Two minutes until midnight |IC [Ajax Only]

[Rietumimark]

Prologue
OOC

Once Deroburg had been the lifeblood and the seat of power of the hoary Empire of Deweden; the personification of the Empire's power and influence. It was the place where in 1410 the Dewedish people coronated their first Empress, in the 16th century, while the most of the world was crushed under the weight of the armies of the Holy Empire of Balcia , the Dewedish successful defence of Deroburg prevented its ultimate incorporation into the Holy Empire of Balcia for close to half-century, and in the 1860s, during the chaos of the aftermath of the collapse of the Holy Empire of Balcia, it served as a place of compromise between Deweden's major noble houses, allowing the Dewedish to avoid the fragmentation of the region into various warring petty states. During the Empire of Deweden’s eventual agreement to form a personal union with the Tsardom of Rietumimark, it became the centre of arts and culture of the Tsardom - a major world city within Cornellia during the early 20th century.

During the Rietumification drives in the 1920s/30s, as the then Grand Duchy of Deweden's sovereignty was increasingly infringed upon by its larger neighbour, when the Dewedish culture and language experienced widespread discrimination and persecution from the Imperial government - Deroburg was the bastion of Dewedish culture and successfully resisted repeated attempts by the Imperial government to prohibit the use of Dewedish language in public spaces. In 1952, it served as a staging point for Dewedish separatists during an Uprising against the Imperial government - concluding in de-facto Dewedish independence under the Dewedish Provisional Authority - who later agreed to become an autonomous region in a future post-Imperial Rietumimark.

Since the collapse of the Tsardom of Rietumimark and the subsequently Rietumish Federation, Rietumimark became been a country divided. Within the succeeding chaos of the overthrow of Tsar and fall of the Federation, Deroburg and most of Deweden fell under the control of the communist People’s Republic - later known as North Rietumimark - which has maintained a hegemony over Deweden ruthlessly and mercilessly - responsible for the resulting in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Dewedish during its rule. Under the authority of the communists, Deroburg became the seat of power of the Dewedeni Autonomous People's Republic and the Party’s dominance over Deweden. Throughout this period, Deroburg evolved into an industrial powerhouse of the North, prompting thousands of ethnic Rietumish to emigrate to the city all the while systematic discrimination against ethnic Dewedish left them in poverty and unable to enjoy the economic boom.

Initially the regime experience very little social unrest or economic collapse during its decades in power, despite wave after wave of economic sanctions and embargoes. The regime didn't just survived but thrived. But wasn't to last, it's the inefficient economy first stagnated and then was plunged into recession, joined later by a subsequent famine which ensued during the mid-80s. Quickly becoming what some described to be one of the worsted humanitarian disasters in modern Ajax history, with somewhere between 200,000-500,000 people in Reitumimark having believed to have died during the four-year famine. The worst affected by the famine and economic downturn were the Dewedish, who the senior leadership saw as expendable and immediately cut their rations and average salaries in half, favouring ethnic Rietumish. With the Dewedeni Autonomous People's Republic facing a continued deterioration in the national standard of living, high unemployment rates among Dewedish youth, and steep rises in the prices of commodities, an all out rebellion erupted in 2004 - in which Deroburg again was a centre of the revolt.

During the uprising, the city of Deroburg witnessed widespread destruction by the Revolutionary Armed Forces amid their attempts reconquer Deweden and was subject to extensive WMD usage. After the rebellion, the city was carved up into an ethnically Dewedish east, north, and west and the ethnically Rietumish south, which were divided by border barriers built by the Rietumish government to “prevent interethnic violent”. Briskly, this division of the city resulted in the establishment of an apartheid-style regime in the city and later all of Rietumish-occupied South Deweden. While the Rietumish areas of the city quickly recovered from the conflict, Dewedish districts descended into extreme poverty, destitution, and the dramatic rise of crime - perfect conditions for a revolt which came last year.

On Saturday, February 27, 2017 - scores of Dewedish protesters were willing led by their callous leadership to be slaughtered in the streets of Deroburg. Not long afterwards, unverified video footage found its way out of the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden and into the hands of the international community. Soon a coalition, assembled by Ghant, was formed against Rietumimark and the entirety of the Northern Belisarian continent was pushed to the verge of war. However, cooler heads among both sides soon prevailed amid a triad of warmongering and successfully managed to negotiate the Dewedish and Rietumish governments down from their from stoking the flames of war and sabre rattling. For the several month's, slow and consistently stalling, talks have been taking place between the North Dewedish government and Ajaxi states apart of the Coalition, the increasingly fractured Southern Dewedish Separatists, and the Rietumish government to reach a long-term solution to the violence in the APRD.

On the ground, a fragile ceasefire between the Dewedish Separatists and government - separated by a mutually agreed upon nominally demilitarised buffer zone exists between areas under the control of the adveries. All the while, unarmed foreign aid workers - ‘protected’ by the Rietumish government have been allowed by both sides to enter APRD to provide humanitarian assistance to civilians trapped between the Separatists and the government. Over time, the Separatists have become increasingly fractured, plague by internal rivalries within its leadership, rampant criminality, warlordism, lawlessness in parts of South Deweden they control and infighting between different factions competing with each for clout and power inside South Deweden; with their growing evidence of ethnic cleansing and the disappearance/detention of journalists and human right activists on their part. Similarly, the North Dewedish remain divided as they have ever been between moderates led by the Queen, hardline warmongering Jingoists nationalist with Prime Minister Starl as their leader, and increasingly militant Dewedish ethnoreligious ultranationalists who dream of a pure ‘ethno-religiously’ Deweden free of non-Dewedish and non-protestants. All the while, the RUP has been quietly tightening its grip over areas of South Deweden they control and executing Order 999. With the talks grinding on slowly and much larger crises breaking out in Latium and domestic elections and economic problems, the situation in South Deweden has slowly moved to the back of world leaders minds - but a controversial proposal is about to change all that...

[Rietumimark]

“Hell’s Tenth Circle”

Camp 12
Classified Location, Rietumimark

That smell, that omnipresent, suffocatingly toxic stench which seemed to permeate everything, seeping into the smallest hole and tiniest crack. After a while, you stopped noticing it...your nose becoming frighteningly accustom, numb almost, to that odour that, upon first contact, was enough to snatch your breath away in one swell swoop. Although, after awhile, you stop noticing such a repulsive odour when you are submitted to it everyday, all day - around the clock. The worst thing about it was that effluvium how it always found a way into your clothes and clung to them - forming an invisible, sticky layer on them, which made whatever clothes you brought to the prison unwearable when among people living in the outside world. After many a sleepless night wondering what that smell could be, Ārijs Geikins realised that it was the combination of fear, pain, and the prisoners’ rotting manure which was circulated around the prison through the AC system.

Ārijs, the Chief of Staff of Camp 12, hated it here. The rough, psychotic, psychologically unstable guards - whose number included sadists, convicted serial killers, malignant narcissists, and among others who suffered from almost every violent personality disorder imaginable - recruited from Rietumimark’s asylums and prisons to do the job which many of them believed was recreated personally for them; having a free hand to engage in every sick fantasy they’d ever had with the blessing and sanction of the government; all in the name of securing the birthplace of the revolution. Old Ārijs always tried to limit his exposure and the amount of time he would spend among the guards, finding their company to be chilly, to the point that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and creepy; almost as though they were plotting out the way they would carry out their next kill. I hope that they are not imagining a way to go about murdering me.

By far, the worst thing about working at Camp 12 was his boss and the prison warden - a fifty year old man named Paulis. The man was a complete and utter sadistic arsehole, through and through - getting an enormous amount of pleasure, possibly even arousal, by humiliating and persecuting his subordinates; apparently finding the prison population to be too docile. Paulis was a short, mean, ugly man with silver eyes which constantly looked like they wanted to kill someone, a receding hairline - although he refused to admit and preferred to use what hair he had left to give the appearance, at first glance, of a full head of hair. On his upper lip was what Ārijs suspected to be a moustache, but looked more like a hairy caterpillar had taken up shop around the area below his nose, whilst his fat, fleecy arms were covered with old military tattoos. To top everything off, it was a widespread rumour among the prison’s staff that Paulis could be a pedophile, by the way, he seemed to take a liking to new arrivals which happened to be or had the appearance of being, young boys in the early teens.

Such speculation was well beyond Ārijs’ paid grade and courage level and instead, he opted to keep his head down and turn a blind eye to his boss’ unsavory sexual appetite. Much better those poor bastards than me, Ārijs often rationalised his decision, downing countless glasses of REVOLUTION VODKA every night to assuage his ever growing guilty conscience. Otherwise doubting whether he would be able to live with himself without a ‘healthy’ dose of alcohol and mountains paperwork. The only thing which kept Ārijs somewhat sane, was the handful of ‘normal’ people which had the abhorrent honour of being stationed at Camp 12; normally as a prelude to a promotion or punishment for fucking up big time or fucking the wrong woman, who happened to be the daughter of an overprotective, disapproving high-ranking father. Luckily for Ārijs, this posting was only temporary, a transitory period before being transferred to a permanent appointment in the South Rietumish Soviet Republic. And not a day too soon.

Ārijs’ footsteps mirrored that of Warden Paulis as they strode through the barrel, depressive corridors of Camp 12’s interior prison - accompanied, much to Ārijs’ discomfort, by several members of Camp 12’s Honour Guard, in full traditional dress and armed with stylised AK-47s. Their walk to the entrance was in dead silence, with a deep undercurrent of dead seriousness in the way each man walked. Ārijs himself was all dressed up, wearing his best suit - though it is was rumpled, his tie stained from an old coffee spill and his shirt collar dingy - carrying in his left hand a file on the profile of a prisoner who had arrived several days prior. He fiddled with his large glasses nervously as he ran through possible reasons for the sudden visitation of an important government official from the capital.

Outside waiting for them was a government issued limousine, a Ministry of Public Security vehicle, if Ārijs had to guess. At the front of automobile was a pair of 18 inch by 18 inch Rietumish flags, while in front and behind the limousine were two armoured personnel vehicles, which Ārijs, whose service in the Revolutionary Armed Forces was mostly confined to desk work thanks to his family’s connections to the Party’s upper brass, didn’t recognise. Through the passenger side door, a tall, although that was quite typical among those born among the loyal ‘core class’ - broad shouldered man stepped out, with a short, military styled blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and whose intimidating, self-assured swagger could easily come off as arrogance.

“Comrade Warden Paulis and Comrade Chief of Staff Ārijs, it is a pleasure to meet you both.” said the man confidently, speaking with a jovial and calm diction. “Please let me introduce myself, I am the newly appointed Minister of Public Security Walter Jursevskis, the successor to the late and great Comrade Minister of Public Security Ojārs Rubiks. I can only hope to build upon the reputation which Comrade Rubiks manage to create around this office,” he said, speaking about Rubiks like a doting mother might speaking about her child or a fangirl about her obsession. Walter took a moment to gaze upon the bleak, drab building that made up Camp 12, punctuated by barbed-wire fences, watch towers, mine fields, and heavy armed prison guards patrolling the perimeter. “Anyways, is the prison I asked for ready?”

“Yes, comrade. I made sure of it personally.” Ārijs replied briskly, receiving a harsh glared from Paulis for, in his mind, showing him up. “Would you like us to take you him, Comrade Minister of Public Security?” To which was replied by a nod. On that, Ārijs and Paulis turned around and escorted Walters to the aforementioned prisoner; passing through the honour guard, which snapped to attention and saluted Walters as sauntered past them and into the main structure which made up Camp 12.

Ārijs could tell that the Minister of Public Security immediately took notice of that smell which haunted him every waking moment by the way the Minister wrinkled his nose once he entered the prison. Or was he made aware of it once he got close to us? They passed through the multiple layers of checkpoints and barriers, the metal detector going off every time the Minister Jursevskis got close to it. It is not surprising with all his medal adoring his beast, Ārijs soundlessly worded with a smirk, finding almost as amusing as the begrudging way the psychopathic prison guards, many of whom believed themselves to be powerful as the god, showed deference to Minister Jursevskis. Pucker up, bitches.

The prison was a large structure, subdivided into several different sections called departments, which were responsible for a number of different tasks around the prison. One such department was responsible for administering the Camp’s forced labourers, another was tasked with ‘interrogating’ suspected political opponents, others body disposal, executions, etc. According to some old official records on the prison’s size Ārijs happened to stumble upon, the prison around arce on ground level, ignoring the potentially miles of underground complexes. It would be in one of these subterranean complexes where the the Minister of Public Security would meet his prisoner.

The solitary confinement department of Camp 12 was about as austere and bleak of a place as one could imagine. There was no natural light, nor windows; instead of there being an seemingly endless dark gray and begrimed corridors, which were flanked on either side with the entrances to the cells which housed the poor souls who had wound up imprisoned here. The doors were tall and formidable, leading into a 5-by square foot room. The prospect of being stuck in there 24-hours a day, as Ārijs had seen first hand, was enough to plunge men far tougher than Ārijs into tears, begging at the top of their lungs to be spared from their fate; no such mercy was ever granted. At the end of the corridor was an interrogation room, where the Warden thumbed in the keycode and entered the room.

The interrogation room was depressive and desolate, with there only being a single metal table in the centre of the room, flanked on one side by two metal chairs and the other being a single imposing seat with a number of built in restraints. On the left side of the room, was an one way mirror - no doubt harbouring several armed guards - whilst on the opposite side was a security camera placed just so, that it covered the entire room without a blindspot. Sitting in one of the chair’s, completely denuded of any clothing, except for a dirty rag covering his private parts, was a shell of a man, if you could call him that. His head was slumped over, his skin rubbery and saggy, only just barely clinging to his flesh. He was gaunt, that was for sure, his cheeks imploding into his face, his drab blue eyes bulging outwards and greatly exaggerated by the sudden weight loss. Ārijs suspected that the man was in his forties, fifties, or possibly even his sixties, but it was impossible to truly tell past the affects of weeks of severe torture and malnutrition.

He was crying, sobbing almost heavily, struggling to uttered the word please, please over and over again, rhythmically - beseeching them weakly with his glassy eyes to spare him from whatever torture they had in mind. “Was it worth it, Ģirts Bērziņš? Hmm...was it?” the Minister of Public Security asked the man with a deep malice in his voice. Jursevskis stared at Ģirts unblinkingly, scowling at him as he strode over to one of the metal chairs and taking a seat. “You had everything a man could want, a beautiful wife, a stunning house, and a smart and plucky daughter who definitely had a future. And yet, you pulled out your dick and took a pissed all over it, over the RUP, the Deroburg Central Planning Committee, over me?”

“Pl...plea...please, Comrade Minister...spare my daughter! She didn’t know what she was doing, Marta was manipulated into it by her best friend Annelise Østergårdr and Annelise’s brother Vilmar! I sw...swear!” Ģirts yelled out with all his remaining strength, bursting out into a thick, hacking cough which lasted for a couple minutes. Once he recovered, he meekly muttered; “I...I giv...give up. Just, I implore you, to spare my daughter. Sh...she is naive and she shouldn’t pay for her friends’ sins.”

“Certainly, I can see to that.” Minister Jursevskis said in an inhospitable and businesslike tone, completely apathetic to the pathetic sight before him of a desperate man barely clinging to life - the only sign of emotion being emitted from the Jursevskis being the furrowing of his eyebrow in repugnance of the mere sight of him. “Now, do you plead guilty to all the charges brought forth against you by the Ozoliņšist Republic of Rietumimark?” he asked coldly, his eyes penetrating that of Ģirts and looking his soul.

Ģirts nodded intensely in agreement and eagerly signed his signature on the end of a confession which Jurseskis had slid towards him. “Thank...thank you comrade, thank you so much for saving my daughter.” Ģirts mumbled past a face full of tears. “Uh, so yes...I can get you her location. When she started going to school , I had, without her knowing, implanted a tracking device just beneath the surface of her skin. If you login into my computer, I’ll have her exact location. I swear...I swear on my wife’s life.”

“Thank you, comrade. Your information will prove critical to the ending of all organised resistance within the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden and you shall get your just deserts.” the Minister of Public Security said, climbing from his seat, continuing to stare into an increasingly hopeful look in Ģirts eye. The Minister than calmly pulled out a revolver, and without a second thought, shot Ģirts in the head. With the thud, as Ģirts’ limb corpse struck the floor, the Minister left the room, pausing in mid-stride, and turned to Ārijs and said: “We got what we wanted from him, please clean up this mess.” Ārijs passively nodded and stared stupidly at the corpse, dumbfounded and what just occurred and what consequences it will have in the wider world.

[Rietumimark]

“The Beginning”

Slapjšzemesgrad, Rietumish SR, Rietumimark

Faint rays of afternoon sunshine peered through mean, brooding thunder clouds which hovered low to the ground. It had previously been a cold, yet bright, early-summer day, but even the weather in Rietumimark seemed determined to keep the Rietumish people cold, damp, and in the dark. Indeed, everything in Rietmimark appeared to be cold and oppressive, hope and optimism drained from the every grain of soil for which many relied on to survive and replaced by an omnipresent draconian, pessimistic cynicism which muddled the minds of everyone it came in contact with. Surely, few people had anything to be sanguine about yet another summer fast approaching and uncertainty about the crisis in South Deweden continuing to weigh heavily on people’s minds. Fortunately, Indulis wasn’t one of those people.

I must really get out more, Indulis contemplated to himself, watching wave after wave icy ocean water slam against the rocky beach. It was almost therapeutic for Indulis, to be away from the concrete jungles of Slapjšzemesgrad or Deroburg and far from the politics of the Rietumish government. He often forgot how beautiful the Rietumish countryside truly was, the pristine forests which stretched out for kilometres in every direction, untouched and corrupted by the forces of humanity. Indulis had almost forgotten what it was like, to be free from other people, apart from his daring wife, three-year-old daughter, one-year-old son and their second unborn daughter, at one with nature even just for a couple minutes. He closed his eyes, raising his head towards the few flickers of sunlight slipping past the gray storm clouds, enjoying feeling the sun on his face, the cold ocean water submerging his feet along the rocky shoreline. He was going to enjoy this closing moment so help hm god, to truly take in the fresh, death-defying beauty of the Rietumish countryside.

“Come on, honey. We have to start getting going or we’ll be late,” he heard a familiar voice call out to him from a short distance away. He immediately recognised the voice as the only person in this world he truly adored; his darling wife Yekaterina Ozoliņš. She was on her tippy tones, smiling brightly at her husband and gesturing for him to follow her down the stone path to their gosdacha. Indulis paused for a moment and smiled back at his wife, appraising her, soaking up this singular moment in time before everything changed forever. Yekaterina was the only daughter of an affluent former military man who once served as Marshal of the Revolutionary Army and the Ozoliņšist Republika of Rietumimark - highest position in the Revolutionary Army - until the abrupt death of his wife who was twenty years his junior. Her political connections through her father and her immense beauty had led to her hand in marriage to be one of the greatest prizes any of Rietumimark major and minor political dynasty could obtain. Throughout her youth, she was ruthlessly pursued by numerous ambitious bachelors; all receiving the cold, shoulder - seeing past their disingenuous intentions. But the fateful night where she met the man of her dreams came on Janis’ 45th birthday party held in the Great Hall in Andris Ozoliņš Assembly Hall, the seat of the Supreme General Assembly when the face of a young, handsome, up and coming intelligence officer caught her eye. A direct woman, who knew and took what she wanted, struck up a conversation with this intelligence officer and were married within two years and had their first child together not long afterward.

Indulis often marveled the fact that his dear Yekaterina chose to wed him, out of potentially everyman in Rietumimark - including his older brother Janis, the Paramount Leader of Rietumimark, many of whom would have killed to have Yekaterina at their side. He frequently wondered what he’d done to desire to have a partner so perfect...so devoted to him and their growing family. Indulis never believed in the concept of soulmates and true love, not until he met Yekaterina. She shared his obsessive drive, ruthless- almost callous ambitious, and more importantly for Indulis, the same outlook towards life, particularly the belief that they were only people they could truly trust and that all other platonic relationships were simply means to an end. Together they were unstoppable, rising through the ranks of the Rietumish Unity Party dominated government and forging their own party - the Iron Guard of Rietumimark - which espoused a combination of Kuaiyanism and Ozoliņšism. The political influence they’d managed to obtain had allowed them to install supporters into the positions of Minister of Public Security, the Commander of the Revolutionary Guard, and many other key posts inside the government. After years of careful political maneuvering, and planning the couple had finally amassed enough political capital and had cronies in the right places to put the pinch on hapless Janis...to finally loosen Belinda iron grip over her eldest son and have Indulis start indirectly leading the country.

“I’ll be there in just a minute,” Indulis gently yelled back at her, unable to contain a smile taking hold of his face. He slowly backed out of the icy water, briefly closing his eyes to feel the arctic breeze against his face just one more time, before drying his feet with a towel slung neatly over a large rock. He proceeded to slip on a pair of slippers and casually stroll up a pebble path over to his wife who was just a short distance away; to reveal his wife and her swollen pregnant belly in its entirety. Indulis strolled turned into a light jog as, once Yekaterina reached arm's length, swept his wife off her feet and kissed her twice on the cheek, careful not to get any of her makeup on his face.

There embrace lingered for what might have been a minute, neither one of them wanting to let go of the other. Indulis pecked the top of his wife’s head with light kisses - fully taking in her sent. Slowly, Yekaterina pulled away from her husband’s embrace and looked him dead in the eye. “I don't want you leaving us again to that wrecked place alone. Let us come with you to Deroburg, so I can be at your side, advising you amidst all those self-serving vipers and warmongering imperialist to our north.” She implored her husband Indulis, smiling weakly as though to improve her chances of him saying yes. “Our children need their father consistently in their lives...I need you,” she said through glassed over eyes.

Indulis so wished to say yes, to take his family along, but the more rational side of him knew he couldn’t be selfish, he couldn’t allow his feelings cloud his judgment on the matter at the hand. The Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden was still too dangerous for him to even start to even consider moving his precious family there. His enemies were everywhere, plotting and scheming his downfall - his wife and children were too big of targets. He would have to be strong, for at least the moment - for soon his time would come. “I am so sorry, Yekaterina - but I cannot even think to consider taking you with me.” he said, struggling to hold back his tears, choking down the pain of being apart from his family. “I am so close and I don’t know what I might do if I were to lose you or the kids. Deroburg is far from a safe place and all my adversaries would put you in their crosshair to get at me. I cannot...I will not let that happen.”

With one look into her husband’s eyes and Yekaterina knew that she wouldn’t be able to change his mind no matter how much she tried to persuade him. She’d seen that look on his face before, it was a stubborn, unyielding flame in his eye which wouldn’t break no matter how slim the odds and there’s no one on earth who could shift his stance; but nevertheless, she was going to try. “When I said ‘I do’ at our at our wedding day, I agreed to stay at your side no matter what.” she implored her husband. “Surely there’s a way for us to be together in Deroburg...I refuse to accept that there isn’t another avenue which would allow for us to be with each other in spite of the tiring circumstances surrounding us in that city.”

Indulis couldn’t help but smile at his wife’s defiance, it was a trait he admired and deeply loved about her, but in this instance, he wouldn’t concede, he couldn’t...not if he wanted to keep those who were the most precious safe. “It isn’t possible, at least for the moment. But I assure you, it will not be long now,” he told her, Indulis’ voice becoming increasingly authoritative and assertive with each passing word. He choked down his emotions with a hard and bitter swallow. “Now, let’s not continue to dwell on this subject and instead, enjoy the time we do have together. We both know how life can be cruelly cut short.”

“I understand, my love,” she said mournfully, ripping her gaze away from her husband’s face and turning it towards to the ground. “Best you get going to that gala being held at the Commander in Chief of the Ground Defense Forces and Deputy Minister of Defence Ivan Borodai’s country dacha a short drive from here,” Yekaterina said rancorously, pulling herself away from Indulis’ embrace and striking down the path in the direct of their dacha.

“Don’t be like that, my dear,” he argued, instinctively grabbing his wife’s arm, tightly holding it with his indurated hand. Yekaterina stopped in mid stride and glared at Indulis. “Don’t give me that castigating look. I love you, babe, I hope you know that, but sometimes things...no,circumstances force us into situations we don’t like. What we have to do is put our heads down and power through this rough patch, It will not be forever, I promise.”

“Sure you do, Indulis,” Yekaterina said stingingly, violently freeing her arm with one swift aggressive jerk of her arm; forcing Indulis to let go of it. She grabbed the area which had been held by her husband’s hand and rubbed the purplish black bruise developing around her wrist. “If you don’t get ready and get on the road soon, you will be late for the gala. It’s a big deal for you, from what I have heard through my friends,” placing her bruised hand on his shoulder. “You won’t want to be late during an important time for career, it would be a great embarrassment for you, wouldn’t it?” she said, withdrawing her hand and walking away from her husband.

“Come on, Yekaterina, don’t be like that.” he implored fleeting, simply standing in place and watching his wife pace away into the distance. He stood rooted in place for the better part of a minute, incredulous at how quickly their conversation shifted and escalated so quickly. He placed his hands into the pockets of his shorts - a subconscious act of consoling himself - and followed the path to his gosdacha - in shock at the events which had just unfolded. His nonchalant saunter to his gosdacha was a melancholic and silent one, his previous uplifted mood having completely evaporated within the blink of an eye. In the horizon, his seasonal summer house began to reveal itself, a large modern structure comparable mansion or small palace. It's designed followed an eclectic architectural style inspired famous and influential architects - often from Rietumimark’s sworn enemies in Demphor or the Federation of Allamunnic States. It had state of the art amenities out of reach for the average worker in Rietumimark, an indoor and outdoor swimming pool, multiple tennis courts - not only concrete but also grass and clay courts - a basketball court and stables built specifically for Yekaterina's love of horse riding.

He passed the gosdacha’s outdoor swimming pool and entered the buildings through the pool’s patio’s door, having to step over several of his daughter’s toys which had been left, sprawled across the patio from when the family was out catching rays and enjoying cold drinks with his brother Vilhelms, the only member of his immediate family he could stand to be around, and his wife Larisa and children Ivans and Solveiga. One of the items on the ground caught his eye, a plastic doll with brown hair which she loved and he’d bought for her recent third birthday. He smiled at the sight of it and reached down and picked it up, wiping some dirt off it, and continue to stroll deeper inside his house.

He slipped past the estate’s staff, which was busy at work clearing the mess of earlier afternoon, brunch party and entered the interior of the gosdacha. The building’s design was sleek and brightly coloured, taking advantage of natural light and high ceilings to make the space seem bigger than it actually was. It had tastefully done solid red oak flooring - with the walls and ceiling painted white - which were adorned with the works of prominent Dewedish and Rietumish artists or pictures of Indulis’ family. The kitchen was perhaps the biggest jewel on the crown, an expansive room armed with top of the line appliances smuggled from abroad, complimented nicely by roma imperiale granite countertops and a huge island in the centre of the kitchen.

He walked passed it without giving it a second look, he made a straight for the grand staircase which led to the second floor. Following it, he proceed down a corridor which led into a substantial number of guest rooms generally used by his older brother Vilhelms and his family when they visited, which, this summer, had been almost every weekend. The master suite was at the very end of the corridor and was easily identifiable by the excessively grandiose pair of doors at the room’s entrance. He opened the to be greeted by an empty room, much to disappointment. Yekaterina must be breastfeeding little Vladislav in Zuzanna’s room, I do hope, at the very least, she’d be willing to say goodbye.

Indulis got dressed in a punctual and brisk manner, opting to wear a simple black suit coupled with a blood red tie and his favourite silver watch. Dressed, he decided not to disturb Yekaterina and the kids, instead preferring to quietly slip out the gosdacha through the front door. Outside waiting for him was prepared for him by his staff, was a jet black and assiduously well maintained Lamborghini Huracán which he’d personally organised and assisted smuggling from one of the BC countries. He smiled weakly at it and thought, at least you’ll never get angry at me.

The vehicle's seats alone were far more comfortable than anything the average man in Rietumimark could ever hope to rest his head upon. ’It is like laying on clouds!’ he recalled his daughter Zuzana say past heavy giggles when he first took her for a ride in this beast. His seat vibrated with the ignition of the engine, shaking oh very slightly as he sped off, down the driveway and onto the main road which linked his gosdacha with the major road arteries. His sports car went barreling down the quaint country roads, pushing triple digits with ease at it went. The road was completely deserted, not a single car on the road as far as the eye could see. All the better for me, he thought to himself with a cocky smirk on his face, the road increasingly becoming a mere blur on his window screen. At double the legal speed limit, Indulis arrived at a pair of open gaudy golden gates which were attached to a medieval inspired wall which encompassed the entire estate.

The roar of laughter underlined softly by the sound of classical music circulated around the immediate vicinity of the massive gosdacha of the Deputy Minister of Defence’s property. The girlfriends, wives, and mistress of the varying leading Party figures and their sons wore only the finest dresses and ball gowns money could buy. Indulis found his eye caught by their fine jewelry, expensive watches, and ostentatious purses; all of them dolled up in anticipation for the gala. The men they accompanied were all by men Indulis found always to be the following three stereotypes. The first were gauleiter, stern, and broody eldest sons of influential figures within the regime who generally took themselves way too seriously and obsessively wore their meticulously well put together military and CSS uniforms. The next stereotype Indulis had come to find out was the mid-aged to elderly, overweight, and balding senior Party bureaucrat who were joined by women whose age disparity was so great that it might make the Thular cringe. The worst, however, were the chokingly obsequious sycophants who seemed to take turns rotating in and out the orbit of those who had the power they sought; paying servile gimcrack compliments to capricious Party bosses who rarely gave them a second look. It was these men and women Indulis felt the most empathy for, often shoved aside and ignored because they had the unfortunate displeasure of having some distance relative they’d never met before holding them back because they were suspected sympathisers of the Tsars or some imagined enemy. It was a bright career down the crapper because their ‘lower ascribed status’ and were now condemned to puckering their lips to the arse of literally anyone who could give them a leg up in the RUP bureaucracy.

The efficiency of the staff of Ivan Borodai’s estate was something Indulis found himself marvelling at, in a country where if a heater breakdown during the middle of winter, it may take the estate manager two or three weeks to send someone out to fix it, whilst it may take a mere four seconds for a waiter to offer me some fancy Vannoisian champagne which nobility of Ghant and Vannois must have gorged themselves on during their visit to that bourgeoisie bastion of Gentry-proxies. He smirked at the sheer and unashamed hypocrisy of it all, constantly lambasting their opponents for having a luxurious, indulgence lifestyle while enjoying way of life themselves. It was truly, in the fullest sense of the words, a world out of the world to Indulis. He felt, as he entered the main ballroom, as though this scene out of place in a country continuous faced with the threat foreign invasion, terrorism in its turbulent northern Autonomous People’s Republic, and poverty; gripped by incompetence on par with treason and political infighting over the pettiest subject. And here, in front of him, were some of the prominent individuals in all of Rietumimark, slipping Vannoisian champagne and consuming Lyncanestrian cheeses, gossiping about miscellaneous topics such as yesterday’s weather or boasting about their children's achievements, regardless of the crises their country was placing, almost as though nothing could affect them as long as they remained behind their embellished walled palaces. Did actually any of them truly understand critical Rietumimark’s position was in the world, how for most of the population, such opulence they enjoyed was simply a pipe dream? Or did they just not care about the costs there lifestyles inflicted upon their people or merely masked the feelings of guilt nagging at their consciences?

He moved quietly and swiftly through the crowd, fending off the unctuous remarks made about him and requests for a dance by several young ladies; eventually making his way to one of the two fully stocked bars on either side of the ballroom. It was there a young lady, a girl in many respects, talking to a soldier, a proud member of the Revolutionary Guard by the he coveted a medal which was given to every member of the elite and heavy glorified Andrus Ozoliņš 1st Red Banner Guards Combat Engineers Breakthrough Regiment, caught his eye. He vaguely recognised both the girl and young man she was flirting with. As he approached and his view became less obscured, the face came to him. “Dagnija, is that you? What the hell are you doing here? You are way too young to attend a gala like this.”

Dagnija nearly jumped out of her skin upon hearing her uncle voice, her fair skin quickly becoming flush as she spun around in her seat meet Indulis. “Well...well I could ask you the exact same time, uncle Indulis.” she retorted in annoyingly impertinent matter, arms folded as though she’d done nothing wrong. It was looking without obscuration upon her that Indulis realised how it had taken him so long fully recognise her; she’d grown up while he’d been away. Dagnija had finally made the transition to womanhood - a late bloomer of sorts - and now clearly wanted to amplify her areas around her blossom and rear end with the golden, very low slung dress she wore. Her wavy hair was up in a bun and wore red-brown and pink tones eye makeup to accentuate dark green eyes. She nervously fiddled with her pure gold necklace as she added: “I mean, shouldn’t you be spending time with your wife and children before you go back to Dero-”

“Comrade Indulis, the Chairman of the Rietumish Izlūkošanas Pārvalde?” spluttered the soldier, incredulous at the sight before him, himself flush - his pale skin turning into the same colour as his curly blood red hair - he jumped into attention and saluted Indulis “I’...I am private Olivers Bērzlapa proudly serving with a Revolutionary Guard Guards Combat Engineer regiment, comrade. It is an honour to meet you, sir. I’ve been serving in the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden and have recently returned to civilian life while I’m on furlough. Had I known who this, um, the charming young lady was your niece, I would have never, I assure you, ever entertained her.”

“Olivers Bērzlapa? Are you not Normunds Bērzlapa’s eldest son?” he inquired, his question being answered by Olivers nodding in confirmation of Indulis’ suspicions. “Ah, old Normunds’ son. A met him in Deroburg several months ago. Good, hard working man, although greatly flawed, which isn’t surprising after what he when through during the 2004/05 terrorist uprising. He talked about yourself and your sister all the time.” Indulis told Olivers, who clearly disagreed by the way he tightly clenched his jaw behind his attempt of remaining impassive and silent. “Anyways, are you aware that Dagnija here is only fifteen? A minor?”

“Fif...fifteen?!” Olivers struggled to vocalise in his shock at what indulis was telling him and the possible legal consequences if he’d participated in certain extracurricular activities with a girl under the age of consent. “No, I didn’t know that Dagnija was that young. She informed me that she eighteen...I mean, I assumed she told me the truth, this is a gala for those eighteen and over after all.” Olivers seemed to plead to Indulis, putting forward his case. “I swear, I didn’t know-”

“I believe you, comrade Olivers.” Indulis said with a smile. “Best you get going and rejoin your mates, perhaps even talk to some girls more age appropriate.” Olivers didn’t need to be told twice, quickly fading into the crowd and ultimately out of sight; leaving Dagnija alone in the middle of the Indulis wrath. “What the hell do you think you are playing, Dagnija! Your mother and father are probably worried sick. Flirting with a boy who is what, six or seven years your senior? What happened to your infatuation with the Minister of the People’s Defence, Andrus Ansip, eldest grandson, Gregors and your grand plan on wooing Gregor and later becoming the next Paramount Leader’s wife or something like that?”

“You are totally overblowing this, Indulis!” she groaned in seething anger at her uncle for ruining her ‘date’ with Olivers. Her arms folded, she glared at him and trying to keep the pretense of being in control of the situation. “I am going sixteen in three months and mature well beyond my years, unlike most people my age. Furthermore, I am most certainly capable of making correct decisions for myself. Not like mum actually...would care, she always working and also, definitely don’t bring up Gregors after what he inflicted upon me.” she seemed to Indulis to endlessly drone on without reprieve.

“Of course Alena love and cares about you and your siblings. Why else do you think she would be working such long hours? Because she hate your company or doesn’t like spending time with you?” Indulis asked incredulously, immediately noticing how his words were landing on deaf ears with her. “What are you implying with your perfection? What kind of rumours and petty speculation have made their way down the grape vine to you?”

“Have you not the scuttlebutt?!” Dagnija whispered in a half-laugh, leaning closer towards Indulis so that their faces were a mere inches away from each other. “I overheard mum talking with, hmm…I forgot his name, one of grandmother’s cronies or someone like that, discussing the fact that Gregors spent like hours with that filthy bastard bitch Emily and how that what exactly they did together remains completely unaccounted for! And what I mean like that is, no one but that Gregors and that by-blow bitch know what the fuck they did. It is, like, a total mystery.” Dagnija explained to her uncle, practically in tears at the thought of it.

Indulis kept a mask of gentle compassion and concern for Dagnija ‘situation’ intact whilst he listen, placing his hand on his niece's bareback and benignantly began to push her in the direction of a quieter part of the ballroom, spare of potentially curious ears eavesdropping. In truth, he was seething with anger that somehow he’d stumbled into the pathetic drama of a spoiled fifteen year old girl with nothing better to do with her time. “I am certain that their is a perfectly innocent and reasonable explanation for the missing time, a glitch in the software or perhaps something similar to that. Best you keep that information to yourself, though.” he said with a reassuring smile. “We don’t want people talking about hearsay which holds no water and hurt Gregors’s and his grandfather’s reputation among the regime elite.”

“And how would you know whether it is true or not? Emily fits his type, that's according to grandma who has studied a file on him and his behaviour extensively. First some girl in secondary school, daughter of a whore called Alise or Amy...a name starting with an A, then there is that disgusting, over the top fanatic Rozālija, and that isn’t even the worst of it, because guess what Indulis, apparently they look similar to Emily!” Dagnija squawked in a low voice, starting to mournfully play with her blonde hair. “Nor is it like Gregors could even give me the time of day, perhaps he would if I accidently let it slip to one of my best friends about what could have happened.” Dagnija remarked with an malevolent, besmirched smile forming on her face, speaking with a recalcitrant tone.

“Comrade Indulis, is that you I am looking at.” he heard a loud, familiar yell out and stride progressively towards himself and Dagnija before he could lambast his niece. He turned to met the voice which had called out for him and immediately recalled the name to the face; it was none other than Deputy Minister of Defence Ivan Borodai. “And if this old noggin is working properly, you, young lady, must be Alena’s eldest daughter, Dagnija. If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly were you able to sneak in here undetected?” old Borodai said with a beaming grin, occasionally pausing in mid-sentence to slip his glass of champagne.

“Yes, I’m Danija. Dagnija Ozoliņš, Alena’s daughter.” Danija said with a brief, yet hyperbole curtsy. “It was easy to slip past what you call ‘security’ if you know what you are doing or have a half-functioning brain. Which I guess I must have.” she with an obnoxious shrug. “I might consider telling how I did, but I believe it would be better if you tried to figure out how exactly I did. I mean, what’s life without a bit of a challenge once in awhile.”

“Indeed,” Ivan laughed at the sheer magnanimous, impish confidence of Dagnija. “You most certainly are your mother’s daughter...a potential intelligence officer in the making if I had to guess. However, I must warn you Danija, you should show better judgement in the future, lest you want unpleasant rumours about you to start circulating around the grapevine. Anyways,” Ivan said, raising his hand and gesturing for security to come to his location. “It is time for you to go. These fine gentleman will escort you home...oh and make sure to tell your mother and father that I said hello.”

“Whatever,” said a disappointed Dagnija, putting up the facade of resistance to the security guards to save face as they escorted her out of the building. Once she was well out of audible range, Ivan made a point to gesture Indulis to follow him through the crowd into a completely different part of the ballroom...or at least that was his first thought. Following Ivan’s lead, Indulis was led into a far more secluded and baroque section of the gosdacha restricted only to family and close friends. But I’m not a close friend, I barely consider Ivan to be friend, he’s an associate at best.

They entered a dark room, with red carpet, jet black leather couches, dark oak tables and no windows. This place must be a black room, Indulis thought to himself as he looked for any signs of a secret camera or audio device. Sitting in the seats were men Indulis had become familiar with over the past year. Foreign Minister Solberg, a man’s whose aftershave was so overpowering that you could smell him long before you could see him. He was wearing a red designer suit, foreign if Indulis had to guess, and was nonchalantly puffing away at his cigar. He had a full head of hair, dyed brown, his natural hair colour, to ward off any signs of aging, Solberg’s skin was the colour of caramel from heavy tanning, and someone could be forgiven for believing to be of South Belisarian heritage - while his sharp blue eyes were unflatteringly accentuated by his unhealthy brown glow.

To Solberg’s right was the Minister of Defence, also known as Minister of the People’s Defence, Andrus Ansip; clad in his favourite military uniform for which he was rarely seen not wearing - his dozens of medals - possibly boosting every medal the Revolutionary Armed Forces awarded to its enlisted men. He too enjoyed a cigar, though he decided for his drink of choice to be whiskey rather than champagne. At the end of the room Juris Dille, the recently prompted Chairman of the Central Military Directorate of Intelligence and the commander of the Special Operations Force. He was the only man even remotely close to Indulis in age, having only celebrated his forty-second birthday several weeks ago, and was of a similar stature, although he had much lighter hair and iris. A disciplined nonsmoker and drinker, he swigged down only a glass of water.

“Please, Comrade Chairman, take a seat of your choosing.” Ivan said, gesturing towards one of the two empty seats - his smile unmoving as he spoke. “I want to congratulate you personally for your excellent work in punishing those Dewedish terrorist into submission over the past year. I have read the reports on the situation, really superb work comrade. A nearly 95% reduction in partisan activity over a period of eight month and no major bombing against RUP targets in five months. Really, you’ve done what that useless prat Jokobus could accomplish in a decade.”

“Um, thank you Comrade Chairman for your kinds words. Although, giving credit where credit is due, my staff did an impeccable job of quelling the terrorists’ operations in government-areas and I doubt very much that I would have gotten so far if it wasn’t for their heroic efforts.” Indulis said with a hint of cynicism. “With that said, what exactly is the truth purpose of this clandestine meeting, comrade, at the gala?” Indulis added, taking a seat.

“Direct and straight to the point, I like that. Too many people these days over convolute the meaning of the most basic words, trying too hard to impress or get ahead.” Ivan remarked with a laugh, which soon developed into a hoarse smoker's cough. “As you know very well, the interminable crisis in Deweden is unsustainable for the long term survival of the RUP and Rietumimark has we know it as long the Gentry and their sprawling empire of vassals, who sit on the throne of almost Monarch, use the border dispute against us; ensuring any attempt at rebranding will fail. This is why we agreed to those pointless talks and with the situation inside the Autonomous People’s Republic increasingly shifting in our favour, it is time that, we all agreed, for us to introduce the our peace proposal to the Axis of Imperialism and hopefully put this crisis to bed once and for all.”

I wish he would have started with his final few sentences, rather than give me a full backstory,Indulis thought to himself irritably. It was the one thing he hated about Rietumish culture- the uncontrollable impulse to give out a excessive long background about whatever topic one is discussing. While endearing at first, it almost always became just plain annoying to the listener; especially someone in a rush. “That is truly excellent news to hear. Let’s hope the Ghantar and their puppets have some actual sense and don’t divulge in their warmongering nature.” Indulis said as he sat down, placing his half empty glass of champagne on one of the small tables. “Comrade Solberg am I correct in assuming that you will be going to Deweden to personally oversee the discussions following the introduction of the proposal?”

“Certainly, such an important proposal, which will have significant consequence not only to the Dewedish Authority and Rietumimark, but the entire continent as a whole cannot be left to chance. Our regime needs this to work if we are finally going to move on and look for the future and opportunities which may arise.” Solberg told Indulis, gesturing to one of the servants standing nearby to fill up his glass. “And should that fail, Order 999 will destroy their imperialistic hard on for Dewedish reunification.”

“I wholeheartedly concur, Comrade Foreign Minister,” Indulis began as he shifted his positioning in his seat. “The execution of Order 999 has been slow, but successful. The hostile population of the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden has been greatly reduced and the overall Dewedish population has fallen from nearly making up 60% of the population when I first arrived in Deroburg, down to just about 50%. The Rietumish population, on the other hand, have ballooned to now making up 47% of the population, other ethnic minorities rounding the remaining 3%. If an independence or reunification referendum was held today, the margins would be in the single digits. Truly, the days of the Dewedish dominating the demographics of the Autonomous People’s Republic are over and a new, Rietumish area has begun. All I need are a few more weeks, and any reunification referendum regarding the status of the APR will end in our favour.”

