

Standing in attention to them were various military officials, coordinators, and rapporteurs. Most of military command was present, as well as a few senior politicians from the Federal Congress who came to observe and advise if necessary.

The Secretary-General struck his gavel. All who were present paid respect to the rolled-down flag of the Pan-Asiatic States, the Oriental Standard, by standing tall and bowing from their torsos-up. This display went on for a few moments, then everyone took their seats. The Secretary-General spoke through a slim microphone as a tan-skinned Cambodian man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a black Mao suit, stood up to take the Secretary-General's place at the podium, having been previously seated at the back of the room:

"Recognizing the presence of Muoy Chakra, Special Counter-Insurgency Strategist and Leading Intelligence Rapporteur to Exercise Scarlet Zenith."

As the rapporteur spoke, a map of the conflict area projected behind him.

"Ladies and gentlemen of this body, warm greetings. Before I begin, I'm obliged to remind you that all information presented to your herewith should remain within the confines of this room. An authorized dispatch will be forwarded to your respective offices at a later time.

I would like to begin by clarifying the exact prerogative of the AMC with regards to the Reinkalistani emergency. We have been in communication with the War Commissariat of the People's Federation of Reinkalistan for quite some time now and they have made their situation at present clear to us. In spite of South Reinkalistan's official party-line, the threat of the Rekkutomel regaining a serious strategic foothold in the region appears very real. If we do not 'nip the bud' now so to speak, we, and the people of Reinkalistan, should expect to encounter major challenges in keeping the Kaskian Republic intact.

The confidence with which the most recent proclamation made by the Duchess of Kaskia, Naranya Tunchix, was announced confirms the assessment of our foreign intelligence operatives and contacts in South Reinkalistan. Recent reconnaissance forwarded to us by the Reinkalistani War Commissariat has mapped out potential supply routes used by the reactionary North to fortify the insurgency in Kaskia. They appear to be bypassing major city-centers and delivering munitions, medical supplies, food, possibly even their own intelligence, and other material through natural terrain. The rebels have secured a foothold near the North Reinkalistani border, and maintain a corridor that has hitherto withstood attacks by the local Red Army.

Furthermore, we have been made aware of the possibility of other reactionary states intervening on behalf of North Reinkalistan through the speculative existence of a secondary supply route on the coasts of the Ganvadak Strait. There have been enough inquiries, arrests, and recorded suspicious activities collected by our agents in the region to support this claim. We are unsure how they may be bypassing Reinkalistani maritime patrols if the claim is worth looking into, but it is worth looking into."

"This needs to be dealt with quietly, there's no need to send in the troops," spoke the Secretary-General, who slouched leniently, with his back turned on the council, as he analyzed the map on screen. Then, he addressed the military command once more.

"Perhaps we can starve the rebels out? Send MSPS agents to coordinate with their counterparts in Reinkalistan and identify chokepoints along the inferred supply routes where we can stage effective raids. If this were Xinjiang or Indochina I would have already staged reprisals against the local population; perhaps we can convince the Reinkalistanis to do the same and conduct a war against collaborators with the North. In any case I cannot risk losing more Asian lives on foreign soil."

"Indeed, Your Excellency," affirmed Rapporteur Muoy. "But we also cannot risk allowing the conflict to drag-on—especially if the Rekkutomel are indeed planning on launching a renewed offensive. It will take weeks, maybe even months, of surveying the areas in and around the rebels' area of operation. We aren't even sure if all of the current routes are a hundred-percent accurate - there may be more routes we have not yet discovered - and the ones we know of stretch long distances from the North Reinkalistani border. Then there's the actual procedure of preparing to raid the routes themselves while minimizing casualties. By the time we've ascertained where they're getting supplied from, the corridors would have solidified into front-lines and I would even gamble on the thought that by then, Tarratek would have fallen."

"So, what is your advised course of action?" the Secretary-General inquired.

"We rip-off the band-aid swiftly. Let's put boots on the ground, get marines to wipe-out the strongholds while we still have overwhelming fire superiority. This doesn't need to be a major international incident if we don't make it one," answered Muoy.

The Secretary-General was slightly impressed by the fact that Muoy had just stood up to the leader of the country like that; whilst Muoy felt guilty that he may have done so without respect. There was an awkward moment of silence as the Secretary-General took another moment to ponder Muoy's counter-solution. Before the Secretary-General could speak his mind, however, Großadmiral Qiu raised a point

"We can use the International Communist Day of Solidarity as cover," she said. The Secretary-General looked eager to find out the Großadmiral's meaning. She continued, "Let's send them on a goodwill military exercise, along with a few marines. Special operations agents can be thrown in together with this contingent to begin conducting low-intensity operations with the Reinkalistanis against minor enemy outposts. We can at least test the mettle of the Rekkutomel, fire a few shots over their heads, and see if they budge. Maybe the threat of our intervention will be enough common sense for some of them to throw down their arms and surrender. We can also begin training alongside the Reinkalistani Red Army to draw-up contingency plans in the eventuality of an offensive.

