War in Boldonia (Maintenance, Closed)

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sat Jul 11, 2026 5:54 pm

The Boldonian Civil War
September 27, 2024 - May 15, 2025

The Boldonian Civil War greatly affected the Independent Republic of Boldonia, that much is obvious, but many Boldonians don't understand the full extent not out of an inability to learn the full story but out of an apathetic desire to remain comfortable. 98,321 lives and $500 billion USD later the Independent Republic of Boldonia seeks to forget what it lost in the war, only looking at what it gained and especially on what stayed the same.

Throughout the buildup, course, and aftermath of the war the nation shifted in multiple different directions. This is the story of a nation going over the edge but not fully, the story of a people so focused on prosperity they are blinded to the exceptions to, the story of a government so bureaucratic it can only speak in statistics, the story of freedom being so taken for granted parts of it are sacrificed to preserve it, this is the story of the Boldonian Civil War.

Timeline

March 5, 2022 - September 9, 2024: The First Boldonian Republic
September 9, 2024 - September 27, 2024: The September Crisis
- September 9: Port Fortitude Protest
- September 12: Nelio Massacre
- September 18 - September 20: Nelio Uprising
September 27, 2024 - October 2, 2024: Opening Advances
- September 27: Declaration of the Establishment of the Socialist Federation of the Boldonian Islands
- September 28: Declaration of A Provisional Government of Boldonian Northern States Within the City of Halington
- September 30 - October 1: Declaration Offensive
- October 2: Capture of Port Fortitude
October 2, 2024 - November 15, 2024: The Boldonian Phoney War
November 15, 2024 - December 16, 2024: Holiday Offensives
- November 15: Operation Rubicon
- November 15 - November 16: Battle of Channelside
- December 3: Battle of the Eastisle Channel
- December 5 - December 6: Battle of North Point
- December 16: Battle of Eastisle City
December 16, 2024 - January 5, 2025: Christmas Peace
January 5, 2025 - April 29, 2025: The Boldonian Cold War
April 29, 2025 - May 7, 2025: The Intra-Alliance Crisis
- May 7: End of the Main Island War
May 7, 2025 - May 15, 2025: Boldonian Drawdown
- May 9 - May 12: Copenhagen Conference
- May 14 - May 15: Invasion of Eastisle
May 15, 2025 - August 16, 2025: Boldonian Reconstruction
August 16, 2025 - Present: The Second Boldonian Republic

IMPORTANT:
This thread is considered a MAINTENENCE THREAD and is thus READ ONLY, only Independent Republic of Boldonia and La Republica Libre de Brasilistan are authorized to post here, any other posts will be requested for removal.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sat Jul 11, 2026 5:56 pm

The First Boldonian Republic
March 5, 2022 - September 9, 2024

The collapse of the first iteration of Boldonian society into civil war was not a sudden occurrence as many at the time thought.

Formed on March 5, 2022 five hundred and one years following the discovery of the Boldonian Islands, the Independent Republic of Boldonia had always existed on a house of cards. The foundation of Boldonia had always been and would always be American in origin and maintenance, an arrangement the Boldonians were more than comfortable with bringing with it economic assurance, military defense, and allies across the globe.

Comfortability defined Boldonian society for all of its modern history, from the late colonial era under the Spanish, to the transition into an American territory, even through Japanese occupation in World War II, through the golden ages of the 80s, during the quiet of the early 21st century, and finally independence. Every home had power, water, and internet. Every road was paved, connected to a series of Interstate and state highways coursing through the islands. Airports and seaports brought trade and tourists from all around the Western World, bringing with them the wealth of their homelands. The American military complex built fleets and bases over the years now held by the Boldonian government, giving the nation instant power projection capabilities.

The failure of the First Boldonian Republic was in its government. Throughout history the empires that controlled Boldonia all shared something in common between them, they were distant. Madrid, Washington, and for a brief time Tokyo all held Boldonia as just one small distant part of an entire empire, a geographically and strategically significant part yes but small and distant nonetheless. The Boldonian spirit was grown up autonomously, influenced by its empires but not micromanaged, an autonomous and individualistic spirit implanted into every Boldonian from the moment they step foot on its shores. To this end Boldonian governments were relaxed, depersonalized, seen not as the arbiter of society but as a tool to be used if needed. The new independent Boldonian government sought to follow in the footsteps of its predecessors, permitting its new states a great deal of autonomy and providing basic services but not necessitating the direct participation of its citizens.

Political apathy defined Boldonia, and independence instead of breaking the apathy only strengthened it. Released from citizen reigns the government was free to coalesce without pushback, and that coalescence came in the form of the Liberal Democrat Party. Liberalism had always been popular in Boldonia and without conservative voices in a distant empire to drown it out it was allowed to truly gain dominance over an independent Boldonia, and with that dominance yet again came comfortability and the desire to defend it.

The LDP either consumed all opposition under it or relegated it to tokenism, its southern base becoming entrenched. Those who desired an alternative to liberal democracy, be they genuine or misguided, saw the forces of liberalism coming for them and tightening its grasp on the country. The nation benefited, greatly so, with most Boldonians celebrating the success and freedom which came with liberalism however alternate voices grew wary of liberal ambitions. The northern states of Boldonia, not as well populated or as economically dense as the south, also started to grow concerned about their fate as funding and attention continued to be poured into the south.

Overseeing this was the Federal Government of the Independent Republic of Boldonia, a bureaucracy where congressmen started gaining more and more ground shifting the balance. The depersonalized nature of Boldonian politics weakened the power of the President of the Independent Republic of Boldonia, a competent but optimistic 41 year old named Mark Young by 2024, with congress stealing more and more power under a loophole rich constitution. The nation had also gotten itself entangled in foreign affairs necessitating a strong rally of its democracy, with two successive wars in Brasilistan and numerous involvements in the Middle East and Pacific also bringing with them a strong shift into militarism.

Boldonia was a stable western nation on the surface, many thought it impossible for such a nation to collapse even if it faced hardship and division. However on September 9th, 2024 this notion would first be challenged, until then the nation would remain calm in its complacency.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sun Jul 12, 2026 5:15 am

Port of Parmilo, Cargo Terminal A
Parmilo-Palm County, Florsid, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Sunday, September 1, 2024, 5PM

The air smelled faintly of diesel fumes but mostly of the sea breeze, the roar of the Simmons Causeway and port traffic blocking out the waves crashing against the concrete docks. The sun sat low to the west, highlighting the silhouette of the Magellan Causeway across the bay producing an orange glow stretching across the horizon. All other directions were blocked out by stacks of intermodal containers and large port cranes, forming a wall around the employee parking lot of Cargo Dock 1.

Howard Coeman leisurely strolled to his white 2018 Toyota Corolla, acting more off of muscle memory rather than conscious decision making. Cars were leaving and entering the lot at a slow yet present rate, the daytime shift beginning to clock out replaced by the nighttime shift clocking in. Howard unblocked his car with a press of the key fob in his pocket, met with a soft thump from the car barely audible. Getting in the driver's seat and buckling his seatbelt Howard lightly pushed the engine ignition button with his index finger, the engine softly whining as the touchscreen came to life. A soft 80s song played on the radio as Howard began to pull out of the lot, pulling into port traffic and weaving through the maze of semi-trucks, passing through the entry gate to the cargo port and navigating a complex intersection for the exit onto the Simmons Causeway.

The overpass facing north gave Howard a good look at the skyline of Downtown Parmilo, the crown jewel of the independent Boldonia with banks and business stretching to Interstate B1 somewhere on the other side. Howard didn't contemplate this at all, simply following as the overpass curved to the right and onto a bridge, the last cruise ships departing for the day on Howard's right with his left blocked by a barrier. Shifting to the left lane Howard followed the exit onto B101 North, merging onto highway traffic on the Simmons Causeway returning to the mainland from Parmilo Beach. Howard drove down the causeway until it ended on land, albeit still elevated, passing through downtown on the curved overpass and going straight through where B101 met B1 at the Downtown Interchange as B101 transitioned to FLD-101.

Howard once again became slowed in Parmilo traffic, the city's residents returning home from their downtown careers, but being a Sunday traffic wasn't too terrible and he never had to come to a complete stop. His PalmPass transponder on the windshield bounced invisible light it received from overhead toll gantries, sending it back with the information needed to bill him later in the month. It wasn't long before Howard took an exit off the congested highway into the middle of the city, his home neither in the bustle of downtown nor the distance of the suburbs. Passing down a series of stroads lined with convenience stores and fast food joints with occasional palm trees dotted around he made it off one and onto small two lane residential streets, passing by several houses and streetside parked cars until pulling into the driveway of an inconspicuous one story stucco house behind a red 2017 Toyota RAV4.

With a jingle of the keys a glass and metal front door opened outward to an opaque white wood door which opened into a quaint living room, dimly lit by the dusk sunlight passing through the windows. Howard put his keys into a tray by the door and made his way towards the kitchen, lit up with a faint white glow and smelling of tomato sauce.

