AM v Vancouvia (IC | TWI Only) (Name to be changed :P)

[Athara Magarat]

OOC

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A miscommunication from the Athara Magarati Defense Minister resulted in his resignation and the death of two innocent Athara Magarati citizens. His mistake: authorizing the Vancouvian Congress without orders from the Hang, the National Assembly or the House of Representatives to perform a drone strike in Batulechaur, the hometown of the Gandharva tribe of the Nine Khas Horde in northwestern part of the island nation of Athara Magarat.

But the troubles had been brewing much earlier. Without much proof, the Vancouvian Congress had deemed that the attack in North Yorkford had been carried out by the terrorist group SHOCK. As a result, they had demanded the names and locations of suspected terrorist individuals. And the action taken by the resigned Athara Magarati defense minister had resulted in the blood of the innocent being spilled.

To avoid such casualties, the two nations agreed to have Vancouvian soldiers assisting Athara Magarati authorities in arresting the suspects. Now as more and more Vancouvian soldiers pour into Athara Magarati soil, it seems that they are there not only to arrest suspected terrorists. Their numbers are enough to launch an invasion of Athara Magarat and thus the events below would be the unsuccessful war against Athara Magarati sovereignty that the Vancouvian Congress and military fought for their reasons.

Everyone has a reason to fight. You believe that what you are doing is right. You fight for the glory of your nation or for keeping her sovereignty. But what if you are wrong. What if what you fought for was meaningless continuation of politics from which only the true terrorists benefited? What if the war you are fighting is just: HELL.

[Vancouvia]

It is perhaps not the acts themselves that shock us most, but the fact that our own committed them. Yes, war is hell, but it need not be hell inflicted by Vaenlanders onto others. Let us use the rifle well, but let us first use it wisely. Let us spring forward over the breach with a song of purpose in our hearts, and let us not fall into the grips of unkempt malice nor revenge. This is our duty, not as soldiers, but as members of humanity.

-Harold Briarwhite, October 1899, in reference to the atrocities committed in the First Ostehaar War

---

The drone strikes were supposed to continue; they were supposed to be the backbone of the Vancouvian effort to combat terrorism in Athara Magarat. It was tragic, really, that the Batulechaur strike was so held in contempt. Perhaps thousands of lives would be saved had it been realized for what it was: rational. But there is something frightening, so utterly frightening, about an attack from a unmanned plane miles in the air that shakes people to the core. Collateral damage? Of course. That comes with the territory. But is the alternative truly superior? Are marching soldiers, quartered in your fields and homes, breaking down doors and unable to tell the enemy from the rest, a better option than the unseen glimmer in the air?

Yes, they were frightened, so they allowed a more terrible force to be unleashed upon their nation. A thousand boots on the ground are a thousand times more difficult to remove than a plane in the sky. But that was what was coming. That was what was decided.

[Athara Magarat]

"His name is Selling." A few of the rookie Vancouvian soldiers snickered upon hearing the name of the terrorist escape the mouth of the Athara Magarati official whereas the other Vancouvians in the room were silent and professional. "From the Kirat-Limbu tribe. Late 20s. Bleached blond hair. Slanted eyes. Yellowish skin tone...."

"That's him." The Athara Magarati official displayed the image of a man for them all to see. "He is believed to be a mid-tier operative for SHOCK. He mostly travels alone but unlike the grass-root members, they don't send him to place bombs or perform knife attacks. He was reported in the then Arvan now Noronica, in Juverna of Covonant and four months ago in Port Gray, Atnaia and reportedly used fake names and identity every time. Apparently he made contacts with Silver Branch and SOAR while in Atnaia; most probably for client-buyer deals. Now with the Ticking Flu case, bastard was seen back in Athara Magarat once again a couple of days ago."

The Vancouvians, even the rookies, now paid special interest upon hearing this new information. Silver Branch, SOAR, Ticking Flu and a highly-wanted fugitive Athara Magarati citizen was enough for their attention.

"We believe that he will not remain in Athara Magarat for long. Most likely he will leave this nation within the next 48 hours or if we are unlucky, before that. We have no doubts what his intent is. He wants to complete what failed in Summerland. This sick bastard most probably wants to spread the Ticking Flu in some foreign nation."