That way, if and when it does happen, we'll be prepared to counter-act, have existing forces on the ground, and have a casus belli to justify our deployment. We should be prepared to engage, but not pre-empt the fight itself—especially if they're the ones who are expecting us to attack them. We cannot risk a massacre, but we cannot risk to be idle. The public will see it as a stunt, and no-one will bat an eye."

Everyone, including the Secretary-General, gave each other a look of agreement with regards to the Naval officer's strategy. Discussions proceeded as to how and when the exercises will be conducted. "Mr. Muoy, you mentioned Tarratek, do you think this is where the rebels would attack? Perhaps we can fortify the city..."

After an hour of exchanging strategic rhetoric the gavel was eventually struck once more. The session was dismissed, and the people dispersed. The minutes of the meeting would be forwarded to South Reinkalistan's military command the following day.

by **South Reinkalistan** » Sat May 01, 2021 2:32 pm

KaskiaRepublic
People's Federation of Reinkalistan

Jezkov Station
5:53 AM

The only thing to greet the Red Arrow as it rolled into the station was the peaceful yet eerie silence of a Kaskian sunrise. It was a cargo train, carrying a shipment of goods directed to the town by the station - also named Jezkov - before continuing on the way to Darket. These shipments had been a lifeline for the people of northern Kaskia; in these times of uncertainty, where any neighbour could be an enemy and terrorist attacks were common, the one thing you could always depend on was getting your food and water dispatched. It was the great socialist boast that Reinkalistan was ultimately capable of making: "for as long as the planned economy exists, the working man will NOT go hungry!"

Unfortunately for the working man, this train was not going to reach its final destination. The train driver - a certain Myeriov Kaczaskwy - sighed as he picked up the radio. "Hello to Jezkov station, this is Comrade Kaczaskwy, the Red Arrow has reached its destination. Cargo will by unloaded for further transport." Kaczaskwy received no response. He frowned. "Jezkov station? Is anyone there?" He looked at the station from his window, wondering why nobody was responding to him. His answer was promptly received when the building was engulfed by a fireball a few seconds later, a loud boom rattling the train as he gazed forth in horror at the splintering wood and roaring flames which had just emerged. Yet he had precious time to register this -- another loud bang was sounded, this time just a few dozen metres in front of his driver's carriage, rocking the train violently as the entire vehicle shuddered. His radio spat out a stuttering, panicked message from another point of the train: "Comrade Kaczaskwy, what's happen--"

Suddenly yet another explosion cut off the shouting with a gargled scream, the force coming from behind the driver; it was underneath the train! He heard the sickening grind of twisting metal as his carriage was flung forward and stripped from the rest of the train, crashing into the floor in front of him. The last thing that the train driver would remember was an image of his wife and children, flashing through his mind. Then he slammed into the ground with metal crumpling on top of him, glass shattering, fire roaring; then Kaczaskwy wasn't thinking anymore.

☭☭☭

The damage had been catastrophic. Sirens blared as police and rescue crews alike sifted through the wreckage to pull out the survivors and identify the dead. Reports of explosions all along the Kirivdak-Darket line had shaken Kaskia -- this was a major attack, likely planned for months. Explosions on the railways were nothing new, especially not for the People's Federation. But this was bad. The K-to-D railroad was a major artery for the counter-insurgency efforts of the RRA and PECD Companies. The railroad would take a while to be restored to full working order. To the credit of the People's Bureau for Infrastructure, already trucks were being ordered onto the highways in their masses to pick up the massive slack left by this... incident.

It was looking at the metal wreck before him, a mighty beast torn open by invisible claws, that an Ideological Office Commissar stood watching the response efforts. Acceptable. The man didn't really need a name. He had one, of course -- but everyone just called him "Comrade Commissar" while on duty. Only when he was at IOHQ did anyone refer to him by anything unique -- he was yet another limb of the motherland, like the other green-and-red uniformed men just like him. His job was to simply watch and report. And watch he did; as he did so, he couldn't help but wonder how extraordinary the situation. The most well-guarded, strategically important line suffering a terrorist attack of unprecedented magnitude for the past decade or two. He frowned as he watched the repair crews. This station was watched 24/7 -- how did they overpower the guards without raising any alarms?

It didn't make any sense. But regardless, that wasn't his job. And so he continued to watch, taking mental notes of the rescue and repair efforts, another unexceptional job on an exceptional day. He sighed. One thing he was sure of, however, was that he was glad he wasn't part of the Rekkutomel right now. When Turaniskidak heard about this, they'd be baying for blood.

