[Regional RP] Delta Episode

[IverChekt]

OMeko visits Doctor Styne

The OMeko arrived at the airport in a new private jet. Unlike the simple and modest jet of the past, the new one has the elegant delta wings and aggressive afterburners of a supersonic jet. She steps off with her guard. She's wearing a tie dye t shirt, a bohemian knitted skirt, and a pair of big round sunglasses. Her guards dress in black suits, one carries a leather suitcase chained to her wrist.

With the jet having touched down a heavy car rolled up to the awaiting OMeko and her bodyguards. Once it had stopped a man in a simple navy suit stepped out of passenger side of the car to open its door for the OMeko. He spoke as he stood by the door waiting for the OMeko to get in. "Doctor Styne sends his regards and will greet you once we arrive at the Labunsk."

The OMeko gets in and gets comfortable. She responds to the man by making a peace sign with her fingers. "... Groovy."

The man closed the door after her and then got back into the passenger side seat. Once he had closed his own door the car set off driving across the tarmac until they reached a side entrance which brought them on to the busy streets of Deonec. It was a short enough drive through towering canyons of concrete until the height started to taper off to the old district and the Labusnk square. Entering the square they were waved through a checkpoint where a IFV was posted watch alongside armoured DPO troops. They then went through the empty square to the Labusnk and then down a ramp to its underground parking garage. Now underground they navigated the car park until they went to a door way where Doctor Styne was waiting.

The OMeko didn't wait to be let out, she climbed out of the car with her arms outstretched. "Styne! It's good to see you, and a shame I can't show you around my new office, or my new collection of IverIrosian music."

"Its good to see you as well. I wouldn't have minded a trip over to see IverIros but the current climate simply does not allow it." He then started leading them into the stair well as he continued. "We can head up to my office to chat further."

"There will be plenty of time to show you later. In the meantime, this gave me the excuse to use my new private jet, this one flies at mach 2.5, and still somehow is more reliable than my SUV."

"I think that's a good sign to upgrade the SUV." They now where in a plush corridor where they went to a large office with a heavy wooden desk a large window behind it and then to a side a few armchairs beside a fire place. "Please take a seat and tell me a bit more about why you decided to pop by I can only assume it has something to do with the Bessemer?"

A wide smile crosses the OMeko's lips and her tail swings with joy as she sits down. "You know, I've grown quite fond of your humans' style of state building. Nuclear weapons for deterrence, large armies, and now I'm going to be trying out that human technique of a show of force. Expect us chunes to be on the news for a little while." She said with a chuckle. I need to show the Archgovnerness that the chunes cannot be bullied any longer, that's the big goal for this plan Prime Minister Curtiss and I came up with."

"Levying the threat of fuel sanctions I assume to keep them in line? Do tell me was the entire incident staged to bait them into it or was it more an act exploiting the opportunity dropped on your laps?"

"It wasn't staged. I was actually hoping to make contact with the Lost Boroughs and turn them into something of a proxy. It would have been a much better long term plan. The sanctions was always plan B"

"So simply seizing the moment, what are you trying to get from the Archgoverness? As for a proxy I'd advise against meddling in the Lost Boroughs in future after all the fallout wouldn't be on your back step and while the Cooperation always stands alongside its allies bringing chaos to our lands would not be appreciated."

"The what I get is less important than the what I accomplish with the threat of sanctions. My goal is to show her that I can make her squirm. I think I've accomplished that already. Beyond that, I think I can get a better deal if I settle with her outside of the world forum. We will need the money, of course, but I'm also thinking about seeing if I can... Do you know my daughter Dominula? I may have talked about her before. I think I can finally free her from Neo Metropol's grasp."

"Its an effective use of the world forum for leverage. When do you plan to try broach the deal to them?"

"Soon, but I am going to need a little bit of help from you. The Neo Metropolitans have a massive weakness with negotiations, they're so used to blind obedience they don't know how to make a deal. First thing I need is for the Cooperation to help keep up the ruse, we want to make sure the Archgoverness still thinks sanctions are a possibility."

"I'll do what I can for the get Cooperation to help with your ruse but there certain realities make that a difficult task. We are on the march to war which makes meddling with a neighbor who has pledged support in that war and who's trade offers a certain layer of stability in the economy even after the nuclear strike a hard ask to risk."

"The second thing I need help with might help sweeten the deal a little bit. I know you're having some problems with some people out east. I need a place to do a show of force. If you support me, I will support you, and I can send in ships, bombers, whatever I need to. I just need somewhere to bomb."

"I don't think 'some problems' does justice to a nuclear bomb and two hundred and forty one dead service men and women. The Cooperation is at war but for you that has some benefits it provides you with a rather wide array of targets to pick from near enough to Metropol for your show of force."

"I want to show you something." The OMeko rummages through a leather bag she had with her and then pulls out a wooden model ship. It was hand made and carefully painted. The ship is the IIRN Kase Eagle, a massive battlecruiser with 128 VLS cells and 4 rail guns. She gives it to Doctor Styne. "Keep it, this is a gift, a little model of the pride of the IverIrosian navy. If I have something with that much firepower, I want to use them and make sure the whole world understands the power."

Doctor Styne took the model inspecting it before he set it down on a table. He seemed to mull his words over before he continued. "The advice may be unneeded but all I can say is do not allow this to be an excuse to fall into the trap of hubris."

"I know what I'm doing." The OMeko tries to keep a neutral expression, but her tail flicks with annoyance. "I just need a target. Between the Kase Eagle class cruisers and Awlburn's Pyotr class battleships, we can turn some unwanted coastline into a new harbor."

"While I have every belief in you and that you know what you are doing you should know as well as anyone I hedge my bets. The CID has intelligence on a key smuggling port Atlansk has been using to bring in weapons that should be suitable for your purposes. I'll have someone drop it off to your embassy."

"Perfect. We will wipe it off the map. If you need anything else, do let us know. The Awlburns are itching to get involved in a war somewhere, Madame President Olexandra has been urging me to send Awlburn Kofts into the East. I told her I would talk to you about it."

"If something crops up I will let you know, but I'd ask you to inform Madame President Olexandra her itch for war might not find an answer out east."

"Shame, I guess I will have to find my own. Things are almost too peaceful on Arach right now, I am almost hoping the AUSR will do something reckless."

"I doubt you'll need to hope for much longer the AUSR likely see Irosian integration as a threat and if they feel threatened they'll start acting out."

"Well they better feel threatened." The OMeko chuckled. "Look at me now, I don't have to feel afraid anymore, I don't have to feel like I'm balancing Chunish survival on a needle!"

"I assume then you have plans to back this bravado when a war inevitably starts with AUSR?"

"I certainly have the arsenal for it. IverIros has a little program they call Operation Plutonium Dome, nuclear powered aircraft carrying nuclear missiles, dozens of them up in the air at the same time for weeks on end. You should see those airplanes, they're absolutely massive."

"Its sounds like quite the endeavour the Cooperation has always preferred boomers they fulfill similar roles only difference one navigates the skys the other the seas."

"Next time you can make the trip to IverChekt, I will have to show you everything. Until then, I want to let you know that my strategy going forward is to double down on alliances, especially with the Cooperation, Nedea, and Manticore. The goal is to create a sort of TIDE backed world order with chunes playing an integral role."

"The AU playing some role in your plans to double down on alliances? It may be handy to have a united Arachi front as well as your allies across the maw for when the time comes."

"Yes, but the AU isn't a military alliance. Doubling down on the AU is going to mean opening up IverIros to foreign trade, something they seem to be cautiously optimistic about."

"Are they still rather cautious about human states?"

"Yes. They did chose me as their OMeko to put them in good international standing. That's my job in IverIros. This also comes with an implied job of trying to make sure to massage away fear of humans. That's going to be easier said than done. Have you ever heard the chunes talk about how much we suffered at the hands of Saronins back on our old home planet of Ciolon? Some clever scientists among the IverIrosians figured out they are genetically identical to humans. We do not know how, but the science doesn't lie."

"I have heard of the history of Saronins and Chunes ended up being a big reason behind the Order of King Theodrics adopted isolationist anti human stances was it not? at least you can show them the benefits of human allies and that we are not the Saronins."

"Yes, the long history of oppression leads to a sort of institutional distrust. Everything about our mythology tells us to trust our own clans, and never outsiders."

"Being neighbors with the AUSR doesn't help with calming such feelings."

"No, that's why they're far more skeptical of humans than us Chektians."

"I guess that leaves you to chip away at it even as the looming threat of AUSR as it stands a specter of the evils of humanity right on your doorstep."

"The myths to come from this period of our history will be particularly exciting."

"Your right it'll also be an incredibly dense chapter in the history books. Is there anything else you have on your mind?"

"No. Would you like a drink and a chance to relax for a while before I leave?"

"Well given its my office I should be the one offering the drinks but I would." Her stood up going over to cabinet which he opened to reveal a small bar. "Some Heldgast?"

"Heldgast is always a good choice. There is a drink some people in IverIros have called switchel, made from vinegar and molasses. Mixing in a couple shots of Heldgast with that stuff is so good."

He brought over a bottle and two glasses placing them down on the table beside the ship model before taking his seat. "Its one thing the Cooperation has always produced I remember it came from the first colony ship. So did the tale and its supposed use as coolant."

"You know, a lot of humans from the Cooperation visit places like OSetho, see the strange and exotic environment, and then leave with this impression that the Cooperation doesn't have culture, or the culture is all military, and I jut think they don't understand what culture is in the first place. Culture isn't found in oil paintings and grand orchestras, it's found in little things like legends around alcohol, relations to military service. I find stuff like this so fascinating."

Archgoverness visits OMeko.

The Archgoverness gets a text message.

"Hiiii :3 It's Waffles! >:3c It looks like you're in a bit of a pickle in the world forum, huh. How about you and I have a little private discussion and see if we can smooth this out over some wine."

The OMeko gets a reply.

"Acceptable."

The OMeko's new office is in Ironbridge, a massive city that sprawls upwards just as much as it does below, with a messy layer to roadways, freeways, and rail. It would almost be familiar to a Metropolitan if not for the bright colors, leisure, and optimism. The office is in one of the city's tallest towers, a monolith of glass and chrome. Inside the office, maroon shag carpet runs wall to wall with avocado colored accents and appliances. The OMeko sits in a conversation pit style sofa in the middle of the room with a bottle of chilled wine on the table. A nearby hi fi stereo plays an 8 track of psychedelic rock on low volume. The OMeko is sporting a bit of a new style with a long flowing skirt, tie dye T shirt, and big round sunglasses.

The style of the woman on the OMeko's immediate right could not have been standing in more immediate contrast.

Clad in her usual outing garb of suffocatingly tight military-esque official's suit and robes of Metropolitan style, her permanently grim expression seeming to have reached the above and beyond of perpetual contempt, the Archgoverness downed yet another glass of the pitch-black Metropolitan vintage she'd brought to this important meeting.

"-Complete rot within your country, and you aren't even allowed to adress it." She finished the sentence she'd started before she'd begun the drink. "The City functions as well as it does because if a cog is out of place it is my divinely ordained right—my duty—to blow the cog's head smooth off its shoulders. And mine's not even the nation with legalized dueling."

"That's just one of the drawbacks of ruling a country with such an old culture, OJanMekos have been doing that sort of thing before Gresk, before space travel. It was probably an OJanMeko who invented fire just to watch the woods burn." The OMeko pours herself a glass of Irosian Wine from the Fred Blazer Vineyards, the bottle proudly displays a map of the vineyard on the southern coast of Calibark on the Irosian frontier.