“I can temporise those few weeks, comrade chairman.” Solberg promptly replied in a brisk matter, clearly wanting to prove his use to someone. Use to who? “The imperialists are weak minded and can be easily manipulated into believing we truly want a compromise between Rietumimark and the Axis. Leading them on by telling them what they want to hear, while delaying the proceedings by contesting the slightest detail and only on seldom, giving them inch. I assure you, I will be such an arsehole that those disgusting imperialistic thugs shall wish that they had never had the audacity to sent us that damn ‘ultimatum’ all those months ago.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, Comrade Indulis, but shouldn’t have you finished accomplished Order 999 by now?” the Minister of Defence Andrus Ansip inquired, part of him wanting to undermine Indulis in front of some of the most influential and powerful men within all of Rietumimark. “I mean, it has been well over a year since the Central Planning Committee agreed to Order 999, formerly know as the Jokūbis Plan. Shouldn’t you have already finished the operation by now? Perhaps if you had, maybe the crisis would be over by now and we all can get on with ours lives and advancing Rietumish interests across the region. Transforming our dear country into the superpower we’ve all know that will become.”

“I cannot agree with your assertions, Comrade Minister of Defence. If the Axis ever found out the exact details of Order 999, Rietumimark’s control over the Autonomous People’s Republic will be completely screwed. For Order 999 to work, my work of ‘peacefully’ transferring the hostile population of the APRD can not be discovered by the Gentry plague, for the results of the reunification referendum would be considered to be illegitimate and they may go to NATA and unfairly label it as ‘ethnic cleansing’ or even…’genocide’. If that became a reality, I wouldn’t be surprised if open conflict between the Ghantar puppet army and the heroes of the Revolutionary Armed Forces would soon ensue - an absolute disaster which could have been avoided had we been patient.” Indulis snapped at Ansip.

“I stand corrected, Comrade Indulis,” Ansip said sarcastically, raising both of hands although he was about to surrender. “You don’t need to be so vicious, comrade. We are all allies here, fighting against the same enemies and working to achieve the same end result - an Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden still under our control and a divided Deweden!” Andrus laughed nervously out loud, his beady eyes scanning the room and inspecting everyone’s general reaction to his remarks. “We are all friends here, remember that.”

“Comrade Indulis, there is another topic we were hoping to proach with you.” said Deputy Minister of Defence Ivan cooly. “As you are probably aware, the repulsive Dewedish Authority is soon poised to have a general election within the next few weeks. However, unlike previous elections in the Authority, the capitalist pigdog Starl is facing the most serious threat to his rule evr during his tenure as Prime Minister. A big tent alliance of nationalist parties from the right-wing and a resurgent Liberal Party on the centre-left are posing a real challenge. Which grants us a previously unimaginable opportunity to manipulate and influence the election, so the end result will be favourable to our interests.” Ivan when on to tell Indulis, adding quickly; “Of course all of this will be done subtly, with deniability on our part. Naturally, his benevolence will expect for you to lead such an operation.”

“During my time in Deroburg, I have been taking advantage of the close proximity of the Dewedish Authority to greatly expand our intelligence footprint in the proto-state. The number of residences inside the ‘kingdom’ has been ballooned from a few dozen, to well over hundred in the space of a few months. My official recommendation would be for the RUP to begin spreading misinformation and waging an information war against the Dewedish Authority and its NATA allies.” said Indulis in a impassive manner. “I would also suggest you contact the our allies and get there thoughts of the subject matter. Whilst the technological sophistication of Rietumimark’s intelligence agencies has been greatly improved, thanks in large part to increased funding in recent years, we will need their far greater reach and resources if such a bold intelligence operation is to succeed.”

“We will take all our suggestions under advisement and relay it to the necessary senior officials and the Central Planning Committee - to they can discuss it and potentially approve your operation. Although we should keep the Olga girl at arm's length, we wouldn’t want another defector type leaking the plan to the Ghantar nor have our rivals steal all the glory should the operation be successful.” Ivan said, keeping a close eye on Indulis’ mannerism. “I assume the planning for Operation Strike Back against is going well?”

“I have been working assiduously to get together all the components for Operation Strike Back; placing sleeper agents into advantageous positions and preparing the assault teams for the task. Even going so far as to build a dummy structure inside the APRD, which is, too the best of our knowledge, closely similar to the building we will be assaulting once an opportunity has presented itself. I can assure you, my teams will be ready to initiate the operation - with the greenlight from the Central Planning Committee - in a moment’s notice.” Indulis said, finding the briefing to be increasing like an interrogation. “Is there anything else I need to explain to you, comrades, or may I go?”

“You have answered all of our questions and we’re all satisfied quite completely. Comrades, can you think of anything we might have missed?” Ivan asked the room, sending glances in both directions. The other men in the room replied with shaking their heads no. “That answers it then, I will be seeing you again, Indulis, hopefully under brighter circumstances.” And with that said, Indulis showed himself out and what would happen next.

To: To those whom concerned
From: His benevolence, Paramount Leader of Rietumimark, the First Secretary of the Rietumish Unity Party, Supreme Chairman of the Central Military Commission, and Supreme Commander of the Rietumish Revolutionary Armed Forces Janis Ozoliņš
Subject: Talks Regarding Deweden
Encryption: Hand-delivered in sealed pouch by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

---

Greetings,

Although relations between many of our countries has been fraught, and more often that not, openly hostile at times, international peace cannot be thrown out the window due to personal grudges and score settling; especially in such uncertain times, when even the most stable nations among us can be wracked with instability such as recent events in Latium prove.

Therefore, I would like to warmly extend you a formal invitation to formally visit Rietumimark whilst we host talks looking to negotiate a peaceful and long term solution to the situation surrounding the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden and ensure the prosperity and security of northern Belisaria of generations to come. War and conflict is very much a pandora’s box, while it is certainly easy to start, it’s far from simple to bring about peace and for the millions of people which will suffer, I truly hope that peace can be achieved.

It is my truest wish to ensure that the future for is prosperous and devoid any bloodshed between the peoples of Rietumimark and Deweden as already too much blood has been spilt on both sides. Together after these talks, I hope that the peace in Northern Ajax will be retained and that we’ve ultimately bring to an end the ongoing violence in the Autonomous Republic of Deweden.

Best regards,
Paramount Leader of Rietumimark Janis Ozoliņš

[Rietumimark]

Kralin, Deweden
Brightamborg Palace

Thousands of drops of rain pounded the large, circular window of the office which the Privy Council called home. Over and over again the raindrops would unyieldingly strike the window with fearsome intensity, giving the appearance to as though the storm was attempting to force its way into the office. Streaks of lightning briefly illuminated the otherwise dark room followed immediately the loud rumbling of ever distance thunder. It all seemed to be a too perfect metaphor for the looming crisis being placed Prime Alexander and his nearly decade-old autocratic regime - whose regime had tightly held the realms of power since 2008. His influence over Deweden had been so great that many of his policies were objects of intense study and had become known, with some affection to his supporters, as Starlism. He’d been the man to lead Deweden out of the mess which followed the costly war for independence, a war in which some 250-300 thousand Dewedeni had been killed in under a year. He’d been the man which had turned the Dewedish economy from a basket case to an economic tiger, who’d successfully transitioned the economy from central planning to a free market economy, and was responsible for transforming Deweden into a modern state, free of the yoke of the backwater that was Rietumimark.

But now it was all, everything he’d during his achieved during tenure as Prime Minister, on the verge of collapse. He was a helpless bystander, restricted to the wayside to watch everything around him implode, unable to influence or save his surrounding circumstances. For a man who’d always been in control, there was no greater torture to lose oh what he always desperately sought. His eyelids fell as he sighed, his head falling back against the chair’s comfortable headrest. Indeed, he felt as those he’d been reduced to an impotent child, hoping that something or someone moves in to save him from his situation. No one fucking ever mentions how bad war is for business.

In fact, the previous winter’s standoff over the status of occupied-South Deweden and the potential conflict it might cause had been at the cause had been a the centre of Deweden’s gradually unfolding economic crisis brewing just beneath the surface of the misleading growth emanating from petrol and other natural resources exports abroad. Starl’s grand plan to transform Deweden into Ajax’s next great banking mecca had imploded before his very eyes as mercurial foreign investors pulled out their money, liquidated their assets and fled to safer markets abroad. With their money gone, so did any hope of Starl’s grand dream to diversify the economy beyond the export of natural resources such as oil or coal and killed off the Dewedish Nationalist Party’s hope of becoming the BC’s main manufacturing partner for the near future. Now that was about as likely as Rietumimark abandoning communism, becoming a democracy, and voluntarily handing South Deweden back to its rightful owners.

Years of work was down the drain and a keynote part of is surprise reelection campaign had been flushed down the crapper. How the hell am I supposed to get a third tenure as Prime Minister now? he sighed beside himself. Running one of his hands through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. Starl’s mind racing at how he might get himself out of his predicament - worsened further by his slutty fucking daughter engaging in an affair with the Queen’s husband out of all people! Why couldn’t she had kept her bloody legs closed?! he worded silently, wanting to yell in frustration at the top of his lungs.

The main door leading into the circular conference room, for which served as the meeting place for the Queen’s Privy Council, opened. This new occupant was none other than the Leader of the oppositional Green’s Party; Marianne Jelved. Starl’s and Jelved’s eyes met and two shared a mournful exchange of looks; for they both knew that the power they’d so assiduously amassed over the past few years was all so cruelly slipping from their greedy fingertips. What must a lad like myself do to catch one fucking break.

Starl smiled gently as he gestured for his longterm rival, yet equal in many regards, to take a seat. “I’m truly sorry to hear what your daughter has inflicted upon your political career, Alexander” Jelved said softly, leaning down to take a seat. The sixty-one year old, clad in an expensive grey pants suit, crass diamond earrings on their side of her face, and a half-spectacles resting at the edge of her nose - looked thoughtfully at Starl before saying: “”If there's one thing you are good at Alexander, impugning your enemies and canning is foray.”

Starl smiled gratefully at his nominal rival, for he knew out of the four million plus people in Deweden, she was the only other person in the country who could truly understand his predicament, for she too was in the same place as him...she too was being gradually buried alive by a bribery scandal involving several foreign corporations looking to gain her patronage, further worsened by an uprising led by a far younger, more charismatic, and popular rival within her own party - Erna Thorna. Starl too was facing an usper from own DNP - centred around his decision to run for a third term rather than pass on the mantle to his deputy Prime Minister Pia Kjærsgaard - with devastating results. Pia’s allies have left the DNP in protest over Starl’s decision and flocking over to the radical ultranationalist Heidi Tovegaard and her National Front. Nor was she the only threat he faced, with the growing popularity of the Admiral Prince Abelard of Ghant posing an increasing threat to his regime.

“Your daughter had a very bright future, Alexander,” Jelved continued to say gently, as to ward off any offence taken. “Perhaps, with the correct grooming, could have succeeded you and continued the legacy you’ve worked so hard to create within this godforsaken country.” she shook her head in disgust at the thought and struck out for the glass of water at everyone’s seat. “Alas, as a great many wise women have said: ‘youth is wasted on the youth.’ Had she not started sleeping with whatshisname - Rick or something like that - Saga would have had very bright political future.”

“Robert, his goddamn name is Robert,” Starl remarked with a bitter undertone. “My Saga wasted all the benefits of having me as her father and all the doors my very name opens for my close friends and family.” Starl sighed. “To make matters worse, it would seem as though she’s planning on running away and joining Robert in exile in Latium.”

Jelved grimaced painfully. “If Saga follows through with that - it will seriously hurt, not only your reputation but also your political career. Nor will it make you very popular with the spoiled, pompous Gentries and most of the Dewedish noble families - it is just too juicy of a target to ignore and too much political capital to gain. This election is going to be one hell of a war, with many casualties on all sides.”

“Indeed, very well said,” Alexander replied briskly, nodding firmly in agreement at what Jelved was saying. “But I am very well prepared for the looming battle for the future of my country....our country. I won’t be just cast down to the history books just because I’m inconvenient to the snobby elites in Ghish!” he almost yelled, shaking his head in disgust, whilst waving one of his fingers up in the air manically. “I built this Kingdom, from the ground up, and I’ll be damned if it taken from my cold fingertips.”

“I completely agree, and yet, the masses always take for granted what those of us at the top did to build this country up from the ashes of the Great War for Independence,” Jelved said mournfully. “They always forget what good we have done for this country and always seem to remember the few mistakes we may have made in the past. God, people's’ memories are so fickle and capricious; one moment you’re the golden child who cannot do anything wrong and the next you’re villainised more than Ghant’s Mad Emperor?!”

“Yes, very well said,” Starl said through a sarcastic laugh. “Had it not been for the likes of us, the Red hordes would have already overrun our country...their down flag waving overhead this very building. Imagine all the lives I have single handed saved because of my decisions...because of my policies which have turned Deweden into the strong country, it is today. What the hell do those spineless Royals know anyway?! They can lambast me all they want, but should know that I can destroy this country as quickly as I build up from nothing...from god damn nothing.”

Jelved smirked. “Good luck, my friend,” she said, placing one of her hands reassuringly on his shoulder. “Let’s hope by the end of this, well before and all our rival shall be cast down.”

“Especially that self-righteous fucker Abelard - the ‘Soi-disant Savour of Deweden.’” Starl interrupted seemingly poised to begin ranting about the Ghantish Prince. “Jesus Christ, that arsehole thinks he is so much better me, with his fancy uniform and all his fucking titles,” said Starl past clenched jaw, rising to feet and pacing around anxiously. “Soon he’ll learn the true costs of fucking with, oh sweet that day will be.”

The conference room door swung open again and the various members of the privy council flittered into the room one after the other; each one of them preoccupied with a discussion with aid or colleagues. One member of the privy council, and the most important one, Queen Annabelle XIII remained noticeably absent from the proceedings. Where is that spoiled little cunt at? he thought to himself as he made a point to personally greet his political allies. Rarely ever later, why does she have to go AWOL now, doesn’t she know I have shit to do?!

By the time the Queen had finally entered the room, most of the Privy council members had already comfortably made themselves at have in their rearrange seat. Annabelle was accompanied by her father, the Dowager King Ferdinand, and more unusually, her Aunt Princess Aleksandra of Deweden. Although, much to Starl’s relief, it appeared that Prince Abelard had not yet arrived in Deweden. I hope he never goes to Deweden. Following not too far behind the Queen and her relatives were an entourage of different, busy-looking aids being led by Annabelle trusty lady-in-waiting; Lady Bente Signy.

Starl’s eyes met Annabelle’s in mid-stride and the two shared a hostile, awkward glare. The faint murmurings in the died down, almost as though someone had sucked the air out the room. Starl could feel the room’s eyes fall upon him; judging him; lambasting him for his daughter’s actions; scheming devious plotting to maximise as much political capital from the scandal. The temperature in the room almost appeared to fall several degrees and a malevolent chill swept over the room; everyone's eyes glued to the Queen and the Prime Minister’s reaction to seeing each other in the flesh for the first time since the sex scandal broke. Enjoy your schadenfreude for now..but I will get my revenge.

“So, everyone is here, then. Shall we begin?” the big, booming voice of the middle-aged Foreign Minister Sonja Svanhild cut smoothly through the thick tension in the room. Starl looked sharply at his Foreign Minister and nodded in conformation firmly - one eye still trained on the Queen. “ this official communique from the Rietumish occupation government is intriguing, to say the least. Whether the Paramount Leader’s statement about peace in Deweden is true, is a completely different issue, entirely. What are your thoughts, your Majesty?”

“It should be plainly obvious to everyone that we cannot trust a single word that comes out their dirty Ozoliņš mouths. For all, we know this ‘olive branch’ is some ploy to undermine the Dewedish people, our close allies in NATA, and basic human decency.” Annabelle spat out with a seemingly unyielding malice punctuating every single word - almost as though she were talking to the Paramount Leader himself. “I don’t think we should even consider these meaningless words before our very eyes. Instead, I say that it’s time to turn up the heat on those moralless Communies and end this dispute once and for all.”

Starl looked in shock as he listened to the Queen, who often took more moderate positions, to her bellicose statement. It was the part he was supposed to play, the rogue, outspoken jingoist being withheld by a lily lived Queen too weak to do what is necessary. In truth, he opposed war and sympathised with the status quo. War is bad for business and would hurt his various companies bottom line, nor was the sheer economic cost rebuilding occupied - Deweden, which all Dewedish intelligence indicated was being left deliberately, underdeveloped, worth reunification. “It is my personal opinion that we should take the so-called Paramount Leader at face value, peace in our time would be worth it, would it not?”

“The occupation government of South Deweden and its patrons in Rietumimark will not accept any agreement which doesn’t it invade then keeping their greedy little hands all over South Deweden and preventing the rightful reunification of our country!” Annabelle said in an indignant half yell, slamming her left hand balled up into a fist against the red oak conference room table. “There remains the point negotiating with people who cannot be reasoned with unless it is at the end of a barrel of a gun.”

“”Your royal majesty, I don’t think that the Ozoliņš’ are that insane or unreasonable that they would risk a major regional conflict over occupied South Deweden. It remains in their strategic interest to keep the peace to keep the fragile peace and avoid war.” said the Queen’s father, Dowager King Ferdinand countered softly. “War isn’t a peasant or honourable thing, it is a special kind of hell which sucks out the morality of the most moral of men or women and hollows one out until there is nothing left. We should out the very least give the Rietumimark a chance and hear out what they have to say - not for their sake, but for the sack if every man, woman, and children who could be killed or wounded if war breaks out.”

“We have the military capacity to rid the world of the Ozoliņš scourge once and for all, your royal majesty,” Minister of Defence General Jesper Skovgaard said proudly and admiringly about Coalition forces. “They stand no chance against the combined might of our allies in NATA, BC, and among others. And who might we call upon, Estoni?” he remarked with a sharp laugh. “Those dumb barbarians think that it is something to be proud to have more Neanderthal DNA than everyone else?! No wonder they’re stupid enough to become pinkies!”

“Flinging wild insults around like a six-year-old on the playground isn’t going to help anything. In fact, it will only serve to escalate an already tense situation further.” Ferdinand said calmly. “I don’t like the Ozoliņš bastards as much as the next person - I have faced their cronies on the opposite side of a battlefield, but we have to think about the greater good for all Dewedish and not allow our own personal feelings on the matter cloud our judge.”

“I have to concur with the Dowager King in this case. I cannot, I will not tolerate the wholesale slaughter of tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of Dewedish without having exhausted all other possible avenues to keep the peace.” Jelved said cautiously, one eye carefully watching Annabelle’s reaction - fearful of potentially causing a bifurcate between their political alliance in the privy council. “While I wholeheartedly back military intervention if the peace talks go nowhere or the Riets revert back to their old tricks, I’m sticking to the policy position that war should always be a worst case scenario and the diplomacy is almost always the routine to take, no matter how repugnant the Riets and their cronies are.”

“I rarely ever agree with my main political rival here, however, for the greater good for all four and half million people living in North Deweden, we should try peace, at least just this once,” Starl said with a subtle elan to his voice. “The crony, lamster regime in Slapjšzemesgrad will have their just deserts soon rather than later. Scumbags like the Ozoliņš always fall and rarely ever don’t - just look at that retard Michael in Latium.”

“So you all are saying we just let those bastards buy more time to do who the hell knows what to our people still under their poisonous yoke?” Annabelle retorted with a sarcastic laugh. “How do we know this isn’t just another sick ploy to gain more time for some debauched plan to snatch victory from just within our grasp or grind us down in peace talks which will go on for decades with no end in sight. We must keep kicking them now, while they are still down or risk never having a reunified Deweden in our lifetimes.”

“Your royal majesty, the international community will not just forget Deweden nor will it tolerate the continued illegal occupation of sovereign Dewedish territory. Rietumimark is a rogue state on borrowed time. Sooner or later the regime will collapse from external or internal pressures like every rogue state before it. In spite of this, they still have one of the largest and most powerful armed forces in Ajax and are one of the few regimes in the world willing to use it at a moment’s notice.” Foreign Minister Svanhild said. “Personally, for the sake of the millions of innocent lives residing in both North and South Deweden, we should try our damnedest to achieve a conflict resolution without bloodshed.”

“Okay, then...you have convinced me for the moment,” she abruptly, impatiently snapped, engaging a short sigh. Indeed, the sudden brusqueness of her tone was enough to take aback several of the Privy Council members. “However, if I even get a whiff that they have some hidden agenda, I will not hesitate to act accordingly in the best interest of my people, understand?”

“I think everyone in the Privy Council can agree to such terms, am I right to think that?” Foreign Minister Svanhild asked the room, to which they replied with either a general nod or murmured something which sounded like a yes. “Excellent...very, very good. I will immediately begin writing up a draft communique for your approval, your royal majesty, to respond to that thug Janis and his army of cronies. If that is everything, please excuse me and I will see you all later.”

To: His benevolence, Paramount Leader of Rietumimark, the First Secretary of the Rietumish Unity Party, Supreme Chairman of the Central Military Commission, and Supreme Commander of the Rietumish Revolutionary Armed Forces Janis Ozoliņš
CC: Coalition Heads of State and Government
From: Her Royal Majesty The Queen of the Dewedish Kingdom
Subject: South Deweden
Encryption: Hand-delivered in sealed pouch by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

---

Salutations,

Upon careful consideration and self-reflection over the past few day, I am prepared to send a delegation to entertain Rietumish ideas for achieving a lasting peace in occupied South Deweden and all the people who live there. My decision, however, doesn’t come lightly nor out of a desire to preserve to a decaying regime in Slapjšzemesgrad whose tyranny web remains a dark cloud over all of Belisaria. Rather, my decision comes out of a deep-seated belief in preserving the lives of all for the people who would die in another war between our two nations.

However, should you or your government take advantage of the peace talks to advance any hidden agenda or buy additional time for a secret plot to undermine the Kingdom of Deweden and betray my bona fides, me and my Coalition allies will not hesitate to initiate hell upon your turpitude filled government and your client state installed at Deroburg. Mark my words - no matter how much I would want to avoid such a horrifying possibility for the sake of all the innocent people of Deweden.

It is my deepest hope that these peace talks achieve a lasting peace and finally out to an end to the cycle of violence and which has plagued this part of the world for way too long and result in an agreement which will last for a millennium.

Sincerely,
Annabelle XIII & III, Queen of Deweden, Demphor, Élbannin and Duís

[Rietumimark]

“The Uncertain Mission”

Mellavet, Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden, Rietumimark

Tucked away deep inside the Radburn Mountains the sizable settlement of 250,000 resident laid the city of Mellavet. The formable peaks which filled the sky for as far as the eye could see - punctuating the city’s skyline. It had been these mountains which for countless generations had served to shield the city from all but the most determined and best-led armies and raider in anyone particular time.

Thick clouds of smug emanating from Mellavet’s industrial sector encased the city - itself being trapped by the mountain which blocked cold Arctic winds from pushing the toxic concoction southward - leaving it to stew among Mellavet’s residents and leave them without the sun, hidden under dreary, smoggy cloud cover, giving the city a subdued, almost somber look. As with many of South Deweden major settlements, there was only one way in and a single way out along the Deroburg-Kralin Axis motorway which had once served as a quick way to connect Rietumish occupied-Deweden’s major cities and allowed for the brisk deployment of troops and the closure of major transit routes in the event of an uprising.

The great irony about Mellavet, despite all the boisterous rhetoric on both sides of the Dewedish debate, was that it was Mellavet’s steel production that was fueling the construction boom in much of North Deweden. This trade remained a throwback to when Deweden was under unified Rietumish control and neither side seemed able or willing to severe one of the few existing economic connections between the two Dewedens. Through third-party vendors in the Allamunnic States and Valyria, that usually worked in grey areas of the law, Mellavet’s steel flowed from smuggling networks inside the Autonomous People’s Republic to construction sides in Kralin - providing the city's residents - indeed the entire surrounding region -with an important economic lifeline outside of well establish crime networks operating throughout South Deweden.

The streets were bustling with people going home after long day of work, enjoying the relative tranquillity the small city of Mellavet enjoyed compared to the rest of the Autonomous People’s Republic. Mellavet was one of several small cities and large towns which had decided to shift their policies away from deliberately persecuting their Dewedish populations and relegating them to large urban slums and state-sanctioned ghettos to rot in dire poverty out of sight and mind. Rather than actively oppressing its Dewedish community, officials in Mellavet actively engaged them economically and socially, working hard to improve living standards and phase out old discriminatory policies with spectacular success.

So, unlike the most of the Autonomous People’s Republic collapsed into chaos during the beginning of the uprising, places like Mellavet enjoyed peace and stability. Few people in the city saw any reason to express their grievances towards the Rietumish government violently or saw cause to revolt against the government. The Dewedish of Mellavet had everything they needed; employment, security, stability, and the illusion of freedom. Why would they put it all at for the idea of having real freedom? No, they’d wouldn’t risk everything just to replace one dictator for another. Instead, they’ll continue to live their living in peace, without the fears of being shot at or detained by Rietumish security forces.

So when the Dewedish Separatist Movement attempted to instigate an uprising like the one in Deroburg and other major cities, it failed before it started, with popular support for the Separatist failing to materialise and their agents who attempted to stir interethnic tensions in the city were more often than not, reported by their fellow Dewedish. In the corresponding days, a brief crackdown by local authorities, careful to avoid aggravating Dewedish-Rietumish tensions in the city, saw the violent crushing of the opposition before it was able to consolidate and any hopes by the Dewedish Separatist Movement to create a stronghold in the city and seize control of the area's lucrative smuggling networks which it would need to generate additional revenue to fund their operations

In spite of the reposefulness the city enjoyed, the effects of the year’s earlier uprising and the ongoing crisis still loomed heavily over Mellavet and its residents. The city’s mayor had ordered Melllavet’s inhabitants to begin war preparations in the event of an invasion by the imperialist powers. With the assistance of the Dewedish Protection Corp garrisoned in the city, barbed wire fences, a seemingly endless network of underground tunnels running the entire length of Mellavet were built, the terrain was hardened with additional defences and military fortifications, trenches and bomb shelters were being erected through the city. While, state-sanctioned militias - many under the purview of political commissars and armed with second-rate, cheap Eesti knock-off assault rifles, APCs, technicals and a few MANPADS - manned checkpoints which doted the landscape.

Mellavet was also subjected to a constant stream of internally displaced refugees from other parts of South Deweden - driven from their homes by fighting - although a ceasefire was de-jure in place - between Dewedish fighters and pro-government Rietumish militia duking in out in rural South Deweden or being forced from their homes as part of a larger campaign by both sides to establish a demographic hold over a particular region. Indeed, horrific crimes such as institutionalised lynchings, mass murders, intentional killings of civilians and destroying or seizing their property, and looting and raping had become effective weapons on both sides to punish communities opposed to their agenda.

Some were ethnic Rietumish who’d lived in peace with the Dewedish of the Autonomous People’s Republic for generations, others were ethnic Dewedeni who had been correctly or falsely accused of being supporters or spies for the government in the Slapjšzemesgrad, most were settlers who’d emigrated to South Deweden in pursuit of a better life. Despite coming from all walks of life, of different income brackets or ethnicity, they all shared the same fate of standing outside one of the dozen or so refugee registration centres littered through Mellavet in Deroburg, hoping to resettled in a refugee camp safely away in Rietumimark - unaware of their more likely fate of being used as human shields in the event of war to ward off or limit the effectiveness of the imperialist firepower.

Paula Thott was a Mellavet girl - through and through. The nineteen-year-old had been born in one of the many ugly rectangular apartment blocks hastily built in the 1990s to cope with a massive influx of ethnic Dewedish after they were allowed to return to their homeland following the mass deportations of the mid-1970s in punishment for the 1974 Dewedish Rebellion against Communist rule. There had once been a time when Paula couldn’t imagine a world in which Mellavet wasn’t a significant part of her life...but now she couldn’t wait to leave it in the loudest way possible. Now they will finally hear me…

Today was the big day, the day she had been preparing and training for the three years...for the greatest moment of her life. Part of her couldn’t believe that this day had finally arrived - almost as though she were still sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress in her flat barely 200 sqft, dreaming about this very moment unfolding before her. Something about this whole situation still felt so unreal to her, though she just couldn’t get over the fact it was truly happening…finally.

At the corner of Revolution road and Victory Avenue, Paula took a hard left, her eyes catching the shine of sunlight bouncing off the AK-47s being wielded by youthful militiamen - the youngest looking no older than fifteen - manning one of the many checkpoints throughout the city. My handler was right, rarely she isn’t, Paula thought to herself with a slight smirk; carefully avoiding any eye contact with any of the militia members whilst she made her way down a hidden side street - far from the inquiring eyes of Mellavet’s security services.

The side streets tucked away from the main road, were narrow and sparse of anyone other than those seeking to avoid attention from the city’s authorities. Just my kind of company. She carefully navigated the labyrinth of side streets to her target, following an assiduously well researched and scouted out map to it by her higher-ups. At Central Mellavet train station she stopped and took the sight in, seeming with godless infidels and minions of satanic worshippers during rush hour traffic, thoughtlessly going through the motions of their everyday lives, not a care for the daily slaughter of Paula's people...but today they will truly know what's it like being on the receiving end.

Her hand fell to her right side of her grubby, grey coat pocket, dangling inside for several seconds before pulling out a cigarette, the cheap Eesti kind easily available at one of the many semi-privately owned convenience stores spread across Mellavet. She took a long, drawn puff of her ciggy, taking a moment to briefly examine her yellowish fingernails and small burn scars from her less careful days of smoking. With her precariously pendulous cigarette hanging from her mouth, she nonchalantly crossed the street and blended into a large crowd of chatting and laughing university students fresh out of class - heedful to circumvent the many uniformed police officers patrolling the train station.

Once inside the enormous building - with its typical Ozoliņšist architecture style - and forged her way to the centre of the three-story station and decided to take a seat on one of the benches on the second floor - giving her an elevated view of the ground floor. She winced as the explosive belt hidden within the lining of the coat pressed itself against her flesh painfully. Nevertheless, her keen grey eyes scanned the vicinity, painstakingly looking on for her target, Emilis Astrauskas - the Police Chief for Mellavet and no greater backer of Satanic Rietumish occupation government keeping the Dewedish people stuck in the dark.

Fuck, that Satan lover is not here, she worded to herself silently, tightening her grip around the detonator. She subconsciously started to manically grind her teeth anxiously, her stomach beginning to tie itself into a knot. Calm down, damn it...you are going to expose yourself and God’s plan to the godless infidels.

Paula rose to her feet and began to skittishly pace around the bench, her heart in her throat, pessimism and doubt slowly but surely creeping out the back of her mind. What’s even the purpose of doing this, when you can just go...leave back the way you came, a dissent part her of mind implored for her to do. For the first time since she’d been so honoured to be chosen to execute her mission, hesitation and self-doubt were being to take hold of her. She paced over towards the second-floor railing, her eyes falling down to gaze upon the hundreds, if not thousands, of people, coming and going - children with their parents, students so hopeful for the future...pregnant women anxiously waiting to bring another life into this world. Who am I to take away everything from them?

It was a feeling that she hadn’t experience towards her enemy for a very long time - empathy. In the closing minutes of her life, she began to seriously reconsider her mission. As beads of icy cold sweat swept down her back, she looked at the grandiose entrance to the train station before promptly staring back down at the floor - brick and concrete made to look as though it were constructed out of ornamented granite. Confliction, fear, and anxiety swirled around in her head, struggling to reach a decision. She started to agitatedly pace again, nibbling at the ends of her fingernails whilst her eyes continued to sweep around the centre of the train station in irregular intervals...and then her target emerged before her very eyes.

Chief Astrauskas waddled past the crowd with the assistance of a heavy police escort as expected. The chief’s expansive girth and unnaturally large moustache - the colour of it similar to that of an ash - was completely distinguishable from the younger and thinner crowd at hand. Any feelings of scepticism and doubt at her task receded from her mind and a desire to complete her mission which had allowed her to get to this moment returning to the forefront of her mind. She looked up at the ceiling - it decorated with stucco and several paintings of the battle that took place in here during the Dewedish War for National Liberation - and remembered her older brothers that gave their lives during the battle and the feelings of hatred which had fueled Paula for so long restoring her stern clarity.

She closed her eyes and thought back to the days with her family before all this, long prior to all this shit. She smiled thinking about cheerful childhood memories and spending quality time with her family -before recalling the day that changed her life forever...the day that both her parents were pieces by an air-to-surface missile fired from Rietumish fighter jet for no other reason than to kill Dewedenu, bits of their bodies covering everything in sight.

Paula descended the staircase with a kick in her step, shoving her way through the throng of people trying to get home after work. Her eyes narrowed at the mere glimpse of Astrauskas and her hands tighten its grip over the detonator. Soon, my parents will finally be arranged...finally, she thought to herself, her heart racing and grip around the detonator becoming weaker as her hands started to sweat.

One of the policemen clocked Paula as she absentmindedly moved forward, ever closer towards Astrauskas and his men. The man tried yelled something over the dull cacophony of nonchalant murmurings of hundreds of conversations going on all at once. Go head, you soldier of the antiChrist, nothing will stop me....god wills it! The policeman shouted aloud again, gesturing for the rest of men to quickly escort the police chief to leave the vicinity - to which they performed immediately. The policeman then pulled out his pistol and left off a shot into the air. “Everyone needs to leave, there’s a terrorist inside the train station!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. Instantly, all the occupants inside the train station began to push and shove their way out the building.

Paula grinned malevolently, on the verge of breaking out into a laugh, at the policeman as he brought around his weapon in the direction of Paula and she shrieked - “You're too late!” Within a few of milliseconds, she detonated her explosive belt and exploded into a massive human inferno, sending the enormous fireball and massive pieces of shrapnel flying in all directions, consuming the entire train station in an endless cauldron of flames and shrapnel.

[Rietumimark]

Rietumish Tautas Jaunumi Aģentūra
Rietumish People's News Agency

Central Mellavet Train Station rocked by suicide bombing

The moments after train station blast

by Laimdota Rinkēvičs - 2 September 2017
MELLAVET, RIETUMIMARK - At least forty people have been killed and over two hundred wounded when an explosion of unknown cause, most likely a Dewedish terrorist attack, has destroyed much of Mellavet Central Train Station. Amongst the casualties include the four police officers and Mellavet’s police chief. The attack has prompted an evacuation of much of the downtown by local police. Local officials have warned the number of dead and wounded could rise over the week.

In the chaos of the immediate aftermath of the attack, there were conflicting reports on the identity of the perpetrator: the authorities first indicated that a young Dewedish woman from the rural South Deweden may have been responsible. However, latterly, several local news agencies reported that it was a man wearing a large coat and rucksack may be behind the attack, though authorities believe that the perpetrator acting alone.

According to CCTV video released to the public by the Committee for State Security (CSS), at 18:51 local time - a bright flash of light inside the station as the camera, located several hundred metres from the square, shook from the impact. A cloud of smoke emerged seconds later., followed by people trying to help the injured lying on the ice-covered ground in front of the building, its windows smashed by the blast.

According to the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the CSS, two bombs wore by a suicide bomber, were detonated inside the middle of the train station, causing dozens of casualties. "What we can confirm it, this time, is that this was no incidental gas explosion," said Minister of Internal Affairs spokesman Julia Ozoliņš during an emergency press conference. "While I can't divulge any details pertaining groups and/or countries behind this gross act of terror against the Rietumish people. I can confirm the Rietumish government will bring those responsible for this attack to justice."

Dozens of people remain trapped in the below ground of the burning station as firefighters and local volunteers continue to work late into the night to put out the fire and rescue the trapped. The blast from the explosion has also severely damaged various buildings for several blocks, forcing local authorities close down buildings and schools within a five-block radius of the blast site.

In a joint statement, Paramount Leader Janis and President of the Autonomous People’s Republic Aleksander Wolf expressed his condolences and sent a Vice President, Hjørdis Lange, to the scene to inspect the damage and meet with survivors of this gruesome attack. President Wolfe has also ordered local law enforcement agencies to take all necessary measures to ensure security in the city of Mellavet; promising that security would be stepped up at rail stations and airports in the Autonomous People’s Republic.

In a statement by made the spokesmen for the CSS and the Mellavet Special Combat Company confirmed that the explosion was presumed to have been caused by a female suicide bomber, following a surge of reports that the bomber’s head was retrieved by emergency services during rescue operations. One report identified the perpetrator as a nineteen-year-old woman by the name of Paula Thott, the niece of a senior militant commander.

Municipal Health Secretary Aleksandrs Krūmiņš told Rietumish People's Information Bureau that the Chief Administrator for the Municipal level Ministry of Health and his family are among the dead, but released no other information about the victims ."At this time, there are 210 injured people, all in public hospitals across the city," he said, adding that eighteen of them had critical injuries.

We will continue to update you on the situation as it progresses.

---

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• EDITORIAL: Alexander IV - a victim of the Gentries?

[Ghant]

(…Following the Events of the Resurrection)

“The love of one's country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?” ― Pablo Casals

---

Forward Operating Base - Broomfield
Outside the City of Broomfield, Fyurdlynd, Allamunnic States
(Co-written with Allamunnic States)

Broomfield was not what anyone would call ‘picturesque’, although perhaps the term could be applied to its surroundings. The lush greenery of the Bluwaalds nestled the town between the curves of its foothills. The town itself looked like it had once been a quaint settlement, fed by the mining of coal and other minerals, but that era had passed, and while hints of old glory clung to the buildings, decay had settled in. Most of the buildings around the town looked like they could use a fresh coat of paint, at minimum. Some parts of the old downtown had held up a little bit better, but the forward operating base which a contingent of Northern Ajax Treaty Association forces had set up in anticipation of hostilities in Deweden was situated on the outskirts of Broomfield’s suburbs, constructed in something of a hurry, using primarily prefabricated structures.

The general ugliness of the setting, at odds with the verdance of the surroundings, was not helped by the fact that, on the day on which Lt. Commander Mikel had come to meet with the leaders of the contingent, the sun had been smudged by a grayish haze. As per usual in the Bluwaalds, it was raining, and as Mikel drove on his way to the base, raindrops rolled off his windshield and reduced quickly-prepared dirt roads to mudholes. The places where gravel had been laid down had fared better, but there were still noteworthy puddles which anyone on foot would have to traverse..

Andrsunn was not exactly making a stylish entrance, riding in the passenger seat of a gray compact car that was sporting a few dents in its hood, and had a few spots where its paint had been chipped over its several years of service. The ‘roads’ within the forward operating base were fairly crude dirt-and-gravel affairs, and so there was a small cloud of dust that followed the car as it rolled slowly but steadily toward its objective.

Finally, after meandering for several long minutes, the car ground to a halt outside a prefabricated building that Andrsunn knew to be one of the headquarter buildings of the NATA force and, he knew, where he would find those he was supposed to make contact with, a Mathias of Ghant and Bolvar Dain, two of the leaders of the aforementioned force. After telling the driver to wait for him outside, Andrsunn stepped out the passenger-side door, straightening his olive-green dress uniform, donning his cap, and approaching the guards on duty outside the headquarter doors.

The armed guards bowed courteously upon the Lt. Commander’s approach, having been informed previously that they should be expecting him. They parted ways from the main entrance to the NATA HQ building, allowing him to enter unhibited. They eyed the Lt. Commander carefully as they anticipated his next move, while other soldiers on patrol nearby glanced over to see who had come.

Andrsunn entered the building, a utilitarian thing of steel, set up on a large concrete pad, with some hasty artificial insulation set along the walls to keep the temperature regulated. There was a small atrium at the initial entry, but walls had been set up inside the prefab structure to create a veritable warren of hallways, surrounding numerous rooms that served as offices and nodes for coordination and organization for the large force billeted around Broomfield. Andrsunn followed hastily-laminated signs mounted on the walls to find the nerve center of the whole operation, where he would find the leaders with whom he was to liaise.

After about a minute’s walk inside the building, he finally found his way to the proper room, knocking on the door, and awaiting a response before entering.

Ghantish soldiers that were on duty in the compound stopped and stared at the Allamunnic officer, while the door before him began to open, ever so slowly. Within the room were some bleak pieces of furniture, ranging from a pair of old, hard couches to some hardwood chairs arranged around a squat rectangular table that looked as though it had surely seen better days. Seated behind a sturdy, lopsided wooden desk sat two men, who looked on at the Allamunnic officer with stoic expressions.

The first man was dressed in rich court dress, black and white with gold trim as though he were fresh from Inperiala Palace. Rather unassuming in appearance, he had a head of thick brown hair, coffee colored eyes and a five o’clock shadow like one would expect to see in some bleak frontier tavern. In his hand was a tall glass of tea, and in his brown eyes the cool aloofness of a man with a plan that he had all figured out.

The second man was quite unlike his companion. Unlike the former, this one was tall and gaunt, with shallow cheeks and a high-bridged nose. Perhaps he’d be ugly by many standards, and yet above those sunken cheeks were eyes of brilliant violet, sparkling in the light. The rest of him was a grim black, from his thick eyebrows to his thick raven hair to his tight midnight garb, with only the violet sash streaking across his flat chest in contrast, bearing a silver sword and shooting star.

“Lt. Commander Andrsunn,” the first man said before taking a hearty sip of his tea. “We’ve been expecting you.” he inclined his head towards the tall gaunt man. “I don’t know if you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Lord Bolvar Dain, hero of the Great Northern War, and savior of Eltanlurra.” To that, Lord Dain merely inclined his head, his expressionless face unchanged.

“I hope I haven’t kept you all waiting,” Andrsunn said pleasantly, knowing full well that he was actually two minutes early for their meeting. “And no, I have not had the pleasure, previously.” He gave a polite bow, not too low, but enough to make it clear that there was plenty of respect there. “An honor, Lord Dain.” With that, he was onto business, taking a seat on the other side of the desk, placing a briefcase on the surface. “I brought a brief from Generalissimo Grimmeburger and the Eastern High command detailing the mobilization and organizational efforts being undertaken by the Federal Army to assist this force in the event of hostilities in Deweden. I can explain further, but this way you will also both have print copies for reference. You’ll find that a full mobilization is underway for all units in the Kingdoms of Fyurdlynd and Piekslynd, with partial efforts underway in Staalmark and Onneria. I feel it’s necessary that I ask again, as a matter of record for our forces’ cooperation, what your plans are in regards to the situation in Deweden at present.”

“Of course...it cannot be said that Prince Mathias of Ghant is not forthcoming.” The Ghantish Prince poured himself some more tea, before asking “would you care for some tea? It’s sweet, and cool.” Mathias gave the Lt. Commander a curious gaze. “Well, that depends on if you want something that’s on the record or off the record,” he said with a smirk. “All depends on who’s going to know what was said in here.”

“Ah, yes, please, if you’re offering,” Andrsunn answered pleasantly. “As for who is going to know… Nobody outside the highest levels of the government, and those who need to know in the Ottonian Command structure in the Federal Military. The General himself, of course, as will Chancellor Rudulf. And, although I can be a little more selective in what reaches their ears, those legislators on the Senate and Assembly Armed Services Committees. So…on the record to start, off the record after. I’m not going to mislead the General, of course, and realistically, if he knows, so will the Chancellor and the high command. Beyond that, it can vary as necessary,” the liaison officer explained. “Does that outline the parameters sufficiently?”

Mathias began to pour Andrsunn a glass of tea. “Of course...I certainly wouldn’t want to mislead the good General. Nevermind that he told my brother to hang from a rope.” the prince slid the full glass towards the Lt. Commander. “In any case, the situation is escalating. Rietumimark is trying to consolidate its hold on South Deweden once and for all, and Deweden is understandably getting increasingly antsy. For good reason mind you, since South Deweden is by all international laws half of Deweden’s territory...the status quo has been tolerable at best, but once Rietumimark attempts to purge South Deweden,” he paused to take another drink, “there will be war. We’re here to make sure that if and when that war happens, that Deweden wins.”

Andrsunn refrained from comment on Mathias’ editorial, although he had his own opinions on the matter. “Not unreasonable, of course. But I gather that that much was understood. My question was more a matter of if the way that that would be done would be to move through Deweden and engage on that front, or to alleviate pressure on the Dewedish by directly confronting the Rietumish. For our purposes, it’s a major distinction; contingencies will be made in any event, but knowing in advance if we need to expect major counter-attacks on our shared border with Rietumimark, or if the brunt will mostly fall on the border between Deweden and South Deweden,” he explained. “We have to assume the Rietumish will push back, anyway, but it’s a question of where the primary thrusts will fall.”

