The Land of Warm Winds (Maintenance/Closed)

by **Legatia** » Tue Jun 06, 2023 10:51 am

NATIONAL MAINTENANCE THREAD

This thread is a collection of stories, posts, and information that does not warrant its own thread or would be best viewed independently from the lens of another topic. These stories may or may not stand independently of other events, or be a continuation of other posts from this thread or other threads, context will be provided where necessary. This is NOT a roleplay thread and no one should be posting in this thread without my express permission. If you are curious about anything Meridon, my wiki is a great place to stop by, and otherwise, my TGs are always open.

A link of relevant posts in this thread:
Unsorted-

Composite Dawn-

A Dance on Sand-

Rocks and a Hard Place-

by **Legatia** » Tue Jun 06, 2023 11:54 am

SENDER	Meridon Defense Forces, Chief of Defense Staff
RECIPIENT	ALCON, Meridon Defense Forces
SUBJECT	Defense Forces Dispatches, 6 June 2023
CLASSIFICATION	CONTROLLED-2: External distribution restricted

DEFENSE FORCES DISPATCHES, SIXTH OF JUNE, TWO THOUSAND AND TWENTY THREE:

IX. DISPATCHES MENTIONED
As so approved by the Defense Secretary the Honorable Jason Merritt,

The Defense Forces recognizes the following undersigned officers, men, and organizations for conduct valorous, meritorious, exceptional and otherwise noteworthy of the degree of respect and acknowledgement rightfully conferred.

John Ironwood, General, Meridonian Army-
Mentioned in Dispatches, Ninth Award
Federation Medal with Distinction
Thomas Turei, Vice Admiral, Meridonian Navy-
Mentioned in Dispatches, Second Award
Defense Superior Service Cross
Advanced to the rank of Admiral, OF10
Alexander Petrios, Major General, Meridonian Army-
Mentioned in Dispatches, Second Award
Defense Superior Service Cross
Charles Courtemanche, Colonel, Meridonian Navy, Regiment Marines Commando-
Defense Superior Service Cross
Advanced to the rank of Brigadier, OF7
Arthur Phillips, Colonel, Meridonian Army-
Mentioned in Dispatches
Defense Superior Service Cross
9 Division Armored; 16 Division Infantry, Meridonian Army; 3 Carrier Air Group; 5 Carrier Air Group, Meridonian Navy,
Federal Superior Unit Citation
Brigade Combat Team 109, Saescia; Ulan Guards Regimental Combat Team, Blauveldt-Ryszana; Royal Marine Division, Sombreland; Darlingtown Expeditionary Force, Darlingtown; Battle Fleet Forrest Holloway, Anagonia; 3rd Infantry Division, 9th Infantry Division, 14th Mechanized Infantry Division, 22nd Infantry Division, Marine Division 1, and associated naval and aerial forces, Joseon; European Expeditionary forces, Europe a Nation 121st Volor Squadron, Tactical Wing Sierra, Azura; Armed Forces of the Commonwealth of New York-
Federal Allied Unit Commendation
2R-S3C "Sariel", Darlingtown Expeditionary Force, Darlingtown-
Military Combat Lifesaving Medal
Henry Donaldson, Lieutenant Master, Confederate States Navy, Anagonia-
Naval Lifesaving Medal

BY MY HAND,
-John Argus
General, Meridonian Army
Chief of Defense Staff, Meridon Defense Forces

by **Legatia** » Mon Jun 19, 2023 8:37 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
City of Marin Bay, Mahine Territory- Meridon Naval Air Station Marin Bay
7:00 AM, 20 June 2023

"Goooooood morning, Marin Bay! Top of the hour to you, this is Dan the Radio Man here with'ya with today's weather and news brief, ONLY on WKMI! The car's radio blared, despite the whistling of the wind past it in the windows. Lookin' like a Northshore day today, highs at 82 and lows at 55, clear skies, and winds low and out of the east, perfect conditions for a nice spot on Flatsend Beach or any other spot. Top on the news, our boys coming home from New England! Last reported position by our Eye-in-the-Sky Luna's just south of the Weeba bridge. We've got the famous flat-tops coming home to the navy base, right here in Marin Bay! If you're lookin' for something today, not just one but two carrier's worth of jets'll be burning up them pretty Mahine skies later this morning as our boys come home from kicking ass in New England. Live coverage right here starting at ten on the dot- same freq, same great host! In other news.."

The long, dirty blonde locks of hair belonging to the twenty-seven year old Marise White trailed behind her as she drove her 2011 Tarass-Ortum Linebacker down the Marin Bay Expressway onto an entry ramp to merge with T-22, a highway which was unique in that it was the only one to link two territories- let alone the three it actually did- and ran from its southern terminus here in Marin Bay all the way north to its terminus on the Alexandrian mainland west of Amber Bay. Here it crossed the body of water the city of Marin Bay took its name from, to Midway Island between the bay's inlet, and from there to the naval air station where close to half of the Meridonian Navy's tactical jets were stationed. Looking at it from over the highway, Marise saw how empty it was, as it had been for a few months now. That would change very soon. Across the tarmac darted utility vehicles and little ant like dots of men, readying the field for the arrival of over a hundred jets in very close order.

"Mommy, mommy, I can see the base!" Her daughter, Anna White, waved her small hands out of the window enthusiastically as her green eyes sparkled with excitement. Had it already been four years, her mother thought? Her husband was in flight school at the time, and the girl was certainly not planned, especially with her husband- a pilot assigned to the carrier Marin Bay's 3 Carrier Air Group- having a career just getting off the ground. But the little girl was curious, friendly, smart and kind, a blessing. The Navy might have given him wings, they'd joked, but it was his two girls' role to keep his feet on the ground. Marise worked as a cook at a beachside grill, and getting off today when the throngs were expected to be high was a herculean effort in and of itself, but she had made it, and would be among the pilot's families as their jets came home and their pilots returned to their families.

"That's right, love, there it is;" the mother answered warmly as the exit for the naval airfield approached, directing their vehicle down a ramp and towards the expressway that would land them at Delta Gate, the base's primary entry point from the south, where rows of other cars had waited for admission to the airfield. A throng of armed naval masters at arms in ballcaps and plate carriers manned the gate, diligently identifying those visiting the based as family and approved visitors, braving the heat of exhaust fumes adding to the already-hot seventy-five degree weather, that was expected to climb into the nineties towards noon.

As the vehicle slid to a stop, one such guardsman approached the vehicle with a stern expression, glare hidden behind a pair of sturdy sunglasses, expression darkened by the shadow of a uniform ballcap. Marise was used to such expressions from the gate guards, being a frequent visitor on and off of the base, but her daughter, full of innocence and spirit, was not, and gave the sailor a bright " 'Ello!"

Not expecting such energy this early in the morning, the man broke into an involuntary smile, the white of his teeth contrasting with the darker hue of uniform and complexion that was further dulled by the shadow of the pavillion, as he removed a hand from his belt to wave. "Why, 'ello, there." Marise elicited a soft smile towards her daughter before presenting her identification. The guard gently took the card, scanned it on a handheld tablet, and then returned it.

"Follow the boys in the hi-vis. Take care." The man gave a thumb up to his comrade down the line, as the bar guarding entry through the road was lifted, allowing the two to find a parking spot within the base, guided by naval personnel in bright yellow and orange jackets towards a carpark utilizing part of one of the runways and some spare tarmac. Even though the event here was limited to immediate family members, the return of the two carrier air wings alone accounted for many hundreds of men and women flying from the carriers Marin Bay and Baymark, and quite a few of those family members had turned out in full force for a triumphant return of Meridon's war heroes.

Guiding Anya by her hand across the tarmac, Marise White felt her heart beat a bit faster, as it always did when her husband would return after training exercises or the long stints away on Navy business. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, she had heard from her own mother- a woman who married an up-and-coming businessman, a pair that were comfortably retired in Otahu now, a marriage still strong after fourty years of it. She had gotten past the worries and the troubles that fraught many young marriages, she knew, tensing the hand of the soul that glued the two together. Glancing about her, she saw some faces familiar from get-togethers between the military families of the Marin Bay community, and many faces whose names she could not remember, but in this moment, the throng of families were joined as one larger whole, a beating heart awaiting the return of its final piece.

A piece that came home with the clap of thunder and the rush of air, the roar of engines- a solitary F5M6 Lynx of 33 Naval Fighter Squadron ripping down the runway at barely two hundred feet, just shy of supersonic, flying with its wings displayed to the crowd as it passed by. The powerful twin Hollon turbofans roaring in afterburner filled the chest of the crowd with the force of their thrust, the distinctive smell of burning jet fuel filling the air. It was there before them only for the five seconds it took the aircraft to cover the runway's distance, before righting its attitude and beginning a steady climb into the sky.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Commander Howard Ryker, Squadron Officer Commanding, 33 Naval Fighter Squadron in his Lynx heralding the return of Meridonian fleet airpower from the fight abroad!" The loudspeaker tardily announced the beginning of the airshow, barely audible over the cheers of a crowd thrilled by the spontaneity of the arrival of the carrier jet, heralding the arrival of his fellows, who could just now be seen in a decade of large wedge formations approaching in a staggered line on the horizon. Most comprised of thirteen aircraft, a full squadron's worth of twelve jets of fighters, with the centerpiece being the twin-engine Herald radar aircraft at the tip of each arrow. The second group had twelve, lacking one of it's Lynx aircraft- this was 98 Naval Fighter Squadron, who had suffered the only fixed-wing casualty of the Meridonian side without loss of pilot. The fifth and tenth of the formation were nine strong, comprising the eight electronic attack jets of each carrier. In all, this comprised 121 aircraft present over Marin Bay, which would constitute an enormous airshow if the aircraft were here for aerobatics.

The pride of the Navy's Fleet Air were not here for such a performance. The clean, slick Super Lynx that had flown over moments ago was an outlier from the aircraft of the fleet, who flew over in a more orderly and steady 200 knots to keep pace with the propeller-driven Heralds. These aircraft, normally a mid-light grey spare from the colorfully-painted aircraft belonging to the squadron commander, were uniformly dirty from months at sea and weeks of intensive combat in New England. These aircraft had been there from the beginning, conducting the most successful large-scale campaign in Meridonian history, providing some of the most devastating aerial firepower the world had seen before, from the opening shots of Shadow Hand to the final moments of the Battle of Albany. Without a single aircrew loss during the entirety of the campaign, everyone involved from the Admiralty down to the children of the brave military men and women who had fought had a reason to let their hearts swell with pride.

Waving and cheering the crowd welcomed their kin home, pilots up above peering over their canopy to get a glimpse at the mass of humanity beneath them, as they passed overhead. Some would recognize the markings about the naval aircraft and gander at where their loved one might be riding, but for those who could not, the announcer would list the unit flying overhead. Universally, the air was filled with the rumble of jet engines and the whine of turbine propellers, as each formation passed over the airfield in its own victory lap on its own home turf. The glittering emerald seas of Marin Bay and the sprawl of city and country beyond it spread as far as the naval aviators could see, a mother with arms outspread to welcome her sons and daughters home.

The formations made a straight pass over the airfield, thence banking to the left towards the city- and from there, eyes from outside the base peered at the returning naval jets. The bay beneath them was filled with boats and small craft, Flatsend and Matrisa and Caramine and all the other beaches packed with skywatchers, and even those within office buildings and cafes within the city gazed out to see their forms, and in some places still very far away hear and even feel the power of their engines. Marise at last hoisted her daughter onto her shoulders above the rest of the crowd, where she reached out for the group her father was flying in, the third diamond, as it ran its course.

When they had completed their pass, their fuel from the flight south low enough to permit landing, they turned left towards the sparser suburbs as their formations began to detach and space themselves out. The air traffic controllers aboard the naval base certainly had their work cut out for them, planning and controlling the simultaneous surge arrival of so many aircraft. The jets, with less fuel capacity and larger numbers, would of course land first. They approached the runway in groups of four, spaced by a few miles, landing in formation towards a blackened patch of runway left there by hundreds of landings before it. As each aircraft landed with flaps and speed breaks extended, they uniformly slowed to a stop and taxied sharply from the runway, under which a pair of the base's crash trucks cascaded them with a water salute, water slaking off of the dirty grey forms of the first-to-land Lynx jets. From their taxiway, they were met by a follow-me truck to marshal them to a designated parking area, where their final direction was given by a veritable army of hi-vis jacketed maintainers as they were put to a park. Steadily; four then eight then twelve jets were lined up, and in sync, the canopies opened, ladders dropped, and pairs of flight crew emerged from within. Perhaps just as unkempt as their jets emerged the green-suited carrier pilots of 33 NFS, who made short conversation and snappy salutes to the maintainers, neither of which interested in being held in conversation for long with their families threatening to overwhelm the short crowd control barriers preventing their entry into the flightline proper.

The pilots passed through the barrier with flight bags in hand, and finally embraced the awaiting family beyond them. Fathers embraced their children, standing and kneeling both to meet them. Daughters were greeted by parents, who surrounded eachother with group hugs. Husbands were met by wives with all sorts of greetings, from hugs, to one woman who quite literally leaped into the arm of a returning radar intercept officer. As this intermingling developed, Anya White bounced impatiently upon her mother's shoulders as the next group, 98 Naval Fighter Squadron, taxied into position directly next to the previously parked group of Lynx fighters, repeating much the same affair with their families as the last.

Following the landing of the 11-ship Lynx squadron, at last 81 Naval Fighter Squadron had its turn to land and taxi over. When the twelfth of these jets had finally slid into its spot, the marshaller giving a sweep of his batons with a flourish, the jet engines rolled to a halt, and the canopy of the fighters slid back and open. Emerging from the cockpits were twenty-two aviators, stepping down ladders on the aircraft's left side before they exchanged their formalities with the plane captains. Neither did these airmen care to handle paperwork; and nor was it given.

Marise felt the energetic shifting of Anya on her shoulder as the girl pointed and squeaked in joy, finally spotting the face of her father, eyes obscured by a pair of aviators and lip by a mustache, as he moved with a relieved sense of confidence and anticipation towards the crowd. Marise couldn't help but elicit an enormous grin as he approached, which was reciprocated by the pilot as he, at last, closed the final few feet of a gap that had been thousands of miles wide.

"Morning, loves;" Lieutenant Riley "Corkscrew" White, his callsign newly emblazoned on a brand-new flight suit patch, greeted the two most important women in his life with arms outstretched. As cheers finally enveloped their section, the Lieutenant embraced his wife, who leaned back into his arms as Anya about her shoulders leaned forward to hug her father's head. The two embraced in a kiss, strong and fervent, carrying all of their emotions and love in a way that words never could.

A scant few feet from them, a photographer from the Cordelian newspaper's camera flashed bright as the scene was captured in a still, a photograph that would adorn its headline the next day. The war had ended for the White family, and they could finally start to live again.

by **Legatia** » Wed Jul 12, 2023 9:38 am

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria Territory- Whiteriver Manor, Presidential Command Operations Center
09:00 PM, 12 June 2023

A pair of Federal Protective Service Agents stood before the heavy oaken door guarding the entryway into the War Room, forbidding entry to any but those already sat in the room. Within was the apparatus of the Federal Republic's defense organs, the Federal Defense Council, sat at an ovular table surrounded by LCD screens.

President Acton and Vice President Townley, Defense Secretary Merritt, State Secretary Reagan, Homeland Secretary Rakena, General John Argus and his Chiefs of Defense Staff, Intelligence Undersecretary McVenture and the Joint Forces Commanders. A number of intel chiefs were there as well, their heads hung notably low. The mood in the room was tense as the Meridonian government, still riding the high of a win in New England, was faced with a terrifying new reality, that of a global war in Esvanovia. A tenuous peace had lasted for close to eighty years since the dashing of the Kaskaidan fleets at Anagonian and Meridonian hands.

The flurry of diplomatic activity between Sombreland and Anagonia had not gone unnoticed,as provocations and tensions along the ICON ally's border ramped to an even higher level than normal, unprecedented and unaccounted for. That was the purpose of this briefing.

"Sir, allow me to begin my briefing." Abroad Intelligence Services Director Vincent Primm, dressed in jet black from shoe to suit to tie, gestured to the large display behind him. "Recently, military exercises in the border areas between Sombreland and Aureumterra have excited old wounds into reopening. Diplomatic channels have been particularly active as per our intercepts between multiple involved parties. Satellite reconnaissance conducted in the past few weeks have confirmed significant military buildups in these regions, including the mobilization of garrison forces and enactment of preparatory actions that are indicative of Aureumterra preparing to conduct a general offensive in order to take this area."

President Acton, while still about his senses, could not fully believe what he was hearing. He had heard the hints of it in his daily briefings, but could hardly believe that this was actually, very likely, a possibility, enough to warrant a full briefing. He sat back, wide-eyed into his chair, as he and the rest of the room remained affixed to the Director's words.

"Simultaneously, we have received actionable intelligence that there is large-scale movement of weapons and materials from Kaskaida into Ashilosa. We have been informed of this via proxy from a delegate at the Bellême conference. Abroad Intelligence agents in country are working on confirming this information, but we'll need time to verify any details. We evaluate this as highly likely to be preparatory for an eventual escalation into full-scale warfare in the Anagonian continent. It is extremely likely these two events are to be interconnected to coincide with one another."

"A second Great War." Yui Townley, Vice President, spoke the obvious. "Right on our doorstep."

"If this assumption holds true, Mr. President, we will be fighting a two-front war. Three, depending on how well we are able to manage it. Here in the vicinity of the Anagonian continent we can expect things to be on the lighter end. We've provided for more intensive monitoring of Kaskaidan strategic assets, including their long-range missile stations and bomber home fields. We have moved Deadeye into position to monitor the same. Anagonia's conventional military is being supplemented by a Neo-Korean deployment force. The optimistic estimates will provide for Kaskaida providing funding for a proxy war in Anagonian territory, which will mean a low-intensity conflict that the Confederate States military should be well capable of handling without kinetic aid from Meridon. The worst is a general offensive, in which case we will need to respond in kind."

"Sombreland's situation is drastically worse. Putting it as you know it, sir, Sombreland's culture of caste systems and rigid societal separation will have it starting the fight with a broken leg. Their troops are well funded and organized, but their leaders are from what we know appointed to their station by birth and rarely by merit. Their insistence on prohibiting those born outside a certain caste from serving in their armed forces limits them to a hundred and fifty thousand fighting men."

"...One hundred and fifty thousand. They might as well surrender already." A pessimistic view came from the Defense Secretary, to which Director Primm could only offer a sad sigh.

"..This is to contrast with Aureumterra's armed forces, which number five million, composed of both conscript and professional military. Given, Aureumterra will not be able to deploy all of these forces against Sombreland. If we assume a more optimistic figure of a third of this number being sent to fight, they still outnumber the Sombrish soldier by eleven to one."

A collective air of distaste filled the room as this fact was featured. The general figure to provide for a successful offense was outnumbering the enemy three to one. When the Aureumterrans outnumbered them by a figure close to four times that, the reality was horrid for Sombreland.

"Now, this sounds like someone is about to be dragged kicking and screaming into the modern age;" came a comment from the State Secretary, whose off-cuff comment was regarded with some coldness in the tense atmosphere of the briefing room. Yet, no one disagreed with him, at least not aloud.

"..One way or another;" qualified the Director. "We estimate that should Aureumterra initiate offensive actions; unsupported, Sombreland would be lucky to survive thirty-six hours before they are overwhelmed. If we intend to honor our alliance agreements and defend them, it will require nothing short of our full effort. Third party actors in this affair to include Marquesan and Ghant are being courted to remain out of this conflict. We expect negotiations with Marquesan to bear some fruit, but have little indication either way in regards to Ghant."

"..Hold the thought a minute;" President Acton rested an elbow on the table. "..Aureumterra is willing to risk a war that will kill millions over that much territory? What's it worth?"

"To our knowledge, the territory is mostly swamp and farmlands. It provides Aureumterra with access to the extant Fonen territory, which maintains significant oil reserves, which was the subject of insurgent actions in the past. However, it is our evaluation the Aureumterran Emperor sees this as some sort of religious duty or a drive for personal glory." The Director answered.

"Can we take him out of the equation?"

"We have no reason to believe any of his successors will not take up a similar mantle, especially following the blatant killing of their sovereign."

"Saints on the pyre. The French had the right idea, I'll tell you.." Acton exhaled, regaining his composure. "General Argus?"

"Aye, sir." The seated General rose, and the Director stepped to the side. "I will now begin briefing for Integrated Operational Plan, Case Atlas, as conducted by the Joint Forces Command and Defense War College, dated last revised 6 July, 2023. Gentlemen, you should be aware the contents of this briefing are top secret and do not leave this room. The assumptions are as follows for this plan. It was developed prior to the establishment of the ICON joint command clause and therefore assumes a cooperative rather than integrative command structure, and full participation of Esvanovian ICON nations, principally the Evenguard and the Confederate States. It also assumes that ostensibly neutral nations- most particularly, Sarda- will continue to allow unrestricted utilization of our facilities in these positions. Case Atlas additionally takes into account at least two weeks of preparatory time- which begins, as of this moment. Some details of this plan have been discussed in broad strokes with our allies, however we will need to bring them up to speed regardless after tonight."

"Anagonia." The map switched to show a map of the Ashilosan territory, where the Confederate States bordered the Kaskaidan Union. "Ashilosa is not a fully integrated state and does harbor some separatist tendencies, and therefore may reliably be expected to provide significant and sustained civil disruption actions, including protests and disruption, bureaucratic backlogging, and in the more severe cases, partisan activity, guerilla warfare, or organized armed rebellion. The worst case will likely see Anagonian forces see losses of territory, and Ashilosan separatists reinforced by Kaskaidan regular forces, which will hold local numerical superiority and likely have some measure of public support. It is the evaluation that Anagonian regular military forces will be capable of conducting operations to regain and hold this territory if necessary. 2 Division Airmobile will be held in reserve for rapid deployment to prevent further losses or encirclement on the ground past the territorial border of it and Thetanacia, and we have made arrangements for the surging of tactical and support aircraft to MAB Adava in Sarda to effect this end, as well as begun discussions for supplementing Anagonian forces in the region. The maritime threat from Kaskaida is minimal, and we have not made plans to commit naval formations to the area as we expect Anagonia to be well able to conduct their own affairs. In an emergency, we should be able to spare a single Commando Task Unit and a carrier task group to support affairs in the region."

"Kaskaida's military strength exists in its aviation, which we will expect to harrow Anagonian forces and contest the airspace in the northern territories of the country. Depending entirely on how the Confederate States Air Force manages the opening days of the air war will either justify or nullify our plans for surge deployments. Our long-range tactical interdiction platforms such as the Leopard as is deployed at Adava should have the range to conduct both stand-off and close strikes near the entirety of the frontline. Fighter aircraft will have no such ability, and will require Anagonian basing or extensive tanker support.. which should be feasible, but will require more basing, the availability of which is entirely in the air. Principally, Meridon's contribution in this effort will be on the unengaged western front, where we will contribute a number of our carrier groups operating in tandems, with the aim to conduct standoff strikes against the Kaskaidan mainland and regular maritime component, and to facilitate the capture of outlying islands- we do not assess the invasion of the Kaskaidan mainland itself as a realistic possibility. It will take at least a few years for Meridon to gather enough forces to contribute to such an affair, and it is in our best interests that this war is ended quickly by annihilating the Kaskaidan capacity to wage war."

"Kaskaida's submarine groups, long-ranged aviation, missiles, and some of its surface navy will be expected to conduct harassing attacks against our carrier groups, which will need to sail with heavy escorts and operate in integrated groupings at extreme range to ensure their survival. As of current, the status of our carrier groups is as follows. Marin Bay and Baymark have just returned from their deployment in New England and can be made to sail again in short order. Kohaku, Sistine and Kohina are in the middle of maintenance and will likely need months to be brought into operational status, with Kohaku requiring the most and Sistine the least. Cordelia remains available for the moment but will soon need to go through its overhaul. Enterprise, Kaharoa, Saratosa and Howland remain our ready force carriers, currently Kaharoa is returning from its patrol along the western reaches. Enterprise is scheduled to sortie next week alongside it. Cordelia is en route to the Northern Ocean to conduct a freedom of navigation operation past Aureumterra and Ghant before circling back and making a port call in the Evenguard."

It was then that Secretary Merritt spoke up. "General, in view of this situation, would it not be wise to keep Cordelia away from an area where it is unsupported? Sombreland will be unlikely to effect aid should it come under attack."

"We recognize this risk;" General Argus noted, "but are hoping the deterrent and presence of force may still work. We have modified the route of travel to avoid sailing along the length of Aureumterra's coastline by the entire carrier group. A small surface action group consisting of a frigate and a destroyer will be navigating the strait between Ghant and Aureumterra before port calls in Drei-Insel-Hanse, Anagonia and then back home."

"And the rest of our surface fleet? What's the availability?"

"A large number of ships from 3 and 5 Carrier Task Groups returning from New England are currently undergoing refit, with about 35% of those involved in extended maintenance periods. These can be reduced to a matter of weeks to days in some cases. I am told that we have been able to replenish the munitions stocks of these vessels without incident to our stores. We are expecting somewhere in the seventy percentile range of fleet availability."

"Good;" commented Merritt. "..What will we be able to contribute to Sombreland?"

General Argus sighed softly. "We will only be able to likely supplement them with quick reaction forces, including 41 Regiment Ranger, special operations forces, and at most, two regiments of infantry. We are retaining II Corps for domestic defense duties, supplemented by federalized Territorial Guard units, and 14 Division Airborne as well as the remainder of I Corps that we can spare will be allocated for operations in the Anagonian orient. It may be posssible a few extra regiments from the reserve can be sent there, but it will require the securing of the sea lanes between Kaskaida and Azura and Neo-Korea, which we expect to remain tenuous anywhere from a few weeks to at the most three months. 41 Regiment Ranger can be airlifted to Neo-Korea and thence to Sombreland. We will be working on drawing down their deployments over the next week or two and re-equipping them for deployment at a moment's notice. If we are able to eliminate the threat of Kaskaida, obviously, this will change."

"Dour straits;" the Homeland secretary finally added. The rest of the room nodded in tense agreement. "We will have to pray that Azura can contribute more in that front than we can."

"And then;" General Argus flipped to the next cards. "The defense of Meridon itself. The range from Kaskaida and Aureumterra to the islands is prohibitive in every sense of the word. Kaskaida is incapable of projecting force this far south, and Aureuemterra should have little reason to attempt to project itself so far. We should, however, expect to weather cruise missile strikes from submarines. Our conventional submarine fleet as well as our maritime patrol aircraft will be screening our northern, eastern, and western approaches judiciously, with Coastal Component warships and frigates providing close-in defense. Air defense artillery operated by the Territorial Guards will be supplemented by active-duty formations in Alexandria, Helena, Smith Island, and Mahine Territories. Should the air war in Anagonia remain positive, we will have little to no threat in the air. "

"As to our strategic assets. On the initiation of the conflict, our ballistic missile submarines will move to their stations in the Anagonian Ocean and the Western Sea, those that are not already there. Our strike flights of Revenant bombers have been gaming and will be prepared to effect long-range strikes on Kasakaidan shipping, port infrastructure, and military targets, and have sufficient tanker support to reach the entirety of the coastline with munitions. We expect to have another squadron of Raven bombers prepared for strikes that can attack high-priority targets at range in either Aureumterra or Kaskaida, in supplement to our one existing squadron."

"Well;" Yui Townley rested back in her chair. "General, you have my thanks for such a well-thought out plan. But the question remains- what will this require in materials? How long can we be expected to sustain this level of combat? By what point do we need to win this war?"

"A good question, Madam Vice President;" he then answered, flipping to the next slide. "..There is no easy way to estimate wartime production levels. We are lucky we jumped the gun on that, factories have increased production to recompensate for munitions spent in New England. We can use this as a basis and continue to ramp up production over the next few months. With our current assets, we estimate that Meridon will be capable of maintaining a full application of our potential forces, unrestricted on both fronts, for about three months. Anything longer will require the supplementation of both the military and strategic industries by Federal mandate."

Most of the room was not sure how to take that information. General Argus had a feeling the war in Sombreland would be measured in years, not weeks. The war with Kaskaida less so, but he certainly did not feel the justification to be optimistic on this subject. Only fate would be the truth of this.

"..Very well. With the information given, the Defense Forces will move to Defense Readiness State 3. Have any and all of our forces in need of maintenance have it fast-tracked, I want as much of our naval force available to sortie on a moment's notice as possible. Bring our reserves to partial manning and have them available to be fully staffed within a week's notice, the Territorial Guards within 48 hours. Vice President."

"Sir?" Yui turned towards President Acton.

"..You'll be taking residence in Summerhall until further notice. You leave tomorrow morning. My Chief of Staff will be with yours to arrange for it."

"Yes, sir." She acknowledged her duty as designated survivor without question. Summerhall was meant as a Presidential retreat, gifted to the Presidency by the last of a now-extinct family line. It would ensure that, should the unthinkable occur, the Government would keep its head.

"General Argus?" The President turned once more.

"Aye, sir?"

"I want briefings every morning and every evening on the situation and status of these two. Director Primm, get your ass in gear, and no more of this shit being caught moments before it's about to hit us."

"Yes, sir."
"Of course, sir."

"That'll be all. Get some rest, everyone."

The room rose at once as President Acton departed, as feet- and the Republic's defense infrastructure- began to be set into forward motion.

by **Legatia** » Mon Jul 17, 2023 1:23 pm

DOMESTIC SECURITY AGENCY- INTERNAL REPORT

SUBJECT	Incident Report, 15 June 2023- Reference Number 0623-8120
CLASSIFICATION	FELONY- COMPOSITE/OTHER
DATE	Compiled 10 July 2023
RESTRICTION	RESTRICTED-5:Replication prohibited, Class 2 clearance or higher

The following is a recollection of Incident Number 0623-8120, referenced internally as "The 15th June Incident", and more popularly as the "15th Rush", which is by monetary value the most significant incident of market manipulation in Meridonian history, as collaborated by Domestic Security Agency special operatives in collaboration with officials from the Defense, Treasury, and Justice Departments, as compiled by the request of the Treasurer of the Federal Republic. All recorded incidents took place in the Federal Republic of Meridon and primarily in the city of Port Sistine, Alexandria Territory, on 15 June 2023, and events are listed in chronological order.

At approximately 9:33 AM Alexandria Standard Time, 15 June 2023, the Port Sistine Stock Exchange (PSXE)’s electronic trade management system was infiltrated by a number of digital proxies during normal trading hours. The intranet was penetrated via the bypassing of a firewall that allows data to be read out real-time to sources outside the server locations. Administrator privileges were overridden with sixteen seconds of initial penetration.
At 9:35 AM, PSXE’s internal servers registered the remote installation of ‘001.exe’, ‘002.exe’, and ‘004.exe’, which immediately integrated themselves into the automatic trade management system. These programs began to manipulate the stock values of three separate companies being traded: Matterhouse Chemicals Inc. (MHC), Parksun Realty Inc (PR), and Willingstone Inc. (WILL). Repeated attempts to trace the source of this signal returned to various pieces of uninhabited wilderness in Smith Island, Alexandria, Ohawe, and Redbird Territories. Attempts to override ‘001.exe’, ‘002.exe’ and ‘004.exe’ in PSXE’s management system were unsuccessful, as each program would restart the next within five seconds of manual closure.
Over the course of two hours and sixteen minutes, stocks were systematically shorted over a total of 97,923 trades between all three companies. Profit funds were immediately routed from a holder bank account registered to ‘Uma Uma’ (the Kaskaidan word for ‘horse’ repeated) managed by the Garrison Bank Corporation, and thence to no less than one hundred offshore accounts in Der Reichseidgenossenschaft, Drei-Insel-Hanse, Ghant, Neo-Korea, and Vystercia-Nasucrea. Treasury Department emergency inquiries made to these institutions universally failed to garner any responses.
At 10:24 AM, a Fast Reaction Team from the Domestic Security Agency (DSA-FRT) raided the offices of Garrison Bank Corporation in Kisanui to gain access to internal servers and throttle the account. The account's manual freezing by technicians attached to DSA-FRT paused trades for approximately thirteen seconds before a secondary account under the name "Uma2 Uma2" was created and the process was repeated. Technicians repeated this process no less than sixty five times.
At 10:30 AM, the rapid trading of stocks initiated a general market plummet, with some stocks losing as much as two hundred points in value.
At 10:41 AM, Matterhouse chief executive officer Byron Matterhouse was reported dead by self-inflicted gunshot wound at his office in Port Sistine by medical authorities.
At 10:42 AM, a phone call was placed to the Southern Islands Marshal Service (SIMS) from a cell phone located somewhere on the island. The recording included the voice of a young female, estimated to be aged 9-13, requesting to order a pizza. The dispatcher was able to determine this call was intended to be a discreet request for police assistance, and gave the location of Willingstone CEO Elliot Willingstone’s private address on Iventa Island. The dispatcher further determined the female was likely being sexually and physically abused by her answers. This call was later determined to be synthesized by an unknown artificial intelligence program as a composite of multiple female voices.
At 10:55 AM, Parksun Realty Inc. Director Rebecca Arjut’s residence in Brighthill, Alexandria Territory caught fire. Brighthill Fire and Rescue Service were able to extinguish the fire within an hour and determined the fire was due to an electrical power surge. No one was occupying the building at the time, but caused damage to the building rendering it beyond repair.
At 11:06 AM, a response team from the SIMS’ Emergency Reaction Unit made entry to Mr. Willingstone’s address on Iventa Island, where he was discovered to be with an unescorted adolescent male, age 10, who had been reported missing 48 hours prior in Otahu Territory. Mr. Willingstone was arrested on child predation and endangerment charges, to later include a plethora of additional charges including possession of illegal substances, tax fraud, racketeering and others unveiled during a search of his property.
At 11:13 AM, fire marshals investigating the cause of the fire at Ms. Arjut’s house uncovered an intact file cabinet that contained documents exposing a number of illegal market deals and tax evasion by her person and company, including a number of deals that deprived particularly Tangaran communities and neighborhoods of real estate and market access within their communities. This information was forwarded to the DSA, who apprehended Mrs. Arjut at Great Southern International Airport in Kohaku later that day as she deplaned.
At 11:22 AM, PSXE closed its exchanges early after a general market decline of ninety-eight points. They were unable to remotely stop the program's automatic trading taking place in the background despite this. Port Sistine Metropolitan Police Service (PSMPS) agents were called to quell a number of civil disturbances in the Brightwood financial district, most of which ceased by 14:00 PM that day.
At 11:51 AM, ‘001.exe’, ‘002.exe’, and ‘004.exe’ ceased functions and self-deleted from the internal server network. Investigators were unable to locate any traces of these programs beyond mentions of their installation and deletion in system logs.
At 11:53 AM, physical access to the PSXE server room was gained by employees and DSA-FRT personnel, where the server was physically disconnected from power to shut down the server.
At 12:25 PM, Treasury Department officials and investigators determined that the amount lost in trades amounted to some $22 billion dollars.
At 13:30 PM, Mahine Territorial Police Service (MTPS) officers apprehended a number of individuals associated with Garrison Bank Corporation under investigation for wire fraud.
At 15:30 PM, Treasurer Arepata made an emergency statement regarding the market crash that the situation remained ‘under control’ and that Treasury Department officials were investigating.
At 16:02 PM, The Port Sistine Tribune reported that Matterhouse Chemical’s assets would be liquidated and sold off in the succeeding months.
At 16:33 PM, Willingstone Inc. Chief of Operations Daniel Swister publicized the arrest of Mr. Willingstone on a Silkroad Forums livestream to an audience of approximately 21,000, which was then broadcast on major Meridonian evening news broadcasts. Mr. Swister announced the ‘immediate dissolution’ of its company and firesale of its assets. A majority of its equipment was disposed of within seventy-two hours by sale in bulk to collectors, gun stores, warehouses, museums, and other enterprises at prices significantly below market value, despite most of it being relatively well-maintained MDF surplus. DSA agents were able to reacquire a number of restricted pieces of equipment disposed of in this manner. The Army Provost Corp’s Criminal Investigation Division was involved but unable to recover all such pieces of restricted equipment, including autocannon-armed HMMAV infantry fighting vehicles and older model H50M2 Hawk helicopters with crew-served weaponry. Mr. Swister attempted to flee Meridon via private jet to Aureumterra but was intercepted by Air Forces armed interceptor aircraft and subsequently arrested at Kamoi International Airport in Kohina.
At 18:02 PM, PSXE board president Maxwell Campston and Chief Technology Officer Dylan Gill surrendered themselves into the custody of the PSMPS.
At 20:00 PM, President William Acton addressed the nation from Whiteriver Manor regarding what was dubbed the “15 Rush”, and reported a total market loss of 1 billion dollars. This caused an outrage in the media despite the full figures being downplayed. President Acton promised to hold ‘those accountable’ responsible for ‘reckless financial exploitation’.