The Archgoverness scoffed at the notion, rolling her eyes as she took another wanton swig. Very few opportunities (in her eyes, at least) existed for her to cut this loose, to the point that she didn't even refer to the OMeko by her title. "Just cooperate with me on this, Tackett. Poison in her drink, bullet in her brain, bomb in her preaching robes. I cannot abide her insolence much longer." Rarer still were opportunities to express herself this... liberally, in front of someone else. It wasn't just the drink loosening her tongue, though during these meetings, that was usually what ended up happening on both sides.

"I know this probably doesn't make things any better, but the IIRN Bessemer incident was the IverIrosian Prime Minister's idea. They call Margarita Curtiss the Titanium Lady for a reason, I suppose. Curtiss Clan, they're all crazy. Did you know their last OMeko died because she decided to take a flight in an experimental hypersonic aircraft that was supposed to have exceeded mach 12? Crazy stuff, my new jet is only mach 2.5 and I was afraid of it during my visit to the Cooperation."

"Tch. Every second clan in your little retinue is 'all crazy'. That shouldn't stop you from tightening the leash when necessary."

"Speaking of, I think I can make your little problem in the World Forum go away. You won't have to worry about fuel sanctions, or admitting fault, but I may need to ask for a few things in return, this will be kept entirely under the table so nobody has to know but us."

The archgoverness raised an eyebrow as high as one could conceivably be raised, slowly turning her head towards Waffles, ready to carefully appraise her every word. "Elaborate."

"First of all..." The OMeko put her glass of wine down and took a deep breath. "The dollar amount listed in the proposition. We do need that. I have to compensate the families of every single killed sailor. These are Chunish families remember. The Commanding Officer left behind 25 kits that she had given birth too, and another 37 she legally married into. Second of all. I want Dominula. I want you to just forget about her entirely, let her live safe and worry free in IverChekt. Lastly, I've been putting together a catalog in my biolab. I want the Arbeiter genome for my records."

The Arhcgoverness sneered, taking another sip of her drink. Clearly, the talk of 'children left behind' meant nothing to her; she only had an ear for the more pragmatic aspect of the conversation. "Money is no object. I can easily-"

And the very next second, she froze, mid sip. She remained frozen for the remainder of the OMeko's demands, her eyes obscured by her bangs. Slowly, gently, she put her glass back down. The demands she'd just been presented with were laced with information she'd now need to process within mere seconds.

So, she started with the most immediately pressing concern.

"What do you mean... you want Dominula?"

"As I said, I want her to be able to live safe and worry free in IverChekt." The OMeko said.

"She is a Gänger." The Archgoverness snapped, suddenly rising to her feet, outwardly glaring down at the OMeko. "She is a Metropolitan, and a daughter of The City. 'Safety?' 'Worry-free?' Even beyond the fact that you seem to think you can hold my own head of research as some sort of leverage against me, her safety and her worries are none of your concern!" There was an outright sneer in her expression, a distinct but recognisable cruelty in her bright red eyes. "Don't tell me you've caught some manner of maternal feeling over her? I've half a mind to send word to have her shipped back home right now."

"I see." The OMeko picks up her glass of wine again. "Sanctions it is, then."

The Archgoverness stares incredulously as Waffles simply passes the topic by, and snatches the glass out of the OMeko's hand.

"Answer the question, Tackett."

The OMeko's eyes dilate to large round circles and her tail twitches with agitation. She keeps her voice calm as something resembling a customer service voice. "I believe you've entirely misread the situation. I believe Dominula in her current state can only ever be a liability to you, but I can fix that. You have three options. One: You can bring her back to Neo Metropol where she is going to talk with the other naturally curious Denkers about the warmth and food of the outside world. Some of them are going to wonder why they can't get that too. Two: You can execute her, and in so doing, the denkers will start to wonder what she discovered that you're so afraid of. Either of those options are going to create discontent or even an outright rebellion among your intelligentsia, something that can be lethal in a nation so reliant on science and engineering. Three: You can free her, and without any legal ties to a foreign nation, she may be eligible for peerage. A position just opened up in the coal rich mountains of Kachen's Pass near OHakni, I could make her Countess and have influence over IverChekt's coal resources."

The dark malice that'd built up within the Archgoverness' eyes, the sheer contempt with which she regarded the OMeko, that barely-contained burst of anger... Slowly began to drain away, as she continued speaking. Not into any manner of satisfaction or placidity, but rather a cold, indifferent look of pragmatism, not unlike what could be seen in the eyes of the most ruthless Cooperate businessman.

With a sigh and a soft scoff, The Archgoverness sat back down, and placed the glass she'd grabbed in the table.

"...Take her. I will need to personally meet with her one last time, but she's yours."

What was one Gänger in the face of universal sanction, anyhow?

"However, I absolutely cannot give you any amount of genome information from The City's genetic archives. It was insolent of you to ask in the first place."

Flat, blunt, matter-of-fact as could be. This was an issue she simply would not back down on.

The OMeko takes a deep breath of relief. "Honestly, the genome was the one thing I was willing to back down on. Just give me my wine glass back and we'll call it a deal."

With a smooth motion, the Archgoverness slid the glass back into Waffles' palm, her expression inscrutable.

"...You'd best come through, Tackett."

"I'll send a message to Countess Loaf Bonnaire. You can consider the sanctions threat over." The OMeko reaches for a small and simple Nedean made phone.

The Archgoverness remained dead silent, contemplatively sipping on her own glass. One solitary Gänger in exchange for a complete axing of the sanctions that threatened to cut off The City's fuel supply... it felt like a done deal, an obvious pick, the best possible outcome.

And yet...

...No. What was done was done. All she'd need to do was meet once more with Dominula... and all her worries would be put to rest.

[IverChekt]

Calibarkian desert, about a hundred miles west of Tacust.

The IverIrosian space force has always been a small affair. It was a branch of the airforce that has only not been cut because it was too small to catch the attention of anyone high up enough to cut their funding entirely. They had to keep their more ambitious projects under wraps, forcing them to operate far in remote corners of the Calibarkian desert. Today was the day that would change.

The Takish Class Shuttle was a massive machine, nearly the size of a corvette, and designed to reach mach 6 before even taking off from the ground. Her crew of 50 Chunes were a mix of pilots and sailors who volunteered to become the first IverIrosians to sail the stars.

The launcher rail was a massive electric catapult that stretched for about 50 miles west, pointed away from Chunish settlement.

The Captain stood in the bridge with a large ship-like wheel as she waited for the countdown.

"Kochi" Came the voice of ground control over the radio. The Captain had to only ensure the control surfaces were straight at this stage of takeoff.

"Wai ... sen ... pon ..."

In the engine room, several engineers who were pulled from cruiser crews carefully reviewed the ships brain, a large electromechanical computer built from thousands of relays and designed almost exclusively to manage the ship's advanced torque vectoring. They performed a few final tests.

"Jen .... Totsu ... Tem ... "

"Captain we're detecting an over temperature on relays 2837, 39, and 773." One of the engineers said over the radio.

"We can't stop the launch now, but keep an eye on them and be prepared to swap parts." The Captain said over the radio.

"Gots ... at ... O ..."

The engineering crew found their seats and strapped in, they knew there would be no standing until the ship reaches mach 14, if it ever makes it that far.

"Allia"

The ship slams the crew backward as it screams down the rail. The Captain kept a close focus on the speedometer.

"We're approaching mach 5, prepare the engines." The Captain said. Her crew on the bridge frantically flipped switches. As the craft pushes over mach 5, the engines throw the crew back even harder. The ship went over the edge of the rail and quickly begun leaving the desert sands far below.

In the engineering room, the over temperature alarm turned on. One of the engineers fought the brutal G forces to inspect the warning. A small nixie tube display read: "2837" The relays clicked and clacked as they adjusted automatically to new altitude and speed information.

The engineer used a pair of worn out old pliers to remove 2847 and replace it with a brand new relay. Switches clicked again as the computer understood to use a redundant system until the new relay was inserted.

The ground disappeared and the sky turned a dark black. Before the engineer could reach her seat, the over temperature alarm went off again. The tubes showed 0039, then flashed to 2837. The engineer replaced relay 39. As she reached for 2837, the bare skin of her hand touched the metal case, the skin sizzled as it burned. The engineer fought the stinging pain as she gripped the relay with the pliers.

"Mach 14, close the intake doors and switch to LOX." The Captain ordered her crew. the ship was now so high the ground was only a distant memory.

The voltage shot through the relays and the plastic casing of relay 39 caught fire. The engineer hadn't noticed the heat, and a junior engineer had to shove her out of the way to aim a fire extinguisher at the computer.

"Captain, we have a fire, the computer cannot continue!" The engineer shouted into her radio as she clung onto a handhold.

As the relays failed, power was diverted, fires started spreading quickly through the machine.

"Switching to manual override, stand by." The Captain engaged the air brakes, she knew trying to fly the ship with manual controls at mach 15 would be suicidal. She carefully watched the speed slow down until she was finally able to cut power to the computer. The engineers stumbled out of the computer room coughing up smoke as the Takish slowly descended.

"IIRSF Takish to ground control, fire detected in the computer room. We are aborting the mission. Posted peak speed of mach 15.5, altitude of 165,000 feet. The airforce can just try to beak that record." The Captain spoke over the radio.

The Takish lacked the ability to land on her own. She met up with a SN-36 modified nuclear powered bomber for the purpose. The two aircraft carefully latched on to each other and the SN-36 pilot carefully navigated to a pre planned airport. The modified extra strong landing gear supported the weight of both as they slowed down to a stop.

[The Manticoran Empire]

Gorkiy
Belovezha Federative Socialist Republic
Arach Union of Socialist Republics
26 July 501

Gorkiy was the very model of socialist urban planning. The buildings were all built to standard floorplans based on chosen purpose. Wide boulevards were lined with trees and criss-crossed with street-cars and bus routes. The large, grey shapes of apartment blocks surrounded parks filled with trees, benches, and ponds. From the outside, it looked like an ideal city. But closer examination betrayed the truth. Street cars and buses with peeling paint. Buildings with hastily repaired facades. Parks where citizens did not sit to enjoy the space but instead moved rapidly from place to place, lest the everpresent surveillance apparatus mistake their pause for bourgeois leisure.

In the very center of this city stood an enormous complex, composed of austere concrete structures. Within its vast confines, every organ of governance could be found. The Congress of Deputies, the Supreme Court, and the Council of Ministers. Of these bodies, though, only the innermost council of the Council mattered. Known to the outside world as the Politburo, to its own people it was simply the Presidium of the Council of Ministers. The most powerful men in the Union who, alone, dictated policy for the nation. It was a power few men would ever wield and it was a power these men enjoyed and jealously guarded.