“Ah yes, the primary thrust.” Mathias leaned back in his chair and winced slightly as he fished for the right words. “I suppose the answer to that question depends entirely on what your Generalissimo is comfortable with. Provided he’s amenable to the idea, we would enter South Deweden directly from this state. Otherwise, we’d gladly shift into North Deweden and then onto South Deweden from there. Naturally I wouldn’t want to put your country at risk of reprisal from Rietumimark...not that you couldn’t handle them if they demonstrated themselves to be so foolish as to do that.”

“Oh, of course. It’s merely a matter of being able to take the proper precautions. Making sure we are on the same page. I shouldn’t think there would be an issue, but I’ll of course make sure it’s all cleared up with my superiors. It’s simply a matter of making sure we prepare for the right scenario.” Fishing through a folder he had with him, he provided what were essentially business cards with the phone number, fax line, and email address by which Andrsunn could be reached at his office, as well as an address. “I’m posted in Broomfield to serve as your liaison for the foreseeable future, so here’s the best modes of contact,” he explained. “In the meantime, do you have any questions for me?”

Mathias nodded, taking the contact information before replying, “If and when the coalition moves into South Deweden, what sort of military commitment can we expect from the Allamunnic States?”

“Alright, for simplicity’s sake, I’m going to talk in terms of divisions, but know that we organize along brigade lines, so it’s not going to be an even conversion,” Andrsunn explained preemptively. “We’re mobilizing one approximate division to be appended directly onto the expeditionary force, to make the push into Deweden. Another… one and a half, possibly two divisions are being mobilized to serve as defenders in the event of Rietumish counter-attack, or as reinforcement if something should go wrong during the advance and additional reinforcements are needed, although, even in such an instance, one of those divisions will likely be kept in reserve for defensive purposes, with the other one joining the actual push. That is our plan, as of now. Does that seem appropriate?”

“For the time being.” Mathias poured himself another glass of tea, and threw some of it back for good measure. “I think things are trending in the right direction Lt. Commander. All the more time to prepare and get our ducks in a row, as they say.”

“Excellent,” Andrsunn said, starting to rise. “To that end, actually, if you’d be kind, could you direct me to the officer in charge of your logistical efforts? I need to do some work with them on consolidating and organizing our supply lines a little more efficiently; there’s been some teething issues, as you might expect, with dropping this large of a force into this area on short notice, and we’re finally making some headway on getting it untangled.”

The Ghantish Prince flashed a grin. “Why, that would be our strong but silent friend here, Lord Bolvar Dain.” Turning to look at the Dakmooran Lord, Mathias gestured towards him with some discretion. Bolvar was by all accounts a man who spoke seldomly, only speaking if he had something that needed to be said. Many a Ghantar wondered how the lovely and vivacious Princess Belbe of Gauekoizarra could marry such a stiff.

“It would be my pleasure to work out the logistics with you, Lt. Commander,” spoke Lord Dain in his usual grave, monotonous voice. “Admittedly there is still much work to be done, given the short notice and swiftness of these most recent developments.”

“It’s a moving target. I’ve seen far worse tangles and snarls in my time,” he said with a flash of a grin. “The main thing I have been doing to that end is getting in touch with members of our own logistical units and figuring out that there’s at least some things -- munitions, rations, even some spare parts -- that we can be sending through the same shipments. At the moment we’ve got far more people moving things as we really need, and it’s causing problems in terms of traffic flow. I think we’ve got a way to reduce the number of actual shipments by as much as a third while keeping our actual volume of material about the same. Would there be a good place to iron out the specifics, Lord Dain?”

Bolvar rubbed his knuckles together and pursed his lips in thought. Then he explained that “You’ll want to talk to Commander Xulo about the specifics of the logistics. He keeps his office out the door and in the third room on the right. Just knock and let him know that I sent you, as he’s under my command directly. That’s why it would be my pleasure,” he said with a faint grin, which happened to be the best anyone could wrangle out of him.

“Thank you, kindly, Lord Dain. I shall take you up on that presently,” Andrsunn said, pushing in his chair. He politely bowed to both and then saw himself out of the room, heading to Commander Xulo’s office.

After the Lt. Commander departed, Mathias began writing down some notes from the meeting. “You were quite the chatterbox,” the Prince of Ghant remarked to Bolvar Dain with a bemused expression. “The Allamunnae are rather fond of small talk…let us hope you haven’t offended their sensibilities.”

“…I’ve often found that the less said to the Allamunnae, the better,” Bolvar replied with a haughty frown. “It’s common knowledge that they’re none too fond of our fair race, given historical differences that exist between us. They’re not especially enthusiastic that we’re here either, for while their government is more welcoming due to NATA obligations, the same cannot be said for the common citizen. We have your brother to thank for that.”

Oh, here we go about that again. Mathias had four brothers, yet he knew exactly which one Bolvar was referring to. “I refuse to be beholden to Richard’s actions…or lack thereof. What he did he did of his own accord, and I had nothing to do with it, nor did I ever condone it. Whatever issues Grimmeburger and his lackeys have with Albert or Richard, I insist remains between them.”

Mathias exhaled, and promptly changed the subject. “Enough about that…we need to remain focused on the task at hand. We don’t have much time.” The Prince of Ghant pulled a news article out of his dossier and slid it towards Bolvar to read. “The Rietumish are already looking for a casus belli to move into South Deweden in larger numbers. If they get there before we do…it will be all the more difficult to achieve victory.”

Lord Dain scratched at his chin as he pondered the news article that he held in one hand. “Robert of Demphor has done us no favors. His actions may cost Deweden the support of Demphor, which would be worrisome. I’m reluctant to ask Liothidia for more than what we already have, as the more they contribute, the more we shall be indebted to them.”

I’m not worried about them, Mathias thought. I doubt they will be that necessary. “The key is to make sure that the NATA and BC nations are invested in our cause. To that effect I’m more worried about the BC than I am about Liothidia. I’ve already suggested to my contacts at the courts of Latium and Vannois to consider matches with Annabelle of Deweden. After all, there are no ties that bind quite like blood.” Well, besides economics, of course…

“The catholics are fickle.” Lord Dain didn’t make his feelings about Catholicism a secret during private conversations. The Dains of old were once great champions of the catholic faith, but abandoned it for the upstart Ipargurutze Church in the 16th century like most Christians in Dakmoor. For in those days, the Catholic Church in Ghant had grown corrupt and bloated, and committed many atrocities against the recalcitrant peoples of Ghant until it’s power was finally broken in the mid-17th century. “And these contacts of yours…no doubt they’re less than scrupulous. Their courts are rife with scandal.”

You’re telling me. Mathias was all too familiar with that subject, though unless Bolvar pressed the issue, Mathias would remain mum. “Which is why I’m counting on their support. The Latins, Lyncanestrians and Vannoisians all could use a distraction and a rallying cry. The Lithodians I am even more sure of, given their commonalities with Deweden. No doubt they too will encourage their allies to commit themselves to fighting…and make no mistake, my lord, there will be fighting.”

Lord Dain pursed his lips, before sliding away the piece of Rietumish propaganda. “All the same, your Highness, I do not consider it wise to linger here. I can get away with it, for my name is not Gentry.” The Lord of Dakmoor looked pensive as he ruminated upon his next words. “I suspect you intend on traveling to the BC nations in order to ensure their commitment, though I advise against it. I am not so ignorant of Imperial affairs that I do not know of your…personal familiarity with that lot.”

Mathias gave Bolvar a sheepish look. He just had to go there, didn’t he? “I’ve made few mistakes in my life, my lord, fewer than you as a matter of fact. The first was that I married to soon, to a woman far beneath my rank. I loved her truth be told, and she was a good woman. Yet I always wanted something more. Had I only delayed but for a few years…”

“Isadora the Latin would have been yours, perhaps.” Lord Dain grimaced, as he was clearly disinterested in gossiping on such matters. “Or not…it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that the less we cause the BC nations to doubt our integrity, the better. Let Teresa worry about them.”

It was a thing that Mathias avoided too much time thinking about. Mia Tronpa was his first love, surely, and Valeria the Roman was his great prize, but Isadora the Latin was the one that got away. And it’s the one that gets away that haunts me the most. Even if he had been unmarried at the time, it’s possible, and quite likely that the Latin Emperor Leo would’ve refused a match with Isadora as a result of the controversy caused by her sister Isabella and Mathias’s oldest brother John. In some strange way, the way things turned out only motivated Mathias to do something great and leave his mark upon the world.

“You’re right, my lord.” The Prince of Ghant grinned faintly as he extracted another piece of paper from his dossier and slid it across the desk towards Bolvar. “The Ozolins are interested in hosting negotiations, and Annabelle has accepted the invitation, with the intention of sending a proxy delegation to negotiate on her country’s behalf. I think it wise if a Ghantish delegation attended…led by me.”

The Lord of Dakmoor coughed as though something caught in his throat, and had he been drinking something, no doubt it would have ended up on the desk. “You cannot be serious, your Highness!” exclaimed the lord as he read the communiqué. “This invitation reeks of a trap. Even Annabelle has the good sense not to attend these talks in person.”

Very observant, Lord Dain. “That is exactly why I should go,” Mathias let out a light chuckle. “If it’s some sort of a trap, then I shall be the sacrificial lamb at the altar of international outrage. Were I to be taken hostage or killed, it would only prove what we’ve been saying all along. That Rietumimark is a vile, dangerous nation that should be curbed. Let us pray that the Rietumish would be so stupid.”

“…Think about your family, your Highness, before embarking on such a reckless mission…” Bolvar was parts frustrated and parts appalled at the Prince’s suggestion.

“And what family might that be, exactly? My father died twenty years ago, my mother seventeen. I have no children, and my wife may as well be a lizard,” Mathis said, referring to his second wife Valeria. “She may very well mourn me for a day, and then move on, such as Romans do. Yet it is for these reasons that among my Imperial peers, I am the one singularly best suited for such a mission, which is why I shall accept. I will be most useful in Rietumimark, just as Abelard and Horik shall be useful in Deweden, and you here, ready to command these forces across the border when the time comes.”

Bolvar hesitated, before drawing a labored breath. “If that is your will, your Highness, then it is not my place to question it. I only worry about the implications.”

“That’s my job, my lord,” Mathias said with a smile. “Your job is to win this fucking war once and for all, and to reunite South and North Deweden under Queen Annabelle’s rule, until the end of time if the God lord sees fit. I need not remind you how disastrous this will be for all of us should we fail, but fail we shall not, because you, my good lord, do not fail. That’s why you were here in 2005, and that’s why you are here now.”

Bolvar gave a curt nod. “Thank you, your Highness, you honor me with your gracious words. I shall do everything I can within the best of my ability.”

“Good, that’s all I ask.” With a deep exhale, Mathias pushed himself up from the desk, and began walking towards the door. “I shouldn’t delay much longer…I do not intend to linger in the Allamunnic States. Not that it isn’t a pleasant country, but it is as you said. Gentries do not tend to fair well in this country, and I am a very superstitious man.”

“Until next time, your Highness,” Bolvar said as he rose stiffly from his chair and bowed courteously.

Mathias returned the gesture. “Until next time, Lord Dain.” Having said that, Mathias showed himself out of the room, and walked down the hall of the FOB. I could not show him weakness, the Prince thought as he personally worried about the Rietumish invitation. Do I fear death so easily? He had seen it come like a thief in the night, like it did with his father Emperor Albert of Ghant, and then again as a creeping specter for his mother and first wife.

That was when it hit him…the realization that rather then let death come for him, as it did for all those people that Mathias cared about, it would be preferable to meet it on his own terms. I’d rather go out in a blaze of glory than to sit around and wait for death to come for me. Grim enough was the thought in the back of his mind that he wanted to die in Rietumimark, a martyr that would launch a righteous war against the Ozolins and bring about their doom. Such a death would be worthy of the histories…

Though, would she mourn me? Does she even remember me…or our time together? Thoughts of Isadora came sneaking in, memories both sad and sweet. Fate was cruel, for it had tortured him and his older brothers John and Albert. Nothing ever worked out the way they wanted, and so had to make due with their lots. Tantalizing though was the phantom pain of Isadora, cursing his dreams with shadows and silhouettes of a doomed romance. Mathias never let the pain show…that he could not do. I cannot show them weakness…

I never knew I loved her,
Until she couldn't be mine,
She was so far out of reach,
That was not our time.

I knew that she could love me,
And see past the ice,
I knew the fire in her soul,
Could love away the world so cold.

It has been so long since I reached for her,
And still for her I pine,
I wish I could have taken Isadora,
Taken her and made her mine.

But I left her to another,
Because our love would have meant death,
And I swore I would protect her,
Until my dying breath.

She doesn't know I still love her,
I see her every now and again,
She looks so happy now,
With her family and friends.

I never hated the Latins,
I only did as I was told,
And now that I am aged,
That act is growing old.

My wives acted confused,
When I’d never look at them the same way,
Not like the way I looked at Isadora,
Whenever she was going about her day.

I never wanted to hurt her,
Just to make her dreams gold,
But a Gentry and a Claudii,
Such a romance could never take place.

A long time ago,
Together when the hour was late,
We were doomed,
Doomed by fate.

A great frown and expression of exasperation swept over the Prince’s face, and his thoughts prompted him to shake his head and exhale deeply through his nose like a raging bull. Slowly and steadily he walked until he came upon his personal room. In one swift motion he opened the door and shut it behind him, eager to return to his work, and focus on the matter at hand.

---

Mathias
Prince of Ghant

---

To: Janis Ozoliņš, Paramount Leader of Rietumimark
CC: Coalition Heads of State and Government
From: Mathias, Prince of Ghant
Subject: RE: Talks Regarding Deweden
Encryption: Medium

---

Greetings,

The Government of Ghant has for several decades now been at the forefront of peaceful international diplomacy, conducted in fairness and with an open mind for the betterment of all peoples. It cannot be said that our fair nation is ever belligerent or behaves in any manner that cannot be described as aggressive. As a Prince of Ghant, I take my role very seriously in this regard, and I am well aware of the responsibilities that I have to live up to our national reputation.

It is for the aforementioned reasons that I shall personally accept the invitation of Paramount Leader Ozoliņš to travel to Rietumimark to participate in these talks. I believe that my presence will be both symbolic and significant, for not one Prince of the Ghantish Imperial Family has ever deigned to travel to the Ozoliņ-led Rietumimark before me. It is my hope and belief that I will demonstrate a willingness on behalf of the Government of Ghant to treat with the government of Rietumimark in good faith.

I also trust that my Rietumish hosts will return the courtesy and conduct themselves in good faith on my behalf. It should go without saying that as a Prince of Ghant and an uncle to the current Emperor, I am held in high esteem by the crown. The events that await me in Rietumimark will without a doubt hold great bearing on the future relations between our two countries, and more. To that end, I shall remain optimistic.

Sincerely,

Prince of Ghant

[Arthurista]

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. – Wilfred Owen

Outskirts Flodmere, North Deweden, 1 November 2017

Lt (R) Nicholas Mayhew, Commonwealth Army (Territorial Forces), of the Commonwealth Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, stared blankly at his computer screen. He’d been doing it unconsciously for more than a few minutes.

Theoretically, he was supposed to be tallying the spare parts to be sent from Flodmere, which had become the main depot for the Arthuristan units gathered in North Deweden, and the forward units closer to the border. However, he found the task so mind-bogglingly dull that his brains had effectively gone on strike, refusing to process the vast vast quantities of data his visual input was depositing into its recesses any longer. With a sigh, the lieutenant picked up his thermos, half filled with tea, and walked outside his little cabin for a breath of fresh evening air.

He found himself walking into a veritable instant-town of tents and pre-fabs, erected over the course of weeks to house the rear support structure of the Arthuristan expeditionary force. The early-November air was chilly. Already, brief flurries of snow and sleet had begun to fall. These promptly melt, mixing with the churned up top soil to turn the streets of this temporary city into a sea of mud.

For the young reservist, the rather squalid scene is enough to make him wonder what made him volunteer for a commission in the Territorial Army in the first place. It had seemed like a patriotic gesture at first. With a commitment of a weekend a month and two weeks a year, it was almost like something of a cross between a hobby, an opportunity to socialise and to develop a network with other young professionals of his age. A specialist in CAD who worked for a large engineering firm in his day job, Mayhew was assigned a billet in a maintenance depot. There was, he soon discovered, no glory in war, only the tedium of work which decades-old software could have done at a fraction of the time. As in the civilian world, the sheer inertia in the face of technological change among bureaucratic institutions is driving him bonkers and he swore for the thousandth time that in the next general election he would vote for the only person who seems to understand where the world is going in the next twenty years.

Then, out of the blue, the klaxons sounded to shatter the evening gloom.

The blare of the warning sirens rose to a howling banshee wail, designed to wake the deepest sleeper or, as in Mayhew’s case, force someone completely zoned out to snap to attention. It was, of course, by design. It was a call to immediate action – action which may save the lives of those on the receiving end of this sonic assault.

“Gas! Gas! Gas!” The loudspeakers announced, “set chemical attack condition bravo one throughout the base. Repeat, chemical attack condition one! Personnel to take all countermeasures immediately!”

A brief oh shit crossed Mayhew’s mind, before his training snapped in and he raced to where his emergency kit was located to shake loose his CRBN suit. Within 20 seconds, he had donned his General Service Respirator, and in well within a minute the rest of his CRBN suit. He briefly went around to make sure that the thirty-odd people, all maintenance personnel, under his command were all similarly suitably attired, before ordering them to proceed to their assigned sector of the perimeter with their personal weapons to repel the expected follow-up attack.

As he raced across the base, struggling to run in his bulky suit, stumbling in the mud and colliding with others running hither and tither to their assigned stations, he began to notice smoke, of white, yellow and pale green colour, billowing out of the landscape and flowing between the prefabs. With growing horror, the realisation that this was ‘for real’ began to sink into his consciousness.

The maintenance platoon arrived at their assigned sector. They took shelter in slit trenches and dugouts, weapons at the ready, behind a line of mines and barbed wire. They were convinced that enemy mortar and artillery fire would fall from the sky to hammer their position. Once they were sufficiently softened, the attack would begin. More than a few wondered what had happened to those units closer to the border that a supply and maintenance base in the middle of North Deweden is about to come under direct attack.

Perhaps, Mayhew thought, he should have listened to her sister. A post-doctoral student of biochemistry. Everyone knew that Rietumimark, this archetypal rogue regime, has a large arsenal of weapons of mass destruction. Mayhew’s sister, who’d never understood her brother’s strange decision to join the Territorials, had amused herself by enlightening him on how chemical weapons worked.

“Your average nerve gas is an organophosphate. In fact, the most potent of variants of the genre were developed by accident in the search for more effective insecticides,” she said a month ago, as he visited her laboratory, two days prior to his mobilisation. “Nerve agents inhibit the action of a bodily chemical called cholinesterase, whose function is to control the muscles by breaking down other another chemical which causes muscular contraction, acetylcholine. Without this inhibitor, acetycholine builds up until all the muscles of the body go into contractions. One will cease to have the ability to control any bodily functions.”

She paused for a brief moment as she sprayed something into a tank containing a spider. “You- “ (Mayhew noticed that she was now referring to her hypothetical subject in the second person ) “will spasm uncontrollably. The muscles of your appendages, not to mention those which control respiration and defecation, go into a state of violent vibration. Death comes as a result of asphyxiation. In other words, you’d expire while having what resembles an epileptic fit in a puddle of your own poop. A few miligrammes of the substance absorbed through the skin would more than suffice.”

Mayhew noticed that the spider had begun to run around the tank in a panicked fashion, before settling down, turning turtle and twitching uncontrollably, its eight legs waving about in a frantic manner.

“I’ve always found chemical and biological warfare fascinating,” his sister concluded, “you see, they’re basically an inversion of civilisation. Diseases are not fought, but deliberately cultivated. People are not immunised but purposely infected. Doctors use their knowledge of bodily functions to make them stop. Agriculturalists devise mutated fungi to destroy crops. It’s for all intents and purposes public health in reverse. As I said before, the nerve agent began as an attempt to control insects. Now, they’ve been developed as insecticides for people. To kill human beings, you know, like that,” she concluded, jabbing her pen at the spider for emphasis. Her test subject had finally settled down, made a few more feeble twitches, and ceased to be.

An hour after the initial warning, Mayhew was in a warm briefing theatre, being lectured alongside other junior officers and senior NCO’s by a Major from a CRBN Defence Unit, who was there to assess their performance during the elaborate drill. After going through a few obligatory slides depicting the gruesome aftermath of chemical attacks, the Major informed his audience that they’d not done too badly (the subtext ‘for amateur weekend warriors’ was clear from his tone), and that “a sufficient number of personnel had met the standard response time to ensure that the battalion as a whole would not cease to be effective.” He also added the significant caveat that the standard response time was based on the assumption of a three-minute warning. If they had less than three minutes to prepare, he concluded, they would have been in serious trouble.

“And if you’re unfortunate enough to be exposed, there’s only one recourse,” he said, as he held up a nasty looking device for all to see. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is an atropine injector. Jab that straight into your thigh fast enough, and it might just save you. Note that atropine is, in itself, a fairly toxic substance with very nasty side-effects, but it is also the only known emergency treatment to nerve agents. In that scenario, of course, the only alternative is certain and agonising death. I sincerely hope we will not come to that, but it is my duty to see you all prepared, and do that I shall.”

I wonder Mayhew thought as the lecture broke up, what our lords and masters make of this WMD business? Given the fact that the adversary is Rietumimark, surely they have an idea as to what to do if the unthinkable happens?

FROM: HQ, Supreme Allied Command North East Belisaria
TO: (1) NATA Council, (2) Council of the Belisarian Community
DATE: 1 November 2017
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET

Sirs and Madams,

As international sanctions continue to be ineffective in inducing a change of behaviour on the part of the Rietiumish regime, and the likelihood of military operations increase, it is my duty to bring to your attention the need for a political protocol regarding the contingency of WMD release on the part of the Rietumish leadership. Given the significant quantity of weapons of mass destruction the international community suspects to be in Rietumish possession, the matters set out in this communique clearly require urgent attention.

The Alliance has at its disposal certain means of deterring such actions on the part of Rietumish forces, aside from our conventional arms. The Arthuristan government has issued an assurance that it considers its allies to be under its strategic nuclear umbrella. On a tactical level, the Arthuristan expeditionary force is equipped with tactical nuclear weapons of up to 80 kilotons in yield. While it does not presently maintain a stockpile of chemical and biological agents ‘in theatre’, both may be made available at short notice.

I would take this opportunity to remind you of the current, pre-existing policies, largely shared across both participating alliances, regarding WMD use. Unless and until I have been given an unequivocal directive that these have changed, and what new set of policies they have been replaced by, I shall continue to operate under the assumption that they remain in full effect:

(1) Given the indiscriminate nature of weapons of mass destruction, and the political costs inevitably induced by their use, the Allied Forces shall under no circumstances initiate a ‘first strike’ with CRBN weaponry.

(2) Again, given the nature of these weapons, the use of weapons of mass destruction by allied forces shall be a political, and not a military, decision. In other words, Allied forces shall have no recourse to CRBN arms unless and until duly authorised to deploy these by the political leadership.

(3) Given the nature of strategic nuclear weapons, they shall at all times remain under political control, unless it can be established, via a set of protocols, that the political leadership has been neutralised or rendered unable to give legal orders. However, with regards to tactical weapons, given their use as instruments of the battlefield, commanders must have the flexibility to employ them against fleeting targets. As such, once duly authorised by the political leadership, commanders shall have full discretion as to their employment until such authorisation is revoked.

In order to assist you in formulating the required guidance and policy, I respectfully offer the following observations:

(1) As a means of tactical warfighting on the battlefield, it is my considered opinion that CRBN weaponry are no longer truly effective. The majority of combat vehicles are hardened against the effects of such weapons. Even in the case of low-yield enhanced radiation devices employed as tactical nuclear weapons, multiple such warheads must be employed in order reliably to stop a single attacking armoured company group, in the region of 20-30 vehicles. The deployment of such weapons against the enemy’s rear areas, such as the interdiction of supply lines, or the neutralisation of supply depots, may be more effective. Nonetheless, as a means of warfighting, modern precision guided munitions are in general far more efficacious in causing the destruction of enemy materiel, while causing significantly less collateral damage, not to mention inflicting significantly less political costs.

(2) Given their relative decline as battlefield weapons, weapons of mass destruction must now be primarily considered to be weapons of terror, as a means of obtaining a strategic advantage. If the Rietumish leadership does elect to employ WMD’s, their primary targets will likely not be troops in the field, but the population centres of North and South Deweden. It is very difficult to protect masses of civilians against the effects of nuclear warheads, and almost impossible in relation to nerve agents and biological weapons. This is a factor which the Alliance’s political leadership should carefully consider if we are to proceed with the military option.

(3) The above may appear, at least to the uninitiated, to be arguments against the retention of tactical, ‘low-yield’ CRBN weaponry in-theatre, and rely entirely on strategic weapons to deter Rietumish first use. This would be an error in judgment. Essentially, tactical weapons allow for greater flexibility in engaging in ‘controlled escalation’. It means, for instance, that in response to the release of a small quantity of gas by the enemy in order to ‘show political will’ is not restricted to a full scale nuclear strike on the Rietumish state. Rather, it enables the Alliance to carefully calibrate the severity of its response in order to achieve the desired political outcome.

I look forward to your response. In the meantime I have the honour to remain, with high consideration, Sirs and Madams, your humble servant.

Field Marshal Sir Nigel Maynard, SACNEB

FROM: Leanne Whittaker, Prime Minister, Commonwealth of Arthurista
TO: Heads of Government, Members of NATA and the Belisarian Community
DATE: 1 November 2017
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET ULTRA

Dear Colleagues,

I write to draw to your attention a matter of increasing concern. It has come to our knowledge, through open and discrete diplomatic and informational channels, there is an increasing possibility that, simultaneous to our projected military operation to liberate South Deweden in order to enforce norms of international law accepted by all civilised nations, Liothidia may embark on an aggressive military campaign, directed against another part of Rietumimark, in an attempt at territorial aggrandisement.

This is a matter of significant concern to His Highness’s Government. Such a cynical act in pursuit of territorial ambition is, of course, worthy of condemnation in itself. However, one must also consider the broader geopolitical ramifications.

The reasons behind Arthurista’s participation in the Deweden venture is no secret and known to all. The liberation of an oppressed people is, of course, a most important objective deserving of pursuit. On a larger and more long-term scale, however, it in order to facilitate the strengthening of Belisaria’s ‘wall of liberty’ – the belt which runs from Deweden in the north, to Eagleland in the south, which protects the hinterlands of Free Belisaria and allows it to prosper in security against external aggression. This belt, as well as the nations which contribute to its continued viability, encompasses members of two of the world’s most powerful collective security organisations, together playing an indispensable role in guaranteeing the continuation of peace across much of the developed world.

It is in the interest of Free Belisaria for Rietumimark, that archetype of rogue nations, to be weakened. However, we must take care to ensure that this does not allow the rise of a greater and more insidious aggressor. Liothidia’s ambitions at continental hegemony is obvious to all. Accordingly, I urge you to consider carefully what our next steps should be and how we should proceed should their involvement in the current crisis becomes likely.

What I am about to propose may appear to be a scheme which is thoroughly radical but one which, upon due consideration, I believe to be sound and rational, and the merits of which I hope I can persuade you to discern. I suggest that an un-publicised envoy be despatched for without-prejudice discussions with a Rietumish counterpart, perhaps in a neutral state on another continent. We shall propose to them an arrangement of mutual benefit. Upon a Liothidian incursion, Rietumish military units shall withdraw from South Deweden. At the same time, Allied forces shall advance to liberate the territory and ensure that it does not fall into anarchy, with a view to eventually enabling its inhabitants to freely determine its political future. We shall not lose a single Allied service personnel. Its former Rietumish garrison, a substantial force, shall remain intact, and the regime shall be allowed to direct its considerable armed might on a single front. The desired outcome is, of course, that the world’s too most dangerous militaristic aggressor states be allowed to fight each other to their hearts’ content. Their mutual weakening, to absolutely no cost on our part, shall be a boon to Free Belisaria.

I look forward to your response and, as always, I am open to further discussions should you so desire.

With the warmest regards,

Leanne Whittaker,
Office of the Prime Minister

[Lacus Magni]

“Meetings”
Laurentius
Palace of Augustus
Palatine, Castellum ab Alba

The growing Deweden Crisis was ever looming over Belisaria. It wasn’t enough that there was the constant threat of a potentially belligerent Liothidia on the periphery the Belisarian Community’s border with the member nation of Vannois, now it was becoming even clearer that it was not if a conflict would erupt with Rietumimark, but when and how. It was a fight that was looked at cautiously by those in the Latin Senate, especially among the powerful within the legislative body. “I’ve spoken at length with the Consul that the Senate would be very hesitant to support a military expedition into Rietumimark,” Laurentius Verruscosi, the sitting Procurator of the Imperial Estate, had often heard his cousin Emperor Constantine XX repeat at the closed doors meetings among select Emperor’s Council members. Not to mention Consul wanted guarantees of concessions to the Community in a united Deweden…no doubt Uncle Florentine would support that measure.

A little over twenty minutes ago, Laurentius received a phone call that his cousin, the Emperor, called for a top secret meeting among those he trusted most from his Council, which normally included Prince Leo; Praetorian Prefect John Santella; Constantine’s uncle Prince Theodosius, Duke of Beroea; the elderly Hellene Dr. Pankratios Anemas; Master of Soldiers Flavius Vipsanius; Niketas Argyros, Prefect of the Defense Staff; Antonius Ecdicius, Director of the Frumentarii; Director of the SAI; and of course Laurentius himself. For his part, Laurentius never really expected to find himself in Constantine’s inner circle, and truth to be told, he found it tedious, so many meeting over so many matters. My time is better spent seeing that his assets keep making money or my preference, ‘spending time’ with my wife.

Luckily, Laurentius also had an office within the Palace of Augustus that he increasingly found himself working out of instead of the main Estate office off in Velia a district over. Now instead of breaking up traffic, all he had to do was fight the traffic of the palace and its staff to reach the council room near the Imperial apartments. And by the time he reached the council room, Laurentius watched as the Praetorian on duty opened to door for him, Laurentius unbuttoning his suit jacket as he entered to hear the sound of those within already speaking; however, they came to an abrupt stop when Constantine turned his attention to the entering Laurentius.

“You’re late, sit down, cousin,” Constantine directed Laurentius once the room went to a complete hush.

“Apologies, Caesar,” Laurentius bowed his head before finding a seat near the periphery of those gathered next to the aging Pankratios Anemas. And there’s that dying man’s smell, Laurentius winced as he sat next to the aging Hellene, though the man was polite as ever and smiled to Laurentius.

“We were just discussing the Deweden situation, Procurator,” Master of Soldiers Vipsanius briefly chimed in before they all went back to discussion.

Laurentius nodded, opening his dossier with a the large, red label reading “TOP SECRET” right on the front. Once he flipped it open, he read over the messages within from the Rietumish leader, the Queen of Deweden, some Prince of Ghant that Laurentius had never heard of, and the Arthuristan military or government. “Sending one of our own to Rietumimark is out of the question. There is no doubt this is some sort of trap,” Master of Soldiers Vipsanius stated the obvious.

“Not to mention to insults they levy towards us, ‘wracked with instability such as recent events in Latium,”’ Prefect of the Defense Staff Argyros added in before continuing, “Though instead of sending a representative, mayhaps we should consider sending a legionary force to join our Arthuristan allies and finally put an end to the red menace.”

“And I’m sure you’d like to add Estoni to that list as well, Prefect?” The Duke of Beroea countered with some snark, causing Laurentius to chuckle some.

“In due time, we’ve already allowed them to persist longer than we should have. Neither can withstand the full force of Belisaria,” Argyros continued his hawkish statements. “Too many half-measures brought us to where we are now.”

“I’m not looking to enter my people into a full scale, continental conflict, Prefect,” Constantine interrupted the Hellene general before whispering something to his cousin Prince Leo. “A smaller scale involvement is already difficult to sell to the Senate, I prefer this Arthuristan approach.”

“Which is what we should seriously consider, Caesar,” Prince Leo began to argue. “You said it yourself, it will be difficult to sell a war to the Senate, and the people don’t have the stomach for it as things stand. If we give our full support and send…”

“You can’t seriously be suggesting we send a representative to Rietumimark to meet those fools, your Highness,” Director Ecdicius of the Frumentarii scoffed at the thought. “They’d sooner be turned into hostages than be able to negotiate anything of substance.”

“That’s why we just find a neutral state to host talks in as Prime Minister Whittaker suggested in her communique,” Laurentius found it difficult to agree with what Prince Leo was arguing for, even if the generals seemed against it. “Sydalon, Fakolana, Siveria, perhaps even the Allamunnic-Rietumish border if no nation agrees to host.”

“Is the Consul aware of this development?” Laurentius stated after finishing his skim over the Arthuristan Prime Minister’s message.

“Not at this time,” Constantine replied. “Perhaps if things become more public, but I have no intention to inform the Senate of this proposal in the current climate.”

“I think this is our best bet for a favorable peace,” Constantine spoke up once more after an extended silence.

“If we are successful, and can keep this quiet, perhaps we can use it to coerce the Liothidians into entering a protracted conflict with the Rietumish. Let them weaken each other while we rebuild a united Deweden in the Belisarian image,” the Master of Soliders argued in support of the Arthuristan’s unorthodox plan.

“If this coalition enters into conflict with Rietumimark, and the Liothidians join in, all we’ve accomplished is emboldening the Lios at the expense of weakening the Rietumish,” Prince Leo said to his cousin, while he read over the Arthuristan communique once more.
“This may be reaching a bit far ahead, but why not also lay some groundwork and suggest that the Commission supervise any referendum…if the proposal is widely accepted of course,” Laurentius suggested, speaking of the Belisarian Commission. Laurentius envisioned his uncle would have great desires to expand the Community’s influence into a united Deweden, not to mention the potential gain his family’s company could stand to gain from opening up of the markets or rebuilding certain infrastructure.

“It probably is rather early,” Prince Leo simply countered as Constantine closed his dossier.

“Though it never hurts to plan for all contingencies,” Laurentius stated confidently with a cocky look upon his face. “And that’s simply what we’d be doing.”

“Very well, let’s get a message out to the coalition heads of state then,” Constantine closed his dossier and stood from his seat at the center of those in the gathered. “Dismissed.”

To:Coalition Heads of State: Belisarian Community, North Ajax Treaty Association, et. al.
From: Romulus Vibius, on behalf of Constantine XX, Emperor of the Latins
Cc: Belisarian Commission
Encryption: Most Secret – Eyes Only

---

Your Majesties and Your Excellencies,

After having reviewed the situation and proposals laid before us, His Imperial Majesty, Caesar, wishes to support the Arthuristan proposal of Prime Minister Whittaker for numerous reasons. Most notably, Caesar believes that this is best opportunity to prevent unnecessarily loss of life, while also achieving the goal of a united Deweden without compromising or otherwise emboldening any who would seek to capitalize on a distracted Rietumimark.

At this end, the His Majesty’s government agrees that such an endeavor should be held in a neutral, unaligned nation, with the possible suggestion of Sydalon – which Caesar would be more than happy to arrange with the Sydalene Crown on behalf of the coalition. Furthermore, Caesar recommends, should the Rietumish be receptive to the proposal, that inspectors from the Belisarian Commission be allowed to supervise local officials to ensure a free and democratic election to any votes or referenda held relating to south Dewedish sovereignty or unification with the north.

In the event that these talks are not held or fail to result in a positive outcome, Caesar will again review future Latin military involvement. Though he would like to reaffirm his, and Latium's, dedication to a meaningful resolution and if the need arises, His Majesty will continue to evaluate any and all measures required to achieve this end and a more secure Belisaria.

Sincerely,
Romulus Vibius,
Scribe of the Emperor’s Council, on behalf of,
Constantine XX, Emperor of the Latins

[Rietumimark]

“Little Miss Perfect”

Østervord, North Deweden

The ground floor of the Revolutionary League of Nationalist and the Centre Union of Lutheran Squat stank of rancid food rotting unceremoniously in the kitchen - patiently waiting to be thrown away. The effluvium intermixed with stale, cheap petrol station brand alcohol emitting from the many cans and bottles left around the room and even cheaper fast food containers which had been left out from the previous night’s bout of midnight munchies. The floor beneath Britta Putris’s feet vibrated from the force of the loud death metal music forcing their way out through the strained stereo system at full volume - flooding every last square inch of the room.

Standing in front of the kitchen sink, one hand holding a glass of discoloured tap water, the other tightly grasping her cellphone was Britta - staring at the empty the overfilled trash not far from the front door. She rose her glass and felt the stale, lukewarm water touch her lips and come pouring into her mouth - cooling her otherwise dry, raspy feeling she’d been having in her mouth. It can’t be today, it can’t be today, already...

A sharp feeling of dread came over her as she stood rooted in place, gazing out absentmindedly through the dusty kitchen window. She dropped her hands into her coat pockets and searched for a packet of cigarettes; slipping one of the sticks into her mouth and lighting with a grubby cigarette lighter - an eroded grey cloud similar to smog. She turned from the kitchen window, scratching a lump on her neck with Britta’s one free hand and began to make her way upstairs. Passed out of the couch, somehow numb to the roar coming from the stereos, was a man completely naked and passed out drunk - the world around him nothing more than a hazy blur of no consequence.

Britta stared at him in mild fascination, how someone could be so blissfully unaware of their surroundings - so much so that they could sleep in such a racket. “So much better,” she mumbled to herself as she turned the music down to a far more reasonable volume, before turning herself around and leaving the naked man to continue his alcohol-induced slumber. She found her way to the house’s ‘grand staircase’ in the loosest definition of the word; dilapidated and severely rundown. It had the bones of what it once had been, a centrepiece of the house, drawing the owners to show off how rich they are - but after god knows how many years of neglect and abuse Britta wondered whether walking up it was even safe.

Numb by the aftereffects of her hangover, Britta unthinkingly climbed up the staircase, ascending two flights of stairs to the house’s top floor and made a B line for the room she had been calling home for the past three days of debauchery. The room was of a fairly decent size, more than large enough Britta and her two half-naked male guests laying perfunctorily on the foul queen’s bed which probably hadn’t been cleaned in a millennium. She gave the two men an inquisitive look, strangers which she’d awoken to half-hour ago with no recollection of the previous twelve hours outside of a headache she was nursing.

Britta gave the men on her bed - or was it theirs? - a curious glance and when about grabbing her things which were laying on various things spread across the room. Britta made a point to collect her brigadier general uniform, dust it off and nonchalantly slung it over her shoulder without a second thought; making her way straight for the room’s small ensuite bathroom. She chucked her duffel bag containing her belongings on the ground and proceeded washed herself down with a bath towel of dubious cleanliness - trying to make herself at least semi-presentable to the public eye.

Streams of sunlight gradually filtered through the window, which had been covered up hastily with newspaper and gossip clipping. One particularly caught Britta’s eye, a picture of the Queen’s cousin Beatrice smiling brightly - a dark outline of a male figure in the background - her blue eyes so carefree and full of life; she looked so ethereal to Britta. The headline in the tabloid magazine read: Meet Princess Beatrice’s New Hunky Lyncanestrian Boyfriend; Ajax’s New Hot Royal Couple!

Well aren’t you so fucking god damn perfect with your new hot boyfriend living the high life off peoples' like me’s blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice over the past thirteen years, Britta wanted to shout, scream at Beatrice, no, the entire royal family piggy backing off people like her, leaving her with a shitty paycheck - in spite her senior rank - which barely paid the bills, two divorces, three children - each with a different father - who she always seemed to come up short child support, and a nasty substance abuse habit she’d picked up fighting for the Queen’s grandmother's name during the Great Patriotic Struggle for National Liberation and Liberty. Little miss perfect thinks she is so much better than me, don’t you, uh? With your perfect little life, perfect family, perfect boyfriend. I have something to tell yea, you can shove all your perfect shit up your own perfect arse you perfect little bitch!

Despite aiming her pent-up bitterness and anger at the picture of the princess, it was really directed at herself - the not so perfect person she was forced to face and live with every day. The woman who would awake to find herself naked with two strangers she didn’t remember ever meeting in her entire life following a drunken/stoned bender, who would blow most of her paychecks while on leave getting engaged in several day long drug-induced sex parties in shady squats in the more rundown parts of town to numb the pain, the omnipresent sense of inadequacy and horrors she witnessed first hand during the Dewedish War for Independence to self-medicate and bury her growing sense of dread about being promoted to command a whole reserve infantry division in wartime and be directly responsible for the lives of thousands of her countrymen and women.

Britta turned on the sink’s rusted old tap and watched discoloured water splutter out at abrupt, irregular intervals. She proceeded to form a bowl with her hands, pooling some water inside of it, and splashing the water over her face as though it would wash away her sin. Who have I become? She lifted gaze from her hand to her face and stared at herself in the mirror, examining how old she looked, far older than any normal forty-year-old woman should look, her skin wrinkled well beyond her years, hair thin and ratty - the same consistency of cobwebs - and she was pencil thin, unhealthy so, that she could be mistaken for an anorexic.

From beyond the bathroom door, Britta heard her’s drunkard boy toys from last night beginning to gradually stir, tossing and turning on the bed from which they slept as the room became increasingly illuminated with sunlight. Shit, I better hurry up and get ready, for which she did with posthaste - training one ear out at all times to listen out for any of her male companions awaking from their slumber; fortunately for Britta, none of them did.

She slipped out of the room without anyone in the room noticing that she was gone and quickly descended down the rotten old staircase with footsteps lighter than a cat. The living room was still empty, the nude man on the couch still passed out drunk, and the monotonousness drum of heavy metal still blasting from the stereo.

Outside the rundown squat was her staff car waiting on the curb beside the main run leading out of the neighbourhood the mansion was located; the engine still running and her chief of staff standing outside of it impatiently, glancing at the house before looking back down at his watch. “What took you so goddamn long...I’ve been standing here like a total jerk off for ten minutes,” he said with a playful annoyed tone. “Get your shit in the car before we are late.”

Britta nodded and threw her things onto the backseat - placing herself on the passenger side front seat. “Alright let’s go,” Britta said testily, reaching into her side coat pocket and taking two large pills of amphetamine in order to cure her headache. “My god, it has been hot...what the warmest autumn on record?”

Her chief of state ignored her and kept firmly looking at the road ahead of him. He’s being querulous today, little shit. Without me, your career would be going nowhere, she thought to herself as she reached for her phone and scrolled the internet to pass the time. The drive took forty minutes by the time her staff car pulled up at large an isolated, ramshackle house a fifteen minutes drive from the Allamunnic border.

“Hurry up and be quick,” her chief of state said briskly. “We don’t want to be spotted associating with people like them - not with all these hardarse NATA MPs flooding into Deweden. The cunts have no flexibility.”

Britta gave him a thumbs up and climbed out the front seat. As she made her way up a steep incline in the ground, placed on the house’s porch and around a rusted SUV, were two men and two women coming into - taking turns, from what Britta could make out, drinking from a flask and slipping capsules into their mouths. The oldest men, no younger than 57, rose to feet and gestured for her to come closer.

“Britta...Britta…Britta is it so nice to see you in the flesh again,” his big, penetrating voice bleached out with the harsh, distinctive accent common to the area; revealing that the old man’s few remaining teeth that weren’t fake or gold, seemed to be losing their fight against decay. “It has been way too long.”

“Yeah, it has,” Britta lied, not recalling who the man was or how they might have met. “You’re looking good...hm, healthy?”

“You have always been a shit liar Britta and even worst at flattery,” he said, letting out a loud, hacking laugh. “I’ve gained three stone, lost half my teeth, and currently slowly losing my vision - far from the ‘healthiness’ you might see. I doubt god will grace me with another dozen years on this planet.” the old man said still laughing.

“Yeah,” Britta said tentatively, joining him in his laughter.

The old man frowned, but didn’t seem to really care whether or not Britta actually knew who he was; his wide eyes carefully soaking Britta in, with pupils the size of coins. “In any case, do you remember our agreement?” he asked suspiciously. “It’s your job to keep those NATA hardarse MPs away from my shipments and keep them from interfering from my business and you and our entire unit will be handsomely paid for your efforts; far more anything that thug Starl provides you.”

“I believe that is more reasonable,” Britta said with uncertainty peppering her voice. She looked back down at her chief of staff waiting for her in the staff car before looking back at the old man. “Do you have my money?” greed oozing from every word.