WesternTerritories
Rekkutomel-Controlled Kaskia

Grundov
3:01 AM, the next day

The Reinkalistani People's Air Force flew above the sunny mountain towns of western Kaskia at a comfortable 35,000 feet. A single Ja-3 bomber soared, slicing through the sky while escorted by three TkaN-X fighters, gracefully carving across the blue ether as if they were skating on the wind. The R.P.A.F. was serious with this mission, and this was expensive tech -- the fighters were supermaneuverable, the bomber was armed with a large amount of 500lb smart bombs, and all planes were stealthy. It was hastily-organised punition, a sort of message that attacks on P.F.R. infrastructure would most certainly meet retaliation. Simply put, the War Commissariat had quite promptly taken their most effective planes and sent them on a brutal quest to show the insurgents the cost of resistance. While they could not pinpoint certain rebel military installations, what they could do was attack the towns that everyone knew about, towns that were under the occupation of the Rekkutomel. And besides, everyone knew that despite their desperate struggle, the Royalists weren't angels. Everyone knew that they had indirect fire based in schoolyards and by hospitals.

However, there was no going back across this line. The world would forever judge the P.F.R. for this act.

There had, since the Rekkutomel occupations had re-emerged in 2014, been a sort of unspoken covenant between the Turaniskidak government and Rekkutomel leadership: don't attack civilians. Rest assured, this covenant was about to be broken, a payload about to fall upon the P.F.R.'s own people. Once-proud proletarians, it could be said, succumbing to the deceptively sweet fruits that counter-revolution offered, without regard for the poisons it concealed. Or there were even those who chafed beneath the occupation of reaction, awaiting the liberating boots of the Red Army. Or so was the line of the General Secretary. But it had lost all importance -- none of this mattered anymore. Communist or royalist, all are the same in the face of the fires of war brought to their doorstep; a great equaliser, high above, preparing to obliterate its own citizens. The War Commissariat saw it justified, of course. Those who died for the revolution were giving the rest of the nation a chance to build a better world, they supposed. But it didn't blunt the terror nor the guilt.

But regardless, despite the horror of their task, the planes hovered over the village of Grundov. Across the entirety of the Rekkutomel's territory, planes just like these ones were already dispensing their payload upon military installations in civilian buildings, including key civilian facilities which maintained the smooth running of life. And so the Ja-3, silent and graceful, could not flinch as its interior bay doors opened and a number of bombs began to pour out, finding their targets and rushing towards them before the eventual explosion.

And finally, the war had passed a point of no return, a point both sides had once seen themselves too civilised to exceed. But regardless, as the planes moved on to the next target, a Rekkutomel flag was raised above the local temple, a defiant gesture in the face of a desperate betrayal. So it fluttered, a show of brazen defiance in the wind, even if those nearby did not take notice.

CentralTuraniskidak
People's Federation of Reinkalistan

Central Directory (CENTDIR)
11:00 AM

The clock struck eleven, and the General Secretary walked into the dimly-lit meeting room. In a city of neon lights and large glass buildings, the Central Directory and its somewhat antiquated interior was reminiscent of an older time. It suited the Reinkalistani 1970s, a "golden decade" where once this building had been the pinnacle of socialist ingenuity and might. But the decades had taken their toll, and the Palace of the Central Directory was now shabby, and in desperate need of refurbishment or even replacement. Plans were in the works for a new governing building of the People's Federation -- very big plans. But for now, the faded yellows, greens, and reds of the old building, with the paling carpets inside, would have to do.

The room itself was relatively grandiose, with a long, polished oak table, above which hung the crimson flag of the People's Federation. The Exterior Commissar, Lakersk Turnov, was already sitting there. Turnov was a thin and wiry man, with thin and wiry glasses and thin, wiry hair. With a deadpan expression, and cold brown eyes, the second most powerful man in the country nodded warmly. "Morning, Mozhkin." Turaniski did not appear to take this informal greeting with any particular ire. The two men had known each other for many years, since they were both teenagers. It was an unbelievable amount of time and an unbelievable journey which had brought them to this position. Turaniski was convinced it was nought but providence. In the absence of a Vice President, Turnov was effectively deputy to the General Secretary, despite only being in charge of foreign affairs on paper. He was the mind behind many policies implemented recently -- a man who spun a delicate web from the shadows, both distant and involved at the same time. Without much change in his expression or tone of voice, the Premier responded.

"Good to see you, Lakersk." He took a seat opposite his friend, and grinned.

"Why are you grinning?" Chastised the diplomat. "We're not exactly in a good situation right now."

Turaniski's eyes gleamed with pride. "Oh, don't you worry. I've had that sorted out. Right now, we have bigger things, Comrade -- wonderful things to worry and to laugh about."

This earned him a raised eyebrow. "I've heard of your aerial exploits."

"No, no, no! Not that. Something bigger, something--" Turaniski paused to find the right word. "Euphoric." Turnov wasn't impressed.