"For this mission, we will be having the Vancouvian Special Forces cooperate with the Armed Police Force of Athara Magarati alongside special forces from Keomora and other C6 nations; if you have no objections and questions."

[Vancouvia]

Lieutenant Colonel Jeremy Pitcher touched down in New Libang with the 18th and 19th cohorts with no pomp but some circumstance. The soldiers, all weary from the flights over, had been informed that they were to solely assist in the training of the Athara Magarat police force, and that their role was to go no further. In reality, Pitcher, and the senior officers above him, had the full intention of bringing the situation to a breaking point - and then one step more.

Alimenter, North Yorkford, and Summerland were all anyone talked about any more. The news cycles replayed the stories endlessly. How the Ticking Flu had spread now to the Trio cities. How another family member was still grieving from the loss of their son or daughter at Yorkford. How the terrorists had still gone uncaught, unpunished. The 18th and 19th soldiers themselves had two thoughts on their mind: justice and revenge; what differed was each person's definition of the words. What mattered was Pitcher's.

So while the soldiers set up camps on the outskirts, command set up a war. The people demanded it. The people deserved it. The only obstacle was time.

[Athara Magarat]

The flags were at half-mast.

Humati knew what it meant. The nation was grieving a hero. A hero by the name of Vijay Ghale. A hero who had died in Moukere that was being ravaged by ethnic violence.

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As she saw the heavily-armed Vancouvian soldiers patrolling the train station alongside Armed Police Force of Athara Magarat, she felt what many Athara Magaratis were now feeling. They are in the wrong nation. They should be bringing peace and stability in war-torn nations...

"What's up with our favorite tomboy today?" Rajesh and Noah walked up to her; all three of them and other students on their way to their school.

"I am mourning a hero. Show some respect, idiots!" Humati muttered. She hated the word 'tomboy'. Yes, she had a boy's name but still her gender was obvious and yet. "Idiots!"

"Those Vancouvian soldiers are so cool!" Rajesh was shouting. "Did you see their uniform? Did you see their rifles? And I hear they start training since they are six! So awesome...."

"What a fanboy!" a classmate muttered. "You will land us in trouble, Rajesh."

"What trouble?"

"Two people died in that Vancouvian drone strike and one more person died while they fired at him; mistaking him for that Selling bastard." The class monitor Nabin glared at Rajesh.

"And I hear that the Vancouvians are faking the arrest of Selling by detaining some innocent man." Mina, usually the most talkative one in the class, whispered. "Rumors are abound that the real Selling escaped to New Aapelistan and the Vancouvians killed one innocent man and imprisoned another."

"But it's the fault of that damned former Defense Minister!" Rajesh shouted again. "I am glad we have a young and sexy Defense Minister now."

viewtopic.php?f=4&t=337003&p=31952724&hilit=Athara+Magarat#p31952724

"This idiot!" His classmates all sighed and some of them even face-palmed as people getting off at the station were looking at Rajesh.

Nabin and some other boys dragged Rajesh as far as they could from the crowded station while the rest of the class walked slowly. Mina, Noah and several others approached Humati. "You are awfully silent, today."

After another long silence, Humati finally spoke, "I think we are seeing too many half-mast these days."

[Athara Magarat]

The dinner was set. The long day had given way for night. The family gathered around for their meal. The younger son had the duty of being that night's waiter and setting the table with home-made dishes he had prepared. The father simply nodded at his son while the mother thanked him for the work he had done. He then went to the living room where the elderly grandmother was watching television and gave her yogurt and roti she wanted.

"What of your brother?" the grandmother asked as the news anchorwoman was briefing of yet another joint raid Vancouvian soldiers and Armed Police Force of Athara Magarat into a locality that had high number of Bhikkustani refugees and others living. More than a couple of arrests and gunshots fired but luckily no one died this time.

"He has been sulking since that happened. He has extra tuition classes like before but now he eats out even this late at night with his friends."

"Oh let him be. They lost a classmate."

"But if they continue like this...then the Vancouvians will start getting excuses to label them as suspicious terrorists and become hunted in our own nation. And with the recent political scenario..."