He let out a dark chuckle. “Of course,” he said, raising his hand and indicating to one of his companions on the porch. “I can provide your soldiers with the stuff that will make them brave...braver than they’ve ever been in there lives on discount if you want.” quickly adding: “Take enough, if you shoot one of your troops, they won’t drop; they keeping going until they're dead or have completed their mission.”

“That could work, get in touch with my chief of staff and he’ll deal with the details,” Britta replied with little care. “If that’s everything, I do really need to go...security has been really picked up since this crisis over South Deweden began.”

As if on cue, a young and strikingly handsome man emerged from within the rundown house with a purse in one hand; the other gripping his hoster. “10,000 Ghantmarks, as we agreed to,” the old man piped up. “You’ll get the other half when the first shipments safely reach their destination. It is good doing business with you and look forward to a long and fruitful relationship.”

“As do I,” Britta said taking the purse full of money and counting that it was all there. “As do I…”

“It is all there, I made sure of that. But please, take all the time you need to count.” the old man said watching Britta total up the money. When she finished, she gave him a thumbs up and mumbled a thank you to the old man. “No, thank you. Good luck with your command and may oh mughty god lead you to many victories over the Riets.”

With an extra kick to her step, Britta found her way back to her car and smiled. “Things are looking up for us young one,” she said with a beaming smile stretching from ear-to-ear. “Everything's a go, we are doing this.” Finally, something in my life has broken for me; now it’s time to pay off all my debts.

To: Heads of Government, Members of NATA and the Belisarian Community
CC: Coalition Heads of State and Government
From: Her Royal Majesty The Queen of the Dewedish Kingdom
Subject: South Deweden
Encryption: Hand-delivered in sealed pouch by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

---

Salutations Your Majesties Your Excellencies,

Upon careful consideration and reflection after reading the Arthuristan proposal, my government firmly concurs with the assertions made in the proposal and that my government and all the people of Deweden stand firmly with its content. It is the opinion of my government that avoiding the unnecessary loss of life of Coalition personnel and Dewedish should be one of our main priorities and that any avenues which successfully circumvent conflict and weaken Belisaria’s greatest threats towards regional stability should be taken.

To this end, my government has already agreed to Rietumish proposal to send a delegation to entertain their government's plans for reaching a lasting peace in the troubled region of South Deweden and suggesting to the Riets to allow such to talks to occur in a neutral nation would not be too far of a stretch of the imagination for the Riets to agree to. Latium Majesty’s government offer to arrange the aforementioned talks to occur in Sydalon is most gracious and will receive no complaints from Deweden - assuming the rest of the Coalition heads of state agree with it.

I hope that the Riets act rationally and that we are able to successfully strengthen the wall of liberty, peacefully - without any loss of life - reunify Deweden under democratic rule and significantly degrade those forces in Belisaria who seek to undermine and hegemonise the continent for their own leaders’ self-self-aggrandisement in a single blow.

Sincerely,
Annabelle XIII & III, Queen of Deweden

To: First Citizen Viktoria von Carstein
CC: Coalition Heads of State and Government
From: Her Royal Majesty The Queen of the Dewedish Kingdom
Subject: South Deweden
Encryption: Hand-delivered in sealed pouch by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

---

Salutations,

My government and the Dewedish people appreciate your government's decision to support the Dewedeni struggle against the oppressive Rietumish government with the recent execution of sanctions against the rogue regime. It is the opinion of many in the Deweden that your government’s sanctions will severely degrade the economic power - therefore military prowess as well - and that Liothidia’s smaller act in the South Deweden crisis will decisively shift the balance of power away from Rietumimark and their ruthless government and towards the long-oppressed Dewedish people.

With that said, I would like to enquire whether the Liothidian Senatorial Republic has further plans to take further proactive steps to undermine the rogue Rietumish regime and bring about the end of the prosecution of the Dewedeni people in Rietumish-occupied South Deweden; if so, whether the Senatorial Republic would perhaps be interested in coordinating the Coalition forces preparing to put pressure on the regime in Slapjšzemesgrad - whether that pressuring coming from diplomatic or military force - both to maximise the potential for victory and avoid any miscommuciations which may - especially in the heat of conflict operations - result in the tragic and unnecessary loss of life Coalition and/or Liothidian soldiers.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,
Annabelle XIII & III, Queen of Deweden

[Liothidia]

The Flames of Liberty require the bodies of Tyrants

Chamber of the Auspicious Senate of the Republic
Rahden, Liothidian Senatorial Republic

As the Senators took to their gilded seats, Von Carstein scratched her nose, arranging her notes from the Addresser’s Podium. Behind her the Speaker of the Senate, Tadeusz Zarek muttered to an aide. She took a deep breath, reading once again the letter she was tasked with explaining to the Senate. Despite her immense power and influence over the mighty Senate, she never truly felt secure. After all, Liothidian politics was perhaps the most cutthroat in Belisaria. Previously, she had to watch chauvinistic male senators plot her demise for the sole reason of her gender, now she faced a fellow woman – the sharp tongued Auxilia Kallenbach.

“Viktoria, we’re ready” Tadeusz said, leaning down from above her.

“Thank you” she replied softly.

“Senators” Tadeusz shouted, banging his gavel. The chatting, laughing and debating continued, much to his annoyance.

“Senators, I will be happy to sanction all of you for not falling silent now!” he shouted, the chamber, an echo one at that, fell silent and as they took their seats.

“Thank you, as you are aware, this session is closed and censored, as such you have all turned in your mobile phones and electronic devices. I will also remind you, that the Civil Security Service will be maintaining watch on you to ensure that discussion and information of this session does not reach the public. Since the last instance of loose lips was 16 years ago, I trust you will abide by it” he explained, his Liothidian ever clear for a Koscian.

“Today’s session is regarding a letter sent by the monarch of North Deweden regarding the crisis over her nation’s division by the socialist regime in Rietumark” he said, before being overwhelmed by boos and jeers.

“Citizen Von Carstein will read out the letter and we will debate our reply to the letter, both wording and the nature of our reply. Of course, this will be related to the Republic’s position on the Deweden Crisis, which must also be addressed in this debate. Citizen Von Carstein, please” Tadeusz finished.

“Thank you Herr Lautsprecher, I have here, the letter sent by the monarch of North Deweden, Annabelle, which reads;

Salutations,

My government and the Dewedish people appreciate your government's decision to support the Dewedeni struggle against the oppressive Rietumish government with the recent execution of sanctions against the rogue regime. It is the opinion of many in the Deweden that your government’s sanctions will severely degrade the economic power - therefore military prowess as well - and that Liothidia’s smaller act in the South Deweden crisis will decisively shift the balance of power away from Rietumimark and their ruthless government and towards the long-oppressed Dewedish people.

With that said, I would like to enquire whether the Liothidian Senatorial Republic has further plans to take further proactive steps to undermine the rogue Rietumish regime and bring about the end of the prosecution of the Dewedeni people in Rietumish-occupied South Deweden; if so, whether the Senatorial Republic would perhaps be interested in coordinating the Coalition forces preparing to put pressure on the regime in Slapjšzemesgrad - whether that pressuring coming from diplomatic or military force - both to maximise the potential for victory and avoid any miscommuciations which may - especially in the heat of conflict operations - result in the tragic and unnecessary loss of life Coalition and/or Liothidian soldiers.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,
Annabelle XIII & III, Queen of Deweden” Von Carstein finished, taking a sip of her water.

“Burn it, burn the whore’s letter” a voice from the far-corner shouted, to cheers.

“Since when do we explain our positions to tyrants?” another shouted.

“Senators, if you could allow for more civilised and ordered statements that would be appreciated” Tadeusz requested with a sly smile.
“Citizen Von Carstein, by convention you are permitted to speak first” Tadeusz continued.

“Senators, we have an opportunity now, to do what we have sought to do since the Rietumarkish turned to socialism and destroy socialism in Belisaria. I have no intention, as First Citizen, to propose that we aid this woman, who claims rulership solely by her birth, to extend the injustice of monarchism to all Dewedish. I do propose that we utilise this opportunity to weaken Rietumark and expand the liberty of our revolution to as many Rietumarkish as possible.

“I propose immediate military action once the opportunity is firmly in favour of our designs. Allow the Coalition and their Arthuristan masters to take the full-force of the combat, suffer the losses necessary to absorb the socialists’ focus. Through liberation and democratisation of the border regions, the Republic shall push back the evils of partyism and protect its western borders. I relent to the floor” she finished, receiving applause from the Senate.

“I call on Stefan Gessler” Tadeusz called out.

“Thank you Herr Lautsprecher, I agree with Citizen Von Carstein’s suggestion. We must not in any capacity be seen to be aiding a monarchist in expanding her dominion. We must seek our own interests, that being the decades long desire to push back the socialists away from the Republic and secure the Western Territories. This must be our sole priority“ Senator Gessler shouted from his seat at the far back benches, receiving applause.

"Thank you Herr Gessler. I call on Senator Holzherr“ Tadeusz rolled on, who was cheered on by a majority of the chamber. Erich Holzherr was a formidable political operator and "Father of the House“ in that he was the longest serving, having held a seat contiously from 1980.

"My thanks Herr Lautsprecher, Senators, I have been in house for three decades, and I have yet to see such an opportunity to cripple socialism in the North. Not only that, but we have a real opportunity now to realise the Mittweida Republic, I am no general, I am no strategist, but the creation of the sister Republic out of this crisis would represent the greatest victory of democracy and freedom yet. The Senate Fathers believed that the Mittweida Republic would offer the Fatherland the greatest protection from radcialism and monarchism in the west. I stand by their belief, I call upon the Senate to vote for military action, to free and create the Sister Republic, bring justice and liberty to Rietumark. I yield“ he returned to his seat, the white haired fox smiling, recieving immense applause.

"Thank you Herr Holzherr, I now call on Senator Kallenbach“ Tadeusz said, with slight quivocation. The roar of cheers and applause from the Republican Flame camarilla was deafening, easily defeating the boos and jeers from the more liberal blocs.

"I thank you Herr Lautsprecher. Senators, the letter alone is a crime, to be read out in this chamber is a disgrace, but one that I am sure we can overlook“ she said, recieving roars from her Republican Flame colleagues. Von Carstein visibly rolled her eyes, Kallenbach at her best, she thought.

"This letter, is a trap. If we reply, we enter direct communication with an enemy of mankind. Wording must of course reflect our committment to popular sovereignty and the power of the general will. As for the aims of our operations, I support Citizen Von Carstein and Senator Holzherr’s position. But I would propose further, we must in the event of a complete collapse of the godless and tyrannical regime of Rietumark, demand an immediate turn to Albertine Republicanism. At best, we must press further and control Rietumark entirely. We can only guarantee the security of our Republic through their complete subjugation“ she paused as the room roared into angry debate, mixed with cheers and boos.

"What should we fear? The Community? I think not. We have in ourselves morals, principles and convictions that are superior to those of the South. The Republic is the greatest nation on the planet, surely we all know this!“ she shouted.

"Now is our chance to enforce our superior system upon those who oppose it for their selfish needs. Let’s not just free the people of Mittweida, but all of Rietumark. Let us be the masters of the North’s future, if we intend to overcome the conspiracies and plots of the tyrants of the womb, then this is our chance“ she said once again, recieving applause and cheers, from even those of the centre-right camarillas.

"I do not believe that a full-occupation of Rietumark would be possible in terms of resources and manpower Senator Kallenbach“ Von Carstein interjected.

"That’s because you have doubts in our nation’s abilities Citizen Von Carstein, all you liberals do“ Kallenbach spat back.

"I do not doubt our fighting men and women. I believe in them and I believe God is on our side, because are the righteous and the strong“ she swiftly carried on.

"I stand with Senator Kallenbach, we must assert our position now!“ Senator Matthias Krenz stood and shouted. As the deputy "leader“ of the Republican Flame, he at times exceeded Kallenbach’s own passion for extremism.

"If Rietumark is fundamentally weakened, the last thing we need is for the monarchists and the Arthuristan arrogants to seize control. We must blast away socialism and establish a Republic. I would rather charge with a bayonet than let a Latin or something even more disgusting to set up power in Rietumark. I would rather personally blow myself up and take the Politburo with me, than see a Gentry become some King“ he barked.

"As should every Citizen of the Republic“ another Senator shouted.

"Either we take all of Rietumark and bless it with the flame of liberty, or there is no Rietumark“ another shouted, to loud cheers.

"You would start a war beyond reckoning, one this nation does not need. Need I quote one Senate Father, in that true liberty comes through the tranquility of peace“ Ulrich Friedmann bellowed as he rose to his feet. The head of the Two Star Camarilla was a much loved liberal, though truly despised by those on the right.

"And the flame of liberty requires the fuel of tyrants Senator Friedmann, how is that for a Senate Father quote?“ Kallenbach screeched in returned.

"You madam are without mercy or even moderation, you would condem thousands of Liothidians to death to quench your bloodlust. I would rather see you on the frontline than any Liothidian son“ Friedmann hit back.

"And even with all the money in the world as an offer, we would certainly not see you fight for justice and liberty. You’re a coward and seek to exert your cowardice on all of us“ Kallenbach continued to roar.

"Senator Kallenbach! I will remind you not to impugn any member of this chamber” Tadeusz rushed in with a bellowing cry.

“Enough of this” another elderly senator rose to his feet. Senator Mitja Robar entered the Senate in 1981, a man of no-Camarilla, he had instead opted to become a voice of moderation and mediation.

“This is not a question of cowardice or militarism, this is a question of our noble duty. We are the greatest Republic to bless the world, we all agree. If we are all, well versed in the thoughts of the Senate Fathers, then we are well versed in what they believed to be our cause”, as he spoke the entire chamber fell silent.

“The Senate Fathers taught us that the greatest gift any nation can bestow upon its people is the freedom and liberty of a republic. Our Republic is built upon our shared conviction to service the people’s will, the general will. But they also taught us there is no greater public duty than to expand the limits of freedom’s reach. It is our natural duty, as freemen to free our fellow man. There is no greater duty, than freeing men from the grips of tyranny, be it of socialist dogma, or the tyranny of the womb. We must free Rietumark, be it just Mittweida, or all, is for the military men to decide.

“So I ask the Senate, let us grace the military with the noble decision, based on what is capable and probable” Robar finished. Receiving applause from across the entire chamber.

“Thank you Senator Robar, I have made note of your suggestion. We shall vote upon your suggestion prior to voting on the motion of conducting military action against Rietumark.

“Senators, may we progress to the matter of our reply, so that we may save our voices and minds for further issues on the agenda?” Tadeusz asked, receiving a deafening aye from the floor.

“I call upon the First Citizen” Tadeusz said.

“Thank Herr Lautsprecher, following on from suggestions from the floor. I recommend that we inform Ms. Volund of our intention to support the liberation of Dewedish men, women and children from socialist terrors, and that they can trust us to support that endevour with the maintaining our sanctions regime” Von Carstein explained.

“First of all, we must not inform her anything! She’s a divorcee, she’s a disgrace, let alone a pretentious tyrant of the womb” Kallenbach roared.

“We must not be found to be cooperating with monarchists, this letter itself treads dangerously here” Krenz soon followed.

“I recommend that we maintain as little communication with her, and the coalition. Even if she was an elected official, her inaibility to thrive as a wife, let alone a leader is enough to warrant distance” Ugo Obermann interjected. Obermann was effectively, Von Carstein’s second and would regularly voice her own opinion, where she was too polite to do so.

“I support the First Citizen’s suggestion that offer our continued support for sanctions, but make no mention of any military operation. We cannot allow, and I give Senator Kallenbach her due on this one point, that we cannot allow it to reach public knowledge we have plotted with the Community” he finished, receiving applause.

“We should use this opportunity to improve ties to the Community, surely we cannot be blined by Kallenbach’s hatred and bile to not see this” Martha Kahnwald spoke out. Kahnwald was the leader of the Popular Will Camarilla, mostly to the left, it argued for détente with the B.C and greater reform of the political system to end the very clear oligarchy she was apart of.

The gasps from the right-wing blocs was defeaning, swiftly followed by jeering, boos and insults.

“You disgrace yourself Senator Kahnwald, you would dare utter that suggestion in this chamber. Herr Lautsprecher, I demand an immediate vote on the expulsion of Senator Kahnwald from this session!” Kallenbach screamed, pointing violently at the kind hearted and plain faced Kahnwald.

“I second that request” the 66 yeard old portly Mikkel Richtoffen bellowed as he struggled to lift himself up from his Republican Flame seat. His seconding soon unleashed a torrent of abuse and shouting as the Camarillas turned on one another.

“Senators, I will not be hearing requests for expulsion. I will have order and I will have decency return to this chamber!” Tadeusz shouted so loud his microphone screeched under the strain.

“I am going to invoke Article 16 of the Senatorial Code of Conduct, I will now be utilising that to declare by decree the First Citizen’s and Senator Obermann’s suggestion that we maintain our support for Dewedish independence, while mentioning nothing of our designs, which as per Senator Robar’s suggestion will be presented to the military to decide. Should, we vote to support military action.

“Those in acceptance say aye” he ordered.

The silent majority roared aye in unison. With two slams of his gavel, it was over.

1 hour later…

After an hour of shuffling the votes were in. This was done in silence by convetion, since Article 16, which granted the Speaker the ability to force forward votes in the event of disorder in the chamber, no filibuster, quorum call or amendment could be made. Really, he did it to silence the chamber before Kallenbach was attacked by the more tough leftists, or vice versa.

As the votes were counted, the uniformed “master of arms” approached the Speaker.

“Master, you have the votes?” Tadeusz enquired with a choiristic tone.

“I do Herr Lautsprecher” the soldier replied swiftly.

“Please inform the result” Tadeusz asked, flicking dust off his lapel.

“On the matter of taking military action against the socialist regime in Rietumark, the ayes, 606, the nays, 66, absentions 18. I can confirm the ayes have it” he shouted back. The chamber roared to life, shattering the conventional silence. Von Carstein sighed as she returned to her seat, to her, the entire effort was ridiculiously hard, the tension within the Senate was getting worse, especially with the Republican Flame riling up moods ever more, even over the most simplistic issue. Though, the Senate had at the end of the day voted for war, it was now down to the Revolutionary Republican Forces to determine the nature of the war, as well as its goals.
She trusted the RRF to know what was best, afterall, the RRF contained some of the most committed Republicans in Liothidia. They were also renown for their unbreakable and unshatterable belief, that Liothidia, possessed the greatest fighting force in history. Which, of course, had its pitfuls, but that was for another day.

She had the draft letter to Queen Annabelle readied by her staff, it was later confirmed by the Senate by a secondary E-Vote on the Senate’s “Office Voting System.”

Now she had to become a war leader.

To: Ms. Volund, Head of State of Deweden
CC: Coalition Heads of State and Government
From: The Auspicious Senate of the Liothidian Republic
Subject: South Deweden
Encryption: Hand-delivered in sealed pouch by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

---

Dearest Ms. Volund,

The Auspicious Senate of the Liothidian Republic, wishes to thank you for your letter regarding the situation in South Deweden. The Senate wishes to express its continued support for the liberation of your kith and kin from the tyrannical grips of socialist dogma and oppression. The Republic’s commitment to lasting freedom for Deweden remains strong and the Liothidian nation is committeed to seeing all Dewedish see the joys of liberty.

As such, we wish to convey our continued commitment to the extensive sanctions regime against the regime in Rietumark. In the Republic, you will find a supportive actor. We pray that a solution and end to the crisis comes swiftly, and the freedom of your people just the same.

Sincerely and on behalf,
First Citizen Viktoria von Carstein and the Auspicious Senate of the Liothidian Republic

[Rietumimark]

“Operation Strike Back: Phase One”

Cærborg, Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden, Rietumimark

The journey to the large town of Cærborg was far from a easy one to navigate - the road to the two punctuated by a network of checkpoints manned by local militias loosely affiliated with the Dewedish Separatist Movement and small, impromptu criminals looking to extort money from travellers. It was situated in the middle of the mountains, a rustbelt of once prosperous mining towns whose fortunes turned decisively when many of the mines which they relied upon when dry and wholesale destruction of much of the South Deweden during the Dewedish Uprising and the lack of willingness from the Riets to rebuild what they destroyed ended any hope of a swift recovery from the war.

But miracles often in the most curious forms and the city’s revival came with the sudden surge of ethnic South Dewedish looking to get out of the Rietumish dominated Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden - in what later became the single largest demographic shift in Deweden’s history; as some 1.2 million people made their way north in a ten year period, with Cærborg serving as the epicentre. The burg’s close proximity to the Allamunnic States made it a nature choice for it to become the single largest chief smuggling city in all of South Deweden - with drugs and people being smuggled out of Rietumimark and into its neighbour; generating millions annually to buy arms and afford the paychecks for many of the Separatists’ fighters. At the city’s height, some 3 thousand people - mostly Dewedish - arrived in the city every week to be smuggled into the Allamunnic States and eventually North Deweden; something in which the Riets were more than happy to turn a blind eye to - the voluntary exodus of their most troublesome minority.

Hostels, motels, hotels, nightclubs, large markets, and even restaurants arising from the ashes of the Dewedish Uprising. Although Rietumimark continues to ban private enterprise, numerous South Dewedish private companies run by wealthy oligarchs masquerading as state-owned companies, with the original owner being hired as a manager by the cooperating state officials, began to set up shop in the city, while its population ballooned to historic levels. But as with everything, good times rarely last.

With the outbreak of violence in Deroburg, later spreading across South Deweden, Cærborg’s fortunes turned yet again as the city’s main source of revenue was cut off abruptly as the Riets moved quickly to control the narrative coming out of South Deweden and cracked down hard on human trafficking out of South Deweden and arms trafficking - weapons ranging from assault rifles to anti-tank missiles - entering South Deweden. Successfully reducing the number of people being smuggled out of South Deweden down to barely a few dozen people a month; with only the most desperate and wealthiest willing and capable of paying the handful of smugglers willing to make the dangerous journey.

In the immediate aftermath of the June Riots and the orgy of violence which followed before a ceasefire between the Separatists, Rietumish government, and Coalition which would proceed peace talks was reached, at least a thousand Separatist Fighters were killed and several times that number wounded or captured after they attempted to quickly seize complete control over South Deweden as what happened during the 04/05 Dewedish Uprising and draw NATA into a humanitarian intervention. While successful in the latter, they failed with the latter and the Dewedish Separatist Movement was violently pushed out of all South Deweden’s major cities and towns and into remote, isolated rural areas...with the one exception being for Cærborg; where the city’s isolated location served to help the separatists seize control.

And it will be this godforsaken city which we will make our last stand, Kristīne Lykke thought to herself as the convoy of three rusting, old - reliable and cheap - but uncomfortable and mouth-wateringly ugly - Rietumish built- four-wheel drive vehicle mounting machine guns sped through the city. Only either side of her vehicle, the wreaked masses of the internally displaced and unfortunate coward at the sight of the convoy - fearful of potentially cruel warlords or thuggish criminals who might be lurking inside.

Kristīne’s convoy passed through several snow-covered side streets and rounded multiple turns before it headed straight for what might have been a Rietumish administrative building located on the very northern edges of the outskirts of Cærborg; far from the more unstable south of Cærborg, where territory was bitterly contested among rival gangs and criminal element over the few smuggling route still safe enough to traverses to reliever hardcore narcotics from manufacturing centres in Cærborg to the veils of drug addicts across Belisaria.

Kristīne vehicle came to an edging stop at the administrative building’s parking lot, pulling up at a predetermined area for her men and her vehicle to park. She climbed out her seat and waited as her bodyguards assisted the weak, ailing, and deeply malnaturised Marta Bērziņš - her short, blonde haired Rietumish pet she liked to parade around with her - from her seat. The air was cold, heavy and drab - thick clouds of low lying fog sweeping in from the Boreios Sea. Kristīne dubbed her gloveless hands together to warm them and walked inside.

At the entrance, Kristīne, Marta, and Kristīne’s men were disarmed by fighter’s belonging to the Dewedish Separatist Movements central command; with her guards being escorted to a different part of the building while Kristīne and Marta were directed to head for the main conference room in the centre of the building. Fucking paranoid schizophrenics, why the hell would I try something here? she thought with a snort.

Under armed guard, Kristīne was guide inside the main conference. She felt a rush of crisp, warm air gently colluding into her face. Central heating, a luxury too few of our people are able to enjoy. The room was deathly quiet when her armed guards left the room and closed the door behind them. The whole atmosphere had the sense similar to a funeral or trial; something which was happening away too often since the situation in South Deweden blew up. She could feel the rooms’ eyes crawl all over her as she took one of the empty seats and the faint, paranoid mumbling of several of the people in the room. Talk shit, not I like care…

The office was a large, circular sized which felt cramped and compared room, sorely missing any source of natural light; with the only source of coming from the room’s over the top chandelier. The centre of the room was a sizable wooden table, more than capable of comfortably housing the dozen or so people in the room. Everyone that was anyone in the Dewedish Separatist Movement was sitting around that table, talking quietly with aims, staring out rivals, or fretting over the most minute details.This might be the first time all the heads of the DSM have actually ever been in the same room, Kristīne pondered with slight concern.

At the head of the table of the leader of the Dewedish Separatist Movement and the person who had called this meeting; Veronika Perngård. A longtime veteran of the separatist cause and whose life had been surrounded by conflict and violence. Like Kristīne, Veronika was born in the mountainous regions of Såndvin, lands where fishermen made their living. As an infant, her father was killed and her mother raped during a failed Dewedish uprising against the Communist regime in 1974 and subsequently she - along with almost million other Dewedish, were deported to gulags in rural far Northern provinces of North Rietumimark, as punishment for the Uprising.

In the harrowing conditions of the gulag she called home - working eighteen hour a day - Veronika, like most of her generation such as Kristīne, became radicalised and ultimately were the ones to spearhead the Dewedish Uprising in 04/05. Since the end of the conflict, like many Dewedish ultra-nationalists, she continued to the fight against the occupiers - quickly rising through the ranks thanks to the brutal game of cat and mouse between the Dewedish and the Rietumish government to become named leader of the Dewedish Separatist Movement following the death of her processor in an airstrike.

Like many of the warmongering ultranationalists, Veronika was enraged by the ultimatum sent to the Rietumish by an apparent Coalition which had formed against the continued Rietumish occupation of South Deweden. Not only did she believe that the Coalition completely ignored her movement and more importantly failed to consult with her first about the wording of the ultimatum letter, in her eyes the Northern Dewedish seemed more than happy to abandon the Southern Dewedish to fend for themselves than actually stand up to the Rietumish and deliver on the promises of freedom and liberty for all Dewedish. 'It’s 2005 all over again, like things such as deploying ‘peacekeepers’ to South Deweden is actually going to do anything, the Red dogs will find a way around it’, Kristīne recalled Veronika bitching to her about the events of the past year not that long ago - failing to grasp the delicateness of the situation and lacking the foresight to see the greater picture.

“I knew we couldn’t have trusted the Northern Dewedish, those turncoat fuckers,” said Claus Lund, the redheaded commander of the Dewedish Revolutionaries Front, with an embittered tone to his voice; breaking the silence. “Prime Minister Starl, King Dowager Ferdinand, the Queen are all the same, self-serving foreigners who care only about saving their own skin than protecting the entirety of the Dewedish race. Especially that fuck Starl, he promised us a military intervention by the international community with the sole intention of unifying Deweden. Now he’s changed his tone and is talking about ‘Rietumimark reconciling with the Kingdom of Deweden’. I should have listened to my gut, I knew we should have never trusted him.” he spat out

Almost everyone in the small, cramped conference room in the administrative building they'd turned into a makeshift command and control centre nodded their heads in agreement. Previously, the structure served as former government administrative building before the city of Cærborg overran by an uneasy ad-hoc military alliance between the Dewedish Separatist Movement, the Dewedish mafia and other smaller Dewedish criminal organisation. In the succeeding months, Cærborg became the last a major smuggling area for the separatists, generating millions in revenue for the Dewedish separatists. In recent weeks, however, the town had been subjected to intensifying crackdown against those participating in illegal drug smuggling operations and special forces raids by the Rietumish Special Operation Force - all with the ultimate aim of starving the Separatists of revenue they desperately needed to continue resisting the Rietumish.

“I say we take the bull by the horns and use the power we’ve amassed in the past eleven to our advantage.” put Huld Hørring - a tall, striking woman and self proclaimed savior of the South Dewedish through her All-Women's Free Justice Battalion of Deweden militia - bluntly, her distaste for Starl penetrating her voice. “I can’t live with myself if all those people we ordered to go out onto the streets and protest died for nothing other than to a few reforms. I say we reject any and all of the Coalition's push for peace and issue are own ultimatum with are our terms of peace to those godforsaken Riets. That will force the Coalition to give us a greater seat at the table and bigger slice of the pie.”

Huld’s remarks were ended encouraging nods and even some cheers by the leadership council of the Dewedish Separatist Movement by all except the youngest member; Kristīne Lykke. But none greater than from the commander of the notorious Lord's Martyrs' Brigades - Rikke Skovgaard; the seventy-two-year-old grandmother of modern ethnoreligious extremism among Dewedish communities across. Her promotion of their ideology based around the purity of the ethnoreligious Dewedish race and that only their interpretation of what ‘true’ Dewedish tradition is legitimate, allowing for clear organisational cohesion by pointing her foot soldiers toward a single, incorruptible goal. Yet, anything opposing that view allows for the rationalisation of extreme violence - something the few Separatists were willing to tolerate - sparking impromptu clashes between Rikke and Veronika’s fighters over the past year. Fucking fanatics, their of ideological superiority will be the end of us.

“My long-held belief that rich, pampered foreigners like the pseudo-autocratic Alexander Starl and the Dewedish Monarchy who have more Ghantish and Rietumish blood surging through their veins than Dewedish could never understand the struggles, abuse and repression of the Southern Dewedish that was the day-to-day reality norm for South Dewedish!” the fragile Rikke Skovgaard suddenly belted out. “The people of South Deweden could never again be ruled by foreigners ever again, not the traitorous North Dewedish who were more than content throwing their Dewedish sisters to the dogs rather than losing more of their own or the tyrannical Rietumish dogs. Yet again the world was going to yield to the Reds and give them what they want, an avenue in which they can keep the people of South Deweden under their yoke. Diplomatic talks don’t work with those in league with the AntiChrist! Like the Reds will seriously consider anything other than our extinction...they’ll accept the than option faster than an infidel Gentry will go to bed with an unmarried heir of a foreign monarchy!” she proclaimed with overwhelming the righteous indignation and a sense of patronising self-important.

“But if we do this, we’ll be risking are working relationship with the countries we need to win this war!” implored Kristīne desperately, the thought of losing the support of nations like Demphor or Ghant striking dread through her body. “I don’t understand why we would put everything we’ve worked to build at risk just for greater influence? Shouldn’t we bring up these grievances up after everything gone to pass rather than just before anything major has happened?”

“You make good points, but I can speak for the entire leadership that our mind’s made up on the matter.” replied Veronika calmly. “The Dewedish Separatist Movement won’t be shoved to the side and lose its place as a major political force because it’s not convenient for the likes of Starl. We've earnt a place at the grown-ups table and we’re not going to back down until the senior leadership of the Dewedish Separatist Movement is promised considerable political influence over South Deweden in any political settlement or reconciliation.”

Kristīne was incredulous and indignant, overcome with frustration at the ugly side of people like Veronika. “But you were just lambasting the Northern Dewedish for being self-serving and abandoning the South Dewedish, and now you’re doing the exact same thing. Your gambling the long-term suffering of the people of Southern Deweden just so you can further your political ambitions and vision for a post-Rietumish occupied-Deweden.”

Kristīne’s words to her comrades within the meeting of the Separatists senior leadership fell on deaf ears, all of whom preferred not to give her allegations any substance by responding. Instead, they all completely ignored what she said. With that, Kristīne realised that the men and women sitting around the room weren’t brave and heroic revolutionaries fighting for a cause greater than themselves, but rather political opportunists seeking to establish themselves as the future political masters of occupied-Deweden and were willing to do anything to achieve that goal.

“Now we are all in agreement,” began Veronika, pretending that Kristīne never said anything. “I will immediately write up and send the ultimatum to the Rietumish occupation and issue the Dewedish Separatist Movement’s terms for peace in occupied-Deweden.” she finished, much to the glee of the rest of the people in the room. “Now, the partition of occupied-Deweden among our spheres of influence...shall we begin?”

Kristīne had heard enough and overcome with a cauldron of emotion, she climbed up from her seat and walked straight out of the building to get some fresh air outside. She paced outside anxious, taking short, inconsistence breathes - wondering what unforeseen consequence would result because of this decision.

Just then she heard a loud sound she heard many times before, the massive sound thundering roar from the engine of Su-34 echoing from the horizon. The sounds of the rebels archaic anti-aircraft guns hopelessly trying to knock the aircraft out of the sky. She watched in a combination of shock and disbelief as the SU-34 fired a single air-to-surface missile towards the administrative building. All she could recall was seeing the sight of its vapour trails, the sound of the explosion, then everything when abruptly hazy. She awoke what could have only been several minutes later, thrown like a rag doll across the parking lot - a cacophony of sounds swirling around her; the sounds of panic, people yelling orders at each other, some screaming in an orgy of chaos. She attempted to get to her feet but fell back down as she felt an overwhelming pain emanating from her leg.

“Don’t try to move, commander!” she heard a familiar call out through the thick cloud of dust and smoke rising from what remained of the administrative building. “We need to get you out of here and to a hospital quick.” Kristīne struggled to ask and daily murmured ‘I need to save her...I need to save Mar… her voice trailing off. “Don’t,” the voice replied, “they’re dead...they are all dead.”

[Ghant]

“The Midnight Hour”
Gobernu Palace
Ghish, Ghant

The Prime Minister had been asleep. Good, he thought as he woke up, feeling groggy from his long nap…or was it sleep? Nymun truly did not know, nor did he especially care. It’s sleep so I’ll take it. The seventy-two year old prime minister was used to ample sleep, but lately it wasn’t coming easily. When he checked the time, he saw that it was nearly midnight. Two minutes until midnight…

Nymun had met with his cabinet ministers, advisers and imperial representatives throughout the day regarding the latest bevy of communiqués regarding the ongoing crisis in Deweden. Ghantish policy had been consistent from day one, though it took some time to build a coalition of allied nations that shared Ghant’s wishes to see South Deweden restored to the Kingdom of Deweden. Not one to be marginalized, Nymun took credit for the moniker “the Allied Coalition.”

They conducted their meeting in the lower levels of the palace…as far as lower went, down in the depths of the Prime Minister’s so called war room. It wasn’t the sort of place that Nymun liked, having layers of security that included checkpoints and locked doors, all requiring clearances. The hallways and rooms were full of light, walls, ceiling and floors painted white and heavily sterilized. The war room was all of those things and more, with long tables, cozy furniture and computers all in a spacious chamber meant to guard all of the government’s top secret, classified information. It could also be used as a bomb shelter in case things went south quickly.

The discussion had been exhausting, causing Nymun to promptly fall asleep right there on his couch as soon as all of his cabinet ministers had departed his company. He recalled their positions on various issues ranging from a meeting site with the Rietumish, sanctions, a supervised referendum in South Deweden, WMD policy, Liothidia, etc. There were several topics to cover, and to Nymun’s surprise, there was generally agreement on how to move forward on all of those issues…for the most part.

The Prime Minister didn’t want to be party to the use of nuclear weapons, but his cabinet got him to budge a little for the sake of meeting them halfway. Rather than oppose the use of retaliatory WMDs against Rietumimark in the event that they used them first, Nymun would simply abstain from any vote held among the leaders of the Allied Coalition. The Emperor and Empress generally deferred to Nymun on such matters and respected his positions such as they were.

Looking around the large room, Nymun rubbed his eyes as he considered his surroundings. The underground chamber was a favorite meeting place for the former Prime Minister Yula Zimya, perhaps because the room was a subtle reminder of the Prime Minister’s power. Not even the Emperor has a room like this, Nymun understood. If Ghant were the sort of nation that had WMDs, no doubt the launch codes would be there, in that very room.

Yet the WMDs weren’t the closest thing to the front of Nymun’s mind as he stretched his aching muscles. He was confident that not even Rietumimark would use them. No, I’m more concerned about Mathias. Prince Mathias of Ghant was the often overlooked fifth and youngest son of the late Emperor Albert and Empress Grace. To those who knew him or of him, he was both skilled at keeping a low profile and at scheming, perhaps the best out of all his brothers. Nymun did not doubt for a minute that Mathias had plans for northern Belisaria, and unlike his older brothers, had the cunning to succeed in his endeavors.

A peculiar communiqué was laid upon Nymun’s desk earlier in the day that made him increasingly suspicious. The Ghantish Intelligence Agency produced a rather robust report on the political situation in Deweden that the Prime Minister found rather alarming. The report detailed the “unreliability” and “volatility” of the Starl government, and how the Prime Minister of Deweden “produced an obstacle to accomplishing Ghant’s goals” in Deweden and Rietumimark. The report went on to cite instances regarding Starl’s refusal to recognize the Ghantish-backed Human Rights Commission and his incessant persecution of the Rietumish minority in Deweden.

The most alarming element of the report was that in an unprecedented move, the GIA made clear a proposal called “Operation Midnight Hour,” which would consist of a GIA-backed military coup in Deweden that would overthrow the elected government and replace it with a military junta led by none other than Prince Abelard of Ghant and Deweden, the eldest son of the late Prince Alexander of Ghant and Queen Abigail of Deweden, nee Princess of Rietumimark.

“A junta led by Abelard,” the report explained, “would be much more cooperative with the Ghantish government’s policies. It would outright join NATA, end politically sanctioned persecution of the Rietumish in Deweden and would fully endorse the HRC and cooperate with their investigative prerogatives.” Nymun was appalled when he read the GIA report, and disappointed that his cabinet seemed to support the plan.

“I will have nothing of this treachery,” Nymun recalled telling his cabinet ministers. “It shames me to think that lot of you would back a military coup of an allied country.” Nymun would have blocked it outright, had it not been for direct imperial intervention. It wasn’t just any imperial emissary that attended their meeting in the underground chamber. It was the man in black himself.

That’s what this particular emissary by the name of Ion Lorus was referred to as, anyway. He always wore a black tunic and cloak with gold trim, from his neck down to his feet, with only his head and pale hands visible. Beneath the garb was a tall man, pale and thin with wispy brown hair and dull grey eyes. He had a large mouth, that never moved unless he was speaking, and even then his tone was monotonous and his voice soft and faint. Not much was known about him, only that he carried the most grave of imperial business wherever he went, and those that received him wished that they had not.

“The imperial seat expresses its support for the GIA proposal,” Lorus explained to the Prime Minister and his cabinet. “At this stage it’s becoming an imperial directive, Mr. Prime Minister.”

“That doesn’t mean that I have to like it,” Nymun countered. “Or that I’ll be willing to defend it when the time comes.” In his mind it was only a matter of time before the proposal would eventually get leaked to the public.

Lorus tilted his head, his expression remaining constant. “No one has to like or defend imperial directives. However, it is the obligation of this government to oblige them in good faith, which I have no doubt will be carried out by your government with a great sense of duty and expediency.”

The Emissary said little else that meeting, merely sitting there with his stoic expression as the Prime Minister and his cabinet ministers conferred. Before long, Nymun called the meeting, having gathered the opinions and positions of those present. Lorus was the first to leave the meeting, followed by his cabinet ministers, one after the other. Leonor Bozagua, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was the last to leave, and didn’t do so until after she assured the Prime Minister that he was “doing the right thing.”

As it happened, the only thing Nymun carried out that evening with a sense of expediency was his nap. The world today was no place for seventy-two year old men, let alone northerners. It was treacherous, dangerous, and moved far too fast for anyone his age to keep up. I don’t know how Teresa does it, he thought languidly as he patted his hair and drank some water after waking up. Somehow, she makes the world around her slow down to match her speed.

Nymun didn’t have that same luxury. He had communiqués to author and transmit to the appropriate entities, and so he endeavored to inform them of his government’s policies. Except for Operation Midnight, he thought sanguinely as he isolated that information from his mind. Nobody needs to know about that. He pitied Alexander Starl for a brief moment, not because he was innocent, but because history would judge him by what happened to him in the days to come…

---

Prime Minister of Ghant
Nymun Izarbegiratzeak

---

To: HQ, Supreme Allied Command North East Belisaria
CC: NATA Council, Council of the Belisarian Community, Emperor Nathan IV of Ghant, Empress Sophia of Ghant
From: Nymun Izarbegiratzeak, Prime Minister of Ghant
Subject: WMD Policy
Encryption: High
Delivery Method: Hand-delivered by diplomatic courier in sealed pouch, Eyes-Only

---

To whom it may concern,

I am in agreement with Field Marshal Sir Nigel Maynard that there is a need to establish a political protocol regarding the possibility of Rietumimark authorizing the use of nuclear weapons in response to the escalating situation in South Deweden. I am certainly aware of what the Arthuristan government has at its disposal, and I thank the Field Marshall for taking the time to explain his government’s policy concerning the matter in question.

I applaud the Arthuristan government’s commitment to avoid a ‘first strike’ policy in regards to such weapons, especially because I still believe that this conflict can be resolved diplomatically or at least with minimal bloodshed, which should always be the goal. Indeed, I firmly believe that peace is the mission, and peace in Deweden can only be achieved if Deweden is reunited under the Dewedish crown.

I’ve considered the next point very carefully. It has been the long-standing policy of the government of Ghant to refrain from the research, development or use of weapons of mass destruction, be they chemical, biological or nuclear in nature. That’s a position I defend vehemently in my capacity as Prime Minister of Ghant, and I hope that the other nations of this coalition follow our lead in avoiding these dangerous weapons, as their effects are most terrible.

That is why since the authorization of the use of WMDs against Rietumimark is a political, and not a military decision, I must make my politics clear. I do not believe that an eye for an eye is the best policy…I believe that an eye for an eye makes the world go blind. I cannot in good conscious authorize the use of WMDs under any circumstances, as I do not believe such weapons should ever be used. To be complicit in their discharge would be the ultimate betrayal of all that this country stands for, and so long as I’m Prime Minister of this country, I will not be party to such an act.

However, I also will not impose my political inclinations upon the rest of this Coalition, nor shall I impede their prerogative concerning Rietumimark. I shall formally abstain from any such decision-making process regarding the discharge of WMDs against Rietumimark as a means of retaliation. May the blood be your hands…it certainly will not be on mine. To the leaders of the Allied Coalition, I shall hope that if the time comes, you shall exercise great wisdom, for all our sakes.

Sincerely,

Prime Minister of Ghant

---

Prime Minister of Ghant
Nymun Izarbegiratzeak

---

To: NATA Council, Council of the Belisarian Community
CC: Leanne Whittaker, Prime Minister, Commonwealth of Arthurista, NATA Council, Council of the Belisarian Community, Emperor Nathan IV of Ghant, Empress Sophia of Ghant
From: Nymun Izarbegiratzeak, Prime Minister of Ghant
Subject: Liothidia and Rietumimark
Encryption: High
Delivery Method: Hand-delivered by diplomatic courier in sealed pouch, Eyes-Only

---

Dear Colleagues,

The ambitions of Liothidia mark that nation as especially dangerous, and to my knowledge has been addressed as a serious threat to the peace and stability of Belisaria by the governments of the Belisarian Community. Given their past tendencies to conduct military campaigns for the sake of territorial aggrandizement, it would be prudent to account for Liothidia in the course of the Deweden Conflict.

The Wall of Liberty, as it is called, is an essential part of achieving peace and geopolitical stability in Belisaria. To this end, securing Deweden is of vital interest, as it would ensure that all lands west of Deweden south to the Eagleland are conducive towards the mutual goals of peace, prosperity and mutually-assured protection. It is for this goal that all possibilities to achieve it must be considered, and this is where Liothidia comes into play.

The plan put forth by Prime Minister Whittaker, while bold, is also brilliant. Both Rietumimark and Liothidia are dangerous rogue states, and both of them are opposed to each other politically and ideologically. Should the two of them come to engage one another militarily, both would be weakened by the ensuing conflict, and also importantly, Rietumimark’s military assets would be divided between two fronts. With Liothidia in the east and our own Allied forces in the west, the liberation of South Deweden suddenly becomes much more feasible, and could be accomplished at a far lesser loss of life than could be achieved otherwise.