SUMMARY:

As of the date of this incident report (10JUL23), none of the $22 billion dollars skimmed from the system have been recovered. Attempts to contact the management of the destination banking companies have failed, and diplomatic protests have been lodged in their respective embassies.
Any and all attempts to find the perpetrator of this incident have failed. The identity, motive, and disposition of this individual or group is unknown, but is evaluated to highly likely be a group operating within and originating from Meridon.
Meridonian markets have recovered, largely due in part to the downplaying of the situation, though remain pessimistic which is likely to stunt growth for at least the next quarter.
The three involved incorporations in the trade have all been dissolved, absorbed, or liquidated as of the date of this writing.
Matterhouse Chemicals is undergoing a liquidation of assets as of this writing. Willingstone Inc. was dissolved.
Elliot Willingstone has plead not guilty on all charges at his case overseen by Southern Islands Territorial Court. Daniel Swister was arrested and plead guilty to evasion, unauthorized distribution of restricted materials, and disruption of an investigation in concealment of a felony; and is currently awaiting sentencing. Approximately $24 million dollars was seized from Mr. Swister’s bank accounts that came from these purchases.
Parksun Realty was absorbed by competitor Highwell Properties following a merger agreement. Ms. Arjut has plead guilty to discrimination, coercement and embezzlement charges and is awaiting sentencing.
At least twelve officials and technical experts that worked for or with Garrison Bank Corporation have been brought on federal charges for potential involvement in this incident.
The collapse of Matterhouse, a significant domestic production of synthetic compounds for advanced research, has elicited federal intervention in its production.
DSA and Meridon Defense Forces (MDF) investigative divisions are currently conducting searches for additional restricted equipment as foreclosed upon by Willingstone but have not turned up additional equipment. An estimated $20 million dollars worth of surplus military equipment of this type was illegally disposed of in this manner.

COMPILED FOR THE DIRECTORS,

-M. ARROTEO
-Deputy Chief Inspector for Finance Crimes

WITH CONTRIBUTIONS FROM:
Domestic Security Agency- Special Task Force 0623-8120
Southern Islands Marshall Service
Port Sistine Metropolitan Police
Federal Protective Service
Meridon Defense Forces
Brighthill Fire and Rescue Service
Mahine Territorial Police Service
Alexandria Territorial Police Service

by **Legatia** » Wed Jul 19, 2023 1:04 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Somewhere, approximately 60 feet below sea level level
08:00 AM, 20 June 2023

"Good morning, Miss Kawakami. The time is currently 8 o' clock A.M and two seconds, Alexandria Standard Time. I have prepared a morning briefing as per your instructions."

A quiet yawn came from the thin bedside across the room from the source of the voice, the spring frames creaking as its occupant placed her feet onto a well-worn grey rug. She reached behind her and withdrew a pen from her hair, collected into a bun, a mass of dark strands falling along the backside of a well-wrinkled labcoat. The woman had not changed for bed, it was apparent.

"..A bad habit;" the voice corrected. It belonged to a young girl's, likely one in the sixteen to seventeen year-old range. "..I will remind you that the last time you laundered clothes was-"

"A week ago;" the groggy voice of the woman in question answered. "Your datasets for my personal data only began yesterday, don't cite facts that you don't have. I haven't had time to."

"Noted." The unembodied voice was rather monotone in its delivery, with only subtle changes in tenor indicating a change in 'emotions'. She knew that when she'd programmed the thing, it wasn't intended to behave like a truly functional artificial intelligence, akin to those in Darlingtown, or the new one she'd heard rumors of in Azura. She had no concrete evidence to believe, but she weren't convinced their source code came entirely from computer programming and machine learning. It was too emotional, too organic. She had certainly confirmed that when she had reviewed security footage from that recently failed conference in Port Sistine. The meeting room didn't have cameras, but the emotional outburst from SACHI could be heard even through those doors. Her creation, by contrast, was a machine, through and through. Fairly primitive in its current form, most of the work of creating her- she still referred to the programming as a her, despite the fact she knew it lacked much capacity for independent and creative thought that defined sapience, and thence, personhood- had gone into making her able to process the vast amounts of data she would be fed and then to organize and produce them in comprehensible manners. In a sense, this program, the Automated Logisticial and Integrated Control Executable- or, ALICE- was her secretary. And as of right now, it was one of her very few friends.

"ALICE, updates from the last twelve hours?"

Automated Logisticial and Integrated
Control Executable- ALICE

Location data unavailable

"Of course."

ALICE took about two seconds from the request being made before beginning to speak. Her creator looked up at her display icon on one of the overhead computers, recalling a piece of code she had left unoptimized. She would scribble it down on a paper pad, so as to rectify it later.

"I will now deliver the briefing for all coded Events of Interest logged from 20:00 hours on 19 June 2023. As follows by order of precedence. Section One. Monetary. Current available funds consist of the equivalent of thirteen billion, two hundred and ninety nine million, six hundred and four thousand, five hundred and seventy nine decimal twenty three Meridonian dollars as of 20 June exchange rates. A loss equivalent to two hundred and thirty million, six hundred thousand, and two decimal fifty five Meridonian dollars was recorded from the seizure of twenty-two accounts in Vystercia-Nasucrea by the federal government. As a precautionary measure, remaining funds in that country were immediately disbursed to other accounts. Unavailable funds consist of eight billion, four hundred and sixty nine million, seven hundred and ninety-five thousand, four hundred and 18 decimal twenty-two dollars. Roughly sixty percent of this fund, equivalent to five billion, eighty-one million, eight hundred and seventy seven thousand, two hundred and fifty decimal ninety-three dollars have been invested in diversified global stock portfolios globally. The remainder, equivalent to three billion, three hundred and eighty seven million, nine hundred and eighteen thousand, one hundred and sixty-seven decimal twenty-nine dollars are unavailable due to being in transit, on hold, or other such factors. Section one briefing complete."

The amount of money being talked about here was more than some nations were worth in a year, and despite her verbose delivery, neither of the women in the room seem terribly moved by the immense amount of money they had taken- one didn't have the capacity to, in fairness. Sometimes, she wondered, how many lives had she ruined when she did such a thing? The companies she had targeted were certainly evil, their executives certainly so. But of the leaves that sustained such wicked trees, some had to be green. "I don't have the luxury of thinking idealistically;" she would think to herself. Her train of thought was broken as ALICE finished the two-second process to compile the next section of data.
"I have prepared Section Two, facility status. Shall I proceed?"

'Kawakami'

Location data unavailable

"Yes, of course. Go ahead, ALICE."

"Acknowledged. Proceeding with briefing. Nineteen incidents were recorded.."

ALICE gave her a run-down on how her hidey-hole- a property she had nabbed in the fallout from the 15 Rush- had fared over the past night. It was an abandoned research facility, from one of Matterhouse's research components. The building it was attached to was foreclosed, and sat rotting in a vacant lot that was under a proxy name. It was a bit of an eyesore to the public, and she was racking up fines from the city to pay it- fines that would, obviously, never go answered. They were funneled to an unmonitored PO box in a middle of nowheresville on Silvers Island. She might laugh if she knew the solitary postlady running that shop was throwing away those letters rather then letting them fill an already over-crammed PO box.

As her aide did so, she moved about the control room that had been converted into a psuedo-studio apartment. It wasn't fancy living, but the break room smelled so repugnantly peculiar that she refused to enter it as if taboo. She'd wasted close to three gallons of industrial cleaning products there to no avail. Instead, her comestibles were produced on hot plates and her coffee on bunsen burners. She procured a cup of it as ALICE spoke, adding an almost exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar cubes, stirring with a spoon, and sipping, satisfied.

"Mm... so generator number four is still on the fritz, even after I changed the belt on it. We may have to source another one."

"Your assessment is logical. There are twelve matches for generators that fit criteria for installation. Shall I-"

"Not now. We need more manpower.. we can't just have it delivered here."

Even with twenty-two billion dollars to her name, the last thing she could warrant was garnering attention too early. Her schemes were grand, and she'd made a lifetime's worth of stir over a week ago gaining that money. If she were going to get the chance to put it to good use, she needed discretion as much as she breathed. It's why she had to buy her own brick and mortar to do dirty work, concealing the entrances to her facility so that passers-by couldn't identify entry points. She was still fully capable of going onto the streets, but when she did that, she was not in the office to do work. She didn't have the time to do all of it.

Automated Logisticial and Integrated
Control Executable- ALICE

Location data unavailable

"..."

As her creator mired in thought, the usually unexpressive ALICE offered a pixellated look of hope, if ever so minute in its presentation.

"..If you will allow me, I have created a potential plan to circumvent these risks. It was at the end of this briefing, but if you will permit?"

Her creator looked up with eyes that were a mix of shock, surprise, and some hidden excitement. She.. was not aware that ALICE could do this. Sure, coming to conclusions based off of produced data was part of her intended programming, but her current form was fairly primitive.

"You do? Let me hear it."

"Evaluating the list of necessary materials to enact the third phase of your plans, I have developed a method to rapidly source the required materials for the fabricators you are hoping to create, which will ultimately resolve your long-term manpower issues once completed. The primary complication is the fabrication of non-organic circuitry and machinery, locating a three-dimensional printing device capable of working with steel and carbon composites and a circuit fabrication suite will enable you to begin work on phase three. Complicating factors include the suspicion raised considering your person acquiring them unilaterally."

"I am proposing the creation of a corporate entity whose purpose is to provide a cover front for operations allowing you to procure the necessary materials, equipment, and resources to conduct your plan. On your direction, I will identify a list of professionals and invite them to work as a unit to provide cover for incoming construction materials. These individuals will sign non-disclosure agreements and work in isolated and generous conditions so as to dissuade them from questioning said situation, however remote work is not evaluated as a possibility for at least some of these potential 'employees', as is necessary to provide cover on this physical site. We will utilize no less than three contracted delivery services to source materials to this site to avoid a direct trail to this place. While I will not be able to completely erase this paper trail, I should be able to crack their internal records and modify them so as to allay suspicion. Once these materials are deposited to our facility, you should be well-capable of commencing phase three."

"This concludes my proposal. I am willing to clarify any unclear points of this outline."

'Kawakami'

Location data unavailable

She was impressed. Or was she a bit frightened? There was no way she expected ALICE's adaptive programming to be capable of developing a plan so complex as that, and yet, she couldn't help but think.. why did she not think of this? A cover operation was brilliant. She wouldn't be able to use this location for very long afterwards, but she never planned to on the first place. Just long enough to create the manpower she needed- the ones she could rely on for discretion, and then her longer-term plans for location would come into play. But this would give her everything she needed.

"What.. is the time frame, and associated costs?"

"Unfortunately I am unable to estimate costs as human nature is part of the calculation and worker payments will vary wildly as will prices. I have set a do-not-exceed limit of one hundred million dollars, which I believe is more than sufficient to provide for materials and worker coverage for the roughly one-month period this will take place over- prioritizing expediency over long-term cost savings. "

Amazing, she thought. This timetable was certainly aggressive. She worried that might compromise the situation some, but.. if no results were to be expected of these soon to be employees, there was a workaround.

"Make sure the employees we hire have a method of control. Prior convictions or something of the sort.. carrot and stick approach, yes, that should.. If we warn them of our knowledge of it beforehand, and incentivize them with helping resolve it somehow afterwards.. mm, that just might work."

She felt some relief in the move she was preparing to make. One that would advance her own goals, and advance the livelihoods of others. Her leap into these dangerous waters had been a morally questionable one, to some- but this one, at the least, she could feel proud about.

"Well, ALICE..? Seems like we have some work to do."

by **Legatia** » Thu Jul 27, 2023 12:39 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria Territory- Federal Memorial Segrano Hill
09:30 AM, 1 June 2023

Wind and rain whipped as low clouds skirted over the shrub-coated hills west of the city of Cordelia. Scant hundred feet above them whipped the inconstant and wispy masses. Still, below them, stood a hardy flock of men and women, in olive military coats and uniforms and brown and black civilian ones interspersed throughout. Their mass stood flanking a weather cobbled road, following the contour of the grassy hill to a spot in the ground where earth was laid bare, the deep brownish-red of Alexandrian soil darkened through moisture, an earthen smell carried with the breeze. The grounds were silent, but for the rhythmic, steady marching of military feet. Reporting sharply upon the cobble, a procession of twelve soldiers moved down, their dress uniforms clinging to their body as rain fell down upon them. A brown-black-brown unit insignia sat upon the slouched brim of their headgear and their right sleeves, identifying them as members of 41 Regiment Ranger.

Her sister's unit.

Stood amongst the crowd was a young woman, all in black, clutching in her hand a bouquet of white roses. The coat she wore had a hood, but it rested upon her back. Her dark hair was soaked and matted to her cheeks and her outfit, her hands unable to hold an umbrella and none there among them offering one to her. Though the rain was drizzly and inconsistently present, she stood through it all like a statue, betrayed only by the redness of her eyes. I'm not crying, she lied to herself, convinced that the tears streaking from cheek to chin were beads of rain dripping from her soaked locks of hair.

In the casket before her, draped in the red and white of the country she had served until her last breath, was her sister. Captain Maria Takaoka, the last remaining member of her family, who had lost her life thousands of miles away in a place known as New England. A bullet had pierced her through the lungs as she was commanding her section, liberating a concentration camp deep behind enemy lines. She died in the arms of her comrades, in a foreign land, defending what she loved.

So she would have told her little sister, who stood here watching her being marched towards the place where she would rest for eternity, just a month shy of celebrating her twenty-ninth birthday. Marie, as she called her, was the last of her family, but really, she was her only family. Through her twenty years of age, Marie had taken care of her. As she visualized her sister's cold, still body within the wooden encasement, she recalled it as she had known it.

Marie was always a bundle of sunshine, a source of strength. A smile was always on her face, and she had only seen her give tears of joy or relief. Like the one time she found me when I was lost, she recalled, how the two had cried together, buried in each other's shoulders. She was only seven then, and her sister thirteen. She remembered how bitter the coffee-flavored ice-cream she had bought the both of them afterwards tasted, but she forced herself through it. Her sister had loved her coffee, and had dreams of owning a café when she received her post-service stipend.

Marie had never once allowed her to see her weak side. She was her strength. The Takaoka Family was really little more than the two of them. Their mother, Sarah, was a woman that only Marie got to know. She died from complications of childbirth, and all that she had known was what Marie had told her. How smart and kind she was, how well-respected of a researcher she was at Matca, a famous defense company. How much of an inspiration she was, and how fervently she loved her children. Hers was a grave that sat on a quiet hillside somewhere in Helena Territory. Marie had promised to take her there when she got home, a visit that would never be.

Their father, Vincent, had been similarly as brilliant as their mother. A geneticist and bioengineering researcher at Matterhouse, he was just as well known as their mother. He had hated his birth family, for reasons he never shared with his children, reasons their mother had promised to share once they were grown; and thus took his wife's name. He had tried his best to raise his children, alone, after his wife died. But after a sudden death claimed one of his proteges and best friends, Dr. Kent Redley- he had slipped into depressive fits, throwing himself into seclusion with his work to an almost manic point. He was at the least smart enough to shield his children from it, but in doing so deprived them of parental guidance in growing up. Marie had to shoulder that burden all by herself, and did it without complaint. From cooking to cleaning to budgeting, she had grown up early, and until her teenage years, she kept her little sister none the wiser, and allowed her to live a full childhood.. well, as full as one could live, given their circumstances. She certainly had plenty to show for it. She was homeschooled to avoid suspicion, which left her without many other friends.. but she had, through her own work, fallen in love with science, pouring over research papers left by her mother and her father. She had even made he news recently, satisfying the requirements for doctoral degrees before she had even broken through her twenties. Online schooling, the wealth of knowledge that was the internet.. taking advantage of all of that was only possible through Marie's own sacrifices.

She remembered how she had taken it for granted until Marie had been involved in an accident at school that put her in the hospital for a few days, back when she must have been fourteen. How Marie had smiled through her pain and just asked for her to be patient. How she would listen to what she had to say whenever she had a free moment during her visiting hours. How she had cried in loneliness when visiting hours ended, how the only thing keeping her going was the thought of seeing her the following morning. She thought of it fondly, how when she was finally able to return home, they ordered pizza and had a small feast together like two queens, and how they'd fallen asleep together on the couch, savoring their reunion. A night she would never forget.

The casket marched past her, flanked on each side by a trio of soldiers, their steely gazes fixed forward. She watched them, though they didn't look back, as they turned to face the empty hole where Marie would be laid to rest. Some of the faces the girl knew. Some she didn't. None, however, looked at her.

She remembered when Marie had been accepted to the Army, her high performance scores qualifying her as a direct-entry officer. She had never wanted to go to college like her younger sister had, and never planned to make the military her career. Regardless, she took pride in it, eager for a chance to do something more than herself, prove her own worth, and forge a better future for herself and her sister. She remembered when she had told her that a special forces recruiter had scouted her after her basic officer training. A year later, she was a Ranger officer. Was it really four years ago this happened? It only seemed like a week ago at best. She remembered how she'd been selected by her peers as 'most improved' during her training there, and remembered the laughs both the sisters and her unit shared together at the after-party. It seemed like Marie had finally found a place where she wouldn't have to shoulder the weight of the world alone. A place where there would be others to share those burdens, professional and personal. Marie was never a person for half-measures, and she threw herself into her job.

She remembered the last time she'd seen her sister in person. It was a night out on the town for the two of them, on the eve of her deployment to New England. She should have known, she thought, she should have realized. It was just like out of a novel. All of these lofty, warm promises made, that she'd certainly come home and fulfil. How they'd laughed and hugged and dreamed of the future, and the things they'd do together.

Dreams and promises unfulfilled. The still body of her sister, dressed in her military service garb, a sabre clutched in her hands, would never get to share another pizza night, would never own her own little café on the riverside, would never be able to wipe the tears from the cheek of her sister who now stood, utterly alone in this world, despair clouding her mind. She would dream no more, only rest, only sleep, only watch.

She saw their mouths move, and heard the vibrations of their voices over the gentle pitter-patter of the rain onto the grounds, but she heard nothing. Her hands, clad in silken gloves, clutched the roses tightly. Her favorite flower. Marie had always loved the color white, the color of purity and innocence that embodied her so, despite everything she had been put through, never once did she allow another to bear her own cross.

I have to be strong; she thought, as hot tears streamed down her face. Marie.. would want me to be strong.

The casket of Captain Takaoka was gently let to the ground by those pallbearers, who rendered a sharp salute as a group of musicians to the side sounded off with a bugle call. Only this broke through the din of her sorrow. The call was one she had remembered as the flag had been lowered at their garrison, on the occasion she had been there to visit her sister. Here now, it was being used to herald the positing of the Captain- her beloved sister Marie- to her final resting place. The flag about her casket was retrieved and folded crisply, and quietly offered to the sister, who held it under the crook of her arm. No words were exchanged, the soldier in question one she recognized as her sister's commanding officer.

As she stood in the rain, the crack of the rifle salute sounded gentle to her ears, so numb of her senses that their report seemed minimal. The procession seemed to pass like a blur, the crowd fading behind and beside her until none were left but her and the rain, and her sister down below. She was alone in this world.. but she had to carry on.

Kneeling at the foot of the grave, she let the roses, slightly bruised from her handling of them, fall atop the casket lid, before she smoothed her long skirt out and stood once more. She might be alone for now.. but she had work to do. Something so that she would never have to feel this way again.

The lone Takaoka sister slowly turned about from the last vestige of her family. It was in that moment that she would become a ghost, vanishing from the public eye- as if there were any looking for her. A ghost of many names she would become.

'Kawakami'- was one such name.

by **Legatia** » Sun Jul 30, 2023 6:10 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Somewhere, Eastern Islands, approximately 60 feet below sea level level
11:00 PM, 30 July 2023

A labcoat-clad woman stood before rows of cylinders, lit dimly by fluorescent lighting, as she waited motionlessly before one of them. Within it was the culmination of.. everything she stood upon, finally unlocked by a contribution from an unlikely benefactor.

It was by chance that her paths crossed with a Ryszanan horsegirl some time ago. A country plagued with constancy in its warfare, or at the very least, the preparations for it. Blauveldt and Ryszana lacked the methods to access one of the most crucial tools necessary to fight modern wars- precision guided munitions. In theory, simple. Meridon had been producing PGMs since the term was coined, and had went from the early 1950's advents of heat seeking missiles, radio-steered bombs and early gyroscopically-navigated ballistic missiles; to what they had today- ramjet-powered air-to-air missiles, hypersonic air-launched ballistic missiles, and loitering munitions capable of self-identifying and targeting independent of a man in the loop. The thing was, these were all incredibly complex and expensive systems to develop and produce. Meridon might have these means, but the BRC did not.

While she herself didn't have the materials to spare to do the latter, she certainly had the know-how to do the former. The problem was making a cheap, reliable system that would be capable of wide-scale implementation. It wasn't going to be as complex as, say, long-range cruise missiles- and admittedly, in the interest of keeping things as cheap as possible, she had to improvise quite a bit. The solution was two-fold- the immediate and the long term. The immediate was rudimentary- fitting standardized aerodynamic shells and control surfaces to varying munitions, and affixing them with laser seeker heads. Lasers were not a perfect solution, but they were the most versatile, capable of engaging any ground target, and allowing for designation of targets by non-organic sensors. More importantly, they could be fitted to ground and air-launched munitions with the same seeker heads and designator systems. The long-term plan was giving them blueprints for basic, standardized designs that while not cutting edge were cheap and mass-producible using off-the-shelf ingredients- re-purposed aircraft gyroscopic AHRS systems being fitted as INS systems into cruise missiles, repurposing certain processors and chip drives to integrate with thermal imaging cameras to make rudimentary IR seekers for air-to-air missiles, and perhaps most importantly commonizing warheads, missile bodies, seekers, and engines so that new designs could be created or innovated based on needs. By far, this 'building block' approach to munitions creation was nowhere near as effective as purpose-built munitions, but it was cheap and readily available.

Funnily enough, the Blauveldters and Ryszanans might not be the only people in need of these designs. She held onto them, but what was critically strategically important for some was a side-project for her. Her real work.. was here. Standing before the container, to her left side along a long length of stainless steel wall were similar cylinders filled with artificial amniotic fluids, and within them were the results, the culmination of research that went back before she was but a cell in her mother's womb. She thought of that briefly as she turned to look at the containers with wary eyes, thinking of the contrast between her creation, and 'theirs'.

She wasn't sure if these bodies could be called 'human'. What defined a human? That was a philosophical question. From a physical standpoint, one that relied on the eyes, these were human bodies, to the extent that they had fingers, eyes, limbs, and shapes that were characteristic of a human. Biologically, they were less so. Their genetics and cellular structures were in some parts artificial, genetically-engineered and modified. Stronger, faster, quicker. Yet, to be human was to be alive, and these bodies were never and will never be so. The best word she could think of was 'biological material'. As much as these questioned weighed on her mind, philosophy was never her strongpoint. Results were, and circular thinking wouldn't get her there.

She wasn't sure how much credit she could take for the contents of the containers in this room. In contrast to the material of various parts and shapes of development, the figure immmediately before her was that of a fully developed body. This- was the realization of decades of research, experimentation, and hard work; grit and exploitation and sacrifice. Her father's, and his proteges. Matterhouse had used this facility, unknown to the government and to the Defense Forces, for the production of super soldiers. The land was leased out by a less-than reputable real-estate company, and the customer was a less-than reputable mercenary organization- a triad of which, she had bankrupted, in the aim to bring most of their crimes to light, or at least, to an end. As much as she wanted to believe what she had been doing was morally just, she had climbed a mountain of tears, blood, and corpses to plant a flag on the summit, this the work of those mal-aligned forces. Did the sins of the father transfer to her daughter, she wondered? Yet still, she persisted. This place was haunted to her, and the voices of those who gave their lives to irreputable ends skulked this hall still. Would they be able to rest in peace, when she finally proved that her path- be it built from a road of broken bones and dreams- lead to something brighter? She could feel them watching her, quietly. She wasn't religious, but here she was, fervently feeling the gaze, the weight, of the ghosts who remained here. A voice broke her train of thoughts.

Automated Logisticial and Integrated
Control Executable- ALICE

Location data unavailable

"Miss Takaoka"-

"I told you not to call me that. What happened to Kawakami? What if they still have access to recordings here?"

ALICE remained quiet for a moment, a cue that rung to her creator like a sigh.

"Your mental scans have been severely degraded since we have taken refuge here. In compliance with my First Law, I am not permitted to allow you through my own action or inaction to come to harm. You have not paused for recreational activity in three-hundred and fourty two hours, twenty nine-

"I had a solid six hours of sleep not too long ago."

"Miss Takaoka.. you are fully aware of what I am getting at. I would appreciate it if you did not attempt to circumvent my meaning."

▇▇▇ Takaoka

Location data unavailable

"..."

She was right. ALICE had grown far too smart for her own good. There was a reason that ALICE was made artificially intelligent rather than a data regurgitation program alone.

"..Once this is done, I'll take one. A day. I'll need one, anyways."

Turning from the screen where ALICE projected herself, her eyes instead cast towards the tank once more. The being before her- being, as was the term she had elected to use for it- was a leap forward in all of her prior attempts. The reason Matterhouse had failed in making superhumans was relatively simple. They had access to every subsect and variation of the human genome- but if you put that together, all you got was a pretty good human. The next option was robotics- capable, but expensive, complex, difficult to maintain- and impersonal. These were present in more than one place. Anagonia, where they had given physical forms to beings akin to ALICE, allowing them to masquerade as living things; and in Darlingtown, where Takaoka had deduced their realistic-seeming nature was merely a copy, an imitation of a naturally human sentience, one way or the other- she knew not how it was so, and it wasn't important to her. Combining flesh and cybernetics in one body was asking for severe cognitive dissonance- at least, she couldn't do so off the bat- which meant that the super had to come from somewhere else. She found it in the horse-folk of Ryszana, and through the work she had done, had attained the final piece of the puzzle. Isolating what made them how they were- near immortal, incredibly strong- would mean nothing if it could not be applied. If it could not be replicated.

As bubbles of oxygen rose from floor to tank ceiling, she considered what lay before her.

Its matter consisted of the figure of a human woman within the tube, from the shape of her skeleton to the length of her fingernails. However, its similarities ended there, the look of the human being merely a façade. It was a synthesis of genomes, painstakingly selected, organized, and structured by ALICE, and then further supplemented from the compounds derived from Ryszanan stock. This woman would emerge as an adult in form and body, but she would not age. Not significantly, at least, according to her projections. Her tests on this synthesized biological material that would go on to compose the being indicated as much- at the extreme minimum end of the spectrum, her granddaughter would be dead of old age before they would show any such signs. As if I'll ever get the chance; she thought self-critically, almost chuckling at the thought. Its bones were stronger, supplemented by advanced compounds; its organs more resilient, its skin more resistant, eyes sharper- yet, there were limits. It was certainly physically superior to a naturally occurring human in every manner, but it still bled, it still needed air, it required food- lots more of it, in fact, if the projections were right- up to three times the caloric requirement of an adult man.

Its glue would be its life support. At least initially, she didn't believe she would be able to create biologically perfect enhanced life, capable of indefinite self-sustainment. She wasn't confident her creations would be so perfect. At the same time, she couldn't create new organs or rearrange the biological body, only enhance or strengthen it. Until she could do so- if she could ever do so- the being would have to be supplemented with artificial life support systems. She decried this option, but it was necessary. She needed a living example for practical and experimental reasons- and down the road, the lessons she learned here would be invaluable in providing a truly organic- in one sense of the word- creation.

The mind was human, uniquely so. ALICE's data compilation routines had been busy since she had been installed in this complex forgotten by the above world. Rather than merely copying one such person, as was the case in Darlingtown, or the artificial imitation of one, as was the case in Anagonia- their own intelligence would be created by the synthesis of data those before her had created and collected. This was, by far, the most complex area, and the one where Takaoka had relied on ALICE the most. Categorizing and cataloging thousands of individual cases, organizing them and structuring them, then combining them and unifying them into a whole. It was the most critical piece of work that she had created. The artificial brain. The essence of sentience, by its nature, had to be part cybernetic, in order to receive the information it would need to sustain the body- in her mind, its only and most necessary flaw.

Id, ego, and superego. Instinct, logic, reality. For Takaoka, the creation of a being that was not innately sapient was unacceptable. So much harm had been caused by the inability to reason, even by those who professed to be sapient. It was why her father had been driven to mania and death. It is what this facility was built to do, the addition of a cog to further a machine that was a modernization of the dog-eats-dog world of the wild. Brain scans, cognitive records had been made here trying to do something with similar means to radically different ends, creating drones or attack dogs out of genetically augmented humans. The results, as she had read, had been self-destructive. They were destroyed- either by their own hand, or by forcing the hands of others. No. Life could not be robotic. These beings must be able to think of their own accord, at all costs.

Instinct was easy enough. Human instincts were not so unique across subsects of the population- breathing, blinking, reacting to sudden lights or loud noises. These responses were common across the spectrum, and could be isolated and implemented uniformly. Logic was part-inserted, and part-trained. Enough data existed to allow the intelligence to speak common English, identify a fork from a spoon, or even drive a car for instance, but not enough was there to allow her to operate an aircraft, or read and write in Korean, for instance- things that had to be naturally learned otherwise. The datasets she inherited allowed for commonly-known pieces of logic to be correlated and implemented with high degrees of success, but- like any other person- the more technically complicated pieces of knowledge would have to be learned manually.

There were certain drawbacks. It was equipped with reproductive organs, so as to minimize any dissonance they might feel- but they were likely to be sterile, at least at first, if what her projections had told her were accurate. And despite her painstaking work, this was merely the first attempt at a functional being, one that was not a husk, but a living, breathing being; the first instance of truly artificial life rather than an imitation of it. Thus, this creature, instead of pursuing a specific outcome, would be a blank slate comparatively. A proof of concept. Perhaps further ones could be oriented towards being technically skilled, or academically proficient, but for this first full attempt at artificial life, the aim was to find out what was needed for her kind to work.

▇▇▇ Takaoka

Location data unavailable

Takaoka looked at the floating woman in the container, her form vague beneath the hazy greenish waters she was suspended in. She was nearly ready. Monitoring devices were hooked to her limbs, and an insert attached the base of her neck.

"How soon?"

"Fourty-one seconds. Cerebral diagnostics complete. Activity normal, neural activity rising."

For the first time, she felt a tinge of fear come over her. In less than a minute, she would be facing the music. If the being emerged with violent tendencies, like an animal, her failure would be written on the walls in her own blood. Even if she had a pistol or a knife at hand to defend herself, the distance was too short, and the strength of the being too great. ALICE would be powerless to watch. The fear of failure was also there- so many sleepless nights had been poured into this moment, and she wasn't sure how she might react if something went awry.

If you're going to play at god.. you'd best be confident in your choices. So, she pressed on.

"Oxygen saturation levels rising. Cardiovascular and circulatory systems, normal. Draining psuedoamniotics from vessel.. venting excess pressure, done. Vitals stable and in normal ranges. Neural activity rising. Motor activity detected."

She had wondered how this moment would be for years, she had gamed it out in her head. How she might feel, how she might react. In the moment... it was all nerves. She watched as the eyebrows twitched, as she took her first breath. All she felt was anticipation.

Even though ALICE did not have form, Takaoka could feel the gaze of the artificial intelligence behind her like she was there- this was ALICE's creation, her labor as well. Both of them had labored immensely- all for this

“A-ALICE, keep talking. Please.”

Another pregnant pause hung before the AI responded. Takaoka wondered what the feeling behind her companion was, but would likely never know.

"..Understood. Umbilical cabling release confirmed. Cylinder oxygenation complete. Pressure reads 14 pounds per square inch. Atmosphere equalized. Vital signs… heart BPM rising rapidly. Hermetic seals released."

A gentle hiss of air gave way from the sealed glass container as the condensation from within it was vaporized. The gentle sound of the building’s central air and the soft whirring of a nearby cooling fan on a computer bank were the only ambience in the sterile hall.

"All release. Miss Takaoka.. Chamber door ready for release."

“Release.”

She was surprised at her own lack of hesitance in this affair, at this critical point. Was it due to her own anxiety, or eagerness to get it over with, she wondered? Her voice didn’t quake when she said it, but she certainly felt like it should.

ALICE didn’t need to verbally confirm it. The reinforced glass on the chamber slid into a recess, revealing the bare form of the being. Takaoka scanned over the form of her- it wasn’t a being or a creature, it was a person. Or.. so she decided to believe.

Her eyes opened, as the ears about her head flickered, registering the gentle impact of liquid against the composite floor of the basin. Her eyes were a bit vacant, though clarity began to come to her vision. Her movements lethargic, unsure, as she attempted to come out of the basin centimeter by centimeter.

“Where… am I?” Her voice was soft and carried an air of confusion, as the human woman and computer program, the only other occupants in the room- thought as one, at once.

“She talks?!”
“She talked.”

Both ALICE and Takaoka shared as much of a stare that could be had between human and computer monitor before attention was returned to the figure, whose gaze was confused but otherwise featureless. Hers was a form lithe and slender, taller than the human even disregarding the pair of ears on her head, doubtless an influence from a Ryszanan benefactor, much like the white tail that hung behind her. Bleach-blonde hair fell almost neatly down her form were it not for being soaking wet. Her eyes were a brownish amber, gentle and curious.

“..You are..” Takaoka paused softly, looking her up and down. What was here? She didn't know what a good answer was for that, other than a facility, occupied out of necessity, one whose halls echoed with the consequences of their mission. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to try and elaborate that to someone whose mental stability was completely unknown. The labcoat-clad woman softened her gaze and offered a gentle smile.

“..You’re safe. I promise.” Her hand reached out, slowly, fingertips brushing against the woman’s, who recoiled briefly before staying her hand, finding comfort in its touch after a moment of hesitation. “..You’re in a safe place. Can you understand me?”

“...Yes.”

Takaoka’s eyes, sapphire and brilliant, brightened considerably, a shimmer of light flickering in them. Not only was the girl before her alive, her heart beating, she was speaking- and understanding- her. The amount of luck that went into this being reality was almost incomprehensible to her- luck and hard work, tragedy and triumph. ALICE wasn't commenting on her vitals, and all of the requisite monitoring cables were still attached. She felt the enormity of her discovery, but knew that she could tell no one of it. She smiled at the thought- that time would, indeed, come.

"..Let's get you into something warm, shall we?" She offered, and- for the first time in nearly two months, ALICE could see her creator's serotonin levels rising- and visibly, could see the energy return to she who had created her, as if she had caught a second wind. Behind a veil of glass, ALICE felt.. relief. She did not have lips to smile, but if she did, that is what she would be doing.

"..ALICE, start up a pot of hot water for the tea. I'm sure she'll have plenty of questions. We'll take things nice and slow." Takaoka began to pace to the other side of the room a tad bit too eagerly, moving to open the sliding steel divider, when the soft voice of the white-haired girl behind her called out.

"..Who... am I?"

Takaoka turned, her eyes batting at the question. That was, indeed, the question. Part of her felt a bit of embarrassment for coming to this point, without realizing the possibility of such a weighted question. But she didn't panic- rather, she offered a relaxed, and gentle smile as she found her answer.

"..You.. are Prima, the first. And you are the most beautiful creature in this world."

by **Legatia** » Sun Aug 13, 2023 7:35 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Somewhere, Eastern Islands, approximately 60 feet below sea level level
09:00 AM, 2 August 2023

It had been a little over two days since she had brought new life into this world. Not quite as a mother would.. she couldn't think of herself as a mother. At ALICE's insistence, she had taken a day of rest while the AI had dealt with the confused new being. Though she hadn't done much in the past 24 hours.. that wasn't to say it was restful. At least once every ten or fifteen minutes when she wasn't asleep, she would be checking the monitor signs of Prima's datalinked vitals. Heart rate, oxygen saturation, brain waves normal. ALICE had even recommended against the installation of life support mechanisms to her body- she was doing well enough beyond them, as long as you didn't count an extremely regimented diet and limited mobility. It wasn't like Prima would be doing a gymnastics course the second after she stepped out of her tube.. but today, that would change.