"Cease the pretentiousness and spit it out." Turnov was not impressed, and was getting annoyed. He was also concerned for his friend. He obviously was never the most modest, nor the most straight-forward man, but in recent years the Premier had grown erratic and paranoid. He didn't seem to trust anyone but Turnov anymore, and was relying on him more and more. Were he dealing with anyone else, Turnov would think this to be a good thing. Having people in power rely on you was good. But on a personal level, it was sad to see Turaniski's... circumstances get to him. The Federation couldn't go on like this. Either Turaniski would have to be knocked into shape, or something would have to give.

Turaniski, sensing the impatience of his companion, straightened up. The man was still, technically-speaking, sane, after all. "Right. I'm sorry." The words seemed forced and practiced, like a six year old was being asked to apologise. "Anyway, we are faced with the prospect of our Asian Comrades arriving - as we know - and how this impacts the general anti-reactionary struggle in Kaskia as a whole. It is undoubtedly a good development, but there are still things we should hash out -- to my knowledge, they are mostly organising around a Tarratek defensive strategy, to aid in evacuations if Darket falls."

"I was of the impression that the Royalists were not particularly capable of capturing cities right now; especially as the masses in these regions tend to be particularly revolutionary; what are the Asians playing at?" Turaniski shrugged in response.

"We're aware that they've exercised a large attack upon the the K-D line. We have met with some form of retribution, but we just can't pin down their locations. They're nimble fuckers, and sneaky ones at that. With supplies still flowing through the border, they'll be able to sustain operations around Darket and strain our infrastructure there to the point that notable inconveniences will occur in nearby cities. We will not be able to get medical supplies, food, electronic appliances, and so-forth to the people in Kaskia. People will die and local support will suffer."

"Yes, but an actual evacuation of Tarratek is going rather far, wouldn't you say? It's very likely that it will never be under threat for the foreseeable future."

"I would generally concur," Turaniski agreed, "and this is why I would like to request to the Asians that they focus their efforts, instead, further down south. Their contingencies will however be graciously noted -- though I should hope we will never have to use them." Turnov slowly nodded in general agreement.

"Really, I think it's about cutting off their supplies from the North. We've let the western territories exist outside of our grasp for long enough, and the constant flow of arms, munitions, and supplies through the border must cease. They do not have the ability nor local influence to significantly hamper our infrastructure in the local region like they did with K-D; despite it being their gate and key to many of their supplies, they know that the situation is growing untenable. This is, ultimately, the reason for the K-D attack -- they are doing it to buy time."

Turaniski nodded. "I am aware. It sounds like you've been in communication with Karayov, then?"

"Yes." Confirmed Turnov. Most of this meeting he'd been parroting the War Commissar's sentiments. This was really, already, a done deal. Troops were already prepared to engage in the necessary movements to complete the operation. But despite this, Turaniski still insisted upon Turnov's advice on things like this -- an unwelcome burden on a man who'd otherwise happily take the influence.

"Generally," continued the Commissar, "the plan is simple. We will embark upon a two-pronged offensive with our gathered and prepared forces, whereupon we will attack from the south-west at Hayua and Gerekas, and from the North-East we shall completely sever the supply routes to Teyan. Most of our soldiers have been trained for mountain combat, with local PECD units engaging in infiltration and sabotage, as well as general support for the Red Army. We will also be moving in repair teams and humanitarian workers in order to repair the damage caused by the fighting and re-integrate the liberated territories into the People's Federation at large to prevent insurgent sympathy from remaining in the region. This will come at a large financial burden, but will be a good investment in the long-run." He looked at Turaniski for confirmation, and was met with a nod. Turnov continued.

"We will then proceed to, from our vantage position in Grundov - again, a generally major supply and communications base in the region - strike down at Tonfrek. We suspect that this town is one of the main hubs for the smuggling of supplies to both active and disguised Rekkutomel cells throughout Kaskia. If we took it, it'd be a major blow to the insurgent effort elsewhere. We could also take advantage of the confusion to put pressure on Hantara, and by proxy Stayadaki. If successful, this operation should be a checkmate in the western theatre. Karayov and his generals suspect that this might be the beginning of the end for the Rekkutomel." Turaniski seemed impressed.

"Very well, then. I will tell Karayov of the plan." Said the Premier. "I have no doubt that he will have something prepared soon." The attack would not be able to be launched immediately, of course, but the concentration of men and arms on the border had been occurring for a few months now. It was only a matter of time.

People's Federation of Reinkalistan
Exterior Commissariat

Regarding: Assisting transfer of Polish heavy equipment
Encryption: High
To: Władysław Stankowski, Foreign Ministry of the Polish People's Republic

1st May, 2021

Thank you for your communication.