I very much believe that a peaceful resolution to the conflict in Deweden can be achieved diplomatically, and my government is committed to exhausting that possibility before the use of force is applied against Rietumimark. Having said that, I believe it is important that we prepare for the very real possibility of war. In the course of that preparation, must explore ways to maximize our odds of success. The plan put forth by Prime Minister Whittaker gives us the greatest chance of victory, in the event of war.

I shall encourage my colleagues to consider this carefully, and hopefully come to understand the wisdom of this proposal.

Sincerely,

Prime Minister of Ghant

---

Prime Minister of Ghant
Nymun Izarbegiratzeak

---

To: NATA Council, Council of the Belisarian Community
CC: Romulus Vibius, on behalf of Constantine XX, Emperor of the Latins, Emperor Nathan IV of Ghant, Empress Sophia of Ghant
From: Nymun Izarbegiratzeak, Prime Minister of Ghant
Subject: Meeting Site and Election Supervision
Encryption: High
Delivery Method: Hand-delivered by diplomatic courier in sealed pouch, Eyes-Only

---

To whom it may concern,

The Government of Ghant is in agreement with Ser Vibius that a neutral, unaligned nation should play host to such a meeting with the Rietumish as the one that has been proposed. To this end, I believe that Sydalon is an ideal location, as it is not in Belisaria, nor is that nation in the Allied Coalition, nor is it a member state of either NATA or the BC. I implore my colleagues to support this proposal.

Additionally, I would like to suggest that representatives of Sydalon be involved in the possible supervision of local elections or referenda held in South Deweden regarding their future status. I do not believe that the Rietumish would accept inspectors from either NATA or the BC, due to the inevitable perception of conflict of interests. Provided, of course, that the Sydalese crown considers such an arrangement acceptable.

Sincerely,

Prime Minister of Ghant

---

Prime Minister of Ghant
Nymun Izarbegiratzeak

---

To: NATA Council, Council of the Belisarian Community
CC: Nathan IV of Ghant, Empress Sophia of Ghant, Annabelle XIII of Deweden
From: Nymun Izarbegiratzeak, Prime Minister of Ghant
Subject: Sanctions
Encryption: High
Delivery Method: Hand-delivered by diplomatic courier in sealed pouch, Eyes-Only

---

To whom it may concern,

I echo the sentiment of the young Queen of Deweden, that we must hope that the Rietumish will see the light of reason and choose the path of wisdom in order to achieve a lasting peace in Belisaria. However, while we should hope for the best, we must also prepare for the worst. So far the governments of the Allied Coalition have done an outstanding job in that regard.

As the Dewedish First Minister has indicated, sanctions against the rogue regime have been implemented as a means of applying both political and economic pressure upon Rietumimark. The Ghantish government has had such sanctions in place for years now, and like our Dewedish allies, the Government of Ghant would like to formally encourage our Allies to adopt similar measures.

It is my personal hope that our allies will join us in sanctioning Rietumimark and encouraging the rest of the world to do the same.

Sincerely,

Prime Minister of Ghant

[Rietumimark]

“Starl's Gamble”

Kralin, Deweden
Nessa Square
Orange, a sea of it, washed over Starl’s field of vision for as far as the eye could. Pro-Starl campaign signs, Dewedish flags, and people...people in the colour of the Dewedish National Party shouted Starl’s name over and over. “Starl for Prime Minister! Starl for Prime Minister!” It was a rush, a high far greater than drug or drop of alcohol could procide. Starl couldn't believe that he was losing, not with this crowd before him. A huge throng of people out to show their support for him...to show their love for him; no so-called poll could ever discredit that. Starl walked across the stage, waving both of his hands and smiling as the seemingly endless throng of supporters before his very.

“Thank you...thank you,” Starl began pretentiously to his adoring crowd, yelling and cooing from the mob continuing to reverberate across the park. “Thank you all for coming out and showing your support for me...no, for us and our movement in such trying times for our country...our beautiful motherland. The Dewedish National Party is facing its greatest challenge yet, our country is under threat from liberal cucks and radical Riets who seek the Dewedish people’s utter destruction.

“My opponent Thora offers no real solutions...no real plan to end the current crisis in South Deweden and liberate the people of occupied-Deweden from the poisonous yoke of the Riets!” Starl proudly proclaimed to racious applauds from his capitated audience. “Never again will the Riets threaten our motherland with me in the position of Prime Minister. Unlike Thora, whose comprising and weakness will result in the destruction of all of Deweden by the Riets hands - no matter how hard our brave allies in Ghant and NATA try to stop them. It is people like Thora who have allowed the slaughter of our brothers and sisters in Cærborg by the Riets in an airstrike only a few days ago - wiping out dozens of Dewedish heroes”

The crowds’ collective booing was almost deafening and Starl ate it all up for a minute; soaking in every moment. “Please...please!” Starl shouted over the crowds’ angry booing and seething, unintelligible reprimands of Starl’s opponents. “I understand that you are angry, I can feel your rage at those who are really responsible for the crises gripping our proud nation; wealthy liberal elitists and out of touch aristocrats who will lead Deweden off the precipice to its annihilation. It is such people who shall lead Deweden to ruin...whose shortsightedness will result in nothing but further chaos and death for the Dewedish people.”

The vexation of the crowd reached fever pitch, a cacophony of heckling and hissing deafening Starl as he closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and submerged himself in the rageful congregation of his supporters' energy. He loved it, absolutely treasuring moments such as this. “However, we can stop them, our movement can and will stop the rot of the country we love so dearly and bring about a new era of a stronger, far more powerful Deweden which those such as the Riets will tremble beneath our feet!” he proudly proclaimed, raising both of his hands above his head as if he was a Jesus Christ himself coming down save Deweden. “But I cannot do it alone, I need your help if we are going to win this election.

“You must go you and vote, get your husband or wife to vote, your brother or sister, mother or father, best friend or even senile grandparent who has never voted. Fuck, even get your secret lover which knows about to cast a vote for me.” Starl said to a reception of laughs from the crowd. “I cannot in implore you enough, vote, vote, vote, and vote - you must get and vote if we are to win this election and save our country’s future from spineless, goodie two shoes liberals who lack the backbone to stand up to Riets! So vote, vote, vote!

“This election will shape Deweden for the next decade and have profound consequences for generations of Dewedish to come. Due to we really want a future Deweden where our fundamental character has been corrupted by the evil forces of Catholicism and the erosion of our very culture through a lack of national spirit and acceptance of multiculturalism.” Starl said, pausing for a moment to let that sink in before adding: “If you want to stop that, please vote and end the cultural genocide of our people and reclaim the national revival of Deweden under a strong, national leader; the person to do such a job is me. I am the only person for the job of Prime Minister and will lead to the reunification of Deweden.”

Starl followed the well-tested template of campaign rallies such this, pacing up and down the stage, telling what his supporters wanted to hear, exaggerating their fears and insecurities while belittling their achievements just enough to make them believe that Starl was the only man save Deweden and themselves from themselves. It was an acting role played he had so many times that it was second nature to him - he played it without thinking; knowing what to say, how to carry himself and play the crowd - as though he were a puppetmaster pulling their strings. He was a man who never touched narcotics, drank only on seldom - when circumstances required him to do so, and did his demandest to avoid the many women who would throw themselves on his lap for a brief moment of fame; but this was his only vice...his drug of choice. He was addicted to the rush of the campaign, the power it brought, and the love and adulation of the throngs of supporters.

The rally was approaching its natural end as the sun began to slowly disappear between the horizon and the crowd gradually started to thin as those looking to get ahead of traffic trickled off. It is time to bring out my dear Camilla Schulerud, Starl thought to himself as he finished his speech. “Now who is ready to finally see my better half!” Starl said with a loud roar from the crowd. “Camilla Schulerud my dear, please come out!”

From behind a huge cloud of stylised smoke, Camilla trotted out as she had so many times in the past back during her days as one of Ajax’s most sought-after catwalk model; freely brandishing her famous smile which had been plastered over so many influential magazines. Against the sunlight-deprived pale skins of her Dewedish audience, she looked especially pure Afro-Scipian rather being of mixed Dewedish-Afro-Scipian descent. She smiled and waved at the crowd, slowly sauntered over toward her partner Alexander Starl and accepted the microphone from him.

“Thank you, thank you all for coming out showing your support the only candidate worthy of the Premiership, my man and the leader of Deweden for all these years; Alexander Starl!” she said to a wave of applauds from the crowd. “But first I want to for each and every one of you to pat yourselves on the back and applaud yourself for coming out and showing support for Deweden’s next Prime Minister. For without people like yourself, we would have never gotten so far in reinvigorating the Dewedish culture and people to heights we haven’t seen in a great many years.”

Camilla paused in the middle of the speech and gave Starl a ‘spontaneous’ kiss, just as they had practised several hours prior. The crowd ate it up and applauded. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry...it’s just when I’m around...I sometimes can’t help myself.” Camilla said to some chuckles from the crowd. The dumb fucks always fall for such dramatics. “But please, on election day, cast your ballot for Starl; the only man capable of changing things in Deweden for the better.”

Navigating his way through the crowd like a fisher traversing turbulent seas, a youth in his late teens pushed and shove dhis way to the very edge of the crowd, at its border with the police barricades. He couldn’t have more seemed it place, kitted out in pro-Starl clothes and a Dewedish Nationalist Party winter jacket and hat. As cool as a cucumber, the young man a pulled out a Ruger LC9 and squeezed the trigger twice at Starl. The first bullet struck Starl in the centre chest, getting lodged in Starl bulletproof vest underneath his suit; causing him to let out a pathetic groan as he fell to the floor. The second was far less accurate and found its way to one of the walls behind Starl.

The police response was swift, as it was brutal. Amidst the chaos of the panicked crowd, a sniper’s bullet from well outside of sight - about half a click from the rally - struck the gunman once to the heart; killing him instantly. Immediately, the rally’s security, police, and members of Starl’s personal bodyguard swept into the vicinity of the shootings; forming a human shield over and evacuating Starl over toward a line of black SUVs waiting for him at one of the rally’s entrances. This barreled its way straight to Starl's private residence in the centre of Kralin with a police escort. Whilst this happened, police moved briskly to clear the area of all and any civilians.

The next couple hours flew by in a blur for Starl, the poking and prodding, scans by anxious doctors before being given the go-ahead to leave and go home. Starl eventually found himself lounging around in his study, gently sipping his way through a glass of whisky and staring absentmindedly at the empty fireplace; the previous hour's events flashing through his head. I almost died, Starl thought to himself over and over again, gently touching the bruise from where the bullet had struck. I could have died…

Camila strolled into the room nonchalantly with an extra kick in her step, holding the residence’s landline close to her chest. She looked at Starl with melancholy, yet beneath her facade, Starl could tell that she was secretly enjoying the latter stages of the day's events; especially all the attention she’d been getting in the media. Fucking media whore. “Starl, my dear…” she said softly, using her kind, yet sexy voice she often employed to get what she wants. “The Queen wants to talk to you following the shooting, to see if you’re alright and discuss Dewedish government’s reaction to the attempt on your life.”

“I could have died today,” Starl mumbled to himself as he stared into space; barely coherent and keeping himself together. He abruptly placed both of his hands on his chest where he’d been shot; even with the soft cushioning of a bandage covering the bruise and powerful painkillers surging through his veins it was still painful to the touch. Starl looked hazily at Camila. “I don’t think I will be able to care this election, my dear. I don’t think I will win this election...” Starl voice trailing off into a cocktail of self-pity.

“Please, you have turned far more tricky elections back into your favour,” Camila said with her famous smile on her face. She placed one of her hands on Starl’s shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly. “You are the king of the castle, the political master of this godforsaken country, the Caesar if you will of Deweden. There’s nothing that will stop you winning the election and securing your place as the true overlord of Deweden, my love. For that, I know.”

“You just don’t understand,” Starl yelled out, flailing his arms around, above his head in the air. He shook his head several times over dismissively and began to pace anxiously back and forth. “I need to think, I just need some time to think...yes, that’s what I need.” He felt his mind suddenly race as a million thoughts flashed through his mind. “Please, can you go and tell the silly little Gentry whore Queen that I’m resting and I’ll be able to talk and deal with her then.”

“If that is what you think is best, I’ll make sure to inform her Serene Highness that you need more time to recuperate following what happened,” Camilla said rather breathlessly, already glancing at the phone still being held against her chest. “Anything else you need me to do, my love?” she said half hoping that he would say no and she could go back playing Prime Minister.

“Yes, could you tell the Director of the Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service to meet me here, there’s something I need to ask of him…” Starl’s voice again trialled off into his own thoughts. “And that would be all, thank you very much.” Camila’s reply was a brisk nod and promptly walked out of the room. Finally, some peace and quiet...

Starl’s incessant pacing continued without reprieve; sending nervous glancing at the door for which the director would arrive. He took the unfolding the moments to think, to plot his next move in the elaborate game of chess he played with those around him. How should I play this...what should my next move be, he thought to himself, his pacing becoming ever increasing frantic. Then it struck him, as though a light bulb went off in his head. It was risky, but if he played his cards right, his plan just might what he needed to turn his political fortunes around save face.

Through the door entrance, the imposing Director of the Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service entered the room, saluting Starl, and making himself comfortable in one of the leather seats in the room. The director, a retired GIA agent and decades old friend of Starl after he opted to go private sector and join Starl Industries as the head of security, handed Starl a vanilla file. “Everything we have on the little shit that tried to kill you, sir.” the director said coarsely.

Starl glimpsed at the file the briefly with an ora of casualness to him before placing it on a side table after fighting back a sudden surge of a panic attack. “If you don’t mind…” Starl mumbled, before repeating himself. “If you don’t mind...old friend, could you just give me a brief rundown on what I need to know.” He flashed the pretence of a smile. “I’m still not feeling that up to it after everything that happened.”

“No, of course, sir. I wasn’t thinking and I don’t know what came over me,” the director said both apologetically and obsequiously. The director withdrew his glasses and the vanilla folder from the side table before he began to speak. “The perpetrator of this horrible crime was Ivan Stenger - a nineteen-year-old half Dewedish, half Rietumish Kralin resident who was born in Rietumish occupied Deweden. The youngest of three children and a dropout; it is believed that he has been making ends meet working as a migrant labourer in the timber industry in the Allamunnic States. More recently, he worked as a fisherman under a six-month work visa in Norday, but only stayed in the country for two months after failing to find consistent work.

“His father Kaj, to the best of our intelligence capabilities, was a collaborator within the occupation government and died during the Great Dewedish War of National Patriotic Resistance in the Riets’ service. His mother, Laura, with whom he lives with, presently resides in a poor, high crime estate in northern Kralin and has relied on government handouts to survive for the past few years.” he paused and flipped to the next page, skimming through quickly before continuing: “Ah yes, his eldest sister Gunna, has been red flagged for associating with radical Dewedish ultranationalist groups with ties to the criminal networks. She was serving a nine sentence in the Allamunnic States for drug trafficking but died in a prison brawl. Ivan’s elder brother Jonas is a drug addict whose been done repeatedly for offences relating to drugs, petty theft, and prostitution…” the director stopped in mid-sentence and wrinkled his face at what he saw next. “The cockroach is serving a twenty-six-year prison sentence for statutory rape after being ‘paid’ to perform oral sex on an underage female.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Starl said with a wave of his hand. “I can get the general idea about what the shitbag who tried to kill me was into - the little shit,” he couldn’t help himself but quickly add. “Does he have enough affiliation or connection to the Rietumish government or their intelligence arms,” Please do - “Or those damn Liothidians, are they behind this attack...I bet they are.”

“It is way too soon to say, sir.” the director said hoping to contain Starl eagerness to blame it on one of Deweden’s and the Allied Coalition’s enemies. “I doubt the Liothidian orchestrated this attack, not after their communiqué stating their willingness to work with us against Rietumimark. Furthermore, we have yet to find any concert evidence that he held any vanguardian communalist or militant republican views. To the contrary, it would seem that Ivan was a harden monarchist and religious nut. On his social media, he has made frequent posts about his desire ethnoreligious ultranationalistic to turn Deweden theocratic absolute monarchy. The whole assassination attempt was, probably, part of his plan to advance his delusional dreams”.

“But is it still possible for the those damn Riets be still behind the attack, only a few days ago they almost completely wiped out the Dewedish separatist leadership attending a meeting a Cærborg in an airstrike. They just have to be the ones to have organised this attempt on my life...my fucking life!” Starl shouted impassionately at the director, having to catch himself as he nearly rose completely to his feet. “Is there any way we could make it seem like the Riets coordinated with that Ivan shitbag to take my life?”

“I do not understand what you’re trying force here, sir?” the director said with confusion in his voice, cocking an eyebrow. “While of course, it is possible, it just doesn’t fit with Ivan’s profile that he would work together with the Rietumish government to try and kill you, not when the only people he hated more than you, are the Riets. I just can’t see how you could successfully convince other foreign intelligence agency that Ivan worked with the Ri-.”

Starl cut the director off abruptly. “But there is still a chance that he’s an agent for the Riets, right?” Starl said eagerly, leaning inquiringly towards the director. “This Ivan character is too politically valuable to be wasted, not when I can use him for a purpose!”

“Your own purposes, what are you getting at, sir?” the director asked with a degree of concern. Starl looked less like the controlled master strategists which had dominated Dewedish politics for nearly a decade and more like a crazed wild animal preparing itself for the kill. “You must excuse, but can you please be blunt on what possibly this Ivan scumbag’s political valuableness is exactly?”

Starl smirked and leaned close in. “I want you...no, I’m ordering you to name Ivan to be an agent of Rietumish imperialism and erase any evidence to the contrary,” Starl said in a malevolent hush. “Do you remember that backup plan we talked about a while back, during the beginning of the election?” The director nodded and looked even more concerned about Starl’s mental state than ever before. “I’m ordering to active the operation, right now.”

“But, sir!” the director protested meagerly. “I don’t think that is a go idea. I still have contacts with the GIA and Ghantish government; they are expressing doubts about your ability lead Deweden. There’s been talk about the Ghantish taking actions to possibly coherence you to be more on board with their objectives in Deweden. If they find out about this, not only would you be facing potential charges of treason, but take actions to remove you from power.”

“Remove me from power!” Starl said with a huge laugh. “They wouldn't dare to get rid of me, the man who built this country up from nothing, who turned it from a backwater to a sizable economic power - with no help from no Ghantar or those Gentries in their golden palace. Without me, Deweden would be nothing. Now follow my orders like a good soldier or I’ll get someone else to do it.”

The director was about to launch another protest and was preparing a counter-argument in his head when Starl shot a malice glare at him and he knew that Starl wasn’t going to back down and that the only thing he could do was do what he had been ordered. “Certainly, I’ll do my best to make all the necessary arrangements in such short notice.” the director said as he stood up and made his way to the door, but right before he left - the director turned to Starl and added: “I’ll spare you the details, but I can tell you this; Erna Thora will be dead in the next twelve hours.” He then promptly left the room in disgust.

[Rietumimark]

“A Traitor Named Claus”

Kralin, Deweden
Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park
“Hello, and thank you for listening to DBC Radio at midnight on this lovely December 7th, 2017. I am Majken Rask and these our Deweden’s top stories. The Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service released the name of the assailant who made an attempt on Starl's life at a Dewedish National Party political rally earlier today as nineteen-year-old Ivan Stenger. A source close to the investigation confirmed to DBC reporters that they suspect Ivan may have been in contact and was ordered to by the Rietumish government to carry out this heinous attack on Dewedish democracy.

“In spite of the recent assassination attempt made on Prime Minister Starl’s earlier today, a spokeswoman for Erna Thorna - the leader of the Liberal Party - has announced that a preplanned rally at Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park will go ahead as planned as a show of resistance in the face of terrorism following the terrifying events.” a soft speaking female radio said. “The Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service have released a statement saying that there remains no known active terror plot against the rally, but will, along with Kralin metropolis police and the Ministry of Defence, be taking extraordinary measures to ensure the safety and security of the estimated 33,000 people who are expected to turn up.

“Elsewhere, the Dewedish Separatists have announced the formation of an united ‘operations room’ to defend Cærborg the from the Rietumish occupation government despite over a week of violence clashes between rival factions in the city following the assassinations of many of the Dewedish Separatist Movements leadership earlier last week in an airstrike; which is believed to have killed at least twenty people and left dozens more wounded. It remains to be seen whet-”

The driver of a Liothidian built Mercedes-Benz Sprinter flipped the radio channel to death metal and rolled down the passenger side window. It was a freezing late autumn night, the streets were deserted couserty of curfew which was in effect until six in the morning; the only vehicles accompanying the van being emergency services which were on high alert following the shooting at Starl’s rally. To the casual observer, the van’s driver may have looked strange or completely out of place with his short sleeve shirt and general lack of winter clothing appropriate for the weather, yet for someone who had been training with Ghantish troops in winter warfare in the far Ghantish north, the temperature felt positively balmy.

The van’s built electric clock ticked past just after 12:02 in the morning when it drove north across the Queen Alara’s Bridge to Marty’s Square and turning right, toward the Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park building - which was abuzz with activity - special from Dewedish security agencies - in anticipation for Erna Thorna’s upcoming campaign rally as the Dewedish election reached the home stretch. Got here much faster than I was previously expecting, the van’s lone occupant thought to himself smuggly, slowly reducing the speed of his vehicle as he approached a checkpoint.

The white van stopped at a checkpoint for a group of guards - members of the 1st Queen of Deweden's Royal Infantry Brigade - he recognised by their uniforms - probably tasked with providing additional security the event. The checkpoint was directly in front of Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park administration building and about hundred metres to the service entrance to the structure.

“What are you delivering today, brother?” asked by the 1st Queen of Deweden's Royal Infantry Brigade captain who was in charge of the checkpoint as he approached the vehicle, collar raised to ward off the cold arctic wind; reluctantly pulling off his gloves. “It does seem a bit late to be delivering shit, especially after what happened earlier today.”

“You know how these out of touch elite are, always wanting everything to perfect to show off,” the driver, a secret Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service operative said, laughing off the captain’s latter inquiry as he handed over his paperwork before the captain could ask for them. “I’m here to deliver and install some new stereos for the rally, after something about the old ones being broken at the last minute. I don't mind letting you expect them to you if your want?"

The captain’s eyes were unmoving as he assiduously looked through their papers - checking if they were in order, before sighing, and handing the driver’s papers back to him. “Okay, I guess so,” the captain replied, quickly regretting talking himself into more work. “Your papers are all in order, by the way... so you don’t have to show me whatever is in the back.” he said, trying to get out of it.

“No, I insist. I couldn’t live with myself if you got in trouble because of me.” the driver said as he climbed out his lorry and walked around to the back of it. “I am Claus, by-the-way.” Claus added, extending a hand to shake the captain’s hand before opening back of the lorry to reveal two large boxes containing the aforementioned stereos, accompanied by a smaller box of spare parts.

“I’m Bjarne,” captain said nonchalantly as he peaked inside the lorry. “The stereos are from...Arthurista of all places?" Bjarne captain asked in slight shock. He had stationed on guard duty for Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park for two months and had never seen anything from Arthuristan being delivered to the park; something to due with Allamunnic and Ghantish products being cheaper for the cash strapped administrative staff.

“Believe it or not,” Claus smirked, “But those Arthuristan built stereos are some of the finest you can find in all of Ajax!” Claus let out a loud snigger and put a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “I’ll be surprised what the elites have people me deliver; you know how our politicians love to live luxuriously and cleanness similar to that of the palaces of the Gentries!” joked the driver, laughing heavily at his own joke while Bjarne forced a laugh.

“Could you open the box containing the spare hardware parts and another holding a stereo,” asked the captain apathetically, seemingly disinterested in continuing the conversation with Claus. “So we can get this over with. I’m freezing my fucking balls off standing out here, bloody arctic cold front.” Only then did Bjarne notice Claus’s sparse summer holiday in southern Belisaria type clothing. He cocked a suspicious eyebrow and fought off his desire to ask about Claus’s fashion sense.

“Of course, brother. I will open it for ya.” Claus said smiling as he when about opening one of the boxes. He ripped off the duct tape and cooly gestured for Bjarne to glimpse inside. “If you would look, brother, everything inside is what you would expect from a delivery of a stereo for the rally.” Claus to continued smile, which evolved into a smirk. “Even the toughest machines break and the replacement parts, you see, is to prevent someone like me having to deliver another stereo a year or two from now.”

Bjarne couldn’t put his finger on it, but something felt off...Claus felt off. He turned his attention first to the box containing the separate parts before moving on to the opened box with the stereo inside. There was something off about the stereo...but the captain couldn't but his finger on it. He methodically looked around the interior of the van, searching for anything suspicious; only to find nothing and lazily wrote it off as being paranoid.

“Well everything here appears to be in order,” Bjarne said with some relief, following Claus out of the back of the van and around to the front of the vehicle . “You’re free to go inside, along with your van.”

“Thank you brother,” Claus said without pause, striking out to shake Bjarne's hand firmly. “Thank you, very much.” Claus stared into Bjarne’s eyes with a disconcerting, malevolent look beneath it. With their papers in order, captain Bjarne waved through by the soldiers manning the checkpoint and begrudgingly ordered his men to help Claus unload the van; where they loaded everything onto a hand truck and wheeled it into the building's service elevator. From where they made way to the areas directly outside the stage where Thora would be making her campaign speech.

Once the stereos on the staged had been replaced and the stage was clear for a brief moment of any security personal, Claus carefully went about rigging the stereos with sticks of C4 hidden inside connected to a timer without gloves. There’s enough C4 in here to level the stage...should be enough to remove that bitch, he thought to himself, always cautious of potential prying eyes.

All done, Claus checked his watch. Half past twelve in the morning, I am making good time. With everything in place, he left the same way he came in; easily passing through the same security checkpoint without a problem. As the clock struck eight, while Thora was practicing for one of the most important political engages of her life, an explosion ripped through Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park, killing Erna Thorna and many of her senior staff and campaign the members.

---

Times of Kralin

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BREAKING NEWS: Bomb Blast Rips Through the Heart of Kralin; Erna Thorna Dead

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Armed police on the streets of Kralin respond after reports of an explosion at Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park.

By Caroline Fisker
^{@Caroline_Fisker}
Published: Dec.7 2017

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KRALIN, DEWEDEN - In a sudden turn of events, just hours after an attempt was made of Prime Minister Starl's life, a bomb has ripped through Kingdom of Deweden’s Queen Alara Park where Starl's political opponent Erna Thorna was posed to make a campaign stop despite warnings to the contrary by the Dewedish security establishment. According to a spokesman for the Liberal Party, Erna Thorna and all many of her senior staff and campaign the members were killed by the blast.

Prime Minister Starl has ordered the Royal Dewedeni Land Force units in garrisoned near Kralin to move into the capital to secure the city from further terrorist attacks and enforce martial law for the foreseeable future. In addition, the Prime Minister's office has also declared an indefinite suspension of the 2018 Dewedish election poised to take place next January until those who carried out the attack are 'brought to justice.' Heidi Tovegaard, the leader of the National Front, issued a statement offering her condolences to the families of the victims of the attack and called on the Dewedish government to bring those responsible to justice. Similar statements were issued by the Royal Family and other major Dewedish public figures.

The assassination of Thorna comes after the political situation for Alexander Starl’s reelection campaign seemed dommed following his former Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Health, Pia Kjærsgaard, resigning from both positions in the most theatric way during this assembly of Parliament earlier this week; which significant hurt Starls' already records low approval rating.

“250 thousand Dewedish lost their lives during the Dewedish War for Independence from the foreign occupation government which carried out assassination like this all the time,” Starl said during an emergency press conference. “It is days like this remind us how fortunate we are to be free of the yoke of Rietumish tyranny and how attacks on our democracy like this are akin to returning to the foreign occupiers rule by de-facto would be splitting in each, and every one of their faces. It is the time the Dewedish people make a stand against the evil imperialist government in Rietumimark and its ally in Estoni, and prove to them that we will never be subjugated by them ever again. I promise that those responsible will be brought to justice.”

The assassination of Thorna makes her the highest profile political to be murdered since the 2013 Central Kralin Car Bombing which killed the then Minister of Defence and her family, along with killed 120 people and wounded scores more. No one has claimed responsibility for the terrorist attack nor has the government named any suspected groups.

We will continue to update you on the situation as it progresses.
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[Rietumimark]

“Operation Midnight Hour”

9 December 2017
Kralin, Deweden
Brightamborg Palace
(Co-written with Ghant)
A dark grey sky loomed ahead, brooding and menacing as the major storm system began to gradually pass through Kralin. A few rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds, casting some, though not a lot of light upon the city. In many parts, the sound of dripping water echoed through the streets, merging with the shouts and screams of a growing number anti-Starl protesters lining the streets of Kralin to make their voices heard in such important and tense times as these. For the Dewedish people demanded the end of the state of emergency put in place two days ago, shortly after Erna Thora’s assassination. The demonstrations were tightly mirrored by Kralin Police Department officers and agents belonging to the feared Dewedish Security Service - clad in riot gear and more than willing to detained any agitators among the crowd. Occasionally, the sound of tear gas being deployed or the cacophony of general disorder filled the air; although it was sporadic and was quickly quashed by police.

From the balcony of Brightamborg Palace’s third floor, the Queen of one the world’s smallest nations - both in terms of population and economic power - gazed upon the lines and lines of protesters absentmindedly. Her nation was the focal point of a major regional crisis and she could feel the pressure and anxious energy in the air - which clung to her being and pressed its way into her thoughts. Her long lanuginous hair was tied neatly into a ponytail as she stared blankly at the skyline before her. She fiddled with the end of her hair, subconsciously comforting herself and releasing the anxiety and pressure that was being forced upon her. It was during times like these, she’d wish with all her being that tragedy didn’t hover around the Volund Dynasty like moisture on a humid day. Only if she could seek the guidance and wisdom of her mother and grandmother - like so many girls her age do on a regular basis…

Yet, to have such a luxury cruelly snatched away from her at far too young an age felt like a catastrophe for Annabelle...for which no adjective could adequately describe. How her world might be so much different had the Volund Dynasty matriarchs not died so young in such a short period of time; just eight years apart. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what life would have been like had her mother and grandmother were still alive. Perhaps she would have never married a man who she’d loved more than any other person she had met in her life, a man who inflicted more pain, in the shortest period of time, upon her than any other person in the world could ever hope to do. That bastard stabbed her in the back...betrayed and humiliated her for the entire world to see. Just getting up and walking away without even attempting to work their relationship problems.

How could I have been so blindsided? After the story broke of the affair with Starl’s daughter, her ex-husband just left her without saying word...lacking the common decency to even tell her he was filing a divorce. He left her to find out along with the rest of the world when he publicly announced it after more details of the affair slowly trickled out into the media. That bastard is probably nonchalantly slipping tequila while relaxing on an ethereal beach in Oxidentale with his whore; destitute of a care or concern in the world...

Her mind wandered to her dear grandmother, how angry she was at them for leaving her...abandoning her and her sisters to fend for themselves during such trying times. Part of her blamed them, hated them for forcing on her the overwhelming responsibility of leading her people at a point in which at any moment, hordes of Rietumish tanks could come pouring across the border, committing an untold among of atrocities against the Dewedish people. Where was my choice in the matter? she would often ask herself in her darkest moments. Perhaps, with her grandmother's guidance, she would have seen her ex-husband for what he truly was; a cheating pig. Alara had always been a good reader of people and situations as far back as Annabelle could remember. As a mere girl, she always wondered how old Alara somehow always knew how to root out the bad apples…for there were often many of them. And yet she abandoned me, snatched away at far too young an age. It was a grandmother job...prerogative to guide and protect her descents in the good times and the bad. So why did you have to go…

Annabelle thought of her dear mother, recalling a smiling, carefree and full of life woman. That was the picture in Annabelle’s head, and it was everything she had wanted to be when Annabelle was growing up as a child. Yet she left me as well. No matter how much she loved her mother and grandmother, part of her selfishly blamed them for their untimely demise..hated them for it; for if they were alive, she wouldn’t be the one responsible for the lives of millions of people hanging in the balance in South Deweden. Why couldn’t they have stayed, don’t they know I need them?

She often tried to bury such thoughts, saturating herself with a seemingly endless mountain of work. It was a welcome distraction from all the pressure she constantly felt and lingering feelings of betrayal from her divorce earlier in the year. Only if either of them were still alive, her mind couldn’t help but wonder as she stared out at the Kralin skyline - a city abuzz with life. She forced her eyes shut and clenched her face as hard as she could. Please God, give me a sign, any sign, that I am on the right path and doing the right thing. Please God, give me the strength to continue live.

There were three knocks at the door and Annabelle’s lady-in-waiting - Lady Bente Signy - strolled inside; bringing Annabelle abruptly out of her internal monologue. Bente - like Annabelle, shared a troubled look to her and Annabelle knew why. Bente’s fiancé, the son of a Countess, had recently completed basic training and was now serving with the 3rd Queen Nessa I’s Mountain Brigade; which was stationed directly on the Dewedish-Rietumish border. If things got hot between the Coalition and the Riets, he would be the first to know in the form of Rietumish artillery shells. “Your Serene Highness, the car you asked for is ready,” Bente said briskly.

“Thank you very much, Bente. I will be right down.” Annabelle with a soft, subdued tone to her voice. “Could you please inform the driver I’ll be down in a minute.” Bente didn’t say another word and silently extricated herself from the room; leaving Annabelle alone yet again. Having previously undone her ponytail, she grasped a fist of hair and tied it into a new ponytail, as well as making last minute adjustments to her makeup. With her facade of strength to the outside world in place, she made her way through Brightamborg palace to its underground garage, where a single black SUV with tinted windows was waiting for her. She promptly jumped inside, the vehicle speeding away. She couldn’t help what might happen next.

The past few days had both been confusing and exhilarating at the same time. Through informal communication networks well outside formal Dewedish government channels, she had been in extensive contact with her famous great-uncle Prince Abelard of Ghant and Deweden; who had been giving her vague instructions over recent days which day something to do with an operation referred to as midnight. Despite Annabelle’s incessant inquiries for greater information; all her great-uncle said was that Ghant would be actively moving to make the situation more favourable for the ultimate goal of Dewedish reunification. Perhaps this is finally it, all the anticipation of the invasion of occupied-South Deweden is to finally begin.

Her vehicle slowly left built up high rises of central Kralin for the more rural outskirts as it headed for an unknown final destination. Annabelle stared out the window, carefully watching the landscape change beyond and making several failed attempts to get the deadpan driver to spill the beans on where they were headed. Yes, this is definitely it. The war starts tomorrow.

After about two hours of driving, they had finally arrived at their destination; a large manor which Annabelle vaguely recognised to have been gifted to Prince Abelard by her grandmother not long after the restoration of the monarchy. If you ask me, one of his daughters or granddaughters could have received a Dewedish noble title of Countess. Of course, as she recalled, fairness rarely played a role in politics and strong opposition by many Dewedish nobles who feared that giving a descent Abelard a title would lessen their own influence, as Alara had already been forced to grant smaller estates to the nobility of Deweden. But I will change that once South Deweden is liberated and those traitors will be forced to concede. Or at least, that is what she hoped.

Her car pulled up at the entrance and the driver briskly hopped out of the car and open the door for his queen. “Thank you,” Annabelle said as she stepped out of the car. Awaiting her were two guards who escorted her inside the large mansion. Inside, Annabelle was led to what had once been the building’s grand dining hall for hosting dinner parties, now converted to an ad hoc conference room for those assembled. As she was led to her place at the head of the table, she recognised several faces including the former Deputy Prime Minister Pia Kjærsgaard and several other of her allies that resigned earlier in the month; Dewedish Foreign Minister Sonja Svanhild who’d repeatedly clashed with Starl over the Prime Minister’s impatient and militaristic impulses over South Deweden; Alexandria Stampe, the CEO of Deweden’s largest bank - the Kralinbanke - and vocal opponent of Starl’s; and finally Dorothea, Duchess of Furgslevik, accompanied with a number of other powerful and predominant nobles, especially within their respective spheres of influence. They were talking in faint murmurs to each other, probably asking one another what they had been assembled for. They know nothing...like me. Whatever we are here for, it must be big.

Annabelle turned and looked at her father, the King Dowager Ferdinand, who sat beside her and said: “Father, do you perhaps know why we have all been assembled here other than the vague wording of that it’s ‘extremely important and have to do with the political situation in Deweden?” she asked her father. “Surely you know what the hell is going on and what ‘midnight’ is?”

“I am not 100% certain what all this talk about something about ‘midnight is all about, my dear.” Ferdinand said with his firm, authoritative voice. “All I know is that it will change Deweden for the better and improve Deweden’s position in any future negotiations.” Very helpful. As her father finished what he was saying the volume level in the room, which previously seemed unaffected by the Queen’s presence, it died down completely as a group of Ghantar led by none other than Prince Abelard of Ghant and Deweden entered the room and the room’s collective eyes fell on him.

Prince Abelard led the small entourage, his tall black boots scuffling across the floor. He wore a lavish white naval uniform, complete with a long white cape that hung from golden pauldrons about his shoulders. His white jacket was divided by a golden sash that complimented his medals. Despite his age, he was still tall and dignified in appearance, with thin white hair and sagging blue eyes in a pleasant, yet stern face.

Just behind him and to the left was another old man, though quite older in appearance. His hair was thick and white as snow, and so too was his beard, which was tied into a braid. He had yellow eyes like a cat, and though they were bright, his guise was otherwise expressionless. Prince Horik of Thule he was, the young Queen’s great-great-uncle, and like any good Prince of Thule, wore a sealskin cloak that nearly matched the color of his hair.

The other man, walking to Abelard’s right, was a younger man than both, and clearly some intelligence agency goon, complete with the black suit, slicked back brown hair and distant blue eyes. He carried a briefcase, and very much looked like he was there for business. The three men rounded the table and took their seats, with Abelard between the other two, and their entourage standing behind them. The Ghantish intelligence officer produced his briefcase upon the table, and opened it, before passing a dossier to Prince Abelard.

The admiral-prince coughed into his hand as he took the files, and after briefly reading them, looked up to address those present. “Ladies and Gentlemen, honorable members of the government of this great though dogged country, a great peril lies before us,” he began, exhaling deeply after he spoke his first sentence. “All of the work that has been done in this country over the course of the past fifteen years is at risk of being undone. Not only from outside, but from within.”

“I was in Deweden during my mother’s brief reign as Abigail the First,” Abelard explained to those present. “I bore witness to the horrors of the collapse of that government. I was in Deweden again fifteen years ago. I saw the camps...I saw the death, I saw the destruction. The proudest day of my life was when my sister Alara entered this country as its queen and worked to restore the realm to rights. I was with her when she received the Ismos Peace Prize for her work in restoring peace, even as she was dying. On that day she received the award in Ghish, there were tears in her eyes, as there were in mine.”

Abelard drew a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket, and dabbed his eyes with it before continuing. “I remember when she lay dying, she called me to her, and the last thing she told me was to promise her, that I would protect her legacy and continue the work that she had done, but was unable to complete because of her cancer. I swore to my dying sister that I would, to the best of my ability. That promise stayed with me as I watched her funeral procession, and as I watched her children, and grandchildren, rule this country after her.”

The Prince glanced at Annabelle briefly, flashing a faint smile at her before going on with his speech. “In the many years since, I’ve sat back and watched as this country has grown, prospered and struggled. I’ve watched as many of Alara’s reforms were gradually undone by successive governments. I’ve watched as Alara’s humanitarian projects were diminished. I’ve watched as the Rietumish minority of Deweden, who Alara claimed were her subjects just as much as the Dewedish, were discriminated against and persecuted.”

Turning red, Abelard’s hands turned to fists upon the table, and a fury rose in his voice. “I’ve watched as Starl has opposed the Human Rights Commission at the expense of Ghantish economic and military support, and spat in the face of not only the greatest ally Deweden has ever had in Ghant, but also on the legacy of my sister. I’ve watched as Starl has made a mockery of this country and undermined at every effort the effort all those things that this country was built upon.”

“So as I sit here before you all this day,” Abelard said with purpose and poise, “I say that I’ve watched enough to know that I’ve had enough. Deweden’s allies have had enough, and the beleaguered people of this nation have had enough. The time has come for Starl to go, and with him the bloated, corrupt government that continually undermines the ultimate goal of reuniting North and South Deweden. I have struggled with this decision long and hard...I’ve lost many a night’s sleep over it. I do not want what I am about to propose, but it is what must be done, because I swore an oath to my dying sister, and with God as my witness, I shall uphold it.”

Casting away his papers, Abelard rose from his chair to stand before the rest, and with a voice loud and clear, he said, “with the support of the great generals of this country, we shall overthrow the government of Alexander Starl, and in its place, a military junta with me as it’s Premier shall replace it. Under this regime, we shall restore proper order and justice to Deweden and go about securing South Deweden once and for all, forever more. Once our realm is secure, we shall organize democratic elections for the good of all citizens of the realm, in their interests and with a clean slate.” Looking around the room, Abelard finished, “what say you?”

The room’s reaction was mixed, falling heavily on the general outlook of those assembled. For those who had battled Starl and cronies for months now over his foolhardy and often short-sighted policies; particular over the subject of the treatment of the Rietumish population which put their country in a bad position during negotiations over the ‘South Deweden situation.’ Foreign Minister Swanhild clapped especially enthusiastically after the Prince’s speech, as though she could finally see light at the end of the tunnel. However, those who accepted to come out of self-interest smirked smugly and applauded the news, already craving up a post-Starl balance of power their place within it inside of their heads. It never takes long for the vultures to start circling, even when the victim is not yet dead.

For Annabelle, she didn’t need her great uncle’s pitch to turn her against that thug Starl and relieved smile revealed her glee amidst her best attempts to remain deadpan. She felt her mind rush with possibilities about her country’s future and her place in it. “I can’t speak for the room, but I for one remain firmly in favour of what the Dewedish Prince has proposed,” Annabelle said referring to her great-uncle in more formal language for the meeting. “However, while Starl is certainly unpopular nowadays, I fear some people and government officials won’t see the coup in the same light as us and may resist; resulting in unnecessary bloodshed. Do you have anything we can use against Starl to turn popular opinion and lower level government official firmly against him?”

The Ghantish intelligence officer responded to that inquiry. “Starl by all accounts has become increasingly paranoid about his position. He can feel the walls closing in around him. Like a cornered animal, he may...lash out in self-defense. When he does, public favor shall swing against him decidedly. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to use the state police to harass or even...assassinate someone that he sees as a threat to his power.”

Annabelle nodded in acknowledgement at what the Ghantish intelligence officer had said but still remained apprehensive about swinging public support in the Junta’s favour. Arresting Starl will be easy, getting his significant base of support to turn on their figurehead will be the hard part. For her, decisively winning the backing of the overwhelming portion of the population will ensure the Junta’s victory or defeat. “I’m certain we’ll find something illegal Starl has been doing while in office, such as his awful record with human right violations or history with corruption…” her voice trailing off as a thought struck her. “The bombing which killed Starl’s main electoral rival, Erna Thora...we should look into that after Starl’s arrest. He’s kept a tight lid both on the investigation and has held me at arm's length regarding any details. Furthermore, what I have seen indicates that there are conflicting reports on everything from how the assailant obtained the explosives to he or she motives behind the attack.”

“Excellent points and one I can help with,” a self-congratulatory and pompous Pia said piped up, smirking to herself. No doubt, plotting her way into becoming an important part of the Junta’s future government. “I have former colleagues, close confidants who still reside in Starl’s Dewedish Nationalist Party and who could prove useful in our forthcoming endeavours in finding dirt on Starl we can use against him. I’m certain in finding volunteers won’t be difficult once they realise how the tables have turned,” said Pia before shifting the conversation toward her true agenda in attending the meeting. “You mentioned organising elections, at what time are we looking at before the election would be held?”

“...I suppose that depends on how well everything goes,” answered Abelard candidly. “One thing I’d like to make clear is that what I’m proposing would help restore Deweden to my late sister’s vision for the country...Starl is taking Deweden further and further from that.” Shifting slightly in his chair, Abelard grimaced, as though even he understood the magnitude of what he was proposing. “I think that the people of this country understand that, and will resonate with the junta so long as it is benevolent and works in the best interests of the people.”