The old woman laughed. "You are just in 8th Grade. What do you know of politics?"

"We learn a lot in school nowadays." The grandson tried to explain. "Besides, I am worried that the Vancouvians will not hesitate to do what they did to his classmate; his nolo."

"It is those refugees. Everything is their fault." The old woman suddenly rose her voice. She continued her gaze at the TV screen as she finished the first of the three roti in her plate. "Paija Hang was a fool. It is a great relief that he is now rendered powerless. Making unnecessary visits to foreign nations instead of focusing on his own. Claiming to accommodate as many as 200,000 refugees without any thinking. And playing the victim card that he knew nothing and is still innocent. He is lucky to be still holding his post but good thing the power now lies in the National Assembly and the House of Representatives."

"I thought most old people supported Paija Hang..."

"Don't generalize us, boy. Sure thing we elected him. Sure thing that the head of each family elected him but that was our mistake. I am starting to think the National Assembly is right nowadays. Those who know politics should be elected Hang, not some former actor who happened to participate in the mass movement."

There was silence from then on. The young boy was silent as usual. In the fourteen years since his birth, the last seven years he had seen Paija Hang on TV screen, heard his speeches on radio, seen him on public seminars and meetings and so on. To him, Paija Hang equated with the sole leader of Athara Magarat. The young boy had not been even able to imagine of an Athara Magarat without Paija Hang at helm. The recent political situation had change. The National Assembly and the House of Representatives bickered among themselves. The new Defense Minister Jyoti Thapa was good but inexperienced and she hardly any older than his older brother. Foreign nations still accused Athara Magarat of hypocrisy for the miscommunication that led to the Vancouvian drone strike on Batulechaur and for withdrawing from the League for almost no apparent reason. However the citizens of Athara Magarat were the ones most worried as to what was happening in Athara Magarat.

Day after day, more refugees arrived in Athara Magarati shores. Day after day, more Vancouvian soldiers marched into the island nation. Day after day, there was more bickering and even gang fights between the National Assembly and the House of Representatives. The young boy had nothing else say except for something he felt he had to say.

"He is being a scapegoat. Paija Hang is a scapegoat for all the failures and instability and we see. Just like how brother said his nolo was made the scapegoat for 'acting like a terrorist' and being shot dead."

"Still with that...I don't know if Paija Hang is as clean as your pure heart thinks he is, but your brother's classmate was indeed a scapegoat. The young man's death is proof that Vancouvian soldiers here don't know who is terrorist and who is not. To them, we are all same and we cannot fault them for that mentality. After all, they lost more Vancouvian citizens to SHOCK attacks than we have, despite that devil's group being established here. If those darned refugees had not arrived, SHOCK would not have been emboldened with recruits or carried out such attacks."

"And you are still blaming only the refugees..." the grandson sighed as he remarked. "If you and I, who are as close as flesh and nail and share the same blood can't agree, dear grandmother, then I wonder how the National Assembly and the House of Representatives can come to an agreement and solve our the many crisis our nation is suffering from."

"Enough with the political talk. Now bring me the milk." The old woman handed her empty plate to her grandson as she continued glued to the TV screen listening to more update on recent political events.

[Vancouvia]

Lieutenant Colonel Jeremy Pitcher burst into the command tent, his boots still spraying up mud and dust. He had not had time to wipe them off.

"Sergeant, give me the brief."

"Sir, we have lost all contact with Alpha 19. They were on patrol in the central mountain range here," said the sergeant, as he pointed to a detailed grid map of the nation. "Two Magarati scouts were with them and they were supposed to radio in every two hours. They have missed three check-ins as of now."

Pitcher angrily strode around the room, meeting the gaze of the other officers. "And why was I just informed of this now?"

"We've been having communication errors since we got here, sir. We thought it may have been a problem on our end."

"Damn it, son! Are we running an operation here or putting on a middle school play?! Who is in the area?"

"They are on one of our most isolated missions, sir. The nearest helo and available squad is 100 miles east in Kirat."

Pitcher sighed and looked back at the map. The country was terrible for these kind of operations. Mountain ranges, forests, jungles, oh and the heat! It was a land just begging for a good ambush.