The People's Federation, having accepted the reception of your aid, is - in its own opinion - not in a position to decline your request with regards to the transfer of heavy equipment. Whereas the construction of socialism is a national endeavour in many respects, the global prosperity of proletarian states nonetheless rests decisively in the commitment to mutual aid, on equal footing. Be it war or peace, the workers of all nations must stand together with one voice and, where it is necessary, assist each other with whatever might be necessary at the time.

Therefore, it has been determined that eight Kantavosk Ka-98 Military Transport Aircraft will be dispatched to assist the transport of any military equipment necessary. The planes have large cargo bays and can even carry tanks if need be -- they will be able, we are sure, to provide adequate assistance. We are certain that these will be able to carry all twelve BMPs to the People's Federation, with room to spare. These planes will be maintained and flown by R.P.A.F. personnel; there is no need, on the Polish part, to worry about the transport.

The Reinkalistani people are forever grateful to their Polish comrades for their continued solidarity in the face of the blackest reaction.

Signed: Exterior Commissar L. Turnov
Release authorised by the Ideological Office

by **Allanea** » Sat May 01, 2021 3:18 pm

There were some of the Allaneans who were present at the bombing sites – some of the soldiers, and some of the Ashtonbury Brigade volunteers. They did what was expected from them – rushing towards the ruins, dragging out the injured and the dying, giving aid where aid could be given, and where it could not be – bearing witness to the events. Most of the small team of Operatives, however, would not be present. They would be elsewhere, giving their explanations to the Rekkutomel trainees – men who were already literate to some extent in the arts of resistance, and who were equipped to understand what the Allaneans said.

In a concealed rebel outpost, a headshaven man that went by 'Lieutenant Needle', held out a small, orange object, with several dials on one end.

"The words 'rail warfare', – he explained, are deceptive. They imply targeting rails. This was an approach people took once, but it did not work. Blowing up a length of rail delays the enemy for the few hours, sometimes as little as fifteen minutes, it takes to replace the rails you've damaged. Unless you've blown up a bridge or tunnel you have put your life at risk and wasted explosives pointlessly. No, the focus of rail warfare should be killing trains.."

This here is a training replica – it holds no explosives – of a specialist detonator a Mark 13 Sabotage Device. Attach it to a small amount of explosives. Twist this dial – it puts it into anti-train mode. Hide it in the gravel surface under a rail, pull free this safety pin, and run. Now, once a train passes by, the device senses its vibrations – then it shatters a locomotive's wheel or tears off a bogey and then the train derails altogether. Now the commies have to spend days clearing the track and doing repairs. And, of course, you've killed a locomotive. All you need is a guy to sneak close to the track, a guy to watch his back, and, say, a few pounds of plastique.

Elsewhere, a different man with a similar haircut – this, Lieutenant Arrow - spoke to a small group of people – all of them selected on the basis of being hunters and poachers about sniping. (There was a reason, of course, the Allaneans chose men of such appearance – anyone who had not observed them closely could at best describe them as white man, tall, bald head). The course would be short – three weeks only. In it, very few things were said about actual shooting.

There is an idea among some people that sniping is about making a shot at three miles, where you have to calculate the Earth's rotation before you kill a man with a bullet that's worth its weight in silver or some crap. Most sniping is not this. If you can kill a deer with your rifle at three hundred yards, you can kill a man. We will not talk about making shots at three miles. We will talk about reading tracks. We will talk about smelling cigarette smoke at half a mile off – why do you think there are no smokers in this class? We will talk about understanding men's body language to pick out an officer out of his platoon even if he's not wearing shoulderboards. And of course. I will explain to you how, and why, to shoot power line transformers.

A wholly different class was organized for the Ludczieki, the lowest tier of the Rekkutomel, the part-time soldiers that aided the resistance when they could, but mostly stayed in their own homes. By nature, they could not spend more than a few hours listening to the Allaneans speak – and so the Allaneans spoke to them about being observant, about collecting information to pass on to the Rekkutomel, about stashing weapons, nd about simple and cheap ways to damage the enemy without exposing yourself to much harm – how to throw a handful of sand into a train's mechanisms if you work at a train station, how to spread caltrops made from nails on a country road, how to make and plant a foot-breaker mine made from a pistol cartridge.

In his office, Colonel Carnation read the reports from his men on the first few days of training, and began to hum a song.

Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose
Drive your quarry where you choose
Baffle them with trick and ruse
Snare and deadfall, pit and noose

Booby-traps will cull the herd
Place it in a toy to hide it
Place just where the over-bold
Reach for it and try to grab it

Hook a tripwire on a fence
Or a young and sturdy sapling
Spread the wire down through the grass
Catch them with its sudden grappling

Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose
Drive your quarry where you choose
Net them so they can’t get loose
Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose

Pressure switches act on weight
Bounding mines burst high above them
Offroad mines strike like act of fate
Striking fast with none to aim them.

