The Maisisdro War (IC | Meillur Only)

[Imarati]

Winter's ice pierce hearts
Five wounds of a broken realm
Bloody Maytime comes...

---

In the frigid north, as the new spring melts the long-frozen ice of winter, from the high and mysterious cliff faces of the Tambakos Mountain Range arises a grim figure, called a phantom from a bygone era by some, an imposter by others, and yet by others a messiah return from the dead, come to restore order to the broken realm.

Decades ago, the Great Collapse resulted in the destruction of the Tsardom of Imarati, a monarchy that had been on death door even before the apocalypse. As chaos swept the globe, Imarati shook itself to pieces. Angry workers marched on the palace, breaking in and rampaging through the halls, slaughtering aristocrats and destroying the ancient treasures that had been exalted for so long. The Tsar and his family were captured and executed, with only his second-born daughter Helene escaping with the aid of a servant boy and a secret door. With the royals massacred or fleeing abroad, and the people razing the capital to the ground, anarchy swept across the nation. Warlords, communes, and various others began a decades-long struggle for power as famine and plague stalked the land. Eventually, a stalemate arose, with the Tetrebi, led by a returned Grand Duchess Helene to restore the monarchy; the Tsitlebi, republican revolutionaries led by the Red Council, an assembly of eleven civil servants; the Mstvaneta lead by a would-be president, the elderly Lizzie Arveladze; and the Quvitlebi led by the monks of mountain churches. Meanwhile, splattered across the center of the country, anarchists burn across the land in an uneasy peace.

Peace no more.

In the holy city of Cutaisunda, the monks of the Quvitlebi declared from their isolated mountain temples that a miracle had occurred. The long-suffering winter of the nation was over, and Spring had come to be ushered in by a prince. Besarion, the only son of the last Tsar, who had been but a toddler when the Royal Family was executed, believed to have been killed during that dark day was not, in fact, dead, but was alive, and the true ruler of the country. Said to have been smuggled out in a laundry basket before posing as the son of one of the palace workers who'd taken pity on the toddler prince, and eventually made their way to the sanctuary of the Cutaisunda Holy Temple, where he was raised by monks, preparing for the day he would save Imarati. A day, according to the monks, that has finally come. Besarion was anointed by Father Zakaria Melikishvili as the true King of Imarati, and with that, a campaign to restore and unite the country was said to have begun. A campaign that has begun with an army of tanks crossing the Ricassa River, the de facto boundary between the Quvitlebi and the Tsitlebi controlled areas.

But with this, a five-way civil war begins. In Arrah, the Red Council issues orders to halt Besarion's invasion. In Ondassi, Arveladze asserts she will never surrender, even from her wheelchair. In the ruins of the capital, mobs sing of finishing what they started so many years ago in the abandoned palace. In Potedia, Grand Duchess Helene denounces the spring prince as a False Besarion, an imposter seeking to steal her throne. Who speaks the truth? Will it matter when the future of Imarati has decided on battlefields and the spring of the nation watered with the blood of brothers?

---

Map

---

Factions

Tsitlebi
Leader(s): Red Council
Headquarters: Arrah
Government: Socialist Republic
Army: 12,000
Color: Red

Mstvaneta
Leader(s): Lizzie Arveladze
Heaquarters: Ondassi
Government: Dictatoral Presidential Republic
Army: 7,000
Color: Green

Anarchists
Headquarters: Ruins of Soikon
Color: Purple

Quvitlebi
Leader(s): Father Zakaria Melikishvili & Prince Besarion
Headquarters: Cutaisundra
Government: Theocratic Monarchy
Army: 13,000
Color: Yellow

Tetrebi
Leader(s): Grand Duchess Helene
Headquarters: Potedia
Government: Secular Absolutist Monarchy
Army: 3,000
Color: White

[Imarati]

Polar wintertime
Wrapped in all black, keen ghost hunts
commanding the rock

---

As soldiers marched through the narrow valleys of the Tambakos mountains, the yellow banner of the Spring Prince declaring their support for the holy anointed last son of the long dead Tsar, their savior prayed at the foot of another savior.

In the Holy Temple of Cutaisundra, a towering structure that pierced the sky like a small mountain, terraces of sloped roofs interlocking with onion domes each topped with a cross and a sun, Besarion kneeled alone in the sanctuary. The man was everything the people of Cutaisundra would have wanted in a savior prince.

When the capital of Soikon had fallen to rioters, and the Tsar and his family executed, Besarion had been just a toddler. There were conflicting accounts of his exact age, with some reporting him has no more than two years of age, whilst others declaring him to be as old as six. In any case, there was no alive who could remember exactly what young Besarion had looked like.

The man the lost prince had become had all the right features. He had the coal dark hair and eyes that had been so famous on the last Tsarina. He had just the beginnings of a beard, though far from the elaborate facial hair of his father. He was tall, always admired in leaders. Comely, he suited well the imagination of a prince coming to retake his list throne.

However there were still cracks from the stones throne as the Spring Prince. Even if he had been rescued at age two, wouldn’t that have made Besarion near, if not in his fortieth year? The long lost heir in the temple looked no more than thirty, ten years younger than he ought. The Tsarina had tawny skin, but Besarion seem to have only the pale skin of his paternal line.

These things, among other questions, could be chalked up to genetics. But not all were convinced of the legitimacy of this most mysterious savior. The greatest blow came from Grand Duchess Helene, the only member of the Tsar’s immediately family confirmed to have survived the massacre. Her disavowal of Besarion spilt the royalist front and formed ever more cracks.

“Father who is heaven,” said the Spring Prince, “Protect your most holy and devoted servants. Shield them from evil, and guide them to holy light to victory. Forgive those misguided sinners who oppose us, and have mercy on their souls. Heal our broken realm.”

“You are still here,” said a voice cutting through the eerie serene silence of the holy Temple. Besarion rose from his knees before the alter and turned.The young man who had spoken gasped as he looked upon the man the monks decreed would save the nation. Through the windows, fading sunlight shown on him, and behind him, the Halo of the Saviour statute appeared to align around his head. A truly holy sight. The young man, an acolyte of the monastery crossed himself.