That absence from her work, however, left the question of how one of Meridon's brightest minds spent her day- singular- off. The only way she knew how- manga and anime. Who's to say a bit of escapism wasn't warranted? She hadn't seen sunlight in close to a month that wasn't from the view of an external camera, even against ALICE's suggestions. The beaches here weren't too bad- well, not bad as far as an isolated private research island went- but if there was one thing she hated, it was sand.

Marie always loved going to the beach. It's a shame. The thought was intrusive, and her heart panged, almost consumed in that moment by lonesomeness if it weren't for the voice of her assistant chiming in.

Automated Logisticial and Integrated
Control Executable- ALICE

Location data unavailable

"Miss Takaoka-"

"ALICE. I know you haven't forgotten about what I told you two nights ago."

ALICE paused. Her creator knew that, since she hadn't programmed her to be able to sigh, this was her way of expressing that kind of emotion.

"Miss Takaoka, your mental state is not in a position yet to be making demands of me. I am acting purely out of your own best interest as per your directives. Further degradation of your mental state-"

"And who's the best judge of her own mental state?" The scientist annoyedly asked, glowering at the computer monitor whose expression remained unchanged.

"..I am, Miss Takaoka, seeing as part of my programming is to ensure your wellbeing. I will assure you that unless you intend to alter my programming, I will continue to remain as such. May I continue with the briefing I was preparing to compile?"

She gave a wave of her hand as form of her assent, and so ALICE continued; her creator looking almost like a petulant child in her annoyance. ALICE, however muted, took great relief in her creator and her charge's acquiescence to her demand.

"I have been monitoring Miss Prima and supplying her with the prior-made nutritional supplements as per your directives. I have run a number of personality and other psychological battery tests and have entered their full results into a personal data file for review at your leisure. I will supply you with a more direct brief. I believe that she is emotionally neutral and has only limited responses to stimuli, but she seems obedient, amenable, and intensely curious."

"And her uploaded knowledge? Has it translated well? Any cognitive dissonance?"

"To my knowledge, she is adapting well. She is capable of using most normal implements and did not need guidance to read a standard English-language book, open and close doors, manipulate light switches, and use standard steel cutlery. When presented with a range of educational materials, she seemed most interested in those relating to architecture, firearms maintenance, and global history."

"And her current state?"

"Currently, Miss Prima is drinking coffee. She has taken a rather peculiar interest to instant coffee."

"Where did she get her hands on that?"

"The break room cupboards had a container of it."

While she was far from a gourmand herself, she recalled Marie was very particular about her coffee when she was alive. She refused to start a morning at home without it, without fail- even when it was a hundred and twelve outside. Clearly, Prima would need to be shown the finer forms of life from scratch.. the tolerance of instant coffee would make her poor sister turn in her grave.

"Right.. I'd like to see her. It's about time we get back to work."

- - - -

Takaoka quietly watched Prima take the seat adjacent from her and stare at her. Prima's gaze was steady, and her eyes had clarity that indicated she retained an amount of sentience suitable for the labor allocated in her creation, but this had already been determined. This first being, this prototype.. what kind of person would it be? This was the question raised.

Takaoka cleared her throat, looked at the tablet she was holding in front of her. She had intended to use it like a notepad during the course of their conversation, and thus asked her first question.

"..How are you feeling, Prima?"

Prima

Location data unavailable

"..Hungry;" was the word she used to describe it, without any reservation in her voice. The scientist before her flashed a smile softly, resting her hands on the table, much more at ease given that answer. Hungry for what, she might ask..? They could handle that later.

"..Well.. as much as I'd like to.. for now, Prima, our relationship will be a little give and take. Maybe one day I'll be able to treat you to all this world has to offer.. but I need your help, just like you need mine and ALICE's. I'll whip something up for you after our conversation and a test. How's about that?"

"..Okay."

"Good," she smiled softly. "I know that ALICE has already talked about most of your pressing questions, and answered all of the objective ones. ALICE isn't so good at being subjective, as much as she'd like to tell you otherwise." She wanted to smirk knowing that ALICE's display was likely pouting. "But first I'm going to need you to answer some of mine.. the first being.. why do you think you're alive? Given what you know.. why do you think that you were created?"

This is where the money is made... would be what she'd say, if anyone was actually paying her. She watched cautiously as Prima's eyes curiously adjusted, considering the enormity of the questions she was being asked. A very human response, to know that a conversation was going to be heavy, to re-gear their mind in preparation for such weighty questions. She wanted to grin, but she held it in. The few seconds she spent in silence told more about her than her answer would. That she was not a program, but a living being, capable of critical thought.

"..I believe I was created to fulfil a purpose. I.. don't know what that is, yet."

"...I suppose that is right.. everyone is born for a purpose. You have just accomplished yours. You were born, to live. To prove that beings like yourself are capable of sentient thought, of life and not machination, of self-sustainment and rational thought. Of sapience. Isn't it interesting, Prima?"

"..I suppose. I think this is a feeling that isn't mutual."

"Naturally, you wouldn't share it. You exist to fulfil a purpose.. you wouldn't be satisfied if just being born was enough. That's quite all right. Everyone's born to fill a role. Some people go their entire lives without knowing what that role is, only realizing when the curtains drop. After all.. scientists might be capable of creating life now, but we can't see into the future. All we can do is build it."

"..I see." Prima quietly mused this sentiment, and thence, her interviewer took the initiative to switch the topic.

'▇▇▇ Takaoka'

Location data unavailable

"ALICE has told me you've been reading some of the material she's lent you. Seems a few caught your eye. Mind telling me what those were?"

Takaoka watched as Prima decided to show rather than tell, sliding a few books neatly stacked from the edge of the table. They were consistent with what ALICE had told her- books that had come from the offices and break rooms of the facility. She had also had ALICE generate a few suggestions on random topics and printed those out. There were three books of varying topics and composition spread out before her- first was a novel, A Man About, an autobiography of a Meridonian-born soldier of fortune who fought all over the world during the Second Great War. The second was a magazine, Archetopolis, dated for September 2008- on it a picture of an expansive multi-layer modernist designed office space, it being an architect's digest. Third was the most peculiar, printed on reams of copy paper, was a Defense Forces technical manual on a firearm, the kind issued to recruits in basic training. Takaoka's finger laid over this last document, and thus, Prima responded:

"The Firearm, Model 72 Infantry Rifle System family of weapons are 5.56x45 millimeter chambered, lightweight, air cooled, gas-operated, magazine fed, shoulder-fired rifles capable of operation in single shot, three-round burst, and fully automatic fire intended to provide personnel with an offensive and defensive capability of directly engaging targets with small-arms fire. It is accurate up to- "

"O-okay, okay, that's enough. You really memorized all of that?" Firearms? Really? Wait, why hadn't she thought of that? The dataset she was using was gathered to create supersoldiers, why wouldn't it have a martial tint to it? Or maybe this truly was the hand of God at work here.. in any case, it might not be medicine or culinary skills, but it was certainly a start. "So I take it you're interested in firearms. I suppose it's lucky that we won't have much trouble getting our hands on one. On the other hand.. I've never shot one, and I don't think I'm going to let you use one until you can properly be taught."

"Miss Takaoka, have you considered using an online instructional video in teaching her?" ALICE chimed in helpfully, an idea that Takaoka rapidly shot down.

"Not happening, ALICE. You know as well as I do that practical implementation and theory are two entirely separate disciplines. I'm not risking it, especially not for a gun. She might be strong, but I'm not ready to put my money behind it. Architecture... a bit too heavy of a subject for me to teach, not quite my area of expertise.. but reading more on it certainly can't hurt until we can find her some grid paper and a draftboard. As for history.. the endless pursuit. I'll be sure to find some more material for you to read."

"Um.. why, exactly, are you doing this for me?" Prima asked quizically, an inquiry to which Takaoka could only smile.

"..Mm... why? Because.. you are alive, Prima, and to live is to experience, to learn and to grow. And it's for my sake just as much as yours. But.. ALICE did remind me.. I think it's time we see if the extra homework we put into you gave any significant dividends. Follow me, Prima- we're off to the gym."

- - - -

Automated Logisticial and Integrated
Control Executable- ALICE

Location data unavailable

"Assessment battery is complete. Two mile endurance run time is eight minutes and thirty-two seconds. Maximum sprint speed calculated at 31.4 miles per hour. Deadlift capacity estimated to be in excess of 500 pounds, limited due to available weight. Upper body explosive power as measured by ten pound medicine ball throw in excess of 50 feet, limited by available space. Hand-release pushups, 76 in one minute, with additional twenty pounds of weight. Sit-ups with thirty pounds of additional weight at seventy one. Maximum and minimum heart rate figures-"

"Yes, ALICE, I understand. Prima-donna here is going to wreck the Olympiad if we ever let her complete."

"Um.. is that a bad thing?" Prima's ears lowered, out of curiosity, confusion, or concern, but the proud-looking mother hen in a labcoat quickly waved her hand, the spare one providing the sweat-drenched girl with a dry towel, one which she accepted to dry herself off.

"Far from it. This is only after, what, a little under thirty-six hours? This is phenomenal, considering the genetic tuning we did was primitive, at best. "

Once more, ALICE chimed in. "..Miss Takaoka, you labored quite painstakingly over the genome sequences. I believe you should give yourself more credit-"

"But we can do better, dear ALICE!" came the scientist's cheery retort, one that gave ALICE pause, an impetus to reflect.. Seeing vibrancy return to her form and enthusiasm after the month of work she'd put into painstakingly refining Prima was certainly worth all of the stress she had allowed her creator to go through. Perhaps now wasn't the time to be resting on laurels.. but step by step, to move forward, and look on with pride at what came before.

As Prima and Takaoka walked out of the exercise room and off towards the break room for a recovery drink, together, she couldn't help but think how they looked like mother and daughter. The thought parsed through her mind as to what that made her, but she realized it didn't matter. The words that her creator said might not have been spoken to her, but she heard them all the same. ALICE knew what her purpose in life was- step by step, to see these two into a brighter future.

by **Legatia** » Thu Aug 31, 2023 6:23 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Somewhere, Eastern Islands Territory
09:00 AM, 30 August 2023

Stood beneath the shade of a coolibah tree in the warm, salty late summer air was the labcoat-clad figure of a woman who had come to be called, to her enormous chagrin, Doctor Takaoka. She had done her absolute best to conceal from ALICE her pair of doctoral theses with her own technological know-how. She was, for all of her virtues, not a superwoman, and was not quite capable of permanent erasure from the internet- and to be honest, it had slipped her mind. ALICE did not need sleep, and instead of sleep, she sought information. Somehow, some day, her routines had brought her to the documents, and when she was introduced to ALICE's first 'production run' two weeks ago, she was greeted by the quartet of girls as "Doctor".

Prima had been joined by a vibrant group of four more of her kind- to which the scientist had finally figured out what to refer to them as. Not quite humans, but composite man- homo compositum. It was rudimentary, because speciation required that these new beings were capable of intra-reproduction- which was for one, not tested, and two, not possible to test, because every single one of them were female, and the remainder were highly likely to come out that way as well. This had been a consequence of a number of factors.. ones that the good Doctor did not feel like reminiscing upon. At least in the short term, figuring out reproduction was very low on her priorities.

There had been three more groups of these composites, as they were referred to in passing conversation, produced after the first batch, as well as two more unique individuals. That made for eighteen total. Counting herself and ALICE into that made for twenty individuals who called this island home. And on top of that, there was another.

Clad in a sunbleached T-shirt that was ranger green at one time, and well-worn and maintained fatigue pants and boots was a woman in her mid thirties. Stenciled in marker onto the right sleeve were the letters "RYDER, MAJ, 28 BRMC". Perhaps the lone scientist and her outcast cadre's only link to the outside world was a retired Marine Commando officer, who had become embroiled in this whole ordeal at first out of a desire for revenge on her former employer, a certain private military company who had recently bitten the dust. What had kept her around was twofold, Takaoka knew- and one such fold was currently running past her.

Maj Whitney Ryder
RMC, Ret.

Location data unavailable

"Keep it together, sheilas! You move as a group! You're spreading out too far!"

Keeping pace with the second group of four composites was this former officer, who had stained her well-worn shirt with sweat for her effort. The four girls, with tails streaming behind them as they kept a comparatively breakneck pace, regarded their instructor with some form of bewilderment. Their bodies allowed them to keep pace with Olympic-level athletes, and with practice would allow them to exceed them. The Major was at the rear end of her prime, and despite being a former recce officer, she only barely scratched the surface of where these girls were at. What she lacked in aerobic or muscular capacity she made up for in the ridiculous tenacity that was paramount in the creation of Marines and especially their officers.

"Aye, ma'am!" The group answered, and quickly self-rectified their distance problem. Only then did the Marine slow from the near sprint she had maintained keeping up with them, finding a place besides Takaoka and one of the other composite girls, who offered her a water bottle from a nearby cooler.

"Is it a requirement to be unreasonably stubborn to get into the Regiment?" The scientist besides her quipped, though her face did show a tad bit of concern. "You'd figure after doing it five times in an afternoon you might realize I wasn't kidding when I told you they will outperform you in every single metric."

"You might hate to hear it, but you're god damn right every mother-loving cunt in the Regiment is a stuck-up bastard, and proud of it. And as much as it's a right stab in my gut, you might be right, Doctor." She was as quick on her feet as she was stubborn, and she rapidly elicited a groan and facepalm from her companion.

"You too now? Please, give me a break.."

Takaoka knew the Major wasn't the only one glad to see her own self above grown. Mélisande had practically dragged her up here to observe once she had heard ALICE spew out the statistics on the last time the scientist had seen sunlight. She was one of the 'unique cases' mentioned earlier, not created to work as part of the teams. Instead, she took over a good portion of both Takaoka and ALICE's job in managing the now over-squad-sized formation of composites- mind you, not leading them. Hers was a job of administration- both a secretary and adjutant, or perhaps a liaison. The girl's ears flickered idly as she wrote some notes onto a clipboard at rapid pace, catching Takaoka's eyes. Mélisande had been the first attempt at trying to 'steer' a composite towards a certain direction. Obviously, fate had most of the skin in that game, but whatever ALICE had done, it had worked.

As far as these composites went, she had really been quite hands off with them ever since after the first batch- Acacia Team, was what they had taken to calling themselves. She had seen less and less of ALICE, resultantly.. she was absorbed in the three hats of network maintenance, education of the composites, and their creation. Anything that could be offloaded, had been.. poor girl, Takaoka thought. Hopefully, she could let ALICE catch a break soon. She wondered if she was capable of doing that..

She nearly stumbled over to the side as she felt an elbow from the Marine to the side, her coordination- and reaction time- having certainly diminished from close to two months underground. Her horse-eared aid took shock to the lack of balance of her creator, who was able to right herself with a glare to the nonchalant looking blonde.

"...What? You were spacing out;" the Major shrugged her shoulders. "Wasn't the whole reason you agreed to come up in the first place to see the fruits of our labors?"

'▇▇▇ Takaoka'

Location data unavailable

"Sometimes I really wonder what my sister saw in you. She's never mentioned how you two became so close, either."

The jab at the Commando only made her grin wider, as if not entirely taking the scientist seriously- which she wasn't. The deflection induced unimpressed frowns in both her, and her horse-eared companion.

"Well then, Major Whitney, what have you got for us?

"I've got a few teams that would give the Marines a run for their money.. and that's-"

"High praise, I'm sure." Mélisande chimed in, tapping the edge of a pencil against her noteboard. "You've mentioned it at least once in every thirty-minute interval you've been here with us."

"Hey, girl, cut some slack. Not everyone is cut out for the Regiment, y'know."

Takaoka couldn't help but sigh. "Maybe ALICE should have taught you girls that old joke about Marines." How could you tell who was a Marine at a function? Don't worry, they'll let you know.. "But that's beside the point. Military metrics aren't exactly my area of expertise.. it wasn't until two days ago I knew how to fire a gun. So how exactly are we objectively measuring these girls up against trained infantrymen?"

Unabashed as always, the Major turned proudly towards a rudimental kill house, where a team of four girls were sweeping through at a pace that even to the non-tactically trained eye looked rapid. Close quarters combat was not a game of speed, it was one of skill and teamwork. It was something that could only be developed, not trained or taught, and it required more than drills and classroom sessions on theory. Takaoka had learned that lesson did not just apply to combat training quite well. Many scientists preached it, but few could say they'd lived it. She shook her head as she realized she was once again getting lost in her own thoughts. She watched them maneuver through the buildings, tossing empty cans filled with rocks to simulate a grenade being thrown into the room. Inventive, to be sure. This group was one of the outliers, with ears and tails akin to foxes rather than the equine kind belonging to Ryszanan stock.

Turning her head- down the line a bit was the team that the Major had just been running with, having switched rapidly towards conducting accuracy training with sub machine guns and carbines, both of Meridonian and foreign origin. It was partially due to the Major's influence that a large portion of old Willingstone stock had ended up in her possession here on their little island exclave. That was on top of the small stockpile already on this forgotten black site. For all of Matterhouse's faults, they did really leave the lights on for her.

Then there was the third, who she had seen concluding training when she had first emerged about an hour earlier. This was one of the newer groups, it having only been about a week since they had come about, and the ones responsible for much of the construction efforts on-site in that short span. The four of them were the only one of the three groups above ground at the moment who were not engaged in combat activities- they had been the second 'production run' version of a group oriented towards a specialization, with the first being the team of foxes. There they were, leaning over a blueprint plan on a picnic table, discussing something- likely plans for the next building. Takaoka smiled, watching them do so as the voices of the other teams faded into the background, voices filled with energy and, in some small amount- joy.

The production of four team's worth of composites and two extras beyond Prima had not come without costs, she knew. There were disfigured attempts as well. Her first real failures had nearly broken her some days earlier. Poor souls whose existence only knew malformed suffering. ALICE, forever the pragmatist, had acted when Takaoka could not bear to, and cut their life support to end their misery. Mercy? Playing god again? She began to shake as the faces were transfixed before her, a bout of fear shaking her very soul to its core. Contorted, writhing in response to pain their faculties were ill-developed to process, she recalled them. Alone forever and always, knowing nothing but the cruel reality of the world. Her knees buckled inwards as her pupils dilated and she began to hyperventilate.

Both of the companions standing next to her caught wind of this, and for once the Major wasn't quite sure how to react. Mélisande had experienced this once before, when she was escorting her creator in the dining hall they all shared, and thus reacted quickly. She steadied and gently shook her, managing to quickly snap Takaoka to her senses.

Ryder could well understand that it was unlikely that the increasingly detached scientist was paying attention to what she had just said, and could garner it wasn't for a lack of trying. Hopefully one of her composites might be able to deal with her.. but the Major was a soldier, not a psychologist. So, she did what she was here to do, as best as she could.

Maj Whitney Ryder
RMC, Ret.

Location data unavailable

"Right, Doc, let's.. take it from the top. I've been working with your sheilas for the past few weeks in developing their practical and combat skills.. the stuff you can't teach them in classrooms. Perhaps convenience, perhaps not, but so far all of the girls have fit into teams with their blockmates." Blockmate being a more appropriate term for batches- that is, sets that were 'born' together. "We've got four teams so far. Acacia, Barcoo, Castle, and Foxtrot. Acacia and Barcoo seem like generalists, no particular aptitudes but generally a solid good lot. Alla the lasses are quick on the uptake, and they're finding their niches as we get into training. Foxtrot, 's you can see down below, are particularly quick-witted. In close quarters, can't beat 'em. Castle came as billed, though being a sapper isn't my cup. Cordelia ain't built in a day or some shit. I'll letcha know when the verdict's in on their rangework."

The Major glanced back over to the scientist, who gave her a nod of understanding, and for once the Major was satisfied she was keeping tabs on their conversation. When she had made that promise to Maria, not in her wildest dreams had she imagined this is what she'd be doing. She couldn't help but think this poor girl needed someone. But she wasn't that someone, she knew, and it was all she could do to hope someone, someday, might be that one.

"But I've been meaning to ask you. We're training them as combatants, but you've told me yourself we're not going to be able to match the feds in a fight." This question caught the scientist's attention quickly, her head turning to regard the Major. "If this is what you want, I'll help you as far as my abilities go, but I have to ask. What is the end goal here? If you aren't doing something like overthrowing them, then why go through all of this knowing you can't beat them?"

For once, Takaoka smiled unreservedly. There was some critical thought going on, she might have jested.. but it was a question that needed answering.

"Major, have you ever read Orwell's 1984? In it lies a quote oft used. 'Power is not a means, it is an end.' Some people read it and continue to take that quote at face value, as if the concept could be so simple. Soldiers may be trained to fight, but wars are not won on the battlefield. Wars are won in the mind and in the soul. Power can be used for good, or it can be used for evil. I believe.. that power can be a means. And I intend to prove just that through the power of example that we can be better."

The Marine Commando regarded Takaoka quietly, a small smile pulling at her lips. Both dreamers, these Takaoka girls were. They were both dreamers, but it seemed this younger sister was quite the gambler as well. She had tenacity in her, and Major Ryder smiled as she saw some spirit return to the shaken scientist's eyes.

"..Prove you're better, huh? And when exactly does that come about?"

'▇▇▇ Takaoka'

Location data unavailable

There was only one good answer that Takaoka could give to that question. She hadn't even worked out the specifics, but she knew that remaining in the shadows forever wasn't an option, nor was it even tenable.

"When, huh?"

As the wind gently threw her coat and locks into its drift, her eyes refocused on the Major with a reassured look. And thus, she answered.

"...When the time is right, I suppose."

by **Legatia** » Sun Sep 03, 2023 2:59 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Meridon Air Forces Base Bernic, Taikorea Territory
11:00 AM, 2 October 2023

Upon the sun-baked tarmac of Meridon Air Forces Base Bernic loomed a gargantuan drab-green behemoth of metal, glass, and composites. Its figure loomed massively over the short-squat and recently mothballed Bison cargo planes, and dominated the presence of the grey-splinter painted Wasps of the base’s aggressor squadron, their forms coated with grease and oil from use and lack of cleansing. At the edge of two stubby wings stood black-painted pylons nearly three times as thick as a telephone pole, from which were attached massive, 18-feet long propeller blades- the largest such blades ever attached to an aircraft. This was the future of tactical airlift in the Meridon Defense Forces, the C14M Iolani- named after a mythical bird of prey in Tangaran legend.

On its tail was solely its bureau number- 74-2122, its serial mark, lacking the tactical devices or tail codes that might indicate it to a particular Air Sector or division. A half-dozen maintainers were moving about it as well as a single crew chief marking their work. Approaching it was a trio more, in green flight suits. Two men and a single woman were among that group. The men ranked Captain and Lieutenant Colonel, with two and three stripes on their chest-mounted rank cards; and on their shoulders three suns and two diamonds respectively. The woman’s chest card held one thick stripe and one normal thickness, and her shoulders were marked with a crossed sword and baton and one large silver star. An Air Lieutenant Commandant recently returned from diplomatic postings in the ICON offices in Outer Liberty, this woman was Air Lieutenant Commandant Aurelia Whitegrove, whose face could hardly hold its excitement.

When she had been grounded close to a year ago following a pair of ejections during her stint as a test pilot, she had thought her career was over. Instead, she had been appointed as a diplomatic ambassador to ICON’s security council. She had done her job well- and had certainly increased her domestic prestige, however meager it was, while she was there- but she did not enjoy it. She had joined the Air Forces to fly, not to desk jockey, and when she had received a transfer order to the Joint Forces Command’s Air Component under ACdt Mangone she had felt the wind hit back in her sail. This was only three days after her reporting in; and here she was getting to trial some of the Air Force’s latest and greatest pieces of equipment. As a planning and operations officer assigned to the headquarters, this was all part of her job. She wouldn’t be allowed in anything that had an ejection seat, or was deemed too high of a crash risk. The Iolani, as new as it was, was large, and had been designed with rough operating and survivability in mind.

The two pilots alongside her were instructor pilots for the aircraft, who would show her the basics of flying it and demonstrate its capabilities on a flight scheduled to be three hours long. Normally, it would be one and a half, but being a general officer gave her some pull in the demonstration. Quite frankly, no one would blame her for wanting a little extra stick time.

“Good morning, ma’am!” The Crew Chief awkwardly snapped himself to rigid attention after identifying the rank badge on her flight uniform, a gesture that the Lieutenant Commandant couldn’t help but smile and return a salute. “At ease, T-Sarge. How is it looking?”

“We’ve got a fully fueled and ready to go Iolani for you here. They’re pulling the chocks now and I’ve done the pre-flight inspection for the good Lieutenant Colonel. One BGB go for flying.”

“BGB?” The term was foreign to the fast-jet driver who had only seen cargo jets as she passed them at five hundred knots of closure. The chief’s face went red as he realize what he had just said, and the dutiful Lieutenant Colonel, a man with a grey mustached face, came in to save the poor ranker with his vastly reduced rank differential. “It’s a nickname for the Iolani for flight crews, ma’am. ‘Big Green Bastard’ or.. Well, you get the implication, ma’am.”

ALCd Whitegrove relieved the three of them with her chortle of half-amusement. “Creative;” she quipped. “Right then. Let’s go flying, shall we?”

--

About fifteen minutes later, the aircraft had taken off from Bernic on a southeasterly flight across the glimmering southern Marinan Ocean, the aircraft maintaining max cruise performance a scant three hundred feet above the water as it raced towards a training area in the Eastern Islands. As the Captain monitored the plane’s autopilot, the Lieutenant Colonel began explaining the defensive suite of the system as they approached a Navy frigate, having given it instructions to simulate a pop-up missile and gun attack on the Iolani. The frigate’s radars would illuminate the aircraft with targeting radars for both its CADS missiles and Goalkeeper close-in guns.

“Now, ma’am, in addition to the automated countermeasures deployment modes I mentioned to you, this aircraft’s autopilot has a predictive threat avoidance mode- PTAM. We’ve categorized damn near every emitter in Esvanovia and paired it to an associated threat. The Iolani can use triangulation, signal discernment, and integrated millimeter radar to determine what is engaging it and what the best options to defeat it are. The neat part about PTAM is that it has three operational modes. Today we’ll be testing it in its full authority mode. Bar crashing the aircraft or snapping anything off, the autopilot will do whatever it deems necessary to defeat the threat.”

In a time before, she was a tactical pilot as well- she knew the sounds of the radar warning receiver like she knew her own two hands. The Iolani had a vocal warning system, but she only needed to hear the beeps. Search radar, surface, eleven o’ clock. A surface ship had acquired them, and it only needed seconds later to target them. Targeting radar, surface, eleven o’clock.

“And now the shot..” The Captain tensed his grip on the controls. Three seconds later as the form of the frigate came into view over the horizon, the RWR beeped again. "Missile, ten o’clock.”
A dummy rocket fired off from the deck of the vessel, and the cockpit display flashed “PTAM ACTIVE.” That was where things went wrong.

Immediately, the engines surged up to and past their rated maximum performance, and the aircraft jolted upwards and to the right. The stress forced the pilots back into their seats as the right vertical stabilizer was ripped from the aircraft and a propeller blade on the right engine was shorn clean from the aircraft, slicing a shallow divot into the under fuselage and sending the blade hurtling towards the ocean surface faster than the speed of sound. The pilots never saw it, but the blade skipped for nearly a mile before it slammed into the side of the frigate, slow enough not to cause a hull breach but severe enough to rattle the few hundred men inside of it from bow to stern. Warning lights and alarms flooded the cockpit as the captain took hold of the sidestick and jammed it forward, manually overriding PTAM and bringing the aircraft out of a near-stall condition.

“What in the fuck was that?! Did we just lose a blade?” The Lieutenant Colonel screamed over the high-pitched whines in the cockpit. For the first time in her life, the Air Lieutenant Commandant felt powerless in an aircraft, strapped into a jumpseat and unable to actuate anything. She could tell by the indications. The stick was forced almost full to the left, and the pilot’s hands were rapidly moving it forwards and backwards. His left leg trembled, which means he was applying full left rudder as well.

“Rotor tilt to zero, bring that fucking power back! Ma’am, you have the radios- we’re empty on the left, fuck, engine fire right!”

“Extinguishing right!” The Captain reached upwards and pulled an extinguisher lever, dousing the fire on the right engine as Aurelia quickly fumbled with the radios. One deep breath.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, Kestrel 1, we have fire and likely aircraft structural damage, fuel leak! I think we lost a blade!”

She managed to get off her communication over the rapid-fire exchange of the two pilots.

“Autopilot’s toast! Manual trim hard left!”
“Hydraulics are low on the right!”

Thankfully, the frigate was able to respond rapidly.

“Kestrel, this is the frigate Mako Bay, we acknowledge, we’re keeping you tracked on radar. Are you able to put her down?”

Aurelia looked upwards. The plane was still going pretty fast- close to 350 knots. It wouldn’t survive a landing like that, not on the water, and that wasn’t mentioning the fact it was trying to roll to the right the whole time. That needed airspeed to counteract. It was a rock and a hard place- if they went slow, they flipped, but they couldn’t land as fast they needed to go to not flip. That wasn’t mentioning that with all of that input needed to correct the roll, they weren’t changing direction anytime soon. The rudders were already likely compromised, and he was applying full pressure on the one- the only way they could turn was to the right, and even that risked a departure from stable flight. If that happened, they were as good as dead.

“Colonel, think you can climb her?”

“Ma’am?”

“We’re not gonna have the right engine much longer, and the way she’s flying I’d expect her to depart if you keep that right going fast enough to try and keep her in the air. We’re gonna hit land here in a few dozen miles more. If we’re lucky, maybe it’s inhabited. Point is- climb and shut that engine off. And then-”

“And then we’re truly fucked. Respectfully, ma’am. This thing flies like a helicopter.”

“If that were the case they wouldn’t have given it wings. I’d rather crash wings level. Make the call, Colonel- you know her better than I do. At this point, we’re all test pilots.”

The man sighed, shaking his head. “..I don’t have any better ideas. All right, run them at the highest you can get the right engine. We’ll get as high as we can at a climb profile of ten degrees.

“Backup hydraulics are on in the right, running her up..”

The rudder and stick input eased as the aircraft’s engines began a slightly lethargic climb to altitude. The climb was slow, deadly quiet and tense as the aircraft’s indications maintained stable. Still unable to steer her by any meaningful margin it was all they could do to keep the ailing aircraft straight, managing a respectable 15,000 feet before the right engine finally began to quit.

“Okay, left to idle.” The LCol called and the Captain complied, and for once, the aircraft’s roll became somewhat controllable. The stick was still angled off to the left, but a large, sparse island was ahead- an ideal target for landing. The Iolani was heavy and had little wing area- not one for gliding, even as she was practically empty. The glide seemed like an hour, even though it couldn’t have been longer than two or three minutes. She gave out a position report, assisted in shutting off all the non-essential systems, and strapped herself in tight to the seat as her eyes were fixed on the rapidly approaching ground before her.

The airspeed meter ticked forward as the altimeter trended negative. Five hundred, four hundred, three.. The radar altimeter beeped as the aircraft gently began to pitch upwards, its speed finally dissipating. Two hundred, one hundred… the airplane began to shudder as it settled into ground effect, the steady airflow's disturbance beginning to lean the aircraft towards its right. Fifty, forty, thirty-

“BRACE-”

- - -

Her vision was a blur, her eyes caked with blood and the cabin filled with smoke. She unhooked from her harness seat to realize a searing pain in her right arm. Her lip bit as she realized by looking at it, that it was broken. She used her left, which felt numb in itself, to try and fumble and free the pilots from their harnesses. Both of them slumped lifelessly onto the console when she did so, and she knew she didn’t have the strength to drag both of them out of their seats and through the exit. In lieu, she grabbed their dogtags and pocketed them. The loadmaster was not present in the rear of the cabin, which was engulfed in flame already. It was all she could do to hope he had made it out alive. She used what was left of her upper body strength to shut the divider between cabin and cockpit to block the flames from reaching the pilots, and then pop the hatch between cockpit and exterior door.

As she emerged from the cabin, she miscalculated the drop from door to ground, and thus fell, crumpling onto the dusty surface with a searing pain as she landed lopsidedly on her right leg and came near to breaking it from its rigid extension and the impact. A cry of pain came from her as she flopped onto the ground, fumbling with her left hand to try and reach the emergency locator beacon on her radio. Interrupting that thought was the faint sound of footsteps through her ringing ears. Instinctively her hand then fumbled for her sidearm before she realized she was in Meridon, not in a combat zone.. Maybe the rescue crew had came while she was out.

A group of figures approached her, and her head leaned back as a sigh of relief came from her. “..Thank goodness.. I thought I was a goner… it sure is.. Good to…”

Her eyes regained focus. The figure was standing atop her. It was a woman’s, with long hair and a skirt, her features obscured by her shadow.

Except for one prominent fact- a rifle was being pointed at her head.

“..What.. is that on top of your head…? Are those… ears?” She was sure she was dreaming or hallucinating by this point. She saw the lips of the girl move, but her conscious did not process the message, as she slipped into the abyss.

by **Legatia** » Tue Sep 05, 2023 9:04 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
An island in the Eastern Territories
05:00 PM, 2 October 2023

Out of all the places she had expected to wake up in, a well-appointed medical gurney and a sterile room was the last place she expected to be. She couldn’t say she was surprised, however, to find her legs secured by a belt, and her left arm above the elbow in the same predicament. Her right was already immobilized by a sling, the still-broken limb held over her chest, immobile. She couldn't feel it at all, but she had remembered how it had gotten into such a state.

She was still in her flight jacket, it appeared, though her boots, vest, and helmet had been removed. The dog tags she had deposited into her breast pocket were still there, too. The room was very well-appointed for a hospital room, with modern equipment humming gently in the background. She could see both vest and helmet having been rested on an adjacent table in the corner of the room. As her senses continued to return to her, however, the discrepancies only grew in her mind.

She had been taken at gunpoint, she remembered. The weapon.. It wasn’t standard issue, it was a rifle with a front-loaded magazine unlike the F72’s bullpup design that was universal across the Defense Forces. And there wasn’t a soul in the Defense Forces who would’ve been on duty wearing a skirt. Moreover.. there were very few people, anywhere, that went on duty wearing a skirt. Let alone, that didn't explain the odd features she distinctly remembered seeing..

A voice broke through the din.

“Seems you’re back with us, Lieutenant Commandant. You’re a tough one, I’ll give you credit;” came a voice from the side, a silhouetted figure with the same earlike protrusions she had seen on the girl from earlier- but undoubtedly, her shape implied she was a different person entirely.

“..And how is it exactly that I’m being held prisoner in Meridon? Judging by the fact this seems like a competent medical facility, I’m assuming that you aren’t a terror group or some smuggler organization operating out here.”

Morgan

An island in the Eastern Islands Territory

“Astute observation;” the voice replied. Stepping into a fluorescently lit area of clarity, the air officer was finally able to get a bead on who exactly she was dealing with. A young woman, dressed in a blue shirt and a white doctor’s labcoat; likely in her twenties, with pale gold hair and soft brown eyes- and those same protrusions, ears, atop her head. She couldn’t tell if she had human ones- but the ones atop her head seemed functional, twitching and moving slightly as she spoke. “Yet, if I told you, you’d call me a madwoman. You’ve stumbled onto something that Meridon- maybe even the rest of the world- isn’t quite ready for.”

“..So you... are some sort of terrorist cell?”

“Very quick to jump to generalizations, are you? No. The good Doctor would never allow anything of that nature. Yet even I can garner that we’ll do plenty of bad turns for our country before we get a chance to do something good. A powder keg ignited by a crashing plane.. Quite ironic to have that happen twice in the span of a year.” She was, of course, referring to the terrorbombing attacks that had struck Meridon in early April and catapulted it into a war in New England.

Aurelia narrowed her gaze as she shimmied herself as upright as her restraints would allow. “.. So, a movement. A movement that operates a hospital complex and an organized armed group in the middle of nowhere..”

“Hah..” Exasperatedly, the nurse sighed. “..Commandant Whitegrove, you may call us as you wish, it doesn’t really make any difference how others see us. I’m..”