They met, as always, in a non-descript conference room at the end of a long hallway of conference rooms. With over four-dozen ministries in the official Council, meetings and conferences often overlapped, requiring a great many rooms for such business. But the room at the very end of the hall was only ever used by the Presidium. It was, unlike the others, kept locked when not in use and the key was held only by the General Secretary’s chief aide. Only when the General Secretary called a meeting of the Presidium would it be unlocked. As it was today.
The room had only been open for a quarter of an hour but already the air was thick with cigarette smoke. The thirteen men of the Presidium, the real leaders of the Arach Union, were arranged around a circular conference table. At its head, seated beneath a large painting of the General Secretaries, sat the current General Secretary of the Communist Party. Philip Tokaryev had been a loyal party man for nearly sixty years, from his days in the Young Pioneers and through his service in the Security Bureau. His was a permanently suspicious mind, hidden by a face which said only what he wanted it to. Right now, he was affecting an air of polite indifference. In truth, despite what protocol dictated, this meeting was not really his. Tokaryev had been approached yesterday by Bulat Sergeyev, the Defense Minister, who had asked for a meeting. With no reason to object and nothing pressing to accomplish, he had agreed. Now, he sat with the others, waiting for the Defense Minister to make his point.
Sergeyev spoke without rising. “Comrades, we are all familiar with the events within the Cooperate. The nuclear terrorism, the loss of life. But the situation has escalated. The Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff has reported, with ample human, signals, and photographic intelligence to support it, that the Cooperate intends to use the nuclear detonation to justify its conquest of the Eastern Provinces. Including the City-State of Weskar.”
Tokaryev watched the other men around the table. He had known the subject, of course. Sergeyev had told him and his own contacts in State Security had, as well. The others, however, seemed to have been caught out by the announcement. The Director had not, of course, nor had the Foreign Minister. But the Ministers for Energy, Agriculture, Environment, Transportation, Interior, Industry, and Trade were busily looking to their fellows, muttering quietly to each other.
“Comrades,” Tokaryev said, his voice cutting through the muffled conversation, “please, allow Comrade Sergeyev to finish his explanation. I’m certain he will answer all of your questions. Comrade Defense Minister, please, continue.”
Sergeyev nodded and cleared his throat. “Winter is fast approaching in those latitudes, Comrades. Our intelligence suggests that the intentions of the Cooperate military is to smash as much infrastructure as possible to put pressure on the citizenry of the Eastern Provinces and, through that, force the governments of those City States to subjugate themselves to Corporate rule.”
“Excuse me,” the Minister of Industry said, “but why should this concern us? The Cooperate is on the far side of the world from us. Surely the recent annexation of IverIros by the IverChektian imperialists or the Manticoran conquest of the Freemen are more pressing concerns?”
The Foreign Minister answered. “Both IverChekt and Manticore are close allies of the Cooperate, both directly through the TIDE treaty and indirectly through the Arach Union. If we leave the Cooperate to its own devices, the Eastern Provinces are likely to fall swiftly. And with them will fall yet another Socialist ally. The United Communes, while weak, were a useful buffer while they existed. Were it not for the Greskin involvement, we may even have been able to keep them intact. As it stands, Socialism is currently held by only a few nations in the world.” The Foreign Minister began to count them off on his fingers. “Entime is a subordinate state to the IverChektian monarchy. The Urbanians are far too close to the Capitalists to be considered Socialists, whatever they may tell themselves. The Workers United, likewise, are too willing to collaborate with imperialists and fascists to support themselves rather than furthering the Revolution. That leaves, at this time, Weskar and Levan’s Isle. Levan’s Isle we have drawn into our orbit and are drawing them deeper. Weskar, however, remains aloof. They have been able to largely exist on their own, given the Cooperate’s general policy of remaining focused on its own domestic situation and the pursuit of profits. But now, Weskar is squarely in the sights of the hyper-militarist sect of the Cooperate government.” The Foreign Minister gestured at the Defense Minister, “If Comrade Sergeyev’s reports are accurate, and I do not believe he would make them so publicly if they were not accurate, then Weskar faces the imminent threat of starvation, disarmament, and eventual conquest before their workers are inevitably exploited for profit. And if we allow Weskar to fall, how might our allies in Levan’s Isle react? May they, perhaps, abandon us in favor of others?”
The Minister of Industry sat back in his chair, the others around the table nodding. Sergeyev opened his mouth to speak but stopped abruptly as another voice broke in.

The new voice was softened by age but no less charismatic. Old Pyotr Pokrovski, the Party Theoretician, was the oldest man at the table, nearing his centennial. He had lived through many General Secretaries and, unlike many men at this table, had seemingly never considered seeking that chair for himself. Instead, he had cultivated his base of support by being the ideological heart of the Party. Few could be counted as more fervent communists than old Petya and none were more respected. When he spoke, even the General Secretary listened.
“Our comrades of the Foreign Ministry and the Defense Ministry speak well. It is clear that we cannot abandon our socialist allies to imperialist domination and capitalist exploitation. But we can also not ignore the risks to our own revolution. The Cooperate’s allies are on our borders. Would they not be swift to support their own allies in their abuse of the Working Class?” Heads nodded slowly. “Therefore, we must take advantage of the openness of their political systems. Our aid must be seen as humanitarian, so that when the Cooperate launches its attacks, not even the Imperialists in IverIros can launch an offensive against us without risking an uprising of their own workers. We will fly food, medical supplies, and the materials to build advanced all-weather greenhouses, as well as advisors to assist our allies in distributing and employing the aid. And, when the Cooperate begins its attacks, Weskar will be primed to ask us for help defending itself. And we will answer their request with all the arms they could need, alongside humanitarian relief to aid those displaced by the Imperialists. In the end, the Cooperate will be forced to accept the risk of a wider war or simply leave Weskar alone. And, when they are faced with the true Will of the Workers, they will cower and break. For is that not the Order of Things?” More heads nodded and Tokaryev spoke. “Well said, Petya. Comrade Sergeyev, you will instruct the General Staff to begin planning for necessary contingencies. Comrade Trade Minister, you will begin assembling the necessary cargo aircraft and ships to transport the humanitarian aid. Our comrades in the Industrial, Health, and Agricultural ministries will assemble the necessary supplies for those transports. Barring any developments, we will meet back here in a week to discuss further. Thank you for coming.”

---

The Gauntlet of Midodr

Straits of Midodr
25 July 501

He was, in the grand scheme of things, a thoroughly unassuming cargo ship, virtually indistinguishable from the hundreds which passed the Straits of Midodr every single day. With more than fifty-thousand tons, it was only the flag flying from the stern and the nation-specific transponder code which distinguished him from his consorts. He was the Komsomolets and he was a ConRO cargo ship, built in and flagged by the Arach Union of Socialist Republics for their state owned shipping conglomerate. Aboard were thirty-five merchant sailors and sixteen soldiers of the Ministry for State Security. His cargo was a mixture of civilian and military equipment, destined for the Levan’s Isle People’s Republic as part of the AUSR’s ongoing support for their fraternal socialist allies in Belemira. The crew had no way of knowing this, as the manifest was kept secured in a safe in the captain’s quarters, a safe which required two keys. The captain carried one while the commander of the MSS detachment carried the other.

Officially, there was no need for secrecy or the MSS troops. No international treaties governed the trade of arms to foreign powers or even non-state actors. But the AUSR was a guarded state, one which treated international trade as a fundamental aspect of its national security. As such, cargo manifests were routinely treated as sensitive documents, kept under lock and key and sometimes even armed guard.

It was, however, this very secrecy that created his problems.

The Urbanian External Intelligence Service had long held suspicions of the AUSR. While the Republic had some socialist leaning values and sought to instill those same values in other nations, the Authoritarian Regime of their southern neighbor was less welcome. Thus the Black Kestrels made sure to keep atleast one eye on all potential threats to stability and prosperity. Monitoring communications, satellite imaging, whatever the Urbanian’s could get away with. What they found was not much, admittedly, but that was to be expected. The suspicion was mutual, the Union had similarly advanced technology, and its security frustrated and slowed Urbanian infiltration. But what they did find was enough to warrant their continued suspicion and monitoring.

Due to Urbani’s geographical location, its ships did not need to rely on passage through the straits of Midodr to reach the rest of Enkon, though it maintained some civilian ports in New Albion, for the purposes of trade with the Free City, as well as IverChekt, Entime, and more recently, IverIros. This trade warranted a coast guard detachment to be assigned to Kestrel Lake, working to prevent contraband smuggling, and any other nefarious goings-on. No overly big and fancy warships, just a couple of manned corvettes and some unmanned miniature submarines, marines on patrol boats making sure nothing happened on the Urbanian shores of Kestrel Lake without consequence. Up until recently, it was a very uneventful posting. Between Gresk smuggling war material to the Freemen, and Terrorists and rebels setting off so many bombs and nukes, so close together. The High Marshal demanded tighter security and redoubled efforts to prevent such attacks, at home or abroad.

“Komsomolets, This is the Urbanian Coast Guard Corvette White Witch, please submit yourself to a random inspection and present your manifest.” The order came matter-of-factly, as if it fully expected the AUSR vessel to comply without resistance.

Captain Nicodemus Zuev frowned at the radio. “The arrogance of these fascists,” the young MSS officer spoke from behind him, his voice dripping with contempt, “A flagrant violation of international maritime law and the sovereignty of the Motherland.”
“Agreed, Comrade Captain,” Captain Zuev said, “But we are not yet abused.” He lifted the mic and held it to his face. He heard the crackle of static as he keyed it to life. “Attention White Witch, this is Komsomolets. We are operating in international waters and engaged in lawful international trade. You have no authority to demand we submit to inspection. Maintain appropriate distance as we transit.” He switched channels. “Komsomolets calling any Border Guard ship, we are being harassed by Urbanian military vessels and require assistance.” He returned the radio to the original channel and looked back at the MSS Captain. “Our fascist oppressor will no doubt have heard our alert. Now we wait to see just how bloodthirsty this fascist is.” The MSS Captain nodded. “I will ready my men, Comrade Captain. We may have need of them.”

Unfortunately for Komsomolets, the nearest Border Security ships nearly six-hundred kilometers away. The only armed AUSR vessel close enough to offer support was a Project 1124 class corvette. But even that ship was nearly two hours away, even at its fastest speed. Until then, Komsomolets was on its own.

Captain Marzio Jerger sighed at the response from the Komsomolets. He looked, expectantly at his SIGINT officer who reported, as if on cue: “Komsomolets calling for border guard support, Captain”. The Captain closed his eyes in resignation. The White Witch’s First Mate, Mili Sandelin looked to her captain. “That gives us a couple hours, Captain,” she said.
“I know.” Marzio responded before opening his eyes and responding. “Komsomolets, This is the White Witch. I say again, Submit yourself to Inspection and present your manifest. If you are engaged in lawful trade, you have nothing to fear. I cannot let you leave this area without inspection.” He’d broadcast before quickly looking to the helm. “Get us into position to block them, if they want to leave Kestrel Lake, they can either try to go through us or submit.” He ordered, quickly looking to the Comm’s Officer, “Get me the other Coast Guard ships, request for support, we’re blockading the Midodr Strait and keeping the Komsomolets here.” His orders given, Marzio looked to his First Mate. “Looks like we’re having a stare down…”

“They are attempting to block our path, Comrade Captain,” one of the lookouts reported. Zuev grunted an acknowledgement. “Continue on course. Order them to stand clear. And emphasize the urgency of our request for support.” He turned to the MSS Officer. “Captain Zakhaev, if this ship is boarded, can your men repel them?” The State Security Captain opened his mouth to speak, probably to defiantly proclaim that it was an inevitable result, but the words died unsaid. Zakhaev was a young man, barely half Zuev’s own age, but he was also an intelligent man. He knew, as Zuev did, that the MSS detachment had only handguns, personal defense weapons, and light body armor. It was a weapons load built to deal with mutinous crewmen and pirates, not foreign military personnel. Zakhaev shook his head. “No, Comrade Captain. Oh, we would put up a courageous fight and make the counter-revolutionary bastards pay in blood to take this ship from us, but it would be a doomed fight. The Rodina would be only further humiliated by our failure than by our surrender.”
Zuev nodded. “I was afraid of that.” He stepped over to the radio and switched to an open channel. “Comrades of the Border Security Service, this is Komsomolets. Do not make haste for our position. Our cause is already a hopeless one. The fascists have called up reinforcements of their own and have moved to block any further progress we could make. We have no chance of resisting their efforts to board us. Let it be known that we are not acknowledging or accepting the authority of the Urbanian regime to search our vessel. Rather, we are seeking to de-escalate the situation with the minimum loss of life. We are doing so under protest and shall lodge complaints of the strongest fashion with the World Forum.” He placed the mic back in its cradle and turned to the helmsman. “All stop, Comrade Kolchak.”