"Get that squad out there, and send in a land convoy immediately as well," ordered Pitcher. "Oh, and Sergeant, get me a line to whoever is in charge of those two local scouts. I want their full dossiers five minutes ago."

Pitcher left the makeshift command station and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. While he watched the rest of his unaware men shuffle around the camp, it was all he could do to remind himself that the boys out there were trained for this, that the VSF lived for these moments. Yet, thoughts of death seeped into his mind, and those thoughts were more pressing.

[Athara Magarat]

The Keomoran civilian ship Kai Tang sailed on her due speed. The crew had been paid quite a sum of money by a group with suspicious motives. The passengers were a silent shady bunch of Athara Magaratis and even some Akaris among them and the unknown cargo they had, which the crew were not allowed to get near, were indeed very suspicious. The captain had tried to contact the Athara Magarati military or better the Noronican, Covonantian or Bhikkustani naval ships that guarded Athara Magarati waters. He had to whisper orders to his crew at times as the leader of the group, a blond man in his middle ages, stopped by the bridge from time to time. Finally a Noronican ship at least 60 kilometers away from the Kai Tang's position responded they would notify Athara Magarati military and arrive at the scene.

"...Not much time before they arrive and check these creepy bastards. Until then we need to act cool." The captain spoke to the bridge crew.

"I am afraid no one will be coming here." The blond man who seemed the leader of the group was there with three of his men. All of them armed with handguns and now pointed at the sailors. "Outside, all of you."

The crew of the Kai Tang lifted their hands and marched out by the three armed men. On the deck were more armed men and women. Some of them had Athara Magarati kukris and Akaris axes in their hands.

"Jump!" the leader of the armed group commanded. The crew of the Kai Tang shuddered but did not do so. "I said jump! At least you will be saved by that Noronican military ship if you dive into the water. Remain here and you will all be shot or butchered."

"Never." The captain was defiant.

"Wrong choice." And then two large men held the captain as a woman slashed the neck of the poor man with her sharp kukri. The steward rushed to his captain but an ax came flying and hit his back. Another man shot dead the steward with his handgun as the rest of the crew watched the deaths with horror.

"Now, I will say this again. Jump!"

Hesitatingly but full of fear for his life, one of the junior crewman jumped into the sea. Others followed his suit till all of the surviving crew of the Kai Tang were in water. The leader of the armed group, the blond man in his middle ages, looked down at them from the deck.

"And don't forget to tell the Noronicans, who will rescue you soon, to tell the Athara Magaratis and those darned Vancouvians to stop messing with SHOCK's plans unless they want to screw themselves. And tell the darned Noronicans to tell their intelligence agency that Chatrov of Arvan was here and to stop sending spies after me. They will know who I am and that I mean serious business."

Moments later the Kai Tang sped again and was soon out of sight. From what the sailors could tell, the hijacked ship's direction was definitely Lotus Sea.

[Vancouvia]

The "Peace Mission" in Athara Magarat was just beginning, but casualties were already mounting.

The locals were, in the eyes of the VSF, useless bodies who needed to be dragged on missions just to keep up appearances. Most of them were incomprehensible to the Vancouvian soldiers, whose translation instructors had never thought to add Kham or Khas to their linguistic arsenals. The culture, the hot stench of the land, and the thinly veiled peacekeeping missions were all thorns in their sides, constant reminders that they pulled the short straw, deployment-wise, and weren't getting any re-dos.

What wasn't killing them was making them weaker. The Ticking Flu had, despite the military's best precautions, made its way among the men, either via the Magaratis or domestic sources. Many squads were forced to patrol at 90 or even 80% strength. Heat exhaustion was also a major problem, as was the simple procurement of clean, bottled water. So far from usual Vancouvian supply lines, the cohorts had to rely on basic bartering for supplies needed to conduct their missions. Besides water, in particular need was batteries, tarps, and condoms.