“I don't feel like eating leftovers today and I couldn't be bothered to put in effort for anything else,” said Angie Coeman, head pointed towards a cellphone and back against the counter, eyes flashing toward Howard.
“Fair,” was the only response Howard gave as he moved toward Angie, taking position beside her and putting his back against the counter.
“I'm just using the penne and the ground beef, hope you didn't have anything planned for that.”
Howard chuckled. “Darn, was thinking of making burgers this week.”
“Well,” Angie said, pocketing her phone, “too bad I'm not married to the one guy in the city who knows how much beef the stores will have for the week.”
Howard sighed, “They'll have plenty, and plenty more for the weeks to come. So long as they don't suddenly shut down the port or anything.”

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Tue Jul 14, 2026 5:01 am

Norfi Air Force Base
Norfi County, Norfi, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Sunday, September 1, 2024, 21:23 Local Time

1st Lieutenant Brendan Hackett lowered the canopy of his F/A-18F Super Hornet, climbing down from the ladder propped against the WSO seat's area as the motor spun. 1st Lieutenant Oliver Johnston watched as the canopy came down and his WSO climbed down the ladder, waiting by a GPU until Lt. Hackett was a safe distance from the canopy and said canopy had clicked into place before flicking a switch and shutting off power.

As Lt. Hackett wheeled the ladder to its spot against the wall Lt. Johnston moved towards the hangar door controls, but paused before he closed the door. Lt. Johnston simply looked out across the tarmac, lit up by overhead lights and guide lights on the taxiways and runways, bathing the base in a bright white. Lt. Hackett soon joined Lt. Johnston in surveying the tarmac, all of the fighter jets had been stowed away or laid out on the tarmac in silence, but the engines of trucks and the occasional turboprop still reverberated in the cool nighttime air. Lt. Hackett’s focus was on a USAF C-17 recently arrived from Hickam Air Force base, being offloaded through the combined effort of USAF and IRBAF personnel and vehicles. Lt. Hackett always liked to theorize what was hidden in those crates: aircraft munitions, small arms, food and provisions, parts, paperwork, multiple possibilities were always on the table all granted by their friends on the mainland. The Stars and Stripes had long since stopped being the official flag of this land, but they still waved proudly above the Boldonian republic as a guiding and supporting force the Boldonians could look up to. Flags and politicians had changed, but accents and systems were immortal.

After a while of gazing Lt. Johnston sighed and held the button to shut the door, Lt. Hackett stepping out of the way as the large metal wall came down and the warm yellow light overhead began to provide the only illumination. When the motors went silent Lt. Hackett and Lt. Johnston made their way towards the door out, Lt. Johnston grabbing a clipboard from a table on the way out, putting away their flight suits and helmets in the locker room and going to the exit. Lt. Johnston turned off the lights after Lt. Hackett exited and locked the hanger door with his keys, turning around and facing the nighttime breeze. The two lieutenants stood beside the wall of the hangar in an empty parking lot, meant mainly for trucks offloading parts but otherwise staying empty for most days. They began walking towards a sidewalk and strolling across the empty two lane road leading away from the hangars, more airfield on their left and flat grass on their right. Lt. Johnston rubbed his forehead with Lt. Hackett glancing over, gesturing to grab the clipboard.

“You look tired, hand be the reports I’ll file them.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lt. Hackett was handed the clipboard as they continued walking, but behind them a light started to approach. A humvee drove up beside them and slowed down, with the lieutenants moving to the side expecting it to simply pass, however instead the driver came to a stop and rolled the window down. A White American male, maybe late 20s or so, looked out the window at the lieutenants wearing fatigues with the insignia of an E-4. Beside him was an African American male, an E-3, which caught Lt. Hackett’s attention. African Americans were rarer in Boldonia compared to back in the mainland, especially this far north, but Lt. Hackett was reminded he wasn’t the only one to call the Boldonian Islands home.

“You all need a lift, sir?”
“Pilot’s barracks, then 7th AA HQ, you heading that way?”
“We can swing by sir.”
“That would be nice.”
“Yes sir.”

The two lieutenants got in the back seats of the humvee and once they were in the driver started to move off. The E-3 turned around to Lt. Hackett and spoke to him.

“Sir, if I may ask, were you in that Super Hornet that landed a few minutes ago? It was alone and it was late so we were just curious.”
“Yeah that was us, just topping off our flight hours and double checking our checklists.”
“Thank you sir.”

The E-3 nodded as Lt. Hackett and Lt. Johnston glanced at each other, being called sir constantly always made conversation with enlisted more awkward than they felt it needed to be. Neither had the heart to constantly correct them from how they were supposed to address them anyway, with Lt. Hackett simply turning his eyes out the window and towards the east. A few collision lights could be faintly seen in the light polluted sky, more Americans from Oahu with many more to come. As long as this base was open, American wheels would be wearing down its runways.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Fri Jul 17, 2026 7:02 am

Fort Halington
Halington County, Norfi, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 2, 2024, 05:30 Local Time

Alarm clocks sounded across the barracks buildings alerting Company Alpha of the 1st Infantry Division to awaken. Corporal Eveline Hartman rolled out of a top bunk in the four person dormitory, turning off the alarm and moving to the small locker at its foot and putting on her uniform blouse on top of her dark green t-shirt afterwards inserting a belt into her uniform pants. As the rest of her dormmates all slowly rolled out of bed Hartman changed her socks and donned her dark brown combat boots, afterwards grabbing the BOLPAT patterned baseball cap labeled with “1IN” and putting it on, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear before unplugging her cellphone and pocketing it. Hartman opened the light colored wood door and joined with the rest of the female barracks making their way outside into the cool crisp mountain air of the Halington morning. The sky was still a dark shade of grey with only a few stars still visible, the faint dawn light slowly rising to the east hidden by the hills. Those from the south were always surprised such a cool and landlocked place existed in their Pacific nation, and although Hartman wasn’t from these mountains Norfi City was only a few hours down the turnpike so she never thought much of it.

At 06:00 the flag ceremony was scheduled as it was every morning, a routine raising of the Boldonian flag where the officers would say a few words if there was something extraordinary (there usually wasn’t) before everyone was released to peel off wherever they worked. At first it surprised Hartman how much the Boldonian military was similar to a regular job, she had been subjected to the American ideal of a warrior during her upbringing only for independence to kick in a year after basic and the Boldonian realist spirit gave her a glorified shop job. Her father, the US army veteran, called the new Boldonian approach to service “lazy” and blamed “the Marines who took over” but Hartman had come to terms with how her nation chose to put its troops to work. So too had her sergeant, Sgt. Glen Kipling, a USMC lance corporal at independence and Halington native who was put in the 1st Infantry to stay close to home, being one of the few Marines in the mostly Army derived unit.

Hartman greeted Kipling with a small wave when she spotted him through the growing crowd of infantrymen, meeting at their squad’s designated spot in the flag field lit up brightly by floodlights. There was a small handshake with little words as they waited for the rest of the squad to meet them. At 06:00 reveille sounded and the base stood at attention as a small motley crew of soldiers assigned to the task brought up the Boldonian flag to the pole and raised it, the lines behind them saluting as the yellow sun of the flag slowly rose as did the real sun just behind the next hill over. Even after two years saluting the Boldonian flag didn’t carry the same weight as would saluting the Stars and Stripes, but the new flag was the one they served now, serving the previous one came second. When the color guard retreated back into the crowd Lieutenant Colonel Seth Rayner yelled out “at ease” and the base let their shoulders drop. Afterwards he gave out a short string of words everyone had memorized.

“Alright everyone, just a regular day today. Go get breakfast and get to work. Dismissed.”

And thus another day of many began for the 1st Infantry Division, still yet to earn the legendary status as the Big Red One back on the mainland, but inching closer each day.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sun Jul 19, 2026 6:04 am

Colonial District
Eastisle City, Eastisle South, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 2, 2024, 7:47AM

Sandra Santiago walked through the wood panel lined stable lit up by fluorescent lights, walking past horse after horse with clipboards tied onto the wall next to them. Old brick hid in the shadows behind the body of each horse, same bricks she had seen in the sepia colored photographs from when this stable was more cramped and the wood was placed more haphazardly. The shell was the only thing that really remained from when this building was first built in the 18th century, everything inside changed every half century or so as the world outside progressed, the current interior being dated to some time in the 70s.

Sandra moved toward one of the clipboards on the wall, checking her watch before placing her signature and timestamp on a dotted line. Opening the gate a dark haired American quarter horse greeted her, a male by the name of Caminante named due to his endurance on long distance rides. The horse was technically owned by the state and Sandra wasn't the only rider assigned to him, but the nighttime rider for Caminante like other nighttime personnel only used their horses for emergencies meaning Sandra was the only one to regularly ride him. Riders were also given sufficient time to bond with their mount, to ensure both would remain calm and coordinated in a tense situation, for all intents and purposes Caminante was her horse, just with the state owning the deed.