Place the tripwires down with care
Hide them so that none can see them
Hook them up to pins as thin as hair
So the slightest touch will free them

Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose
Drive your quarry where you choose
Lost without a hope or clue
Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose

Hidden pits for them to tread
Drop them down to kill or maim them
Men can’t fight if they are dead
Tanks drive slower if you track them

Line the holes with wood and spikes
Hide steel I-beams in the mire
Row on row like warrior’s pikes
Give them more than they desire

Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose
Drive your quarry where you choose
Dead men cannot carry news
Trench and hedgehog, pit and noose

Lead them on and lead them wrong
Make it look like you’ve retreated
Fear and greed will drive them on
With their own speed defeated

Let them think they’ve won the war
While the noose draws ever tighter
Deadly though these brigands are
Mines can take the toughest fighter

Sniper pairs and mortar crews
Drive your quarry where you choose
With no choice except to lose
Sniper pairs and mortar crews.

Sniper pairs and mortar crews
Drive your quarry where you choose
With no choice except to lose
Sniper pairs and mortar crews.

by **Pan-Asiatic States** » Tue May 11, 2021 8:23 am

MAY 1, 2021
TURANISKIDAK
PAN-ASIATIC STATES DIPLOMATIC MISSION
PEOPLE'S FEDERATION OF REINKALISTAN
THEME - Rise of the New World

The dark-haired Caucasian-tall, Manchurian agent in a smart suit curiously read the propaganda poster at the end of the hall. His ID, emblazoned with the seal of the Pan-Asiatic States Ministry of State and Public Security, tucked between his red tie and his black coat, had the words "Nara Xia, Strategic Operations Consultant" printed on it, front and center. Amidst the humming of the air conditioner, the typing of the secretaries, the spinning of the ceiling-fan, and the ringing of the telephones, one could scarce hear the hushed whispering of words such as "strike", "infiltrate", and "casualties" that were often muffled by the chancery's thick, concrete walls. As Xia wandered the cubicles of the large yet cramped office space, he was perturbed by the capricious looks that were given to him by the ones who were conducting their various assignments. Some of the men on the computers sweated with anxiety as they typed-away at reports furiously, others made irritated phone calls to god knows where. Most looked shocked, discombobulated, and frantic.

Something was up.

Xia stumbled into a break room where a few of the chancery workers were drinking coffee out of paper cups. Everyone was staring at an old, '00s monitor that sat on top of the marble counter beside various kitchen appliances. On screen were scenes of Reinkalistani cops patrolling the perimeter of a railway yard; two paramedics carrying a corpse concealed in a black bodybag; and a small child mourning the death of her father just outside the sealed-off perimeter. The local Reinkalistani news outlet reported the details of the attack on the K-to-D railroad by suspected North Reinklistani terrorists. As horrifying as the attack was, Xia knew the larger cost that the Reinkalistani people would have to pay as a result of it.

A man in a Sam Browne belt and a black Pan-Asiatic States Armed Forces officers' suit entered the room a few moments later.

"How was the flight?" he asked Xia from the open doorway, startling him.

"Very good, Major-General. They asked for my occupation at the immigration booth," responded Xia.

"And? What did you say?" asked the officer.

"Well, what the Ambassador told me to say. Sanitation services. They told me we Asians must have the cleanest chancery in all of Turaniskidak."

Xia grinned. The officer was a little less pleased. "The locals are getting suspicious of how many agents we've been pouring into the city, then. I'll have to report that to the Ambassador. In any case, that can wait. Follow me."

The officer led Xia left of the hallway he had entered, down another, more narrow hallway. At the end of it was a lift that took them to the chancery's lower-ground basement: the chancery war-room.

The two were immediately approached by another military man, of much, much higher rank. He had apparently been anxiously waiting for the arrival of the pair. Xia could hardly believe it. In front of him, clad in his white coat and complete regalia, was the Second-Ranked Vice-Chairman of Asian Military Command (AMC), Air Force 5-Star General Muto Sachio, in the flesh and blood.

"Ah, Mr. Nara, the agent we've heard so much about. It is a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance," spoke the General.

"No, Sir, the pleasure is all mine. My father served with you during the Japanese Insurrection. You are a personal hero of mine," responded Xia, who could hardly maintain his professional composure at the sight of such a prestigious individual.

All three men proceeded to talk about the political and military situation in Reinkalistan as they walked to the General's office. Upon entering, the General sat behind his desk, whilst his subordinates sat in front of it.

"Mr. Nara, I know you are quite an accomplished man already, but I hope you do not shy away from the challenge we face ahead," the General told Xia. "Things are about to escalate. The common consensus, as I've been told by CENTDIR, is that there must be an attack on Grundov as soon as possible to give these rebels a bloody nose. Apparently, much of their supply and communications are centered on that town, and we are in agreement with our Reinkalistani counterparts that a swift and decisive strike against it would be the best course of action."