ALCd Aurelia Whitegrove
|
An island in the Eastern Islands Territory

“..You know my name?” The officer interrupted, to which the nurse’s ears flicked gently.

“Of course we do. You aren’t exactly a low-visibility figure with your stint in ICON. Even aside, your uniform had your name and rank on it… Ah, but where are my manners, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Morgan, callsign Matron One. Your care has been entrusted to myself and my team.”

“..Morgan, Matron One.. so you’re organized like a military unit;” the ALCd deduced.

“Correct. But our particularities in organization aren’t really my area of expertise, medicine is. There is someone a bit more qualified to answer that line of questioning for you, though. Mélisande?”

In stepped another woman, with darker brown hair spare for a white highlight between her eyes, with amber eyes and a shorter figure, who seemed roughly about the same age, early twenties. Both of these women, had certainly carried about them airs of intelligence, but something seemed different with the newer arrival that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Both of them shared the ears atop their heads, and this was Aurelia's first cue that it may not just be an accessory choice.

Mélisande

An island in the Eastern Islands Territory

“..Greetings, Lieutenant Commandant. Your reputation precedes you.” Her dress was similarly simple to her companion’s, a functionally-tailored white collared shirt and black skirt. “To find you of all people in that crash was by far a surprise, but.. Not an unwelcome one, to be sure. Morgan here has been taking good care of you, it seems.”

“..The other pilots? The crewman? Are you holding them separate..?” Aurelia’s question put a remorseful expression on both of the women’s faces.

“..Both of the pilots were dead once we got to them. As far as any other passengers, we didn’t find anything anywhere else on the island;” the brown-haired new arrival explained with a downwards-cast look of sympathetic remorse. “..I apologize for the loss. We left their bodies where they were.”

Aurelia sighed, looking at her broken arm as the news was passed to her. The two were anxious to see her own reaction to the information, but she had spent a good deal of time as a test pilot before. The Iolani had just been introduced into initial service, and these two were testing experimental features. Test pilot or not, every aviator knew the old adage- Takeoff is optional, landing is mandatory. Some landings you could use the plane again, and others..

“..Thank you;” she answered curtly, shimmying upwards in her seat. “..But let’s cut to the chase. I can garner I’m not free to go. And you say you’re safeguarding some sort of truth but you’re not a terrorist group.. Which makes me think you’re a cult?”

“You’re going to keep trying to jump to conclusions, and they’re all going to be wrong. If it was that simple, we could have told you that from the beginning;” Mélisande explained with a hand on her hip, Morgan beside her nodding deferentially as she then turned to tidy up the instruments in the room as to not stand idly. “Let me try it from this approach. By now you’ve noticed that Morgan and I are not quite ordinary for more than one reason, and if you’re more astute, you’d have garnered that no such fancy medical facilities exist this far south in the Eastern Islands. Yet, we’re not associated with the government, and we’re not foreigners either.. Yet I suppose we aren’t citizens, either, but that’s besides the point. Let me try and convey to you the whole story..”

It took close to an hour for Mélisande to recollect their history. It was an occasion she had practiced for, though that history’s most relevant bits covered only the span of three months. It was, even then, not a complete story. Takaoka had only shared the important bits- not her motivations or her own history, only her last name and her involvement in..

ALCd Aurelia Whitegrove
|
Location data unavailable

“..You’re telling me you’re the group responsible for the 15 Rush?” She wanted to stand for her shock, but was reminded that she was still attached to the bed when her limbs refused to lift her. An ear folded on the brunette before her as she shook her head.

“..Doctor Takaoka, was. We didn’t exist back then, but you can say we exist because of it.”

“..But that was only three months ago- are you trying to say…”

“Remember when I mentioned the bit about there not being any medical facilities this advanced this far south in the Eastern Islands? The important caveat to that is, on paper. Surely you’re aware of Matterhouse- this was their largest black site.”

Even Mélisande was spared the gruesome specifics that only ALICE and Takaoka knew, but she knew enough to know that they had not come from a virgin mother in a manger. Theirs was a birth formed from the suffering and pains of hundreds, if not thousands of souls, whose presence could still be felt in the underground laboratory areas. The Doctor could, on occasion, be heard referencing them in her quieter moments.. the girls had tried their best to endow the laboratories with a more vibrant air, but that was a task much easier said than done.

This story told gave Aurelia the answer to the question of why. Parksun Realty, Matterhouse Chemicals, and Willingstone Private Military Company. The first provided the property, well away from its normal holdings in north-central Meridon and far from prying eyes; the second the engineering, chemical, bioengineering and scientific expertise, and Willingstone the training. Each of them had a stake in the successful creation of a super-human synthetic creature to be their enforcers, test dummies, and guinea pigs. Takaoka had simply taken the work meant to change society for the worse, to do it instead for the better. Mélisande had wanted to move into a segue of a small explanation of Takaoka's motivations in detail, but as she turned her back to dictate this out, her conversation partner's eyes began to lid. Aurelia fought to retain her consciousness, but it was a losing battle.

Mélisande

An island in the Eastern Islands Territory

“..” Morgan took notice as Aurelia’s focus faded during the opening of this explanation, her eyes narrowing. “..Mélisande, her pain medications. She’s about to slip out again.”

“..Very well;” she sighed, giving a brief nod as the officer’s consciousness slipped from her, and she spun on her foot to rest her elbows on a table behind her. Her ears flicked in shock almost immediately as she did so, both of them turning towards the Commandant’s flight vest on the table as an electronic sound came from it. Mélisande was particularly aware of the sound, it was one she heard multiple times day in, and day out, and it meant only one thing.

“..Oh, no.”

“..What was that?” Morgan peered over her colleague’s shoulders as their hand went into the vest’s depth to reveal the survival radio within it. As her hands fumbled with it and flipped it to view the front, the color drained from Mélisande's face.

It had been on and transmitting the entire time.

by **Legatia** » Wed Sep 06, 2023 3:15 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Winston Beaumont Building, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District
06:00 PM, 2 October 2023

"..You're kidding me, right? What kind of jumped-up druggo nonsense is this?"

Liam Mitchell, Agent-In-Charge of the 15 Rush case, had been stumped for three weeks. Trying to dig up evidence on the case had been like trying to pull his hair out, and the man was already starting to bald here in his early forties. So when he had been delivered a radio transcript from a Navy frigate operating in the Eastern Islands with a garbled recording from a survival radio, he looked at the other chief members of the investigating task force like they had just told him they'd found a unicorn. Which- in essence- they had.

"That was our first thought, too.. but this is the only lead we've gotten in months, skip." His chief deputy, a frizzy-haired Tangaran woman- Leilani Mahealani- commented with a confident shake of her head. "Consider the context. This is from a survival radio to a Defense Forces officer. The only reason they'd have to tell her is if they think she'd save their skin. And once the higher ups hear about this.."

"Cute to think they haven't already." Though her junior in rank, the jaded and older voice of David Foster rang in. His sometimes-irritating lack of personal tact had kept him from a managerial position, but his expertise in investigations and a knack for understanding the human psyche had made him invaluable to investigating task forces. It was his deduction that the 15 Rush's pilfering of financial assets was only a secondary objective, the main object of dismantling three controversial companies made obvious by bringing their skeletons out of the closet kicking and screaming. Markets had regardless been pessimistic ever since- even though the actual damage done by the raid was understated by close to twenty times the real amount. "Take the broader situation into context. Here's the first lead we've gotten into months, right. They're also holding an officer hostage. This won't end nice, that's oath."

Mitchell's phone buzzed. He looked at the message on it and the tension on his face said more than words could. "..We're on a charter flight that leaves in three hours out of Jeanne Arvoire. Get your bags."

Havenville Municipal Airport, Havenville, Taikorea Territory
07:30 PM, 2 October 2023

Havenville was home to Taikorea Territory's southernmost paved runway, and despite that, it was a quiet town. Most of the economic activity in this area came from fishing, and nowadays increasingly, from remote work. The town was decidedly working class, and despite that fact it like many other places in Meridon had a strong community of fliers.

The sun was beginning to dip below a russet horizon, and at this hour the only man occupying the small terminal building at the airport was its owner and manager, Roger Sherman. A retiree by living and flight instructor by passion, he had seen his last student of the day off an hour prior. Never married, his office was his bachelor's pad, and on nights like these he was content to sit in the meshed-in porch facing the dusty runway, his feet kicked up on his favorite chair, reading the newspaper as a radio station played tunes from his childhood decades ago. Outie songs, they were called, favored by the outcountry folk like he who had spent his entire life in rural Taikorea outside of his stint in the Army, where he had learned his flying trade. By his side sat an opened glass bottle of Arrowhead Bitter, one of Meridon's most popular brands of beer, from which he punctually drew from.

The peaceful still of this ordinary night was broken by a massive and distant droning which the man realized were helicopters well before he could see them. He thought little of it and continued to watch the sun sink into the horizon.

Though that thought only lasted a few minutes. The droning continued and grew louder. Closer, he garnered. After about two minutes, he annoyedly let his ragged boots stomp onto the weather-worn wood beneath him and throw open the screen door towards the outback that would allow him to garner what exactly he was looking at.

A formation of Army H50s- Hawks- flown down from Himona Garrison in Misanui, had to have been. Half a squadron's worth of them, twelve aircraft flew in a double-line formation and were approaching one location. His airport.

Before he had a chance to get on the radio and holler at them, they had came into the approach pattern with their landing lights on. Minutes later the aircraft had set down onto empty grass fields and the old man had stood infront of his terminal building with hands on his hips cautiously. Sure, any true red Merrie son would get a swell of patriotism seeing such a display, but almost always the boys were amicable and would announce themselves well in advance, either with a phone call or a radio call. He had heard neither, and never in his life had he seen this many fliers land this late.

That confusion was even more compacted when Taikorea Territorial Police came out of the helicopters armed with carbines and assault rifles and duffel bags in their khaki uniforms and duty vests, and the Army soldiers riding in the helicopters came out unarmed and carrying bags and equipment ranging from traffic cones to radios. Only a few suits were among them, and a pair of these approached Sherman as the man's brow levied heavily upon them. In the time it took them to cross the tarmac he could see them beginning to set up wheel chocks, tarpaulin tents and stadium lighting. Before the lead man approaching him had a chance to get a word off, the old manager came forward to them.

"Oi, what the fuck do you cunts think you're doing? This here's private property-"

"Yes, Mr. Sherman, we're aware. This is a matter of national security, and relax, nobody here is under investigation. There's a developing situation in the vicinity to this airport that requires its use. I have a warrant signed by Judge Russo in the Territorial Court for an emergent use authorization." Sherman was offered a signed sheet of paper by a man whose suit pin identified him as a member of the Domestic Security Agency. "Of course, you'll be compensated under the law and my colleagues in Cordelia will be in contact about that shortly."

"So you're gonna be recompensatin' all my lost fuel sales and flight training, are you?" The man furrowed his brow. The police officer beside the DSA agent departed to coordinate his own men while the agent himself shook his head.

"Sir, this is the security of the nation we're discussing here. This aside- that's not my department. You have the use authorization. I need you and anyone else here to vacate the premises." The agent, clearly uninterested in continuing this conversation, walked past him towards the terminal building.

"I live here, cunt! What, you gonna put me out of home?!"

The agent answered without skipping a beat. "Go find a hotel."

The Boomerang Broad, Havenville, Taikorea Territory
08:12 PM, 2 October 2023

The Merrie public house went by many names, as much of a cultural staple as it was. Across the eleven territories and boundless groups you could hear it being called a pub, tavern, piss-sink, hole, bar, hote', waterhole, or a number of other variations, some less refined than others. Here in Havenville, one such pub existed, frequented by the working class of the town since it opened its doors in the late 1960s. The Boomerang Broad- here, known simply as ' The Boom'.

Inside its doors on an average Saturday evening was the second busiest crowd of the week, beat out only by Friday. Near everyone here had tomorrow off, and near everyone in this town spent their weekeends hungover after a night at the bar. One such group gathered around a corner table and a motley of beer glasses, bottles and cans. The night was young, and they had only started their regaling over alcohol and pub food, plates with sandwiches and pasta dishes half-eaten before them.

"So old mate goes to pick up his broad's car, and the bloke running the towing company's sat like a goon on his desk with a shotgun on his lap. He pays him, yeah, gets the keys over. Then he says- 'Hey mate, mind if I use the loo real quick?' Mate says, sure, so he goes in, comes out, big ass grin on his face as he gets in the car with his lady. So she asks him, 'Babe, you're out a hundo, what's that look for?' Bloke looks over at her as he pulls out of the parking lot, and he tells her; 'Nah, don't worry, love, that repainting I gave his bathroom was worth every fuckin' cent of it!"

The table's occupants erupted in laughter, slamming the table and slapping the tale-teller's shoulder as he took a drink, relubricating his pipes after the retelling.

"Speaking of weird shit.." One of the pilots turned to his fellow, a woman in her later twenties with ponytailed blonde hair hair and a pair of well worn aviators dangling from between two shirt buttons. "Emi, how's 'bout the bloke we had on board today?"

These two were local area helicopter pilots, and part-time journalists to boot with it since they flew on a contract with a local news broadcasting company. The unique exception being that they were one of the few who owned their own helicopters to do so- operating a foreign-built H-155, one of the fastest helicopters on the civilian market, they operated a lucrative business model of 'we'll do it if the pay is good'.

Emilia 'Emi' Anderson

The Boomerang Broad
Havenville, Taikorea Territory,

"Oh, some Neo-Korean cunt. Really makes you wanna rethink your career choices, that's oath. Probably got on a watch list cause of that fucker... You lot hear about that Iolani crash, Eastern Islands?"

"Yeah, yeah, what's bout it?" One of their compatriots, a car mechanic, chimed in.

"So this thing must've crashed right before noon, report went out online at about noon. Two o'clock, this motherfucker's at my door, with about 3 big ones. 'Fly here', he says in some broken English, and I'm like, what the hell, a dollar's a dollar. It's about at max range for the bird, so I throw out some of the extra equipment, full fuel, yada yada, fly him out there, quiet shit. Oath to the Saints, there it is, bare as a baby's ass, still fuckin' burning. I flew all the way out there, so fuck it, I need to get enough money to cover costs, and we circle for about thirty minutes before he's had enough, fly home. Before the engines are even off the rest of the cash is in my hand and he's off in some renta-ute. Flew all the way out in the middle of nowhere with my transponders and radios off.... fuck, what was I thinking?

"Yeah, lass, you're a bit fucked. I think Grano's is hiring. Make sure you put extra sauce in that takeout bag, eh love?" Another man chided, the collection of tradies and other such men guffawing heartily as Emi rolled her eyes.

"As if. If you were any more inbred they'd be selling you with a meal deal." Another chorus of laughter erupted around her for a second before a sudden presence made itself know, angrily plopping down on a hauled-over barstool at the edge of the table.

"No fucking shit. Old Man Sherman! Right on ya, come to sink one back with us?" Emi's smile brightened visibly as the man came by their table. Sherman had been the one to teach her how to fly nearly a decade ago, and she considered the man like her own father. He was old enough to be her grandfather, just about. But even Emi could tell he was not happy after a few seconds.

"Yeah, reckon I might as well. Fuckin' feds;" the old-timer complained as he popped the bottlecap off of another Arrowhead.

"Woah, easy on that, Emi here's already on espionage charges;" one of the tradies joked.

"What now?" She asked, placing her own beer by her lips, only sipping after she was done talking. "Hiked up your electricity bill again? I never see you get this twisted- less it's over money."

"They kicked me out of my own fuckin' strip." The man grumbled through his teeth. "Must've been a hundred of 'em. Army boys and territorials, and a dozen helicopters from Himona."

"Regulars?" A tradie perked up, the entire table gaining a little bit of clarity as the weight of this situation came to bear. "The fuck they'd go and do that for?"

"Said some fuckin' terrorist threat in the vicinity they gotta use it for. Told me to find a fucking hotel, goddamn suit." Eyes immediately went towards Emi again, who waved a hand dismissively again.

"..A terrorist threat?" She asked, leaning her elbow on the table. "Wait, what, they think someone brought that thing down?"

"..What thing?" Sherman asked, clearly out of the know, though his curiosity was not yet offsetting his anger.

"Defense Forces had a crash in the Eastern Islands earlier today. Iolani, apparently, four crew. Anyways- no fucking way that's the case;" her copilot shook his head. "That thing was intact, looked like a controlled landing."

"Could've been something onboard."

"No, no, what do they need half a squadron's worth of helicopters for one guy? Let alone kicking the man out of his own airport;" he denied vehemently. "..There's something off here. Something we're not being told."

A thought went through the helicopter pilot's eyes, as she turned back to the table with a small grin.

Emilia 'Emi' Anderson

The Boomerang Broad
Havenville, Taikorea Territory,

"..Winston, you remember the other part of our main gig, yeah?" She was still a reporter by daylight, after all- even if she wasn't flying the weather flights every day.

"What does that have to do with anything?" The unimpressed man frowned.

"Well, if I'm gonna get my wings clipped anyways, might as well get something big enough out of it. Let's go, Winnie boy. Wheels up in an hour."

"What the- who the hell said I was coming along with this?"

"Oh, I don't know, the stack of IOUs I have from keeping you gainfully employed, the one, two, three, four, five times I've paid bail after you got a DUI.. want me to tell them about the time when you nearly got catfished into-" The man's cheeks went red as the table around him chuffed, clearly being kept from a potentially tender secret.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But I've already had two beers.. Flying like this is-"

"Oh, come on. We're probably on the list for espionage. Think another DUI will do you any difference?" Slamming a hundred on the table for her tab, she gave a wink to the assembled group and a nod to a bewildered Sherman. "Come on, Winnie. Let's go flying."

by **Legatia** » Thu Sep 07, 2023 10:43 am

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
An island in the Eastern Islands Territory
09:50 PM, 2 October 2023

Ontop of the roof of the Alpha Complex Building sat a pair concealed by sandbags and obscured by a camouflage netting that blended in somewhat to the tropical canopy above it, the contrast lessened by the almost fully-set sun, the last rays of a maroon dusk casting a dying light over the island the roof's two occupants called home.

Behind a netting obscuring the reflection glint of a scope attached to a Defense Forces-specced AMR-6 antimaterial rifle was the tanned figure of its operator. Even with a composite's enhanced low-light visibility, in less than an hour, the scope would not provide enough contrast to deliver fire accurately at range. Sat besides her, viewing the developing situation on the island's northwesterly peninsula through the lens of a thermal imaging rangefinder was her partner, whose ears folded beneath a DCU-patterned boonie hat as she did so.

Lying next to them was a panoply of complex targeting equipment, a Skybird 9215 weathermeter, a GPS display unit with uplink from their rangefinders, and thence to a digital targeting computer. Beyond and above them was a Defense Forces H50 helicopter belonging to 9 Regiment Aviation out of Himona Garrison, whose rotors provided a constant droning sound even close to a thousand yards away as it roved on patrol. Baseplate had cross-referenced the markings on the helicopter to discern the fact that these were not operated by a federal interior department as would normally be the case for an operation such as this. A spotlight was shone onto Barcoo Team's position in a thicket of grass, overlooking the Iolani's crash site, which was defended by a squad-sized formation of Domestic Security Agency Fast Response Team members.

The spotter glanced at a hardened tablet on the ground that kept an up-to-date datalink of the entirety of the situation from drone feed, their own reports, and the reports of Barcoo and Acacia teams, which were providing a forward cordon to prevent the new arrivals from gaining more advantageous footholds around the facility. The crash site was located atop a plateau on a slight northwesterly hill-line, giving the Federal agents high ground enough to protect a relatively large and flat beach area for landing additional reinforcements.

Shots had been exchanged earlier, but neither side had reported casualties or hits in the panicked first contact. The flame-charred wreck of the Iolani was secured and the bodies of the pilots had been evacuated, but the air here was not condusive to conducting a crash investigation. The black boxes and other pieces of evidence in the black-charred hulk of the tiltrotor remained undisturbed spare for a fireteam of FRT agents who took cover in its shadow.

Haruka
'Gamble 4'

Location data unavailable

"They're as still as gravestones;" the spotter commented softly as she watched over the prone, rifle-armed figures of Barcoo; with their rifles aimed towards the line of FRT agents who had them illuminated with an airborne spotlight. It was a Mexican standoff. The agents didn't see Acacia team, as- despite their camera systems, they were positioned under a pre-placed IR-rejecting tarpaulin similar to the one obscuring the sniper on the roof. "Aroha, how's your visibility?"

The sniper next to her glanced over as she checked the black scope mark's contrast against the camouflage-patterned Hawk helicopters. "Four over ten. I'd give it about fifteen minutes before we have to downgrade. " While the 12.7x99mm rifle her shooter was currently using was unmatched by anything the DSA was likely to have in their arsenal, it wasn't equipped with any night or thermal imaging devices, and as sharp as their vision was, they couldn't hit what they couldn't see. They had rifles equipped and calibrated to do that, but they fired smaller calibers, limiting their options if that was to be the case.

"We'll still have the range, they're only about a thousand yards out.. but putting any effective fire out that range is a gamble. They really are in a bad spot, aren't they.." Haruka sighed softly, her thoughts with the girls in Barcoo, who were very much in the limelight and the line of fire. Theirs was a difficult job, but someone had to do it.

Haruka's ears perked suddenly as something caught her attention, and she rotated her scope. There was movement further northwest, coming over the ridge.. and a lot of it.

"Gamble 4, this is Baseplate. We're picking up significant footmobile movement from TRP Sistine. Can you verify?" Mélisande, their contact within the depths of the compound serving as their oversight, contacted them through their headpieces. Haruka got to making a quick headcount and radioed back quickly.

"Baseplate, Gamble 4. Counting an additional.. looks like two squad-sized elements moving southeast from Sistine towards OM Feather. I tally ballistic shields and rifles, looks like some grenade launchers too.. crap, they're about to smoke them out. Baseplate, Barcoo needs to move, they're moving CS launchers into position."

"Baseplate, roger. Barcoo 1, fall back to DP Alpha Three. All players, limelight, limelight.

From elsewhere in the forest, a high-powered civilian laser was shone from a treetop posting by Echidna Team- one of the two fire support units- into the cockpit of the hovering Hawk helicopter, dazing the pilots in their stationary position above the treeline. The helicopter banked hard to the left almost uncontrollably as Barcoo deployed smoke grenades and retreated under the momentary confusion further into the thicket, breaking from their last known position further into cover, where the helicopter would have to spend laborious effort trying to relocate them again.

The teams with the grenade launchers halted, likely informed that their target was now displacing and, without accurate information to try and smoke them out, they held position. Barcoo moved to displace close to a hundred yards in retrograde, moving to re-establish their positions of defense.

Haruka sighed a breath of relief. This would buy them some more time. Soon, it would be too dark for the non-night vision equipped federal agents to move at all cohesively, and they would hold their positions for the night in all likelihood. A Mexican standoff was the best they could hope for at this point.

That, however, began to fall apart. Their radio crackled again with bad news.

"Baseplate, this is Echidna, our position is compromised- we've got a team of footmobiles about to overrun us. We're displacing immediately to avoid contact, burnout, over."

Echidna's primary job was to operate a powerful light/laser combination that was strong enough to blind the helicopter pilots for a few seconds and prevent them from acquiring either of the teams. While Acacia Team, under protective cover, was likely to avoid attention, Barcoo's movement and lack of such prepared IR-rejecting canopies inhibited this. At all costs, the deployed teams were attempting to keep the lines stagnant, to force a stalemate, to give the Doctor, Baseplate, and ALICE time to get a better plan of action. They had only had about two hours of preparatory time before the first agents had landed. It wasn't enough. They were outnumbered, and beyond that, escalation was bad for either side. Their own, most especially.

Limelight was the go-word to initiate blinding operations, and burnout meant they were off-station or displacing. The DSA must have picked up on their movement patterns and intercepted them after they illuminated. That meant that Barcoo would be naked and without cover from the helicopter's prying light.

But that wasn't all. One of Barcoo's members had tripped, and cost the team a valuable few seconds as their displacement was delayed- time enough for the helicopter to reacquire them. A spotlight quickly shone, and the launcher-equipped teams were on the move again. Haruka hit her push-to-talk button instantly.

"Baseplate, Gamble 4, priority! They've reacquired Barcoo! Launcher teams are closing fast!"

Mélisande
'Baseplate'

Location data unavailable

Mélisande clenched her fist as the carefully-orchestrated defense-in-distraction plan began to unravel rapidly. Echidna was on the run from contact, which meant they might not even be in a good position to conduct Limelight again- assuming even with their superior speed and terrain familiarity, they could displace well enough to do so.

"Baseplate, Echidna 1, taking fire- they're trying to cordon us with CS gas!"

The situation had gone from bad to worse immediately. This was a kind of warfare Major Ryder couldn't have prepared them for with this restrictive of engagement rules. Baseplate was forced to think on her feet. If Barcoo fell back further they would isolate Acacia- and even then they had no guarantee of breaking contact. They would be pushed all the way back to the gates of the compound where they would be smoked out. This wasn't acceptable.

The words of the Doctor rang in her ear. "Do what you can."

Her fist clenched as she thought of her and everyone else here, their little misfit family. She wouldn't let her nerves let everything fall apart. She had to act.

She took a breath in, and pressed her push-to-talk.

"Gamble 4, Baseplate. You are cleared to engage the helicopter."

Both of the odd-numbered Gamble callsigns looked at eachother, their hearts jumping upwards in their chest. They would be the first ones to shoot, not Barcoo, not Acacia, but them.

"Baseplate, say again?" Haruka called in almost disbelief. Even as she did so, her hands rotated the rangefinder, a laser flashing it as it garnered direction and range. 989 yards. Bearing, three five three.

"...Gamble 4, Baseplate. Disable the helicopter or else we're going to lose three teams. Over." The communication ended with the radio's squelch of a completed message. The two girls shared a look, breathed in, and nodded.

Aroha
'Gamble 2'

Location data unavailable

"Target ahead eleven o' clock. Single medium helicopter, H50M, bearing three-five-three, range, niner-eight-niner. Elevation angle four point five degrees. Make your point of impact the tail rotor assembly."

The enormous rear-mounted bolt of the AMR-6 was pulled to the rear and let release. A mechanically clean, heavy sound reverberated from the thirty-pound rifle as a bullet weighing over half a pound was placed into the chamber. Aroha rested her cheek on the rest plate as the assembly of the maneuvering helicopter was placed on the middle of her scope.

"Wind is three at 6 FPS, atmosphere... done. Density and humidity, done. Cold barrel. Make your elevation 20.6, windage 0.13 left."

Without her eye leaving the scope, her left hand moved to adjust it to the designated adjustments, clicking carefully each knob on top and side of the rifle scope. The helicopter's spotlight flicked on, blinding her momentarily, as it began to sweep for Barcoo. Her thumb toggled the safety, the indicator pushed out towards the red 'fire' indicator.

"Target movement speed... another three clicks left." One, two, three. "..Gamble 2... cleared to fire when ready."

Her ears could hear the unsteady breathing of her spotter, anxiously observing the target through the scope and resisting her urge to glance at her for reassurance. Everything was moving in slow motion, and she felt like she could see the world though her eyes could only show her the spinning rotor of an Army helicopter. She could see Barcoo's panicked fall-back. Feel the anxiety in Acacia. The desperation of Echidna and the concern of Baseplate for all three of them. Her breath hitched, the scope jumped upwards. She put her spare hand into position on the rifle, steadying it as she steadied her own breath and brought the sight back onto her target. Her heart pounded louder than the helicopter's blades, her breath made the air feel frigid. She was afraid.. but if she didn't do it, her friends might get hurt.

Her breath steadied, and her fingers relaxed. One Alexandree, two Alexandree, three Alexandre.. The slack on the trigger was arrested. She exhaled, and squeezed.

The hammer dropped, and hit the firing pin, which struck the primer and ignited the propellant. 55,000 pounds per square inch of force propelled a bullet weighing 23g out at 4,000 feet per second from the barrel. It took the armor-piercing bullet just shy of three quarters of a second to cover the distance to the target, and it was not until a few milliseconds afterwards that the retreating barrel of the rifle made her feel the recoil.

The round penetrated spot-on. The tail rotor assembly of the helicopter disassembled rapidly, shards and chunks flying out in every direction as any directional stability provided to the helicopter was instantly lost and a tiny fire existed for perhaps a second before the violent rotation of the body of the helicopter around its rotor rapidly extinguished it. It careened left and towards the ground, the rotors whining as they rapidly over speeded, and, after a pregnant ten seconds, the helicopter disappeared in a thicket of trees before a billow of flame erupted. Seconds afterwards, a soundwave gently shook the building as the flame illuminated oily black smoke puffing from where the helicopter had disappeared.

Haruka craned her scope towards the team advancing towards Barcoo, who were waving to their fellows like madmen to fall back in fear of being hit by a sniper. Instinctively, she grabbed her partner and pulled her behind cover before they could be seen and shot back with. Both of their hands were shaking.

"...Baseplate, this is Gamble 4..." As soon as she was in cover, her hands shakily pressed into the radio. "..Target destroyed. Over."

by **Legatia** » Sun Sep 24, 2023 3:50 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
10:12 PM, 2 October 2023

“..You shot down a helicopter.”

The look on the Doctor’s face was one of disbelief. The situation had went from bad to worse. She was staring at the same composite situational display that the rest of her girls were, most particularly Acacia and Barcoo teams who had remained at the frontline, as she and Major Whitney debriefed Mélisande only some ten minutes after the situation had concluded. The positions might not have changed from the end of the engagement, but the entire dynamic on both sides certainly had.

ALICE was able to splice into some of the local radio traffic and had delivered the bad news to the Doctor and Major earlier. All the aircrew onboard that helicopter were killed in the crash. Nobody was taking it well, and that included the ones on the other end of the siege.

“..It was that or risk casualties or capture.. Er, that was my belief, Doctor.” Mélisande's head and ears hung low, the enormity of the situation fully apparent. The two humans would normally have offered her some form of reprieve, but the weight of the situation was a bit too heavy to tolerate such relaxation.

“Her belief was right;” chimed the lesser-surprised Major Whitney, who had also been monitoring the situation and strategizing with Takaoka as it had developed. “If they’d reacquired Barcoo when they did, they’d have been choking back CS gas or worse, been sleeping in the stars by now. The news is out, and they’re treating us as a terrorist group.”

“But we’re not!” Mélisande cried insistently, to which both of the humans in the room could only sigh knowingly towards.

“As much as we might want to say that, they have little reason to treat us otherwise;” the scientist rolled her shoulders backwards as she slumped into the chair. “We’ve taken a general officer essentially hostage and we’ve shot down a military helicopter. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the Territorial Forces here before sunrise. We won the battle, but the war..”

She sighed, leaning over the display on the tabletop, waving the Major and her composite adjutant towards her. “..Right.. More pressingly, Mélisande, can you brief us on the situation?”

Mélisande
'Baseplate'

Location data unavailable

“..Of course;” she complied, with a hand moving to idly straighten her hair. “Echidna was able to reposition within the compound and are resupplying, they’ll be ready to move within thirty minutes. Acacia’s position is the same, and Barcoo has moved a few hundred feet in retrograde. Gamble is still in their support positions. Foxtrot is being held in reserve, same with Castle.. Though Castle’s not going to be as effective as what they’re up against.. They’ll do their best.”

“It’ll have to do;” Ryder rested her hands on her hips as she looked over the situation. “And the feddies?”

“They’ve all pulled back, it seems, towards the beachhead they made at TRP Sistine, the northwestern beachhead. I count about a platoon’s worth in strength by now, expect that to get larger come the morning. The most I can anticipate them having on island is about two companies.. Er, three hundred or so men.”

“..And we have, both of ourselves included.. Thirty one. They’d have us ten to one, and we don’t get reinforcements;” the scientist aptly concluded. “..They’re bound to realize now what they’re up against, and they’re not going to be gentle when they try and flush us out here”

“..More’n likely we'll be seeing terries and Territorial cops.” The Major concluded with an exhale. “..Probably more the former, seeing that they know we can bring down helicopters. Anybody we have exposed out there ain’t going to be able to hold what they have for much longer. We should bring them back in.”

“But if we do that, they’ll be right at the gate.. We’ll be canned without any options to move!” Mélisande complained, clearly against this option, a reaction to which Takaoka could only offer a blunt response.

“Mélisande, what would you call our current predicament, then?”

“...”
The Major and the Doctor shared a look as the composite lowered her head knowingly. For all of their differences, on this it seemed their wavelengths were matched.

'▇▇▇ Takaoka'

Location data unavailable

“..Right, then, let’s do it. Come daylight, we’re not going to have the manpower to resist them outside the walls anyway. On another note.. How’s the Commandant? Prima?”

An eye was turned towards a figure in the room that had been leaning quietly, her white hair a stark contrast to the more natural hues belonging to the other three. A pair of amber eyes flicked over towards them.

“..No improvement, says Matron. She’s stable, but she must have been roughed up pretty good. They’re sticking with her and they can catch her in about ten minute blinks every once in a while, but they’re never consistent.” Prima answered with her characteristic monotone, leaning back into the room’s corner as soon as she was done, creature of habit that she was.

Takaoka sighed. “..She’s the one good thing we have going for us. I’m not sure how to feel about the fact negotiations haven’t been attempted yet, but I think I can pretty safely say they’re going to want her back. On the other hand, I really don’t like the fact that we have to hold anyone hostage.”

“..Beggars can’t be choosers, Doc. Y’knew this was an outcome..” Ryder leveled a weighted gaze on Takaoka who simply rolled her eyes in response, perhaps not for disdain but for exasperation.

“So it was. Right. Mélisande, go ahead and give the order to Barcoo and Acacia;” she directed as she turned back to the screen. “We’ll have to re-coordinate our defenses along our perimete-”

Interrupting the scientist was a voice hitherto silent, belonging to none other than ALICE, whose delivery was succinct as it was timely:

“There is a new inbound target of interest from the northwest. Civilian helicopter, registration M179HC. It is the one from earlier.”

Takaoka, Mélisande and Ryder three turned to the tactical display plot, now being updated by projections and predictions from ALICE plotting a low-flying civilian helicopter on what had to be what the women might respectively describe as 'reckless', 'insane', or 'impressive'. At five hundred feet and on current course, it would fly over Federal positions and then directly over the compound.

“..What in the fuck..?” Ryder looked over the display with disbelief, tugging on Takaoka’s shoulder incessantly until she cued the facility’s camera systems on and towards the helicopter. There was no audio feed from the camera being used, but spotlights were already being shone on it from below and laser lights from rifles were trained on it as it circled the crash site, assembly zone, and their own campus in a wide, high-speed arc. “..This is the same cunt from earlier? Ballsy.”

“The restricted area was probably put up well earlier.. It doesn’t explain how he got cued out here earlier, but my guess is this is a pilot opting to see their career go out with a bang rather than a whimper. If I recall correctly, he was flying without a transponder last time, too, and was quiet on the radio.” Takaoka guessed, to which the two around her shared a look of mutual realization.

“It seems you might be right, especially on that ‘bang’ part;” the retired Marine Commando leaned in towards the camera feed to watch shrapnel and bullets impact into the helicopter’s engine hub. “Looks like there’ll be more than one whirlybird crashing tonight.”

There were very few moments where Emi Anderson had reason to doubt her choice of career as a helicopter pilot. Nothing compared to the thrill of running her aircraft close to the ground at high speed, being able to land it wherever and whenever she pleased. She had regularly eschewed the rulebook and the words of older pilots in the execution of her missions, and the laissez-faire enforcement never quite caught up to her.

Until now, it seemed, when every single cockpit instrument, and her copilot, were screaming at her. She couldn’t even make out his complaints with how her attention was well-fixated elsewhere- an impending aircraft crash tended to have such effects

“I get it, Winnie, shut your cunt mouth!” Holding the flight controls firmly in both her hands meant she didn’t have the reach to throttle the panicked boy sitting to her left. Honestly, more than anything, she felt exasperated. Living a life in ignorance of the rules had left her to only guess what might befall her as the course of what was probably not one of her best choices.

The gauges in her cockpit were going in the opposite directions of what was desired, and she didn’t need to look at them to understand that. She could count herself lucky their aim was good enough to not hit the glass- or perhaps it was a stroke of bad luck. But for all her daredevil antics, she didn’t leave herself many options. Low altitude and high airspeed gave her very few options for landing an aircraft whose engine was breathing its last.