“I am here Sergei,” said Besarion with a small smile. Sergei had been his friend, his brother at the monastery, the two of them raised together with the other initiates into the holy order. Like Besarion, Sergei Shengelia had been orphaned and he and his brother Givi had been given to the monks. Sergei and Besarion had often been mistaken for actual brothers, their features not too different save for their hair. Where Besarion’s was dark as night, Sergei’s was as pale as corn tuffs.

“Have you decided against going to the front line?” asked Sergei, a small head of hope in his words. But Besarion shook his head.

“I was only bidding the temple farewell and making a prayer before I leave,” said Besarion.

At this Sergei’s shoulders slumped and sorrow filled his eyes. “So you are still going.”

“I must,” declared Besarion and made his way towards the exit of the Great mountain side temple. As he walked, his great strides echoing against the cold stone of the floor, Sergei grabbed his arm, halting the prince’s movements.

“Must you?” asked Sergei, an unspoken warning in his voice as the two men’s eyes met. Brothers bound in the blood of the holy convent. Friends brought together by the deaths of their families. Like all of Imarati they shared in their suffering. And like all of Imarati, they were divided on the matter of this new spring. Besarion’s eyes went cold and grasped his old friend’s arm in a familial manner, but his grip was like casts of iron. Sergei gasped as he felt the crushing grip. Besarion’s eyes bore into his own, even as Sergei shook and feared he’d collapse.

“I must. For I am your King. And it is my destiny.”

With that dark declaration, Besarion matched out of the Holy Temple of Cutaisundra.

---

Colonel Yuriy Gvasalia stood up from his perch within one of the Grey T-83 battle tanks. He raised his fist as he commanded the mechanized army to halt. After crossing the Rircassa River just north of the Great holy city of Cutaisundra, they had been met with little resistance. So, under the command of Gvasalia, they marched north, following the valley and the cliff side road that followed the Rircassa on its winding path towards the sea.

Gvasalia had commanded the army to stop for night was coming and they had come to a key point on their path northward. The intersection of rivers, where the narrow and fast running Laniline cascaded down rocky slopes and joined with the larger Rircassa. It was here that they would have to cross a bridge, the Khaati Bridge, that spanned the deep raven that the Laniline cut through the rock, in order to continue on to their goal of the town of Dmaeli.

It was here that Gvasalia was met with the first sign of resistance from the Red Council. Barbed wire and wooden piled posts formed a line across the bridge, the first line of a defense. As the sun dipped lower in the sky and sank beneath the high peaks of the Tambakos Mountains, it was decided by the Colonel that they should advance no further, and instead wait till dawn to spring the attack that would no doubt come. It would be under a rising sun that victory would be won.

[Colfico]

The muffled rumble of engines filled the cockpit of the Airlen Avionics CF-7B Mako fighter, a newly built model of the battle proven CF-7 Mako fighter, which had received several minor upgrades, part of the increase in funding, and interest both domestically and abroad, for the fighter, a result of it's performance during the conflict. Wing Commander Valwe Natalie, a proven wing Commander who had seen action during the battle for Vizerman Island, having been a part of the force sent to deal with the Hyrukian battleship which had attempted, and failed, to assault the Colficoan coast line.



The night was just starting to fade as the airfield he had been tasked with deploying to came into view. There was a great deal of secrecy to his operation here in Imarati, so the trip had been made at night, where it was hoped that his arrival would go unnoticed by everyone but those meant to notice it. The mission was not entirely one of pure generosity, the NCAF had seen an opportunity to test it's fighters against a new opponent, while not, at least not immediately, involving itself openly, more specifically, it was meant to be a baptism by fire for the new CF-7Bs, and even more so the CF-10, which would be sent later if things went well.

"There it is, wonder if they have coffee ready, because we start work soon."

Over the radio, one of his wingmen perked up to the sarcastic remark.

"Maybe even some breakfast, I could go for some eggs right about now."

He chuckled at the joke, before returning his attention to the task at hand.
As he approached the runway, he knew it would be wise to identify himself, so he activated his radio, and began to speak.

"This is Marauder Lead, coming in for arrival with eight fighters and four transports, we are making our landing approach now."

Before long, he came gracefully down towards the runway, his aircraft gently touching down onto the tarmac, and rolling to a stop, and then taxing to a nearby open maintenance area, as the four Pelican transports follows close behind, stored in their bellies was the much needed delivery of weapons, including rifles, assault rifles, submachine guns, heavy machine guns, and even anti tank rockets.

He pulled the canopy release of his aircraft, the bulletproof glass bubble rising up to let him and his co-pilot leave the aircraft.

[Imarati]

A wraith-filled dawning
A princess, a survivor
soars watching the fly

---

As dawn peaked over the port city of Potedia resting on the northern shores of Imarati, the chilly waves of the Northern Sea lapping at docks, Mikheil Alavidze, an aide-de-camp in the royalist government of the Tetrebi hurried down the long hall of 4 Teimuraz Ave. the office building that served as the headquarters.

Seated at a large desk was Grand Duchess Helene, her pen zipping as she quickly went through different papers and orders, reviewing them from behind her reading glasses and then penning her signature. Her hand didn’t so much as flutter as Mr. Alavidze bowed before her desk. He put down a report on her desk.

“The delivery of munitions and air aid has arrived, Your Imperial Highness,” said Mr. Alavidze. Helene nodded and finished signing the order for hold outs of the Tetrebi to be conducting raids on Tsitlebi controlled settlements. Until recently, they had been considered the most dangerous foe on the board, with their wide stretching swath of territory and the close boundary to Potedia.

However the False Besarion was proving to be a problem. Helene knew that the man Father Melikishvili had crowned was not her brother. Helene had been ten when the Tsardom fell. She had watched as her parents were slaughtered, her sisters gunned down and her aunts and grandmother were flung to their deaths off balconies and down stairs.

The story that the monks had concocted was brilliant propaganda, taking advantage of the fact that Imarati was a nation of ill-educated miners, who’s never had much interest put into them. Before the collapse and break down of a central government, Imarati’s wealth rested in the extraction of its treasure trove of rare earth elements: Neodymium, Cerium, Aluminum and Uranium.