Sandra led Caminante out of the bay and towards the exit, giving him an apple from a box next to the door out before leading him inside to one of the empty bays in the open room on the other side. A black leather saddle labeled “Guardia” with associated tack sat in the bay which Sandra placed on Caminante before opening a gun locker and taking out a .410 gauge Winchester lever action shotgun, stowing it on the saddle before leading Caminante out of the bay and mounting him. Sandra double checked her belt and vest, tapping the brimmed hat on her head to ensure it was on before riding to the stable door. In a small guard box next to the door another Colonial Guard officer sat in a swivel chair scrolling on the computer before he was alerted by the clop of horseshoes on the fake dust, looking up and nodding at Sandra before reaching around to his back and pressing a button opening the stable.

The morning sun shined brightly on Eastisle City, bathing the stucco covered colonial buildings in a bright light. Sandra rode out onto a modern asphalt street, passing by shopfronts and restaurants flying the cross of burgundy mixed with Boldonian and American flags, American English and Peninsular Spanish mixing together only drowned out by modern automobiles slowly passing through the few modernized streets. Tourists and riders all looked up at Sandra with awe, yet another symbol of Eastisler pride riding through the streets, the symbol of the Colonial Guard mounted unit Sandra herself once also looked up to. Although the Americans had long held Eastisle for more than a century, the island still held up what Spanish elements remained as an identity to rally behind, something to call theirs and something they vowed to hold however long they could.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Wed Jul 22, 2026 7:15 am

National Guard Depot Folialga
Fuente County, Centros, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 2, 2024, 08:48

Corporal Chris Reynell pulled up to the gate and rolled down his sedan’s window, greeted by Private Jameson.

“Morning Chris.”
“Morning.”

Reynell showed his military ID as Jameson scanned it, Jameson handing it back to Reynell in a relaxed movement.

“Have a nice day.”
“You too.”

Reynell pulled into the parking lot and pulled into his spot near its side, protected from the sun by one of the many large canopy trees surrounding the lot and the rest of the depot. Reynell put his tag on the mirror and stepped out into the lot, locking his car before making his way towards the main building. He moved past several uniformed guardsmen all engaged in various tasks until entering a bay and moving towards his workstation, booting up the small PC and checking Outlook. He read the email “Equipment Shipment 09/02/24” and read what his task was, cataloging a shipment of stockpiled M16A4s recently arrived from Filorose before sending them into the depot’s stockpile, a pretty standard task. All he had to do was wait for the rifles to arrive in the bay before he could begin, giving him some time to lounge. Private Murdock walked into the bay and sat at the workstation beside Reynell, turning on his computer and about to check his email before Reynell stopped him.

“Just cataloging some rifles today, basic work.”
“AUGs?”
“M16s.”
“Dang, command keeps saying any day now we’ll get the new rifles but its been two years since the AUG was issued and we still don’t have ours.”
“I know, we’re all still waiting for a piece of Austrian engineering in our hands but until then America’s bread and butter will do us just fine. Besides, not like we’d be using the AUG any more than we use our M16s currently, if you wanted to shoot rifles instead of filling out paperwork you should have joined the Ground Forces.”
There was a small chuckle from Murdock, “I guess. I don’t know if I’d be willing to trade in the ability to go home at the end of the day for some time at the range.”
“Tough bargain,” responded Reynell, “that’s why most of us are here.”

Murdock made a small hum before turning back to his workstation. Reynell took that as a que to return to his station, double checking the M16A4 manual mostly out of curiosity rather than need as the rest of the bay trickled in. When the rifles arrived work began, a menial and repetitive affair, but one which Reynell found comforting. He considered what Murdock had said earlier, if he would rather be at some distant base doing drills all day, if he would be willing to miss every dinner and night with his wife for months at a time, but government payroll was still government payroll no matter what position.

Reynell considered himself lucky, he got to work a 9 to 5 with a fair wage rather than having to scrounge around the job market for pay, the only stipulation being that if something ever went wrong in the state he’d be the one of the first called to solve it. The chances of that happening though were small, if anything wanted to get to him it needed to pass through more responsible hands in the Naval Forces and Air Forces first, and if they failed be it from an adversary or mother nature the Americans would always be there to step in. Even as a soldier Boldonia gave him comfortable employment, and it would most likely remain comfortable for the years he had remaining.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Mon Jul 27, 2026 7:22 pm

Caldera Bay
30 NM North of Harbor Island Naval Base
Monday, September 2, 2024, 12:21

The waves continued to lap against the side of Cyclone-class patrol boat IRBS Orlando as it continued its aimless patrol in Caldera Bay. Warrant Officer Eiji Asano spent his time observing the horizon in between periods of paperwork, seeing the tops of ships bound for Harbor Island peek just above the horizon through his binoculars. He wasn’t assigned to this of course, he had no need to, the Coast Guard had every AIS signal on Boldonian waters mapped out and tracked, but it was something for Asano to fill time. When he got the order to fly down to Harbor Island he expected the gleaming southern shore of Boldonia, considered by many its beating heart, to be more dense with activity and things to do than his forgotten northern home in Cerlo City. Yet even as the only warrant officer aboard the 28 man patrol boat he was surprised how little there was to do besides the routine of paperwork and reports, the nation was at peace for now, the Naval Forces could rest easy.

One thing Asano did find in the south he so desperately desired were the roads. Even Harbor Island, a small community barely marked on most maps compared to the bustling metropolis of Parmilo, had clean black asphalt roads compared to the faded pothole ridden roads back home. Some people back up north liked to blame the Federal Government, claiming they weren’t given the same funding compared to the riches of the south, but Asano saw how the south did at least care about their roads more than the north. In Filstik roads were an obligation, in the south they were something to be proud of, maybe that was why the Federal Government was more keen to throw its funding down here Asano thought.

It was either that or the Federal Government had simply forgotten about its northern states, comfortable down here in the south, the BCT being literally surrounded by a wall of tropical mountains. Asano found it easy to become entranced in the south, the water seemed bluer and brighter, the palm trees more numerous, the cities larger, the grass greener. Compared to the empty hills and boringly temperate climate of the north the south always was the more appealing place to live, Asano wondered why the Japanese immigrants of the post-war decided to settle in Filstik when they knew the allure the south held, it would have been nice being raised under palm trees rather than on forgotten hills. Asano’s great grandfather wrote in his journals that he hated the northern mountains, even if the resistance was weaker up here compared to the quagmire in Centros, but he never gave an explanation for why he moved back to the north following the war other than “that's where everyone else is going.”

Asano deep down wished his great grandfather didn’t jump on the bandwagon, he wished he would decide to lay down roots in the tropical paradise Asano saw laid before him right now. A paradise where the blue seas crashed against white sand, where one could never escape the presence of a palm tree, where the roads were smooth but well travelled, where even in the darkness of night the sky still glowed with the lights on the coast. Asano daydreamed about what lie on the coast, what new sights he might find when the Orlando docked and he was released to roam the south, but he checked his watch and realized it was time to head back in. Asano made his way to the door into the interior of the ship and closed it, leaving the blue skies and blue seas of the south for another day.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Mon Aug 03, 2026 7:15 am

Southside Nelio
Nelio County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 2, 2024, 5:23PM

Laila Moore unlocked the wooden door to the small apartment, turning on a switch to a dim lightbulb hanging from a chain on the roof, before closing the door and moving towards the couch. She collapsed onto the worn brown couch with a soft thud, not even bothering to remove her Nelio Light & Gas overalls first, tired from yet another long Monday for pittance in return. It was days like this which lead Laila to question everything, why become an engineer, was not the hurdle of finding certifications and available class space in her underfunded school not enough to dissuade her from the career? Why was she even doing this, was she doing it for the crumbling industrial relics forgotten by time rusting away outside her door, for the dying city on a death spiral into irrelevance? Eastisle North was always the butt of every joke in Boldonia, the state everyone knew lived in the shadow of better days and the consequences of poverty once its one trick pony found a home elsewhere.

Laila rolled over in the couch to orient her view out the small dusty window, to the skyline of rusted smokestacks and abandoned warehouses. Looking at this view it was always easy to forget where you lived, the prosperous Independent Republic of Boldonia, a tropical Pacific paradise surrounded by the wonder of the Pacific Ocean under a bright sun. Laila had always seen the images of Parmilo’s glass towers, of Centros’s rainforest intrigue, of even Norfi’s imposing mountains, and wondered when she would finally see an image of her home state in the same spotlight. Boldonia desired only to forget Eastisle North, with its crime ridden back alleys, flat unappealing terrain, and industrial ruin. Employers in the state either didn’t have the funding to pull up the desperate population, or they came from outside of Boldonia and profited off of Eastisle North’s industrial workers desperate for any job and willing to take minimum wage for stable employment.