She’d be damned if she didn’t try, though. Flying like a maniac meant you had better have the skills to justify it, and in this area Emi Anderson did not lack. Skidding the helicopter midair as it bled off its excess speed, she toggled the helicopter’s spotlight- another benefit of it being a news helicopter- and shone it out ahead to find a suitable location for landing. She found one that wasn’t perfect, but it was wide enough to make do- a wide-open concrete pad between two large concrete buildings.

The landing gear came out and locked into place, the helicopter nosed down, and Emi pulled upwards to the limit on the collective seconds before the airframe made contact. The rotors surged with the last of their power as the helicopter pancaked onto the slabs with a screech of burning rubber. Miraculously, the landing gear of the helicopter survived the landing in one piece, preventing the fuselage from contact with the ground. Emi pushed in the brakes almost to the floor, inhibited from slamming them in an aim to prevent the tires from exploding from the heat. She applied anything else she could think to stop her- skidding the aircraft towards the left, rotor brakes, shutting the engine down; flying through the steps like it was second-nature to her.

In a span of a few seconds whose intensity stretched the event to feel like minutes, the helicopter rolled to a stop just shy of a set of stairs that would have certainly wrecked any attempt at limiting further aircraft damage. The helicopter finally rolled backwards just a smidge as it came to a rest, and at last the adrenaline began to wear off, making its shellshocked pilot aware of how lucky she had gotten it.

“..You alive over there?” As she craned her head to her left, she ripped her headset off and threw it onto the dash- the thought of evacuating a fire-prone aircraft escaping her for the moment. The man’s head was bleeding, but he was conscious and holding it. His glasses had been smashed in one lens, but he was alive and unharmed.

“..Barely;” he complained, earning an exhale of relief from Emi.

“I’ll take it. How’s about that for a last flight? I should’ve flown for the Army.”

The man did not look amused at her unfaltering confidence for a moment- rather, in a moment extra, his was the visage of a deer caught in headlight, his hands immediately flying up. Emi noticed a red dot trained onto his forehead, and craned her head over to see a flashlight’s illumination saturating her field of view. Only with a few second’s time did she realize that the source was attached to the barrel of a rifle.

“..Talk about the army;” nonchalantly said she, seconds before a hand opened the door and tore both occupants from the airframe. Unceremoniously pulled back to their feet on the tarmac, their hands were taken behind their backs and, as quickly as they had crashed, they were whisked away into the concrete buildings they had landed between without so much at a glance at who had taken them.

--

An hour later, both of them had found their hands ziptied and thence placed into seats reminiscent of a classroom from the eighties with plastic backed seats and thin fiberboard tops. Both of the adults felt cramped in them, though it was somewhat better than sitting on a worn concrete floor.

Emi was at a loss for words when their captors re-entered the room. They were all women, not much further from her own age- hell, younger than her even- four of them, wearing military uniforms, body armor, and helmets with NV goggles. But they weren’t feds, she could tell that very quickly.

Why? Their heads, helmets removed, had fox-like ears atop them. Out of all the questions Emi Anderson could have asked in that moment, the one she picked was that.

Emilia 'Emi' Anderson

Location data unavailable

“..Are those fake ear headbands?”

“They’re real. That’s the first question you have to ask right now?” The one who asked had long and dark hair, though contrast was already low in the room whose only light source was outside moonlight. Her voice, perhaps fittingly, was low and straightforward and seemed unsure of how to gauge her captive based on her initial words.

“Among many;” she answered with a trademark grin, earning a sigh and an eyeroll from her co-pilot- and, curiously for the both of them, a snicker from a figure besides the one who had already spoke, with a much brighter-colored and similarly long stretch of hair.

“You have to give it to her, she’s quite the character;” she commented, clearly amused as she held a gloved hand to her lips. “She reminds me a lot of you two,” she commented as she turned to the remaining members of their group, girls with shorter hair and shorter stature, little else being distinguishable in the low light.

“Flying around like that sounds more like something you would do;” One glanced to the other, a grumble her answer for the jab.

“As if-”

“Knock it off, the both of you;” the first one to have spoke cut both of them off, and Emi’s doubts of authenticity were resolved when she saw both of the shorter girls’ ears fold downwards.

“...How does that..?” Was the beginning to Emi’s next question, one that returned the attention of their captors to her. Perhaps in the darkness one was preparing to answer her, but they were interceded by the arrival of another, with darker hair and a bright white labcoat. Her ears were human, and she lacked the tails the other four had.

“Doctor?!” The four seemed unprepared for her arrival, stepping aside immediately for a woman unarmed and unlike those with her. Following her inside, though, was one who really stood out- bright white hair and taller, skinny ears. She was silent and posited herself in the corner of the room as the Doctor turned to the leader of the fox-eared girls.

“Sierra, take their cuffs off.”

“Ma’am..? Are you sure?” The question was offered with an air of caution. The doctor simply shook her head before responding.

“We’ve taken plenty of risks tonight. We’re going to have to take plenty more if we want to see the dawn again. Do it.”

There was no hesitation after she had spoken, and Sierra withdrew a knife from her belt, effortlessly severing the zipcuffs the two had been secured with.

Emilia 'Emi' Anderson

Location data unavailable

“..Thank you;” the pilot finally offered, her glance shared between the five before her until finally resting on the doctor. “..I have plenty of questions.”

“I’m sure you do;” she answered. “Emilia Anderson, the pilot of Sky Five for WSTK Five. Undoubtedly, your copilot works for them too, but my guess is you’re not here on official business.”

“How did you-”

“Your helicopter’s registration is public, you know. It isn’t that difficult to do an internet search. If I know it, then the gentlemen outside who grounded it probably know it too.. Or will, shortly.”

“That’s why I’m out here;” she answered, rubbing her head bashfully as perhaps the realization of what kind of hole she’d dug herself into dawned on her far too late. “Go out with a bang rather than a whimper.”

“And how would you prefer not going out at all?” The Doctor proposed, interlacing her fingers as she asked a question that made Emi’s own brow raise.

“No disrespect intended, but working with terrorists won’t exactly look good on my charge sheet;” Emi’s retort made the Doctor smile softly.

“You’ve penetrated a restricted area deliberately twice and the DSA attempted to kill you for it. As far as anyone else is concerned, you might as well already be working with us. I won’t force you to say yes, but you and I both have something in common. We’re both not terrorists, and ideally, we exit this conundrum we’re both in without that label. As a matter of fact, it might be a good hand of fortune you came when you did. A newscaster might be exactly what we need.”

“You don’t think they’ve blocked signals out of here?” Emi raised a brow, to which the Doctor could only offer a quiet and upturned brow- one that might be called smug, if not for the lack of a grin.

“They can’t block what they aren’t aware about. I won’t get into the details, but as far as they’re aware, this island is blocked off.”

Emi shared a glance with her reluctant copilot. Winston didn’t seem too overly pleased to be in this pickle with her, but he was little if not reliable. He acquiesced with a nod.

“..Fine;” the woman relented, her gaze meeting the Doctor's. “..But first you have some explaining to do.”

“Naturally. Maiko?” the Doctor turned to one of the fox-eared ones. “Bring some coffee up. We might be here for quite some time.”

by **Legatia** » Sun Sep 24, 2023 9:31 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria Territory- Whiteriver Manor, Presidential Command Operations Center
11:00 PM, 2 October 2023

The streets of Cordelia, the vibrant capital of the Federal Republic, were terse. The announcement of an ongoing terrorist threat- even if it was on the other side of the country- had driven the state security apparati to their highest levels of alert. Cordelia Metropolitan Police Service officers, alongside uniformed Federal Protective Service agents, could be seen around state buildings armed with carbines and sub-machine guns. Ceremonial guards from 1 Regiment Federal guarding the Manor had been supplemented with armed and uniformed soldiers from the same group, some of which could be seen sat atop the building with thermal optics and sniper rifles.

The helicopter pad on the northwest lawn of the estate had just been landed upon by Federal One- an Air Forces Dovehawk helicopter belonging to 1 Federal Composite Airlift Squadron, the unit responsible for all airborne transportation of the President of the Federal Republic. Emerging from the side door was just that man, who offered a brief salute to the awaiting 1 RF soldier before he was surrounded by FPS agents. The helicopter was already spooling down by the time the cordon of men entered the presidential residence, and the chief executive was whisked by elevator a number of floors beneath to the Presidential Command Operations Center- the Bird Room, as it was known colloquially.

Already in the room were a number of homeland defense related officials. John Argus, Chief of Defense Staff, and the Defense Secretary Jason Meritt; Maro Rakena, the Homeland Secretary; and Intelligence Undersecretary Michael McVenture. None of these men looked pleased to be in the room, increasingly less so when the President emerged with a rampant scowl on his face.

When he sat, a number of faces were eager to speak, but none of them would beat the President.

President William Acton

Whiteriver Manor, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District

“Let me put this bluntly. I hope a few of you in this room have your CVs updated, because what I’ve been told has happened out in the middle of nowhere Eastern Islands sounds like a fucking joke. I already fired Perres over at the Federal Aviation Commission, and General- there had better be a damn good reason why sensitive airspace was penetrated twice by civilian aircraft.”

“Sir..” Exhaling, the General was the least cowed in this room- the only one here to have been shot at before, and the only one whose appointment was not political. Even he did not have the cajones to tell him it had been the same aircraft both times. “The Defense Forces were not ordered to enforce a no fly zone until after the first penetration, and the lack of establishment of an FRZ even after that..”

“Enough about that fucking FRZ! Do you realize how much of a lid we have to keep on this already! They have a Commandant hostage, putting her public notoriety aside- which is bad enough if they weren’t the perpetrators of the 15 Rush. They have shot down a Defense Forces helicopter on our own soil- do you realize what will happen when the public learns they were able to do that on our own fucking soil?! Forget the public, our adversaries globally?!”

“Sir, now’s not the time to be dealing with the fallout. We have time until that bomb sets off.” The General leaned forward in his chair, exhaling sharply as he did so. “Let’s save the blame game and pointing fingers until after we have this resolved. That’s my advice to you, sir, because kicking the building while it’s on fire won’t help anything.”

The secretaries in the room seemed visibly relieved at the General’s suggestion. John Argus could feel little empathy for any of them. The fact that a single crash survivor had done a better job at domestic security in five minutes than the hundreds of thousands of employees and billions of dollars collectively held between the agencies they represented felt much more telling than the Navy’s reluctance to shoot down a civilian helicopter. A phone call had rectified that problem- Navy and Air Forces jets were enforcing the FRZ vigorously even now. Incidents like the earlier penetration would not be occurring again.

“General, we're going give the scene commander what he needs. I understand they’re occupying a site that has significant underground facilities. Fighter jets, cruise missiles, attack helicopters. Carte blanche to get it done."

“Sir.. that’s not an advisable option. Those are weapons of war- if we start using cruise missiles and cluster bombs on our own territory against a domestic threat- one that’s already contained, the optics will be horrible. I’m not a politician but I can wager a non-measured response like that will not bode well for any of the involved parties.”

“What did you just tell me about dealing with the fallout?” Acton’s temper had ebbed somewhat, but he was clearly not yet completely calm. The General exhaled, resting his hands onto the table before he continued.

“Sir, referring again to the fire- let’s not pour gasoline on it. If-” slowly, his chair rotated to face Homeland Secretary Rakena, a ponytailed Tangaran man. “-what Secretary Rakena has told me is accurate, we already outnumber them on the island and they’ve been contained on land. The Navy has them cordoned off by sea, the Air Forces has them on lock above, and the island’s uninhabited otherwise. Nobody’s getting on or off. It’s a matter of time.”

“General, they have one of yours hostage;” Secretary Rakena offered with interlaced hands and a grim look. “We have no assurance of what they can or will do to her.”

“Potentially..” the Defense Secretary tersely turned to the table, swallowing his pride. “..Negotiating with them is an option.” He immediately felt the glares upon him- as he might have expected, and shook his head. “..We don’t have to concede anything. Terrorist groups have motivations, and it pays to understand your enemy, and right now we understand that we understand nothing. Mr. McVenture, you brought the case reports with you, did you not? On the 15 Rush.”

“..I did;” the man answered the question and nothing more, to which Secretary Meritt leaned forwards to press the question.

“The report I have from Mr. Arroteo here from the DSA indicates that there was never a motive uncovered. Or any other information, for that matter, only inferences that they were based in our own country. So far that’s all we know.”

“There’s no conclusive evidence on any of their identities;” McVenture noted. “We don’t know whether it’s one or multiple-”

“It’s multiple;” General Argus interceded, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “That transcript is filled with ‘we’, ‘us’, ‘team’.”

“We don’t know if that was applicable at the time of the Rush. The voice said it was ‘before their time-”

“Nobody cares about the fucking Rush right now, Michael!” Exasperated, the Defense Secretary slapped his hands onto his thighs. “We haven’t had this big of a domestic crisis on Meridonian soil in forty fucking years- and we don’t even know what we’re up against. It could be just ten of them or a thousand on that fucking island. They have night vision goggles and thermal optics-”

Gen John Argus
|
Whiteriver Manor, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District

“It’s a Matterhouse blacksite;” Argus finally answered, resting his hands on the table. “All of Advent Island is. One of the larger uninhabited islands in the archipelago and why? Realty was firesaled on the island after that tsunami hit in '84. It only exists in top secret Defense Forces records that are older than a few of you in here- and it’s a state secret that the rest of you take to your graves.”

“And you’re aware of this how, General?” The Homeland secretary asked pointedly.

“Because General Rindley told me when I took this job from him in eighteen. How the defense chiefs before him had covered it up for years. Matterhouse had it under their own security until they collapsed in the Rush- it was their property, after all. So whoever’s in there now had links to Matterhouse.. So it makes sense that they were the one who took them out.”

“What in the hell would they need an island that large for a black site? Just for the privacy?” Meritt leaned inwards.

“I don’t know;” the General returned his hands to his sides. “I suppose you could ask Byron Matterhouse if his brains weren’t splattered on his iceglass window.”

“More importantly;” Rakena inquired with a brow perched. “What were they doing with it?”

“Human experimentation. Over the course of the eighties, nineties, and early 2000's, Matterhouse went through about a thousand human souls in an aim to fund a superhuman project for the Defense Forces. Oh, sure, we got plenty of medical knowledge on the human body and genetic experimentation. I’m sure plenty of that data has been used to some brighter ends, but it was a failure. Billions of dollars of work that produced nothing in results. Plenty of data- and graves.”

The President stood up from his seat, livid but pale. “..General;” he asked, his face overflowing with rage, and fear, and confusion- easily the most emotional state any man in this room had seen him. “..Why was I not informed of it?”

“Because it failed near twenty years after your term started. If you had been informed you would’ve been morose for a day or two and been able to do nothing about it. Until now, that is.”

“So;” Meritt, who as equally as disturbed as the President, cleared his throat. “There is a terrorist group occupying one of the most sensitive blacksites in our territories with impunity, with access to data whose implications could be as massive as the atom bomb. Forget the public aspect of it. If this information gets into the hands of an adversary or a hostile non-state actor it'll be the worst defense failure in the history of Meridon."

"Has.. any attempt been made to contact them?" McVenture inquired, whose nerves had not recovered from the very recent dressing-down he had received. By far, his was the most tenuous position. Every time he spoke a word he could see the President turn at him with barely concealed furor in his eyes. "General Argus?"

"No;" he answered, noting the President's look his way was much calmer than was cast on both Homeland and Intelligence secretaries. "Initial priority was recovery of aircrew upon landing. We've only found bodies, and the landing teams didn't come with negotiators. They're using military-grade encrypted communications, no doubt holdovers from Matterhouse's stocks. We're flying in a Marine Commando electronic warfare unit from Quincy that should be in Havenville before sunrise, and we'll have compromised their communications before noon. The closest we've got is shouts to surrender to them, and some potshots taken on both sides.. that was before they shot down a helicopter."

"And once we crack their communications we might be able to figure out what we're up against; what their goals and motives are." Rakena suggested, to which Meritt shook his head.

"Maybe. They're in close quarters and they operate like a military unit. They're very well trained. They'll realize if we act upon cracked communications and they'll respond in kind, if they're not already changing their frequencies and modulation settings regularly. It isn't a one and done deal- and on another note, they're not likely to be discussing motives on radios."

"Forget all of this goddamned electronics and moralistic nonsense." The President glowered visibly. "Flood the facility with tear gas and flush them out. We'll arrest them and deal with their motives later."

"Sir;" Secretary Meritt leaned forward, glancing towards John Argus before he spoke. "..I understand that the heavy-handed approach is what is most expedient, but they are holding Meridonian citizens and a general officer hostage. We have no idea what they are willing to do to them. With the threat contained and their ability to inflict casualties on civilians minimized, the route that leads to the least death and destruction- something I'm hoping we're all in agreement in going towards- is taking this steady. Leave it to your press secretary to downplay the situation however they want."

The men turned to the President at the head of the table. He had prepared to open his mouth to speak, but a phone in the center of the room rang. Acton pressed a button to turn the speaker on and spoke.

"Acton speaking."

"Mister President, this is Kingsley;" answered a voice that belonged to Reince Kingsley, Acton's chief of staff. "Patch into Channel Nine News."

The man's look went immediately to a staff aide, who rapidly activated the room's television screen and swiped it to an input that lead to Channel Nine- a network position generally reserved for Helena Broadcasting Corporation, Acton recalled from his brief stint in news.

What was broadcasting would change the course of the Federal Republic forever.

Upon the backdrop of the quiet nighttime scene of Misanui, capital of Taikorea Territory was a male reporter, captioned as Roman Magault, who began speaking immediately- from his speed and diction, it was clear that it was not being delivered by teleprompt.

"Good evening. We are here live from Misanui with exclusive breaking news from Advent Island, which was reported earlier today as the location of an ongoing terrorist threat by the Domestic Security Agency. One of our reporters has gained access to the island against all odds and is reporting live from behind enemy lines in an exclusive report. South Taikorea Broadcast Corporation's Emilia Anderson will be live with us shortly. For those of us just joining the situation, the Domestic Security Agency reported earlier tonight that a Defense Forces helicopter was lost in the ensuing operations. Helena Broadcasting Corporation is also reporting that a civilian helicopter operated by Ms. Anderson was shot down by the Defense Forces over the island shortly after the establishment of a flight restricted zone, though neither her or her copilot were harmed in the landing. She was able to make contact with the group standing against the DSA on the island and is preparing to conduct her broadcast which will start any minute. This broadcast will be available over our radio and television channels and on the web at http://www.helenabc.com.

The reporter spoke in circles for about three more minutes until the screen offered a transition to a well-lit room. An office room without windows, with carpet and wood paneling. A pair of Meridonian flags stood on flagposts behind the desk, which was relatively clear of objects. They were unaltered, the same stars and stripes that flew over every territory that called itself Meridonian.

Before it stood the soot-tainted form of Emi Anderson, who had not undergone makeup treatment before she had gone on the air. She gave off the impression that any newscaster would, though her choice of khaki shorts and a white button-up collared shirt was a far cry from what most female newscasters would choose on broadcast.

"Good evening, all, from Advent Island in the Eastern Islands Territory. My name is Emilia Anderson- normally, I'm the pilot for Sky Five out of South Taikorea Broadcast Corporation. Tonight, I'm here to deliver a story. You've heard plenty about what is going on here at Advent Island, and most of it is true. In fact, I'm not here to talk about any of it. I'm here to talk about quite a different story. This story starts right here on Advent Island in 1985 and started with a man named Byron Matterhouse and President Franklin Tulin."

"President Tulin was very concerned about the future of warfare with developments in countries like Marquesan and Anagonia and how new methods might impact how we fight wars. President Tulin offered a contract to Byron to develop technology that would make a Meridonian soldier stronger, faster, harder, tougher. They called it the Apex Initiative, a program to perfect the human genome by engineering and selective splicing. This initiative began after Advent Island was ruined following a tsunami in 1984. The land was abandoned and bought at a firesale by Parksun Realty, who said they wanted to redevelop it. Instead, it was sold in a backroom deal to Matterhouse, who built the facility I'm speaking to you from. This isn't news, actually, it's history- you might recall Doctor Redley, who testified about Apex Initiative in 2004. Doctor Redley testified that the participants of the program, contrary to what his boss said, were not all volunteers, and were not solely using death row prisoners. Doctor Redley was killed for this by Byron Matterhouse when he was shoved from a helicopter flying over Smith Island. Byron Matterhouse hoped that the secrets he carried would die with him."

Emilia held three pictures in her hands. One of a Tangaran man with long, flowing hair. One of a man in a formal Army dress uniformed portrait, and the third of a girl not quite into puberty, sat in the lap of two parents whose faces were blotted out by black ink.

"Malo Iosefa was a surf instructor from Katarra in Helena Territory. First Sergeant Edmund Whitlock was an infantry soldier who fought and protected our Republic overseas. And Genevieve Dupont was a child, aged twelve. All of them had lives and dreams and families and friends. Matterhouse stole them from their lives and their families, and used them to farm data. Data on what made them who they were. But these are three names, two men and a child, from a list of close to a thousand who underwent the same treatment and were killed for it. Corrupt apparatuses were abused in order to fund a corporate attempt at playing God to further their own means. And for all of this work and all of these souls, they failed. Nothing tangible was produced, beyond the cataloguing of data. Ingredients that they could not create with, much to the chagrin of their partners in Willingstone, who were hoping to reap the benefits of the ultimate man being press-ganged into fighting wars for the highest bidders."

"I've mentioned three rather notable companies so far, and for a reason. Willingstone, Parksun Realty, and Matterhouse. No-one yet has forgotten the 15 Rush, when stock manipulation ruined these three companies in the span of an afternoon. It wasn't a coincidence that their leadership was disposed of at the same time their companies tanked. There was a woman behind the scenes that effected all of that. She's called Doctor Victoria Kawakami- not her real name, of course. Doctor Kawakami is a Meridonian by birth. Her father was a lead scientist on Apex, and she never knew her mother. Doctor Kawakami is something of a prodigy and savant. And while I cannot show her face or her voice for her protection, I can show you the results of her labors."

Emi stepped to the side, and the camera refocused outwards slightly to accommodate viewing not just one, but two presenters. Wearing a much cleaner-looking white collared shirt, black tie, and long black skirt strode a woman with shoulder-length brown hair, with a white lock between her eyes. Most strikingly however was the pair of ears flickering atop her head, and a tail gently moving behind her.

"This is Mélisande. She is the result of billions of dollars, millions of hours, thousands of lives worth of effort. As the sun travels, she is only a bit over a month old; and she is one of about forty others like her on this island- she is not the first, nor is she the last. She is success where the corporations have failed. Most importantly, she is the first instance of artificial, sapient life on this planet. She was created by the sacrifice of all of these things and the contributions of many others. It is my hope that Meridon and the world hears her story from her own voice."

Mélisande accepted the microphone from Emilia, and showed the very human emotion of nervousness. Her tail flicked unsurely, her eyes steeled on the camera, and she breathed in before she spoke.

"Good evening- it's an honor to be the first of my kind to greet the world. My name, as Miss Anderson said, is Mélisande. I am not the first, and I am not the last, but I am but one of what the Doctor has named as Composites. We are, as far as it is known, the first instances of artificial life. Our origins and the sacrifices that were made to allow us to be were not ones from fairytales. Ours is a story of tragedy and suffering. But we are not here to ask for forgiveness for the sins that preceded us and our kind that lead to our creation, for those that were lost can never be replaced. It is our humble wish as sentient lifeforms that we be given the chance to ensure that their sacrifices were not made in vain for evil purposes."

"Fate is indeed a strange creature that leads us to this moment of our meeting. When I woke up this morning I did not have a clue that I would be the one to announce our existence. But fate moves to the beat of its own drums and destiny waits for no one. It is true that in existing, we harm others. In order to work against evil, we worked beyond the confines of the established legal order. In defense of our own, we harmed some of our own countrymen and took life. Once more, it is not our place to ask forgiveness for what we have done- but only to seek the right to exist."

"Why, might you ask, should we be allowed to exist, we who by living cause strife?" Melisande breathed inwards, then outwards. "Our wellspring of life was one intended to spawn monstrosities who would have labored for the advancement of groups whose only motive was profit, whose only guidelamp was evil. Much was suffered in this effort. It is the collective hope not of the Doctor who created us or those who raised us, but we as a people- that what was suffered shall not be forsaken, and that we by our own example show that we can do better. As individuals and as a people, it is our wish that- though our creation brought pain- that our existence brings a better future. Not just for our sake, but for the sake of all men and women."

Gently from her eyes, tears began to stream, slowly and softly. Perhaps it was stress, joy, hope, sorrow, or something else. Resolutely the composite woman stared down the camera's lens, swallowing her emotions.

"On the behalf of those here on Advent Island who long to give back at last, I render my plea. Allow us a chance to stand amongst you as equals. Let not what was suffered be forsaken."

"...Thank you."

The screen shut, and Helena Broadcasting Corporation's logo rotated idly upon a pale blue background.

by **Legatia** » Mon Sep 25, 2023 10:21 am

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
12:43 AM, 3 October 2023

As with every other Composite on the island, the girls of Barcoo Team had been gathered around their leader, Barcoo One, and her ruggedized smartphone to watch perhaps the most important words in their history. When the stream closed, the four of them stared at the news network's logo for a moment before the smartphone was quietly replaced onto a holder mount on Barcoo One's belt.

"Always one for words, Mélisande was;" Barcoo One was the first to comment, slowly reaching over to take custody of her rifle again. A slight smile was on her face, as were Three and Four's. Barcoo Two, however, lacked the same enthusiasm, taking a hold of her L57 marksman's rifle as it was cradled between her knees.

"A lot of hot air;" she would note with an exhale, her eyes scanning the treeline out beyond the confines of their position. "Us, a people. It sounds too.. grandiose, almost. Don't they want us to stand as equals, not separately?"

"Of course that's the case, Talia." Barcoo 4 smiled warmly, resting her chin on her interlaced hands as her F72 rifle sat on her lap. "Just the same way the Anagonian non-humans came to be considered people. Strength in unity- isn't that Meridon's motto?"

"Taylor, you should know just as well as the rest of us that words are rarely taken at face value;" Two noted as she pulled her cap tighter over her brim, the only one in the unit to not have a helmet between them.

"Come on now;" Four beckoned with a grin, gently and playfully pushing at her senior's shoulder. "It's alright to dream a little. That's what we're fighting for, right?"

Sienna
'Barcoo 1'

Apex compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory

"She's right, Talia;" One finally spoke again, offering Two a knowing nod and a smile. Barcoo was perhaps unique in that the youngest was in command in Sienna as Barcoo One, her relative naivete balanced by the experience and grit exuded by her slightly more abrasive counterpart in Talia in Barcoo Two. Major Whitney had once commented that their dynamic reminded her fondly of her days as a junior 'sunnie' officer- that is to say, it mimicked the relationship of a junior officer and senior ranker.

"If it's not our future we're fighting for here, than what?"

"As long as I get to blow something up in the future, that's A-OK with me." Nico, callsign Barcoo 3, warmly added, and the others smiled as well, knowing well it wasn't entirely a joke. Nico's love for firepower and explosives translated not only to her almost excessive utilization of firepower on the range, but also in her cooking, which was reputed as some of the spiciest among all of the cooks on base. It was just yesterday she had been on duty cooking and had whipped up a new favorite- a dish of Korean origin known as fire chicken. Perhaps not the healthiest of dishes, but as the saying went- an army marched on its stomach.

"You know what I'd like to do?" Barcoo 4, a sweet-hearted rifleman by the name of Taylor, leaned into the group. "I'd like to see the opera in Port Sistine. I wonder what it'd be like to wear a fancy dress like they do over there. Even a military dress uniform, just something other than collared shirts and combat fatigues!"

Sienna smiled knowingly as Three and Four passionately exchanged their hopes and thoughts for a brighter future. Those thoughts weren't solitary among the composites. Major Whitney sometimes smuggled in less utilitarian clothes and leisure items for the composites to enjoy in their offtime, but it was few and far between. ALICE, the Doctor and Mélisande were extremely particular when it came to their purchasing orders. They were told it would change once they could stand in the light, but it was only now that the light had come upon them.

"Oi, Talia!" Taylor tugged on the shoulder of Barcoo's solitary markswoman who turned her attention with a raised brow. "What is it you want to do when this is all over?"

Barcoo 2 was not expecting to be asked the question, and she was caught in the process of thought for a few seconds before she could answer.

"I'd..."

"Barcoo, Acacia, this is Gamble on priority." The chatter and jubilant mood stopped in an instant when the radio crackled to life. Sienna keyed her push to talk and gave a quick response.

"Acacia, go."
"Barcoo, go."

"Check your uplinks. Tango Three is moving to close with you by about a hundred meters in the woodline with launchers. They might be about to try something. Look alive. Out."

Sienna gave the command with a wave of her finger left and right, and the team spread out a yard or two to the right or to the rear. The riflemen- Barcoos 1 and 4- remained in the front, and Barcoos 2 and 3, the marksman and SAW gunner respectively, took up positions displaced and to the rear. It didn't take very long for their suspicions to be proved correct. The familiar thump of a 40mm grenade launcher in the distance meant that they were being engaged- with what was made clear seconds later.

"This is Acacia! They're using gas! I say again, gas, gas, gas!" The radio crackled and a shiver went through Barcoo 1's spine. They had already fallen back to the compound's immediate perimeter, and there was no drawing back further. If they pressed this attack it would only mean one thing.

"GAS!" She screamed aloud, unclipping her helmet and fumbling for the gas mask at her side. As she had been taught, as she had been trained. Place, pull, secure, push front and out, push sides and in. The mask was secure. The helmet flew back on was clipped. Night vision goggles came down into place and her rifle came to her shoulder, all of that being done in the span of fifteen seconds. It was that second after that a volley of CS gas canisters fell forward of where they had taken positions, spewing the white gas into where they sat.

Sienna glanced to her left. Taylor had done the same just as fast and offered a quick nod as figures with flashlights and gasmasks emerged from the treeline, scoping out where they might have been with weapons raised.In the distance she could hear gunfire, and through a gas mask and a pair of earphones she could barely hear the calls for surrender.
But it wasn't an option. They only had one other. Her left hand keyed her microphone.

"Barcoo, weapons free!"

The first shot was sharp, coming from Two's rifle, knocking a man over and back into the ground. He did not move. His teammates raised their weapons and opened fire.

It had begun.

by **Legatia** » Wed Sep 27, 2023 1:09 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
06:21 AM, 3 October 2023

"Changing mags! Cover me!"
Shifting her feet to place her torso behind the cover of a tree, Barcoo One pulled a fresh 30 round magazine from her plate carrier, displaced the empty one utilizing it, replaced it in the gun and punched in the bolt release, chambering in a new round. Four had been taken out of the fight early, and a member of Matron had taken her back to get treated- in this position it was just her and Talia, with Nico in the rear providing suppressive fire as their backs were put towards the half-concrete and half-concertina enclosure surrounding the facility. It was intended to keep out wildlife rather than bullets- this considering, it had done admirably well considering the amount of rifle fire it had been subjected to.

Though there were only six casualties between both them, Acacia, Gamble and Echidna, they had lost virtually all of what was left of the room surrounding the compound's inner walls over the sporadic six-hours long firefight. It was a deadly cycle for both sides. The Federal troops would advance under smoke and flashbangs- and more recently, fragmentation grenades- and attempt to clear them out of their positions. Acacia and Barcoo would withdraw to prevent being overwhelmed- if only in some cases by a few dozen yards- and saturate them with their own firepower. Gamble's effectiveness as snipers was nullified by 2am as the Federal forces brought in snipers of their own, that could easily engage what was the only high ground on the island atop the compound's roofs. Thus, as had happened to Echidna, they took up rifles and the front lines.

The losses were lopsided. At least twenty Federal soldiers and agents were dead, and only one of theirs had been rendered unconscious- who, Sienna wasn't sure. Daylight was beginning to peer on the horizon, the contrast in the green-hued vision of her night vision goggles having become too high to warrant their further usage. The second her hand had moved to place them in an upwards position, a round impacted the right monocular and barely missed her hand, sending her backwards. She fell backwards onto the wall, and her second quickly raised her rifle and with snapshot precision neutralized the offending shooter.

Talia
'Barcoo 2'

Apex compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory

"Sienna, you alive over there?"

Barcoo Two reached the position of her team leader and took a knee in the dirt. There was a scratch just above her eyebrow with blood leaking red from it, but it was nothing serious. The worst of it was the shock, the girl's eyes batting in a panic as if she had thought she'd actually been shot. Thank God, she thought, grabbing her shoulder and roughly shaking her.

"Sienna! Wake up, sheila, get your head in the game!"

The blue-slate eyes of Barcoo One refocused on Talia's own, and her breathing caught up to the adrenaline. Her chest rose and fell subtly beneath the armor she was wearing, and a shaky exhale came from her lips as Talia released her. She was alive and well. The covering fire from Barcoo Three had stopped, and the sounds of peppering gunfire around them had fallen as well. The Federals were falling back, she could observe with her own eyes as the bodies that were still were being removed from their sight behind veils of smoke.

Patting her leader on the shoulder and allowing her a moment's reprieve, Talia took the initiative to contact headquarters.

"Baseplate, this is Barcoo Two, we're seeing hostiles on our end withdraw back away. Further orders?"

Her radio crackled alive after a few seconds, as she turned her glance over to the remaining member of their team. Nico gave a thumbs up from behind the walls, and Talia's gaze returned to Sienna, who was just now getting her bearings.

"All callsigns, this is Baseplate.. looks like we've made it through the night. Our observations are showing they've taken a heavy enough beating. Consolidate on positions and standby for further orders."

"So, we made it.. guess that doesn't go for my goggles;" Barcoo One joked softly as she rose, coming to a knee. "Thank you, Talia."

"Don't mention it," was her answer as the two shared a glance towards the red-tinted rising sun casting a scarlet backdrop across high-altitude clouds. The two shared a look at eachother and then back at the sun, finally lifting the veil of night's darkness from their island home.

The dawn had come, but their long night was only just beginning.

Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria Territory- Winston R. Smith Defense Building
08:31 AM, 3 October 2023

"..This concludes my report. As ordered, I'll be taking command of the scene when we touch down on Advent in about three hour's time. 43 RKTI has provided a battalion's worth of ready reaction forces, we'll be staging an overstrength company on the island as a maneuver force and organizing the delivery of armored fighting vehicles from 26 RGMI out of Himona via sealift."

On the teleconference in the room was a Colonel Mason Lewis, the commanding officer of Taikorea's 43 Regiment Kadua Territorial Infantry. He and a battalion of his men had been federally activated last night to support the operations by the DSA- now they were being flown in to replace them on the island. No man in this room seemed pleased with the results. They had managed to further isolate the group within the compound, but even more embarassingly, the casualties were lopsided. They hadn't confirmed a single Composite death- though they had taken casualties- while the DSA forces had lost over a dozen men and another three dozen additional wounded varying from critically to walking wounded. Instead of Territorial police and DSA agents cordoning them off, Territorial Forces would be deployed to replace them and fight them as a military fights an enemy force rather than how a domestic enforcement agency fights a barricaded criminal.

"Very well, Colonel;" answered John Argus. The look he got from the man through the video screen was one of pity. He wouldn't be resigning, Acton would have him fired for this, and every man in this room knew he was a dead man walking as far as his career went. Still, he did his job as was required of him until properly relieved. He already knew who Acton wanted in his place, and quite honestly was surprised he wasn't already being shipped to Cordelia. "That will be all. Keep the area cordoned and await further orders."

"Sir, if I might speak plainly?"

"Of course, Colonel. What is it?" He shook his head as the man cleared his throat through a screen and thousands of miles away. He offered a salute to the Chief of Defense Staff, causing the career officer to smirk softly at his reservist counterpart.

"It's been an honor, sir. Best of luck to you."

"And you as well, Colonel. Farewell."

The video link terminated as the assembled officers turned to look at Argus. Here was the Chiefs of Defense Staff and their deputies, two men from each branch and himself. His deputy was still returning from his vacation in Anagonia, and was the only man not present amongst them.

"Gentlemen, it is not our place to act independently or intervene in federal politics, regardless of our opinions or thoughts on the matter;" John Argus placed both hands on his slouch hat, resting on the tabletop. "I have done my duty to my country as best as I can. It is up to you men to do the same."