[Athara Magarat]

"Warmongering devils!" muttered the man after he had moved out of the sight of the Vancouvian soldiers and got into the train. Everyday was now same. The foreigners acted as though they controlled the country. People's schedules were being late in the usually extremely punctual country due to extensive checks. The Vancouvians did not even bother to speak in Atish or any other local language and instead barked orders around in their own foreign tongues.

As he got his seat, the mumbling man decided to read the day's paper. More wars and conflicts. San Javier was still a bloody mess. Arvan still came occasionally in news. Merrit Isle had declared independence as Asorist Republic of Merritia with the help of MLF and SOAR. Then there was Kachee Sultanate that was now facing new protests. San Montagna's dictator (who had suddenly resigned) had threatened to invade Athara Magarat for 'housing SHOCK'....

Why could not these foreign 'hegemonic empires' understand that Athara Magarat only had 3 million population of whom most were hard-working peace-loving people? Why did not any 'democratic' nation send its military in Atnaia to remove SOAR? The answer was simple. Athara Magarat was a small powerless nation with a guilt-ridden dark history. Despite the numerous apologies the Athara Magarati people had offered sincerely from their hearts, the world still saw them as terrorists in modern times or as only destroyers and savages in the past. If only the Hang was there, he would have been strong enough to not let the Vancouvians or anyone spoil Athara Magarati soil like their playground. The traitorous good-for-nothing National Assembly schemers had suspended him temporarily and allowed the foreigner soldiers to display their warmongering attitude. For their own failures in operations against SHOCK, the frustrated Vancouvian soldiers were accusing the innocent citizens of being useless or even collaborating with SHOCK!

The man started chanting a silent hymn for he knew that venting anger would make him no different than the barbaric SHOCK terrorists or the warmongering Vancouvian soldiers who understood nothing. Om for gaining generosity and removing his ego, ma for attaining ethics and removing jealousy, ni for gaining patience and removing desires, pad for becoming diligent and removing his ignorance, me for for renouncing any greed and finally hum for attaining wisdom to remove all the hatred he had stored in his heart since morning.

And praying in silence as he closed his eyes...for ever-lasting peace that he so much desired.

[Athara Magarat]

Myagdi Island was now a relic of what it used to be. The city of almost 1.2 million people now had ghost towns everywhere. In Athara Magarat, it has been the area most hit by Ticking Flu and almost 99% of the 30,000 people who died of the Ticking Flu in Athara Magarat were from the island city. SHOCK knew that crippling Myagdi Island would cripple Athara Magarat. New Libang was tough nut. There were Athara Magarati security forces and Vancouvian soldiers everywhere. Myagdi Island was easy. It was the trade center and the industrial hub with easy access for travelling around. The largest city in Athara Magarat's former distinct qualities had made it the victim of SHOCK's (and some say even SOAR's) barbaric actions that sped the spread of Ticking Flu.

The residents of Myagdi Island now barely walked outside except to go to schools, officers, factories, etc and most of those places had already been shut down. Or to the ever-crowded hospitals. Or shopping like the end was coming.

"Caju Soda, they are good." The boy said to his grandmother as he placed two bottles of the soft drink in the trolley.

"Which stan are they from?" The grandmother asked in muffled voice as well due to the mask covering her mouth. She had the habit of inserting a few words of her native language here and there while speaking in Atish with her biracial grandson.

"Monpak [Dragao do Mar]." The boy replied. Well, technically Monpak was an area in Dragao do Mar and not the whole country but Athara Magaratis tended to use the term just like people called the Netherlands 'Holland'. The boy then tried to correct his grandmother but to no avail.

"What else do we have to buy?" The grandmother asked, upon which the boy fished into his pocket and took out a note.

"Paneer and mo:mo masala."

"Get them quick. We can't linger around anymore."

After they found the last shopping items, the two headed to the counter. In place of usual five different lines they used to see before, there was only one woman at the counter today and no line at all. The smartly-dressed Athara Magarati Jinlongian woman, Yi Heng, nodded at the grandmother-grandson duo.

"Total 2050, Mrs Rantija." Yi Heng said to the old woman.

"Here. Give this to her." The grandmother told her boy to hand the money. "What happened to the others?"

"We are taking shifts now. Management says we will not see much customer due to Ticking Flu. And even some of us are in hospital because of that. I am specially worried about Hema...you know Hema Darai. The tauke [large forehead] girl who used to be very talkative."