Laila hoped her union membership would at least ease the struggle, but the union saw no backing from the government and was alone in its efforts. The south had no need for unions, its schools and infrastructure had the funding to make high paying jobs available to the average Boldonian, and lower level employment still saw the protection of the state and Federal Government. Not so in Eastisle North, where its schools had been oriented around industrial labor that had become endangered once the era their curriculum was written for ended. Workers were subject to the pressure of the few remaining companies squeezing what little they could before they had to face the reality Boldonia was not built to accommodate their sector, and the underfunded state had neither the resources nor federal backing to ensure those workers weren’t squeezed too hard.

Laila wished that is was different, that Eastisle North could be the same tropical paradise that Florsid was, that the state would stand equal to the others and not beneath them. However she was forced to accept the reality of her situation, the same cycle day in and day out. Laila pulled herself up out of the couch and towards the small kitchen housing decades old appliances, opening the fridge and staring around before grabbing a plastic bag containing leftover takeout from a previous night, plating it and placing it into the microwave. Laila stood in wait until the microwave beeped and she pulled out her food, moving with it towards the window and beginning to slowly wait while staring out at Nelio. Hopefully there was still a future left for this husk she called home, hopefully.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Wed Aug 12, 2026 7:46 am

Nelio Community College
Nelio, Nelio County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Tuesday, September 3, 2024, 4:28PM

Esteban Oquendo made his way into the small classroom carrying his belongings from the classes earlier in the day. These first few months felt much the same as high school, Esteban being stuck all day in general education courses his high school never offered the credits to bypass. Even then the few classes related to his major still felt insufficient for him, Esteban wanted to study political science but the closest major offered by the Nelio Community College was communications. To Esteban though one way or another he hoped it would help him reach his end goal, even if it was comparatively inefficient, but not like it mattered anyway. The halls of government weren't filled with the most skilled after all, only who the capitalist elite thought best protected their interests.

Esteban was lucky that he had no classes at 4:30 on Tuesday, because then he could attend the meetings of the Labor and Politics Club. Officially the community college didn’t allow the club to endorse any specific political ideology, being government funded, but the Labor and Politics Club despite its seemingly open name might as well have been called the Socialists Club. The people who called themselves members of the club only attracted a certain demographic, with anyone outside that demographic being pushed away if they did accidentally join, but Esteban however fit perfectly into that demographic. Seeing the harsh conditions of Eastisle North's dying industry, his father's grueling hours at the failing factories and his mother's uphill battle with the government to convince them they qualified for welfare, when Esteban learned of what communism truly was behind all of the dogma taught in school it spoke to him. While the executives and Parmilo and the politicians in Boldonia City hoarded every bit of wealth they could for their personal fiefdoms they left Eastisle North to die, exploiting the state for its remaining industry in order to fuel their foreign military crusades but letting everything else rot. Independence made the north Eastislers hopeful for change, but Esteban saw through the lies and deception, he knew that as soon as they were released from the American Empire's grasp the Southern Boldonian bourgeoisie would be able to milk Eastisle North dry without fearing Washington's intervention. Indeed that was exactly what happened, the Eastisle Naval Shipyards and Eastisle Air Force Base expanded while the factories were shut down citing “industrial limitations” of Boldonia, an admittedly true reality of the island nations but it was the fact the bourgeoisie never sought out a replacement for the workers’ jobs but rather only used the proceeds to enrich their southern holdings which sowed hatred for the current regime in Esteban.

In high school he was ridiculed for his radical beliefs, but now in college he found he wasn't the only Eastisler with a grudge. The Labor and Politics Club had existed for a number of years before Esteban's admission, and had amassed a good sized following. Esteban thought that he would sit at a far end of the spectrum but instead he found himself in the center of the club's own political spectrum, plenty of them were less radical than him and plenty were much more radical than him. The club's existing leadership leaned more towards Esteban's flavor of socialism, Marxist but not leaning so far into the anarchist aspects of it, leading to Esteban quickly becoming well liked by the club's senior members.

Stepping inside the classroom occupied by the club Esteban already saw Ramiro Felipe writing on the whiteboard with marker, with only a few other club members sitting in desks waiting doing their homework or studying until they began. Ramiro was the club's president, with this to be his second year holding the position. Esteban took a liking to him and Ramiro took a liking to him, each seeing the potential in one another. Esteban walked to the whiteboard to see what Ramiro was writing, he saw two dates and times written out with a website url underneath it though Ramiro's body blocked Esteban from a clear unobstructed view of it. Esteban sat down close by as more club members slowly trickled in through the classroom door for a few minutes until Ramiro called everyone to attention.

“Alright folks, today I just want to talk about something that recently came to my attention. There's a group called Boldonians Against Intervention and they've scheduled a protest outside the Eastisle Naval Shipyards in Port Fortitude for the 9th. They've invited a lot of workers groups and political groups across Eastisle North and they'll be paying for transport from Nelio. BAI states that they're protesting against the continued militarization of Boldonian industry to the detriment of every other industry, so this seemed to be right up our alley. I have the times the buses leave and the time of the protest up here as well as BAI's website for more information. I just wanted to gauge interest amongst you all and see if we should go as a group or not. Let's see hands, who's interested?”

Esteban held his hand up and gradually people around the room followed, in the end about a third of the room held their hand up with Ramiro nodding before speaking again, everyone putting their hand down once they heard Ramiro continue.

“Alright not bad so far. We have the group chat if anyone wants to change their mind so don't be afraid to come back to this. I'm going to try and spin this to admin see if we can get approval for this trip, and I'll have to see if BAI will have the seats for us but this looks good so far.”

A hand sheepishly went up on the side of the room, with Ramiro pausing to point at it. A White American man, possibly a sophomore or junior, spoke to Ramiro with a not very confident voice.

“Um is this really relevant to the nature of this club? Seems mostly to be anti-war motivated, labor interests seem to be an afterthought.”

Ramiro paused to think of his answer before speaking a few seconds later.

“We're in Boldonia, remember? This is a different country than the mainland, different priorities and different motives. This republic and its corruption is built upon the foundation of things like those shipyards, things which have handed the republic power for free which it can use to hide itself behind, a shield it views as impenetrable letting it attack labor interests both abroad and domestically with impunity. The death of Boldonian labor is tied to how long the republic can hold onto this power, this power to fight its wars and claim more power for itself without ever needing to consult the desires of the Boldonian laborers themselves. The Boldonian anti-war movement and the Boldonian labor movement have the same enemies, all they need to see is that their reasoning for having those enemies is also the same. This protest will show the republic that its stolen foundations of power are nothing without its laborers and citizens, and show our movements how much we have to gain by working together.”

Ramiro's short little speech silenced most of the voices in the room. When he spoke again he commanded the attention of the classroom.

“If you do not think this is something worthwhile for the reasons you joined us then you are free to leave your seat for someone who knows what they have to win through this protest. You all have a few days to decide, but I hope you'll make the meaningful decision. I won't keep you all any longer, I know we want to have dinner so I'll end my remarks here, just think of why you're here as you walk out the door.”

Everyone else got up and walked out besides Esteban and Ramiro. When Ramiro noticed Esteban he walked over to him with a smile on his face and got his attention.

“¿Piensas ir?”
“Claro, si puedo mover mi agenda para acomodarme.”
Ramiro chuckled, “Amigo, espero verte allí.”

Ramiro extended his arm out for a fist bump which Esteban met, Ramiro made one last final remark before walking towards the door.

“Ve a comer algo.”

Esteban let out a happy sigh and smirk before packing his things and moving towards the door. Finally, he felt, he would be doing something about the decay he saw around him.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Fri Aug 14, 2026 7:59 am

Nelio Electrical Workers Union
Nelio County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Wednesday, September 4, 2024, 5:13PM

Laila pulled into the union parking lot with her grey 2007 Ford Focus, the bright Boldonian sun gradually turning from a yellow afternoon color to an orange coloring. Behind the small parking lot stood a modest red brick building, topped with a trapezoidal grey shingle roof, typical American architecture from the 60s or 70s for buildings which didn't really matter and didn't matter enough for industrial architecture. Laila exited her car and walked up the brick stairs to two wooden double doors, both with square windows on their top half labeled with the Nelio Electrical Workers Union logo on it. It was a simple electrical bolt in subdued yellow, with the union's name on the top and “Est. 1989” on the bottom. The building had gone through several hands before the NEWU, many of them other unions that ran out of steam under the crushing weight of Boldonian industrial limitation, Laila wondering when NEWU would face a similar fate.

NEWU had its weekly meeting every Wednesday on 5:30 PM, with the building being close enough to the electrical substations and depots its members worked at that meeting so soon after the end of the work day at 5 wasn't too much of a stretch for many. This did mean that union members lacked the time to go home and change, but seeing everyone in their uniforms provided the union a reminder of their identity. Laila attended more out of principle than anything, technically union members weren't required to attend meetings unless there was a special announcement or vote and Laila found the weekly meetings to often go the same every time, but she felt as though not attending would relegate her membership to a target on her back for her employer and not as a tool that might on rare occasions come in convenient.