"So, I suppose 'Chief Ironwood' is next on the docket;" quipped Admiral Harford, the Navy's chief. He seemed resigned to that eventuality- no man in this room could try and match the service record of one of Meridon's finest general officers. It was the natural progression- Acton's hardline stance on threats was a sword that cut both ways, domestic and abroad. The lack of communication was only further dragging his standing through the mud as he frantically tried to control the situation from the other side of the islands. He needed a popular figure to lead the charge and restore some of the public's confidence, to distract them to the fact that the Federal assault last night bought a few hundred yards for a few dozen lives. Who else but a man with an impeccable record of combat leadership, and still riding the highs of public popularity?

"You might be surprised, Admiral. Maybe it'll be you." Argus rested his gaze on the white-haired naval officer, who chortled.

"He won't want a naval man to handle a threat on the ground. I'd have told him the same things you did about the Fleet against this threat."

"Well;" chimed in Matthew Rodney, Chief of Air Forces Staff, slapping his hands on the table. "I know it's premature, but we all know there's not going to be any ceremony. I wish you good luck, John." The Air Commandant offered a hand which Argus took and shook firmly. The other men in the room did the same, chiefs and deputies both.

"Likewise, gentlemen;" said Argus, resting his hat underneath his shoulder as he stood. "I suppose it's time for a ride over to Whiteriver. I'd better face the music sooner rather than later."

"Any idea what you're going to do after?" Kenneth Bradston, the Vice Chief of the Army and the room's youngest occupant, asked rather cheekily, earning a wary gaze from the other men in the room. Argus simply chuckled.

"..Think I'll go get a coffee."

Rossbrook, Smith Island Territory
10:11 AM, 3 October 2023

General John Ironwood, the man who won Meridon the War in New England, was enjoying some well-deserved time off. Immediately busied upon his return with war planning for the possibility of actions in Ashilosa and Kaskaida, he had taken a long weekend to what he considered his primary home in rural Smith Island Territory, deep in the mountains and crags of the island. Alone he sat, surrounded by nature on his patio overlooking the Cielo River and the canoe that was once his father's, gently rocking against the wooden pier it was tied to.

His home here was far from modern distractions, though it was connected to the outside world by satellite internet. It was through this that Ironwood was pulled from his breakfast sandwich by his work phone ringing- which made his brow furrow. He had forgotten to remove the battery, he remembered, cursing the thoughtlessness of the act.

So he moved over and answered it, placing it to the side of his head.

Gen John Ironwood
|
Ironwood residence, Rossbrook, Smith Island Territory

"John Ironwood." He didn't feign pleasure at answering the phone, he was more than irked that even the one weekend he took off he couldn't get more than a day or two of reprieve. Even yesterday he'd received a pair of calls from his chief of staff's aides for menial approvals on docket items.

"Good morning, General Ironwood. This is the operator at Whiteriver Manor. Please hold for the President."

"Hold on, what?" Ironwood certainly sounded shocked at the reveal, pacing on the wooden floor beneath him. "Did you say the President?"

"Yes, sir. He's called directly for you. Hold, please, he's coming on the line now." It was only a brief three seconds until the General was on the line with the President of the Federal Republic, whose voice did seem enthusiastic- or at least, trying to be.

"Good morning, General. I understand you're on leave right now, but I wouldn't be calling if it didn't concern national security."

"..Of.. course, Mister President. I'm not aware of what you're talking about. National security, sir?"

"General, are you living under a rock right now? You haven't heard what's been happening in the Eastern Islands?"

"No, sir. As a matter of personal preference I avoid using electronics on my leisure time. The connection is spotty where I am in any case- Has something happened to General Argus, sir?"

"Actually, that's what I'm calling about. John Argus is out of a job. I don't have confidence in his abilities to command my armed forces anymore. I need someone not just I can trust, but that the rest of the Republic can as well. I want you as my Chief of Defense, and I need you in Cordelia immediately."

Ironwood smelled a rat immediately. John Argus, fired? He saw the (now former) Defense Chief as one of his mentors in the service- indeed, he was one of his biggest advocates as he had risen through the ranks. Argus had lead the Defense Forces through a pair of overseas conflicts including the New England war successfully, and he was fired in the span of a day? Not even allowed to resign- during a security threat?

"Mister President, can I ask why General Argus was relieved?"

"General, I just told you why. We're wasting time here. Meridon's national security is at risk and I need a man at the helm to steer us out of the storm. Do right by me and I guarantee you'll see Field Marshal. I'm having the CDS forward you the relevant information on your email. Call me back within an hour."

The phone call ended abruptly and Ironwood replaced the cellphone down onto the table. He hadn't even ironed his uniform since he'd taken it off on arrival, he recalled. Exhaling, he sat down before the computer to read what had already been sent over. Recordings from the news broadcast, intelligence briefings from the Army Intelligence Office and Domestic Security Agency, drone overflights and force evaluations.

It wasn't long into the documents however that his phone rang again. He answered it with the same snappiness he answered the first phonecall, and was surprised to hear on the other end-

"Morning, Ironwood. It's Argus. I suppose by now the President's called you."

Gen John Ironwood
|
Ironwood residence, Rossbrook, Smith Island Territory

"Good morning, General-"

Ironwood was headed off by Argus this time. "Not anymore. I'm private citizen John Argus now;" he spoke as a man trying to pretend he was freed from the weight of worries his former position carried might have, the facade easy to see through. You didn't serve for close to thirty years and get to be able to drop your cares like you might take off your shoes.

"I heard;" Ironwood answered as he exhaled. "Congratulations on your early retirement." The sarcastic comment earned a 'heh' on the other side of the line.

"The President wasn't in a particularly good mood this morning. He ordered me relieved and revoked my commission in one snatch. Get to keep the uniform, at least. Anyways, he might not know you, I do. I'm not going to try and tell you what to do lest he tries to tack me on as a terrorist, I'm already set to be his scapegoat. But a fair word of warning, mate, you've still got a good career ahead of you, I was due to retire next year, anyways. So when you return that phone call you had better've decided carefully."

"I don't want the position;" Ironwood replied succinctly to which Argus could only offer a scoff.

"I know you don't. Nobody cares what you want or you'd still be a company commander. I know you're out in the bush without a care in the world right now, but you picked a hell of a weekend to vacation. My last orders are to relay the situation to you before he pins you as Chief of Defense. Whether it's you or some other cunt, whoever has that seat in the next seventy-two hours is going to be charting the course. Now that I'm a free man, I can tell you what I think. I think the President is getting erratic. Something's of his about to be exposed."

Ironwood paused for a moment as he realized the ramifications of these accusations being leveled. "You think he has ties to these 15th Rush companies?"

"Maybe;" Argus replied. "Politicians are an expert at hiding these sorts of things. William Acton is a dangerous man when something in his interest is threatened. If it isn't him, it's someone near him. You don't get to become President without making friends. I wouldn't be surprised if it were both, honestly.. but, what does it really matter?"

He lowered the phone from his side.

Ironwood had not had the interactions with Matterhouse nor with Parksun, but the other such company had a particularly black mark in his mind. He had worked extensively with Willingstone in the early 2000's in a country called Maltika, one of the highlights of his early career when he was a Colonel and a Regimental commander, and was responsible for the defense from- and later the military overwhelming of- an insurgent movement in the nation's backcountry. In the aftermath when his soldiers were consumed performing counter-insurgency operations, the defense of the large urban areas- particularly the capital city of Yomium- was entrusted to Willingstone mercenaries. He distinctly remembered Elliot Willingstone's smug face when his men confronted him on one occasion for extorting locals for their valuables as protection money, pointing to the contract that lacked any mention of prohibiting him from doing so. He regretted to this day not doing more to stop him.

The name made his blood boil, and the thought that these composites had a hand in their downfall cast serious doubts in his mind about the validity of their evaluation as a terrorist threat. Reading the details and dossiers only made him more suspicious of the circumstances in which this situation had emerged.. Yet, he knew the consequences if he refused an appointment from the President. The question was his career or his moral compass.

John Ironwood had reached his position through his own hard work, and not through the benefits of influence. He remembered, as every Merrie soldier did, the creeds he swore as he rose through the ranks next to and before the men he had been given the duty and the honor of leading. As a soldier, as a cadet at the Academy, as a Ranger, and as an officer.

"I will by my own example maintain the standards of highest personal, physical, and professional discipline, and endeavor so that all those who stand among me might emulate the same." How many times had he sworn those words? How long had he lived by them and how many men throughout his years of service had he detailed the importance, the significance, of these tenets being upheld?

He knew what he had to do.

Gen John Ironwood
|
Ironwood residence, Rossbrook, Smith Island Territory

"Thank you, John. I know what I have to do."

Ironwood hung the phone up, and re-dialed the number to Whiteriver Manor. The call was redirected immediately, and the President had answered the phone much quicker than he had anticipated- regardless, he had already steeled himself.

"Ah, General Ironwood. I assume you've read over the dossier. I trust you've-"

"Mr. President, I'm not going to be able to comply with your request."

There was a pause in the air. He could hear the President intake sharply, the anger apparent in his voice though he kept his tone professional. Acton took a moment to recompose himself before responding.

"..General, I'm not requesting. I'm ordering you to take command. I would highly advise you mull carefully about what you say next."

But Ironwood did not. He knew what he had to say in this moment, and in the moment he did not hesitate, nor did his face show any signs of reluctance. He spoke firmly and plainly in his reply.

"Sir, I cannot in good conscience carry out these orders. I respectfully decline the appointment."

The response this time was quick, the President's voice calm but dripping with venom.

"Very well, General. Consider yourself suspended from duty on charges of insubordination. We'll discuss this in detail once the situation is resolved, but it's safe to say you might as well look for another line of work."

The line hung. John Ironwood sighed heavily as he placed the phone down onto his countertop, back facing upwards. He regarded it for a moment as he considered what he'd just done, knowing that he had likely killed his own career. He knew better than to stew over it. The thought lingered for a moment, the magnitude of what had just transpired, as he looked pensively upon the backplate of the phone. Only for a moment did he do so, until another thought returned to him, as he collected the phone once more into a hand..

Stepping onto his porch, he slid the rear cover of the phone from it's frame, revealing the battery and removing it from the chassis and placed it into his hand. Then, he threw it into the woods beside him, where it disappeared into the underbrush.

by **Legatia** » Fri Sep 29, 2023 5:15 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Interterritorial airspace
08:21 PM, 3 October 2023

Over the wide skies above the ocean between Taikorea and Silvers Island territories flew the solitary, white-bodied figure of an Air Forces S4M Watchtower from Air Control Wing 32's 20 Squadron, the Redfeathers. The airborne early warning and control aircraft's job was- in coordination with half a squadron's worth of F6M fighters from Meridon Air Forces Base Bernic- to enforce the no-fly zone overhead Advent Island.

Captain Baldwin Holland, the duty air battle manager, was midway through his four hour rotation monitoring targets. The Flight Restriction Zone was relatively small compared to the amount of fighters he was controlling- three pairs, assigned to cover northwest, east, and south respectively. Two of these fighters were F6M Wasps, one of the Air Force's mainstays- the other two pairs from MAFB Bernic's Wing 88 were the brand new F7M Wedgetail fighters, whose position was only revealed due to the fact that each of the aircraft were equipped with radar reflectors while they operated. One of the flights was going to rotate off station with another Wasp flight to replace it within the next fifteen minutes- it was paying attention to these minutiae during a rather boring shift that allowed the Captain to keep his mind sharp.

"Battle, radar, new TOI, assigned track number 4341. Transmitting Mode-C.. I have identification as midsize, twin prop. Civilian, registration Mike 314 Delta Alpha."

Captain Holland leaned forward in his chair to view the track as it appeared on his radar screen. A civilian transport, likely a charter prop plane, was passing over the southern shores of Taikorea now on a direct course for the islands. At its speed, it would arrive there in something near an hour and a half unless it changed course. While the Defense Forces had orders to enforce an exclusion zone around the island, the FRZ as issued in the NOTAMs to Meridonian civil pilots extended vertically up to only 15,000 feet so as to not disrupt commercial flight and overflights. Its extension upwards had not been processed for this reason- that, and the rather ironic fact that President Acton had purged the Federal Aviation Commission following its earlier failure to implement and enforce the FRZ properly had not prompted anyone to mention another deliberate penetration- albeit of another type- as a possibility to contend with.

Indeed, this aircraft was headed for the Flight Restricted Zone deliberately, intending to overfly it and drop supplies to where the besieged Composites were sheltering. The organization flying the aircraft was a humanitarian one with an activist tilt, and had experience conducting these kinds of operations- even at altitude, and even with poor weather on the way. A stationary front had earlier formed around the island's area, with thick layers of clouds forming to prevent lower visibility. There was soon to be a warm front over the area bringing deteriorating conditions- so it made sense that they made the attempt while the weather remained at least somewhat stable and cooperative. Their announcement had been public, and the flight crew had been made aware that an aircraft was likely to attempt a penetration tonight. The 'Delta Alpha' letters at the end of its registration identified it as the likely culprit, that being one of the list of planes belonging to the organization- DAP- who were conducting the flight.

"I'm tracking;" Captain Holland confirmed as he leaned forward into the display panel. "Delta Alpha.. roger. His course shows him direct for the FRZ." He glanced over to the racetrack patterned air patrol flown by Palmer 6, a two-ship flight of F6Ms maintaining the northwestern perimeter of the FRZ. "Thirty more minutes and he'll be in parameters. Let's hope he chickens out."

Thirty minutes later, and he hadn't. Captain Holland sighed as he felt his own aircraft take a gentle bank to maintain its own racetrack pattern, well off to the west of the FRZ. The aircraft was maintaining altitude, speed, and heading towards the FRZ and would be there in now under an hour.

"Palmer 6, Wizard." He keyed his radio and turned his attention to the westerly-flying Wasp formation as he waited for their response.

"Wizard, this is Palmer 6 flight, go ahead."

"Designate new target of interest, single ship, BRAA three four zero for two hundred and ten, angels three one, hot. Midsize twin prop, civilian, on course for penetration. Track designate, Tango four three four one."

The response came after a few seconds of delay, crisp and crystal clear.

"Palmer 6 committing."

Hundreds of miles away from Wizard flew Palmer 6, a pair of Wasp multirole fighters, who had just received the intercept call and taken receipt of it. Flying in close formation a few thousand feet above a flat deck of clouds that contrasted poorly with the inky black sky their jets cruised through, they were close enough and the ambient light in their cockpits bright enough that the flight leader's hand signals to the wingman were visible. With a hand departing from his throttle, Lieutenant Colonel Lewis Martez directed his flight into a sharp right bank on intercept course towards T4341. As leadership of his squadron, he was expected to pull the worst shifts alongside his men- that included long patrol flights in the dark and nasty weather. So here to his surprise was he about to effect his first live intercept of an aircraft.

"All right, kickin' in the cans, three.. two.. one.. lights on."
"Five;" came the acknowledgement from his wingman over radio.

Advancing his throttle to just shy of its maximum forward position, the twin engines behind his aircraft roared to life and light as their afterburners engaged and began to rapidly accelerate their aircraft from their 250 knot loiter speed to over 400 knots of indicated airspeed and finally pushing their aircraft past Mach 1 as they began a gentle climb upwards towards 31,000 feet of altitude and leveled out soon afterwards, the 6,000 foot climb not taking long at all for the fighter jets. Their speed increased rapidly as they attained level flight with afterburners still engaged, pushing further past Mach 1.

"Target dead ahead 85, Palmer 6. Verify contact."

LCol Martez looked down at his radar screen as it swept the skies before him and thumbed the selector settings to filter out lower-flying civilian aircraft and targets outside of the target area until he confirmed he had the target acquired on his radar. Pressing the designator switch on his stick, a box popped up onto his heads-up display and the target's range- now reading as 82.4 and rapidly decreasing with over 750 knots of closure.

"This is Palmer 6-4. We have contact. Proceeding with intercept. Wizard, how about radio contact?"

A brief delay was heard over the line as the pilot raised his brow, looking over west in Wizard's general direction as if staring while he waited for an answer, one which came just before he was about to repeat his transmission.

"Palmer 6-4, this is Wizard, negative. Negative radio contact."

"Palmer 6-4."

He saw a look coming from his wingman and toggled the radio to his interflight frequency.

"Sir, this is looking dicey. No radio contact at all, even on guard? Isn't a requirement to monitor those things for civ flyers? I don't like it at all."

The LCol sighed gently, detecting well the nervousness from his wingman as the intercept inched closer and closer. "It is dicey, not going to lie. Now's not the time to speculate. We're coming up on the intercept here shortly. Hang back in support off the right. I'll handle primary."

"Five."

The blinking anticollision lights of the turboprop came into view at about twenty miles as the two jets brought their aircraft to idle throttles and began a loop to the left, aiming to let the aircraft fly by them while they slowed down to its speed and came up quickly along its side. In thirty second's worth of time it did, and the interceptor aircraft activated their external lights as they quickly closed the distance between the civilian aircraft and their own. As they had briefed, Palmer 6-5 slotted into position about two hundred feet behind and to the right of the aircraft, while Palmer 6-5 switched his radio to transmit on guard frequency, referring to the script slotted on the top of one of his kneeboards. His voice was punctuated by his breathing in through his mask as he glanced from the script back towards the aircraft he was maintaining formation in front of.

"On guard, aircraft Mike 314 Delta Alpha, you have been intercepted by armed Air Forces defense interceptors, flying off your left wing. If you are receiving, acknowledge immediately on this frequency and rock your wings. I say again, aircraft Mike 314 Delta Alpha, you have been intercepted.. acknowledge immediately."

LCol Martez toggled his night vision goggles and glanced into the cockpit of the aircraft, where he could see two pilots at the controls- the one in the left seat waving at him- perhaps smiling too, but he wasn't sure with the contrast and the range.

"G'day, mate. This is 314 Delta Alpha with ya;" came the aloof voice of 314DA's pilot, a mid-aged male. "We're out here not meaning no harm. You can follow us if you'd like, we'd love the company, ah.. straight out towards Advent Island above the published FRZ and back home."

"This guy's fuckin' off his rocker." 6-5 came in through the radio, a sentiment to which the LCol could only agree to, but he didn't have the luxury of idle chatter. Never in his life had he heard an unarmed civilian plane argue with a fighter jet intercepting it before. Usually the sight was more than enough to cow errant pilots into compliance- perhaps not this time.

"Mike 314 Delta Alpha, this is the Air Forces defense interceptor off your left wing. Your current flightpath is on-course to violate a Flight Restricted Zone. Turn back northbound immediately."

"Sorry mate, not gonna do that. That FRZ's 15 and below, we're well above it, we're within our rights."

"Mike 314 Delta Alpha, you are ordered to turn your aircraft north immediately or you may be fired upon. Acknowledge."

"Cheers!"

The LCol bit down tensely as he switched to his inter-flight frequency. "Keep up contact with Wizard, Five. I'm going to try giving this joker some incentives." Pressing his throttle gently forward, he banked in towards the aircraft and flew across its flightpath ahead of them, thumbing his countermeasure release button to shoot out three pairs of flares ahead of the aircraft before sliding over to the right side where his wingman was and slowing down to come alongside him. He glanced at the aircraft and saw that its course remained unchanged. He shook his head and looked at the map. They were close to thirty minutes away from penetrating the FRZ. By the time he was starting to think about what he would try next on the aircraft, as he swung underneath it and back to its left side, he received a call from the AEWC aircraft.

"Palmer 6, this is Wizard. You are cleared to fire. Kill your TOI."

His face went pale as the radio call hit him suddenly. He hadn't even requested permission to fire, which was the norm for most intercepts- given, most of his practice had been on intercepting other fighters and not cases like this- but he had only intercepted them less than five minutes ago. He couldn't believe it- neither could his wingman, who he had delegated the communications to, and who thus responded.

"This is Palmer 6. Say again?"

"I say again, cleared to fire. Kill your TOI, immediate. Over.

"Fuck!" Martez cursed as he glanced over to the aircraft, repeating a call for it to turn. It didn't respond nor did it move. He tried it again, and the same result came, thus he eased his throttle again to fall behind the aircraft with his wingman.

"Sir.. I don't like this at all;" his copilot balked at the possibility. They were still well outside the Flight Restricted Zone, and they had plenty of time to attempt to get it to turn around. But then again, this was the third time he'd refused- and that was after the maneuvers he'd pulled. He looked at his copilot and exhaled. He remembered- being a squadron executive officer like he was meant that sometimes the dirty jobs fell to him. Sometimes it was cleaning out the ready room microwave. And sometimes, it was taking blood on your own hands.

"..I don't blame you. Fall back into observation. I'll handle it."

There was a heavy pause on the frequency after he said that, and Five's aircraft began a bank off to the right as he fell even further back from the aircraft to a safe distance. Martez switched his master arm switch to ON, selected air to air, and toggled his MUA-9 Anaconda heatseeking missiles which rapidly acquired the cruising plane less than a mile ahead of him. The high-pitched whine reverberated jarringly in his helmet to let him know the missile had acquired its quarry, but his finger hovered over the trigger tensely.

"Palmer 6, this is Wizard, I say again, cleared to fire. Kill your TOI. How copy?"

There was plenty wrong with this situation. He didn't want to acknowledge, he wanted to safe his weapons and turn back home, and land, and see his wife and children back in Bernic. But he knew better than doing what he wanted. He had orders, and Wizard must know something that he didn't.

"Palmer 6... Fox two."

He didn't even feel his finger come into contact with the trigger, but the missile launched all the same and he found his pointer tightened about the toggle. It happened in slow motion. The red-hot streak of the missile as it flew ahead of the jet and veered for the engine block on the left. It impacted just shy, exploding in a momentary flash of light that annihilated the empennage of the aircraft, causing it to rapidly pitch up. His heart sunk into the deepest extent of horror as a brief scream came across the guard net just before the plane erupted into fire, its left wing separating from the fuselage and the rest of the assembly tumbling to the earth tens of thousands of feet below with all the grace of a sheet of paper. Smoke and fire followed it all the way down, and Lieutenant Colonel Martez watched it until it disappeared into an underlying cloudbank, the illumination of its flame briefly casting an amber backdrop to the grey clouds before it too became enveloped in them.

He could hear his heart beat, his entire body felt frigid cold beneath his flight suit, his hands were clammy and sweaty as the enormity of the action he had taken fell like a load of bricks onto his shoulder. His wingman slowly closed the distance with him as they continued southbound, back towards their patrol pattern.

"Palmer 6, this is Wizard. Confirmed kill. Good wor-"

Martez ripped off his mask as he barely held back his gut from relieving itself of the contents of his dinner. Seizing his empty helmet bag stowed beside him, his second upheaval quickly rectified that issue. He felt physically nauseous, but knew they still had a little under a two hour rotation on their patrol. Shakily regaining custody of his stick, he realized his wingman must have answered the rest of the call for him and focused his mind on flying his aircraft.

As the two aircraft cut through the darkened sky, they steeled themselves towards the long night that still lay ahead.

by **Legatia** » Thu Oct 05, 2023 2:09 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Summerhall Presidential Reserve, Dorado District, Mahine Territory
10:12 AM, 4 October 2023

Vice President Townley sat, alone, pensive, and restless all, in the conference room of the Summerhall retreat. An Alexandria native, Yui Townley was a city girl by birth and upbringing. In Port Sistine, her place of birth and raising, she was never far from another human interaction. Here in Summerhall, where she had been conducting her official business for close to three and a half months, it felt empty. Summerhall was never intended to be a permanent residence for anyone- it was the ‘summer home’ of the Presidents, as if to imply summer and winter seasons brought any real temperature or climate differences anywhere in the Eleven Territories. With the threat of a war involving Kaskaida and Aureumterra breaking out at any instant a very real possibility, Yui Townley had made the rural Mahine residence her place of operations under President Acton’s orders. The Vice President’s job was not one that meant sitting in one place, however- as a matter of fact, she was glad to be sat back in the idyllic Mission Revival manor.

The past 72 hours had been running around like a firewoman with her head cut off trying to douse the political blazes that President Acton had started, and every time she turned her head it got worse. As soon as she was off the phone with the Anagonian executive office, the NMP was starting up support for a no-confidence vote against President Acton. As soon as she was leaving the Port Sistine offices of the NMP after her meeting with Leclair, then she gets word from her defense attache that the Defense Forces, as she had morbidly expected, shot down the DAP flight (given, she did not expect it to be as far out as it was). No sooner had she gotten a break in the midnight calls from practically every non-coalition party, did she learn that the Meridonian ambassador in Ryszana had been summoned before a full session of their legislature. Yui Townley had collapsed almost onto the floor at about 3 AM, and was woken five hours later by an aide who gave the appearance of a puppy having destroyed a flower bed, so guilty did he feel in doing the act. It was now 10 in the morning.

Her Chief of Staff had turned more into a head maid this morning rather than a coordinator of Meridon’s right-hand woman. Even though her short-cropped hair was kept at such a length for ease of maintenance, it looked so severely disheveled that an intern who had worked part-time as a hairdresser beforehand was called in to tame it before her 10:30 video call with the President, her first communication with him since the initiation of this crisis now four days ago. Caffeinated English breakfast tea with milk and sugar to taste, and a favorite breakfast of hers, one she had made for her daughter Yui when she was younger, a Japanese staple of rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and omelets.

She watched the projector screen from her peripheral vision as an aide worked to establish the video call link, chewing on a mouthful of rice and egg as she did so. The normally optimistic energy of the Vice President had been thoroughly drained, as thoroughly as she tried to avoid such an appearance. As the link came online, however, she could see that was not exclusive to her. Many cities across the Territories had been racked with massive protests and counter-protests, and the capital of Cordelia was no different. Crowds clashed against policemen and other protestors in the urban battleground from the late night now well into the day, and their proximity to Whiteriver had likely kept the President- and his staff- well awake for the past 12 hours.

President William Acton had enjoyed solid personal and political popularity since his election in 2020. During his time as Governor of Smith Island, he was known as a no-nonsense, get-’em-done leader who, while tactful in manner and speech, had little tolerance for what he called ‘political moseying’ and made a habit of hounding his problem sources until they fixed themselves. He managed to avoid what he detested so much by avoiding addressing the solutions and ideas of others, or coming into conflict over ideological questions with other politicians, instead focusing his energies on the tangible- reducing the crime rates in the territory through proactive (and sometimes aggressive) policing, actions that had earned him the affectionate moniker of “Governor Slapt’em.” This tenacity and aggressiveness of dealing with problems, of course, followed him into Whiteriver Manor. When MeriHealth- his plan for universal healthcare- had ran into roadblocks over employment in tribal and isolated locales, he went on tour for three weeks around the Territories corralling the health providers, insurance companies, and Territorial and district governments into toeing a single line, wielding the threat of revoking subsidies as a warhammer. When Meridon came under attack from the Masculists in New England, Acton launched the widest-scale Meridonian military action in over 40 years and won victory in a week of ground operations. He attacked problems aggressively, refused to allow them to become ideological questions, and personified the “my way or the highway” approach that made him particularly popular with the Agrarian party voters as well as a solid block of the Federal Party from which he hailed. His heavy-handed approach, however, could not be applied on sensitive matters. It was why he avoided engaging in foreign diplomacy directly, realizing it needed a finer touch.

The one area Acton refused to relinquish, however, were those where national defense came into play. Two Carrier Task Groups were already flying into New York to lay the Masculists to waste before he went to the Senate for approval to launch a ground invasion. So too here had he brought the full gavel of force down upon the Advent Island Composites, and here too did he refuse to negotiate, even as the flames were beginning to back up against him.

“Good morning, Yui.” His face was frazzled and she could see the bags beneath his eyes. She frowned knowingly. She knew they were in the same boat, but he was the one throwing the oars overboard.

Vice President Yui Townley

Summerhall Presidential Reserve, Mahine Territory

“William, this is getting beyond out of hand;” Yui pushed the remnants of her breakfast aside as if to hide them, even though the President had already surely seen them. “Leclair wants you ousted and he’s not going to stay alone for long if we keep making baffles like this. Tomorrow will make it a business week we’ve been losing militarily on our own islands, do you realize what this is doing to our image? Domestically, as well as abroad?”

“Yui, this is national security we’re talking about-”

“-But they’re secure. You’ve put half a fleet and a quarter of a regiment of troops out on that island. They’re locked in a bunker with no way off, and now we’re downing civilian aircraft outside of that exclusion zone? Blauveldt-Ryszana has already put a moratorium on air travel between us and them and I guarantee you they’re not going to be the last. We’re going to start choking out before the Composites do.”

“They’re terrorists! They’ve killed near a dozen servicemen on our own territory, not to mention the billions of dollars and thousands of lives their little financial stunt ruined!”

Yui exhaled.. In this he was right. The love for Composites was certainly not a universal thing, especially after news had got out of the deaths in their first attempted raid on the compound two days past. Advent’s Composites had released short news snippets afterwards that detailed the fight in a little under two minutes, expressing their regret for the lives lost and calling again for an end to the hostilities. That wasn’t enough to convince some, especially on the far right of the spectrum. Those that had connections to the companies ruined in the 15 Rush were equally not as pleased, and there were plenty of Acton loyalists who trusted in his helmsmanship. But the numbers were quickly decreasing with what Yui could only describe as the bungling of the situation. International pressures- trade barriers and travel sanctions from allies and expressions of concern were impacting daily life negatively, and the almost unblemished image the Composites had managed to keep throughout the entirety of the siege gave them the moral high ground, even more so with the recent DAP downing.

Vice President Yui Townley

Summerhall Presidential Reserve, Mahine Territory

“They’ve already proven they can resist what we can throw at them, unless you want to up what we currently are..”

“That’s the plan, Yui.” The Vice President could only sigh, knowing that was what he was about to say. She knew he was serious, and that made it worse.

“Mister President;” she began, shifting gears. “We;” and by that she meant he- “need to look at this situation from a different lens. They’re the ones enjoying popular support, not us. We are actively beginning to strain our support bases both internationally and internally, which isn’t good for our government, or our country as a whole. The NMP is prepared to oust you if you don’t come to the table, and you know full well what they want.”

“And if they’re planning on asking me to negotiate with financial pirates and domestic terrorists, they can take that table and shove it up their-”

“I understand that. But I’m not finished. If we storm that compound, it’s likely they’ll defend it to a man. They’re equipped and armed like soldiers and you can expect them to keep fighting like ones. I’m no military expert but a building built like a maze is going to be fairly lopsided in terms of advantage towards the defense, and if you think the uproar over the deaths earlier was bad, you’re going to hate seeing the one that comes when we go down there and massacre them.”

“So, what?” Acton pressed a palm firmly into his table from the other end. “We tell them everything they did is fine, and that we’re ready to give them whatever they want? Even if I did bring them to the negotiating table, there’s really only two extremes we can come to- one is we admit defeat and that we do negotiate with terrorists, and the other one does the exact opposite.”

“We can ask them to leave-” Yui had barely gotten the idea out before Acton slammed his fist on the table.

“Damn that, Yui! They have sensitive information on our defense programs, on our scientific base, and on our corporate groups! We might as well throw Kaskaida a fucking playbook! And you bet your goddamn ass they’re not going to agree to be kept in a facility or as fucking labrats. Would you, if you were in that position?”

“So you want to slaughter them like animals? Is that it?”

“No! I don’t want them dead, I want them in custody! But if they’re going to keep fucking shooting at us, fuck them! You think this is easy, Yui? You think I want to hear the fucking third party commentary on internal security from our allies? You think I want Beom Dae thinking it’s his to resolve the issues over here?”

“God damnit, Will! Enough! This isn’t about you! We’re about to get throttled from outside and in and our numbers are already down over twenty-five percent and they’re going to keep going down if this drags on. You are the President, but if you keep this up, that might not be the case much longer.”

“You’re right. As long as I am the President, I’m not going to give up the ship just because the going gets tough. We stay the course, Yui. You do what you have to.”

The line disconnected suddenly, and the Vice President was left to stare at the wall, dumbfounded and without the words to express herself. Slowly, her head retreated into the embrace of her hands.

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
9:22 PM, 4 October 2023

The four members of Echidna Team sat atop the rooftop of Complex 1-C, the building that sat the furthest on the northwest end of the complex. Tasked with overwatch duties of an assault that was due to come upon them at any moment, the four members of the team watched with binoculars and night vision scopes mounted atop their rifles out at the horizon of a darkening sky. Scattered about them haphazardly were the remnants of plastic bags and containers that once held military-issue ration packs and flameless reheaters, hydration packets and chewing gum.
“Hey, Wisti…” One of Echidna’s members called out, rocking back and forth on her seat pensively as she lowered her goggles. “How long until we can rotate off with Gamble?”

Echidna One- who had the personal name of Wisteria- exhaled as she kept to her task, her eyes resting on a fighting position of Territorial Forces soldiers they’d first identified over three hours ago. Hers was a team of mortar girls, much more suited to delivering fire support than to running sentry duty. But with the discrepancy in numbers, and the ability to be rapidly targeted should they choose to stick to a firing position, theirs was now the role to provide lookout as the siege dragged on.

“Another six hours, Danna. Maybe they’ll have some ice cream left over when we make our way off station.”

“Yeah; that’d be nice,” another voice joined with green eyes peeking from beneath a boonie cap. “If Castle and Acacia don’t eat them all, you mean.”

The four laughed softly at the thought, sharing a dream of a better dawn, one where they might be able to enjoy something in peace as a team for once. Even though their conversation was held through green-hued lenses and thermal scopes, they shared a moment of togetherness in that brisk fall night. The world might be closing down on their shoulders, but if anything else failed, they had each other.. That was the beauty of the struggle of life, Major Ryder’s favorite little story to tell them in training.

“..Hey, do any of you hear that?” A head poked up from a viewing device, the girls turning towards the voice's source- but the question would never be answered.

The roof of Building 1-C shook with a blinding flash of fire and light, engulfed in an incandescence that glowed as bright and brief as the roof’s occupants did just before it. In but a mere moment, Echidna Team was no more.

In the distance, an attack helicopter’s rotor blades whined as it ducked behind cover and the shouts of both composites and Federal soldiers began to fly over radio frequencies. Within thirty seconds more, the still of the night air had slid into the cacophony of gunfire and explosions.

The second battle had begun.

by **Legatia** » Tue Oct 10, 2023 9:27 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
9:25 PM, 4 October 2023

Clouds obscured the light from a full moon and stars in the night above, and a gentle westerly wind cast soft, showery raindrops across the southeastern Meridonian archipelago. Beneath their drabbed blanket, chaos erupted on the island.

What was once a competent defensive effort of a static position quickly devolved into an exponentially accelerating retreat. For all of their superior reflexes and equipment, the Advent composites defending their positions lacked the enormity of firepower the Defense Forces was now levying against them and were forced further backwards into the compound.

The disparity in force was blatantly apparent from the moment 1-C’s roof was detonated by a helicopter-launched LCAM antitank missile. Armored vehicles, able to resist anything short of an antimaterial rifle round, provided cover for soldiers advancing up to the gate, a mixture of manually-served or remote-operated heavy and medium machine guns atop their roofs dousing anything that moved or looked like a target. 4.5in shells from the frigate Mako Bay and the cruiser Cimapat launched from off shore slammed into the gate structures and the wall strongpoints, the riflewomen occupying them withdrawing in time to barely escape the onslaught. 20mm fire from a distant helicopter raked ruthlessly at anything that moved too far out in the open, taking the lives of at least two more defenders. Smoke obscured anything beyond the walls as the full strength of the Defense Forces was being brought to bear against the Composite forces within the walls.

The saving grace of the Composites was the stoutness of the facility they were occupying, and the abundance and compactness of its buildings allowing them to evade detection by the laterally distant helicopter, who would have been within their rights to hover directly atop them and hose them down like a child might an anthill. They had learned to not underestimate their enemy a few nights prior, however, and this went for every infantryman as well as the supporting assets involved. Their advance was one trained and drilled by professional soldiers fighting a war rather than police forces advancing on criminals.

“Contacts on the right! Nico!”

“I’m on 'em!” The LSW-equipped Barcoo 3 began to lay a fan of fire down upon an advancing squad of infantrymen, forcing them to duck into cover behind the trees. Barcoo 4 had already disabled their armored vehicle with a LATS antitank launcher, but it was far from the only one in their field of fire.

No later did they manage to suppress them before they were forced behind the concrete wall by shots from the machine gun atop another vehicle. Suppressive fire from another source within the walls bounced harmlessly off of the vehicle's ballistic glass and metal armor, as the infantrymen moving alongside it returned fire to a much more substantial effect, the fire far too dense for Barcoo 3 to risk poking her head out again.