The room went silent as they fully took in what Abelard was hinting at. Some of the occupants in the room looked taken aback and looked completely surprised at the mere thought of Abelard’s suggestion, while among the more accomplished political operatives or those with training with the intelligence service - cracks in their masks inscrutable indicating that few, if any, had predicted this. “If the Junta does indeed remain true to the founding ideals in which Alara, God rest her soul, first set out for our nation, than I think I can speak for almost everyone in saying that you will not have any opposition from us,” Pia said to several nods in agreement from the Dewedish in the room, clearly not sharing Annabelle’s own nervousness about a single person having such unrival domestic power - absolute power corrupts, her grandmother’s ominous words ringing around in her head. “Nevertheless, to quell a potential dissent, I should have an important position in the government...Minister of Defence maybe?”

“...Obviously, there’s a great deal to consider and I’ve never been one to count my chickens before they roost,” answered Abelard carefully while scratching the underside of his chin. “I think that the military commanders would agree that competent persons with political acumen should be tasked to carry out the administrative affairs of government. Considering that, I wouldn’t rule you out, or anyone else in this room. We’re all here because we’re already on the same page, and willing to assume the risk. Where there’s great risk, there’s also great reward.”

Pia listened attentively and nodded; hiding any disappointment she might have felt not of having secured an immediate position in the future government. “That’s very understandable,” still nodding as she spoke. “And agreeable to my persons...especially with all that is at stake for the Dewedish people and no matter your decision, I shall remain loyal to the government 100%.”

Alexandria Stampe, the affluent businesswoman and the head of the second largest bank in the entire country - Kralinbanke - spoke up next. “What will happen to Starl’s assets which he owns through Starl Industries and has a monopoly over several key sectors in the Dewedish economy?” she said resting the ends of her fingers against her mouth ponderingly. “Will such business be seized, and if so, would they be nationalised or auctioned off to bidders at a later date?”

“...Tell me, madam, how dependent upon foreign investment is the Dewedish economy?” Abelard asked Alexandria curiously. “And secondly, how badly did Deweden suffer economically over the HRC debacle? Starl is bad for business, and the lost of Ghantish investment had to have been strong enough that you felt convinced to be here in person.” Leaning forward over the table, the Admiral-Prince exchanged shifting glances amongst those present. “Starl Industries is just that...an industry. Industries are dependent upon investment, and make no mistake, the economic ties between Ghant and Deweden are such that if Ghantish investors scale back, it gets noticed here. I’d be more than happy to do what I can to restore confidence in Dewedish industries and make them more attractive to foreign investors, not just Ghantish, or NATA, but the BC as well.”

“Starl’s feud with Ghant over the HRC debacle severely hit the Dewedish economy and the return of foreign investors from Ghant who have pulled their money out of Deweden because of him will be greatly welcome.” Alexandria began, her pleasure at what she was hearing revealing itself through a subtle smile on her face. “But yes, the Dewedish economy is and will likely remain dependent on foreign investors providing much needed capital to assist in the much diversification our economy; especially if talk among the business in Deweden about transforming Dewedish manufacturing from being relatively unimportant and small sector to the economy into being potentially not just becoming a major manufacturing partner for just Ghant and FAS, but also beyond...exporting consumer goods to trading blocs such as BC.

“Indeed, I think you’ll struggle to find someone of the Dewedish business community who doesn’t agree with the statement that Starl is bad for business and Deweden’s bottom line. I, myself, have suffered financial enormous losses costing my business in the hundreds of millions.” Alexandria said, quivering with physical discomfort at the mention of it. “Getting Ghantish investors back in significant numbers will have an immensely positive impact on turning around the economy...that and having a strong, stable leader in charge, like yourself; I’m certain of that.”

The Ghantish intelligence officer inclined his head towards Alexandria, and after she had finished speaking added that “Admiral-Prince Abelard will inspire confidence among Ghantish investors and they will come back in droves...after the junta’s policy platform becomes apparent and has begun implementation. I doubt that will take long.”

Alexandria smiled upon hearing the intelligence officer’s response, clearing happy at what she was hearing and how the meeting was going. She can almost count all the money she is going to make if everything goes to plan. “Excellent, just excellent,” said Alexandria grinning at the prospect. “You have answered all my questions and if no else has anything else to add, please continue with your briefing.”

“...Starl’s government long feared that changing Deweden’s status as an observer of NATA to a full member would provoke Rietumimark into an attack. Over the past several months I and my colleagues in the Allied Coalition have been working to prepare for this eventuality. We are ready. Let us join NATA and receive the benefits of membership, and I pray that the Riets are dumb enough to attack us. If they do, the Allied Coalition beset upon them.” Abelard spoke surely of his confidence, looking around the room as he did.

There were several approving nods from the Dewedish assembled upon hearing Adelard words of Dewedish membership into the NATA, especially from the nobles and Pia; for whom both held more radical views on such issues. “Deweden’s ascension to a full member of NATA is long overdue and very much necessary to ensure the long-term security of our country.” Dorothea, Duchess of Furgslevik finally spoke up after remaining silent for the duration of the meeting up to that point. “You can count on the full support of myself and…” her voice trailed off as she looked to the Dewedish nobles to either side of her. “All the nobility of Deweden in the pursuit of Deweden’s rightful membership within NATA.”

“But is it wise to risk any peaceful resolution to the South Deweden Crisis?” Foreign Minister Swanhild asked worriedly, not as enthusiastic about a potential conflict between the Allied Coalition and Rietumimark as the rest of the Dewedish assembled. “When exactly would Deweden join NATA, before or after we have hopefully reached a resolution to this crisis?”

Abelard leaned over the table, and looked Swanhild dead in the eye and asked her “can you tell me with a straight face that Rietumimark has any intention whatsoever of peacefully ceding South Deweden? I don’t think they do, and everything they’ve done strikes me as delaying tactics. While we sit around and negotiate, they are conducting programmes meant to make things more difficult not only for us, but for our people in South Deweden. So if we join NATA now, we let the Rietumish know that they don’t drive the agenda anymore. We do.”

Adelards’ words cut through Svanhild like a warm knife through cold butter, destroying her argument counter to Dewedish membership into NATA with a single, swift blow. The foreign minister mumbled something along the lines of agreeing with the Prince about NATA membership and denouncing her previous position, after claiming that Abelard had changed her mind; backpedalling from her previous remarks the entire time. “I agree with my great-uncle,” Annabelle said after Svanhild had finished. “There is definitely something up with Rietumish intentions over South Deweden and if Deweden finally becoming a full member of NATA is what flushes out their true agenda - that all of Deweden should remain under their yoke - then it has my 100% support. Now if no one has anything else to add, we should move on.”

Neither the Ghantish agent nor Prince Horik had anything else to add, and after a moment’s pause, Abelard leaned forward in his chair, his eyes boring into all those present. “If there were any other way to right this ship, I would be the first to support it. However there is not, and thus here we are. Assuming we have all reached an understanding and have come to an agreement, then I shant delay in doing what must be done, for the good of Deweden and all its people.”

None of the Dewedish present showed the signs of needing or wanting to add anything else to the discussion and with that, they all seemed to have resigned their fate to the success or failure of Midnight. “If nobody has nothing else to add,” Queen Annabelle said assertively to her Dewedish compatriots. “Then let us not waste any time in assisting my great-uncle Abelard from removing Starl and restoring faith in the values of Deweden which my grandmother hoped to instil. Today will be the beginning of a new era in Deweden, one in which corruption and greed will no longer find a home and all of Deweden will be united under our rule.”

[Rietumimark]

“The Coup Begins ”

Overview

At 18:30 hours on December 10, 2017, Dewedish and Ghantish military units across Deweden went on alert on the order of Prince Abelard; Operation Midnight Hour effectively began. Battalions belonging to Dewedish Land Forces Division West and Dewedish Land Forces Division Centre left their bases and seized control of several of Deweden’s major cities, while other airborne units were airlifted to seize control of Deweden’s major airports and cancelled all flights. They were later joined by Ghantish forces deployed to Deweden, who assisted in quietly detaining pro-Starl government officials, seizing Starl and his family’s financial assets, and enforcing martial law in pro-Starl areas of the country.

The barracks of Dewedish military units suspected of being steadfastly loyal to Starl were surrounded by Junta forces, severing landline communications, jamming cell phone signals and cutting electricity to some bases to apply pressure on the besieged Dewedish troops within. Within a matter of hours, Junta forces took control bases and military facilities without no resistance after the Junta promised to that besieged soldiers would be able to keep their rank of and receive better pay and benefits.

Meanwhile, several units from the 1st King Ferdinand's Own Marines Battalion entered in the city of Kralin in armoured personnel carriers and stormed the city council in Kralin; removing the pro-Starl mayor and placed him under arrest. At 18:45, 50 soldiers from a joint Dewedish-Ghantish special-forces units captured the Dewedish Parliament without a fight and proclaimed a new Junta. As the hour struck 19:00, Prince Abelard announced through a televised address that the armed forces, along with the Ghantish military, were assuming control of national administration from the weak and corrupt Starl administration; establishing a Junta to rule the state.

Kralin, Deweden
Residence of Bernhard Anker

The Director of the Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service - Bernhard Anker - couldn’t sleep, his mind buzzing with worry and guilt. Not even a visit from his secret gay lover...the only person in this world he could truly be vulnerable and himself with couldn’t even assuage his guilty conscience. What if someone finds out what Starl has done...what I have done - words which kept spinning around his head without reprieve, tormenting him for his sins. “Please god forgive me for my sins,” he mumbled to the cross hanging above his bed on the wall behind him and crossed himself.

He stumbled out of his king sized bed, only dressed in a boxxer shorts and a pair of socks, slipping on his moccasins and slowly staggered towards the kitchen; still numbed by the many glasses of beer he had downed several hours prior. He shuffled over to the kitchen, unused and artificial in its aesthetic, and grabbed himself a lukewarm bottle of beer from the counter. He closed his eyes and saw the picture which kept haunting; Starl’s rival Thorna’s corpse, limp and lifeless as it was wheeled away by paramedic barely four minutes after the blast...the explosion he was responsible for.

It was his job to bury the subsequent investigation, to shift blame on the Riets and a deep conspiracy by them to destabilised Deweden from within. But who will believe that if I don't have any ironclad evidence. He eyes opened, but the picture of Thorna still haunted his vision; her face swimming in the darkness of the lightless house. It emerged at any moment, charging him at any moment, silently screaming at him...demanding him to do something, anything about what he did...what he played a part in doing.

“It isn’t my fault,” he said wordlessly to the darkness…to his consciousness...his soul. “I was simply following orders, there was nothing I could do, I am simply a soldier, no, a pawn in a much more powerful man’s game. I swear...there’s nothing I can do.”

He drained his beer hoping that it would do something, anything to wash away how he felt inside, and grabbed himself something a lot stronger from the alcohol cabinet. Hopefully this will take the edge off. He slowly sauntered to his office at the front of his house, a large, circular room well put together and even better organised by a mind which needed a clear structure to function.

He collapsed into a brown, comfortable leather chair at the head of his desk and when about the task of emptying his bottle of whisky. With each glass of whisky, he could feel the guilt fading away into the background, the previous events of the past few days a mere blur in the greater scheme of things. All his problems, guilt and sadness faded away as though it never happened and he fell asleep; finally.

The faintest rustling of the trees and subtle movement inside the house brought Bernhard to. Groggy and tired, his senses, honed in by decades of training and experience in the shadowy world of intelligence work, could feel that something was off. Heavy eyes struggled to open, his vision was blurry from the combination of fatigue and a splitting hangover, but he could just make out the time on his electronic clock, which read: 9:45 pm. Why cannot stay asleep! his subconscious screamed at him from deep inside his head.

He sighed and slowly stumbled half blind to the door; cautiously opening it. The house was quiet and still...too much so for Bernhard, who immediately withdrew an old ice hockey stick from one of the house’s closet. Numbness gave way to his training and without a second thought, when about the task of clearing the house.

He rounded a corner, with his ice hockey stick gripping his sweaty hand and Bernard’s heart in his throat when the butt of a rifle smashed him in the face. “Hands up and get on the floor now!” several heavy-voices screamed at him in heavy accented Dewedish. Within moments, four heavily armed men stormed him; pushing the flashlights at the ends of their assault rifle right into his face. “Get on the floor before we shoot.”

Bernhard tried to splutter an okay, okay in broken Ghantish, throwing the ice hockey to the floor and trying to raise his hands. The masked men seemed not to understand what Bernhard’s Ghantish and continued to scream at him increasingly unintelligible Dewedish. Then, with an abruptly, another one of the men connected the end of his weapon with Bernhard’s head and everything when dark.

He awoke what could have been minutes or even hours later somehow feeling even worse than before. His head felt as though a thousand hornets had been unleashed inside of it, stinging the insides of his brain. Bernhard’s eyes opened to see two heavily armed guards standing by the door. He looked around and he was back in his office, but it looked as if someone had broken in. The pinnacle of organisation and order was replaced by chaos; papers thrown all over the floor, most of the room’s electronics were gone and at least dozen or so boxes containing files from active and former Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service cases where missing. Who are these people and what is this all about?

He turned to lift his arms, but the cool metal of the distrains kept him in place. He was still alive and the fact he was indicated they weren’t a Starl death squad sent out to but him down. They wanted something from him, his instincts screamed Alexander Starl, and that gave him leverage...a way out which he could use to save his skin. The guards noticed he was awake and quickly mumbled something into their radios; before briskly setting up a pair of flip-up chairs and a table. Yes, I am going to meet their superiors.

Moments later, two smartly dressed people, a man and woman, entered the room. Judging from the man’s facial structure, he looked like he was Ghantish or of Ghantish descent. The woman, on the hand, was of no doubt Dewedish; Bernhard immediately recognised her as Lærke Dalgaard, a capable intelligence officer he had attempted repeated to steal from the Dewedish Military Intelligence Directorate. Lærke appeared to be the more senior official of the two and after taking a seat, led by saying: “Hello, Bernhard...long time no see.”

“What do you want Lærke?” said he past a splitting pain shooting through his head. Her nonchalantly and arrogance in storming his own house...the palace of the Director of the Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service and detaining him frustrated Bernhard immensely. However, he knew better than to let slip his tongue and waited to hear what she had to say.

“Simple,” Lærke began, crossing her legs and opening a vanila file in front of him. Whether it contained any actual important on Bernhard or was used as a plant to put him off...it worked...it put the fear of god that Lærke knew his involvement in Thorna assassination. “Alexander Starl’s days as the Prime Minister of Deweden are over. As we speak, forces belonging to a new Junta government under Queen Annabelle XIII are securing the country from Starl’s corrupting influences and will restore the vision of Deweden that Alara had when forging this country. All we need dirt...Starl’s dirty underwear to discredit him to his supporters and prevent any opposition to the Crown’s rightful restoration of control. I have been instructed by superiors to offer you full immunity from any crimes you committed during your time and the ability to relocate anywhere in the world under a new name...a fresh start in exchange for your full cooperation.”

The fact they needed his cooperation for the second phase of the coup d'état gave him some relief. He smirked at irony, he had for months now warned Starl that something like this might happen if he didn’t tone down his rhetoric and keep the Ghantish happy. Now the chickens are coming home to roost, it will be me to deliver the final blow. “Yes, I am in possession with important information that will destroy him, but I want to see this immunity in the writing.” Bernhard said, to which Lærke cooly passed with a copy of the deal from within her vanilla folder. He had handed out enough of these deals to know whether they were bullshitting him or not; everything looked to scratch, with the Queen’s seal at the bottom of the document. I have always dreamed of setting up my own little beach bar somewhere in Oxidentale. “Okay, okay...you have yourselves a deal...” Bernhard said as he prepared to throw his now former boss under the bus and unburden the guilt.

Times of Kralin

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[size=150]BREAKING NEWS: Significant numbers of soldiers reported to be closing off major cities and deploying tanks to the capital

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Armed soldiers have been spotted taking control of key infrastructure in Kralin

By Caroline Fisker
^{@Caroline_Fisker}
Published: Dec.10 2017

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KRALIN, DEWEDEN -Large numbers of Dewedish and Ghantish soldiers have been spotted moving into Kralin in the last several hours, not long following numerous reports surfacing online of Dewedish police and soldiers blocking off all major roads and highways in and out of the capital. Similar reports have been made by people currently at Kralin International Airport, where a battalion claiming to be from the 1st Queen Abigail Air Assault Brigade have seized control of the airport. According to Air Deweden, all flights in and out of the country have been cancelled.

There have also been unconfirmed reports of gunfire at the headquarters of Starl Industries in Kralin and an oil refinery operated by one of Starl’s subsidiaries. It remains to be seen whether there have been any casualties, although several ambulances with sirens going have been sight heading toward both locations.

Social media accounts are also sharing images of tanks and armoured vehicles barrelling through central Kralin and setting up checkpoints at points across the city. Troops and military vehicles have also been witnessed towards the government quarter of the city.

Furthermore evening, soldiers have been spotting taking over the offices of the state broadcaster, the Dewedish Broadcasting Corporation (DBC); video emerging online depict some of the soldiers manhandling some of its employees and speaking Ghantish. While other videos have surfaced of what seem to be special-forces operating in and around the Parliament building.

We will continue to update you on the situation as it progresses.

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[Rietumimark]

“The Morning After ”

11 December 2017
Kralin, Deweden

Everything had seemed to go so slowly during the past ten hours, time crawling to ever increasingly leisurely snail’s pace. The combination of lack of sleep and stress had taken its toll on Runa Nørup, the head of the Military Intelligence Directorate, over the week since her contacts with the Ghantish intelligence Agency had briefed her that Operation Midnight was activated by Ghish to the operation’s execution over the past few hours. Her once fair clear skin had broken out, the quality of her hair had deteriorated rapidly to the point that it looked thin and ratty, and over the past 27 hours, she had a bout of a bad stomach bug which had crippled her and she laboured to keep it quiet with the help of several trusted deputies. What would I have done without them.

The first acidic burn nagged at the end of her throat as she fought back the need to bring up the first solid food she had eaten for nearly sixteen hours; a simple grilled cheese sandwich with no sides...her favourite. Her fingers met her lips and she tried to disguise her discomfort from her driver. A ray of sunlight bounced off the armour of a Tusker Main Battle Tank at a Ghantish checkpoint and she willed herself not to bring up the contents of her stomach just yet. Runa had too many things to do, an endless line of people waiting to speak to her...it was all so overwhelming. As if it all was encasing her and gradually pulling under...suffocating her with every passing day. Please keep shit together girl, she thought herself as her car passed through the checkpoint unbaited.

The success of Operation Midnight had taken her by surprise, so many things could have...should have gone wrong, but hadn’t. If the military hadn’t almost completely decided to turn on Starl, things could have gone so badly. But one reason or another, the military seemed to be enthusiastic about the Junta, numerous high ranking officers earning swear allegiance to Abelard and condoning Starl overnight. A similar theme was developing in the mid-levels of government, where few career public servants were loyal enough to Starl to throw away their future.

It appears that Starl has even fewer allies than we thought. Indeed, even public opinion among the masses was on the side of the Junta. In spite of curfews set in place across the country, news of Starl toppling overnight had sparked impromptu celebrations. Something, in which the Junta was perfectly content with emphasising and popularising through state media outlets and on social media

It had been a tension-ridden few hours for everyone involved in Operation Midnight and director Runa Nørup had been trapped in her office or in the toilet, a cadre of trusted coordinating officers and personnel keeping track of every objective they had been assigned to take. She hovered closely as Junta forces had seized control of every major government facility in the country. Ministry buildings, administrative centres, Starl's properties, and other high profile institutions with business ties to Starl Industries were now occupied by soldiers. Through all of this, things had gone over smoothly.

The entire city of Kralin, a city of close to housing ⅓ of Deweden’s population was placed on lockdown, thousands of soldiers deployed on the streets and every major roadway leading out of the city. In essential, Runa had helped carry out the shutdown of the entire capital city. The place where Runa had spent the past decade living had ground to a halt and she found the ensuing silence to be disturbing. Almost the entire population had heeded the demands by the Junta to remain indoors. Those who did break curfew only did so look around or join small, ad-hoc celebrations.

And yet, despite all the successes the Junta had enjoyed - it wasn't without its hiccups; especially among her agency - the Military Intelligence Directorate. Only a few hours ago, word reached her that the Minister of Defence - Jesper Skovgaard - and been killed in a car accident, caused by the vehicle he was in striking black ice, along with the agents accompanying him. This all occurred while under the custody of the MID. While it all seemed perfectly innocent, there seemed to be some, especially her rivals, that she may have ordered his assassination and made it look like an accident to eliminate him.

Indeed, they were right to have been suspicious of her, after all, Runa was one of the more moderates within the Dewedish Royal Defence Forces’s highest brass. Whereas Jesper was as hardline as they came and a loyal supporter of Starl as they came. It for those reasons he’d been singled out by the Junta to ensure he wouldn’t cause any trouble for the Junta’s military and in order to make sure the handful of senior government ministers all fell in line with the Junta. However, now that the former Minister of Defence was dead, it would be that much harder to convince the hardline pro-Starl elements that he was of the past and the Junta was the future.

“We cannot afford to fuck up like this, Runa. You're not making this any easier for us.” the Dowager King Ferdinand growled at her down the phone. The Dowager King wasn’t the first to tell her this, her GIA liaison had only a few minutes ago yelled at Runa about her failure and thoroughly lambasted her for seemed like an hour. “How did could you let something so moronic to your target...do you even know how it fucking happened?”

“They were driving to the rendezvous point went their vehicle struck black ice. In the unfolding moments, the driver lost control of the aforementioned vehicle and proceeded to flip several times over before crashing into a tree in the medium.” Runa explained breathlessly. “The former Minister of Defence died on impact along with the driver. The MID agent in the passenger side seat died from injuries sustained during the crash.”

“I see...I see,” Ferdinand said loud ponderously. Runa could tell that he was thinking up a story that not only the international community but Starlist in Deweden could believe. “Well then, the former head of the Dewedish secret service has told us an interesting story about Thorna, the opposition leader who was assassinated a few days ago. We can say the Defence Minister was connected to the attack and say he died in a car chase while fleeing arrest.”

“Won’t some find that awfully suspicious, especially to our critics?” said Runa, rubbing the bridge of her nose and tried to quickly think of a response. “Starl and his associates in prison, one of Starl’s closest allies dead. Some might think the Junta is trying to wipe out the old guard to bring in the new...don’t you think your royal majesty?”

Ferdinand laughed coarsely down the phone. “Please tell if you do have a better idea to clean up the shit your agent's cause.” Ferdinand’s voice was curt and sharp, yet beyond it laid the same insecurity about operation Midnight and the whole coup...or that’s what she hoped. “If not, follow my fucking orders.”

Runa swore about Ferdinand under her breath, but she knew the only thing she could do was relent. She had dropped the ball in a big way and it was only right for her to suffer the consequences. For an operation of this size and complexity, things never go perfectly, even if midnight was damn near close to it. Only if the GIA had fucked up as well. In intelligence work as with life, one must be flexible to respond and adapt developments, otherwise, the entire operation was posed to catastrophe. “I understand, sir. I will make the necessary adjustments to my plan.”

“Is there anything else I need to know about or worth noting Director Runa?” ordered rather than asked Ferdinand. “Any resistance or unforeseen complications to the operation. I hope this fiasco with the former Minister of Defence is a one-off, otherwise I will bring in someone more competent to replace you...understand?”

“Of course...of course. Sir” Runa said backpedalling desperately - her heart starting to pound and the tangling of vomit pooling at the end of her throat. “I can assure you, this is the first and last mistake my agents will make during this most important operation, I swear.” Her reassurances failed to convince Ferdinand, Runa could just tell and she proceeded to list her achievement. “Negative, there hasn’t been any major resistance and all major facilities and objectives secured. If things continue at this current rate, we can lift the curfews within the next two days..”

“Excellent, at least that’s some good news, Runa.” Ferdinand said briskly. “Has there been any significant resistance on your part. So far, we have seen popular feelings are with the Junta. No one wants to stand with Starl...it has taken a great many by surprise how few want to throw their lot in with Starl.”

“No, none apart from a few worried looks and confusion among the civilian population, nothing too serious.” Runa began. “I am about to brief your daughter, her serene highness on the Military Intelligence Directorate process on far. Furthermore, I will have the report on briefing you on our situation ready to be sent to your office in the coming hours.”

Ferdinand grunted an acknowledgement before abruptly hanging up the phone. It was then she could no longer hold on any longer and instructed her driver to pull over. Runa almost burst out of her vehicle and ran to the side of the road, before bringing up her breakfast on the sidewalk.

To: Coalition Heads of State and Government and APON
From: Her Royal Majesty The Queen of the Dewedish Kingdom's Foreign Ministry
Subject: Recent Events
Encryption: Hand-delivered in sealed pouch by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

---

Salutations,

As of 19:00 Dewedish Standard time, the poisonous and corrupting era of Starl and his cronies came to a close. This new Dewedish government stands for the values which our Queen's grandmother, Alara I of Deweden, sought to instil; economic, political, and social freedoms and the reunification of Deweden under the rule of Queen Annabelle XIII.

Yet, while our new government does seek to expunge the poisons of Starlist influence over Deweden, her serene highness remains committed to maintaining our commitments and membership in the Allied Coalition and APON. Her sereness highness and the new Premier consider Deweden's membership in both organisations to be an utmost priority and want to express their 100% desire to their the Kingdom's continued participation with the international community. They also hope for APO continuing support for finding a peaceful solution to the crisis over South Deweden.

Sincerely,
Dewedish Foreign Minister Sonja Svanhild

[Rietumimark]

Times of Kralin

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BREAKING NEWS: Junta Overthrows Starl; Provisional Government Established

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Starl is still officially missing.

By Caroline Fisker
^{@Caroline_Fisker}
Published: Dec.11 2017

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KRALIN, DEWEDEN - Following a long and turbulent night, a sense of relief as come over Deweden after the Alexander Starl's removal from power in a successful coup carried out overnight. A new military Junta, the National Council for the Stability has since assumed power and placed Alexander Starl, the now former Prime Minister, under arrest. In a televised ceremony, today, the new Junta officially dissolved the constitution and the Dewedish Nationalist Party.

In a brief induction speech, Prince Abelard announced through a televised address that the armed forces, along with the Ghantish military, were assuming control of national administration from the weak and corrupt Starl administration; establishing a Junta to rule the state. Broadcasted on television and online, Abelard declared the formal dissolution of the position of Prime Minister and the establishment of the position Premier in its place. The new Premier has proclaimed a strong desire to restore the values in which Queen Alara I of Deweden had hoped to instil upon Deweden and end the choking and corrupting influences once and for all. Also adding the Junta had the full support and blessing of the crown.

This shocking news confirmed reports of earlier last night that large numbers of Dewedish and Ghantish soldiers entering major cities across Deweden and police and soldiers blocking off all major roads and highways in and out of the capital. According to a spokesman for the new Junta, patriotic Dewedish forces of the military and elements from the Ghantish military, have seized control of the country without any major resistance or opposition. To the contrary, thousands of people have taken to streets overnight celebrate the toppling of Starl, with video emerging of people chanting and singing in support of the Abelard, Ghant, the Queen, and military.

In the succeeding hours since the coup, it has been revealed by the new Junta was revealed by Starl played a hand in the assassination of Erna Thorna and that the identity of the assassin has already been uncovered as a Dewedish Security and Intelligence Service operative. In a press release by the Ghantish Intelligence Agency, evidence was presented during a press conference held earlier today, revealed that Starl conspired and ordered the carrying out the assassination of his rival before the election which he believed he might lose. Furthermore, the Dewedish Military Intelligence Directorate revealed that Minister of Defence General Jesper Skovgaard was killed in a car crash earlier in the night after attempting arrest for his part in the assassination plot.

In the last few hours, there have been hundreds of arrests by Junta forces of Starlists among the government and security services, most of whom are members of the now dissolved Dewedish Nationalist Party. Amongst the detained includes former Prime Minister Alexander Starl and most of his family, except for his daughter, who remains abroad. It is believed that at least 1,000 civil servants, Dewedish Nationalist Party political operatives, and members of the armed forces have been detained.

More as the story develops.

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[Rietumimark]

“The Beginning of the end”

13 December 2017
Deroburg, Autonomous People's Republic of Deweden, Rietumimark

The window wipers strained under the punishment of the winter’s first major storm of the season. They whined and groaned, getting louder the longer the limousine sped along Comrade Andris Motorway which ran throughout the massive city of Deroburg - connecting the one and half million residents to each other. The red and blue lights emanating from the police convoy’s headlights were a more blur through the windshield, a purplish hazy blob on the window barely visible to the naked eye.

In the back seat of the limousine, the faint rustling of papers was the only distinguishable sound beyond the streams of raindrops falling heavily upon the vehicle. Several deeps breathe - sighing almost - soon followed as the limousine's lone occupant -other than the driver - to take a moment, resting the thick vanilla folder in his hands and closing his eyes for a few seconds. This report cannot be true, it has to be faked or else, I have even less time than I previously thought.

Indulis pressed his left hand as hard as he could into his face, trying to drown out the stress and anxiety of it all. NATA troops, no doubt from Ghant or the FAS, had been spotted, not only in the FAS, where RIP agents and military intelligence had been observing them closely for weeks, but operating directly inside the Dewedish Authority. How many exactly, remained, worryingly, unclear at the moment though Indulis held supreme confidence in that the fact they would find out...eventually.

To make things worse for Indulis, well-placed friends within the Ministry of Defence had told him that the Military Central Commision were increasingly becoming concerned over a possible second front being opened by the Valyria imperialists. According to his sources, the Central Military Commission was unwilling a single inch of Rietumimark proper and were confident in the Revolutionary Armed Forces ability to hold the fascists at the border - even if that meant conceding some territory in the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden rugged, worthless mountainous northern regions. Hence, the entire northern theatre was being demoted in priority in favour of Rietumimark’s southern flank. And it’s my job to prevent the Dewedish Authority puppet master’s from uncovering this fact, on top of everything else I have to worry about.

Indulis carefully placed the vanilla folder off his lap and slid his hand into his right side, corner coat pocket - withdrawing a small, aged silver flask. He promptly popped the lid open and took a swig of the odourless liquid inside. A sharp, overwhelmingly bitter taste stung his tongue and burnt his throat - his face wrinkling in pain, burying a hoarse cough into his arm. His previous feelings of melancholy transitioned seemingly into a warm feeling of tranquillity bubbling up from inside of him, all his previous nervousness and unease fading away into the background.

“Comrade Chairman Mayor Indulis,” the limousine driver said softly through the intercom system built inside the vehicle. Indulis blinked heavily as he indulged in another two brisk slips from his flask before placing it back into his coat pocket. “We are approaching the Deroburg Green Zone, comrade chairman. The CSS guards will want to see your credentials before letting us inside. Best get your identification ready.”

Indulis noticed how there was a hint of concern in his driver's voice, but did nothing about it. “Of course, thank you much driver,” he said unthinkingly, a statement which his driver had heard from Indulis so often, that it had lost all the weight the statement once carried. Indulis said it a dull, monotone, as though it were nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction, a reflex that Indulis carried out subconsciously without realising what he’d said.

The vehicle started to slow into a gradual stop at the edge of a ‘peace wall’ which separated the Green Zone from the rest of the city. The tall wall, ten feet high in places, had watchtowers, barbed wire, and armed patrols as far as the eye could see. Inside the enclave, a fully stocked and well-supplied battalion of Revolutionary Guardsmen remained permanently garrisoned inside - their existence unknown to the outside world until a group of one hundred Dewedish insurgents attempted to storm the green zone - not a single fighter escaped with their life.

Revealing himself from underneath a brilliant hue of reddish-purple late-afternoon sunlight peeking through the heavy thunderclouds overhead, a soldier still in his summer uniform-clad in a thick raincoat - approached the limousine and gestured for the Indulis in the backseat to open his window. “Good Evening, Comrade,” a younger elan voice called out. Indulis nonchalantly pressed a button and his window went sliding down. “I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but I must ask to see your ID, please comrade.” he quickly told Indulis, reaching out his hand to receive the documentation.

Indulis shrugged and shoved his identification into the hands of the Revolutionary Guardsmen officer, cowering in the rain. “Here,” Indulis mumbled without looking at the man. “Is that everything or is there something else that you need?”

The Revolutionary Guardsman only nodded and gestured to one of his comrades out of view. Moments later, Indulis’s vehicle bust back into life and quickly sped through the checkpoint and into the green zone. Security inside the district had been significantly beefed up since Indulis’s posting in the city. Numerous SAMs and other air defence systems had been brought in to strengthen the defence on the most important part of Deroburg. The military garrison inside the walls had been tripled in size and restrictions were put in place for those seeking entrance inside these walls. It was indeed a fortress which Indulis had built. With supreme confidence, he believed only the hordes of imperialistic mercenaries in occupied-Deweden were strong enough to bring down his fortress crashing to the pages of history; only after soaking the streets with their blood.

Indulis’s convoy pulled up at a large, colossal structure deep within the green zone walling. It was a newer build, but aesthetically designed to have the appearance of a palace which was as old as the ailing, artificial monarchies Belisaria reside; hiding in their castles from those they were supposed to rule. Like cockroaches, gorging themselves with the finest food and drink while the masses starve. Soon, very soon, their time will come, when the red banner of revolution brings there lives of luxury to an end. I cannot wait to watch rivers of blood flow down their marble floors and the worker's finally reclaiming what is rightfully theirs.

He departed from his vehicle, the driver opening the door for him and was escorted inside with a detachment of mean looking security guards. The decor of the interior of the building reflected the exterior with a gaudy and traditional tone to what seemed to be a restaurant. “May I take your coat for you, sir,” a waiter came up to him and asked. He was armed with a sharp smile and clean suit - whose design had been inspired by the days of the Tsar. Indulis grunted a no and pushed on, deeper into the building.

Deep inside the restaurant, Indulis came to a secret, private part of the establishment restricted to private guests. Awaiting at the door were several bodyguards in crisp black suits. They demanded that they pat Indulis down for weapons; Indulis didn’t argue. A pair of firm hands checked for weapons as Indulis passed his documentation to the apparent head of security. As expected, a curt nod from the man ended the pat down. “Stop, that is a fucking enough...do you know who this is?!” the head of security barked at his subordinate.

Sheepishly, the security detail stepped aside and Indulis nonchalantly sauntered inside. Seated around a large, circular room were his allies in the government; hardliners whose hated Ghantish imperialism as much as they hated the debauched, indulgent Paramount Leader; whose poor leadership allowed the South Dewedish situation to get draw on for this long. ‘The moment we suspected the NATA deployments to the Gentry vassal-kingdom, our tanks should have crossed the illegal border’ was the sentiment in the room. Indulis personally agreed that the standoff would only end when the red flag is waving above Ghish, Loweport, and Roan-Ottonia or Indulis corpse on the steps of the Andris Ozoliņš Assembly Hall, the seat of the Supreme General Assembly, after a long, bloody campaign. In his eyes, Rietumimark and the Axis of imperialism were in a death struggle, in which there are no comprises, no giving up; one would be cast down to the pages of history and the victor will rewrite that history.

Indulis took the lone empty seat and inspected the room as he did. He looked down at those present with disdain, for while they were de-jure allies, he knew they wouldn’t blink twice at stabbing him in the back if they got the chance. Those seated were Foreign Minister Solberg, Minister of the People’s Defence Andrus Ansip, Chairman of the Central Military Directorate of Intelligence Juris Dille, and Deputy Minister of Defence Ivan Borodai - the man who had called the meeting.

“What is happening in occupied Deweden is a fucking disgrace...an act of war against the revolutionary will of the people...those Gentry scum.” one of the men, Minister of the People’s Defence Andrus Ansip, finally spoke up as Indulis started to pick at the appetizers being served out. “All we have done is shown weakness and those Ghantar scum all but in name annexed the Dewedish Authority into their empire.” he laughed coarsely and with deep ressentiment. “We should order our tanks to crush their illegal annexation right now and send those fuckers reeling back to their shithole of an island.”

There were several murmurings in agreement to Ansip’s words; no man was shy about saying what they thought. Indulis doubted that few men within the Rietumish regime would say a word to contrary, but they mustn’t go to war...not just yet. “We have a plan in which we all agreed to and should hold firm as it’s our best chance to end the Dewedish threat once and for all,” Indulis began. “What I have been done over the last couple months is, under the cover of ‘counter-terrorism’ operations, forcibly removing a sizable percentage hostile population of the Autonomous Republic of Deweden from the region and into relocation camps; allowing the loyal population to become the majority. Once this becomes a reality on the ground, we are planning to agree to host an independence referendum in the ARD, with foreign observers. With the demographic situation being shifted in our favour, the referendum will end in a defeat for the separatists and the imperialists will be forced to recognise South Deweden as Rietumish territory. If the imperialist find out, do you not believe they will use it to attack us...we cannot aggravate them until the first phase of the plan is complete.”

“We have listened to that plan, we have followed it to the letter and where has it got us, uh?” Ansip spat out Indulis, on the edge of his seat as though he was preparing to strike the man. “The Ghantar are laughing at us, preparing to strike the very heart of the revolution as we speak. Rietumimark must hit them now with everything we got before the imperialists come pouring across the border, reeking untold havoc and committing all sorts of war crime against our people.”

“Please, comrade Minister of Defence...calm down. Such an impulsive act is what the imperialists want and let us not give them an excuse to choke out the revolution.” Ivan said cooly to Ansip, in between spoonfuls of food. “Furthermore, our forces in the Autonomous People’s Republic remain insufficient to decisively defeat imperialist forces. We will need several months to build up our own forces before we can consider such as in operation.”

Minister of Defence Ansip countered by saying; “The imperialists are consolidating in North Deweden...we must launch a preemptive strike to destroy the Axis of imperialism in occupied-Deweden before they strike us first. They have the taste of blood in their mouth, it is a matter of time that the power-drunk Gentry scourge will move to secure all of Deweden under their empire.” Ansip rumbled to some nods in agreement. “It must be launched before the imperialist flood the Dewedish Authority with more of their mercenaries and in so doing so, destroy NATA’s willingness to combat Rietumimark for years to come.

“My commanders had assured me that in total, the operation shall take between six to twelve days and result in the complete capture of the Dewedish Authority, the complete destruction of NATA forces stationed in Deweden, and the political chaos of their ensuring crushing defeat will most likely result in more compliant administrations which can be compelled to align with our foreign policy objectives.”

A former Revolutionary Guardsmen, Indulis knew from first-hand experience that the window of opportunity to knock out the Dewedish Authority successfully in a preemptive strike was closing fast with NATA increasing military strength in the country. “It will take time to amass the necessary forces for such an operation, especially if you want to keep the operation a secret up until the moment our artillery corps unleash hell upon the imperialist dogs. If we attack now, it is highly unlikely that such a military operation succeeds without getting bogged down in a war of attrition in exposed positions in bottlenecks, prime targets for NATA airpower to turn them in human incubators.”

“I must concur with Comrade Minister of Defence” said Foreign Minister Solberg with a smirk. “With the area under our control, we’ll enter any future negotiations in a much stronger position than we are currently. From there we can demand that current threats of military intervention cease, for the illegal government of Prince Abelard to be dissolved, and the recognition of the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden as an integral part of the Dewedish Authority be withdrawn by the imperialists. In exchange, the Revolutionary Army will withdraw from the Dewedish Authority leaving the status quo in intact.”

“Not only that,” Minister of the People’s Defence Andrus Ansip said over a mouthful of wine. “With their defeat, the imperialists, the Arthuristan especially, will think twice before attempting to curb the spread of the revolution to the rest of Belisaria. With conventional military superiority over NATA confirmed...nothing will stop Rietumimark from rising to its rightful place as a great power of Belisaria...a potential superpower which one shall unshackle the chains of the workers of the world.”

“What about my plan...what about all the fucking hours I have spent executing the plan you all agreed to and will work.” Indulis said desperately. He so badly wanted to deceive the imperialists using the institutions they cling too closely...democracy and self-determination. He was certain the his plan would work...that the imperialists would be left confused and frustrated..wondering what went wrong...how their precious belief in democracy turned on them. He internalised a chuckle at the thought. “My plan is the only way we secure South Deweden without war or bloodshed.”

“The revolution,” began Minister of Defence Ansip using a condescending tone to his voice and a smirk on his mouth. “Must never submit to imperialists puppet rule. If we compromise with the imperialists, who have the scent of conquest after their illegal coup d'etat in occupied-Deweden, Rietumimark and our allies, cannot be trusted to keep their words; this most recent action proves it. The Gentry-plague will find or make up a reason to move against the Autonomous People’s Republic and incorporate into their sprawling overseas empire of vassals across Belisaria. And what if their conquest of South Deweden is successful? What would stop them advancing into former South Rietumimark where considerable support for the Gentry armies still exists? Would you all comrades really be willing to risk the Tsars returning for a third time? What would stop them from ransacking their way to Slapjšzemesgrad and toppling our righteous regime? We cannot let that happen, lest we want to be at the mercy of NATA and their greedy worker oppressing corporations.”

“What if the NATA discover plans comrade?” Indulis demanded the old Minister of Defence to tell him. “Any rapid mobilisation of our forces along the border will be detected and if they uncover our motives, your planned liberation of occupied-Deweden will fail before it began.”

“Comrade, comrade, comrade,” the Minister of Defence said breaking out to a light, supercilious laugh. “Your plan, comrade, will be the maskirovka. Since this crisis began, the Central Military Commission has been preparing potential maskirovka for the eventuality of conflict with the imperialists. NATA imperialists is a weak, artificial entity always teetering on the verge of collapse; held together by the overreaching arms of the Gentries who have overplayed their hands. The coup in occupied-Deweden proves they have no interest peace without the complete conquest of all of Deweden...they will strike at us, whether it be tomorrow or a decade...war is inevitable, so let us be the ones to destroy them before they destroy us.

“Our enemies are not strong nor united. Their ministers bicker over the slightest detail, their people are weak, soft, and divided; lacking the grit for war. Their soldiers are the worst of the worst...drug addicts, retards, and criminals; the only section of their society willing to fight for out of touch monarchs and elitists. The so-called ‘Allied Coalition’ is pathetic, its continued existence is as tenuous as a house of cards ready to come collapsing to the floor.” Ansip spoke with such passion and vigour that it was intoxicating; every man in the thrown back to their younger, more idealistic days when they were youths who truly believed that global revolution would happen any day now. We can do this, Indulis thought to himself as he listened. We can achieve what our forefathers could only dream of, the destruction of NATA. “Listen, comrades, the imperialist dogs struggle to standardise their weapons and their logistic situation is in utter chaos. They are weak while we are strong. We have a unique opportunity here and let us not lose it. So what our true intentions are discovered? Comrade, we can always stop, say that we were running an exercise, and return to peacetime conditions. I promise you, we shall strike only if all is ready.

“In regards to maskirovka, we will lull the so-called Allied Coalition to a false sense of security and agree to allow a referendum in the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden sometime this summer while we prepare our forces. The imperialista will suspect nothing, too blinded in their own arrogant belief in democracy, giving us the maskirovka we need to win.” Ansip explained to a captivated audience. “Naturally, the Allied Coalition isn’t the only threat to the success of the operation. That fifth column President Olga Chapin’s influence must be reduced to irrelevant, lest we want that Gentry bitch to expose our operation to the Ghantar through a clandestine purge of the government. Furthermore, Rietumimark's current Paramount Leader is too weak to lead our country through war, therefore I propose that Comrade Indulis Ozoliņš take his place to guide our country during the most important historic moment for global revolution. If we all agree, in a matter of a couple months, we shall launch the most crucial military operation in the history of the Rietumimark; the destruction of Axis of imperialism as a political and military force and bringing about of global revolution.”

Not a single man sitting around the table disagreed; the preparations for war had begun.

[Rietumimark]

“Rietumish Military Moves”

20 December 2017
Somewhere in South Deweden

The darkness of the wintery night came to the men of 4th Battalion of the 2nd Guards Motor Rifle Regiment of the 13th Guards Motor Rifle Division suddenly. They had pulled up at an impromptu resting site about 100 metres from the main road. Their political commissar, Miervaldis Eglītis, a pugnacious man who often seemed to get off barking orders at the lowly conscripts, had abruptly ordered them to pull off the main road they had been following for the couple days and rest up for the night; before quickly departing to no doubt order about another unit.