Laila stepped into the main hall and picked up a cup of cheap coffee from the table at the back of the room, sitting down in one of the unmoved folding chairs placed haphazardly into rows. She sipped her coffee and browsed her phone as the rest of the union members trickled in, or at least the ones that still bothered to show up to the weekly meetings. They were all probably expecting the same old same old, probably some short discussion about pay or unsafe equipment neither of which could be helped by the underfunded city government but were discussed anyway as though they could be changed, there weren't any ongoing negotiations or disputes both the union and city had determined long ago those kinds of battles only forced each other to suffer attrition neither could afford.

When the meeting began the same lineup of speakers went through the same prewritten monotony that Laila and many others had learned to tune out until they could speak more freely, more like human beings than as scripts. The coffee, the kind of cheap American grind imported from the United States who likely imported the beans from somewhere else, was still enough to keep Laila physically alert through the meeting even as mentally her mind wandered to other thoughts preventing her from dozing off before the closing announcements came. There was the usual stuff until finally one of the speakers came up and made a somewhat unexpected announcement.

“Alright, a lot of the other unions around the state are planning to hold a protest on the 9th in Port Fortitude in cooperation with a few political and advocacy groups. The protest is nominally over Boldonian interventionism and its effects on local industry, but a variety of labor concerns in our state are also said to be included within its scope. Now normally we wouldn't really seek or support involvement in such an event as a whole, but just today around noon-ish the LSP made a statement declaring support for the protest and calling its voter base to action so we felt it important enough to mention here. Now we don't have the funding and resources to go as a group but the organizers are paying for transport from Nelio to Port Fortitude, and we'll send out the necessary contact information via email. If you work for the city our contract with them guarantees you're free to go as long as you're willing to lose out on a day's pay, and if you work for anyone else just let them know beforehand and come to us if there's any pushback.”

The LSP getting involved was big. As the closest thing Boldonia had to a viable socialist party, the Liberal Society Party commanded at the very least the begrudging respect of Boldonian unions and workers. Laila never voted for them herself, she always voted LDP to keep anyone bad from coming to power, but she sympathized with them. Not their end goal necessarily, Laila would never consider herself something as radical as a socialist, but their means and actions benefited her on occasion. If the city upheld its agreement then missing one Monday wouldn't be so much of a trouble for Laila anyway, and besides she hated Mondays, heading down to Port Fortitude was worth it if only to skip the day.

The usual closing scripts came and went and the attending members were released at 5:42, a bit late but Laila didn't mind all too much besides having a late dinner. Laila got back in her car and started to drive down the weathered asphalt roads of Nelio, driving over cracks in the road and the occasional metal sheet haphazardly placed over a pothole, passing by warehouses and the occasional abandoned factory. There was definitely a reason the protest originated from Eastisle North, and not just because that was where the shipyard just so happened to be. Laila had seen photos of the shipyard, of the well maintained equipment and fresh materials brought in, comparing it to the state of industry elsewhere in the state it was night and day. Laila could see why the LSP and all the unions and political groups which claimed to follow its guidance felt the need to take action, and for now she didn't see much inconvenience with helping out in a small way.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sun Aug 16, 2026 5:17 am

Northern Nelio
Nelio County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Friday, September 6, 2024, 4:56PM

Esteban sat in his bedroom studying his math textbook after having returned from school for the day, with him taking notes on his laptop which sat next to him. A Discord notification pinged in his earbuds breaking up the calm music Esteban was listening to, causing him to stop his studying temporarily to open Discord and check the notification. In the Labor and Politics Club server Esteban opened the notification to a post Ramiro had made notifying everyone in the server.

“Finished speaking to admin and they've agreed not to inflict any retribution on students attending the event in Port Fortitude. The Liberal Society Party has endorsed the event as well, so there's going to be a larger crowd than some of us originally thought. Here's the link to sign up for a seat on one of the buses:”

Esteban immediately clicked on the link, he wanted to be there in Port Fortitude even if the LSP wanted to meddle with the protest. Esteban and his beliefs never really saw eye to eye with the LSP, he viewed the party as being too cautious and unwilling to truly uphold the socialist ideology, though he understood why it had to be that way and given there weren't any other options he sympathized with their cause. LSP support would at the end of the day be a good thing, more manpower and resources for the protest, but Esteban worried the LSP would try to dilute the protest's intentions. Even so, a diluted protest was better than no protest and Esteban was tired doing nothing as the Boldonian capitalists continued to entrench themselves.

His math textbook could wait, his focus now was on ensuring he had a seat on the bus to Port Fortitude before they filled up. There was a small charge of $8.75 to reserve a seat, with Esteban scoffing briefly before putting in his billing details.

A few minutes later his phone would buzz, with Esteban pulling it out and glancing at the Gmail notification.

“Your registration has been confirmed for
Bus 2, Public Lot 3, 6:00 AM”

Esteban opened the email and saved it to his calendar before getting back to his studying, though he found it difficult, his mind distracted by thoughts of what was to come.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sun Aug 16, 2026 11:24 am

Oficinas de la Guardia Colonial en Cuidad de Islaeste, Norte
Eastisle City, Eastisle South, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Sunday, September 8, 2024, 7:18AM

Sandra made her way through the office on her way to Desk 1G with a mug of coffee in her hand and an empty holster at her side. From Sunday through Tuesday she didn't feel the need to carry such a weight at her side, and without Caminante to care for she could focus on herself without constant worrying, desk duty wasn't the most glamorous or fantasized aspect about La Guardia Colonial but Sanda found it the most relaxing.

After booting up the somewhat outdated 2016 model PC and logging in Sandra went to check her Gmail to see if there were any unusual or specific tasks she had for the day. Therein she found an email titled “LSP Buses to EIN” which seemed odd to her, so she opened the email and read the details. It seemed like an odd thing to notify the Colonial Guard about, and Sandra was unsure about if it would genuinely impact her so she got up and walked towards Desk 1E. Gabriel Robledo had been serving alongside her in the Guard since she first joined, all the way from basic police schooling in Florsid to specialized training in Eastisle and now 5 years on the force. Gabriel however was content with administrative duty compared to Sandra who felt a higher calling, if there was an email she didn't really understand she expected Gabriel to already have already known every detail the previous day, which was true in most cases.

Sandra walked up to the edge of the desk and saw Gabriel's head looking at his computer screen towards some report.

“Oye.”
Gabriel turned immediately, “Buenos días.”
“Interesting email, something about the LSP bussing a bunch of people north tommorow. Any idea what that's about?”
“Some kind of protest, I don't really know and to be honest I don't really care to know, just a few are coming from Cuidad de Islaeste most seem to be from Fortitude or Nelio. Its a northerner and federal problem, el jefe just wants to make sure they don't run into problems until they hit the border.”
Sandra smirked, “Because after that nobody really cares do they?”
Gabriel huffed, “Pretty much. It doesn't even seem we care down here, just two cars in the city set aside to respond to anything and a few LEOs watching over the embarkation. Nobody cares enough to protect them but I doubt many people care enough to attack them, unless you're the poor IRBNG MP sent to protect the shipyard with a live gun in your hands.”
Sandra lifted an eyebrow, “The shipyard? LSP's never been bold enough for that.”
“Wasn't started by them, the LSP, some anti-war peaceloving tree-huggers started it and got more signatures than anyone expected so the LSP took over. Probably good they got involved all things considered, now the IRBNG is only slightly inclined towards using force rather than very inclined.”

There was a breif look of confusion on Sandra's face at this remark. She'd occasionally seen National Guard Federal Police at the port but they seemed to mostly keep to themselves and she rarely heard them talking over dispatch.

“Does the IRBNG have a reputation for being violent up north or what? They seem pretty calm down here.”
“They're calm down here because we're down here, be lucky you live in a state and city with its own robust law enforcement. When independence struck and the IRBNG cut a piece of the pie they showed they weren't afraid of using violence to achieve results. Look at Nelio, place used to have crime down every alley but once the NG swooped in the city only has crime down a few of the alleys.”

Gabriel paused and turned around, looking back at his computer seemingly trying to que Sandra into ending the conversation with a final closing remark.

“I hope the NG doesn't open fire on a bunch of students in over their heads, but if they do it won't be us cleaning up the mess.”
“Hopefully not. Hasta luego.”
“Hasta luego.”

Whatever would happen would happen tomorrow, but Sandra didn't even consider contemplating that fact. Eastisle North had plenty of problems, but Eastisle South was lucky all of those were seperated by a border. Whatever would happen tommorow would stay in the north.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Mon Aug 17, 2026 5:17 am

The September Crisis
September 9, 2024 - September 27, 2024

By September of 2024 the national fervor of independence and the subsequent Boldonian-Brasilistani Wars faded away into a quiet prosperous nationhood. The Independent Republic of Boldonia had time to realize the kind of nation it wanted to be in the world, and people across Boldonia had mostly settled down in the roles they thought they would be fulfilling in this new republic for the years to come. However this preparation came under the assumption that this quiet period of peace would last for Boldonia, and that nothing major would rock the nation or force it to continue relying on stopgaps from the territorial era, and this assumption stretched from the homes of everyday Boldonians to the halls of government.