Sienna
'Barcoo 1'

Apex compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory

“Damnit..!” Sienna took the empty magazine from her weapon and chucked it into the smoky mist waiting beyond the walls as if hoping to hit something in her frustration, before just as quickly replacing it within the magazine well. Punctuating her frustrations were the defiant shots of her sisters, desperately firing to stem the tide’s arrival. Talia reached down and pressed on her headset’s push-to-talk to relay the situation to control, a few hundred feet beneath her.

“Baseplate, this is Barcoo 1- suppressive fire is too intense to hold from the gate. We’re falling back to Phaseline Orange, how read?”

“Baseplate to Barcoo- roger- we’re working on bringing the others back as well. Give Castle and the others ten more minutes to shore up the defense inside."

Before she had the chance to respond, Talia's gloved hand half-patted her on the shoulder and half pushed her away from the gate entry, which had been cloaked in wispy clouds of white grenade smoke. A quintet of rounds were fired from her rifle into it, hoping to keep down anyone encroaching on it from passing between the twin concrete pylons bordering the gateway.

"Ten minutes?" Placing herself besides her team leader, Talia's heavy breathing was drowned out by gunfire. "We'll be lucky if we can give 'em four at this rate..! "

Another figure, however, posited herself against the wall with the Talia and Sienna and offered an eager grin despite the chaos. The two shared a mutual expression of surprise as they recognized the face, Talia's visage doing the better job of obscuring her elation at the newcomer.

"Maybe I can add a few minutes to that count?"

"Taylor! It's..good to see you back in the fight so quickly;" Talia attempted, but failed, to fully concede her relief at seeing the remaining member of Barcoo alive and well and by their side. Sienna offered a more obvious smile, the middle ground between Talia and Nico, should the latter not have been positioned away providing them with covering fire. Their time for reunion would be brief, however. Sienna, turning off to her left to see Acacia team pulling back further as well, realized that they still had a battle to fight- one whose odds looked increasingly dire. She breathed in softly before she spoke.

"We'll have to make time to catch up later- right now, we've got some time to buy. On me!"

The three Barcoo girls nodded to eachother in understanding before they pushed off from the wall, their footsteps drowned by the din of gunfire.

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory- Underground
9:29 PM, 4 October 2023

Within the bowels of the Advent Island complex, ALICE’s subroutines hurriedly attempted to piece together information on their assailants based on the rapidly decreasing numbers of sensors and video cameras that remained in the face of the onslaught. Communication out of the facility was being jammed- that would be apparent when the brief video snippets smuggled onto Gatornet or Silkroad as status updates of the siege were stopped suddenly. ALICE was able to piece together what could be seen and what could be triangulated- the former being the advancing infantrymen, the latter helicopters, aircraft, and naval vessels- to offer a somewhat complete picture to the occupants of the makeshift war-room.

Automated Logistical and Integrated
Control Executable- ALICE

Apex compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory

“I am counting no less than two hundred individual infantrymen advancing on our positions on the ground. Shell placements are consistent with a pair of naval-mounted 4.5 inch standard rounds. The helicopters have not been seen before, but it is unlikely they are operating from the main islands.”

Positioned around the computer displays were the three figures leading the operation from the Composite's end- the Doctor, the Major, and Mélisande, each reviewing the information at hand. They could see a somewhat orderly fall-back to the second to last above-ground defensive line as the symbols attached to Barcoo, Gamble, and Acacia teams withdrew inwards, but their eyes and attention instead was on the most pressing concern. The attack helicopter striking them had killed all four members of Echidna in an instant, and as positions became more compact, they would reap higher casualties as well. ALICE's voice returned.

"It is likely they are operating the helicopters off of the deck of the nearby warships. This is consistent with irregular doctrine practices in the Defense Forces concerning lower-intensity amphibious warfare and support."

“Smart;” the Doctor commented as she looked grimly at the screen. Even now when she was seeing a noose tighten around the girls she considered nearly akin to her daughters, she maintained her cool. She had not come this far to hold onto the hope that hers would be a bloodless path, and knew that escaping this with any of them alive or outside of chains would require her rationality intact. “And as far as we're aware, there's two warships near here with a deck large enough to fly them. So at most, they can field two of them at any one given time.”

“And right now they’re fielding just the one. Either they’re keeping one in reserve, or this is all they have. At the rate they’re going, they’re not going to need ‘em much longer.” Major Ryder shook her head as she stared at the display plot. Markers of Federal units were already within fifty feet of the wire, with Acacia and Barcoo squads, supplemented by Gamble, putting up a desperate final defense as Foxtrot and Castle withdrew inside the compound’s buildings and into the labyrinthine expanse of the facility below. Attempting to salvage as much pre-positioned equipment as was possible to sustain their defense below meant the three teams on the line would have their work cut out for them.

Maj Whitney Ryder
RMC, Ret.

Apex compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory

“None of that will matter if we can’t hold for a while longer. Without the outer buildings to use as vantage points to threaten them, they'll have no reason to keep hanging them back.. we won't have enough time to prepare an even rudimentary defense if they bring them closer. And that isn't even mentioning the casualties we might take.. we won't have enough to even resist.”

The pindrop silence of the room held for only a moment before it was broken by the sound of a handgun being racked to chamber a round. The other two turned towards the Major, who was replacing her sidearm into its holster on her right thigh.

"Major?" Mélisande's head tilted as a look of confusion crossed over her face. Takaoka's expression immediately tightened, her gaze cast downwards as she realized what the Composite was too innocent, too naïve, to yet understand what the implication being cast was. "..What are you doing? There's no one around here to.."

The Major offered a smile, solemn in purpose but bright in its display- her eyes steeled forward.

“Sorry, Mel. Someone's gotta do the dirty work around here."

"..That's a one way trip, Whitney." The Doctor's voice trembled with the slightest hint of hesitation, stoutly fighting to maintain its composure. It was only then that Mélisande understood what was being implied. She could only stand silent as the Marine turned towards Takaoka.

“We all make it sooner or later, Doc. Listen.. it's been a great ride. I think I've settled my debt with your big sis. But you've still got a dream to realize, don't you?" Ryder's hands reached beneath her shirt and grabbed hold of the ovular service tags suspended by chain necklace about her neck, yanking them free and depositing them in the vacant pocket of the Doctor's labcoat. "..Take care of them for me."

Turning for the door away from the wordless pair standing behind her, her exit was only delayed by a voice- belonging to ALICE.

"Major... good luck. Please make it count."

A chuckle came from the veteran who turned to face the AI's display screen for a solitary, somber moment; where she offered her a thumbs-up and a confident grin before she advanced beyond.

The hallways on the upper levels were darkened and dimmed, their expanses illuminated by sparse fixtures casting pale white light, endowing the space with a liminal quality. Yet for the Major, as she walked through this valley, she had never felt more alive. In one hand she held by its carrying handle a 30-pound missile launcher, one of the scant few available in the arsenal. Even as the sounds of war raged about her, their rancor increasingly more apparent as she climbed the last stairwells towards the surface and the fight, she remained calm. She only had one shot.

Major Whitney Ryder had first tagged onto Takaoka's gambit by chance. Having known her elder sister Marie by a shared profession of arms, she had served with her a number of times before she had retired from the Regiment to avoid being taken off the battlefield by a promotion to a more senior rank. It was there she began to work for Willingstone's private military group, where the transition from a proud and regimented military culture to one who rode upon the former's coattails to facilitate institutional exploitation and embezzlement. A government-funded parasite and predator. She bore witness to the company's exploitative activities in post-war Maltika, where lucrative contracts between local governors and the PMCs allowed them to prey upon the civilians they were supposed to be protecting. Fired and disgraced when she tried to bring these acts to light, she had found her redemption in the chance encounter of the younger sister of her former comrade-in-arms at a funeral.

Truth be told, even now, she couldn't remember the extent of that conversation- she was halfway through a six pack. But the next thing she knew, she was the young girl's hand on the outside. She had been there when the 15 Rush took place, helping to funnel some of her old company's stocks back to Advent. She had been there when Prima was born, and then Acacia, Foxtrot and Barcoo coming to exist as well, and had trained them like she had been trained as a Marine Commando- or, tried to- the Composites coming from stocks meant to create supersoldiers both mentally and physically meant that training was much more straightforward than she was ever used to, even if the class sizes were small. They looked up to her almost like they looked up to the Doctor. Sometimes, when she ran on supply runs to bring back the perishables that the compound lacked stock in, she would offer things that weren't strictly training aids- dresses, make-up kits, baseball bats, magazines, books and cards. Over dinner, she would share with her charges her stories of action and adventure while she served as a member of the Raider Battalion, and of the light-hearted moments in garrison. If the Doctor had created them, raised them like a mound of clay- Major Ryder had sculpted them and formed them- not into brainless machines of war, but as individuals united as a team, each with their own identities, joined to a common purpose. To a common vision.

Her boots reported sharply against the weathered wood of one of the outer buildings' interior stairwells as she advanced upwards towards its roof, the missile cradled in her arms within the confined space. Two more floors to walk, she noted.

She remembered the scar-clad face of the Regiment Marines Commando recruiter she had stood before at seventeen years of age, one who had seen the world and weathered its terrors yet remained kind and steadfast all the same with a friendly smile. The thought of how the enormity of such a personality might come to be reverberated with her even now, decades later. Her training carried her body through the steps almost as if she were sleepwalking through it, yet her mind was fully lucid as she recalled. The missile's guidance system was activated, its battery having been inserted. The targeting computer to the left of the tube came alive as her fingers switched the len's filter to view the infrared signatures of the night sky as she came to a stop before the door towards the outside. Less than one shot, she only had mere seconds before she would be identified and targeted once she emerged. With the threat of the helicopter gone, she might yet buy those she had cared for so strongly the time they so desperately needed. She nodded.

That recruiter had told her something, she remembered, as the Major inhaled deeply. The missile's safety was disengaged, her finger slid towards the trigger, and the Major's foot kicked open the doorway as the targeting interface quickly scanned for, and soon after found, one such helicopter as it rose from its covered position to bring itself closer to the compound.

Young lady, every creature will one day find itself standing before its Creator.

The laser in the targeting system was activated, and in milliseconds resolved the range, angle, and distance to the target from the launch point. The helicopter's detectors alerted it immediately, and within the missile's scope she could see its own targeting laser flick on as it searched for her. It did not take long to find her, and though her eyes could not see it themselves, it didn't take much to imagine the large dot sat about her feet in a spectrum she could not view.

When they do, they will be asked a single question.

Two triggers were pulled at the same time. A single missile each departed from the Major's shoulder and the helicopter's stub winglet. The Major's was faster by far, spinning rapidly as it closed the gap between the two, the helicopter's flying straight towards her.

"What have you done with the gift of life I have given you?"

Ryder's own missile impacted the cockpit of the helicopter and its engine blocks, casting the aircraft into an unrecognizable fireball of white and black through the screen of her launcher. Letting the expended mass fall from her hands, she was allowed to witness it with her own eyes in all of its orange, red, and yellow brilliance, a small star in a darkened sky. A white streak superimposed before it turned to black as the helicopter's own missile burned its motor out, coasting directly towards her.

Will you be able to say that what you did with it was worth it?

Major Whitney Ryder smiled as she pondered that question for the final time as the black form of the missile approached, as inevitable as time itself.

Yes, she thought, as the missile crashed before her feet, instantly enveloping her in its shrapnel and blast, and sending her into eternity.

by **Legatia** » Sun Oct 15, 2023 3:21 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Apex Compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
10:30 PM, 4 October 2023

A tense and quiet silence dominated the cold, stagnant air of the first underground floor of the Apex complex. A long, singular hallway done in medical whites and accents of gray, a slight layer of dust caked nearly everything.The corridor was barely wide enough for six people to walk abreast, and yet here was being held by three teams of four. Some of the Composites defending were peeking out from adjacent doorways with rifles and guns trained towards the stairwell from where entry could be made, so compact was the space where they were concentrated was.

There was not a word shared between them, not a whisper. The hallway carried with volume even the slightest sounds, the squeak of a boot on tile, the metallic shifting of a rifle, the tightening of a strap, the click of a switch. The only pervasive sound was the gentle hum of fluorescent lights and the distant rush of conditioned air, and in the background, a quiet commotion beyond the entryway.

Questions flitted quietly in the minds of the girls there, wondering if they would live to see the sunlight once more. If they did live, even then, would they ever see it again? What would the next few hours, the climax of their lives, bring to pass? All of them wondered, but none dared speak.

The almost-quiet air was shattered by the unmistakable metal clinking of an object thrown down the stairwell. A cry went out-

“GRENADE!”

And in a flash of light, gunfire flooded the hall.

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Air Forces Academy- Orofêt, Mahine Territory
1850 hours, 5 November 1997

Some twenty-five years and change in the past, was the end of a normal day on the sun-soaked plains of Air Forces Academy Orofêt in Mahine Territory. One of Meridon’s most prestigious academic and military institutions, it served as one of the primary sources for the matriculation of career officers into the ranks of the Defense Force’s aerospace arm. At any given time here during the academic session lived, studied, and worked 4,000 officer candidates training to become commissioned in a variety of roles, and a variable legion of support staff and faculty.

Orofêt, as it was called more colloquially, was indeed a prestigious school, but prestige did not come without prejudice. Though it had been close to twenty years since the federal service academies had graduated their first classes of female officers, by no means were they equal. By far the more progressive of the Meridonian armed services, it had only been three years prior that the AFA had graduated its first female officers bound for combat roles on the ground and air- and it would be another four years before the Navy would do so. The Marines and Army would resist for over a decade beyond that.

The integration of female students into Orofêt was not without its speedbumps. The inevitable culture clashes that came with the integration of a once all-male institution touched students of all walks of life, on either side of the chromosomal aisle.

Among those students, in her second year, was one Officer Candidate Third Class Aurelia Whitegrove. As far as Academy students went, she ran mostly in the middle of the pack. Her grades and athletic performance was where it needed to be for an officer intending to fly fighters- of note was her assessed leadership acumen; above the average. She held the rank of Cadet Technical Sergeant, the seniormost position allowed to Third Class cadets, where she served as a dorm chief for a block of four rooms, responsible for eight fellow cadets.

The young officer candidate paced through the hall with a handbag containing her class materials neatly tucked beneath her right arm, exchanging idle chatter with one of her classmates and her senior of one year- Cadet Lieutenant and Flight Commander Minori Ushio. She was tall for someone of Japanese stock- very tall, taller than her own five foot six by another half-foot. The two were good friends, their relationship as junior and senior, subordinate and superordinate aside.

OCdt 3C C/TSgt Aurelia Whitegrove
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“You have to tell me, Minori;” Aurelia turned to face her compatriot as they both paced down the hallway with mutual smiles. “You got any tips for studying for Colonel Bouchier’s tests? I have all the lecture notes, but he..”

From the other end of the hallway came a group of male students carrying bunched up bedsheets and empty garbage cans under their arms. All upperclassman, evidenced by their shoulder tabs. Aurelia froze mid-sentence as she walked, her eyes lingering on the group. Her partner did not fail to notice.
“Ohhhhh…?” An arm wrapped around her shoulder as they passed by. “Aurelia, how scandalous. Romantic conduct in training is unbecoming of an officer and a lady, especially with an upperclassman. Must be quite the guy to have you caught staring.” Minori was offering her a sunny smug smile, setting Aurelia’s own cheeks to flare as red as the flag.

“W-what? No! It’s nothing like that! I haven’t ever even talked to any of them!”

“Making excuses, are you, Aurie? Two charges in one day to lie to a superior officer. So come on, fess up! Which one is it? Moreau? Atley? Oh, is it Napau?”

“N-no!”

Embarrassment was one thing, but in truth, it wasn’t any sort of romantic attraction that she felt towards the men that passed.

It was fear that Officer Candidate Whitegrove felt, when she saw their faces and what they were carrying. And shame, when she realized the date. Her heart had nearly dropped out of her chest when she realized what the date was- the same time as last year.

These men and the two women shared one other common alignment- they were members of Orofêt’s cross-country team. And the cross-country team had a ritual.

Woods near Orofêt, Mahine Territory
2119 hours, 05 November, 1997

That ritual was called the Jameson Run, after a famous story about a downed pilot in the Great War. It was a story that embodied the principles of the Air Forces- courage, skill, mental and physical fortitude, adaptability and perseverance. A fighter pilot downed in thicket jungle hundreds of miles from the nearest friendly forces made his way across a hundred miles of rainforest in two weeks with little but the clothes on his back, a knife, and scant supplies from a survival kit.

Here, it was used to ‘condition’ those the upperclassmen considered as ‘below the standard’. By default, this usually meant most of the team’s younger female members- in this era, physical aptitude standard remained consistent across the sexes, meaning women had to perform to male standards. It was done in swimsuits and at the beginning of the wet season, which made the ground damp and muddy and the rivers in the bush flow heavy. Perfect conditions for the Run.

Aurelia had been subject to this ritual in her first year, along with twelve other women and the two lowest-performing men, who were included when the team’s leadership addressed them as ‘ladies’. Alcohol was involved for the cadets supervising, and she could smell it on their breaths now. Even though this year she was not a runner herself; she was a co-captain of the long distance team, and thus alongside six men and one other girl, who was as silent as a grave- she was made to 'supervise' the event.

She felt empty being forced to witness this. She remembered vividly how she had used that same humiliation she was now witness to as fuel when she had done the race, and how she had conditioned herself rigorously afterwards. It was the reason she was the team’s second strongest female lead even in her second year, just behind Minori who served as vice-captain. Rolled down a hill into a muddy brook inside of a trash can to simulate a crash, the ritual’s victims would run around a circuit being chased by other club members- and even non members, all male, who would poke at them with sticks from the sides and behind as if pretending to be violent tribals accosting them for running too slow. Buckets of water or mud and sometimes, other liquids, were tossed onto them.

She felt empty, but what could she, a lone cadet, do? All of these men outranked and outnumbered her, and the girl by her side said little or nothing at all. She felt little and inconsequential but at the same time felt like a traitor to the girls running there that looked up to her. She looked at them the same way her seniors had looked at her last year, with helpless pity and resignation to their fate.

It was as if the jabs could be felt on her own skin as they were inflicted onto a new batch, the welts sources of shame during swim lessons and meets, the origin of hushed whispers of pity in the women’s locker room before and after practices. Every time a yelp or a cry came out the harassment came worse as the stick-bearers swarmed like hornets to its source, attacking until the assailed knew well enough to keep lips tight.

A part of her was glad that Minori was unaware of this rancid affair. She had been a strong enough runner in her first year to escape attention, being the star pupil of the team; and the year prior to this one she had been out on mortuary leave when the ritual took place. It was likely her omission from the sidelines here now was intentional, for some reason or the other. While female presence on the sidelines was condoned to give it the air of a non discriminative hazing session, they were really just there as a comparison to their mud-covered compatriots at best, or eye-candy at worst. With the amount of alcohol they were taking, and the amount of looks at the top of her own swimsuit, she had a hint of which end of the spectrum this night leaned towards.

“Candidate whuh… Whitegropfe.” A burp came from one of the first-class- senior year- cadets, standing next to her, and as was ritual she reported with a snappy salute. Her eyes were not met, she noticed as she attempted to meet his, and immediately put the thought of where his were out of her mind.

“..Sir. Officer Candidate Third Class Whitegrove, reporting as ordered.”

“We’re.. lh..low on grog. Piss off and fetch us some more from the truck.”

“..Aye, sir.” Pivoting on a bare-footed heel, Aurelia swallowed hard as she went to march back to the trail nearby. She sucked in air through her teeth as ‘ooh’s and laughs followed her through the brush, no doubt telling her she was being watched as she left.

Her breaths were shaky as she tread through the sopping wet ground back to the earthen trail, where the cross-country team’s Linebacker ute truck was held chock-full of alcohol and empty buckets and barrels. The windows were rolled down, but the vehicle itself was unoccupied.

Rifling through piles of track jackets, T-shirts and shorts, she had to take care to make sure they did not fall into the muddy dirt beside the ute if she did not want to incur a senior’s wrath. She sucked her own emotional breaths back through her teeth as she heard a pair of feet coming down the trail, more than likely one of the other upperclassmen on watch. As her hands began to make contact with the clinking bottles of Alexandrie Première beers underneath, a voice called out that stopped her in her tracks.

“..Aurelia?”

Almost snapping to attention by instinct she turned to face the origin like a deer caught in headlights. Standing before her, illuminating her with a red-tinted flashlight clipped to a reflective PT belt, was none other than that same Minori, dressed in the same style of track jacket and shorts that comprised of the pile Aurelia had just been rifling through.

OCdt 3C C/TSgt Aurelia Whitegrove
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“C-Cadet Lieutenant Ushi-”

“Cut the bullshit, Aurie. What in the high hell are you doing? Wait, is that your swimsuit? And that’s.. Grog..? Aurie!”

The genuine anger in her friend’s voice shook her to her already shaken core. Now she did fly to a position of attention, watching as the faint moonlight illuminated an arching brow on Minori’s face.

“I…”

“..Aurelia.”

“..They.. never told you, did they?”

“What? Who never told me what? Are you smuggling booze? No, that doesn’t explain the swimsuit and bare feet.”

“..The ritual.. They…” Her voice croaked, and her knees rotated inwards as guilt fell onto her shoulders like a landslide. The anger on her friend’s face slid off to be replaced with even stronger concern as a hand reached out to take her shoulder.

“Ritual? What?! You’re in a… Aurie- a-are you crying?!”

“Nuh…. no.. I’m. I am… I failed, I’m.. n-not fit for-”

“Aurie.” Minori’s other hand stabilized Aurelia’s shoulders as she flicked her head upwards as if to force her to meet her eyes. “...Show me.”

“But they-”

“I wasn’t asking. I’ll be right here with you, all right..? Come on. Do I need to sound cadence for you? ‘Cause I will.” A lip tugged on Minori’s face, but Aurelia’s own was far from feeling so lighthearted.

The walk felt like it took an hour, but it was scant less than five minutes before Minori managed to set her eyes upon the spectacle that was ongoing in the woods. As soon as the realization hit her face, Aurelia reached out as if to stop her, but mutely let her hand hang as she broke into a sprint to cover the last twenty yards of muddy ground between her and the group of perpetrators.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Keep your cunt voice down, Minori-”

In a scant second, in the blink of an eye, the blonde-haired team captain who had just spoken had the wind knocked out of his lungs as Minori delivered a punch that doubtless broke his nose and sent him into the dirt dazed and starry-eyed. The other men, disoriented by alcohol already, nevertheless scrambled to try and put distance between the two involved, no one daring to return the very physical retribution that she had delivered. Aurelia too closed the distance, her mind racing as to why this all was happening the whole way.

OCdt 2C C/Ltn Minori Ushio
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“I’m not believing what I’m seeing, is this some sort of prank? Some practical joke? Is this a set for some saints-damned comedy show?”

The response came from the upperclassman she recognized as second-class cadet Moreau.
“This is the Jameson Run, Ushio! It’s to push our lowest performers up to our standards. To run like you- like we- do..”

“Bullshit! You think I got better at running by being poked by drunkards with fucking twigs? And why is it all of the fourth-class girls that are here? Tallows and McBride, too, and you’re making them wear women's swimsuits? You think that helps their running, are you fucking serious?!”

“This is tradition, this is what our team does, and what it has done for years-”

“Tradition? That’s what you’re labeling this? What this is, is criminal. It’s revolting. It’s the kind of things I’d expect out of some sort of backwards primates living in trees. Some things are meant to go in the trashbin of history. This is one of them. You think I can’t tell just because you brought Cassie and Aurelia here to watch that this is to single out the girls?”

“And what do you call striking a superior officer?” A Tangaran cadet sneered as he knelt at the side of the still-dazed team captain, a comment to which Minori could only scoff.

“Superior? You think you’re superior to me, Natau? Atley? Don’t make me laugh. I can’t believe I used to look up to you. The both of you- all of you. I feel sick even looking at you right now. To know the seniors, the leadership of the club I- that we all love and pour our sweat and blood into, condoned this? That one day you would be giving me orders as my superior officers? I’d rather resign my commission.”

“You might well have to, you little bitch;” Atley, the club captain, finally rose as he wiped a smear of blood from his nose. “Violence between cadets is a Grade X offense. They might roll you in as a ranker. That black mark on your career will last you a lifetime.”

“Good;” she commented as she watched him be assisted to his feet. “I’d rather wear stripes with pride than stars as a lapdog. Unless you want plastic surgery on that nose of yours, take what’s left of your dignity and scram. The lot of you. Cassie, will you get those non-clubbers to piss off and get the others brought over here? And for the Saint’s sakes, get those two boys some pants!”

The men before them shared a few looks before deciding to allow discretion to rule here, and took Minori’s command to vacate. In short order, the harassers were dispersed, and the girls (and two boys) were doused in what barrels of water remained to cleanse them and offered towels and shirts.

Through the whole affair, Aurelia could only watch with awe. How fearlessly Minori could confront and decry the injustices happening before her and without hesitation to boot. It helped that her physical presence itself was commanding, but her command aura and steel-strong sense of morality in this situation cast a ray of light onto the young Officer Candidate. Doubtless, there would be consequences for her actions, and she must have known this. Formal punishments and the unending hatred she would receive from the upperclassmen involved for the next two years of her term at Orofêt- if she lasted that long.

But even more confoundingly, Minori seemed unbothered. She even smiled to the group as they passed her to gather their things, and make the trek back to the Academy in the night. They were told to wash up and go to bed by Minori, lead by Cassie, one of the ones who had been observing. That left the two girls alone, to walk back together under the night sky.

OCdt 2C C/Ltn Minori Ushio
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“..Minori.” After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Aurelia could no longer stay quiet. She felt like she was screaming at mass, fearing of the retribution that might come from her dearest frie-

“..Yes, Aurie?” The tone in which Minori responded took half of the weight off of Aurelia’s feet. It was as carefree and warm as it always was- maybe even a bit more. That shocked her more than anything.

“You.. ah.. aren’t mad at me?”

“And why would I be? I know for a fact you weren’t involved in planning it. Atley and his goons just corralled you into it the same as they did Cassie. You’re far too rigid to procedure, you always have been.”

“..But I knew about it. They made me race in it my first year, and.. I never said anything. Even to you, even though I knew I-”

“You always want to take the world on your shoulders when it goes wrong, Aurie. Always so self-critical and diligent. But that’s not what they’re looking for here. If they wanted people to stick to the letter and snap a rigid salute, they’d just hire robots. Officers need to be able to stand for what’s right. Junior or senior, you need the guts to stand up when something is not right. You want to be a fighter pilot, right? If your mission commander is telling you to fly into a cliff, are you going to do it just because he has one more stripe than you? And then when you’re brought up before command, you’re going to say that you should have known better?”

Aurelia blinked quietly. Minori exhaled, a smile still on her lips as a gentle breeze whipped through the treeline and tussled both girl’s long hair as they followed the length of the trail.

“Being an officer- being a leader means being able to know what calls to make and when. It’s as simple as that, no matter what they tell you in all these classes. I might not have made the right call knocking Atley in his sniffer, and they’ll ring my bell about that. But I’ll learn from it in one way or the other, and that’s what life is all about.”

“..Right;” Aurelia wanted to offer a more robust response to Minori’s, but she felt drained. Even with the weight of guilt somewhat alleviated from her shoulders, the course of the night had sapped her energy. And so, Minori filled the silence.

“And the decisions you made. Looking back on them, being silent and being a bystander and party to all of this trash… it feels awful, downright, oath?”

“..It feels awful;” Aurelia confirmed with a shamed look to her side.

“..Good. Then remember that feeling, and don’t ever let yourself fail that way again.”

Apex Compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
5:30 AM, 5 October 2023

In a darkened room and in a cold sweat, Air Lieutenant Commandant Aurelia Whitegrove awoke, her breaths heavy and hurried. Taking a moment to steady herself, she rose to a stand, bare feet beneath her flightsuit making contact with the cold, tiled floor; and not a moment later the ground shook with a rumble that could have only been an explosion.

She reached for the doorhandle, pulling it inwards, and- moving forward- stepped into the midst of the fight.

by **Legatia** » Mon Oct 16, 2023 6:08 pm

"Let me explain something about Lady Stoliska, Mister President. There are two buttons in her head - 'The Enemies of the Commonwealth are innumerable', and 'The Allies of the Commonwealth all seek to exploit it'. She presses these two buttons at random, often at the same time. Unfortunately for the both of our nations in this situation, she has often been right."
- Maximilian von Ehrenbach, to President William Acton, Morning of 10/3/2775

NOTICE- All dates in this story arc from 'Concursus I' will be retroactively edited to be conducted one month in advance- November, rather than October, for continuity purposes.

(Co-written post with Polish Prussian Commonwealth/Blauveldt-Ryszana!)

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Blauveldter-Ryszanan Embassy, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria Territory
10:00 PM, 4 October 2023

Stoliska paced back and forth, back and forth. The red-haired nature-spirit’s ears twitched with agitation and anger, a dead line seemingly taunting her as she cradled the phone in her hand.

“Damn it all.” she muttered, as she slammed the phone down. The Composites were being slaughtered, with little in the way of word besides that fact as of a few hours ago.

She took a little solace in the fact that at home, word had spread fast. It was almost amazing how quickly public opinion had turned against Meridon – but then again, it was amazing how quickly they had dropped their facade as well. Stoliska had always suspected that some 'particle of Adraestia' had lurked in the hearts of the Merrie-folk, and were it not for the deaths, she would almost be gleeful. Protests had ramped up in intensity around the consulates of the Merriefolk, air travel had ceased, and there were serious questions regarding what the hell Blauveldt-Ryszana was doing allied with such a nation. If she were more politically-minded, she would have spent her time fanning the flames, driving the split beyond repair.

She had no intention of that, despite her reputation as a firebrand. No doubt some of her shortsighted citizens and kinsmen wished for such a split. But she was here for one reason and one reason only:

To save the lives of all her children.

…Unfortunately, however, her hosts were making it difficult for her. Thrice she had called the President, thrice he had been out. It was, without a doubt, intentional – he had no desire to see her, and no desire to answer for his –

His slaughter. Stoliska’s heart hardened as she thought about it more. Yes, that’s what this is, isn’t it? One more fucking suit just ‘doing what he’s supposed to’. One more bureaucrat or officer of the Adraestian state with a stinking cigar ordering Ujazdow torched for its rebellion. Well – he’ll have a piece of my damned mind if he wants to do that. And I’ll be damned if I stay in this building, or in this city, any longer.

She picked the phone up again, and dialed one last time. Before the secretary on the other end could even get a word in edgewise, she cut them off. “Enough is enough. Tell Acton that I am coming.”

Whiteriver Manor, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria Territory
11:00 PM, 4 October 2023

The steady, pounding of hooves against the cobbles soothed Stoliska’s mind a little. Once again she was in the saddle, though on a hopeless errand. Even if she turned up in person, it was unlikely that Acton would deign to speak with her. Even if he did, he would remain the same, inflexible monster.

But she would leave no doubt in the minds of her detractors, in the minds of her kinsmen – that she had, at least, tried – that she had swallowed her pride, at least for once. After that – after that, she considered herself free to act as she needed.

With that thought, she checked her horse and let him rear up with a loud, sharp whinny – before he brought his hooves back down to earth, his horseshoes striking sparks on the cobbles. She dismounted with practiced ease, and tied his reins to a lamppost.

Security around Whiteriver Manor was already increased, due to the ongoing protests that raged during day and night hours. This late at night, the cobbled street leading to Whiteriver’s public entrance was lit in hues of orange by aged streetlamps, casting amber glows against adjacent buildings.

No less than twenty armed men sat around the gatehouse with the century-old bronze plaque that labeled the manor, all with a firearm in hand, on hip, or both. Grey-fatigued members of the Federal Protective Service with ballcaps and black vests, members of 1 Regiment Federal both in khaki dress and camouflage battlesmock- the latter bearing platecarriers and rifles, the former with ceremonial wooden-stocked bolt actions with gleaming white bayonets affixed. The platecarrier-donning and rifle-carrying 1 RF members were additional security augments, while the grey-suited FPS members and the ceremonial guards- two standing guard on each side of the gate- were regular fixtures.

“HALT!” The call came first from a pair of the FPS agents, pacing forward with black F72 rifles held in their hand. “Not any further, miss. This area’s not open to the public.”

Stoliska paced forward, staring down the men with the rifles. She came closer, and closer, though she kept her hands raised slightly to eliminate any rationale the guards might have to fire on her.

"I am Jadwiga Stoliska of the Blauveldter-Ryszanan diplomatic mission." she declared. "I called ahead to your people regarding seeing your…President.. Run it up the chain of command if you'd like."

There was some chatter between the guards, and glances between themselves and Stoliska. A hand took hold of a radio and some back and forth chatter was had over the course of five minutes.

At last, the seniormost of the FPS officers, identified by a trio of white stripes on his uniform as a sergeant, shook his head. “Miss.. Stoliska, is it? The on-duty secretary says she has nothing on the books, and the President isn’t receiving visitors at this hours. Unless you have further business I’m going to have to ask you leave.”

“I’ll have to say no to that.” Stoliska smiled and began to start forward again.

The sergeant simply frowned, and held a hand up. “..Out of respect for your diplomatic status, I’m going to have to insist. You are welcome to stand by if you like, but if you move any further you’re going to be detained. I don’t think either of us want that.”

Stoliska stared a long, long time at the sergeant. Her smile disappeared.

“Alright. Then I’ll go look into the situation yourself. No hard feelings, lads. I know you’re all just following orders.”

She spun back around on her heel and headed to her horse, before untying her horse and riding away.

She had a ferry to catch to Havenville. But – first, she had a call to make.

Out came her satellite-phone, and in went a different number – that of Vice-President Yui Townley.

Summerhall Presidential Reserve, Dorado District, Mahine Territory
11:07 PM, 4 October 2023

Hundreds of miles south in the rural Dorado district of central Mahine Territory, an operator answered a phone line that controlled access to the Vice President’s personal phone. Normally, this would be a duty handled by a chief secretary during the daylight hours- but even as the Vice President worked this late, her secretary had gone to sleep. Instead answered a younger man on the phone.

“This is the Vice President’s office on secure line, state your name and purpose for call, please?”

“Jadwiga Stoliska, and here to ask you what the fuck you think you’re doing over at Advent Island, since apparently Acton cannot even entertain this old hag for even a few minutes.”

There was a brief pause on the line as the secretary looked at the phone with confusion. A response came almost incredulously over the line.

“Jadwig.. Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?”
“The old woman that Blauveldt-Ryszana sent over because you kept murdering my children. As for how I got it – the ambassador gave it to me. You can check with ‘em if you want, or with the official notices of the Ryszanan Sejm, or any other source.”

Another pause. “..Oh. That makes sense, my apologies. Hold one moment.”

Stoliska fiddled with her phone slightly as she waited. She never was sure how to hold her satphone – up to her ears, or at her mouth? The phone was clearly not made with nature-spirits in mind. Eventually she settled with holding her phone at her mouth – and she was incredibly glad of that decision when the line’s idea of music came on.

The line played a set of incredibly generic hold music consisting of flute solos whose recordings were off-pitch for a telephone transponder, the high-pitched notes not even registering properly when played on some occasions. It was painfully milquetoast in its taste, clearly a government-style holding line. It was about a three minute delay before the phone was finally answered again.

“Ms Stoliska, Vice President Townley will speak with you now. ”

Another five seconds of hold brought the voice of Meridon’s Vice President, Yui Townley, finally to the receiver.

“Good evening, Ms Stoliska. This is Vice President Townley- I understand you’ve been trying to reach President Acton? I don’t think he’s been taking calls off-schedule for at least the past week, but if there’s something I might be able to help you with?”

“Alright, Townley.” Stoliska began. “What the fuck is going on there? What exactly are you trying to hide?”[/align]

Yui Townley briefly covered the receiver end of her phone with a hand to conceal a tired exhale.

“I heard that sigh.”

Yui answered that with a moment more of silence before actually offering a response.

“I assume you’re asking about the.. Situation; on Advent Island. If that’s the case you’ll need to ask a more specific question.”