"Yes, I know her. She reminds me of my old days. What happened to her? The flu?"

"She is a Ticker." Yi Heng spoke sadly. "That is what the management said..."

"Poor girl..." The old lady solemnly prayed to the heavens and then looked at her grandson. "Well, Yi Heng, I think we will be going home."

"Oh bajai [grandma], please visit us anytime you please." Yi Heng bowed. Then she waved at the boy. "See you next time, little fella."

Just as the two left the supermarket, a man in a hoodie arrived at the counter. Strange, thought Yi Heng. The guards should have told him to remove the hood. Well, not my problem. She quickly went through his items. A lighter and a packet of gums.

"Here you go, sir." Yi Heng said after giving him the bill.

"Can you check today's news?" The man in hoodie asked.

"Sorry, sir?"

"The news today." The man asked impatiently. "I have no mobile phone with me, you see. Nor does this place has news papers like I thought. Just the headlines is enough."

So he came here for newspapers, what a strange fellow. Yi Heng said nothing and opened her Kodo smartphone. "Jrm Hangma apologizes while missile strikes Volkegoth...! Oh my god...!"

"Thank you, lady." The man said as he left. Yi Heng was busy reading the rest of the news that she did not notice the man in hoodie going down to the restricted basement instead of the exit. The man removed his hoodie and his bleached blond hair was revealed.

Selling smiled. Everything had gone according to the plan. Everything was perfect.

[Vancouvia]

"HOLD THE LINE!" screamed Sergeant Halffield at his squad.

Fire swarmed all around them. They were pinned and on the low ground. 'Hold the line' was just a stalling order to give Halffield time to think.

"Copperfield, on me," shouted Halffield, ordering the squad's specialist sharpshooter stationed on the left flank to join him. "What do we got?"

"I've taken down two sir, but there's dozens among the trees up there. I can't get a good shot with all this foliage. We're likely outnumbered three to one."

A bullet whizzed past their heads. Halffield took a look up the forested hill. They were in a damn ravine thanks to their Magarati scouts who claimed this was the fastest route to their objective. Halffield cursed them, then took a glance at the men and women under his command. No casualties, yet, thankfully, but it was only a matter of time.

"Copperfield, we're executing a Venus Fly Trap. Pass it down the line. And Corporal-"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"I want you at the heart."

The Venus Fly Trap was one of the hundred combat maneuvers that the Omega 18 squad had learned while at North Yorkford. It was a complex plan, designed as a last ditch effort when there was no better option. They had run it only once before, at training years ago, and Halffield had doubts that the men would even recollect its function.

The Venus plan is essentially a feigned retreat. The bulk of the friendly troops are to fall directly back, firing sporadically and luring the enemy into the ground they previously held. The rest of the men are to dig in and camouflage themselves, then open fire at close range, when the enemy has passed their position, encircling them and hopefully causing immediate surrender.

Maybe it was the terrain. Maybe it was the discipline of the enemy. Maybe it was the lack of practice. Whatever the case, at the end of the hour, Omega 18 was lost and all that was left in the ravine was 16 bodies to bury.

[Vancouvia]

The losses in Athara Magarat were, by all serious measures, substantial. The losses of Omega 18 and Alpha 19 in particular pushed shock waves into Congress and the public alike. It was usual to lose a man here and there, maybe even two, but a squad? Two squads? A whole two dozen young men and women who the state had so proudly christened off to war? It was intolerable, and it got people's attention. It certainly got Lieutenant Colonel Jeremy Pitcher's and his men's.

What began as action against a terrorist contingent was soon molded in the minds of the men as an action against a terrorist country, a nation ripe with villagers at every corner looking for a kill, coveting their dog tags. It was prevalent, it was pervasive, it was everlasting. The 18th and 19th cohorts soon began to realize that the enemy was all around them, and that there were no friends. They began to act. Placing land mines around their camps at night, ambivalent when a local shepherd tripped it. Rounding off entire towns to be sent for "questioning" then burning anything of value. Mistaking sickles for rifles. It was common now. It was war.