Helene’s forefathers had only needs to build roads from mines to ports, and from palaces to airfields. That, along with the chaos of the collapse left Imaratians woefully uneducated and illiterate and holding on with a great deal of conviction to fairytales and mystic power. And that was the core of the story of this so called lost prince.

Helene, who’s actually been there, had seen her brother die. His head smashed in by a rioter’s brick. He’s not been some toddler smuggled away. He’s been a boy of 8, ripped from life too soon. Even if the imposter had been her brother, he had no claim to the throne that superseded her own. Helene was elder, and the law had been changed years before to adopt absolute primogeniture, as opposed to Salic law.

But the False Besarion’s story was a fairytale, and was rapidly leeching away support for her. The Tetrebi were scattered across the country mostly holding control in remote countryside. They held the element rich mountain mines, and large swaths of the south and north, by they were sparsely populated, leaving the strip of land around Potedia as their only territory of note.

But foreign aid would help change that.The international community preferred reliable monarchs to theocrats, socialists or dictators and certainly anarchists. Helene also held the Imaratian Navy, witch which she intended to blockade her enemies. It would be on land where she’s been disadvantaged. That was unless she could also capture the air.

The Grand Duchess, as she rose from her seat, said “Finally, something in our favor.”

---

Potedia Royal Airfield was one of only two operating airports in the country. The other lay firmly in the wrinkled and decrepit hands of Arveladze at Borasha. There had been others, but attacks, neglect and obsolete ness had rendered all others useless or completely destroyed. The Potedia Royal Airfield was the larger of the two.

It was quite busy as Air Superintendent Imeda Kalichava worked to disembark the vital munitions and supplies provided by their Colficoan acquaintances, observers who, while declining to get directly involved had agreed to help the Tetrebi retake control over their country. As the ground crew worked to unload supplies, a few directed the pilots to the mess.

Potedia’s position as the greatest port in the country meant that while it was cut off from the rest of Imarati, it was still connected to the rest of the world, and had been able to maintain a steady supply of the essentials. Rations of food could be allocated to the pilots. Kalichava looked over his manifest as he took note of the weapons.

The Tetrebi had long lacked the manpower to launch a unified attack against the revolutionaries, but perhaps with this new boon of arms could make up for that with firepower. They would learn soon enough. As rifles, machine guns and anti-tank rockets were being labeled, and sectioned off, plans were laid out for an attack on Port Galaki.

[Colfico]

The Wing Commander walked into the mess hall, his Colficoan uniform standing out with its gray coloring, and the steel wings that represented the insignia of the National Colficoan Air Force. He looked around, surveying his surroundings, and his new Imarati acquaintances. This tempoary quiet was jsut that, he knew all too well, the storm was coming, and he, and his squadron, would almost certainly be at the forefront, helping to fight it off. He had been well informed of the situation, the forces that he was to support were outnumbered, substantially so, however his orders were clear, to do what he could to help offset that disadvantage in numbers.

---

Captain Hughe Yualian walked out of the Pelican transport as the cargo was unloaded, by far the most common weapon unloaded was the RC-6 Semi-Automatic carbine, a stout veteran of Colficoan service for many years. The weapon was an excellent tool of war, being light weight, accurate, and a decent amount of fire power thanks to its twenty shot magazine. However it was far from the only weapon that had been sent, P-5 Submachine guns, a simple submachine gun made out of steel tubing which had proven itself well, powerful and deadly BR-3 Battle Rifles, the former standard issue rile of the Colficoan Army, AR-4 Assault RIfles, a weapon renowned for being supremely reliable, while still being deadly and surprisingly easy to use, and most notably, several examples of ATL-5 Re-usable Anti-Tank Rocket Launchers, a weapon that had been given some priority by command, given the very real threat of enemy armor in the coming fight.

He had slung over his shoulder his own AR-4 rifle, and he wore the standard grey battle dress uniform of the RCA, including the CZ-55 Helmet, a distinct piece of equipment which set Colficoan soldiers apart from their foreign counterparts.



He looked around, and surveyed the situation on the airfield, it was not in the best shape, the engineer corps would have had a fit if they had been introduced to this place. He would have to be sure to send a request back home for engineering advisors and equipment to help fix the situation. He took a small notepad out from his uniform pocket, and began writing down his observations, so that he could review it later. behind him trailed twelve other advisors, most were from the Royal Colficoan Army, however, five of them were not, instead coming from the Royal Colficoan Marine Corps, soldiers who had been present at Vizerman Island during the Southern War.

He could only hope that his soon to be students were in better shape than the runway, but he knew better than to have any real faith in that hope. This was a civil war, and during such conflicts, participants often utilized less than ideal training regimes to help increase the number of soldiers at their command quickly, Colfico had been forced to do that very thing during its own civil war in the Time of Despair.

[Imarati]

Desiccate timber
Friend or foe, lying beasts hides
enjoying the salt

---

Kalichava made his way over to Captain Yualian, handing his notes off to a lesser officer. Kalichava greeted the foreign officer and the other advisors behind him with a stiff salute. They were easy to spot, their uniforms standing out against the tan uniforms of most of the men, though a few officers still wore the grey uniform of winter, though they were few and far between. As the sun continued to rise as would the temperature, perhaps as high as 48 degrees Farhenheit, and Potedia, with its low elevation and resting next to the sea had a much warmer climate than the rest of the greatly mountainous country.

"You must be the advisors sent from Colfico," said Kalichava as he greeted the foreigners in their tongue. "We have cars ready to take you to Fort Kayas to meet with General Command. Marshal Aleksidze will be waiting for you, and I've been informed that Her Majesty will be meeting you there." Kalichava extended an arm to his side and acted as an usher to guide the group towards a set of three dark green armored trucks that would take them to the aforementioned Fort Kayas. The trip, though a short one took them through Potedia.