As Viktor Skorney departed from his BMP-2, he could tell by the overwhelming stink of recent human waste that his unit wasn’t the first to have been here. The soil and mad was churned by the signatures of tracked vehicles; the floor of the wooded area broken and ruptured by the weapons of war. In little clusters, like islands in an ocean of dead leaves, moss, and mud; tins and scraps of paper littered the floor. As Viktor’s unit quickly went about putting up plastic tarps as ad hoc tents to protect themselves from the elements. The first drops of icy cold rain struck his uniform, soaking through and the frigid temperature of the water sharply stinging like a bite from a horsefly back home.

Viktor only realised that fact only after instinctively swatting his back and only ending up soaking his uniform further. “Fuck me,” he mumbled underneath his breathe. All he wanted was to get his four-year term of conscripted to be over with; to head back home to his parents state farm and the warm embrace of the woman for whom he planned to marry. This is the most miserable period of my life. But for a few lucid moments, like now, he could picture life afterwards, a calm simple, pleasant life without all the shit that comes with soldiering.

Yet here I am...

For several long sleep-deprived days, his the unit had been hurried out of garrison in the region of Mittweida, where for over a month they had been preparing defences in face of the possibility of an invasion by the pseudo-imperialistic monarchy of Valyria after their threats of sanctions inflicted upon the Rietumish state. They had only moved down the roads in their cramped BMPs during the hours of darkness and in radio silence, pausing only to rest in encampments like this or old, abandoned factories. But now the roads were constantly filled with a seemingly endless convoy of military vehicles all heading in the same direction. But now, this last move had been conducted entirely during daylight, covered only by a stormy overcast sky.

Everyone in Viktor's 4th Battalion craved news, but his units' officers seemed unable to give the answers their subordinates so desperately desired. Everything pointed at that this was not a routine snap military exercise, but little information reached the rank-and-file. Viktor had already heard enough rumours from his fellow footsoldier to cause him deep concern. For all his life, as long as he could remember, every single one of his teachers and youth activities leaders had warned him how desperate the Axis of Imperialism were to unleash WMD hell upon his country.

Viktor could almost see the imagines had drummed into since he was a mere boy, bearded Ghantish barbarians wielding medieval weapons, cutting down brave Rietumish soldiers and forcing themselves of their mothers, wives, and sisters of the motherland. Of faceless Allamunnika hordes, fascistic sympathisers of Jaarl pouring across the border to crush one of the last bastions of free workers in the world. The Gentry vassal empire and its puppets within the fragile monarchies of southern Belisaria were anxious to unleash their legions of mercenary thugs against the Rietumimark; the graphic descriptions of the horrors they would unbridle had stayed with him into adulthood.

When he had asked a more junior political commissar from a different battalion about when they would return to barracks, the young man’s response troubled him. He was clearly nervous in his reply; talking a little too much about their duty to defend the motherland from foreign incursion, for sacrifices in the face of Axis of imperialism and the cause internationalist socialism. If anything, it ruined Viktor’s peace of mind since. Viktor, like everyone else around him, was cold, tired, and confused; but all that awaited him and his unit was just more dampness and freezing temperatures. At least the misses back home is comfortable.

Viktor joined his comrades in forming a close, rough circle within their DIY tent. All lights and setting a fire was strictly forbidden by their superior - so they would have to use each other for warmth. Their rations were a type of stone cold stew containing potatoes and small chunks of meat; its taste, flavourless with a distinct aroma of stale water. Yet, Viktor and his comrades greedily wolfed it down after going seven hours on the road eating nothing but what they decided to save from their breakfast ration.

“Ugh, this tastes like shit...greedy fucking arse kissing officers.” Daniels, the eldest of the group at 26, shouted aloud after a single spoonful. Daniels was tall, several inches taller than the rest of the squad, he had a muscular build, was well-educated, and handsome. Why on earth he didn't decide to become a conscripted officer baffled Viktor, who had known him since basic training nor had he explained to Viktor why he hadn’t opted to become an officer in the two years they had known each other.

Nevertheless, the pair of them had an unspoken bond of having similar experience and sharing the same background. Both came from the upper party and were from successful bureaucrat families which operated large state farms and were far more sophisticated than the rest of their comrades; who for the most part, came from poor, working-class industrial areas in the rust belt. For many of them, a successful career in the military was the only way to a slightly better life.

Silence swiftly followed Daniels words; only the company of noisy chewing and the distance running of the road. Occasionally this was broken only by loud voices cursing and laughing in some Liothidianic language from a nearby unit. From beyond their makeshift tent, the krumping of leaves and the opening of the tarp announced the return of their squad leader - Junior Sergeant Igor - who like the rest of them, was a conscript who’d received several months extra of training. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he took a seat and helped himself to some dinner rations.

The embrace of the unforgiving northern cold nagging at any exposed skin and silence continued. Viktor looked at the squad leader, whose colour in his face was gone, replaced by a ghostly shade of grey. He refused to look at any of his comrades, focusing all of his focus on eating his rations in quiet. Finally, following five long minutes, one of Viktor’s comrades spoke up.

“Comrade Sergeant Igor,” the baby-faced Linards, the youngest soldier in the squad at seventeen, said tentatively. “What did the brass say, do you think that this is it...did they say what we all are thinking is true...that this is the real thing?”

“No, we have been dragging around live ammunition and driving across Rietumimark because our dick head commissar gets fucking off on it!” Daniels snapped, laughing coarsely as he crudely mimed male masturbation with his hand in the air. Several of the men let out subdued chuckles, but all deep down knew something very big was going to happen. “Fuck me...” Daniels reluctantly conceded, shaking his head.

“The brass wanted to brief all the officers in the 4th Battalion that our entire division has been reassigned,” Igor said with such seriousness that it sucked the air from the tent and was sufficient to smash any veins hopes that it was something other than that. It was now Viktor truly grasped the situation he found himself and all the responsibly that had been thrust upon Igor. It was during this moment that Igor really looked like a boy who only recently celebrated his twenty-first birthday. With a grim, lugubrious tone to his voice, he continued: “We are now assigned to the 1st Allamunnika Front and we will be stationed in recently reactivated barracks until further notice. I am under strict orders to keep radio silence about our circumstances until told otherwise by our Comrade Army Commander...” he voice fading away as the gravity of the situation sank in.

We are really going to war against the imperialists, Viktor thought to himself - in shock and disbelief. The shit is really hitting the fan. From beyond the tarp, emanating from the darkness and light rain, the sound of vehicles powering up rocked the serene quiet. Political comissionars barked barely intelligible orders to their men and Viktor sighed. This is it, a contrite inner voice spoke to him. It may not be today or tomorrow, but very soon war is coming. The thought sent shivers down his spine as he and his comrades packed and prepared to follow their superiors orders as the 1st Allamunnika Front was brought up to wartime strength.

[Rietumimark]

“The Best Made Plans”

18 January 2018
Deroburg, Autonomous People's Republic of Deweden, Rietumimark

Mashal Stefans Jansons’s damaged smoker’s lungs felt the strain of the poorly air-conditioned office. He coughed and sneezed repeatedly, fumbling through high desk for some medication to ease his suffering. It was going to be his second dose of the day, yet his body felt as though it were about to shut down. The lack of sleep, a mere two to three hours a night - if he managed to get any sleep, was all he got. Yet he willed himself on with the planning of the most important military operation of his life and he would be damned if his body gave up on him. Not when I have so much to get done.

He sat alone his in office, staring at a map of the future battlespace...a map he’d come to memorise over the past decade since the Dewedish Uprising of 2004/05; a map of the recently vassalised Dewedish Authority. The room was almost completely dark, the only source of light coming from the dangling cigarette in his mouth. The room was quiet, but beyond its walls was the real sound of war - the ringing of telephones, tireless footsteps and voices of aids and staff officers passing through the corridors...the arteries of the 1st Northwestern Front (renamed to the 1st Dewedish Front during wartime). Peters felt like a conductor in an orchestra as his staff breathed life into his planned military operation...one in which could change the course of history in favour of the motherland forever.

The initial operational plan for offensive operations against the imperialistic Allied Coalition was one which envisioned total war against NATA and escalation not only in North Deweden, but the Allamunnic States as well. Put forward by military hardliners within the Central Military Commission, such as Minister of the People’s Defence Andrus Ansip, the first variant of the plan called for a sudden mass WMD attack throughout the northern entire Belisarian theatre in total depth.

Forces from the Strategic Rocket Force, Revolutionary Army’s missile brigades from the three Fronts stationed along NATA countries borders, and the missile submarines of the Revolutionary Navy would be involved. Their salvoes would be fired simultaneously to neutralise the Allied Coalition missile bases, airfields, the principal communications and administrative centres and the air defence systems. This was to be followed by heavy air attack will be made on any targets seen to have survived the first attack, newly revealed targets and targets insufficiently damaged in the first attacks. At the same time, Airborne units would paradrop on areas not hit by the initial bombardment to seize key infrastructure while the 1st Dewedish Front and the 1st and 2nd Allamunnic Fronts would launch the main attack.

When pressed about the viability of such an attack in a closed-door meeting of the Defence Council of the Central Military Commission, in which those who may be considered opposed to offensive operations against NATA were not invited, by Marshal Jansons; the Minister of the People’s Defence confidently stated that the assault echelon divisions, in such a scenario, could overrun the Dewedish Authority in a matter of three days. Further adding that his Front Tank Armies could reach the Skandian Sea and effectively ending the war within two weeks of fighting while failing to properly account for NATA retaliation for such a proposed strike.

Over the next several days, the Defence Council of the Central Military Commission met repeatedly to discuss this first variant of the plan. Unable to come up with a firm retort on how Rietuimark could realistic avoid being on the receiving end of the destructive power of WMDs and how they could annihilate the stockpiles of the likes of the Arthuristans and FAS before they could be conceivably used against the motherland; the hardliners's plan began to fall apart. For an apolitical, professional-career officer like himself, if Rietumimark struggled to keep its own population under control, how could it expect to suppress the hostile population of any potential new client states with much of the country devastated? Moreover, realists like himself weren’t willing to gamble on Ansip’s plan when the last attempt to invade the Allamunnic States not only failed and cost tens of thousands of Rietumish lives, but also - more importantly - directly contributed to the downfall of the Tsars a decade later.

In the end, Variant A was decisively defeated in a vote held two days after its initial proposal. A revised version of the plan was submitted the following day, one in which excluded the use of WMDs and instead relied heavily on chemical and conventional weapons to annihilate Allied Coalition combat formations. The assault would be planned to begin over the summer holidays, when the imperialists would be most vulnerable and weather reasonably good. However, whether it would be worth it for the Ozolinsist Republic to engage in such an exchange was doubtful for the most harden military theorist who were proponents that Rietumimark must utilise its all weapons of war to achieve a swift victory of the imperialists. Nevertheless, the risks were too great for the Defence Council to choke down and a conventional offensive limited only against the Dewedish Authority was approved.

Although there were arguments opposing restricting the Revolutionary Army’s to using only conventional weapons, there were many advantages to conventional victory without the use of WMDs, in spite concerns about the possibility of the Revolutionary Army failed to knock out the illegal Dewedish Authority quickly - within at most of seven to ten days or else the Ozolinsist Republic could be serious trouble. Jansons tried to discard such thoughts to the back of his mind, he was certain that he could defeat the imperialists. He took the emotion out of warfare and withdrew to take an objective view of military operations - seeing the problem of defeating the Allied Coalition from the perspective of a mathematician attempting to complete a complex equation. With the correct planning, with enough strategic and tactic surprise, with the right leadership and the correct handling of field operations, Peters Front’s push across North Deweden would be impossible to stop; no matter how well trained and armed many of his opponents would be. Victory, he believed, would be irresistible.

He was convinced that he knew several weaknesses the Allied Coalition’s political and military leadership failed to properly recognise that would be their downfall. Peters found their military thinking to be too cautious, too fearful to sustain the losses necessary to achieve a strategic breakthrough. It is speed that shall always carry the day. Their political leadership were weak and spineless, constantly fighting amongst themselves over small details and perfectly willing to throwing their military leadership under the bus in the event of a major failure. But most importantly, their privileged elite underestimated the might of the motherland’s military and relied too heavily on their expensive and well-trained armies unused to how the Rietumish man would fight. In their arrogance, they couldn’t see their foolhardiness in dare threatening Rietumimark with the threat of invasion. At the end of the day, Jansons fully expected the imperialists' defence of the North Deweden to be stubborn, costly, but in the end, in vain.

He lit a cigarette and waft of smoke rose, his mind wandering to his family. His beautiful wife Monta...to so many of his comrades she looked like a plain babooshka, round girth, a toothless smile; with hair permanently messy hair no matter how she attempted to clear it up - yet an ethereal beauty to his eyes. She was living their daughter Zane after he had sent her way. He thought lovingly of his daughter...his “baby girl” so smart...so intelligent that she brought the world to heels. She was a stunning girl with green eyes, red hair, and a slender figure; a surprise coming from two people who were average of appearance at best. She used such traits very well, to marry a wealthy administrator of a synthetic oil refinery and reside a massive mansion in the suburbs of the capital. He worried about them, his wife, daughter, and two grandchildren; the imperialists were warmongering fools who wouldn’t blink an eye on killing civilians. And yet, he oh so wished for his Zane to be close to him again, to enjoy benefits of being a Front Commander’s wife after so many years of hardship. Not yet, my dear; not yet.

There was a subtle knock on the door. “Please enter,” he said as the room was bathed in a sea of light from corridors. Peters winced as his old eyes adjusted to the sudden change of light. It was the aid for his Chief of Staff - better put a boy in the eyes of old Jansons than man - timidly mumbled something along the lines that all of his Army and Divisional commanders had been assembled in the bunker’s conference room for a briefing in his plan. “Thank you, tell them I’ll just be a moment.”

The sea of light fanning the room disappeared as the aid shut the door behind him; leaving Jansons to submerge beneath the darkness. He took a moment, finishing what was left of cigarette and rising from his seat - the medication for his lungs finally starting to kick in - and began to tinker with his map of the future battlespace. He took it in and absorbed every detail, memorising it so all he had to do was close his eyes and picture it in his mind's eyes. You are truly a work of art he thought of it as though he were an author looking over his recently completed book or inventor making the final adjustments to his finest invention. He admired his handy work one more time before making his way to the briefing.

“And so comrades, we must remain steadfast against the imperialist hordes,” the front’s political commissar rambled on, parroting the Party’s propaganda word for word. Major General Ferdinand Bērziņš was an overweight, short, middle-aged bureaucrat who had never held a single command or seen actual combat, but instead spent his career nitpicking actual soldiers and spying for the military intelligence. The tone of his voice sounded like that of a patronising professor out of his depth. Jansons - like most of the officers present - would have much rather skipped the political lecture they had heard a thousand times before, but the Party said otherwise.

Jansons’s subordinate commanders moved restlessly in their seats; anxious to hear their commander’s plan and get back to their formations to begin putting Jansons’s plan into action. They had spent months waiting, anxiously studying the enemy dispositions in extreme detail as their front commander ordered. ‘To defeat your enemy you must know their strengths and weaknesses...to think like your enemy so you can preempt his actions’ he would berate his subordinate until such thinking became second nature.

Finally, they were put out of their misery when Chief of Staff for the 1st Northwestern Front Mihails Balodis took the place of his comrade Bērziņš; who arrogantly swagged back over to his seat. “General Balodis, please review each army of the Front’s missions,” Jansons asked more than ordered his subordinate,

General Balodis stood over a projected image of a map of North Deweden. Jansons’s chief of staff was a clever man who he had kept close as Jansons had risen through the ranks. A former soldier with the Airborne Forces with a promising career ahead of him before it was brought abruptly to an end after a nasty accident during joint military exercises with Estoni in the early 2000s. While most senior officers saw him as nothing by a waste, Jansons immediately recognised the man’s potential and with careful mentoring, became a Chief of Staff whose ability to problem solve and turn even the most ridiculous plan into a reality was unrivalled in the Revolutionary Army.

“Military operations against Axis of imperialism forces in the Dewedish Authority are set to begin at 04:35 Slapjzemesgrada standard time an hour after a series of direct strike actions by Spetsnaz operating behind enemy lines,” General Balodis began to a silent room. “The Front’s initial objectives are here” - he said running his finger along a traced line on the map. “We have yet to receive word from the Central Military Commission whether or not our sister Fronts - the 2nd Northwestern Front and the 1st Southern Front - will participate in offensive operations against the Allamunnic States in support of our own offensive. ”

The chief of staff spoke in a clear, business-like and controlled voice of someone who knew the plan better than Jansons and was a well-versed student of the enemy. “The Front’s first operational echelon conducts its attack with three armies in the first phase of operations.

“In the north, the 1st All-Arms Army is to attack in the Ærø -Varway operation direction with the main thrust geared towards the capital Kralin. The main energy of the offensive will fall upon Dewedish reserve formations, who remain significantly lower in both troop and officer quality in comparison to the rest of Coalition forces. An operational breakthrough and subsequent exploitation of said breakthrough must be made by the end of the first day of operations. Once a bridgehead has been established, 1st Tank Division must be thrown into the fray to further advance through enemy defensive positions and make a headlong rush to the outskirts of Kralin. However, the 1st All-Arms Army must avoid getting lured into urban combat at all costs, even if that mean executing limited withdrawals up to the regimental level.” said Balodis breathlessly as he took a moment to catch his breath. “Secondary missions for the 1st All-Arms Army are as follows: 1st All-Arms Army 4th Motor Rifle Division is to strike in the direction of the city of Ærø with the purpose of capturing the transportation routes leading out of Ærø from the north in support of 1st Shock’s The 1st Red Banner Guards Combat Engineers Breakthrough Regiment’s attack against the city from the south. Additionally, 1st All-Arms Army's northern formations are to capture the coastal city of Varway a conjunction with an Airborne Division assault from the air and a Naval Infantry Brigade landings to take the city’s port.”

Janson’s eyes met those of the Commander of the 1st All-Arms Army - General Jana Liepiņa - Rietumimark’s first and only female Army commander. He deeply admired Jana for all she achieved in a workplace in which the old guard of patriarchal military families still reigned supreme. She was indeed brilliant at military strategy and making split-second decisions under pressure, assiduous with planning, deliberate, highly professional and competent at her job; which was why he had promoted her to General and assigned her to assume command of the 1st All-Arms Army - especially with its extreme importance to his plan. The job of her Army was to bluff the Coalition into believing that the main focus of the attack was indeed Kralin and for them to respond by drawing off their reserves to secure the capital. Unbeknown to them, that was his trap...the main focus of the offensive would come from the centre, with support from the south. A sudden, powerful thrust by 1st Shock and 3rd All-Arms would breakthrough to the coast, dividing enemy forces and cutting them off from Allamunnika.

But for the entire plan to be successful, Jansons needed someone levelled headed and for whom he could trust to avoid taking unnecessary casualties and mislead the enemy; he believed that General Liepiņa was the only person in the whole Army who was up to the task.

“In the centre,” General Balodis continued: “the 1st Shock Army will attack in the Egefjord-Ærø operational direction with the objective of creating a rapid penetration of Allied lines towards Flodmere. 1st Shock’s offensive is to be scheduled to begin slightly after 1st and 3rd All-Arms offensives - allowing the Coalition to deploy its reserves to its flanks after identifying the threat on the flanks; depriving the centre of its reserves. Immediately, one military intelligence has confirmation of it, the Front will fully commit its electronic assets to the disruption of enemy communications in the centre.

“Early offensives by 1st Shock are to give the appearance that the Army has fully committed four of its five division to the battle when in reality 2nd and 3rd Shock Tank Divisions and First Guards Airborne Brigade will be held back to form a second echelon. These forces are only to join the battle once we have confirmation of movement of enemy reserves or direct authorisation from the Front commander. Once a breakthrough has been achieved by 1st Shock, a third echelon made up of Revolutionary Guard’s Second Unified Guards Tank Corps under the direct command of Raimonds Ozoliņš is to conduct exploitation operation that will culminate in the severing of Coalition’s overland supply lines and create a pocket around the Dewedish Authorities northern coast.”

“Secondary missions for the 1st Shock Army are as follows: for 1st Shock’s 4th Tank Division, with the support from a bridge from 1st Guards Airborne Division to seize the city of Egefjord and capture it's important transportation hubs. The 1st Red Banner Guards Combat Engineers Breakthrough Regiment’s - which will be brought up the strength of a Motor Rifle Division several days prior to the start of hostilities - northernmost formations are to sweep up from the south assist 1st All-Arms assault against Ærø and subsequently establish an operational bridgehead for which 1st Shock will advance on Flodmere.”

The formation commander of 1st Shock Army - Ivars Helmanis - moved irritably in his seat. He, like everyone else in the room, were pissed that the Revolutionary Guard - a unit full of fanatics who genuinely believed would the Party shoved down their throats or political lackeys whose only usefulness was their loyalty to whoever was in charge back at the capital - were going to steal the glory of trapping what could be most of the Coalition’s army in North Deweden; not the regular army. He knows this is a fight he cannot win...not unless he wants military police and the Committee for State Security to ‘gently’ be reminded of his duty to the motherland and Party.

Ivars was someone who always had something to say and witty retort to every remark. But he was silent...brooding to himself, clearly knowing what might happen if he objected. Jansons personally didn’t like Ivars, he someone who was a bully - always keeping an obsequious clique of paladins around him - an unashamed sexist, womanising patriarch, with a heavy taste for drinks and cigarettes. He was obnoxious to be around, narcissistic and egotistical, but a tough and aggressive tank commander. Jansons had known the many for years and knew how competent he was - from his combat experience in Estoni, Allamunnika, and South Rietumimark. He could be trusted to fight without deferring to the Party and was just the man he needed in command to smash through any problem; whether it be sleeping with the Front’s political officer’s beautiful Slavic wife from Rhynovia or destroying Arthuristan tanks.

“In the south,” said General Balodis, pausing to clear his throat, “the 3rd All-Arms Army attacks will attack in the Østervord operational direction, with the objective of creating a quick breakthrough and to advance through southern North Deweden, with the intention of reaching the eastern approaches of the Østervord metropolitan complex. The 3rd All-Arms Army is also to support 1st Shock attack on Egefjord from the south, moving motor rifle and tank units to cut off the retreat of any imperialistic forces from the city.

“In the succeeding phase, second operational echelon forces of the Eighth Guards All-Arms Army is to follow 3rd All-Arms and to blunt any counterattacks launched by Coalition forces from Allamunnika and Østervord operational direction and if possible, drive the imperialists completely from North Deweden. Meanwhile, the 7th Shock Tank Army will relieve 1st Shock and the Second Unified Guards Tank Corps contain any attempted breakouts and reduce the Kralin pocket. The 21st All-Arms Army is to move from the Autonomous People’s Republic of Deweden with the mission of either providing relief to the 1st All-Arms or follow Eighth Guards All-Arms Army, should their assault in the Østervord operational direction be successful; with plans to potentially to continue the offensive into Allamunnika if political or military warrant such a maneuver.”

Jansons mind began to wander off as portly General Valdis Pētersons, the commander of the 3rd All-Arms Army stood up and asked the chief of staff a question. The plan seemed so simple that it was destined to succeed...the imperialists would not see his trap coming until the lead units of the Second Unified were in Nyportvin. Yet, the grand scale and importance of this endeavour was not lost on him the future glory of the motherland...how hundreds of thousands of men's’ lives were being entrusted in his hands. Men who were no different Aleksandrs...his boy.

Oh, how Aleksandrs had always wanted to follow his father’s footstep and join as a regular in the Armed Forces. He could still recall how proud of his son when he completed the gruelling basic training to become one of the greatest paratroopers in the world; the Revolutionary Airborne Forces. All that work, all that train eventually culminating in his deployment to Allamunnika during its civil war. His boy was one of the best warriors in the world...ready to take on the world and weed the greedy imperialists from their castles and palaces; ready to raise the red banner atop every imperialist capital in the world.

Still, it took one man carrying MANPAD to kill all that hope...all that potential with a single press of a button. The flash of his son, what was left of him, burnt beyond recognition along with the rest of his platoon, popped into his mind. What suffering he must of have gone through still haunted him twenty years later...robbed of a hero's death on the battlefield. He pondered how many more Aleksandrs would die in this war, how many more Zanes would lose their sons and daughters in this war where he fully suspected that some units on both sides would sustain catastrophic losses to their units. And what for, so this can happen all over again a few years later during the next war, the war to end all wars…to bring about global revolution. When is that going to happen? When is this all going to end?

[Rietumimark]

“War”

9 June 2018
03:25, Isflåde Oil Refinery, North Deweden
A lone vehicle pulled up at the side of the road. The keys which were in the ignition were taken out and the road went silent. The faint sounds of rain filled the air and the heavy stale breathes of nervous men filled the void of sound. Edgars hadn’t shown up at the rendezvous point...he had fucking shown his face.

The head spetsnaz direct action team lent his head against the steering wheel; a million and one thoughts and emotions running through his mind. Dainis was special operations - he didn’t believe in luck, chance, or coincidence; something had gone wrong. For all Dainis knew, Allied Coalition counterintelligence had caught up with Edgars. Best case scenario his comrade died protecting the mission and the motherland. Worst case, Dainis would be leading his men into a trap. He could almost see it his mind’s eye, imperialist special forces lying in ambush, waiting to cut down his men before they even realised what was happening.

He turned his head to look at his men under his command. Like him, they wore concern on their faces. “We don’t have to do this,” he told them with a grave sense of seriousness to his voice. He refused to be like he superiors, callous with the lives of the men under their command. “We can turn around and move to phase two of the operation. We have no idea what happened to Edgars and I won’t throw your lives away for nothing.”

No man said a word, apparently mulling over what Dainis had just told them. But what would they do? Dainis asked himself. Would his comrades - many of whom had families back at home - be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice in the name of the motherland and Party for a vain cause? They were all experienced intelligence operatives, they all knew the potential risks of having a fellow agent be AWOL hours before a mission. If we’re lucky, Edgars is dead, if not, we will be.

“We’re with you and the mission all the way, comrade” one of the men - Viktors - growled in response. The man was Dainis’s most trusted second-in-command. He had known Viktors for nearly two decades, he wasn’t a Party lackey or crazy, borderline suicidal ideologue who would get you killed on your first mission together. No, Viktors was someone who would be trusted to keep a cool head when things went to shit. When things go wrong, that is when you learn who you can fully trust and those who you can’t. Viktor was one of the men, a true friend who had saved Dainis life more times he could over the years. “Now let’s go kill some imperialists and show them what we are really made of!”

Dainis smiled and the other two men in the back seat - Filips and Gabriels - jeered; the mission; was still on. The engine roared back to life and the car came barreling back down the road. The night was quiet and still; the roadway they followed empty of any other vehicles, which was to be expected at the dead of night. “Begin final weapons check, comrades,” he told his men whilst driving; a flurry of movement just outside the corner of his eyes immediately following his words. “We will be arriving at the target in fifteen minutes.”

Dainis saw the mass of light being emitted from the oil refinery before he saw the refinery itself. A massive beast full of complex machinery, dozens of buildings and other structures, and a haze of artificial light - further illuminated by waste gas fires. The air stunk of recently refined oil and petroleum distillates. His vehicle rolled up at a checkpoint which led inside - several kilometres of chain-linked fencing on their side of it. Dainis withdrew his pistol from a compartment within arms reach of the driver’s seat and gently slipped on a silencer as the car came to a halt.

“Identification please,” the guard sleepy mumbled as he placed his cell phone down on the controls and turned to look at Dainis. Cooly, he raised his pistol out of the driver’s side window and squeezed the trigger twice - once in the heart and another in the head; coating the opposite window with the man’s brains before he could react or knew what was happening. In the backseat, Filips climbed out of the car and lazily moved the lifeless corpse from view - stealing the dead guard’s security pass. Then, he opened the gate and returned to his seat. That was too easy.

The vehicle followed the road - with the help of the imperialist's obsession of putting all their security and private information online - to the central control building. It was was ugly, rectangular structure which loomed over the oil in all directions. Four stories tall and with a handful of windows - the building looked more a prison than anything else.

“This is it, comrades. All our training and preparation for the past four months has been leading up to this moment. Let us make the motherland proud and the imperialists tremble.” Dainis inspiringly told his men as they all made last minute checks to their gear. “Filips and Gabriels, you two are to take the car and head for the fields and place the explosives on the rigs, oil tankers, and any other piece of equipment you find. Viktors, you are with me. We all know our objective, nothing has changed with a man down.” He looked solemnly around at his men one last time, quietly adding: “Good luck.”

Dainis left the vehicle first, Viktors followed a few seconds later and mirrored his comrade’s movement. Nominally security at the building was tight, due to the very real threat the Riets posed. In practice, however, few, if anyone took the precautions seriously; bureaucratic red tape if anything. Furthermore, recent budget cuts and layoffs to help pay for Deweden’s bloated defence budget had eroded security at the plant further. Most of the security guards, according to their handlers, were underpaid and wouldn’t put any real resistance.

The guard manning the main entrance was asleep and dumbly left the door unlocked as Dainis entered. According to his intelligence, the guard was a slothful drunkard who passed out watching either Ghantish ice hockey or exotic foreign porn every shift and tonight’s was no different. Surrounded by a dozen or so bottles of beer with a rerun of a GHL match playing in the background, Dainis calmly walked behind the comatose man and silently slit his throat in his sleep. Like every imperialist pig he’d gutted before, the animal struggled in vain for a minute until he took his last breath. One less imperialist dog in the world.

Dainis strode to the door and gestured to Viktors that the coast was all clear. Now it hit him, standing at the door, the importance of his mission to the success of the revolution and Party. How this operation would assist in paving the way for Rietumish tanks to liberate this proxy of Gentry-expansionism within a matter of thirty minutes. He’d been on missions before, in places across Belisaria and Scipia, but never before had he participated in an operation which would be so critical in crippling the imperialist armies and destroying their economies. With his heart in his throat, he centred himself, not allowing the importance of the mission to overwhelm him.

He looked over at his comrade and smiled for some comfort, to ease this sudden rush of nerves. Viktor was opening his rucksack slung over his shoulder and handed Dainis an Ak-47 and ammunition belt. Dainis grasped one of the bottles of cheap beer from the dead guard’s desk and drained it of all its contents; composing himself with a few deep breaths. “So it begins comrade,” he grunted as they made their way to the master control room.

BOOM!

An abrupt expansion from beyond the building shook the structure violently, with such force that Dainis was thrown off his feet and slammed against the floor. Viktors fared slightly better, able to stay on his feet with his agile, short, muscular legs keeping forming losing his footing, but he was still sent flying against the wall. Dainis heart dropped like a rock; something had gone terribly wrong.

Sporadic gunfire rang out, rippling through the air. It was chaotic a cacophony of small arms fire from the security and the heavy roar from his men's AKs. “Fuck!” he heard Viktors muttered to himself, withdrawing his radio from his pocket and saying: “Comrades, do you copy ---- comrades, do you copy?!” Static was Viktors’s reply. He anxiously waited several seconds before trying again. “Comrades do you...come in god damn it, you motherfucking son of a bitch!”

“This is - ” Static cut off the voice of Filips. Outside, the gunbattle was intensifying, nearly reaching its violent apotheosis. “This is Filips,” the voice briefly said again - panicked ridden and concern punctuating a frighten tone. “Gabriels is dead - he is fucking dead. I had to detonate the explosives ahead of schedule. The bastards, the fucking bastards were tipped off that we were coming, you have to-”

The line went dead and the gunfire coming from outside stopped. “Filips! Filips! Answer me now! That’s a fucking order!” Viktor shouted down the radio, but nothing other than static followed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he screamed, kicking the cold, austere hallway wall several times, unleashing a profanity-laden tirade. Dainis felt sick, almost as though he were about to vomit. It was supposed to be a clean, in-and-out mission - no delays- a simple sabotage operation. Now, he knew that most likely going to die here, in some filthy refinery hundreds of kilometres from home and his family. His training took over: I still have a job to complete.

“Get a hold of yourself, comrade. We still have a mission to complete!” he yelled at Viktors, who - out of instinct more than anything - snapped to attention to his confrere's words. “Let us not allow our fallen lives be lost in vain - let us make their deaths mean something.”

Viktors nodded and murmured a quiet apology before they continued navigating their way through the maze of hallways.

Dainis put three 7.62mm rounds from his AK-57 into the two guards standing outside the master control room, long before they had the chance to realise what hit them. The craven engineers on watch burst out the master control room after hearing the gunfire in a panicked flock - looking to flee the impending battle. However, the master control room crew - which at this time of night was a skeleton duty watch crew of fifteen men - dumbly burst out of the room in pairs of two and three expecting to escape, instead of running straight into their kill zone, screaming in terror. One after the other after the other, Dainis and Viktor pumped rounds into their chests. Viktor grinned malevolently at the carnage he was inflicting, enjoying himself as he slaughtered the defenceless engineers. Within a minute, every last man was sprawled on the floor dead or about to be.

Viktor reloaded his assault rifle, throwing the empty clip on the floor and menacingly wandering over the sight of the massacre whilst Dainis walked into the master control room. He noticed that nearly every dead man on the floor were foreigners; he hoped that none were from the resistance countries. Viktor, meanwhile, prodded the bodies of the engineers with his recently attached bayonet and out another shell into the five men who still weakly showed signs of life; breaking out into a victorious laugh. “Seventeen imperialist dogs are dead, comrade. Our fallen comrades have been avenged!”

Dainis ignored his comrade and took a seat at one of the desks in the master control room, urgently getting to work. The control room was a large circular room which lied in the centre of the building. All the computers monitor and screen - which each surveilled different parts of the refinery - gave Dianis the impression that it was a set out of an imperialist sci-fi movie set.

The idiotic imperialist left their work up, all the access I need to download the malware into the system. He just hoped that the cybersecurity experts back at headquarters knew what they were doing. He quickly typed in the computer commands he’d been taught several months prior. From his pocket, a pulled out a USB drive and placed it in the hard drive. Within a few clicks of the mouse, the malware was downloading. All they needed to do was wait...but time wasn’t on their side.

In the hallway, at least dozen distinct footsteps echoed toward the master control room. Dainis didn’t have to say a word, Viktors jumped into action - a brisk burst of machine fire exploded down the hallway and into the bodies if the imperialists; limp bodies crashing to the floor with a loud thud! Viktors laughed and cursed at the survivors - letting off a few more rounds down range. “How long do we need comrade?!” he both shouted and asked, his gaze divided between looking at Dainis and watching out for the imperialists.

“Two minutes, two very long minutes,” Dainis shouted back at Viktor. His heart was now pumping violently against his chest, his stomach feeling as though there was a raging hurricane inside of it, and beads of cold sweet were saturating much of his face; blinding him at times. “Now a minute and thirty seconds!” Please...please hurry up and go faster! I beg of you!

Viktor leaned out to lay down some suppressing fire and cut down more imperialists. But this time, these weren't underpaid security guards, rather a quick-response team from the nearby Dewedish Military Intelligence Directorate (DMID) base. They were attempting to storm the master control room, but a short burst from Viktor's Kalashnikov killed those leading the charge and the rest of squad quickly took cover. Ear-splitting automatic security alarms erupted into life all around Dianis in the building.

One of the montoirs, five growing fires, defined by blinking red lights, from the explosion were starting spread across the refinery. The room shook as several explosion thundered in the distance. Then Dainis felt his ears split from a flash grenade followed by a hand grenade. Viktor tried to lay down more suppressing fire but was struck by been grenade fragments; his face covered by them. Dazed and continued, Viktor emptied the rest of clip into a DMID officer heading the second assault. Nevertheless, it was too late. Dainis watched as his comrade's face exploded in front of him.

Dainis tried to climb to his feet, but they failed him. Pain...a streak pain of shot up from his legs which were shredded from the hand grenade. He bear crawled to some cover, rucksack in hand, the floor slick with his own blood. The DMID team were speaking in rapid Dewedish, too rapid for Dainis, who had studied the language in his youth, to understand. They’re going to storm in any second now...I have to do it. He looked at the monitor; the download was complete. He struggled to withdraw an explosive device from rucksack with his hand slithery with his own blood. He thought of his beautiful wife and handsome sons one last time, weakly saying: “Please forgive me.” Then his world became consumed by fire…

04:10, Midportvin Air Base, Kingdom of Deweden

Linda Lund sat idly at her post...bored, monitoring one of the several radar screens. For months now she and her colleagues had been constantly placed under high alert by their superiors who had warned that an invasion by the barbarians Rietumish was going to happen any day now. But when? Her senior official officer made it sound as though it was only a matter of a few hours away that the war would start... that all these months of built up nervous anticipation and, though she dare not admit it, excitement about finally putting all her training to good use.

Instead, she spent most of her days doing dull work, especially this late at night, stuck in the small, cramped radar stations with the skeleton night staff. For the past month and a half, the Riets seemed to have completely stopped having their fighters briefly enter Dewedish national airspace and play a game of chicken with NATA aircraft or practising mock attack runs against NATA warships in international waters. Linda eyes fell to her cellphone and skimped through her news feed. A story detailing the pregnancy of the Latin Empress Anastasia - with pictures of her baby bump at the end of the story - caught her eye.

She enviously inspected the Latin Empress’s beautiful summer dress, hooked arm-in-arm with her handsome husband. Oh, how she envied the rich, attractive aristocrats of Belisaria; with their vast fortunes and perfect lives. Unlike her, who was stuck in an unhappy marriage with a man who she was arranged to marry by her family. He was an overweight, a drinker, lazy, and self-indulgent who’d been chronically unemployed for the last year and a half. He was as far as one could get from the handsome royals which filled her news feed every day, boasting to the world about how great their lives were. Bastards!

She scrolled through her phone, briskly skimping through articles about the latest rumours about the royal families of Belisaria. Suddenly, she was brought to attention by an abrupt rush of the sound “bleep, bleep” coming from radar. She shrugged, although it signalled that a single aircraft plane had violated Dewedish airspace be entering it without prior warning, she wrote it off. Nothing to be alarmed about Linda, it probably the Riets testing Coalition reaction time or a civvy passenger plane wandering off course....it’ll correct course and turn back; they always turn back.

It didn’t, rather several blimps appear on the radar. First one more, which quickly turned into four unidentified aircraft appearing to head in the direction of Linda airbase. She immediately attempted several times to hail the aircraft - but no response was received back. Her throat went dry and tight knot appeared in her stomach. This is it, this is it...the shooting has begun. .

“What the fuck...what the fuck is that on my radar”, Birgitta Giese - a fellow colleague stationed across from her - incredulously mumbled. Linda peeked over to take a glimpse and was taken aback by what she saw. She was zooming in on half-dozen or so targets on her screen, seemingly hoping to identify the targets on her screen. “Is anyone else getting this shit on radar? Half a fucking dozen aircraft heading straight towards us?”

“Yes...fucking yes, here. I’ve got four targets on the screen.” Linda said breathlessly, looking around the room to find and signal the airbase’s commander; wing commander Lea Vang. “Wing commander, I think you should come over and see this. I and Giese have some nasty looking aircraft heading in our direction; what should we do?”

Wing commander Vang briskly walked over and curiously glanced down the monitors. “Have there been any attempts to get in contact with them,” she said almost hoping it this wasn’t what she thought it was. Fear, fear punctuated Vang’s voice as she spoke apprehensively. “They could be...they might be civilian aircraft which accidentally wandered into our airspace. Nothing to be too concerned about.” she lied to herself.

“Yes, mam. We have sent several communications signals to the aircraft, but there’s yet to be any response. I doubt we’ll ever get one of these aircraft didn’t enter our airspace by accident.” Linda said, eyes glued to the monitor as the targets drew closer and closer to the base. “Are we going to send up some fighters to intercept?”

A few more precious, nerve-wracking seconds past in silence. Then, finally, the wing commander finally spoke up. “Yes, send um… we’ll send some up the jets.” the timorous Vang said as she kept both eyes on the screen. “Prepare and launch ten high altitude interceptors Mirage 2000s from the 1st Interceptor Squadron with the orders to fire on the enemy once in range.”

“Aye, mam.” Linda replied, not wasting any time as she grasped the radio and bellowed: “1st Interceptor Squadron...1st Interceptor Squadron this is command. We have orders from the Wing Commander to prepare for an emergency takeoff to intercept and engage a squadron of enemy fighters heading straight toward -”

Before Linda could finish speaking down the radio, she was cut off by a massive, deafening roar overhead and a sudden bang. Linda was thrown back hard against what might have been a wall or desk and briefly left unconscious. The Wing Commander, however, was less fortunate and as her blurry eyes opened and peered through the cloud of smoke and dust, she saw Vang. At first, she couldn’t make out what she was doing or what she might have looked like; still blind from all the dust swirling in the air. And then Vang emerged through the cloud, waving her arms as though she was a mad woman. But only then did Linda realise that she was on fire, burning alive in front of her very eyes. Vang was screaming at the top of her lungs, pleading for someone, somebody to help. She stumbled in a circle for about thirty seconds, before collapsing onto the floor - dead.

Visibly shaken, a dazed Linda clambered around in the clouds of intermixing dust and smoke; eardrums ringing. She found Birgitta still at her desk, crushed under the wall, which had caved in on top of her; body caked in blood and dust. She left what had once been the radar centre and out into the open. Chaos, chaos everywhere. Plumes of smoke rose up into the air and enormous inferno raged in every direction; fuelled further by the aircraft fuel - whose tankers had been targeted in the strike - which now covered much of the airfield. Aircraft crews and airbase personnel were everywhere, attempting to control the blaze. While others did there best to clear runways of what remained of multi-million ghantmark fighters which had been destroyed by air-to-surface missiles.

Then were was a second volley of missile targeting the airbase. However, this explosion seemed less devastating and a different munition was used. Moments after the second detonation, white smoke billowed from the impact and blasted out huge craters in the ground. A menace white fog emerged from it, swelling to consume Linda. All of a sudden her skin started to sting, burn, boil; almost as though she had been submerged in boiling water. People ran in all directions, shrieking from the pain of the burning, hoping to get away. “White phosphorus,” she heard one man yell: “white phosphorus!” before everything went black.

04:15, Third Air Base, Autonomous People's Republic of Deweden, Rietumimark

A warm, salty ocean breeze swept in from the north, rolling off the seemingly endlessly expanse of ocean water. Hidden under a layer of early morning darkness waver after wave of seawater crashed onto the beach, slamming itself against the rocks below. In the distance, the first rays of the dim twilight slowly emerged. It all appeared so serene and ethereal; in perfect harmony and peace. Gazing upon the sky, one would hardly suspect that within a matter of a few minutes, the entire region of Deweden would yet again be engulfed in the most destructive war it had yet to witness. Soon tens of thousands of lives would be lost and millions more ruined as the Party moved to liberate their oppressed brethren in the Dewedish Authority and spread the glorious revolution.

Viktorija Kalniņa felt her heart flutter as her platoon belonging to the 1st All-Women’s Airborne Battalion stood in line, waiting to depart onto an LL-76. Night had rolled in seemingly out of nowhere on the base and the high-beam lights of the airbase were cutting through the darkness. She watched as three BMD airborne infantry fighting vehicles were loaded into the rear of the LL-76 and felt a few light raindrops from what had once been a heavy drizzle fall on her uniform. Nothing would hinder or stop the operation to liberate the Dewedish Authority...nothing. As their political commissar lambasted the paratroopers out repeatedly over the past four months of intensive training: ‘The bourgeoisie and feudalistic states today are falling class. ... By its imperialist methods of appropriation is destroying the economic structure of the world and human culture generally. We must strike and destroy the imperialists now and we shall be victorious...our revolutionary fervour wills it.’

Initially born and raised in Estoni as her parents worked at a state owned-firm operating in the People’s Republic. In 1987, at barely two, she and her parents were pulled out by the Rietumish government as the descended into a horrifying BC-backed and supported rebellion by imperialists thugs and we were resettled back in the capital of Rietumimark - Slapjzemesgrada - to work at the Ministry of the Economy and Economic Success under the hardline government of Premier Akhromeyev. She attended affluents schools and then to one of the best universities in Rietumimark. After university, despite her parent's opposition to it, she decided to join the Revolutionary Armed Forces rather than pursue a normal, civilian career.