The Independent Republic of Boldonia Military Forces hadn't necessarily run under this assumption, but had begun to adopt something similar to it. During the territorial era military infrastructure and compositions in Boldonia had primarily revolved around defense, first from the Japanese before and during the Second World War then from the Soviets and Chinese afterwards. With Soviet puppeted Brasilistan to the north and the geographic proximity of Boldonia to Asia compared to North America there wasn't really another option for the United States Armed Forces. Stockpiles were created and organized under the Boldonian Strategic Military Armament Reserve, air bases and naval bases specialized themselves around defensive operations, aside from B-52 flights departing from Norfi Air Force base bound for Vietnam Cold War-era Boldonia had built its military identity around defense. If war were to begin at any point, Boldonia was meant to hold off its invaders until reinforcements from North America arrived.

That all changed with the end of the Cold War. The enemies of the United States now no longer were equals that could threaten the American homeland and possessions but rather became forces abroad, forces abroad requiring a logistical network to fight which Boldonia fit cleanly into. Boldonian military infrastructure shifted towards one of logistical support for expeditionary operations, and while the People's Republic of Brasilistan still lingered to the north America's concerns for Boldonia were more concerned about its ability to support foreign engagements. This approach would remain in the military's mindset during the independence proceedings for Boldonia, the new Independent Republic of Boldonia Military Forces was expected to be able to support American logistics and operations abroad. Then once the Boldonian-Brasilistani Wars happened and now the only major conventional threats to Boldonia were eliminated the Independent Republic of Boldonia Military Forces itself took on this expeditionary mindset.

The IRBMF was structured around expeditionary operations, nay built exclusively for them. All of its organizational structures, equipment procurement, and doctrinal developments were based around the idea they would be used abroad and not in Boldonia itself. The small amount of attention placed on Boldonia itself was similar to the Cold War, just enough to hold off whatever attackers came from outside until the United States swooped in to solve the problem, something which was pretty much guaranteed for Boldonia. The mere thought of an internal conflict, of fighting within Boldonia itself, barely crossed the minds of those writing the nation's doctrine in Ewala.

Boldonia was not prepared for a conflict brewing within its borders. It was not prepared to fight irregular and guerilla forces within the nation, it was not prepared for a crisis big enough to almost bring the republic to its knees but not big enough to invoke the full power of America, it was not prepared for what September of 2024 would bring to it.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Mon Aug 17, 2026 11:05 am

Public Lot 3
Nelio, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 9, 2024, 6:02AM

Esteban took his place on the coach bus next to one of the windows as several others all boarded the bus, all exchanging pleasantries with one another. Their friendliness was uplifted by a common goal, Esteban didn't see always charities and peaceful protest groups as effective but he did at the very least respect and admire the feelings of togetherness they tried to instill, the feeling they were all working towards a common goal. Esteban looked out the window to Downtown Nelio just a short distance away, the collection of commercial buildings and mixed-use buildings none of which any more than five stories tall. Downtown was one of the nicer areas of the city, although it still faced issues with crime and underfunding that the bourgeoisie of the south didn't.

“¡Hola mi amigo! Interesante verte aquí!”

The sudden yet familiar voice startled Esteban out of his trance, turning his attention beside him as his good friend Carlito Pacheno took his place beside him.

“¡Carlito! No esperaba ver a nadie del club en el mismo autobús que yo.”
“Por supuesto mi hermano. Estamos todos juntos en esto. No soy una de las personas que está ‘solo aquí para el trabajo’, qué montón de copos.”
“Bueno, es bueno verte camrada-”
Carlito interrupted with a hushed tone, “Oye, relájate con el Marx. Los "socialistas democráticos" tienen el control ahora, no lo hagan obvio.”
Esteban sighed, “Amo y odio el LSP.”
“Predicar. Sin embargo, al menos tenemos respaldo para esto, solo preocupado de que a la Guardia Nacional no le importe.”
“No les importará, no. No les importará lo suficiente como para reconocernos.”

A BAI member came through the bus counting heads before returning to the driver and sitting right behind them, speaking to him. The bus doors then closed and they waited for Bus 1 to finish boarding before the two buses then took off bound for Port Fortitude. Once underway the BAI member the stood from her seat and in the aisle looking towards the group.

“Alright welcome. So, uhm, as I'm sure you're aware we're working with the LSP now and they've asked us to, well, uh, try not to overstep our freedom of speech rights. You know, ‘clear and present danger’ and all, which I don't know if that still applies or not but let's be safe and assume it does.”

The member held a wooden clipboard in her hand which she lifted up slightly and looked down on.

“Now the LSP has asked us to coordinate a few chants, I guess to keep us from saying something that'll put us on a list. So uh, let's just start I guess.”

The member readjusted the clipboard in her hands before reading off it.

“Alright then here we go. One, two, three, ‘No warships in Boldonia. Use that steel for here at home.’ You got that, alright let's repeat it.”
Following an awkward silence after that the member repeated, “Alright well, somebody's got to start it. On me. One, two, three…”

There was a few voices that hesitantly spoke up amongst the crowd, but most of the bus including Esteban and Carlito stayed quiet. The BAI member held her clipboard slightly downward and sighed.

“Come on guys, you all payed the $8.75 fee I thought you wanted to be here. Come on, one, two, three-”
“No warships in Boldonia! Use that steel for here at home!”
“There we go!”
“No warships in Boldonia! Use that steel for here at home! No warships in Boldonia! Use that steel for here at home!”

Esteban and Carlito stayed quiet for the first few however eventually Carlito joined in hesitantly. Both men looked at each other with that same hesitant energy before Esteban joined in as well, the two eventually yelling out the chant loudly. A visible smile appeared on the BAI member's face, only broken up by a slight jolt in the bus as they merged onto the Interstate. She moved her hand in a downward motion which gradually brought the rubble of the voices down with it.

“Alright, alright, that was good! Alright I've got a list here to go through, next one is ‘Don't let us rot, don't let us die, because our call will never die!’”

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sun Aug 23, 2026 5:57 am

Southside Nelio
Nelio County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 9, 2024, 6:16PM

Laila leaned against the wall next to the stairwell to her apartment, looking out the thin window on the door at the street. She had been waiting for several minutes until now when a red SUV pulled up on the street, Laila immediately exiting the building and walking to the passenger door. Opening it up she was immediately greeted by Mitch Addens with a smile and two coffee cups in the cup holders.

“Hey.”
“Hey.”

Laila took her seat and fastened her seatbelt, Mitch putting in a new address in his phone before pulling the car into drive and moving off.

“Hey thanks for driving me.”
“No problem, your car having some trouble or you just don't want to pay the gas price?”
“Well now that you mention it my car feels a little weirder than usual, but no I just felt safer if someone other than me were in the driver's seat today.”
“Morning drowsiness?”
Laila sighed, “Mitch, the cops are going to be paying close attention to everything today because of the protest. If they're anything like in the mainland then I don't want to be profiled or worse.”

Mitch looked over at Laila's skin, noticing its tone, before then looking back at his wheel embarrassed.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry I asked.”
“Look its fine, I'm suprised that hadn't crossed your mind considering I'm one of the few African Americans in this country.”
“Well there are a few-”
“You should probably quit while you're ahead and I'm still being nice towards you.”
“Oh yeah, right, sorry.”
“It's no problem.”

Mitch drove down the cracked streets of Nelio until stopping in front of another apartment building quite similar to Laila's. Although this time there wasn't as immediate of a response as Laila had given Mitch, leading to him pulling out his phone and sending a quick text which caused Jacinto Solis to come walking out the building a minute or two later. Jacinto got into the backseat with Laila and Mitch turning around to look at him.

“Hey Jacinto, I got us Starbucks thought I'd be nice, hopefully it hasn't spilled back there.”
“Oh thank you. You're too kind.”

With his final passenger Mitch put in a parking lot close to the shipyards into Google Maps and began to drive off, making his way towards Interstate EI. Turning onto the ramp the SUV merged into the quiet traffic, mostly consisting of trucks with a few personal vehicles here and there. Eventually Laila broke the noise of the highway mixed with the car stereo, sipping her coffee before speaking towards the backseat.

“So, Jacinto, you still doing residential wiring?”
“Yeah still am, suprised you remember me though, not like we speak often.”
“Well we see each other once a week even if we don't notice or say it out loud, that's good enough to help me remember.”
Jacinto paused before posing a question, “So, Laila, what made you want to head down to Fortitude.”
“The protest, obviously, that's why we're all on the Interstate right now.”
“No, I mean why are you protesting?”
Laila paused before answering, “Because I want to see things get better, and maybe this will help somewhat.”
“Somewhat…” said Mitch.
“Somewhat is still better than nothing, this state doesn't have much to begin with so even the smallest somewhat is still a lot. What about you Jacinto, why are you heading to Fortitude.”
“I guess the same thing as you, maybe things can get better.”
“And you, Mitch?”
“I hate Mondays and this is an excuse to get out of one.”