[IverChekt]

Provolone Curtiss sat in a chair before IverIrosian parliament. The massive sprawling room was full of the large crowd of people necessary to adequately represent all 4 billion chunes of IverIros. Provolone tried her best to project confidence and purpose with her cleaned and pressed uniform. She had spent her entire career in an engineering role in the space force and has never once saw combat, but she did know how to play politics, as anyone who hopes to succeed in the air force would need to.

She placed a briefcase on the table in front of her and organized her stack of papers

“Major Provolone Curtiss…” Prime Minister Margarita Curtiss spoke into the microphone. Her voice boomed over the parliament as if amplified by the voice of the gods. “Explain to us why you have been brought here.”

“My entire department has been cut by the air force. It wasn’t just a simple matter of losing funding, but the entire force just dissolved by the short sighted orders of a general. We seek the support of lawmakers.”

“You do realize it is extremely abnormal for parliament to intervene in the affairs of the military so directly, don’t you?” The Prime Minister said.

“Yes, but I believe now should be one of the few exceptions. Space travel has so many important benefits that the people should know. We are developing faster jets, stronger lightweight materials, pushing the limits of computing technology-”

One of the parliament members laughed. “Perhaps the advancement of computing pyrotechnics.” She said

Provolone decided she would take the insult on the chin and keep going. “we broke IverIros’ speed and altitude records not seen since we left the Republic of Motornin a hundred years ago. We can’t allow ourselves to fall behind the AUSR.”

There was some murmuring from among the members of parliament.

“Our mythology shows us,” Provolone continued “that the communists cannot simply be defeated through direct force or by negotiation. The Republic of Motornin overcame the People’s Republic of Talerus in both cold wars through a persistent pursuit of knowledge and science. Furthermore, the pursuit of science is an integral part of our nature as a species. The gods saw it fit to give each of their creations a means of survival. When they created bears, they were created with their mighty claws. When they created wolves, they were created with their close knit packs and fearsome teeth. When they created us, we were created with the ability to understand the world that they created and use it to our advantage. We should not deny ourselves the gods so graciously gave us.”

Margarita Curtiss seemed unimpressed, she leaned on her hands. She was no stranger to someone waxing poetic about the pursuit of speed, she knew exactly the playbook Provolone would use. They were both Curtiss Clan, and that was their one singular trick.

“Perhaps we shall hear a counterargument from the Airforce high command.” Margarita Curtiss said.

General Cheddar Bonnaire entered parliament. The whole crowd watched as he descended the stairs and sat at a desk near Provolone. He opened up a briefcase and spread some paper out across the desk.

“We reached into our internal archives and retrieved financial data. The total cost of development of the Takish class shuttle is 45 billion Irosian Mekos, and all for a space ship that didn’t even escape the stratosphere. For that same cost, we could have built 40 nuclear bombers, or three cruisers. Despite my colleagues claims of pushing the limits of the technology, the shuttle seems to use entirely existing air force technology, simultaneously proving that her claimed benefits do not exist, and that their failure is that much more of an embarrassment. Furthermore, the space force claims that they have two other spacecraft currently under development. Surely we cannot be expected to burden ourselves with this cost when we have a nation to protect right now.”

“The general is not telling the truth. We had to modify the engines to work in extreme altitudes and to work with liquid oxygen, we developed hulls that can withstand direct 50 caliber bullet hits without depressurizing, we-”

“Enough, Major.” interrupted Margarita Curtiss. “It seems the votes have already been cast. By an overwhelming majority, we have agreed to uphold the air force’s decision to cut the space force. You may leave.”

Provolone knew better than to continue to argue, trying to delay would only make parliament even more angry. Without any further word, she packed up her briefcase and exited the building.

She did not know what was in store for her now, now that her entire department no longer exists but she is still on air force payroll. She tried to think about that, rather than the disappointment as she took a streetcar back to her hotel in Ironridge.

Almost immediately after the hearing, Prime Minister Margarita Curtiss walked through the regal upper floors of a luxury apartment. She was one of the few people free to walk past the security, the door was open to her as she stepped into a room lit by lava lamps and a liquid wheel projector. A hazy smoke from nag champa fills the room and the OMeko looks up from her position leaned far back in the conversation pit couch.

“Far out, Margarita, come take a load off your feet.” The OMeko says. The OMeko wore her favorite Red Nine shirt and a long skirt printed with bright psychedelic patterns and looks over the Prime Minister over her red tinted circular sunglasses.

“I see you’ve done a lot to uh… personalize the place. Now, this is about business, so I need you focused today.”

“I’m totally straight, Margarita, I haven’t touched any grass or booze.”

The Prime Minister doubted these claims, but she continued. “It is done, the hearing with the space force is over. How about I go ahead and write you a check.”

“Groovy.” The OMeko said as she held up a peace sign with her fingers. She finally sat up straight as she watched the Prime Minister fill out a check.

“Tell me, did you decide to build an office in New Martinsburg?”

“Tacust. They already have all their rocket ship launchers down there.”

“I don’t mean to sound like I am questioning your sobriety, OMeko, but I do want to ensure you remember the terms of the deal.”

“I buy all the space force assets, they belong to me, and I hire exclusively from Curtiss clan for engineers, and build a factory in Ironridge. I told you I’m sober.”

The Prime Minster pulled the check from her checkbook and passes it to the OMeko. She looks it over, 50 billion IverIrosian Mekos, it will be about the same in Arach Dollars.”

“Groovy.” The OMeko said.

“If I may ask, OMeko, what is your interest in the space force? It has been nothing but a dead wait, a drain on resources, and you think IverChekt’s economy can support such a thing?”

“I have ways of turning negotiation skills into cold hard cash. It isn’t about IverChekt, this is about all my clan’s holdings. It isn’t a matter of if I can.”

“It is a matter of why, and I would love to know why.”

“I don’t get to talk about this much, but I really do have a special place in my heart for science. I didn’t buy that biolab in OSetho for no reason.”

“You have a biolab?”

“Privately owned but clan funded. Soon Enkon’s biological and space discoveries will have Tackett written all over it.”

“You’re into science? I never would have guessed.”

The Prime Minister’s surprise was genuine, but the OMeko thought it might have been sarcasm. That didn’t prevent her from inviting her to relax for a moment and enjoy some wine before she leaves her office for the next phase of their plan.

Provolone sat on her hotel bed, she hadn’t changed out of her uniform yet. She stared at the suitcase trying to hold back her emotions. It was all in one moment her entire life’s work had unraveled. She couldn’t hold back the tears for long, she buried her face into her pillow and cried.

Her cry was interrupted by a knock on the door. She wiped her tears. Who could it have been? Not many people even know she is there.

“What’s happening, chick?”

As Provolone opened the door, she might have missed the OMeko for her strange counterculture clothing, but the one thing that made it unmistakable was her broach with the Tackett Clan long suffering eye.

“O… OMeko!?” Provolone didn’t know what to do, she gave a stiff salute and hoped the OMeko could find a way to break the awkward silence.

“The one and only. Look, I’m taking you and some of your friends to Tacust. You work for me now.”

[The Manticoran Empire]

Ozark
21 August, 501

It was still dark when the harsh growl of Anthony Richards' alarm roused him from his slumber. His eyes searched the darkness, finding the faint bluish light of the phone screen on the nightstand. He reached out, grasping the phone with one hand to look at the time. Quarter after four in the morning.
He jerked suddenly, his mind fully awake as the time registered. 4:15 and he had to be at the warehouse, thirty minutes away, by five. He leapt from the bed, sprinting to his dresser and grabbing the first set of clothes he could find. He had learned early that fewer layers were better, so he grabbed a pair of loosely fitting sweatpants, a t-shirt, his work boots, and his reflective safety vest. He threw them on quickly before grabbing his phone and stepping out of his bedroom.

Thomas was already awake, making coffee in the small kitchen of the apartment. He looked up as Anthony burst through. “Hey, Tony,” he said, lifting a cup of steaming coffee. Anthony took it with a smile. “Thanks, Tom. Gotta run.” He rushed out the door as Tom waved.
At the end of the driveway sat his car, an older model sedan. It had a dent on the passenger side from when he’d sideswiped a bollard in a parking lot last year, something he’d never bothered to repair. There was also a small crack on the windshield, which he didn’t yet have the money to replace. And, he thought as he climbed in, my registration is also expired. He pushed the button to start the car and nothing happened. “FUCK!” he shouted, realizing he had left his keys in the house. He ran back, grabbing them from the hook by the door. As he started the car, he swore a vicious string of curses at his carelessness. That string carried him out of the driveway and onto the road.

The roads were mercifully empty this early in the morning, meaning that there was nobody to block his way. So, he floored it, hoping to save time. The Staties never bothered with patrolling this early, anyways, so he managed to make it to the warehouse with just over five minutes to spare. The lot was, as always, mostly empty. The overnight shift was a small crew, barely a third the size of the two dayshift crews and they usually took the spots closest to the entrance, meaning Anthony had to park a bit further away. He chose a spot about thirty yards from the front door, hopped out, and trotted over. He reached the timeclock and punched in just as his boss was walking over.

“Cutting it close there, Tony,” Allen said, a wry smile crossing his face. Anthony smiled back, “Damned dreams were too good,” he replied. “I hear that,” Allen chuckled, “I’ve got you down on fifteen for this hour. Most of that crew won’t do the extra time. You know how it is.” Anthony nodded and trotted off for his assigned spot. Allen was, in Anthony’s estimation, a good sort as far as warehouse supervisors went. He was understanding when folks needed time off and forgiving when folks were running late. And he was largely willing to joke around with people as long as everyone got their work done. And that was generally the way things worked. Warehouse work wasn’t particularly hard, just physically demanding. The line had to keep moving, so folks who couldn’t keep up didn’t last long. Anthony didn’t like the work but it paid better than fast food or retail and, without a college degree or a trade school certification, his choices were fairly limited.

Line fifteen was being used to repackage some generic hand soap in four-bottle display packages. At the head of the line, three people pulled boxes off pallets, popped them open, then placed the dozen bottles in each box on six angled sets of rollers, which sent them to a conveyor. There, three other folks took the items off the rollers and placed them in groups of four on the conveyor, which brought them to a shrinkwrapping machine and then a heater which melted the plastic wrap to secure the bottles together. At the end, two other guys would take the shrinkwrapped packages, box them up and send them down to where Anthony and another guy would then stack them on a pallet. When the pallet was full, they would shrinkwrap it and a forklift driver would come and take it away. Their quota, each hour, was about fifteen pallets.

That first hour seemed to crawl along, as Anthony tried to keep himself awake through the monotonous grind of constant, repetitive motion. The second hour saw the last of the night crew leave while the main bulk of the first shift crew filtered onto the line. The next four hours seemed to blur together, an endless stream of boxes, pallets, and plastic wrap. About three hours after he clocked in, the roll of plastic at the pallet-wrapping machine had to be replaced. That was, however, the only break in the monotony in the first five hours of his day.

Lunch was a spartan affair. In his rush to leave the house, he hadn’t been able to pack anything, so he bought a pair of pizza turnovers and a bottle of soda. The lunch room was quiet, filled with several hundred people, all of whom were exhausted and only wanted to eat rather than talk. Half an hour later, it was back to work.