The port city was barely a city. The collapse, famines, and plagues that had torn across the country had killed 90% of the country, leaving even the largest of settlements with only a few tens of thousands of residents. Potedia had but 9,900 people, as opposed to the holy and largest city of Cutaisundra, which had near 70,000, fueled by the arrival of refugees. In Potedia, canals cut across the tight cluster of buildings, boats lining the waterways as the trucks crossed a pair of bridges to reach Fort Kayas, a military base from before the collapse.

Surrounded by high 15 foot walls a foot and a half thick, the grounds had been used for decades to train the loyal royalist forces of Imarati and the army of the Tsar before that. They passed training grounds and the entrance end of a range, a set of barracks before arriving at the low concrete command center of the base, a large royalist flag flying high above the fortress. As the trucks rolled to a stop, Marshal Avi Aleksidze stood ready to greet them, wearing a simple tan uniform with his stairs and bright red beret, his large handlebar mustache white with age.

Aleksidze, a man of nine and sixty years of age was a close ally of the Grand Duchess, having been appointed to serve as her Marshal seventeen years earlier when she had still been young and needed a political mentor. He'd served in the Army since just after the death of the grand duchess' great-grandfather had died. He was truly a living symbol of the old Tsarist regime that the grand duchess wished to restore, one of law and order. The Marshal however also knew that the position of the Tetrebi was no one to be envied. It would require a great effort to achieve victory.

---

Kalichava, finishing up the categorizing and record-keeping of the newly arrived supplies, went to the mess hall. The Air Superintendent was fluent in three languages, in addition to his native tongue: Colficoan, Deritain, and Patuanian. Such a feat was almost unheard of in Imarati. The other Imaratian soldiers watched the Colficoans, and Kalichava watched both sides. He would help where he could, but it was not going to be his job to babysit the foreigners. He only needed to make sure they worked well together to win this conflict.

[Imarati]

[Colfico]

The Captain returned the salute with one of his own, snapping to attention with practiced speed and precision, signs of a career soldier.

"I am Captain Yualian of the Royal Colficoan Army, 9th Special Airborne Division, my colleagues are fellow division officers, while those four are from the 12th Marine Raider Division. "

He followed as instructed, along with the others, and loaded into the armored vehicles, which reminded him vaguegly of the armored personal carriers which were utilized by the RCA. Vehicles which may very well soon be here themselves if events played out correctly. He watched as the scenery passed by him, making note of the mountainous terrain, important information for any Colficoan commander should a deployment occur. His thoughts immediately went to the 18th Mountain Division, they would love it here, as it was a similar environment to the northwestern regions of Colfico, they would be right at home fighting in such an area.

He watched as they entered the fortress, it was impressive, ilhowever ir also made a very easy target for long range artillery, the large 185mm guns would have made shory woro of six a thing.

As the vehicles rolled to a stop, he, and the other Colficoan advisors dismounted, as if they had done so countless times before, and many of them had. He prepared himself, remembering the briefing he has been given about communicating and dealing with nobility and royalty, he knew it might be a challenge, but he would overcome it like every challenge he had overcome before.

---

As the Colficoan pilots began grabbing breakfast, and what coffee they could, they discussed strategy, two of them speaking in the language of a Colficoan tribe, not well known outside of Colfico.

"I wonder what kind of aircraft we will be facing, I look forward to a good throwdown."

"Yes, but the brass wants us to test the Makos in a close air support role, to see how they fare when using air to ground ordinance "

"They aren't bomb trucks, their fighters."

"Yes, but the brass were disappointed with the performance of the Goblins, they are already looking to replace them."

"Shame, theyre good planes, they just need to be given another chance."

"Well our priority will be ensuring air dominance, our other missions won't matter if the enemy manages to secure air superiority. I'd we are lucky, they don't know we are here, and we can catch them on the airfield."

"Like fish in a barrel, not as fun, but more efficient and safer for us and the guys on the ground."

[Imarati]

Shining bridge crossing
A great, awesome mountain howls
For the perfect king

---

As the sun rose over the cliffs surrounding Khaati Bridge the first shots of war were fired, cutting through the air. Captain Ioane Shushania manned the right mounted machine gun turret that had been set up in preparation for the advancing of the False Besarion’s army. The bullets ripped across the air over the bridge, sparking as they struck against the armor of the enemy tanks.

Holding Khaati Bridge was crucial to prevent the advancing of the enemy army onto the town that lay to the north and connected the Red Council’s territories in the west to the center hold in the central part of the country. The company detachment placed on its northern end had lined it with barriers of barbed wire, and if all else failed they’d planted explosives under the bridge.

The first volley of Shushania’s fire was meet with the boom of the seventy-six millimeter main guns of the mechanized forces of the spring prince blasted against their front defenses. Wood and metal was ripped apart and flew through the air. Moments later light machine gun fire sliced through the secondary barriers as the tanks rolled onto the bridge.

Shushania ordered a re-grouping of forces and pair of anti-tank guns were set up at the entrance of the bridge, launching volleys. A tank erupted in flames as it was struck and stalled, a moment later a second direct hit destroying it. The Quvitlebi were not to be deterred however. On the far side of the river, tanks turned into a ledge, their turrets swiveling.

The north side of the river erupted with the explosion of shells in pillars of fire, stone and smoke. And bodies. Around Shushania soldiers were thrown from their stances and went spinning up into the air some tumbling over the cliffs edge into the river. Others came crashing back down to earth only to die broken and in pieces.

The left mounted turret was struck by tank fire, shattering into flaming pieces as it broke apart and it and its gunman fell over the side of the bridge. On the structure, another two tanks were rendered disabled. Another tank’s front crashed into the rear of one of its disabled brethren , pushing the smoking wreckage forward and to the side, destroying a railing as it pushed the tank off the side.

The columns of tanks pressing across the bridge rolled with speed, and gunfire, tearing into the smaller force. They were going to be overrun, Shushania realized. He opened his mouth to scream, for retreat or for the charges to detonate, it can not be known as it was then that one of the tanks struck his position. Shushania’s flaming skeleton would be found later still clutching to his gun.

Moments later thee tanks were crossing on to the northern side of the river. The Tsitlebi forces collapsed as they were out gunned and over rubbed by the tanks. The company broke and retreated, jumping into armored trucks and fleeing along the road to Dmaeli. In their wake, Gvasalia again halted his forces as they secured the bridge.