Laila chuckled, though Jacinto didn't seem to take the humorous remark.

“Well the more people there the better right,” said Laila, “the BCT needs something to pay attention up here, and quantity sure grabs people's attentions.”
Jacinto nodded, “True, true. Even if this all fails at least we can say we tried something. No harm in that.”
Laila smiled as she looked out the window, “No harm at all.”

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Sat Aug 29, 2026 7:21 am

The Port Fortitude Protest
September 9, 2024

Protests in Boldonia were rare, usually only happening when the entire United States or world at large had something to complain about. Even then it was especially hard for exceptionally motivated ones to spring up, many Boldonians lived comfortable lives and saw little ill effects from government action despite a few annoying legal stipulations from Washington or a bad day on the global market. The Port Fortitude Protest which sent Boldonia down a dangerous path was something unprecedented, at no other time in Boldonian history had so many people spoken out about a local issue which also didn't have something to do with general global events.

Once word spread the Eastisle North National Guard deployed one of its regular military units to the Eastisle Naval Shipyards to support the Port Fortitude Police Department, Eastisle North Highway Patrol, and IRBNG Federal Police. This unit had been through training in the past on riot control, but most of its training had been geared towards defensive operations ensuring the safety of the shipyards and nearby military base in case of attack. The suddenness of the protest gave it little time to refresh its personnel on how to deal with an opponent which can't be shot at, the unit's personnel had internalized the mindset of shooting an invader to kill and not convincing a crowd to remain calm.

This laspe in mindset wouldn't lead to deaths at Port Fortitude, it would be later in the month that blood would be spilled by the National Guard, but it did make the National Guard more trigger happy than they should have been and the abundance of supposedly “less than lethal” rubber bullets made its personel feel little remorse if they had to fire a few shots into the crowd. It wasn't as though this crowd was scared of this though.

The call by the Boldonians Against Intervention had attracted a few ideologically motivated groups who wanted any opportunity to go after the “bourgeoisie", groups like Nelio Community College's Labor and Politics Club were some of the more moderate of the groups that answered the call. The Liberal Society Party's attempt to step in and dilute the rhetoric only worked somewhat, as while formally these beliefs were suppressed in the chants and demands they couldn't be suppressed in the minds of those that held them. Many in the crowd expected a showdown with the National Guard, planned for it even, and with so many participants those with that expectation couldn't all be held back.

A trigger happy National Guard and a somewhat belligerent crowd would collide in Port Fortitude, and the whole city and soon enough the state would be affected as a result.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Wed Sep 09, 2026 1:51 pm

Port Fortitude
Fortaleza County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 9, 2024, 8:13AM

The coach bus remained mostly quiet, the practices and chanting which had started when they left Nelio having died down once everything had been practiced leaving the passengers in silent contemplation. Esteban watched out the window as the bus passed by the first suburbs of Port Fortitude, small single story houses wedged between the Interstate and the Fortitude Channel interspersed with old warehouses. More southern than Nelio, closer to established cargo ports and military infrastructure such as the Small Bay Cargo Port they passed an hour ago or the Eastisle Naval Shipyards themselves they were bound towards, more of the industrial installations Esteban saw were occupied but still many remained abandoned. As far as Esteban was aware, the ones that remained open anyway were only open because the Shipyards and Eastisle Air Force Base found them useful, if the military saw no use in keeping it alive they were content to let it die.

As the bus drove deeper into Port Fortitude however, Esteban noticed watching eyes on them. The Independent Republic of Boldonia National Guard, parked at various positions overlooking the highway either in their police SUVs or in full on combat vehicles. In between Nelio and here Esteban had noticed a large presence of Eastisle North Highway Patrol, but having never left Nelio proper many times he assumed that was just regular patrols looking out for speeders, but now he knew the truth. The authorities knew they were coming, seemingly they had been planning for it, and now they were watching. Esteban looked over to Carlito who had fallen asleep in his seat, nudging Carlito on the shoulder and waking him up before motioning out the window at a tan humvee parked on an overpass.

“Los capitalistas.”
Carlito looked out the window still a little drowsy but alert, “Parecen equipados para el combate; mira el calibre 7,62 que lleva encima.”

Esteban looked in the direction of a humvee and low and behold he spotted an M240 sticking out from a gunshield on the top. He looked over at the soldiers surrounding and manning it, all of them wearing combat gear and holding rifles that looked to be M16s. Distinctly, Esteban noticed the gas masks hanging off their belts. He felt in his pocket and felt nothing besides his phone and wallet, he didn't even think about masks.

“Maldita sea, máscaras antigás. Si tienen gas lacrimógeno, yo…”
“Te llevo ventaja.”

Carlito pulled out a red patterned handkerchief out of his pocket and placed in in Esteban's hands before pulling a green one halfway out of the same pocket, putting it back in before whispering to Esteban.

“Consérvalo. La primera regla de las protestas: oculta tu identidad y protégete del gas.”
“Gracias.”
“No lo menciones. En serio, no lo hagas.”

The bus continued down the Interstate until it passed by Downtown Port Fortitude, the area wedged between Interstate EI to the south and the Fortitude Channel to the north. To his north Esteban saw the small dome of the state capitol building, tiny compared to the domes that topped other capitol buildings across both Boldonia and the United States. Beyond that the towers of the Port Fortitude Suspension Bridge could be intermittently seen, connecting the city to Eastisle Air Force Base and Eastisle Naval Base across the channel. Both of them were hidden behind a small collection of two to three story buildings, a smaller downtown than Nelio's. Port Fortitude was a modest state capital, but this modestly had been forced upon it by the decaying economy of Eastisle North. It, like the rest of the state, was something few Boldonians outside of it cared about.

The bus took an exit off of the Interstate just after passing by downtown, being greeted by a National Guard humvee once off the ramp, the soldiers near it watching the bus as it turned towards the shipyards. The gantry cranes of the shipyard were now clearly in view, the bus's passengers all looking out the windows towards the reason they boarded in the first place. As the bus approached the shipyard more and more National Guard soldiers could be seen watching the bus, lining its route towards the staging area of the protest.

The bus finally stopped at a large parking lot with several white tents set up, the passengers all standing up to disembark the bus. Carlito got up with Esteban following behind him as they both made their way down the aisle and off the bus emerging with a view of the shipyards directly to their east. Esteban peered through the chain link fence and saw sandbags set up, with more tan humvees all armed pointing outside towards the gathering crowd.

Carlito began moving towards one of the main tents but something caught Esteban's eyes behind the chain link fence, something metallic and olive drab. Esteban followed the shape with his eyes up until he finally realized what he was looking at. Just behind the chain link fence pointing towards the main gate into the shipyards was parked an LAV-25, an armored personnel carrier with soldiers surrounding it, its 25mm gun pointing out towards the growing crowd.

Esteban muttered under his breath, “Están listos.”

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Tue Sep 15, 2026 10:23 am

Downtown Port Fortitude
Fortaleza County, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 9, 2024, 8:42AM

Mitch took the exit into Downtown Port Fortitude after the two and a half hour drive, Laila watching the roads surrounding the Interstate carefully seeing the National Guard all watching the highway carefully. Even on the drive over Laila noticed the high presence of highway patrol and Federal Police all ready to move southward in the direction of travel from Nelio. From the times she had driven down to Port Fortitude herself the police were never this busy, a few highway patrol cars parked here and there maybe or even not at all, but today was different. Today was the day of the protest, the protest her and the people she was riding with were set to participate in.

Mitch intentionally chose not to drive straight to the shipyards, he told Laila earlier in the drive that the National Guard would be watching every direct entrance closely and that the protesters would leave them with little place to park. Instead he wanted to make his way to the public parking garage in downtown and walk to the shipyards, avoiding the wave of protesters and some of the closer parking spaces the National Guard likely had eyes on as well. However even here the National Guard was seemingly on high alert. Outside the windows Laila could see several of them walking or driving around the streets, most were in their military police uniforms with just a pistol and their holster but others were soldiers either looking down at the streets from rooftops or leaning against humvees parallel parked next to someone’s hand me down sedan.

Still though Mitch was able to move through the streets of Port Fortitude until reaching the three level public garage close to the state capitol, pulling in and leaning out the window to grab the payment ticket before driving further into the garage. It was packed full of cars but Mitch still found a spot on the second level and pulled in, turning off the ignition and stowing the ticket into the sun visor.