The last five hours of the day were a repetition of the first. At two, the first shift crew was replaced by the early workers of second shift and the late workers of first. Anthony stuck around until three, capping off his normal ten-hour day by replacing the plastic on the pallet-wrapper again. As he clocked out, he ran into Allen again. “You did good,” Allen said, “15 managed to stay above quote the whole shift.” Anthony was too tired to do more than nod. Allen nodded back, “It was needed, too. Third shift missed their quota, again.” Anthony and Allen walked together outside, with Allen still talking. “Honestly, I don’t know what the hell’s going on at night,” he said, his exasperation bleeding through. “I had to sit through another meeting where management complained about missed quotas.” Anthony stopped walking, jerking Allen up short. “What’s up?” Allen asked. Anthony shrugged, “I just hate the fact that we have to make up for Third Shifts inability to keep up.” Allen nodded, “I hear you, man, but you know how hard it is to get people to work that shift. Management isn’t willing to sacrifice what productivity they do have to get rid of the folks who just won’t perform.” Anthony grunted. “Fucking typical. So night shift get’s to fucking cruise while we get shafted in the morning.” It was Allen’s turn to shrug. Anthony nodded again, “Well, it is what it is,” he said, “See you tomorrow morning, boss.” The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. Anthony paused at his car just long enough to send an envious look at Allen’s truck. Eventually, he thought to himself as he climbed into his own car, eventually.

He made the drive home at a much more sedate speed, deciding halfway there to stop at a small coffee shop to get a snack. Allison’s Bakery was a small spot, nestled between a retail store and a gym in a shopping center just off the highway. Anthony passed it every day but had never gone in. Today, he took a spot near the front door and left the engine running. He just wanted a snack, after all.

A small bell rang as he walked through the door and a young lady behind the counter greeted him with a warm smile. As he walked up, he read the name on her nametag. ‘Lizzie’. “Hi,” he said as he reached the counter. “What can I get you?” she asked. Her smile was beautiful, he thought. He managed his own, slightly awkward smile, as he made himself look at the menu on the wall behind her. “I think I’ll go with that applesauce cake.” She nodded and started to tap her screen. “You have a nice smile,” Anthony said. Lizzie smiled again, “Thanks. You want anything else?” Anthony shook his head, “No, just the cake.” As he tapped his card, Lizzie flashed another smile. “You’ve got nice eyes,” she said as she handed him the cake. Anthony could feel his cheeks start to warm. He didn’t remember it being this hard a couple years ago. “Thanks,” he said, “You, uh, you wanna get coffee sometime?” Lizzie shrugged. “Sure, I’m off in an hour. How about then?”
“Sure,” Anthony said, a broad smile creasing his face, “see you in an hour.” He walked outside and turned off his car. After all, he was gonna be here a while.

Lizzie came outside a few minutes after the hour, carrying two cups of coffee. “Here,” she said, handing him one, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, but you look like someone who enjoys the simpler things.” He took the cup and sipped. Black coffee, with a hint of sugar. He smiled. “Good guess,” he said. He sat on the hood of his car and Lizzie sat beside him. They drank their coffee in silence for a moment before Anthony spoke again. “My name’s Anthony,” he said, the words falling out in a rush. Lizzie smiled. “Elizabeth,” she said, “but everyone calls me Lizzie.” He smiled back at her. It was easy, he noticed. Her smile, even when she had been behind the counter, was warm and genuine, as if she was someone who just liked being around people.
“What do you do?” The question caught Anthony off-guard. “Uh, nothing special. Grunt work at a warehouse, a few miles up the road,” he said, gesturing with the coffee cup in the direction of the warehouse. “That sounds exhausting,” she said, taking another sip of her coffee. They sipped in silence a bit longer before Anthony said, “It’s exhausting, but it pays. I get some decent overtime and I’m off before the evening rush.” He shrugged, “It gives me a bit of time to spend on my hobbies.”

Lizzie’s eyes lit up. “What sort of hobbies?” she asked. Anthony shrugged again, caught flatfooted by her enthusiasm. “Tabletop gaming, mostly,” he said, “My roommates and I have been running a game for the last three years. Tom managed to get his girlfriend to join and Dean brought his brother in last year. What about you?”
“Drawing,” she said, “Comic book stuff, mostly. I’m in school for it, too. If I can, I want to do it for a living.” She looked at him, her eyes dancing in that way only genuine passion enables. “If I can’t do what I love for a living, then what’s the point?” Anthony shrugged. “I’ve never really had a passion like that,” he said, “One that could be a job, I mean. The whole point of gaming is to just not be me for a bit, ya know?” He took another sip of coffee. “Every day,” he said, his eyes fixed on the highway but not really seeing it, “I get up at four in the morning, drive half an hour to a warehouse, and work like a dog for ten hours. Then, I drive half an hour back home so I can do it all again the next day.” He brought his gaze back to Lizzie. “But every Saturday, for a couple hours, I’m not me. I’m not grinding myself to the bone in a warehouse. I get to be an Orc paladin and save orphanages and battle demons and I don’t have to worry about bills or rent or whether or not I can afford car repairs.” He looked down at the cup in his hands and was silent for a moment.
“I do something similar,” Lizzie said. Anthony looked up at her. Her eyes were fixed on his. “My mom collects old books, most from Old Earth. She says they’re classics and they all have rather poetic names. Little Women, a Tale of Two Cities, the Life of Robinson Crusoe.” Her gaze shifted to a small family, walking into the retail store. “I find myself reading them and imagining what it must have been like,” she said, “living in those simpler times.” She smiled. “My favorite,” she said, “is what my mother tells me was one of the first science fiction novels. Twenty-thousand leagues under the Sea. It’s a thrilling book, about a secret submarine that traveled the oceans of Old Earth. She’s even shown me some of the ancient movies made based on the book.” She sighed, “I wish I could do that, live under the sea, away from the bustle of civilization. The way Jules Verne described it, just sounds peaceful.”

Anthony stood and extended his hand. “How about we go for a walk?” he asked, “You can tell me more about those books.” Lizzie smiled and took his hand. As they set off, she began to regale him with the tale of another story about an orphan boy named Oliver Twist. He answered her tale of Oliver Twist with a recounting of a recent session he and his friends had played, where they had needed to save a village from a hag and wound up disturbing a clan of goblins, who weren’t exactly thrilled about the interruption. The sky was turning orange as they returned to the coffee shop.

“This was fun,” Lizzie said. Anthony smiled, “It was. Should we do it again, sometime? Maybe Friday? We could do dinner.” Lizzie’s smile was truly infectious, Anthony decided, as she agreed. She gave him her number and Anthony’s own smile remained even as she got into her own car and drove away.

He barely noticed the drive back to his house, his mind replaying the impromptu date over and over in his mind. It had been so easy after they managed to get past the small talk. He felt a small pang of regret that he wouldn’t see her again until Friday.

His roommates' cars were all in the driveway when he got to the house, so he wasn’t surprised when the door was unlocked. Nor was he surprised to find the open pizza boxes strewn across the small dining room and kitchen. In the living room, Tom and Dean were camped on the couch, controllers in their hands. Dean saw him first. “Yo, what’s up, Tony? You’re back late.” Tom simply jerked his head upward in greeting, his eyes never leaving the television as his fingers flew across the controller.
“Sorry about that,” Anthony said as he hung up his keys, “got a bit sidetracked.”
“You?” Dean said, “Sidetracked?”
“Yeah,” he said as he stepped into the living room to see what they were playing, “I stopped to get a snack on my way home after work and wound up staying longer than I planned to.”
Thomas snorted, “What could keep you from coming home for close to five hours after the end of your shift?”
Anthony shrugged, walking over to the refrigerator and taking out a beer, “I, uh, kinda fumbled my way into a date.”
Thomas and Dean paused their game and looked at him. “Seriously?” Thomas asked. “Who is she?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Anthony replied, “she works at that little coffee shop off fifty-seven.”
“The one with that Alice in Wonderland thing going on?”
“Yep.”
Dean nodded. “Nice. Have a good time?”
Anthony shrugged again, “I think so. We’re getting together for dinner on Friday.”
Thomas laughed, “You are a man for the classics. Probably got her by asking her if she wanted coffee.”
“There’s nothing wrong with doing things the simple way,” Anthony said, “Besides, she picked the coffee. I just asked.”

He popped the cap off the beer and took a swig before sitting down on an armchair as Thomas and Dean resumed their game. None of them said much outside of trash talk before Anthony headed to bed an hour later. He tossed his clothes in the small hamper he kept by his bedroom door and climbed under the covers, making sure his alarm was set properly for the next morning. As the darkness of sleep closed in, Lizzie’s smile kept playing in his mind. It was, he decided, something he could get used to.

[Imperial Meriosa]

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Karl Schutz | Port Delphinus | 12:22am

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Karl woke up, groggy and his eyes bleary. Then he remembered. In only about 30 minutes, his future spouse would come and meet him.

"..Shit." He thought as he got his tank top and jeans on. Not the fancy general outfit that he usually wears, adorned with multiple medals, but just a simple top. If he was going to meet another human spouse, he would be in much more formal wear. However, his spouse wasn't human.

She was a Koft.

Specifically a Gwynt.

Her name?

Aevessa Yulissa.

His mother and brother were already awake, his brother watching the windows, and his mother watching with curious eyes.

"..Oh. Hey, Karl." His brother, Max, says, scampering away from the window. "..Quick question. Why'd you marry a Gwynt anyways?"

Karl groans, cheeks flushed in both embarrassment and irritation.

"Because," he says, sitting on the sofa, "we met in a cafe while the Peregrine was in harbor. First time I saw a damn Koft. And I fell in love. Isn't that what people do?" He says in genuine, earnest confusion, for he had autism, and had a very hard time reading what was normal. However, he was a genius at maps. Maps didn't ask him anything. Maps were accurate.

"..Now, now, don't be rude to your brother, Karl." His mother, Tilde, a woman of 40 years who still looked 20, was stirring tea in a pot.

"..Alright, Mütter." He sighs.

He checked his watch.

12:38AM

Only 22 minutes.

And so, he simply sat, and watched an episode of Tatort, checking his watch to see if Aevessa was soming.

[The Way Sun Cooperation]

The War Out East

First strikes

Airspace above the Cooperations far eastern border

---

The roar of the engines was blunted by the set of headphones built into the helmet Misha wore as he walked down the length of the plane's cargo bay double and then triple checking each of the hulking pallets which they had been tasked with lugging around the skies above the cooperations eastern border for the last few hours. From all his checks everything looked good to go, each parachute ready and each pallet secured to the rails. With nothing more to check he flicked down a microphone from his helmet and spoke into it. “Final checks on the cargo have been complete. Should be ready to go.” A booming voice came over Misha’s headphones in response. “Got it Misha, I need you to head down to the rear cargo bay doors and prepare for the drop.” Misha began walking speaking only after he had clipped his harness to a handrail beside the door's controls. “Ready to go opening it up now.” A loud beeping noise could be heard even with his headphones as they began to blare across the plane. A growing slice of sky could be seen as the cargo bay door lowered providing a beautiful view of the cloud's tinted orange by the setting sun but also letting in the howling winds of northern Belmiria.

Misha shuddered slightly as he got used to the wind and had to fight against it as he spoke into his microphone. “Doors open good to release the first pallet.” Not a second later he watched as the first pallet rushed by to his right following rails until it flew off the edge of the ramp its parachute billowing open slowing the pallets fall. It was quickly followed by the other pallets until the plane's cargo bay was empty. As Misha went to close the cargo bay door, he could see each of the pallets swaying from their parachutes in the wind his view quickly blocked by the cargos bay door closing. When the wind was finally cut off, he detached himself from a handrail and began walking up to the cockpit ready for a cup of coffee to warm himself up as they turned to home to rearm.