Nara Xia listened, intrigued.

"Now, as far as the public is concerned, we've got the marines stationed in Tarratek and the navy in the Ganvadak. But they're not our cards in this conflict. Your boys are. MSPS agents are authorized to conduct the black operations that PASAF isn't allowed to carry-out. As of this moment, we are officially re-assigning you from AMC Western Mission Control to commander of Task Force Titan's March," the General continued.

"Titan's March, Sir?" Xia inquired.

"That's the codename we've given to this operation. We are assigning you half-a-thousand men, mostly taken from the 5th Rangers, and twenty agents to carry-out the task. You'll be given all the toys we can afford, so long as you minimize our losses. We can't tell the public we lost half-a-thousand men in a training operation now, can we?"

In the days to come, Task Force Titan's March would patrol the dangerous Kaskian mountains alongside Reinkalistani Red Army troops. The colossal P.A.S Type BBGN-097A Zhou-Class Battleship Ho Chi Minh became a floating army base, housing the agents of the Task Force away from public eye; whilst the P.A.S Type V-334 Moriya-Class Aircraft Carrier Sandakan housed the 36th Ace Chinese "Guanxi Eagles" Fighter Echelon that was ready to provide allied units with air cover whenever they needed it.

AK-24s, Tavor X95s, KM-11s, and ZMG75s—all the appurtenances of modern small arms warfare, shipped from the foundries of the Tagalog Soviet Socialist Republic, directly into the armories of Task Force Titan's March. Drones, command modules, and even electronic warfare weapons, shipped out of Shanghai to support the great struggle that was to come. There were even rumors that Neo-Manila was ready to send a nuke in the event of a rekindling of war between the North and South Reinkalistans, if need be.

The mission of the Pan-Asiatic States Armed Forces in Reinkalistan had been decreed by their most revered Secretary-General: the Reuktommel, and their imperialist allies, was to be obliterated from the face of the Earth, without a moment's delay.

by **Polska Rzeczpospolita Robotnicza** » Wed May 12, 2021 3:56 pm

Ziemsko airbase, near Drawsko Pomorskie, Polish People's Republic.
08:00

A calm breeze swept over the old airbase, the puffs of cigarette smoke rose above the landing strip, creating an atmosphere of anxious waiting, as men, members of the Polish People's Army, and their equipment waited for something to arrive. Earlier, they had received orders to leave their division at Szczecin, and relocate to an airstrip some 100km away in order to be relocated to a 'People's Federation of Reinkalistan'. Truth be told, many of the soldiers had simply never heard of the damn place, and the commander of the company, a Major Janusz Staszewski, was not entirely sure of what the hell was happening himself. He had, of course, been passed along his orders, and so his orders he would obey. Staszewski sat by his BWP, having had barely any sleep due to the transfer to the airbase at around four in the fucking morning. He was supposed to be waiting for the arrival of a group of 'Ka-98' transport aircraft from this 'People's Federation', although they weren't exactly in any urgency to arrive. Probably being hassled by the airforce he thought, typical, hoping that the damnable aircraft would show up soon and be given permission to land from the overzealous airforce. Sure, they did make sure the airspace of Poland was clean in these trying times, but at the same time they could be a major nuisance to any legitimate air traffic, rare as it may be, that showed up in Poland. Fuckin' pilots..

The various trucks containing the weapons delegated to the Reinkalistanis, in addition to the SKOT-2A vehicles scheduled for delivery to Reinkalistan, sat on a field near the runway, having been relocated there from stockpiles belonging to the Polish People's Army. Nearby were some logistics personnel, waiting to be allowed to sign off their deliveries to the Reinkalistanis. The SKOTs themselves were not looking too pleased with their predicament, almost as if someone had given them life only to dump them in a field with nowhere to go and only depression to contemplate. Staszewski caught sight of some three MiG-23s flying overhead, before the sounds of large aircraft engines could be heard on approach, growing louder and more violent as they made their way towards the airbase. Staszewski knew this had to be the Ka-98s or whatever they were called, and soon enough, a large transport aircraft, larger than anything the Poles had available to them, appeared in the skies above. Then it was two. And then three. Soon enough, about eight aircraft began circling to land at the airbase, each one large enough to carry probably three BMPs each. Which was great, because they'd probably only need around four to carry all twelve of the company's BMPs. While Staszewski wasn't exactly fantastic at working out the exact carrying capacity of each transport, he had been told roughly what the carrying capacity of each aircraft was beforehand by the logistical troops assigned to facilitate the transfer of equipment to Reinkalistan. The boxes filled with Kalashnikovs and GROMs sat by the side, waiting to be loaded into whatever cargo bay was available for them.