The first battle of this bloody maytime war was a victory for Besarion, the true King of Imarati. At it would be only the first their Great holy campaign. Soon, Gvasalia declared, perched on his tank amongst yellow banners and the corpses of their enemies, chard and broken, all of the nation would fly the banner of the spring prince.

[Imarati]

Colorless ocean
A motor, cold beginnings
beyond the meeting

---

A truck rolled to a stop behind the ones that had deposited the Colficoan, though this time when one stepped out, it was Grand Duchess Helene. A plum, middle-aged, squat creature of a woman, she was no princess that the tabloids adored. She wore a camouflage tan and green uniform, the rest of her Dynasty, the House of Giorgadze on her shoulder and six stars designating her as commander-in-chief.

The Grand Duchess marched with her hands behind her back as she stepped between Marshal Aleksidze and the Colficoan advisors, snapping her fingers as she meant for them to follow her inside the command center. Despite her rotund figure and her short stature, the Grand Duchess moved with great speed.

“I am the Grand Duchess Helene, rightful heir to the Imaratian throne, head of the legitimate government and most importantly for you to understand, Commander-in-Chief. You are advisors, you are here to advise, not command, got that? Understood? Good.” The Grand Duchess didn’t allow for argument or protest as she turned a corner and they descended down a stairwell.

They entered a chamber filled with maps, reports and desks full of analysts working to determine the best course of action for the future of the conflict. As the center was a table with a three dimensional model map of Imarati. At the far end of the chamber there was another of Potedia. The Grand Duchess continued speaking as she stood at the head of the map table.

“Imarati is a small nation, but we are lesser and cursed with mountains. Most of the largest remaining settlements lay in valleys high up in the Tambakos, the mountain rang that runs through the country. It means that pockets of control are very hard to break. A double edge sword. Our numbers hovered about 3,000 men and women, not including auxiliary personnel.”

[Colfico]

The captain looked over the map, however he did not agree that they were cursed, in fact, he believed quite firmly, that with careful tactics, it could be a decisive advantage if used correctly. He spoke in tribal, a language used to help make surveillance more difficult, discussing with his fellow advisors, and they seemed to come to an agreement, with one of them even pointing to various points on the map. Once they were done, He looked to her, straight in the eyes, before speaking.

"You say that you are cursed, however, I believe the terrain can be an ally, if we carefully use the mountain tops, instead of following roads and valleys, we can create not only excellent defensive positions, forcing the enemy to attack uphill, but also force them into situations where they are caught in a cross fire, artillery especially will be especially useful in this scenario, and if we have any light and medium tanks, their mobility would be very useful as well. If not, I can report home and try to leverage a delivery of tanks, I am sure command could afford to spare some CM-4 medium tanks, their eighty-fives would be very useful here, and some ultra-light mortars and howitzers would be devastating as well. The most important thing that must be done is a consolidation of forces and resources, we do not have the manpower to work with to hold everything, we should focus entirely on key strategic areas that are easily defendable, let the enemy stretch their forces further, and if possible, bait the other factions into focusing on each other, which should be easy given the numerical disparity, commandos would be best suited for this, perhaps command could be convinced to send some of their units to aid in this endeavor, its a tactic that we used during our own civil war following the collapse. The biggest issue however, is enemy tanks."

He then pointed to various roads of interest, before speaking again. "If you have towed guns, or even better mines and anti tank obstacles, I would place them at these key points, to at the very least slow an assault down, so that an appropriate response can be rallied, our air power will be key in such a scenario, the Makos are more than capable of destroying light vehicles, and even a light tank if they get the angle right with their cannons. The most important factor, however, will be public support, we need to take every step possible to start gathering the support of the people, fliers, leaflets, whatever is possible, the transport planes can be of use in this, they can drop leaflets by the thousands from the air, making distribution easier and more efficient."

He thought for a moment, before speaking again "What is the situation regarding naval artillery? Securing the coast should be our first priority."

[Imarati]

Unfriendly get stuck
then a nearby, pond bounces
betrayed by the rock

---

Aleksidze considered the captain’s words as he studied the map. Most of the country was highlands and mountains with the greatest population centers laying betwixt them. It was the problem with supply their forces. In a deal swath of the country they held the mountains and only the few speckled villages that dotted them.He was skeptical about their talk of the use of the mountain tops in order to force a fight uphill.

“The mountains are steep, rocky and difficult to transverse. There is a reason that those roads are so vital. Without them, our movements will slow and equipment difficult or even impossible to transverse the area.”

“That is if we stay on the ground,” said the Grand Duchess. She met Captain Yualian’s gaze before pointed to the map, her finger tapping a small coastal town. “I suggest we kill two birds with one stone. You suggested that we focus on the coast, I agree, that’s where we have the greatest supporters and there on are a few key points were forces of the Red Council has taken what is rightfully ours.”

“The nearest,” the Grand Duchess continued, is here, the town of Abyan. It is a fishing village of 3,250 people, given or take. The Tsitlebi took it and have been using the road along the coast to try and push towards Davaz and on to us here in Potedia, and cutting us off from our territory in the center of the country. The road from Davaz to Abyan is a four lane highway on a narrow strip of land 60 feet wide with the ocean on one side and 130 foot cliffs on the other. We’ve been able to hold them off from advancing into Davaz so far, but they are being supplied via Abyan.”

“I suggest we test your suggestion. We land soldiers east of Abyan and swing around, crossing the Abyan River over a constructed bridge and fire on the Tsitlebi from above. At the same time, we’ll have a force press on them on the highway from Davaz and have the destroyer, the Mostro fire their two AK-230 naval guns on the city from the north.”

Aleksidze rubbed his mustache as he considered it. He grabbed a closet map of the area and and marked off in black the front lines most recently reported and laid out the proposed plan for them all to see.

“Your Makos could lay waste to the enemy forces on both the highway and this small road through the hills whilst our light tanks and a dozen howitzer M1943s fire on the occupied town from above.”