From the ground the pallets were leisurely descending until something detached from one of the pallets. The sleek cruise missile extended its fins as it dived towards the ground using them to glide for a few moments before its engines kicked in. Flying just above the treetops the first missile was quickly joined by more missiles from the other pallets. All forty released from the pallets dropped from Misha’s cargo aircraft were screaming through the skies eastward. Their targets were located across Kumyesk the heart of Atlansk and for so longs its shield. Most of the city was unaware they were being targeted until sirens began to sound across the city and anti-aircraft systems were rolled out from cover. The evening sky was lit up by anti-aircraft guns as they unleashed torrents of bullets trying to intercept the missiles hurdling themselves over the city.

It was a terrifying couple of minutes as explosions and gunfire rocked the city but then everything fell silent if only for a split second before the sound of emergency sirens and car alarms rushed to fill the gap. People across the city could see towers of smoke rising into the sky which was no longer tinted orange by the setting sun but by flames. Most were too far to see any of the destruction wrought by this first attack. Those living on the streets near the building which once housed Kumyesks military command were shaken. Their windows had been shattered and clouds of dust met them as they walked outside looking at what once was Kumyesks military nerve centre. It clearly had been shattered by multiple hits leaving the building with gaping holes in its facade on the edge of collapse. The first responders arriving to the aftermath started a search for anyone seeking to try save some people. They rushed as they saw people start stumbling from the building bearing deep cuts from shrapnel which had been thrown in all directions by the blast. It became a race against time as they sifted through rubble keeping an ear out for anyone stuck in the basement levels below them.

It was a situation mirrored across the city from with the airport and a fuel depot on the city's edge engulfed in explosions and fires. At every sight there were attempts were being made to save who they could and assess the true extent of destruction. Air defences which had not been hit were put on their highest alert as reports from across the Eastern Provinces spoke of similar attacks no one knew whether this would be the only act of retaliation for the attack on Fort Lanko or if this was the start of something much worse.

Ramp up

Outside of Mosnoy

---

At an airbase on the outskirts of Mosny the atmosphere had been growing heavier with anticipation with each passing minute as the men and aircraft of the eighth airborne were readying themselves for the largest airborne assault their division had conducted in at least a decade. On the airbases tarmac helicopters were sitting idle as their crews and the men who would be riding on them to battle were conducting any checks they could think of. Far from the clumps of soldiers waiting near the tarmac and under the shade of a camouflaged net a young man was sitting on a bunch of crates in a world of his own as people rushed by him. Sat on the crate Danylko could not help but glance down at his watch every minute or so it was an old watch with some scrapes across it paired with a simple leather strap but otherwise it was well polished. It was a gift from his father who had worn it during his time in the CDF every look at it made Danylko wish he could give him a call but he knew he’d not have a chance to talk to him until after his work was done. He had to reassure himself in the meantime that this was what he had been training for and this would just be when it would be put to the test. As he looked down at the watch once more, he nearly jumped out of his skin as two hands slammed down onto his shoulders. He swore as he jumped up turning around to see a shit eating grin plastered onto the face of his squad mate Pitor.

“You prick. What did you do that for?” Danylko stood up regaining his footing after the surprise.

Pitors smile did not fade as he responded. “Theres no need to thank me but I just gave you a refresher course on your awareness skills, and I got say there's lot to work on.”

“Is there any way I can opt out of your refresher courses?” Danylko asked as he grabbed his rifle.

Pitor shook his head. “No luck on that front as long as you need them, I’ll seize the opportunity to give them to you.”

“That's so kind of you.” Danylko glanced down at his watch seeing that the time till the operation was nearly up he looked up at Pitor saying. “We got to start moving.”

Looking at his own watch Pitor picked up his pace. “Yeah, don’t think anyone would look kindly on us for missing our ride.”

The two of them left the shade of the camouflaged net walking across tarmac towards an open area where men were falling into formation. As they walked Danylko could see a transport helicopter being loaded up with tracked UGVs he had no doubt they’d come in handy until the second wave came in. They’d offer extra firepower which would never be something he’d say no to, but it did make him wonder if their usefulness in training would carry over to the battlefield, he hoped it did. Danylko stood next to Pitor with a few ranks of men ahead of him and then forming behind him. When everyone was assembled a man in combat fatigues and an exoskeleton stood in front the assembled troops his booming voice picked up on a microphone and belted out over speakers.

“Today we are the spear head which will strike back at Atlansk. We will serve as the first wave of liberators for Skrelavosk and its people from the regime of terror they are being subjected to. It would be an insult to your skills to say the next few days will be an easy fight. As we secure the airbase for the second wave and await the ground forces to relieve us, we must fight relentlessly and without misunderstanding we are facing an enemy which hates us so completely that they do not care who they harm in the crossfire.” The commander speaking to them paused. Danylko thought it was an attempt by the commander to let his words settle in with the crowd before he continued. “We have a schedule to keep godspeed to you all and let's kill the bastards.”

Danylko could see one of the men standing beside the commander shake his head disapprovingly at these final remarks, but he did not speak up as the formation broke up and started to head over to their respective helicopters. Danylko followed the rest of his squad as they moved quickly across the tarmac heading to a transport helicopter which had its engine already spooling up its blades cutting through air as they took their seats in its belly. Danylko knew the ride would be a long one glancing over at Pitor who for reasons he could not phantom was tearing into a bag of jellies Pitor taking a handful from it before waving it in front of Danylkos face. All he could do is shake his head before looking out the window seeing the tarmac grown more distant while looking out towards cargo helicopters and attack helicopters joining them on the journey to Skrelavosk.

The Line (Written by The Manticoran Empire)

Eastern Boundary Zone, Checkpoint Skrel-Z371

---

The checkpoint sat in the middle of a narrow valley, the only path through the range of mountains which separated Skrelavorsk from the Cooperate. In peacetime, it consisted of a fence and a few guards. Travel between the two countries was, in point of fact, so limited as to be a non-issue. What little travel there had dried up after the nuclear attack in the Cooperate and the City got busy fortifying the crossing. What had once been a pair of fences topped with razorwire and some traffic control bollards was now a defense zone thirty kilometers deep.

At the front remained the fences and bollards. Half a kilometer behind them, however, now sat a ditch, ten meters wide and four meters deep. Behind the ditch sat a barrier line, nearly a kilometer deep, made up of obstacles. Hedgehogs made out of criss-crossed steel beams, concrete dragons teeth, and steel Belgian Gates blocked the easiest paths forward, forcing any attacker to advance slowly and to constantly stop and move sideways to avoid obstacles. Anti-tank and anti-personnel landmines, as well as improvised explosive devices, were interspersed with the obstacles, placed in the apparently empty lanes between them.

About a hundred meters behind the obstacles had been constructed several bunkers which ran across the breadth of the valley. The pillboxes, made out of steel-reinforced concrete, were hexagonal and staggered in a checkerboard pattern, allowing each box to cover the others. Inside each were machine gun teams, established with interlocking fields of fire that covered the obstacles. The boxes were connected by covered trenches, allowing troops to pass between them and even withdraw without exposing themselves. A second line of pillboxes sat half a kilometer to the rear and the third line half a kilometer behind that.

A kilometer behind the last line of pillboxes were hardened mortar positions, with camouflage netting over them to hide them from aerial observation. The crews had dugouts, both for themselves and for the ammunition, and the engineers had sworn that the dugouts could resist the heaviest artillery bombardments.
Five kilometers further back were bunkers built into the mountains themselves which housed truck mounted howitzers. They could race out of their hiding positions to prepared positions and begin firing within five to ten minutes. Each gun had a total of three positions, allowing them to shoot and scoot between them to complicate counter-battery fire.

The final layer of the defense were the hardened depots thirty kilometers behind the border. A full division of Skrelavorsk’s regular mechanized infantry waited to counter-attack whatever force attacked the border defense brigade.

At least, that was the most obvious part of the defense. The valley was overlooked by mountains to both sides and the defenders had not ignored them. Gun and mortar positions had been built into the mountainsides over the years, with a network of tunnels connecting them. Past administrations had planned to use the mountainside tunnels to harass Cooperate columns, rather than fighting them directly in the valley. Recent events, including the Cooperate’s practice in airmobile operations in IverChekt, had forced a change in plans. The addition of the valley defenses were intended to slow a Cooperate advance more directly, hopefully allowing troops further back to overwhelm any airmobile attack force before the border fortifications fell.

The plan was a good one. Every square centimeter of the valley had been presighted for artillery, mortars, and small arms. Skrelavorsk had buried every single landmine it had and a goodly percentage of its improvised explosives along the border. And signal jammers had been erected to blanket the area with noise. Old fashioned fiber optic landlines would allow troops to communicate with each other.
It was a good plan. Unfortunately, the other side had its own plan..

Opening moves

Eastern Boundary Zone, Checkpoint Skrel-Z371

---

On the Cooperate side of the border under the faint twilight of the approaching dawn final preparations were made. Troops readied themselves moving from under the cover of camouflaged tents they'd been waiting in as they filed onto their transports. Drivers ran final checks while orders were reiterated upon by officers as an air became awash with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. Soldiers on both sides waiting for it all to kick off and to find out if carefully laid plans would survive contact with the enemy. Then in the distance the calm was broken by the dual barrels of several MCV-8A's dotted around each of which lobbed 120mm mortar rounds arcing through the sky at a frightening rate. Near the border there were smaller thumps from grenade launchers as a layer of thick smoke laden with particles of phosphorus began to billow laying a blanket of cover for advancing forces from the enemy's thermal sights. Explosions rocked the mountainsides throwing up dirt and stone to cover the advance of heavy UGVs controlled from a distance by combat engineers.

Their tracks tore up dirt as they advanced bringing down the fence with its dozer blade as they creeped forwards until pausing. Then with a loud roar they fired off mine clearing charges which rocketed forwards before settling on the ground detonating charges set along them triggered a few mines and IEDs forming a supposedly safe path for 200 meters ahead. The UGVs came under fire as they continued to advance with more shells falling from the sky from friendly and enemy positions. Drones guided by fibreoptic wire slammed themselves into mountain positions not already being harassed by the mortars and shelling by artillery. All this to cover the mad dash of armoured vehicles which charged towards the cleared paths across the border. The ditch became the most apparent obstacle as troops dismounted into the thunderous valley their augmented views providing them a view of the chaos. The enemy was far from them, but their presence was constant in the form of earth shattering IED explosions, the crack of gunfire whizzing by and the screams of those whose luck had ran dry. A heavy engineering UGV with sappers already were hard at work clearing pathways a few gaps in the ditch which had been heavily mined offered corridors to get across which came under fire from ATGMs and mortars as the columns rushed forwards.

At one of these corridors dismounted men were facing choking smoke from an MCV-8 which had taken multiple hits its crew dead it had to be dragged out of the way under fire to allow the stream of vehicles and troops to continue forwards the dragon teeth being pushed by dozer blades some dug into the ground but slow progress was being made under the cover of heavy guns their tracers streaking through the sky. As time marched on, they inched through the barriers coming under heavy fire from the bunkers which covered the bottom of the valley. Grenade launchers and the MCV-8s accompanying the dismounts fired off rounds towards the pillboxes suppressing them as they advanced. This finally brought the CDF face to face with their enemy and it was bloody. The machine gun nests overlapping views did well to create meat grinders leaving moaning bodies sprawled across the ground. But even under constant fire they took out enough pillboxes to pry a gap in which troops entered the covered trenches. Turning the battle into a close-quarters blitz with bullets being sprayed down the trench's lengths as grenades threw shrapnel in all directions.

Some soldiers looking at their watches and the sun hanging higher in the sky knew they were not moving according to plan. It was a brutal slog even to get to the first line of trenches, and the idea of two more lines lay behind it was a daunting prospect. But the march would continue until this bottleneck had been shattered and they could charge towards Skrelavosk to link up with the airborne troops likely already securing positions across the city. It would only be a matter of time before Skrelavosk broke but the same was true for their allies so they had to be sure to break this line first.