“Welcome to Port Fortitude.”
Jacinto spoke up, “So is this the point of no return, any going back after this?”
“Well if you don’t want to go then I guess you’ll have to find a coffee shop and get comfortable, because I intend to go,” said Laila confidently.
“Not going to abandon her in Port Fortitude, Jacinto, but you can always step out and I’ll make sure to get you before we leave.”
“Wasn’t asking because I wanted to leave, just trying to process all of it.”
Laila and Mitch both stared at nothing in silence before Laila broke the silence.
“I understand.”

All three of them exited the car and began to make their way out of the garage, moving towards the stairwell. Walking down the concrete steps Laila still heard the sounds of the city outside and the breeze blowing in from the Fortitude Channel, sounding as though nothing out of the ordinary would be occurring today. Stepping outside that illusion was immediately shattered by the sight of a tan humvee parked on the street manned by soldiers, with the towers of the Port Fortitude Suspension Bridge visible behind them. Laila noticed the soldiers immediately glaring at them, Mitch seeming to notice as well from how his head was turned, the soldiers continuing to closely watch as they turned to the east and began walking towards the port.

As they continued on foot towards the port Laila kept noticing the increasing presence and density of National Guard patrols. The soldiers on the rooftop still continued to watch the streets, some resting their rifles pointed upwards on their shoulder while others leisurely hung the rifles around their shoulder leaving it dangling at their side save for a hand holding the strap. The humvees they were coming across were now also armed, with some having a belt fed machine gun manned by a soldier on top. Jacinto walking just behind Laila gave one of the machine gunners a shy wave, with the machine gunner briefly flashing his hand up in a half wave while staring at Jacinto.

After a few minutes of walking Mitch, Laila, and Jacinto all reached the outskirts of the port’s entrance gate, with the clear grassy space previously separating the chain link fence from downtown now being filled to the brim with people. Mitch gave one look surveying the landscape before then muttering something to himself.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Wed Sep 23, 2026 7:10 am

Eastisle Naval Shipyards
Port Fortitude, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 9, 2024, 10:00AM

After a few hours of listening to protest organizers talk, of eating the few snacks provided, of idle chat with the protesters waiting for things to kick off, the organizers in BAI and the LSP officially gave the order to begin their march and chant. Esteban and Carlito both donned their neckerchiefs and walked up with the crowd as the chanting began.

“NO WARSHIPS IN BOLDONIA! USE THAT STEEL FOR HERE AT HOME! NO WARSHIPS IN BOLDONIA! USE THAT STEEL FOR HERE AT HOME!”

While Carlito eagerly joined in the chanting with the rest of the crowd Esteban put his vocal cords on autopilot, his mind more focused on watching the soldiers behind the chain link fence. They had their gas masks on now, those with shields on their helmets had them down, the LAV-25 crew had closed their hatches, all the while every rifle in sight was held in the same exact position: pointed down towards the ground at an angle but with hands still firmly on the grips. The only soldiers that differed were what seemed to be the leaders, maybe sergeants or lieutenants Esteban wasn’t sure, differentiated by the ballcap instead of a helmet and with a pistol in their hands instead of a rifle although still wearing gas masks.

The crowd slowly inched their way closer to the gate, having started out some distance away as to not fully antagonize the National Guard before everyone arrived but having always planned to get as close to the gate as the soldiers allowed. Now a little closer to the shipyards themselves, through glimpses past the crowd and the fence, Esteban could better see what the shipyard had been taking up so much funding for. He saw three ships, two of them still under large cranes with guns and other metallic objects held above the deck with the other seemingly fully ready to set sail were it not for the protest. The Boldonian flag flew above all three but underneath each had a different flag, with the seemingly ship one having a mostly white flag with thin red lines on the top and bottom with some black colored animal standing in the middle slightly offset to the left. One just had a simple bicolor, yellow on top red on bottom, while the other was mostly red with a black stripe and three white objects horizontally aligned in the middle. Esteban wondered what the flags were for, he assumed like their American friends the Boldonians would be content with just one flag on the mast.

A slight accidental bump by another protester on his back snapped Esteban out of this observational focus. He turned to Carlito and saw him with his fist raised chanting loudly along with the rest of the crowd, the fabric of his green neckerchief agitated by his words. Carlito locked eyes with Esteban once Esteban started looking, Esteban giving him a little nod without thinking before turning his sight back around and repeating the chants with the crowd.

“DON’T LET US ROT, DON’T LET US DIE, BECAUSE OUR CALL WILL NEVER DIE!”

The soldiers continued to stand in silence staring out into the crowd, Esteban thought he saw one of them check the bullets in his rifle but he wasn’t sure. Esteban also noticed something new propped against the humvees, concrete barriers, or whatever else solid was pointed out at the crowd. Soldiers were leaning their rifles against them pointing their barrels into the air, but instead of a slim barrel there seemed to be a large hollow cylindrical object below the barrel, each of the soldiers having some kind of sight on the barrel which the others lacked flipped up. These soldiers seemed to be a bit more ready and a little less stoic than the others, more noticeably turning their heads to scan the crowd and occasionally readjusting their guns, a few of the ballcap wearers squatting down next to them scanning alongside them.

The crowd kept slowly moving, chanting slogans, inching closer to the main entrance Esteban couldn’t see behind the large blob of people. Esteban’s heart was palpitating, whether it was excitement or fear he didn’t know, but he could feel them getting closer. He could feel the shipyard ahead, the symbol of everything he felt was wrong with his government, the symbol of everything he felt was wrong with the Western World. He felt like he was finally doing something, like the Boldonian people were finally doing something, something the government finally couldn’t ignore. All the National Guard could do was sit behind a chain link fence and watch as the Boldonian people took control of their own destiny, nothing could stop the people, nothing…

...It was then Esteban heard a loud crack.

by **Independent Republic of Boldonia** » Wed Sep 30, 2026 12:57 pm

Eastisle Naval Shipyards
Port Fortitude, Eastisle North, Independent Republic of Boldonia
Monday, September 9, 2024, 10:12AM

Laila, Mitch, and Jacinto all followed the crowd near its rear as it moved closer towards the gate until all three of them heard a pop. Before they could even turn to each other to comment on it more popping sounds were heard in the direction of the gate, starting with a series of high pitched pops followed by a barrage of low pitched ones. The people at the front could be heard screaming and yelling with the grumble of the crowd spreading in a wave towards the three of them, followed by a sudden and gradual push backwards from the crowd as people suddenly tried to turn around. Laila heard one of the people yell something out in Spanish.

“¡Gas lacrimógeno!”

Jacinto immediately turned to Mitch and Laila, speaking to them in a worried tone.

“Dammit, tear gas.”
“Tear gas?!” Mitch exclaimed loudly.

Laila observed as the people around her tried to put something over their faces, some had scarves and bandanas, others had thick jackets they pulled the collars of over their face, and some held thin shirts up to their face hoping it would do something to protect them. As the three of them started to try and move backwards with the crowd they heard the sounds of police sirens approaching, Laila briefly turning her head back to see a wall of dissipating white smoke near the shipyard’s gate before turning her head back in front of her to try and navigate out of the crowd.

Then there were more loud noises coming from their left, this time more easily identifiable. Gunshots intermittently went off, the crowd suddenly jolting and attempting to move in the opposite direction. A cacophony of sound surrounded Laila creating a disorienting affect until suddenly someone grabbed her arm.

Mitch shouted to her, “Come on! Come on! Let’s go! Parking garage!”

Mitch led as Laila followed him, looking briefly to her peripheral vision seeing Jacinto trying to follow as well. Mitch noticed an opening towards the northwest that he tried to move towards, leading them towards downtown. However more police sirens were heard until a humvee with an installed lightbar inside the cabin followed by two Federal Police SUVs suddenly sped into view, the soldier in the top of the humvee leaving his machine gun to point into the air as he drawed a pistol and started to fire into the crowd. Soldiers exited the humvee and surrounding vehicles, rifles or pistols drawn and gas masks on.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE SHIPYARD AND NAVAL BASE! DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY!” screamed out a loudspeaker attached to the humvee as a hail of rubber bullets went off into the crowd.

Laila instinctively slammed her palm onto Mitch’s back causing him to duck as Laila ducked, the rubber bullets passing over their head and hitting a few people behind them causing more yells and screams. Mitch tried to navigate his way out of the crowd moving in a western direction towards downtown, Laila doing her best to follow as the chaos continued around them. Laila turned her head briefly to try and find Jacinto behind her, but couldn’t she see him. An intense fear pulsed through Laila, a fear she had never felt anything like before.

The next minutes were a blur, Laila tracking the dark blue shirt and khaki cargo pants of Mitch as they weaved their way through the crowd, pavement at her feet and buildings some unknowable distance away above. Behind them the crowd kept pushing them closer to downtown, gunshots still occasionally going off and more people beginning to be seen with bloodshot eyes coughing into their clothes. Mitch and Laila just kept moving forward, hoping that somehow they would find a break that would lead them back to the garage.

War in Boldonia (Maintenance, Closed)

War in Boldonia (Maintenance, Closed)

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