[Colfico]

The Colficoan nodded, however, the plan was risky, if the amphibious force was spotted, and hit while still landing, the results could be a disaster, he thought about it, before he got a idea.

"The attack should begin just before sun rise, and use the night to move forces unseen, we need to catch their forces off guard, or the landing force could find itself surrounded and cut off, air support and naval artillery are great tools, but we should still watch our step. As for traversing the mountains, perhaps it would be more difficult, especially for a mechanized or motorized force....however, it would be less so for cavalry, similar to the mounted mountaineers that Colfico uses, which use horses to get from one place to another, and then dismount to fight the battle, and yet, it might be a bit slower, however at the same time, we need to take our time, and use every advantage that we can find, that includes taking the most unlikely routes possible."

He then pointed to a section of ground to the south of the town, before speaking.

"The armor should not shoot straight towards the town, instead they should strike here in an armored spearhead, and move east before swinging north to meet up with the amphibious force, so as to surround and cut it off from outside support. That way, what forces are there can be encircled, entrapped, and annihilated."

[Imarati]

Chilly twilight war
A new creation of wrecked windows
by the shattered cliffs

“Soldiers on horse back,” Helene shook her head in disbelief, turning her head up towards the ceiling as if looking to the heavens. “What a world we have come to.”

General Aleksidze was still skeptical. “An armored attack along the coastal highway will draw their attention. They will be expecting it, and it will draw their focus away from the town itself. He could split off a section to move through the hills to the east and then turn north to join the amphibious groups.”

“As for the landing group, a night time landing has its own dangers. But this spot to the east has a pass through the cliffs, it is narrow but it in the hands of some loyal locals that will guide us through. We’ll have them block off their end of the seaside road before we land,” said the Grand Duchess.

[Colfico]

"There is more merit to the idea than you might think, a horse can get to places that a tank or even a truck cannot, and they are also much quieter, and do not require fuel, while a soldier on horseback can still carry the same firepower as an infantryman.."

He listened to them speaking of the plan, and could not help but find himself doubting the frontal assault. They did not have the numbers to sustain many casualties, and if the enemy did not bite at the bait, the landing force would be heavily caught out. However, as she had said, he was not here to command, merely to advise, he would advise as best as he could, but if his advising was not applied, well, there was not much he could do about it.

"What are the rules of engagement regarding civilian structures and combatants, as far as I am aware, the Red Council is not employing a professional force. Avoiding unnecessary civilian casualties is all well and good, but it is pointless if it jeopardizes the completion of the mission."

[Imarati]

Showery dawning
A beautiful, plump queen stands
above the hammer

---

“Horses require food and care and training,” said Marshal Aleksidze, “and they can get sick and die.” The Grand Duchess nodded her head in agreement with her marshal. She was more open to the suggestions of the Colficoans than the old General, but she had trusted the mind of Aleksidze all these decades, so it was with him she sided with.

“I don’t have a mind to slaughter my citizens,” the Grand Duchess said coldly, “ but I will not stop to check the loyalty of every house and shack and nook before determining an attack. If they are wise, they will rise in support of their true tsarina, if they are realistic they will at least stay out of our way. And if they side and the traitors, then they too are traitors.”

“If you have a mind to spread pamphlets, I suggest dropping them over the Central Valley around Soikon. The anarchists are a splintered and, naturally, a disunited faction. Reports claim that those living in the capital roam around amidst the ruins of the city, subsisting on whatever they can fine and fighting off outlaws,” offered Aleksidze.

“They have lived in such squalor for three decades, surely they have been pushed to the brink and will be eager for a sense of stability,” said the Grand Duchess, “and you will be unchallenged in the skies there. The people must know that I am their Tsarina, and that this is the only true legitimate government in this country.”

[Colfico]

"Yes, they do, however they provide a useful tool of mobility in areas where mechanized and motorized forces cannot get to, and given both of your mindsets towards it, I have a hunch that the enemy would not be expecting it either, which could be used to our advantage, and you need every tool you can get in this war. If need be I can send back a request for Colficoan Mountain Riders to help train horses and soldiers for the task."

He nodded as he heard the report, however, he was not as confident.

"I appreciate the confidence of air superiority, however other aircraft are not the only threat to the aircraft, ground based systems, and even improvised systems can be a threat if not considered carefully. We will drop them, however we will do so methodically, and carefully once we are sure that the transport aircraft will not be subjected to excessive flak and ground fire in the process, the Makos can accomplish this goal, and they can also be utilized in a surveillance and reconnaissance role, we have brought with us a few camera pods which can be mounted to the aircraft, and be used to gather intelligence as needed, perhaps we should take that step as much as possible before future attacks, when we have the time to do so of course. Information is one of the most powerful weapons in war, having control of it, and having effective means of gathering the information that is important, is essential to waging a war. Speaking of which, has any attempt been made at cracking and intercepting enemy communications? Radios or even telegrams can be intercepted and decrypted with the correct equipment and trained personnel, and the information gained can be decisive, if a intelligence branch has not been created, it should be a high priority."

He then thought of something, and turned to the general and spoke.

"Do any of your soldiers have training with airborne tactics, the transports could be used to drop them over the town and help to secure crucial points, and cause chaos behind enemy lines, before the main attack begins."

[Imarati]

Tired battlefield
A single, butterfly flies
at the old hammer

---

The mechanized forces of the Spring Prince lead by Gvasalia rolled through the Tambakos Mountains, towards Dmaeli. They descended down the enemy held city, along the steep and rocky banks of the Ricassia River. As they neared the town, the alarms of the Red Council’s garrison blared to like. Their forces assembled, positioned at the left side of the river and next to the base of a series of cliffs. The holy fighters of the true King of Imarati arrived in force, twisting around the curve of the mountain

Gvasalia ordered his movement of tanks to launch its offensive, their tracks rolling across the hilled landscape as he deployed in squads groups in V-shaped formation with sharpshooters defending their flanks as they fought their way against reassembling numbers of the enemy. They were lead by their armored forces, while the rest were to be put in reserve in case things went out of his plan.