Distant strikes

Lohan Airport, Wesker

---

A few kilometres from the edge of Wesker the Lohan Airport served as the city's largest airport. Built around two runways, it had a vast passenger terminal suited for an influx of passengers which never came and had modern hangers most empty except for a cluster inhabited by the few airlines which flew there. Lohan stood now as a glimmering symbol of a failed effort the modernisation started and fuelled by optimism of a unified east never seeing a payoff. But its vast untapped capacity made it ideal for the purposes of Weskers new allies in the Arachi Union of Socialist Republic. As the long-expected war began to the west Weskers new allies had already begun their efforts to aid the city through these uncertain times. Flight after flight bringing pallets of rations, greenhouses and weapons to secure the city. At the airport its self-hangers had been converted to warehouses to manage the influx of supplies as they unloaded the hulking cargo aircraft the ground crew could rest easy defended by a handful of mobile air defence systems graciously manned by comrades from the AUSR.

As the ground crew dragged a pallet of rations down the planes ramp, they were confused to hear the roar of a jet engine growing ever louder. Before they had a chance to look around to find the source in the distance a grey shard cut through the sky flying low there was a popping sound before a cacophony of explosions tore through one of the runways. Dirt was thrown up as charges exploded leaving craters in the runway leading people to scramble as another jet engine could be heard screaming in. This time two shards flew overhead unleashing their payload of cratering charges, and bombs which tore up the tarmac of the second runway. There was no break as another shard came over head the guns on the air defence systems opening up as it emptied its weapons on the terminal and followed up with a resounding bang as the fuel storage exploded into a fireball.

The ground crew as they rushed around for cover now had to avoid the deep craters in the ground as well as the mines which had been mixed alongside them. The air defence systems falling silent until the rush of a missile being fired off.

High above the airport a weapons systems officer was looking through a set of FPV goggles replaying the handy work of his unmanned wingmen speaking over the radio to the pilot to turn back homewards. As he kept an eye on the each of his drones' feeds, he was concerned to see a missile streak past one of the drone's camera view exploding against the drone ahead of it triggering a set of alarms to start blaring loudly in his ears. All he could do was order his drones to rejoin them later and start a mad rush upwards. He was pushed back in his seat as the pilot decided today was not the day to wait around to be found afterburners propelling them further from Lohan. He swore slightly as one of the drones lingered behind fuel dropping quickly, they had said they'd be dealing with some MANPADs which wouldn't act quick enough once they rushed in and out quickly not a bona fide air defence system which could keep up the pressure.

He let the drones autonomous programming mange the journey home as he focused on scrubbing back through the drone's recordings of the strike looking for what had hit them. It was only for a second but he could see a gun opening up and as the last drone rushed by a missile streaking off a rail to follow it. It was much more than they had expected from a target considered to a turkey shoot. Someone was helping them but for now he focused on that their job was done sure he’d have to write up a report about it but the airport was crippled and while the drone was worse for wear it would limp home this time.

Surrounded on all sides

Skrelavosk

---

As the helicopter door slid open Danylko and Pitor jumped to the ground throwing themselves to the ground laying prone as a few shots whizzed overhead. The rest of their squad fanned out running hunched over before diving to the ground to compensate for the lack of cover around the helicopter as it pulled away. Danylko began to shoot towards the rough direction the defenders must be as he took in where they had landed. If he had to guess he would say they were about three hundred meters of open concrete from them to the airport's hangers and a passenger terminal. It'd be a long sprint without cover, but they’d have to take it sometime soon. As he looked around, Pitor was firing towards some flashing police lights in the distance near the air traffic control tower when a MANPADs missile streaked upwards from near the hangers blasting the tail rotor of a transport helicopter which had been pulling up after divulging its squad onto the tarmac. It spun wildly before slamming into the ground right on top of the squad who dismounted it whose attempts to scatter to avoid the flaming wreck failed. Danylko was stunned as he saw a man screaming covered by fuel and on fire but was thrust back into focus as a shout came over his comms.

“Get your arses moving we are sitting ducks out here.” With that Danylko began to lay down covering fire as his squad moved into gear and started the run towards the shed which passed for a passenger terminal and the hangers. As they moved, they were joined by another squad and a tracked UGV which lugged around a heavy machine gun and a grenade launcher combined they’d provide some much-needed extra firepower to cover their advance. The UGVs grenade launcher thudded explosions rocking the distance as Danylko finally reached the passenger terminal. A simple prefabricated building it was a flat single story except for the tower at one end which housed the airports air traffic control tower the objective Danylkos squad was set to seize. He swung a door open throwing a grenade in ahead of himself he waited till its loud bang to charge in gun ready. But he was met by an empty passenger lounge and some luggage blasted to pieces by his grenade.

Pitor walked alongside him looking at the carnage he walked carefully sending a message over a text channel. What'd those suitcases do to you?. Danylko sighed not bothering to respond as he walked not in any mood to joke as they swept through the building as outside as rapid exchanges of gunfire could be heard. It was very empty inside not finding anyone until they came under fire. Danylko only caught a glimpse of the shooter as he rushed to cover. Watching as who had sprayed bullets at them darting around a corner. Looking towards the rest of the squad they had come off unscathed but moved ever more carefully towards the staff only section of the airport. Pitor took the lead with his light machine gun laying down fire as they moved encountering only a few airport security guards with assault rifles backed by local police. The next door he threw open led to a set of stairs to the air traffic control. Danylko lead the way walking carefully gun lifted towards upstairs he dived back as a grenade rolled down a few stairs. When it exploded there was a disorienting flash of light and noise, he was dragged backwards through the door into the secure corridor where he stared down at his leg's relief flooding him as he saw he was still intact.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked no one in particular as any response was drowned by the torrent of gunfire Pitor sprayed up the stair way. Regaining his bearing he followed the two other members of his fireteam as the rest of the squad secured the ground floor to clear the tower. Pitor did not leave much to clear in his wake Danylko having to step over a slumped body as he caught up with Pitor and two others at a barricaded door. When Pitor saw Danylko up and moving he smiled before kicking at the door, but when it did not budge and a few bullets flew through, he shouted. "Whose got the breaching shotgun?" Instead of waiting for an answer, he returned fire through the door when the gun fell silent the man behind him passed up a short shotgun. It took two shots at its hinges and a good slam, but the door fell alongside the body which had been blocking it.

They did not rush blindly in but threw a grenade thrown ahead of them waiting for it to explode before pre-firing the corners when they surveyed the sight it was a mess a moaning man torn up by shrapnel and suffering a shot to the gut being the only one left alive up in the now wrecked room. The computers were a write off and as they moved towards the windows Danylko stepped into a pool of blood leaving a trail of bloody footprints to a door outside where in the distant he could see smoke coming from the crashed helicopter, a nearby fire fight at the hangers and what they had been waiting on as a hulking transport aircraft in the distance divulged troops floating from parachutes in the wind as the second wave arrived far too early.

[IverChekt]

There are almost as many Chunish diasporas as there are stars in the known universe. We all trace our roots back to the primordial era of the history of our home planet, Ciolon. Hundreds of thousands of years before the first human would ever learn to plant a seed or nap flint, we were building civilizations, and a holy language spoken even today by the highest of high priestesses.

Before the chussen K'IverChekt, there was the Chussen K'IverKusera. Before them was the Chussen K'Setho of the Republic of Motornin. Before then, the Chussen K'Iros who had settled Motornna during the age of exploration. Before them was the Chussen K'Porte, who had thousands of years of seafaring history going back to the Saronin invasion of 32. The historical record can get spotty from here, but before then was the Chussen K'Louise, ancient coastal dwellers who lived on seaweed and kelp, and they did so for tens of thousands of years. They had settled on the island of UunjaRinna, but were distinct from the Chussen K'Rinna who lived further inland on the same island. That Chussen had existed for hundreds of thousands of years, since the end of the Primordial Wars at least, and legend has it, they still live on the Island of UnnjaRinna to this day, still living in the highlands and growing barley.

Records from the era before the Primordial wars are harder still to come by. Then, the chunes lived all over Ciolon. This was before humans were brought there, before the Thallonites evolved, or the Halflings, or the Lacastrian Orcs. It was just us Chunes and the old bitter rivals, the Kairians. Chunes were different back then. Our historical record reaches so far back that evolution has driven our species into a different shape. The Primordial Chunes were taller, thinner, hadn't evolved the duplex womb, and could even eat meat.

What could the word "Traditional" possibly mean when you have a history that old. Not one singular human culture on planet Enkon is old enough to have to grapple with such questions, that is a uniquely Chunish problem. Anymore, this question has been turned political. It has been weaponized by the Tackett Clan to legitimize their own power. They can shape the concept of "Tradition" as they please. That is a privilege that has always been afforded to their very learned clan elders, but now that they have the OMeko, and combining the concepts of Chunish identity with politics has been disastrous to our species' chances of survival in the modern world.

The Clan system, as described by the Tackett Clan, is one of inefficiency, squabbling, and constant tension. This was a fine system thousands of years ago. Now we live in a world of space travel, hypersonic jets, and near instantaneous communications.

Tradition is understood to not be the stubborn refusal to let go of the past, but the willingness to iterate. It is a daughter learning from her mother, and then applying those teachings to modern material conditions. A rejection of old values is racial suicide, but a rejection of adaptation to modernity is also racial suicide. We can look to our past to find a system that can be strong against the threats posed by human domination of Enkon.

We, the elders of a few clans have come forward to propose a new model for Chunish future.

The Curtiss Clan of the Chussen K'IverIros.
The Bonnaire Clan of the Chussen K'IverIros
The Bonnaire Clan of the Chussen K'IverChekt
The Bonnaire Clan of the Chussen K'Eksom
The Beckworth Clan of the Chussen K'IverChekt
The Bouras Clan of the Chussen K'Entime

We propose the Motornin System, built on the government of the Republic of Motornin during the Chunish Republican era.

This system is built on a strong constitution with inalienable rights, including but not limited to the rights to life, liberty, estate, children, firearms, and work-life balance.

This system is split into Federal, State, County, and Municipality levels of government, who all operate fundamentally the same way. This organizational structure includes an executive elected by representatives of the people. The executive is responsible for giving the nation focused and deliberate guidance, and to oversee government operations through her cabinet. A Legislative branch with representatives chosen through direct vote by the people, who have the authority to write and erase laws, following a representative Republican process. A Judicial branch appointed by the executive. The Judicial branch is responsible for interpreting the law and arbitrating legal disputes.

This system embraces capitalism, but in the spirit of checks and balances, it is designed to have leverage over the capitalist class through national ownership of infrastructure, and through national ownership of the legal system and law enforcement, including the militia. Under the Executive's Cabinet is the Department of the Militia, as well as the Department of Labor Affairs who shall keep citizens employed and utilize that labor to execute the Executive's direction.

This is a call to the OMeko, who claims to want democratization of the IverChektian Union, to agree to the formation of a Motornin style government in order to better secure a future for Chunish children.

We intend to execute this democratization plan with or without the OMeko's guidance.

---

"I see you Chektians never gave up your stinking habit of smoking." Margarita Curtiss stood on the deck of a yacht far out into Lake Kakochi K'Setho. While they were located off the cost of OHakni, it was so far away that the lights and the noise of the industrial city had died down.

"If the factories smoke," Eloise Bonnaire lit a cigarette with a match and puffed smoke toward Curtiss. "then so too shall I."

"Visit Ironridge sometime, Bonnaire. We no longer need smoke to power factories. They are all powered by magic unlocked from splitting the atom."

The two looked out over the guardrails on the yacht's gunwale. There was nothing to see except the dim lighting of the moon and a few distant ship navigation lights.