Reinkalistan had luckily sent enough Ka-98s to facilitate the transportation of most of the equipment, as the Polish Foreign Affairs Ministry had communicated the exact specifics of the transportation to Reinkalistan, thankfully. Staszewski knew that the state wasn't exactly reliable, but atleast foreign affairs was working as it should, Stankowski really was good at his job it seemed. Regardless, the Ka-98s began landing at the airstrip, before moving to positions where they could begin loading equipment from the field around the airstrip. Four Ka-98s would transport the twelve BMPs, with Staszewski directing the efforts to load the BMPs onto the transporters, their drivers making sure to obey Staszewski and the logistics troops in loading their armoured vehicles into the cargo bays of the Ka-98s, while the other soldiers of the company would load into a Ka-98, loading themselves and their necessary platoon equipment. The remaining Ka-98s, some three more, would load the SKOTs, given that only two SKOTs could be loaded into each Ka-98, one Ka-98 would have to carry one vehicle. The remaining weaponry, thirty-five tonnes of AKMs and GROM MANPADS would have to be either shipped over by the two An-12s belonging to the Polish airforce, or the Ka-98s would have to make a return trip to collect the weaponry.

Interacting with the Reinkalistani pilots was not exactly easy. The pilots didn't speak the language and neither did anyone in the company or the logistics troops. Infact, Staszewski was fairly certain there were no translators at all in Poland that could speak whatever language the Reinkalistanis were speaking. In the end, Staszewski needed to direct his efforts with hand gestures, and sometimes cultural differences threatened to make this difficult too. The Reinkalistanis were not particularly engaging to the Poles either, their inability to understand Polish was only worsened by their emotionless glares, looking as if dealing with the Polish People's Army was a chore and not a benefit to their nation. The glances of the Reinkalistani personnel at the equipment of the People's Army seemed as though they were judging them for using it, criticising the inner workings of the military for using such weapons systems. Nevertheless, Staszewski managed to organize the loading process, and hoped that the An-12s would not have to suffer too much in loading the AKMs aboard their aircraft. As a silent man, Staszewski merely lit a final cigarette before stepping aboard the Ka-98 designated for personnel transport. His smoke break was brought to an end when the cargo bay door suddenly started closing, prompting Staszewski to quickly stamp out his cigarette before moving to seat himself aboard the transport for what would surely be a long ride into.. where exactly? Staszewski had no idea where Reinkalistan was, and now he was preparing to take off on an aircraft headed for an entirely foreign country, populated by people he had no idea existed. A chill ran down his spine, he wasn't exactly sure what his higher ups had assigned him to. He knew about the training in Kaskia, but he had no goddamn clue what exactly a 'Kaskia' was.

Staszewski heard the aircraft beginning to wake, the engine kicking up into a mighty roar as Staszewski felt the transporter taking off, moving across the runway before lifting into the air, soon followed by the next aircraft beginning to take off from the airstrip, carrying the various pieces of equipment from the airbase below. Staszewski knew that the flight would be landing at an airbase known as Yorosk, somewhere near the Joskakiczky military base where the Polish forces were expected to act as training assistants to some Reinkalistani militiamen. Conveniently, the same militiamen would be given Polish equipment, which meant the Poles would be the best bet for training the Reinkalistanis in using their own weapons. Shouldn't be too hard to train some civvies how to fire an AK, Staszewski thought about the experience and the potential difficulties of training some militamen how to fire a proper rifle. Staszewski knew that the Reinkalistanis were very much different to the Poles in terms of language, and worried that coordination in training may be impaired by this fact. Hopefully, the Reinkalistani government had translators on hand, or Staszewski would never risk handing over an AK to a potentially dangerous militiaman, even if they were a 'loyal socialist' citizen of Reinkalistan.

The other men aboard the aircraft were not silent, unlike Staszewski, and many were either cracking jokes to try and buy the time before they arrived in Reinkalistan, or they were being loud assholes to one another. So long as they maintained discipline when on the battlefield, however, a bit of idiocy on the transport or in the base was not the greatest problem of the Polish People's Army. Much like the Soviets, the Poles knew that the soldiers had to be kept entertained when at base somehow, and allowing them to be rowdy morons meant that hopefully they would object less to actually taking orders during drills or during proper combat situations, where they had to be kept in top disciplinary form. With any luck, this kind of strategy should ensure that the militia will be able to listen to orders during battle, even if they have lax discipline standards when off-duty and at base. The trip ahead was sure to be long and arduous, but with a bit of luck and some perseverance, Staszewski hoped whatever deployment lay ahead would go atleast somewhat acceptably. After all, was he not a Major in the Polish army? He surely could transform a militia into a proper fighting force.

Last Gasp of the Old World [MT, IC, APPLY FOR ENTRY]

Last Gasp of the Old World [MT, IC, APPLY FOR ENTRY]

[cooperative post with the player of South Reinkalistan]

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