The swift flood of tanks that swept out of the hills and up the banks of the river was a stunning and the warriors of the Spring Prince were sure to achieve the element of surprise against the enemy the moment it launches its attack. When the defenders, still on the midst of their preparation on their albeit-late offensive that had not yet take place, saw the Quvitlebi forces rolling towards them as the sun blazed over head, they commenced a grand yet disorganized counter charge all across the entire length of the battle line. But the men of Gvasalia’s forces backed their v shaped tank formations with light artillery inside the hollows of the V which only fired when the tanks opened lanes to make way for its line of fire.

The said cannons fired grapeshots to the front lines of the forces of the Tsitlebi, inflicting seriously crippling losses to the defenders turned attackers. Within minutes of the cannon opening fire, the Tsitlebi were once again retreating and the holy fighter continued their fighting March towards the city.

Being pushed further towards the town they were determined to hold amidst the explosions and sparks of gun fire, the Tsitlebi then tried to flank the Quvitlebi’s force to the rear, but Gvasalia hurried his reserves to go towards the entrenchments situated between the advancing tanks and the Tsitlebi camp thus redirecting the attention of the enemy flanking force on his rear. Fearing to lose his line of retreat, the Tsitlebi commander rushed all available units to the entrenchments, only to be torn apart and driven out by constant, devastating and accurate fire of the Quvitlebi artillery.

As the waves of tanks finally arrived and stormed its way to the the camp, the sun above now starting to sink in arc of the sky, they finally felt weariness and their movements began to slow. But when the massed battery line, at the command of Gvasalia, opened fire in a massive barrage, the enemy forces began taking even more casualties and thus were forced back while demoralized. Thus began the retreat that the Tsitlebi could not manage to stop. The routing enemy forces went through the town of Dmaeli.

In the town, panic quickly spread as those loyal to the Red Council were gathered up and made to flee the city. Families gathered their values and road, and ran out of the city in the way of the advancing forces of Besarion, their one true King. The enemy commander was left with no choice but to join along with whatever was left of his staff in the disorganized retreat. Seeing the Tsitlebi already fleeing from the battle scene and though exhausted from several hours of non-stop battle, Gvasalia had not come this far to stop.

The commander forced his men further and they entered the town, a place left in chaos as half of it was abandoned and the other half remained locked in their homes, fearful of what their fate would be. Gvasalia commanded his soldiers to hold, raising the yellow banner of the one true King of Imarati over Dmaeli.

[Imarati]

[Colfico]

The roar of engines filled the air of these rstrip as the Colficoan pilots ran to their posts, their first planned sorties were about to begin. However they would not be attacking the front line, instead, today they would be beginning the process of gaining air superiority, as well as gaining what imtelthat they could about enemy air defences.

The wing Commander sat in his cockpit, as a pair of missiles, VM-2 Infrared missiles sent with the planes, and two rack of eight unguided rockets, were loaded underneath the wings of the war plane.

He patiently taxied his aircraftto the runway as he closed the bubble cockpit, it's bulletproof glass front coming down, and he awaited the order.

"This is Marauder flight, awaiting permission to begin operations."

The eight planes waited in a line, as was standard procedure among the NCAF. They had been given specific orders from high-up to not split the squadron, no matter what.

[Imarati]

[align=] Stormy abandon
A true, gorgeous Creature feeds
enjoying the fish[/align]

---

Besarion road through the streets of Dmaeli upon a white horse, the black robes the priests and monks that had put the crown atop his head had drapped him in bellowing around him as he greeted the recently conquered town. And while he may have been a picture of old fables. One need look only to the guards that flanked him, armed with assault rifles whilst tanks paraded through the streets of the town.

“People of Imarati,” Besarion said when a large crowd had gathered around him. Or been assembled. In either way, the spring prince, whether he knew it or not, had a captive audience. One, by the lack of their desertion was inclined to listen to him.

“Tragedy has plagued this country for too long. It has sunk its claws deep into our flesh, talons if a three head monster red, white and green. This beast wishes to carve us up and swallow us whole. I shall let it. As your king, I swear to slay this creature. Even if I must struck off the heads of the old tyrants, the veiled heads of the red council and even my own traitorous sister. I will end your suffering, and bring us peace once more. And let the blood of our enemies water the gardens of our futures.”

With the spring prince’s speech, however brief, concluded, there were was a small choir of cheers. That handful of voices approval soon turned into a great clamor of jubilation as soldiers began passing our rations to the city. Loaves of bread, dried salted goat meat and bottles of water were handed out to all to proclaimed Besarion their true king. And whether for love of their hearts or hunger for their bellies, the people of Dmaeli swore their allegiance to their savior.

---

With the Battle of Khaati Bridge and the Battle of Dmaeli victories for Besarion’s host of soldiers and armored divisions, it was left to Gvasalia to to pen the terms of surrender to the town of Sae, several miles northwest of Dmaeli, downstream on the Ricassia River and surely next on their campaign. They ought follow the river to the sea it seemed. The terms to Sae were quite simply. Absolute surrender. Terms, it seemed, Sae was not willing to accept. And so yet another battle along the already bloodied river was set to occur.

---

Kalichava watched from the modest air control tower of the airfield as the Colficoans planes lined up. He gave a nod to one of the operators and the operator in turn relayed via radio to the wing commander.

“Marauder Flight, is is Her Majesty’s Air Control, you are clear for take and to commence operations.”

[Colfico]

The colficoan wing commander gave the tower a thumbs up, before switching to his squadron frequency, a carefully encrypted Colficoan radio frequency often used by the NCAF. He looked over his shoulder, leaning a little to peak around his ejection seat. He was satisified as he watched them taking up staggered formations of three behind him, and then turned his attention to the air in front of him, as he began the take off sequence.

"Flight, this is Marauder lead, begin take off and initiate operations, you know our objectives, and keep your eyes open for intervening enemy aircraft, and be prepared to either engage or disengage based on further assessment of the situation. Zajahajte in obudite bes nad sovražnikom!"