Her Airborne Regiment was to be part of the initial invasion force in the liberation of Deweden. Months of high-intensity military exercises which was rotated across Rietumimark - often under the name of different Airborne units to mask their movements - finally all made sense to her. According to their Colonel, they would be para-dropping behind enemy lines to support the attack on the city Egefjord. Once on the ground, Airborne forces would attempt to secure the city or at the very least distract and/or pin down local Coalition forces until their heavy armour arrived. Viktorija’s platoon had received the specific task of taking control of Egefjord’s small airport so that additional reinforcements and heavy weapons could be brought in via airlift.

Suddenly, her platoon’s political officer shouted at the top of his lungs. “Prepare to board the aircraft!” he screamed over the roar of the LL-76’s engines and the cacophony of sounds of the airbase preparing for war. “Make sure those straps are tight!” he barked at one frighten girl, barely eighteen who probably on her first ever combat mission. She fumbled around with her assault rifle as the political officer stood intimidatingly looming over her. “Make sure to maintain a tight formation! Rifles will be unloaded until the drop!”

For several long minutes, the boyish political commissar anxiously paced up and down the platoon column - nitpicking at the slightest detail and making sure that everything was in order. The colour in his skin was gone, he was, even more, paler than usual...a ghostly shade of white. Beads of sweat swept down his fearful looking face as he dully recited the Party mandated propaganda laden speech to the airborne troopers. To Viktorija, the commissar looked the most frighten of the group, even more so than many of the younger paratroopers who only a few months ago were still in basic training. Typical Party coward.

The hour struck 04:35 Slapjzemesgrada standard time and several fighter jets roared overhead into the horizon. The faint drizzle of rain had faded and there was a thick, damp stickiness in the air. The political commissar finished his speech and mumbled something into his radio. Looking back up at the platoon, he sickly bellowed. “It is time to move out, the command has been given....” his voice dwindling as several tactical ballistic missiles shrieked towards the Dewedish Authority and the imperialists. “The day has finally arrived...we are beginning the most decisive military operation in the history of mankind!”

Viktorija followed the rest of her company walk one-after-another onto the LL-76, attempting to keep a cool nerve as the LL-76 bay doors closed behind her. The plane felt cramped and stuffed with neurotic fog of tension hovering in the aircraft. The plane ride would only last half-hour before they would make their drop...and months of mounting anticipation for war would finally be released...they would finally put their training into good use and send the imperialist scum fleeing to their tiny islands.

Yet, for the most briefest of instants, she thought of Zigmars; the terrible imagine flash of his handsome face glimmering in front of her. She tried to push it away, to force it away...for the vision to evaporate into the cold recesses of her mind. But as the aircraft flew ever closer to the drop zone, feelings of insecurity, regret, and her own morality kept flickering across her mind. Would she ever see Zigmars again? And if so, how would she look, still a fierce warrior or broken wreck with body parts missing, assuming she would ever see him again? Did he even think of her at all now?

No, no he doesn’t she bitterly thought to herself. She imagined him with a new woman; a much younger woman; a smarter woman who had everything going on...who had a future; a mocking smile adorned her face. She tried...pathetically attempted to bring her thoughts around to the looming battle with the imperialists...one in which she had spent the better part of a decade preparing for. But he was still there, hovering just beyond her line of sight, looming over her like a cloud.

She regretted it...she regretted not having what it took to ask him to be hers; for them to perhaps marry one day...one day after the war when this was over. They were alone, nonchalantly walking down the streets after lunch, it began to rain and they were alone finally. All she had to do was voice the words, to just vocalise what she felt; they never left her lips. She chuckled to herself lightly. I can jump out of moving aircraft but not dare risk a broken heart.

The boyish political officer, now looking as though he were about to vomit, spoke. “Gear, check!” he shouted at the company of airborne troopers. The company commander stood up and there was a panicked rush of shuffling of gear for a minute or so before quickly dying down; the anxiety which now swirled around the aircraft was once suffocatingly tangible.

The weapons check went by in a flash and Viktorija was taken aback when she felt the hand of the platoon commander after checking her gear; everything was in order. She hugged her weapon as the green line turned on. The bay doors opened and fast moving air flooded into; almost throwing some of the less experienced airborne troopers off their feet. Relying on her training, she took all the thought out of it and mindlessly followed the rest of her company out of the aircraft.

Although it was still supposedly dark, the night sky was lit up with tracers arm, small arms fire, and massive explosions from the ensuing battle unfolding all around them. A pair of MiG-29Ms roared above them towards some unknown target. Enormous infernos raged in all directions fires and more missiles barrelled in the direction of the enemy’s rear.

The ground came at her hard and struck it much harder than expected. Viktorija’s body ached from the impact and she struggled to climb be to her feet. Suddenly, through the darkness, a BMD-3 surged forward, its 30 mm 2A42 autocannon opening up at unseen foes. She threw herself back down on the ground, listening to the war raging, waiting for the shooting to die down long enough to make a break for it, to the safety of her fellow Airborne troopers. The next several long minutes seem to slowly crawl by as she crept through the light brush she found herself, looking for a descent in the ground to hide it. Please, may the motherla...may god...may god protect me and let me live, fearful that a stray bullet might strike or the tracks of a BMD crush her.

Then the fighting finally lulled. She almost jumped to her feet and went about systemically packing her parachutes before continuing on with her mission; careful of her surroundings. Through the cacophony of gunfire and explosion, she heard the familiar voice of the political officer and company commander. She wandered toward the source sounds amid clouds of smoke, too hazed to remember the night vision Airborne Forces had been lucky enough to receive. She grunted and pushed onwards, disorganised small-arms fire sounded from several directions. Then a firm hand took a hold of her and pulled her towards them.

“You, comrade Kalniņa, are coming with me.” growled the company commander over the sounds of war encompassing them. The commander grasped a fistful of Viktorija’s uniform and nearly pushed her inside the BMD-3. “Our orders are to move into the depths of the city seize control of the airport, like in the mission briefing.” the company commander barked- interrupted when a low flying attack helicopter zoomed overhead and unleashed anti-tank missile, hunting a target off out of sight. Within a matter of half-dozen seconds or so, she heard loud clang and explosion. Viktorija could see the first smoke rise into the air from the knocked out armoured vehicle as she was hurried rushed into the BMD-3 and to war.

[Arthurista]

Arthuristan High Commission
Lion’s Rock
Invasion + 6 Hours

A charming late-18th century building stood on the seafront in Lion’s Rock. Surrounded on all sides by ultra-modern glass and steel skyscrapers, it should have appeared absurdly out-of-place, but it did not. In an ineffable manner, the understated, elegant white-washed buildings of columns and porticos belonged in the space where it stood, a place where for more than 200 years since the founding of the Arthuristan colony. It was, at its outset, the villa of a shipping magnate family from Loweport. In the early-20th century, during the regional rubber-boom at the dawn of the age of the motor car, it was the home of a native Leonese tycoon. In 1947, when Lion’s Rock became a dominion, infused with all the trappings of sovereignty, the property was purchased by the Arthuristan government to serve as its de facto embassy in the city state.

As a diplomatic mission, the High Commission was, naturally, one of the safest places in the world for private conversations. It is bug-swept at regular and unpredictable intervals, and in the open spaces, such as its long, second-floor veranda, discrete jammers are hidden in corners in order to disrupt directional microphones. Overall, one generally cannot find a better place for informal chats which must remain off the record, and those present in the veranda took full advantage of this amenity.

Four people were present there on that hot, languorous tropical afternoon, sipping their glasses of chilled Campari and soda. The most august personnages present were the Arthuristan High Commissioner, Sir Nigel Winters, and the Allamunnic ambassador to the City State, Her Excellency Ms Reyna Kassel. With them was a Mr Francis Sommervale, managing director of Arthuristan Dynamics, one of the world’s most prolific armaments concerns. In his late-30’s, he was widely considered to be astonishingly young for the role. Completing the quartet, sitting slightly apart from the others, was a young man who, despite the heat, insisted on wearing a faintly-pinstriped three-piece suit – His Highness Michael, Prince of the House of Arthurius and newly minted associate analyst at the private intelligence company Castellum.

Kassel has had the most to drink, a not unreasonable course of action, given the circumstances. She was also the first to give voice to the collective sentiment around the table. “Gentlemen, just what the fuck happened? Who dropped the ball?”

“We all did,” replied Winters. “Is there anyone here who believed that allowing Deweden to join NATA was a good idea? In particular, admitting the two-bit kingdom in the immediate aftermath of a military coup? And technically in violation of the Accords, which mandates that Deweden is to be a neutral state, and would not seek membership in a military alliance, in exchange for peace. In the circumstances, the Rietumish could for once argue that what they are doing have some sort of legal basis.”

“Do they?” Sommervale was a lawyer by trade, and his training rears its head now and then. “We had credible evidence, confirmed by our various intelligence organs, that for a period of some time the Rietumish had harboured the ambition to reconquer the north, and had made military deployments aimed at effectuating this intent. It is eminently arguable that this was a fundamental violation of the treaty, which would justify Deweden’s ascession into NATA.”

“Legal or not, the point is moot,” Michael sounded irritated as he contradicted Sommervale. “Deweden lies north of the Ghant-FAS gap, which means that, militarily and strategically, it is completely expendable. Its fate should not be our concern. Given the stupendous imbalance in military power between NATA and Rietumimark, particularly on land, we barely have sufficient capability to defend the FAS against a Rietumish invasion in full force. Extending the alliance’s umbrella, stretching its resources, to cover that absurd creation which was Deweden was sheer insanity.”

“What of the plight of the South Dewedish?” Kassel asked rhetorically, half amused.

“What of them?” Michael replied contemptuously, to a general snort of derision around the table. To the Arthuristan policy-making establishment, actually believing what they proclaim in press conferences as public justification for their actions is as absurd as, for example, the notion that a Rietumish leader actually believing in socialism, or a Maradian theocrat truly believing in Jihad. These men and women hold all ideologies in contempt, as mere juvenilia for starry-eyed youths and fodder for the peasant tabloids. As far as they were concerned, the only reasons why any nation does anything, ever, are security, profit and power.

Which is why, for these people, the most immediate impact of Arthurista being dragged into a major war, for no discernable rational gain, is terminal worldview collapse.


Michael was determined to discover what happened. “Sir,” he asked the Arthuristan ambassador, “just why on earth did the morons not protest harder? Given the weight of the Arthuristan military, the Commonwealth could have vetoed the entire venture. It is not as if Ghant alone would have sufficed?”

“The mor-, I mean, our honourable elected representatives of the people-“ this provoked another round of laughter around the table. It would be a cold day in hell before a professional civil servant would come to have an ounce of respect for those who they conceive of as nothing but pandering parasites, “had been duly warned. The Foreign Office, the spooks over at SIB, and the Ministry of Defence snowed them under in briefing papers and summaries and reviews. And yet, nobody had ever supplied a convincing answer as to why they did what they did. It’s as if the entire elected class collectively lapsed into some manner of trance, or stupor.”

“In these circumstances, the standard response is usually ‘something something dynastic something’,” mused the armaments merchant. “Maybe all the tales about the Gentry are true, eh, Your Highness?”

“My father says as much, regularly. He’s a proper historian, after all.” The Lord Protector moonlights as a history professor at the University of Kingston. “You can fiddle with your bloodlines chart until the sun explodes, he would remind us, especially when mother is within earshot, it would still not stop a main battle tank. Hard military capability, hard economic power - at the seventh and the last they are the only things in the world which are real. Dynasties ignore this immutable law of history at their peril.”

“So,” Kassel reached for another glass of Campari, “where are we at?”

“The situation is, chaotic, to say the least, as far as we know,” said Michael. He kept a real sense of anxiety out of his voice – after all, he had not heard from his sister, who was in all likelihood in action, and for all he knew might well be dead. “The initial strike was … more effective than we anticipated, but less effective than it could have been. After all, it was simply a matter of applying the mitigating measures we had in place in the FAS in Deweden.”

“ The last-minute Yisraeli warning helped.” The prince took a large sip before continuing. “Surface-to-surface missiles knocked out many runways, depots, roads, communication nodes, and other such high priority targets. Redundancy, re-routing and repairs are under way, and we can restore a great part of the impaired capabilities. Some of the Deweden-based air squadrons were able to scramble to safety to Arthurista or the FAS just in time before the attack, which was fortuitous. Surface-to-air missile batteries also stopped a great many attacking missiles, but the economics of missile warfare always favours the attackers. Defences can be saturated. ”

“The missiles, together with the commandos and the airborne, caused a great deal of confusion in the coalition’s operational rear. This is something we prepared for in our FAS-oriented plans, but implementing them in Deweden is a very different kettle of fish. This, together with the widespread use of electronic jamming, means that we can say very little for certain in respect of the overall picture.”

“What we can determine is this – we had taken some losses in the rear areas. Quite heavily, in some quarters – I’ve heard of at least one, likely two, squadrons of fighter bombers being wiped out on the ground by commandos and/or missiles. Many others had suffered considerable damage, but are fighting back. Air battles have been reported throughout the front, as are SAM-suppressing efforts. Again, information is sparse and accuracy unknown.”

“At the front, things are slightly less dire. The enemy has not achieved a major breakthrough yet, though reports have reached us that a major unit of the Arthuristan 1st Parachute Brigade had been overrun. However, all formations are in precipitous retreat. Deweden had begun the mobilization process before the war begun, again thanks to the last-minute warning, but they are not envisaged to reach full fighting strength for a few days.”

“A sort of rough plan had been worked out. As I understand it, what is occurring is a delaying action. The alliance intends to establish its main line of resistance from Kralin to Ostervord and thence to the Allamunnic border. The Dewedish will take the right flank – their capital is in that area, after all. The Ghantish corps takes the right, tasked with maintaining the line of communications back to the FAS.”

“The Arthuristan corps, which is the strongest numerically, will centre around Flodmere, and likely fight the decisive battle in place. After all, if the Rietumish take Flodmere, it would merely be a short distance from the sea. Such an advance would cut the kingdom neatly in twain, and separate the remaining contingents of the coalition’s ground troops from each other.”

“The above covers the first phase of the coming campaign. The intention is to stop the Rietumish first echelon cold, and force them to deploy their second echelon. This would, hopefully, place us in an advantageous position when an operational counteroffensive is to be launched in order, to quote a favourite phrase of my sister’s, to ‘unfuck the situation’.”

"At sea, it's roughly the same story. Every spare unit of the Commonwealth Navy and the Imperial Ghantish Navy had scrambled, particularly the submarines, both nuclear and diesel, to put a line across the Ghant-FAS gap. Air units stationed in the islands in the middle are on full alert, working in conjunction with the fleets. We are prepared to repel a full-scale attempt by the Rietumish to breach the gap."

The table fell silent for a few minutes after Michael completed his impromptu briefing. The news was sobering, to say the least.

It was also Michael who broke the silence with an observation. “Returning to our earlier mystery, regarding the decision-making process of our elected leaders,” he said pensievely, to no one in particular, “it is as if some great intelligence, one who directs and guides the destiny of our nation, decides he wants war, any war, for whatever reason, simply because peace is such a bore, and only war is sufficiently amusing to relieve his cosmic boredom.”

“Consider, if you will, what is happening across the world at the moment, from Tikal to Yisrael to this blasted war. If, in the distant, unenlightened past of mankind, we once worshipped a deity of carnage and bloodshed, he would soon be well and truly sated.”

“No, Your Highness,” answered Sommervale. “Such a blood god would never be satisfied; not until the whole world is aflame from end to end, and from the sands of Talakh to the frozen wastes of the far north, there is only war.”

Michael looked down at his iced drink, taking a long sip, before extending his gaze to the horizon, to the setting sun. Both were the colour of bright crimson.

“Blood,” he thought, “at the seventh and the last, ultima ratio regum.”

2nd Battalion, 1st Paras
1st Parachute Brigade
Forward of Flodmere,
Central Deweden
Invasion + 4 hours

I’m not a paratrooper, 2nd Lieutenant Thomas Rasmussen thought for the thousandth time that day, standing amongst the charred ruins of a battlefield, so what on earth am I doing here?

Thomas Rasmussen, ‘Tommy’ to his friends, was a 24-year old management consultant, the first gainful employment he acquired after graduating from his BA. As with many of his peers, he joined the university cadet force, and thereafter was posted to the Territorial Army as a reserve officer. It had seemed a good idea at the time. He was good at rugby, it was an excellent opportunity for socializing and networking, and it proved very useful as a CV-boosting device. The 45 days of training per year he had to attend was something he positively enjoyed – it was similar, as far as he was concerned, to having an extreme sport for a hobby, one paid for by the government.

Rasmussen had decent knowledge of Rietumish and Dewedish – his father was a Dewedish emigres. He was good at processing large amounts of data and analyzing complex situations – skills he carried over from his civilian job, which landed him an intelligence billet with the III Corps staff, and it was in this capacity that he was acting in when he was mobilized and sent to Deweden.

Once in theatre, it transpired that one of the battalions of the 1st Parachute Brigade, deployed as a corps reserve, was short a deputy intelligence officer. Within hours, 2nd Lt Rasmussen, despite not possessing a red beret, or having done any egress from an aircraft except where said aircraft was on the ground and parked adjacent to an airport terminal, had been sent to an airborne battalion.

And, when the war-warning sounded, and the corps hastily sent the 1st Parachute Brigade and the 11th Armoured Cavalry Brigade forward of Flodmere, in order to screen the corps whilst it prepared the main line of resistance, he was bundled along with her new unit as they boarded the helicopters which would take them to the front.

From the chaotic comms chatter, he learnt that, just as the brigade had landed in their forward covering positions, the event they had so precipitously acted to forestall had happened – Rietumimark had crossed the border, and was heading straight for them.

With so much ground to cover, and so few units available, the brigadier decided that each of his three battalion groups, suitably reinforced with an artillery battery, some engineers, some SHORAD and a contingent of NLOS missiles, would have to fight on their own. Stop the initial probes, he said in his briefing to his senior officers, make them deploy, to conduct a deliberate attack, then destroy them as they come.

After all, weren’t they Arthuristan paratroopers, proud bearers of the red beret, and the best fighters in all of creation? For years, the Commonwealth Army had focused entirely on great power deterrence – in other words, on main battle tanks, massed artillery and coordination with air power and anti-air defences. Officers of the few elite infantry units – which in the army amounted to the paras and the special forces, together with their marines counterparts in the navy, argued otherwise. A great power war is a low risk probability, compared to a sudden conflagration in the developing world, a situation which, if mishandled, could lead to a significant erosion in core Arthuristan interests. An intervention in such a scenario required fast, agile troops, in other words, light infantry.

But how would infantry forces, devoid of heavy firepower and protected-mobility options, stop massed armour? They have their answer too. Technology, as usual, would come to the rescue. Modern sensors technology and drones allows for a significant increase in situational awareness, compared to legacy forces. With adequate coordination of remote fires – air power, new precision-guided artillery rounds which could hit moving targets, and especially the ‘revolutionary’ non-line of sight anti-tank missile, the warrior could stop the war machine.

And when, finally, the great wheels turned in the Ministry of Defence, and para and marines officers finally came to occupy positions of prominence in the bureaucracy, pressure began to mount to give the ideas of the ‘Light Warriors Mafia’ a try.

The results of that fateful morning’s proceedings seemed to indicate that they were right after all.

The battalion was deployed on the rearward side of a reversed slope, straddling a major motorway. They were dug into camouflaged fighting positions, very difficult to detect by low-flying drones, and nigh-impossible by high-flying jets.

Down that road came a Motor Rifle Division’s Forward Detachment, essentially a reinforced combined arms battalion group equipped with a balanced mix of tanks, mechanized infantry, artillery, engineers and other desiderata of modern war – the advance guard of the division, similar in role to Arthuristan divisional cavalry. Stop it cold, and the division would be deprived of its powerful spearhead.

The paras had let the scouting element through – a few BRDM armoured cars and some BMP-2’s. The paras’ fighting positions were not detected. They did not act, in fact, until the enemy’s main element had passed into the battalion’s main positions, when they let everything loose in a furious close-range ambush. Anti-tank missiles and unguided rockets slashed into the thin side-armour of tanks at close range. Infantry attempting to dismount from their vehicles were scythed down by accurate pre-planned crossfires of machine gun positions. Those attempting to retreat ran straight into a rapid barrage of 81mm mortar and 105mm artillery fire and were precipitously torn apart by a rain of shrapnels. With their political officers dead and impotent, many of those who did not manage to escape promptly surrendered.

Rasmussen helped to organise the forward platoons and the roving teams of MP’s to round up the survivors, amidst the charred ruins of armoured vehicles and the charred remains of human beings. They were, he thought, a distinctly dejected and slightly-malnourished looking lot. Not quite the ogres of legend Arthuristan soldiers were led to believe. Placed in an awkward position, a Rietumish unit can be decisively defeated.

It was just as he was about to return to the CP, walking past a machine gun position, thinking about how to interrogate the new prisoners, that things began to go disastrously wrong.

“What’s that?” A rifleman asked as a hissing sound emanated from his radio.

“I think we’re being jammed,” Rasmussen leapt down into the entrenchment, tried to adjust the radio, before attempting to contact the CP. “Green One, this is Green…”

“Five, sir,” said the private helpfully.

“Five. Comms disruption. How copy, over?”

Silence, silence except for a quiet hiss, which grew progressively louder over the span of two minutes. Finally, music emanated from the radio, softly at first, before building up to crescendo. The lyrics were in Anglic, but the source of the broadcast was unambiguously clear to all present.

Arise, ye workers from your slumber,
Arise, ye prisoners of want.
For reason in revolt now thunders,
and at last ends the age of cant!

“Take cover!” Rasmussen shouted to all within earshot as he dove into the nearest slit-trench.

“Away with all your superstitions,
Servile masses, arise, arise!
We'll change henceforth the old tradition,
And spurn the dust to win the prize!”

Around him, and across the battalion’s position, all personnel did likewise with or without orders. What was about to happen was abundantly clear, and in this type of situation it was a race between the quick and the dead.

For Rasmussen, all he could do was duck and cover. He reached relative safety just in time when the world beyond his overhead shelter disappeared in a continuous, all-consumer roar of thunder, one which would not relent until its perpetrators’ objectives had been completed. Faintly, beyond this deafening din, Rasmussen could hear that the radio was still operating.

So comrades, come rally,
And the last fight let us face.
The Internationale
Unites the human race.
So comrades, come rally,
And the last fight let us face!
The Internationale
Unites the human race!

IF one were to take a bird’s eye view of the surrounding area, one would notice that the entirety of the battalion’s position was enveloped in explosions and whipped by shrapnels, the likes of which much had been theorized, but few had seen since the Abalessa War of the 1970’s.

The commander of the Motor Rifle Division, knowing of the defeat of his Forward Detachment, was taking no chances. Six whole battalions of artillery, belonging to his advancing regiments, his division’s organic artillery reserve and those allocated to him from the Army level, flailed the defenders’ fighting positions.

Beyond, approaching, relentlessly like a wave, rode a reinforced Motor Rifle Regiment. In order to maintain the momentum of the advance, the division commander was taking no chances. The opposing light infantry screen must be rapidly and ruthlessly smashed, and to do so he would depart from doctrine and commit a part of his armoured reserve to augment the regiment’s own tanks and support the attack. The time for maneouvering had past – anyone attempting to stop him would be obliterated.

From the air, the wave of steel unfolded into an intricate pattern. Battalions fanned out into company columns, each with a platoon of three tanks in the lead, and a company of up to ten BMP’s following close behind. As they approached the next phase line, the tanks’ platoon columns fanned out. The BMP’s split into platoon columns of their own, before they, too, spread open their formation. The result was two walls of moving steel, one of T-72B3’s in front, and a denser one, constituted by BMP-2M’s behind.

The defenders were, naturally, finding it mightily difficult to fight back. The companies were armed with Vesper-L shoulder-fired top attack missiles. They were, unlike legacy wire-guided weapons, ‘fire-and-forget’ ordnance. However, in order to acquire targets with their command-launch modules, they needed to steady themselves and wait for the imaging infrared seeker to acquire – neither of which were very practicable when the air was saturated by hundreds of tonnes of supersonic shrapnel. It did not help that a copious amount of smoke shells were used to cover the advance – infra-red cameras could see through smoke, but anything which makes it harder for the defenders to survey the battlefield compounded their difficulties.

The only element of the battalion group which fought back with any degree of effectiveness was the trio of Missile Carrier Vehicles attached to the unit. Armed with non-line of sight missiles with a reach of 25km, these began to pick off the advancing armoured vehicles one by one. The one mistake the missile vehicles’ commander made, in her haste to position the launchers, was to place them too close to the battalion’s attached battery of 105mm guns, and this proximity would decide the battle. Before the guns could displace after a quick barrage, they were successfully triangulated by enemy counter-battery radars. A salvo of 122mm Grad rockets descended from the heavens and spewed hundreds of submunitions into the general area. Needless to say, both artillery and missiles were well and truly silenced once and for all.

Still, anti-tank missiles streaked out of the fighting positions, lofting high before descending to attack the vulnerable top armour of tanks. Here and there, losses from missiles and from hastily-laid anti-tank mines inflicted loss and damage upon the advancing armour. The Rietumish, however, had one last card to play just as the tanks were surmounting the ridge. Brought forward to provide close support were four strange-looking contraptions, resembling gigantic matchboxes mounted atop main battle tank platforms. They angled their boxes to around 45 degrees, before releasing another dense rain of rockets, this time upon the forward edge of the defensive areas. Where they landed, orange flame erupted with a mesmerizing, vivid intensity. Thermobaric weapons are deadly against prepared fighting positions, and the 96 rockets unleashed by the quartet of TOS-1 vehicles burnt, crushed and otherwise mutilated and destroyed the entrenched defenders in a merciless fashion.

It was no wonder that, when the tanks arrived and rolled over the entrenchments just as the smoke cleared, spewing fire at all directions with their main guns and machine guns, few of the survivors managed to put up anything resembling a show of resistance. The T-72’s rolled over and then past the remnants of the battalions’ fighting position, before continuing on their way to maintain the momentum of the advance.

The infantry arrived next, disgorging from their BMP’s at the top of the ridge, before advancing downslope, bayonet-fixed. The slight delay between the tanks and the BMPs’ arrival, however, allowed the surviving defenders to effect some level of recovery. From the nooks and crannies of their entrenchments, now battered beyond all description, the survivors returned fire, fighting back doggedly with their small arms and rockets. The best line formation of the Commonwealth Army does not give up, even when, for all intents and purposes, the sky had fallen on top of them.

Overall, however, the die was cast, and both sides realized this.

“Lieutenant, sir, we can’t stay here.” The sergeant who had been sharing Rasmussen’s foxhole, a tall, very tough-looking woman in her early-30’s, said as she forcefully tapped the shell-shocked subaltern on his helmet. “We have to go, and do so now, while we still have a chance. They can’t pursue us into the woods, at least not with armour.”

It did not take more than half a second for Rasmussen to realise that she was correct. In a rational universe, she should be giving him orders. She was, after all, the genuine article, a paratrooper, not a glorified desk-rider like himself. Rank, however, imposes its own rationality, even though her ‘suggestions’ were made in a tone which brooked no disobedience from the young officer.

“Agreed. We’ll take weapons only and other portable essential gear only. Leave everything behind. Round up everyone around who’re still in a position to be move. We can’t do much for the seriously wounded at this point, I’m afraid.”

“Right away, sir,” she said grimly, and proceeded to carry out her directives.

Ten minutes later, proud Arthuristan paratroopers 2/1 Paras, the best line unit in the army, were being taken prisoner, even as less than an hour before they were triumphantly rounding up the dejected left-overs of another one-sided battle.

All, that was, except the small bands escapees, furtively making their way through the forests with little more than the weapons. For the first time in their proud history, the red berets had been defeated. Worse, they were running away, and the war was still young yet.

[Liothidia]

Villa Scharnhorst
Leuna
30km south of Rahden
Invasion +1 hour

---

Deep within the marshy forests south of Rahden, sits the elegant mansion of Villa Scharnhorst. Once the seat of the great Falkenhayn family, it was seized during the heady days of Revolution by a plucky group of peasant-revolutionaries. Within an hour of violence, the entire estate was purged of reactionaries and monarchists, from the chamberlain down to the stable boy, they were slaughtered, their bodies thrown into the lake – still there, rotting away ever more on the muddy bottom.

Following the revolution and the creation of the Democratic People’s Republic, the villa was nationalised by the government and promptly transitioned for use by the People’s Government as a summer residence for the First Secretary and First Minister, yet in 1990 it was renovated again and expanded, to essentially be a summer residence for the entire Central Committee of State. It was quietly praised for its role as a monument to the bloody desolation of the Erste Familien class during the Revolution – here the revolutionary people’s vanguard would meet and discuss matters of state, yards from the rotting corpses of the oppressors’ enablers.

For the past several days the estate was awash with activity, a security sweep, an updating of equipment and technology in the “War Room”, and a newly renovated kitchen, to serve the needs of the People’s Commissars. The message from the Rietumish government, that war was to break out several days prior required a secure location for the Liothidian government to meet, plan and naturally scheme to secure Liothidian interests.

From this ornate, blood-soaked palace, Liothidia would make its response.

Marshal Reinhardt Dressler stood in the Blue Reception Room, observing the 55” HD television as LCN 1 reported on the outbreak of hostilities between Rietumimark and the Ghantish-puppet state of Deweden. The LCN’s correspondent, speaking from Slapjzemesgrada, seemed to almost enjoy discussing the obliteration of the puppet state by Rietumish forces, no doubt a sentiment shared by much of the Liothidian population. Behind him, waiters and waitresses continued to pick up plates of food and cups of coffee from the large table that hosted the Central Committee’s breakfast meeting, the clattering of plates, cups distracting the general from the news reports.

The head of the People’s Revolutionary Army was a talented man indeed, and equally committed to Liothidian socialism, he had risen through the ranks to the top through merit rather than patronage, a sticking point for some on the Central Committee, granting him a significant level of autonomy and independence from the party titans. He was the first to be informed of Rietumimark’s plan to destroy Deweden’s last opportunity for freedom, an endeavour he fully supported, for victory would remove NATA and ostensibly Ghant from northern Belisaria, and further secure Liothidia’s western flank. But, as always, war is chaos and Liothidia had to prepare for any eventuality.

“Good news from the west comrade” Dressler heard from behind him. Emerging to his side was Foreign Minister Erich Manzenreiter.

“It would appear so Comrade-Minister” Dressler replied with little emotion.

“Do you doubt our allies potential?” Manzenreiter enquired, being one of the few on the Central Committee who respected the soldier for his rise free of a guiding hand.

“I do not, but we must always be prepared. NATA will seek to defend Deweden, less they suffer the humiliation of losing a member who joined only weeks earlier, we will all doubt NATA’s resolve to defend its members, there is no guarantee of Rietumimark holding onto Deweden if NATA counter-attacks” Dressler replied.

Manzenreiter, a tall heavily built man with thick white hair was a well respected Party-Titan, a veteran of Liothidian politics and the factional bloodletting. He was a key ally of the First Minister and a subtle critic of the First Secretary.

“My fear is the enemy to the south, not that they possess the stomach to go aid Deweden, hardly worth the blood to defend a petty Ghantish queen and her lackeys” Manzenreiter replied, shaking his head.

“I have suggestions to deter a BC intervention, after all, NATA and BC military power combined will certainly push Rietumimark back, and god forbid they enter Rietumimark itself” Dressler exhaled.

“Ah very good, we need to show our position strongly, you still have those recommendations prepared to secure our vital national interests in this mess?” he asked the general, turning to him intently.

“Yes of course, the units are prepared and on standby the moment the Central Committee agrees” Dressler smiled.

As Manzreiter was about to speak, the chintzy bells across the Manor rang.

“Our masters call” the Foreign Minister laughed. The two turned and proceeded into the main hall, once a great place of feasting, partying and plotting by the aristocracy, it was now an ornate hall for the same, but for those who wiped them out in the name of socialism and equality. The previous paintings, tapestries and statues had been replaced with paintings of “Revolutionary Successes”, the ‘Burning of the Schloss Gruberheim’, the ‘Storming of the Generalstag’ and the ‘Proclamation of the People’s Victory.’ Though, the chandeliers, vast circular oak table and the bay windows remained, polished and preserved.

Around the table sat the Central Committee of State; the executive of nation and party. This was the top of the revolutionary food chain, the ‘People’s Commissars of State’, the cabinet, party leadership and moral guides of the revolution, to sit here was to declare yourself the leader of the Ceaseless Revolution. At the far north-end of the table sat First Secretary Georg von Carstein, the bland and officious head of state and party. To the south-end sat First Minister Teresa Fehrenbach, the first woman to hold the position of head-of-government. Fehrenbach was also an astute political player, a hardliner who sought to use Liothidia’s demographics and economic power to renew the struggle against the capitalist-imperialist cabal, to seek out avenues for pressure across the developing world, to press the pressure at home through modernisation and expansion of the armed forces and economy, she sought a Liothidian Century and the abolition of the NATA and BC, not that she often proclaimed such aims, better to want such things in the shadows.

As Manzenreiter and Dressler took their seats, Von Carstein cleared his throat and waved away the domestic staff, the vast engraved doubler doors, portraying the founder, Heinrich Schrader addressing the first Workers and Peasant’s Assembly were pulled shut, the sound echoing across the vast chasm like hall.

“Thank you comrades. I am glad that our trip here has been blessed with the sun and warmth of summer” he laughed, drawing only mild replies from his colleagues. Fehrenbach sighed and slightly rolled her eyes, ‘as if this is important in the grand scheme of things’ she thought.

“Of course, we’re here to discuss the great crisis gripping our region of Belisaria, our position and our role should there be one within it. We will each I hope contribute to the discussion and seek consensus as per the requirements of our party’s conventions” he continued.

“Comrade Marshal, may you update us on the situation” Von Carstein looked to Dressler, who was promptly passed a file by a uniformed aide.

“Thank you Comrade-Secretary. Just over an hour ago, our comrades in Rietumimark took military action against the Ghantish dominated government of Deweden. It’s continued backing of terrorism, its violation of the Accords and its opening of Northern Belisaria to NATA being the primary justifications for our comrades. Our comrades scored great successes in air and missile attacks against Dewedish infrastructure, civil and military alike.

“Their airborne forces have seized key ground and are in the process of securing more targets of interest. We expect the bulk of Rietumish ground forces to cross the border in a matter of hours. It is our estimation with the assistance of the General Strategic Intelligence Commissariat, that Deweden should fall within a matter of weeks.”

“NATA forces pre-deployed in the country are limited and without sufficient cover or supply, they will be defeated. GSIC however, reckons the Dewedish puppet government will feel either to the FAS or Ghant itself prior to the fall, it is in our interest and that of our allies that does not happen. A successful evacuation will allow the puppet-state and Dewedish delusions of independence and nationalism to continue and fester, maintaining a source for resistance.

“GSIC and myself agree that the biggest concerns for Liothidian interest is the deployment of sufficient naval forces in the northern Seas, this will endanger sealanes and greatly hinder our nation’s economy should merchant vessels become targets. I will discuss solutions when the issue is presented” he said, closing the file.

“Thank you, Comrade-Marshal. Our allies were polite enough to pre-warn us of their intentions, but still, we must present our position to the world. May we begin?” Von Carstein nodded.

“What of our nationals in Deweden? Our engineers and business people?” Foreign Minister Manzenreiter enquired, though numbering only 4,000, these were still individuals stuck in an active warzone. Despite the pre-warning, the Foreign Ministry had been slow to issue the evacuation order, though the PRA blocking the move, in aim of not alerting the Dewedish was most likely the sole cause.

“We have an evacuation plan prepared. The Gabriel Landauer and two escort destroyers are currently anchored off Vechta, awaiting the Committee’s order to sail to northern Deweden to evacuate our nationals. We will need to initiate contact with the Dewedish government to cooperate the move, though they wouldn’t dare refuse us” Dressler explained matter-of-factly.

“Let us be swift, our citizens must return home safely. Those in favour of initiating the Comrade-Marshal’s evacuation plan, raise your hands” Von Carstein interjected – followed by a room of hands.

“Consensus achieved, please order the implementation” Von Carstein nodded to Dressler, who in turn nodded to an officer from the People’s Revolutionary Army Navy, who for his part, snapped up from a chair and marched out the room.

“A full de-brief of the evacuation will be issued to you all in due course, I thank you for your swift action comrades” Dressler exhaled, owing to tradition.

“Now, what shall our great Socialist state endeavour to do in this crisis?” Von Carstein looked around the table.

“Offer Rietumimark our unconditional support of course” Fehrenbach barked from the far-end.

“Oh and in what capacity, Comrade? Full-intervention? Nuclear strikes upon concentrated Dewedish and NATA forces?” Von Carstein barked back sharply. Their relationship was never warm, both representing the two poles of the ruling Socialist Worker’s Party – he, a moderate economically focused technocrat, her a hardliner internationalist demagogue.

Fehrenbach raised an eyebrow behind her thick-rim but stylish glasses, she straightened her suit-blouse before sighing her response.

“Of course not, forbid our great Socialist state from expressing its power” she said. Receiving slight nods from several other Committee members, including Dressler and Mazenreiter.

“We must seek to ensure that they possess all they need to secure victory, arms, ammunition, replacement vehicles and weaponry systems, medical supplies and of course financial support” Fehrenbach replied, confident in how moderate and soft it was.
“Financial support is not an issue, our capital reserves are sufficient to cover our programmes and offer the Reitumish a cushion from the impending financial costs of war, as well as likely sanctions or embargoes by the capitalist oppressed in the South” Finance Minister Horst Behrendt replied. The portly and equally officious looking Finance Minister was a relatively low-key party apparatchik, appointed more for his brain than his personality. He however, was estimated to be worth $1.2 billion, owing to his sneaky successes in fudging the rules when he ran the State Energy Corporation, allowing for a highly ballooned pension and shares scheme, not that many cared, he wore the same suit and shoes every day, hiding well as a result.

“I do not think that such action is necessary, as the Comrade-Marshal explained, the Rietumish have sufficient means to secure victory alone, why endanger ourselves by being provocative in our support?” Christoff Richtoffen, the softly spoken and be-speckled interior minister shakily interjected. His comment drew sighs and exclamations from other ministers, including Fehrenbach.

“What is it that frightens us? The destruction of Deweden will not only secure us a North free of NATA and Ghant, but secure a stable western ally, we all know this. Why not pursue it? It is our interest, our national interest to seek out successes against the enemy, why is it that people around this table wish to seek out the interest of our enemy?” she snapped, leaning in toward the table.

“Do we want this to turn against Reitumimark? Do we want to see our neighbour collapsing under pressure? Do we want some Ghantish, Arthuristan or BC, NATA puppet on our borders? Of course not, so do what we can to ensure that doesn’t happen” she raised her voice, Richtoffen slinking down into his seat.

“Though, comrades, let us be fair, is damage to Rietumimark not also in our interest? I have always believed that the North requires only one power, that being our fatherland. A weakened Rietumimark, means a beholden and reliant Rietumimark, while I agree with Comrade Fehrenbach, I would plead that we be patient with our support, allow them what they need to destroy Deweden, but if the enemy comes, wait and see” State Security Minister Michael Drexler interjected. The tall, crow like looking individual headed the feared KOMINSI (Commissariat for Internal Security), the secret police and domestic intelligence service.

“I agree, this our great opportunity to solidify our fatherland as the dominant power for the oppressed workers of the world and the guaranteed power of the North” General Tomas Olbrich, the head of the General Strategic Intelligence Commissariat, the military intelligence service, spoke up, nodding to his domestic counterpart. Olbrich was a vicious bastard, rumours were abound that he, with the assistance of Drexler, orchestrated the downfall of his predecessor by claiming he had “nefarious connections to hostile elements.” These claims ultimately led to his disappearance and eventual execution.

His suggestion caused many a party-member to shuffle in their seats, others looked beyond the room into their minds to imagine what he suggested. Rietumimark, though a close ally, was relatively on par with Liothidia economically, demographically and militarily, to have it reduced militarily and economically, would secure Liothidia as the pre-eminent socialist power and the guarantor of stability in the North.

“We do not use the lives of comrades in that way” Von Carstein waved his hand.

“The key to revolutionary survival is power Comrade-Secretary, key. Throwing that away invites undermining of the revolution and our destruction at the hands of the monarchists” Olbrich responded, closing his eyes slightly to express his displeasure.

“Solidarity only goes as far as we wish it, we can show it and still secure our position. Of course, going into protect them fully will bring about Comrade Richtoffen’s fears” Fehrenbach sat up, turning the moderate position against the moderates and wets.

“This is duplicitous and manipulative nonsense” Von Carstein barked.

“I agree” shouted People’s Minister of Education, Helga Mueller.

“And what does the education minister know of geopolitics?” Drexler snarled back.

“A great deal Comrade Drexler” Mueller attempted to retaliate, but no one believed her. Her background in education and party-training denying her the extra punch.

“This is ridiculous, before us is a great opportunity to harm the enemy and cement our position in the North. We must use this crisis to our advantage, in all forms possible” Mazenreiter slammed his fist on the table, bring hushed gasps from the still silent members. Von Carstein looked on in utter surprise, very uncharacteristic of the Foreign Minister.

“We all seek the continuation of our great Socialist Fatherland and this our chance, we all seek a Socialist 21st century and this our chance. We all seek to hurt the enemy and this our chance, we all seek to defend our vital interests and this is our chance” he breathed heavily, tapping the table with a clenched fist.

“Well said Comrade-Minister” Fehrenbach beamed.

“I want it known, that those who deny us and our Fatherland this opportunity will feel the guilt upon their shoulders, they will be held to account. It would be appropriate for the wider party to know that those who denied the revolution, a great victory were engaged in extra-marital affairs, homosexuality and drug abuse” Olbrich spoke eloquently and slowly. The entire room fell silent, Fehrenbach offered a slight smile from one corner, while Dressler, Drexler and Mazenreiter all raised eyebrows in silent respect to the ultimate trump-card the hardliners possessed.

Von Carstein cleared this throat, looking around the table at the shocked faces of those under threat, he knew the cases as much as Olbrich. Re-adjusting his glasses, he said, “well, considering what has been discussed, I believe we should take a vote.

“Those in favour of pursuing our national interests in line with the position of Comrades Dressler, Drexler, Olbrich, Mazenreiter and Fehrenbach, raise your hands” he said meekly. He was blessed with a room full of hands.

“Consensus reached” Von Carstein sighed deeply.

“So how do we do this?” Interior Minister Richtoffen asked factiously.

“I have prepared a limited plan in terms of scope. I will be brief, immediately we begin supplying the Rietumish with the necessary supplies and monetary requirements to destroy Deweden. While this happens, we will contact the Rietumish government to secure their permission for Liothidian airborne and ground forces to be deployed to their coastal islands, including the Great Island in the north. This would guarantee their safety and with it our access to the sealanes. The enemy dare not bomb our sons, knowing such a move would guarantee our entry into the war” Marshal Dressler explained, taking a sip of water.

“It is possible that NATA with Arthuristan support will attempt a counter-attack, perhaps through the FAS or via amphibious action, I cannot be certain nor can GSIC. Should that happen, our intervention should be made if the enemy makes for Rietumimark itself, or god forbid, the BC intervenes also.

“Under no circumstances should we aid the Rietumish maintain control of Deweden in the event of a major counter-attack. Only maintaining the offering of supplies and money, such an event will damage the Rietumish military forces perhaps beyond repair, which unfortunately is in our interest. Above all, intervention by our fatherland should only be pursued to protect the socialist government in the event of a counter-attack into Rietumimark itself” he continued.

“So no chance Liothidian loss of life?” Von Carstein enquired.

“Only if NATA and Arthurista assault the island in the north, that would mean war and that would be on them. Besides, we must also use our extensive intelligence capabilities in theatre-by sea and through KOMINSI to establish a real-time provision of intelligence for Rietumimark, no chance of loss of life there” Dressler replied politely.

“That’s a relief” Von Carstein smiled, with a grunt of disappointment from Fehrenbach.

“More detail will be provided to the Central Committee in time, should comrades agree” Dressler continued.

“This morning has been a long one, we have other domestic matters to discuss as well as the security situation in Scipia, in light of the Mullahs’ agitations. So, those in favour of Comrade-Marshal Dressler’s plan, raise your hands… and we have consensus. Begin your work Comrade Dressler, organise the necessary documents and memos and the Fatherland will conduct itself accordingly” Von Carstein nodded half-heartedly.

“Now, shall we move on?” He sighed with relief.