"Yeah, yeah, very impressive. Look, I'm not here to talk theology, we all know coal is divine, and I don't need your strange atomic heresy. We're here to talk politics. What's your plan to force the OMeko's hand?"

"We need to use her own compassion against her. We just need to manufacture a crisis and move in to save everyone."

"Okay, go on."

"We just write a letter to the AUSR, forge Cassia Beckworth's handwriting and claiming to be from Entime asking them to "Liberate" them from the noble classes."

"I don't think asking a foreign power to invade the Union is a good idea. I must be missing something here."

"The AUSR isn't crazy enough to invade. Worst case scenario, they sent some PMCs, we send in our own IverIrosian militia to take them out. What we expect is for the AUSR to start threatening to invade, really mounting political pressure. When the OMeko comes to me asking me to protect the country, I will tell her what a shame when she has so far ignored my calls for Democratization. We force her to sign a constitution in exchange for protection."

Eloise thought about it for a moment, then bursts out into laughter so suddenly her cigarette falls into the lake below.

"This is a racket! You're just doing a racket! Oh gods above that makes me miss my old gang banger days, I used to make everyone from Sarpy to Harper's Ferry fear seeing me walk into the door. I'm on board, I will find someone who can forge the letter as soon as I'm back on dry land."

[The Way Sun Cooperation]

The War Out East

Under pressure

Skrelavosk

---

From the window Danylko could see parachutes unfurling filling the sky with dangling crates and soldiers which were descending slowly towards the airport and surrounding fields. As he watched yet more parachutes fill the sky bullets slammed into the wall to the side of him. Taking cover behind a desk he began to move away from the window he had once been framed in. The rest of the people in the ATC tower also took cover as some of the Skrelavosk troops dispatched to uproot the landing attempted to dislodge them from the tower. Pitor crouch walked towards one of the windows propping up his light machine gun on a desk he began to lay down a blanket of suppressive fire on where he guessed they had been shot from. Casings quickly piled up on the floor as Danylko deployed a small drone. It whirred through the air flying out of a shattered window it began to mark friendlies and more importantly the hostiles firing at them. When they had been spotted, he could see a UGV begin to lay down fire on the targets with its heavy machine gun before a second one crept up using an automatic grenade launcher to help tear apart the cars they were using as cover. It allowed Pitor to ease off with his machine gun but before they could move back towards the stairs the room exploded.

Danylko was left recoiling shoved towards the ground by the blast. As he gathered himself and looked himself over by the grace of some god his body armour had absorbed a chunk of rebar turned shrapnel preventing it from skewering his gut. The drone had come out of nowhere looking around the room he could see Pitor stumbling towards the stairway a hand on a wall for support and a gaping hole in the roof. Tripping over some derbies Danylko headed in the same direction as Pitor. Once he reached the door some of the other members of their squad had come up to help. But before he could say anything they barged by him as they rushed over towards a squadmate who had been caught right under where the drone hit. Looking backwards as he steadied himself against a wall Danylko could see a someone being dragged from a pile of rubble. Their arm pointed in the wrong direction and exoskeleton cracked someone lifted him into a fireman's carry and began moving like hell towards the staircase. Danylko could only stand out of the way as they heading downstairs with him quickly following having grounded himself once more in the battle as more explosions and ever louder gunfire could be heard.

Headed down the staircase he entered a staff hallway walking along it quickly he joined some of his squad who were standing around in the position once held by the airport police. The bodies being dragged to the side a makeshift command centre had been established to plan out the airports defence. Conversation moved quick and mainly centred on the early arrival of the second wave. What was important however it meant more guns, and more men to hold the airport. The fields and buildings around the airport from what could be gathered from reports where being highly contested as police attempted to form a cordon with the local militia. Leaving the command centre, he was back out on the tarmac he sprinted across to a marker which represented the rest of his squad who had set themselves up near a hastily set up MANPAD position liberated from the defenders to hold up in for now.

Spotting Pitor again he was concerned to see him lying against the side wall of a ditch. Asking hesitantly, "Pitor are you in one piece?"

Pitor looked over at Danylko his uniform a bit tattered but otherwise intact. "Barely that explosion came out of nowhere."

Danylko sighed as he dropped to sit beside him. "We got lucky then I nearly got taken out by a chunk of rebar Gerogi didn't get so lucky think they are going to casevac him."

"Well shit. I doubt they'll ease off on the pressure anytime soon. Got to just hold the ground for the amour to arrive... shit looks like we got company." Pitor turned around positioning his machine gun on the top of the ditch turned trench looking out to a distant wire fence where he could see some movement.

Looking over the edge towards the distant fence he was relieved to see marked by his HUD some of the second wave. They moved quickly across towards them bringing along with them more UGVs with an array of weapons and some trucks commandeered from a national guard stock not too far from the airport which from the dark smoke engulfing the sky had been their target. It looked as if thing were starting to fall into place for the long haul.

This was confirmed as over the radio a gravelly voice stated. "The last of the airports defenders have been pushed back. Orders have changed your new objective is to hold the airport disregard past objectives. We dig in and we hold until the amour arrives. Gentlemen we've got a long day ahead of us.."

Deadline

Eastern Boundary Zone, Checkpoint Skrel-Z371

---

As the sun rose higher in the sky the fighting which had started under the cover of the twilight had only intensified. Dark smoke streaked up from wrecked vehicles and shattered bunkers across the valley floor. Every meter was being paid for in blood by both sides. Even so the CDF advance never ceased. The presighted mortars and artillery of the defenders harassed them constantly. The Cooperation's own counter battery fire produced middling results the defenders' mobile guns and dispersed hidden positions in the mountains helping them keep up the pressure as they darted from place to place. Over time as news of the successful landings at Skrelavosk spread the CDF started to gain momentum. The second line of pillboxes was overwhelmed under the cover of friendly artillery and with the support of armoured vehicles troops moved quickly. IEDs remained a constant threat but everything kept moving quickly.

The deadline imposed by the landings acted as a strong motivator for the commanders on the ground to keep on moving. Then to the surprise of the defenders the advance stopped they were quick to take advantage laying down more fire on what was a stalled advance. But out of sight of the defenders a few bombers flying far above crossing released their payloads. A mixture of thermobaric bombs and bunker busters began to fall through the sky. Their targets painted by troops on the ground each found their mark. The explosions produced a huge flash alongside the devasting shockwave they were famed for. After the explosions the advance resumed with renewed vigour. Troops walked through the dugouts and bunkers leaving the dead and dying as they simply pushed forwards. Why they had not opened up with the devasting bombardment the troops on the ground had no clue, but they simply got to work.

After another few hour's gunfire and explosions across the valley fell silent for the first time since the battle began. Leaving for a few seconds only the sounds of crackling fires, the injured before the hum of engines took over. As an armoured column moved through cleared paths on the long and certainty perilous road towards Skrelavosk.

[Koftiar Alwyd]

A Faction within the Iron Regime
For everyone who lived in either Koft nation, they know that the ongoing war with the Pellesians and Royalists has been going on longer than anyone could count; the war has been going on ever since the Koftiars emerged from the ground and Bywyl Ovych formed what would be the Gorsin nation, but despite being a more progressive Koft nation with influence and relations with foreign nations that allowed Gorsin to progress their technology and equipment much quicker than their royalist counterparts, despite this everything remains stagnant, and the momentum seems to be slowing down, and no one notices this more than Maelira Yllyra, a former GNAS marine Dyna turned Iron Regime party member. When she got word of the Bog-Las project, she was very much excited, as such a weapon could help simplify supply lines, lessening the need for physical cartridge ammunition and granting the typical rhyfler further firepower over their royalist counterpart. However, disappointment hit her when Ciro and a few other party members decided to push the bog-las to the side, as the first model was too expensive to produce on a large scale, and despite the revised second model made by the Madolle clan in Easky, it was decided that replacing the entirety of the Gorsin Defense Force with the Bog-Las and similar weaponry would be infeasible due to the conditions brought by the war with Pellesian, in which Maelira views the excuses as bullshit.

Maelira wanted Gorsin to take a more aggressive stance while also taking advantage of the captured territory, whereas Ciro has failed to capitalize on their gains; hence, why the GDF has been stretched thin, having to not only advance but also clear out any cells of Crymuster troops that remained at the same time because of these mishaps. Maelira went behind the back of Ciro and his lackeys and funded the production of Las-weapons alongside a couple other side projects, that being a heavy combat robot called “Jugger-Lad” and another project simply called "Seatier," although while she does not know a whole lot in terms of details regarding what the projects could entail, she gave her approval for them and went as far as to hide any evidence of where the funds were going.

“That fool, the more he sits around, the more lives are wasted away. " The Koft Dyna said with frustration as she forges some documents, while nearby was a human male named Paepel looking through the Dyna’s collection of records before subsequently grabbing one and walking over to the gramophone and placing the record on the platter and lowering the stylus onto the record with music beginning to play from the horn, with Paepel taking his seat nearby, pouring himself a drink and lighting a cigarette. “Do they not understand Ovych’s views and wishes? For he is the reason why so many across Gorsin enlist to get rid of the High Families that have been oppressing the lower clans.” The Prudy Polikist remains stoic as Maelira goes on about her rant, taking a sip from his drink and dragging out his cigarette.

“No. Ovych’s movement is not an idea but more of a living organism, an animal shackled and caged. Not the one Ciro watered down and adorned it with white cloth and a crown of olive branches to appeal to other nations, and it is certainly not a myth either; it is but an animal that wants to be set free, filth-ridden with its body swarmed with parasites that needs to be crushed, and crushed, and crushed.” He tapped the ash from his cig onto the ash tray and took another drag from it. “This crusade is not a dinner party; it is not painting a picture. It cannot be so refined, so leisurely, and so gentle. In times of war we cannot be kind or temperate, and we can only restrain ourselves for so long; this crusade is an insurrection, an act of violence where we are pushing at the ones at the top to come falling down. After all, it is within both human and Koft nature to be inclined toward conflict.” He picked up a folder on the front, which was marked, designating it belonged to the Prudy Polikist of the Federation Internal Affairs, stamped in the middle and in bold red letters in the Koft language, simply saying “Awlburn Question," and opened the folder, reading the contents within. “We are not destroying specific individuals, but the royalist as a whole who is putting forward more and more opponents in its midst.”

Maelira knows that the PPFI was a dangerous group to ever exist within the Gorsin Federation; however, it was said that the group kept the nation stable and intact by fighting on what they consider the ‘Invisible Front,' and Paepel had in hand. In many of its operations, Maelira can’t even recall any form of protest or movement for a certain ideology ever appearing and rising in Gorsin, so she was somewhat glad and relieved that Paepel had similar views to hers when they first met and since they have been a great ally to her. Taking a moment, she put down her pen and looked towards Paepel. “Aren’t you frightened by what you do, uhh, Comrade Paepel?” she said with some unease in her voice.

Without looking towards her, Paepel pours down his glass filled with the clear spirit in one go before placing it back down on the table, reading as he goes. “No. The crusade or revolution, how you want to put it, is not a philosophy; it is something that was never meant to make one think deep about."

---

Aevessa Yulissa's arrival to Karl's home
The taxi pulled up in front of the house Aevessa gave the driver the correct amount of money to pay for the ride before gathering up her personal items. Aevessa was a dyna koft with peach skin with light red splotches and adorned in a floral print dress and head scarf. She looked at the slip of paper that had the address Karl gave her before looking at the house before her, putting the slip of paper away. She walked up to the front door and knocked a few times.

"Oh, by the ancestors, I hope this is the right place. I’m still trying to understand the addresses here." Aevessa said as she waited for someone to answer.