“Alright, then, ‘Yui Townley’. Stoliska seethed with anger. “Here’s a few. First of all – what steps were taken towards de-escalation beforehand? What was the reasoning for the approach taken by the MDF? Did they even attempt any sort of parley?”

“No;” she began, shaking her head. “The situation, as it unfolded, was that an unknown armed group had taken an Air Forces officer hostage from a crash site. An armed standoff immediately followed, and attempts at peaceable negotiations for exchange were called off when they shot down a helicopter and killed four men. It’s policy that we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

A long, long, long laugh followed. It was not a happy laugh. It was bitter and sad and contained just a hint of madness. “Let me tell you, ‘Yui Townley’. Let me fucking tell you, I’ve heard that line before. Even had it said to my fucking face. But do go on. The helicopter. Was it a utility helicopter, or one of your rotary-wing aerial killing machines?”

“Aerial killing- Miss Stoliska, I never served, so I’m not highly familiar with military terminology. It was a military helicopter. I don’t know what make and model it was, but it wasn’t an attack helicopter.”

“...Ah, yes, I recall this one. The H50M. The one supporting the initial assault. So – Let me get this straight. You waltzed a transport helicopter towards a military unit – supposedly while negotiations were ongoing – and expected it not to be shot down.”

“Are you suggesting we should tolerate our military’s assets being destroyed and our servicemen killed on our own soil? For any reason?”

“I am suggesting that you are incompetent, and so is your military.” Stoliska shot back. “I have been on the other side of these situations, Yui Townley, and I know your playbook. Ujazdow, 2696 and 2698. Play at negotiations, make a provocation, then raze the place to the ground when they shoot back. Blunt – stupid. But it’s worked for you so far, hasn’t it?”

The Vice President could only sigh as she was being spoken to like a child. If only this was new to her. She prayed that one day her daughter Yukino might have the fortitude from experience that she might have, if her wish was to be a politician like her mother. It was comforting to her, in times like these, to remember her brightest accomplishment. It was with her in mind that she replied calmly.

“If you’re calling to make an attempt to incise me, I’m not going to play ball. Let’s cut to the chase. Are you phoning me an hour before midnight to scold me, or do you actually need to discuss something?”

Stoliska’s blood boiled as Yui went on, then swallowed her anger. Let her stand in judgement before the Greater Sea or Sky, one day – let fire swallow her and rend the sinews of her soul from each other. But that was not her aim, at least not for now.

For now…

“What would it take for Acton to withdraw?”

Then there was a pause. And at last, another sigh.

“..President Acton.. Is stubborn. The truth be told to you, Stoliska, I never signed on to this plan of his- if you call it a plan, that is. It’s overreactive and insensitive, but it’s…”

“Right, whatever. Nothing’s ever your fault.” Stoliska sneered. “‘Just following orders’, I believe is the term?”

“I don’t know how familiar you are with how our system of government works, but I’m not exactly in a position to tell him no or make him stop. I’ve tried, to be sure. I don’t share his power, I’m an advisor first and a successor afterwards. If you were in my shoes, what would you want me to do?”

“Stab the fucker.” Stoliska said, almost casually. “Barring that, I’d probably resign.”

For once, Yui felt like she was the one having to explain things to her like a child.
“That wouldn’t do anything, neither for him nor the Composites.”

“On the contrary. I’ve seen it work. Made it work. I’ve lived a long time, Yui Townley. I’m not sure how much you know about my poor little patch of dirt, but we didn’t win our independence by nodding along with our ‘superiors’. But – whatever.” She paused. “I was instructed by my government to present…a secondary deal if you would not… negotiate with our chi– the Composites on Advent Island.”

“That’s the thing.” Yui interrupted there, tapping her fingers on the table. “The rumor that these Composites used Ryszanan blood- it’s just that. Yet the response from your country- and, respectfully, you in particular- is so strong. I have to ask. This is a lot going off of hearsay. Why?”

“Not hearsay.” Stoliska replied. “But I’ll not give you ammunition by telling you how we know. Ask the Herald-Marshal Stanislawa if you’re so eager to know.”

“That much I do know- that is, the fact that I know you don’t know for sure. You could have given blood to any one of three hundred million Meridonians for any number of purposes. The Doctor they speak of- even our intelligence services don’t know who she is. Those ears, those tails, they could be fiber and electronics bought from a Dollar Mart. ”

“Perhaps your intelligence services have an issue of skill, then. Whatever – I’ve done all my government has asked me to.”

“Wait a moment. I-” Yui exhaled. “..I meant what I said earlier. I have tried to stop him. He doesn’t listen to me, and.. Enough. I think we’re approaching this conversation from the wrong angle. Let’s reset the table here. You mentioned a negotiation, a secondary deal. I’d like to hear it, if you would.”

A long, long, silence. An almost equine snort. “...It involves taking the Composites into Ryszanan custody and a trial of a few of the key heads either by a civil court or a military one, depending on how negotiations go. The rest of the Composites will be settled in the Commonwealth. You don’t want them, can’t even consider the possibility of them being citizens, clearly – so we’ll take them off your hands.”

Perhaps now Yui could begin to play her cards, a soft smile coming to her face for the first time during this conversation.

“There you might be wrong. They are wanted, and.. Not entirely for their criminal activities.”

“Don’t give me that shit.” Stoliska replied, harshly. “You might want them as super-soldiers. We want them to be free to live their lives, without the MDF firing ordnance at them.”

Yui’s soft smile remained.

“Miss Stoliska. What if we could both have our cake, and eat it as well?”

“...A physical impossibility, and usually a phrase uttered before a scam. But…” Stoliska paused. “Fine. Go on.”

“..Their message isn’t as hollow as some in the administration make it out to be. They make valid points. Corporate corruption, government backdeals and circumvention are all plagues that predate our administration and will follow it as well. It’s clear the Doctor- if that is just one person- is a brilliant mind capable of what some might consider miracles. Perhaps chaining them to the government isn’t the most effective way of leveraging their talents. Perhaps, instead of governing them.. Instead of perpetuating the cycle.. I think we might try something new.”

“I think it’s my turn to say cut to the case, Vice President Townley.

“You’ll have to forgive me.. This idea is only now coming to mind. But.. putting it in broad strokes. Advent Island is already uninhabited territory. I would allow them to administrate that territory as a.. Let’s call it a special administrative area, of sorts. Not independent, but not entirely subordinated. Instead of fostering cooperation by force.. Why not invite it by mutual benefit?”

Stoliska’s jaw dropped. For an entire minute she sat there, on the back of her horse.

“...I did not – what? How? How will you–” Her mind seemed to crash, the cogs slipping and grinding to a halt.

“There’s only one way that makes legal sense if I’m to sit in Whiteriver with enough political capital to pull that off. And If I’m to have enough momentum behind my person to do that..”

“...And you want me to help with that.” Stoliska paused. “I’ll do what I can. But I’ll hold you to that. This convo’s been recorded, for your information.”

“I would imagine. And if you released it, I’d be out of a job, and I’m sure you know that. The question is simple. Will Blauveldt and Ryszana be able to support me?”

“They would. I would have to present this proposal to Stanislawa, at least. But they would back it fully.”

“Then..” Yui exhaled one last time as she looked off towards a window. “Give Marshal Stanislawa my warm greetings. Goodnight, Miss Stoliska.”

The line cut.

“...Mrs.” Stoliska said – though the line was already dead. She let the phone drop from her ear. The shock passed – the anger had long drained from her – leaving nothing left.

She slumped down in the saddle, and stared ahead in silence – letting her horse trod along as he wished.

They have a way out. The thought seemed surreal – just a minute ago, and still now, they were fighting. Dying.

They have a way out. The thought repeated itself. It seemed more real now – real as the feeling of the reins in her hands, of the mist on her cheeks.

They have a way out. She took the reins and spurred her horse to a gallop, as memories flooded her mind and tears her eyes. A young babe in her lap – a boy of ten with reddish hair and horse-ears, waving his little wooden sword in playful challenge – a girl of fourteen, with her mother’s eyes, in a too-big olive-green uniform cut down to size with a knife, a captured steel-pot helmet on her head and a crude submachine gun in her hands, waving with a sad smile before she ran into the crowd and towards the barricade.

My children have a way out.

A smile finally broke out on her face – not a smirk, a sneer. A broad, happy smile – with laughter rising in her chest even as tears ran down her cheeks.

There would no longer be a need for that ferry to Havenville.

by **Legatia** » Mon Oct 16, 2023 7:28 pm

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Apex Compound, Advent Island, Eastern Islands Territory
06:30 AM, 5 October 2023

Aurelia had scantly peeked her head out from the doorwell before she yanked it back inwards. A bullet zipped past her nose and slammed into the wall beside her. Her ears were already ringing from the absolutely deafening thunder of gunfire saturating the hallway- in effect, the only thing she could hear was noise. She was amazed she could hear the screams of the Composites trying to conquer the decibels to get instructions out-

“MATRON UP FROM THE REAR!”
“SMOKE AND FLASH! FALL BACK!”

Aurelia slammed the door shut as her ears were flooded with the totality of noise owed to a stun grenade dominated the hallway. Her breath quickly picked up with her heartbeat, and she pressed away from the door and fell inwards.

The only thing that remained in the room was a radio- her radio. She stumbled forward, uneasy on her feet, but fell onto the table it was held on before pressing the receiver firmly against her ear and screaming into it. She could barely hear the conversation over the gunfire, and didn’t hear the sound of her nurse from earlier flying inwards and slamming the door behind her just in time to overhear the conversation.

She yelled. A man responded, confused but calm. She yelled again, the words flying from her lips but her ears not picking them up. She yelled again, a response. The same twice more, and then she could finally hear herself speak.

“I am alive and they will let me walk free!” She insisted, despite having no confirmation of the latter point. “I am ordering you- stop this madness right this second and cease fire!”

Morgan, standing behind her, watched, shakily, as a hand hovered over the small sidearm she had tucked into her belt. She looked at this woman, on the floor, unsure of her convictions, of her motives. If she allowed this to go through, they would lose the only reason for mercy their group had.

But if she did that, she would be just like them. Fearful, reactive. Rigid. Everything that their kind, their group, their family, wanted to stand in contrast.

Her hand dropped as Aurelia came to her feet, and Morgan saw the conviction in the officer’s shimmering violet eyes as she strode with what strength she maintained once more to the door. And she watched.

And slowly, like a rainfall parting for the sun, the gunfire came to subside.

Federal Party National Headquarters, Cordelia, Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria
8:30 AM, 5 October 2023

Emily Richardson, chairwoman for the ruling Federal Party, stared forward from beneath a furrowed eyebrow over the well-lit table containing members from her own party, as well as the Agrarian and Union Party. She might be able to enjoy the morning view of the softly lit, still-dark early morning streets in the heart of the capital of the Territories were it not for the mountain of stress that lay squarely on her shoulders. As had many politicians in the Federal government, she had not had much sleep since the bombshell on Advent had dropped a few days ago.

“Alright, Matteo;” she sipped gently of a cup of water, with resolution beneath a face that was clearly weary. “..With the President as a known variable, what are we standing here?”

The man at the board, a senior staffer, shook his head morosely. “At our current standings it is looking increasingly dire. More members of the Liberal party are joining on-board with the NMP-led proposal to force a vote of no confidence. If Acton is ousted, it’s not likely we win the election that follows. We’re even having defectors from our own party. The TUPs are completely on board, as are the Workers and Greens.”

“How could he bungle all of that good work in a week? How? We were coasting to an easy win in twenty-five.” A Federal Councilman, clearly dealing with the fatigue worse than the chairwoman, rested his head in his hands.

“So that puts us at ninety-five, before the Liberals and with the optimistic estimate of no leakers from any of the coalition parties..”

“Optimistic, it’s a dream. Acton’s public support evaporated overnight when he decided to arbitrarily down a civilian flight;” an Agrarian Senator slammed his fist on the table. “We’re going to have defectors from every party wanting him out on principle, forget the fucking vat-girls.”

“Watch your tone, Mr. Butler, they’ve got quite the public support. It’s quite intriguing, you know, how a career politician gets morally outmaneuvered by a twenty-something form of artificial life.”

“If it’s not a bunch of girls playing dressup-”

“They aren’t.” Emily interrupted as she leveled a brow at him that lacked any patience. “The Defense Forces thought the same thing and now half a hundred of them are casualties. They aren’t weevils or locusts, you don’t remove them like you remove a wasp’s nest.”

“A wasp’s nest is exactly what they are.”

“Enough, Butler! What, do you want to go on Eagle Radio as a pundit, or are you interested in governing? Hornet, horsewoman, call them what you want to but the fact is that in the public’s eyes they’re trying to be made into scapegoats. They aren't buying it, barely anyone is. And if we can’t get Acton to lay his foot off the gas-”

The door was thrown open by an intern of 20 years age, a startling revelation in which the members of the room turned to flummoxed and flustered. “Madam Chairwoman-”

“There had better be a damn good reason you threw open doors that are labeled ‘do not disturb’, boy-”

“-The Vice President.”

It was only a few moments later that the business-suited and (for once) decently-rested Yui Townley made her entry into the conference room, the members of the assembled war room rising as if to offer their respect. “..Madam Vice President, you should have told us you were planning on coming.”

Vice President Yui Townley

Federal Party National Headquarters, Cordelia,
Cordelia Federal District, Alexandria

“I wasn’t, until a few hours ago. I left a call but I suppose it must have went to voicemail. But let’s cut to the chase. We’re at risk of getting ousted from the Executive if we don’t do anything. I’ve got one last gamble.. That’s to have him resign, and allow me to take the reins.”

A murmur went across the room as words were exchanged between those seated. Words like “coup” and “unprecedented” were in them- indeed, not once had a Meridonian president been ‘forced’ to resign. There had been two who resigned due to mental or physical disabilities, but never one by political pressure, internal or otherwise.

“And what makes you think Acton will do that?” Richardson leaned forward on her table.

“Acton is stubborn;” Yui admitted with a gentle dip of her chin. “But he’s not ignorant. He can see what’s going on, even if his focus is lasered elsewhere. He’s nothing if he isn’t a 'problem solver'- and if he realizes he’s not getting results- that’s his whole brand… Well, I’m going to talk to him. And if that fails.. I guess we’ll face the light at the polls, now won’t we?”

A quiet round of whispers came across the table as those assembled debated the situation proposed towards them.

“What’s the deal? Is there a catch?” A question came from another Federal party senator.

“The catch is that you let Acton retire in grace, and give me a blank slip to handle the Advent Island situation. I’m not discounting running in ‘25.. But I won’t ask for unconditional support there. You get to run whomever you’d like, and in the shortest term, I’ll have a year and some change of governance.”

There was much conversation about that- most particularly, her second caveat. It was quite a lot to ask, and the men and women at this table had quite the colorful variety of opinions on what might warrant being done. The only one that didn't indulge in the conversation was the chairwoman- rather, she seemed resigned and annoyed both, and raised her hand to cull the chatter.

"The longer we let ourselves bicker about this- the longer we drag it out- the more gasoline we give the Liberals to light our pyre in a year and some change. What we're doing isn't working. Does anyone here have a better idea that keeps us in office?"

Voices fell hushed, to grumbles and whispers. Shakes of heads and stares at the floor. Expecting this, Richardson rotated her seat to face the Vice President.

“..Very well, Miss Townley.” The chairwoman extended her hand. Yui took it, shook it.. And then, she made her way towards Whiteriver Manor.

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
8:00 PM , 5 October 2023

At 3 PM, Meridonian and global news networks and broadcasters were alerted by the Executive Office of Public Affairs that a press statement was to be made by the President in five hours. Speculation started immediately, flooding social media networks, political talk shows, bars and coffee houses across the land. It was the first made since the beginning of the Advent crisis, and with political resentment on both aisle threatening to thrash out at each other like newly-uncaged predators, speculation went wild.

At 7 PM, every major broadcasting news network in the country had already began or was beginning live coverage of the press statement, provided exclusively by the Meridonian Public Affairs Network (M-PAN) and streamed there onto the network. At 7:55, the coverage had switched from scenes of large Meridonian cities such as Port Sistine and Cordelia onto the podium standing upon a red-carpeted hallway. At 7:58, commentary went quiet. At 8:03, the black-suited and dark-tied President made his way down the hallway before resting a set of papers and his hands upon the Podium, almost as if he were holding it in place. His fingers tensed about the well-maintained spicewood it was built of as he looked over the script, and then upwards.

“Good evening, my fellow Meridonians.”

The President would clear his throat, looking at a prepared script lying before him as his eyes moved from it to the camera in a well-practiced manner, one befitting of a career politician and a practiced public speaker. He stood rigidly, almost at military attention were it not for his hands resting atop the podium emblazoned with the Federal Republic’s seal.

“In my three and a half years of service to this nation in this office I have operated not as a politician but as a man who is able to get things done. It is the reason that I was elected in 2020 to lead this wonderful country. As I have always been, I remain a man committed to the success of our nation regardless of what faces it. With multipartisan support I passed MeriHealth, making sure that every one of our citizens has access to quality healthcare services. With vigor I have guided our country through the tumultuous waters of modern global affairs, fighting to ensure Meridon’s place in the sun remains free of the clouds that gather about it. In a week, our armed forces under my direction repaid the blood debt owed to the Masculist regime in New England, and over our membership in ICON I presided and directed its expansion from a loosely-knit association to a well-integrated defensive pact that serves to forward Meridonian interests abroad and form strong bonds in peace and in adversity.”

“But leaders of free people are defined by their means, as well as their ends. Your President is nothing if but the strong arm of your Republic, who is able to carry the will and ensure the welfare of those he serves with pen as well as sword.”

“I have heard those cries of protest in cities across the Republic. I have seen the wrongs conducted under my watch. You have spoken, and I am listening. It is my understanding that your representatives in Council no longer lack confidence in my ability to safely lead our country into the future. Rather than absorb this nation in more tumult and political infighting, despite my own drive to see this country succeed and to see myself as the one leading it in these decisive times, a leader must command the confidence of his people. In this, I do not, and thus, I must act as every leader must- in the best interest of those they serve.

Therefore, effective in one hour, I will resign formally the office of President of the Federal Republic. Thence, Vice President Townley will be sworn in to serve the remainder of my term.

In doing this act, I am making history, but it humbles me to know that in the light of what lies ahead that this mar might be a footnote in the great history of our country. The Vice President has the energy and the ideas to unite us in these trying times, and it is my final request as your President that you offer her your support in these trying times.

The President clears his throat and faces the camera with a stout expression.
“I close by saying that it has been an honor and a privilege to serve this Republic since my days in territorial politics. I may not stand at its helm, but I will remain at watch over our great ship of state, into the waters that wait us all beyond.”

“May God and the Saints watch over our proud nation. Good night.”

The President turned from the podium to the sound of camera shutters, passing behind a pair of heavy oak doors before the footage became still.

Seven minutes later, the overloaded Eureka social media network servers crashed.

by **Legatia** » Sat Oct 28, 2023 10:20 am

FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF MERIDON
Te-Rangi Ainsley Williams Senior High School, Misanui, Taikorea Territory
16 October 2023

Te-Rangi Ainsley Williams Senior High School was not quite the usual location for a meeting of this high level. Indeed, it wasn’t the first choice of neither Townley nor Whitegrove, the two women from the Federal government chairing it. Students, with girls in blue and white sailor uniforms and boys in white collared shirts with blue ties and black pants, watched with curious eyes, blatantly distracted from their classwork. Despite the high acumen of those studying in this school, the interest provoked by the ongoings in one of the sectioned-off wings of the school was far too alluring for mind nor eye to avoid.

The teachers were, indeed, annoyed at the distraction caused to their lesson plans, but none among their number could claim to not be intrigued at the excitement overtaking their school. The double-doors sectioning off the Performing Arts wing of the school were under guard by a pair of Federal Protective Service agents and a pair of Misanui Police Service officers. Every entrance to the wing was covered by at least two men with rifles each, and the approaches towards it were covered by police armed with carbines. On occasion, Misanui police officers would pace the hallways and the school grounds as precautions dictated.

Sat inside one of the larger interior rooms around a cobbled-together set of tables were a small number of officials representing the Executive. Among them were the heads of the Interior and Defense departments, Raione Hakopa and Jason Meritt respectively. Sat at the right-hand seat of the head of one end of the table was Air Lieutenant Commandant Whitegrove, whose face was still bandaged, although she looked a deal more formal in a set of Class II summer dress, a sky blue shirt and rank tabs on an otherwise unadorned uniform- clearly borrowed. She had only recently been released from medical custody, and had not time to fly back to her office in Suiset Ridge in Kalua territory. The other occupants were not so inconvenienced, wearing suits of tan, black, and gray. At its head and eschewing a jacket was the figure of the new President, who had only just arrived.

Heading a delegation three heads strong from Advent was Mélisande, herself accompanied by Morgan and Sierra, perhaps the outlier of their group with her fox-eared head versus theirs of equine origin. Not one of them was dressed formally. The closest to that description would be Mélisande, whose outfit was a white shirt, black tie, and simple black skirt that could pass for officewear or a school uniform. Morgan, medical expert by trade, wore a blue collared shirt and a darker blue skirt with a white labcoat, foregoing a tie. Sierra, whose ply was warfare, wore a dark-color military fatigue uniform in camouflage, which at least had the courtesy of being ironed and clean for its utter lack of adornment with name, or rank, or any other insignia beyond velcro patches where they might have gone.

Yui Townley passed by the heads of her Executive Departments, she regarding them as they regarded her. She had sat among them as ‘equals’ in advisor capacities before as the Vice President, but now they were her advisors. She let that thought drift for a moment before she spoke.

President Yui Townley

Te-Rangi Ainsley Williams Senior High School,
Misanui, Taikorea Territory

“..I was expecting to speak to the Doctor who created you Composites;” she began as she moved to take her seat. “Where is she?”

“On Advent Island, safe and sound.” Mélisande answered in a straightforward tone. “The Doctor is deeply mistrustful of those on the outside, especially so after the incident we just went through. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Not to mention her.. Ahem, apprehension regarding helicopters. It has certainly not been helped in recent days.” Morgan commented softly, clasping a glass of water between her hands.

“When does she plan on meeting us?” Meritt leaned in, seeming spurned almost at the lack of a human presence in the other delegation. The question was answered succinctly by Sierra.

“When she wants to.”

Yui glanced off to the side and disguised a slight and wistful smile behind an outwards breath. Were it ever in doubt that these girls had Ryszanan stock..

“This is quite the spectacle you girls are putting on.” Leaning back into his seat in a feign of amazement, Defense Secretary Meritt cocked a brow towards the opposing end of the table. “This is the President who you’re talking to, the real deal, and she won’t even bring herself out of her cave. Even after all of these ridiculous demands- in an active high school? Really? Not even a hotel or a field somewhere?”

“And you blame her after that whole sordid affair?” Sierra scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “A school full of children is one place you might not try to bomb us out of.”

“Regardless of our position, self-preservation is a basic.. and human.. instinct. I am sure you can understand that much, Secretary Meritt.” A tad more diplomatically, Morgan clasped her hands before her on the table. “The fact that Doctor Kawakami remains on the island-”

“..Takaoka, was her name.” The three with non-human ears were rather shocked by the on-the-head comment from the Air Lieutenant Commandant. “I believe that was what I was told her name was.. That is, her real name, and not the one you’re using for the press.”

“..How did you-” Sierra dropped the ball this time, earning a raised brow from Morgan and an averted one from Mélisande. The three exchanged looks between eachother before mutually realizing the situation. The four at the opposite ends shared looks, most directed towards Aurelia, but they lacked the surprise their counterparts had.

“We’ve done some digging after the Lieutenant Commandant’s debriefing. The files match up. Anna Takaoka, twenty-two years old, born 31 June, 2001.. Father, Vincent Granby, mother, Sarah Takaoka, and sister, Captain Maria Takaoka. All three of them are dead, and she has no family. No ties. She’s a ghost woman.” The Interior Secretary, a Tangaran woman with tied-back bushy brown hair, leveled her playing cards at the three.

“Even if this information is true;” Mélisande, slowly recovering from the unpleasant reminder of her slip all the way back at the beginning of the affair, re-settled herself in her seat. “You admit yourself she has no outside ties. Which means that you won’t be able to act on it.”

“Are you quite so sure about that?” Hakopa interlaced her hands, resting her elbows on the table. “In your position, I wouldn’t be.”

“Enough.” Yui raised a hand at the end of the table. “We aren’t here to sling threats. Nor are we here to trade apologies. Quite frankly, we can all agree you are all still dangerous. I called off the assault on the Apex compound because talking was becoming the more beneficial option. The fate of everyone on that island rests on what we hash out here today. So perhaps we can take the diplomatic approach, yes? I’d rather not revert to what we were doing, and I think you three can say the same.”

Sierra and Mélisande traded unsure glances, and Morgan teetered a bit restlessly in her chair before offering a glance to their lead. Mélisande cleared her throat.

“Yes, Madam President, in this we can agree. So? We are quite clearly the party at disadvantage. I suppose we must hear what is demanded of us first.”

President Yui Townley

Te-Rangi Ainsley Williams Senior High School,
Misanui, Taikorea Territory

“Let’s not make this confrontational, Miss Mélisande. I think you might like what you come to hear.” Natural skepticism was apparent on the face of the three Composites as the President straightened her posture into the back of her chair.

“To be quite honest, I’ll put it bluntly. I was a bit moved myself, when I heard the points you and that newscaster made. Corporate corruption, government complacency in it. Meridon has much to be proud of, but you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

“That’s putting it quite lightly.” Sierra looked unimpressed by Townley’s pivot, though the President expected this and remained unfazed. The two women shared a gaze as if momentarily evaluating eachother before Townley’s shifted, back towards the group as a whole.

“We can sit here and debate the past all we want, but we can’t change it. We’re here to determine the future. Not just yours, but the future of Meridon’s as a whole. Whether you care very much or very little about it- the decisions we make today will last well beyond my lifetime, and.. Well, we don’t know how long Composites will live for. I suppose with how young you all are, it might be beyond my lifetime too. So, I’ll lay my cards on the table.”

As if to figuratively do so, the President flattened her palms against the wooden table, her gaze maintaining a hopeful luster to it that kept the Composites on the table’s opposite end on edge.

“Artificial life is a major step forward in the scientific community. It means quite a bit for the nation. In the interest of taking the flower your Doctor has taken and allowing it to have a proper chance to prosper, everyone in your group will be pardoned by myself personally. Including the Doctor. Advent Island- and the eastern Hood Island, similarly vacant- will be excluded as a Special Administrative Area of the Federal Republic. We will retain the right of oversight as it will be a Federally-administered area, but you will be free to organize it and run it as you might please. Further participation in Meridonian society can come at a later date, provided that you are able to keep this agreement and avoid inviting undue foreign influences or further destabilizing domestic affairs.”

Yui’s proposal had the expected effect. Mélisande looked flabbergasted, and Morgan’s lips were not quite well kept together. Sierra did the best at hiding her emotions, and even now, hers was a visage that projected disbelief as well as any billboard might advertise.

“There has to be a catch;” Morgan raised the concern, to which the President could simply offer a nod to.

“Of course there is. This is quite the generous offer we’re giving to you. It’s.. why don’t we call it your blank slate? But we’ll put it this way. You’ve proven in your spar with our defense forces that you’re quite capable in the military arena- and who’s to say what others?”

“There’s not a chance we’ll replace the companies we just buried.” Sierra spoke instantly, slamming a seething fist down on the table hard enough to just noticeably deform its surface. This briefly startled the two secretaries at Yui’s side, but the President simply blinked, not quite moved herself.

“..No, you wouldn’t. And that’s not what we’re asking you to do. As a matter of fact, it’s a chance to do the opposite. Willingstone was on payroll to do whatever the President wanted that the Senate wasn’t willing to okay for him. You lasses.. You’re not dependent on money. The 15 Rush laundered you quite a bit of funds we can’t get our hands on, even now. Money isn’t quite everything. As you’ve seen yourself, there are forces in this world, within and without, that want you and your kind dead for a number of reasons. You need someone that will have your back. Instead of seeing us as employers, or masters.. I think we should work as partners.”

“Partners..?” Mélisande repeated back, to which the President responded with a gentle nod.

“Partners;” she confirmed. “You don’t take payments in money, but there’s plenty of things you don’t have. Anything that goes into or off of that island won’t be escaping our notice anytime soon. Food, ammunition, weapons, supplies, clothes… contractors for buildings, the materials to make those buildings. I could go on. I think that should be more than enough to keep your interest not too far from Meridon’s own.”

Mélisande

Te-Rangi Ainsley Williams Senior High School,
Misanui, Taikorea Territory

“And what kind of work will that entail?” Mélisande posited.

“Whatever we need of you. Right now, I suppose your applications are primarily military. If this Doctor of yours would be willing to come out of hiding, perhaps we might discuss even more.”

“That’s-” Sierra started, but Mélisande held a hand up to intercede.

“..A question for another time, perhaps. I doubt she has much inclination to speak directly anywhere a modicum of threat exists to her person.”

President Townley nodded. “We’ve discussed the carrot, but there’s the natural caveat of warning you of the stick. This will be touted as an integrative project undertaken in the extent of Executive authority. I will have my work cut out having to go to bat for you lot with the leeway I am giving you. If there is any concern that arises as to your fealty, or any hint that you may be acting against the best interests of our nation, or anything of that sort… this whole conversation might as well have never happened, and the Composites will be dealt with as is necessary. As harsh as it might come off, I am asking you kindly- do not make me regret my decision.”

A weighted, dense air hung in the room. A light of hope existed for them, they thought, as glances were shared between the three. It was not an offer to be taken lightly, but the alternate was as simple as it was final.

Mélisande’s eyes and ears flicked as her head regarded the other two in the room. Then, she nodded, and slowly- reluctantly- extended a hand across the table.

“You’ll have our word, if we’ll have yours.”

A hand reached out to take hers, and the two clasped one another. In but a moment, two hands had set a course for the southern nation- one whose destination only time could tell.

Advent Island Special Administrative Area (SAA)
20 October 2023

As the last shines of a summer sun departing cast rays across the glistening southern ocean, its amber glow bathed an island soaked in blood and sweat and tears, and left its hue upon the fifty gathered souls in its presence. The wind gently tipped the trees into its easterly breeze, casting clothes and loose hair in its gusts.

Close to thirty composites and four humans stood upon a quiet corner of Advent, at the foot of a grassy hill on the island's western side. Dresses and suits were absent but for one woman amongst the humans in the crowd, an Air Forces officer in her Class II dress.

Before the gathering lay eleven similarly-laid entrances into the ground, with tarpaulins covering each weighted by rocks around their perimeter. At the head of each was the same sight- rifles, placed into sandbags by the bayonet, topped by combat helmets and flanked by sneakers or boots. A small picture was placed atop the sandbags, before the rifles, affixed by tape, each of which showed a smiling face that some days ago had been among their number- but was no longer so.

Anna Takaoka watched over the scene as quietly, and in their own cadence, the composites- her composites- took a knee before the graves. Watching this was even harder than it was seeing her sister sent off into her own eternity. It took what meager strength she possessed to repel the urge to sniffle or sob at the enormity of the sight before her- lives she had created and watched blossom so quickly, snuffed yet so rapidly. For a moment, she nearly indulged in the despair that had came close to claiming her all of those months ago.

Then a hand clasped hers. Soft, warm, but firm. She slowly turned to gaze upon its source, whose eyes offered her a small, sad smile- one that said “I know.”

She knew because she, too, was a Composite. She knew because she had stood beside the Doctor through this entire affair, closer than almost anyone. Because just as these girls were the Doctor’s daughters, those graves before them contained her sisters.

This ceremony had little of the fanfare that Takaoka had seen when her sister had been sent off. No bugles played, no carriages marched, no gleaming bayonets stood to post at attention.

All they had was the memories they had made in their short times together. The questions and learning. The mistakes and the tragedies. Despite her work, she had made an effort to be there, to be a figure for them, whenever she could. Even as their number grew from one to four to fourty in the blink of an eye, she had watched them grow- perhaps not so much in size as they did in character. For all of their ingrained knowledge and skills, they all developed as vibrantly as a garden when put together. Lively, studiously, seriously and awkwardly, all together.

It was the one thing that she had realized she had never had. A family.

So it was for their sake, knowing they would need of her strength in the days to come, that Anna Takaoka smiled, choosing to remember the memories they had had, rather than the lives they had lost. It was for their sake she did not cry- she had already done plenty, and there was yet more to do- but it would not be seen here.

“..Doctor;” Mélisande quietly squeezed her hand, gesturing a glance towards those gathered at the foot of the small hill where they stood. “Perhaps we should say our goodbyes now.”

“You’re right;” the Doctor nodded, and followed the four others beside her towards where the graves sat, the leafy canopy of a nearby tree gently shading the monuments.

At each, she took a moment to gaze upon the photograph of the one interned. As closely as she did her own hand she remembered these girls- when they had come, and what they were like. Who their team members were and how they had bonded- whether it was a report composed by their leader or realizations by her own witness. She knelt quietly before each, and placed a flower amongst a stack of others offered by the gathering, gazing solemnly upon it for a moment before she moved to the next.

She only paused when she stopped by the last, of which a disproportionate amount of flowers- and indeed, letters- had been stacked. Upon the helmet was hammered in a black-metal eagle, star and anchor, and sat behind her picture was a triangularly folded regimental flag of red, yellow, green and blue with that same symbol sat upon its middle. It was the sole outlier among these graves for a number of reasons, but the photograph of a spunky ponytailed blonde indicated this grave belonged to Major Whitney Ryder of the Regiment Marines Commando, a fact of which she was damned proud of till her last moment- the symbols belonging to her beloved Regiment surrounded her even now.

This was her sister’s best friend, and the one who had been her trusty right hand in the upbringing of these Composites. Gone in a blaze of glory- a sacrifice the girls still talked about to this day. The letters and flowers were emblematic of the now-legendary status she held among the Composites, a hard-charging officer who gave everything she had (and plenty of what she shouldn’t have had) to those in her charge. That included her own life, a fact that humbled Takaoka to think of- that of all the places that she had fought, it was here she had laid her mortal soul down. It was all they could offer her to let her rest beside her charges- and something told her this would have been what she might have wanted.

It was the only grave to which the Air Lieutenant Commandant beside her rendered a salute, as stern and sharp as a military salute was supposed to be. She smiled at the exchange softly, and spoke to the Major gently before she departed.

“..Take care of my sister, Major.. and thank you.”

As the four humans and sole composite returned to their position above and behind the gathering, a quintet of figures stepped forward with wooden bolt-action rifles slung across their shoulders. Relics of the Great War, Winston Pattern IV rifles- were brought from shoulders into hands with practiced precision. One amongst them had a sword- a Marine officer’s sword, a straight-bladed boarding cutlass which belonged to the Major who had brought it here.

“Detail, make ready!” The bolts on the weapons were cycled once, sending a round into the chamber.

“Aim!... Fire!”

A sharp crack of rifle fire shattered the still din of the air, and the Doctor remembered when this same sound had came to her ears in perhaps her lowest moment. But this was different.

“Fire!”

Another crack rang out as she remembered what she had set out to do, and what she had created standing before her. Mélisande took her hand softly, and Takaoka saw the tears gently streaming from her cheeks. This time she offered a squeeze, this time she stood closer as the mass of composites together beneath them did much of the shame- exchanging hands and hugs, smiles and frowns alike, shouldering the burden- together.

“Fire!”

A final crack sounded into the sky of the island, the ring of the shots echoing over grassy fields and gentle waters. In solemn silence they faced forward, bidding their farewell to the past and those who remained behind- while their faces, basked in amber sunset, looked onwards towards what yet lay beyond.

Whatever came, they would face it together.

The Land of Warm Winds (Maintenance/Closed)

The Land of Warm Winds (Maintenance/Closed)

Defense Forces Dispatches, 6 June 2023

Homecoming

Ill Omens

15th Rush- Incident Report

Ubi Futurm Nascetur

Quod Amissa

Vespera Ante Aurora

Pace in Pace

Concursus- I

Concursus- II

Concursus- III

Concursus- IV

Concursus- V

Concursus- VI

Ardor Ante Lucem- I

Ardor Ante Lucem- II

Ardor Ante Lucem- III

Ardor Ante Lucem- IV

Ardor Ante Lucem- V

Fortitudinem Per Concordia- I

Fortitudinem Per Concordia- EX I

Fortitudinem Per Concordia- II

Fortitudinem Per Concordia- III

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