He then pushed the accelerator forward, and with a deafening roar, the air was filled with the sound of the afterburner of the CF-7B, and that sound became even louder as it was joined by the two aircraft flanking it. The swept wing aircraft began to roll down the run way at a quickly increasing pace, before, having gained enough speed, he pulled back on the controls, pulling the aircraft up, and off of the runway, streaking up at ever greater speed, followed by his comrades, as they put distance between them and the airfield, heading towards their targets to the east, an easy trip for the aircraft.

[Imarati]

Rainy afternoon
A largest, handsome lake soars
because of the snail

---

Ten miles southeast of Potedia, scouts loyal to the Red Council, patrolling the unstable and entrenched frontlines between the territories of the Red Council and the Grand Duchess caught sight via binoculars of a series of planes rising up from the previous airfield in the port city. It had been unclear before if the loyalists of the Grand Duchess had retained control of a functioning airfield, but with this display, the scouts realized the importance of this truth. Quickly they reported this to their commanding officers, who relayed the information to Amelda and Abyan.

---

In Amelda, the commander there was Soso Jaqeli, who was growing ever more concerned for an attack by the forces of the man claiming to be the long dead star’s equally long dead son. He had been preparing for such an attack from the south, so he was quite surprised to learn of action likely to take place in the north. Amelda was the key city between Potedia and the heartland of the Red Council’s control. With this in mind, Jaqeli ordered that a company of soldiers be sent to the hills outside of the port city in order to disrupt or even destroy the airfield that they now knew was operational with a series of twenty 76 mm air defense gun M2110s.

The company, under the command of Andro Iarajuli made their way north, towing the M2110s behind their lightly armored trucks.

[Imarati]

Shivering hillside
A warrior looks beyond
after the fallen

---

Gocha Tarkhnishvili ordered his soldiers to hold the line as they witnessed the approaching forces of the False Besarion, rows of tanks rolling over the countryside and along the highway towards the city of Sae. Tarkhnishvili, who had been put in command of the town of Sae had been the same man who had refused the offer of surrender sent to him by the forces of the False Besarion. With a garrison of just two hundred and forty five men, it was a while gamble, but having heard reports of the fast moving forces of Gvasalia, Tarkhnishvili believed that if he could simply hold off the attack of the false prince, he could hold the city.

Tarkhnishvili’s garrison had worked through the night, as they awaited the attack of the enemy, created a ring of mines, trench’s and dugouts with their three artillery guns, which lay low in the hillsides sandbags piled up high to cushion the expected onslaught of enemy fire. That’s expectation soon became a promise as the rolling mechanized forces of the enemy appeared from the southeast. At Tarkhnishvili’s command, the forces of Sae held their fire until the enemy was in range of their guns.

It was at roughly the ten mile mark that Tarkhnishvili gave the order to fire on the front line of the advancing forces. In the distance, plums of smoke shot up into the air, the sign of tanks caught dead in their tracks from a direct hit. There was a brief series of flashes as the tanks attempted to return fire, but quickly found that they were out of range of their attackers. Tarkhnishvili watched the tanks charged forward, his artillery guns take care of picking off the front runners, sending their mechanized movements to halts and forming a tertiary boundary around the city as the other tanks were forced to re organize as they moved past the burning wreckage of their fallen brethren.

While Tarkhnishvili didn’t have the guns to wide them out, he could see he was causing a blow, and hindering their forward movement. But still the forces of the false Besarion advanced towards the city. As they neared, Tarkhnishvili ordered his garrison to brace themselves for coming under fire of the enemy. No sooner had he uttered the words did the first of the enemy tanks come in range. They opened fire and pillars of sand and debris erupted as they fired on the city’s encampments. Again and again. For felt like the longest minute of Tarkhnishvili’s life. Then his trap fell into place.

The sound of explosions filled the air all across the city as the landscape outside of Sae to the southeast became a burning smoke scene of wreckage. Well placed mines and detonated explosives tore through the ground and tanks above them. That put a stop to the enemy’s advance as their front lines were torn apart. A ghost of a smile crossed Tarkhnishvili’s lips. The enemy had won so easily at Khaati Bridge and even at Dmaeli, they had been overconfident in their assault on Sae. Overconfident that Tarkhnishvili had just scattered as he destroyed a least a third of their forces.

Through the smoke and fire, he could see the line of tanks, unsure of what other attack lay in wait, retreat. But they did not go too far he noted. To about fifteen miles away. Just out of range of his artillery. Tarkhnishvili may have won the Battle of Sae. Now it would be time to see if he could outlast a siege.

[Colfico]

He watched the horizon carefully, while occasionally glancing to the CF-7Bs radar screen, he was enjoying the view, the snow-capped mountains glistening with sunlight, reminding him of the Hyrean mountains. However, he knew it was far from a friendly scene down below, and to an extent, he was glad that he had chosen to be a fighter pilot.

His radio crackled for a moment, before the voice of one of his wingmen came through.

Commander, I have eyes on hostile vehicles down below, looks like they are heading in the direction of the airfield, what should we do?

He thought for a moment, while it was not his objective, simply allowing the attack to continue unharrassed and unreported could end disastrously. So he made a by-his-seat decision, and got on the radio with the base commander.

"This is Marauder Flight, we have eyes on an enemy detachment moving towards the airfield, we are moving to engage, but we advise that a defense be prepared immediately, we will provide as much support as we can, Marauder flight out."

He switched back to the channel the squadron was using, and spoke again. "Lets dive on them and engage, you are cleared to use whatever means available to slow this advance, focus on trucks and vehicles, and show no mercy."

Affirmative, long live Colfico!

He rolled his aircraft over, and down towards the vehicles below, and flipped up the red safety for his guns, and, once he came into range, squeezed the trigger, the three twenty millimeter cannons causing the aircraft to shake a little as they fired, sending green tracers interrupted by armor piercing incendiary shells and high explosive fragmentation shells in a repeating belt, filling the air with a roar of gunfire. Just before he pulled up, he hit the rocket release, sending two explosive rockets streaking towards a truck, having aimed for the gun it had been towing, and then pulling back on the joystick, the aircraft filling the air with a thunderous boom as it broke the sound barrier, a visible vaporous cone surrounding the aircraft for but a moment.