Operation:Proposed school budget 1564 (semi closed, Allanea)

[Imeriata]

The former realm of Iztala had not been having the greatest experience breaking out from the federation following the disastrous orbital bombardment the home continent had suffered from the void spawn when they had struck without reason or provocation. While the oldest colonies had rallied under the banner of the fatherland and suppressed rebellions elsewhere so had in other realms the aristocracy risen up and shaken off the dominion of the high king, in others still the religious authorities had broken the shackles, while in more still merchants, and even the people had lead the charge resulting in a large group of break away states setting up their own government with local nobility crowning themselves.

While the local Uglait as the local Iztalan called their duke had originally seized power backed by a minority of his people that worshiped the fierce unconquerable sun just like his dynasty did while the majority of the realm had worshiped the two faced goddess Ishiri. However his more tolerant approach had lead him being sidelined by the more fanatical sun worshipers and internal strife and economic downturn seemed to be the hallmark of the realms independence.

To further make the situation worse for the young duchy had the revitalised federal and royal navy started to sniff around their waters prodding for weak spots or a reason to pounce. The reason had come in the form of a single slave ship that had been captured heading out from the realm with a full shipment of people, and the Scanderans that they themselves had been enthusiastic slavers just half a decade ago outraged by this crime against the crowns honour officially had their reason to attack. They boasted loudly and proudly that this first step in Imperial reconquest was heralded by their own dedication to stamp out slavery.

The first strike of operation “Proposed school budget for southern Vedian countryside the 1564th year of our kingdom“ had been a success to say the least. A large field army had launched first two naval invasions of Itzala, one large northern one had been able to distract the enemy forces enough for the absolute royal federation to seize the main harbour, Etz’Male. A vanguard of a whole field army composed of soldiers from the 2nd Vedian, 3rd African, and 2nd Ta’ka sha’miri field armies had been able to make an unopposed landing and march on the city while originally unopposed so had the city’s garrison marched out to face them but both commanders had decided to not risk an all out engagement and the matter had been settled by a battle of champions as 9 men from both sides had done battle with swords. In the end had the Scanderans triumphed and the city garrison accepted surrender in the old honoured way as both sides gave sacrifices to the fallen so that they might use the items for the next life. Having taken the city and with reinforcement swarming into the continent had the northern force been forced to disengage and withdraw further inland or risk being surrounded which allowed the two Scanderan forces to link up and prepare their advance away from beachhead they had just established.

---

The Absolute royal federation. Izalta

Olaf auf Swiborg stood and muttered to himself as he gave his surroundings a suspicious look trying to see if any of the locals were likely to take a shot at him or the guests that he awaited. But the natives looked harmless enough. The climate was rather hot and the people at least did not have a tendency to wear cloaks as was common in most parts of the federation where they could hide weapons.

They were an odd looking people with skin that was almost snow white and pale even compared to men from the home continent. Like a few vedians that in their pale blue uniforms tried to get some use out of the shade a bit away, their kilts clinging to their exposed legs that glittered of sweat to the delight of a few women a bit away that were giggling and pointing. Olaf’s eyes moved to the women, they had long curly black hair that stood at odds with their pale skin but what really made them look odd was their eyes, ranging from ember to pale yellow in colour. Their clothes were white with coloured patches of cloth sewn on to them haphazardly. A local tradition where they fixed their white armless dresses or tunics with bright impressive colours that showed that broken things could be made more beautiful by being broken. In a similar ideology did they also break their statues and simple pottery that was then fixed with gold. Olaf gave a suspicious look at one such statue reportedly being of a local hero that had been chosen by the two faced goddess.

No he admitted to himself as he thought back to the statues in Imerian Africa, the high culture that he was part of had the right idea to just paint the damned things. Like the statue of his great uncle that had been a loyal servant in the royal campaigns back in his day. His statue was displayed in great pride back at the family estate, his skin being painted the same dark brown as Olafs was and the same odd grey colour as Olafs.

His hand went carefully up his curly hair to make sure that it was still the same pale grey colour as it had been earlier. Yes, the ground up limestone that he used to colour it greyish due to the contrast of his natural black hair was still holding up despite the heat of the air around him. Well the day was at least promising to be interested when the Allaneans would get there. The federation did not need these outlanders he maintained but he had promised Eikvylda that he would be nice.

But then again that was what her kind was all about, polite and diplomatic with their smiles and their weird rabbit like ears. Well that is why they were part of the federation while he and the other Scanderans as warriors ruled it. He sighed again as he looked at a local that had gotten into a shouting match with another over a cart that had fallen. Just like most of their people did they were their tunics with those weird coloured pattern and with arms that ended way too early for decency in public, even their trousers were cut very short ending just after the knees.
"Well hopefully we will be able to teach them how to dress properly one day or another!" he thought to himself shaking his head as he took out his pocket watch to see how long his wait would be as another division of tracklayers made landfall followed by a regiment of cat eared fighters, their eyes suspiciously eyeing everyone around them that despite not being human were still considered the elite of the Ta’ka sha’miri fighting forces. Slave fighters they were called in the sun tongue that was a bit ironic Olof had to admit since that was what they were here to stop. On the other hand they were free men each and all even if they still claimed to be owned by their own temples so was that no longer so legally and they could leave if they wanted to but the old warrior tradition died slowly and they still kept proudly to their own traditions.

[Allanea]

The Winter Palace, Reichsburg, Reichskamphen

”Of the jewels of the Greater Prussian Empire, Imeriata is among the most precious.” – Cassiopeia said. “Thus was my husband’s word. They do not rival, of course, the Allaneans or the Menelmacari, but the Imerians are fine warriors, disciplined, hardworking, brave. Their record is one of a society that – although in some ways primitive – has a potential that cannot be ignored. Imerians are among the finest infantrymen that have ever trod the earth, and their artillerymen rival Allanea’s easily. Even at the time when Imeriata was still a slaver power, it was treated with respect by allies and enemies alike. Which brings me to a question.”- the Empress of Greater Prussia steepled her fingers, casting her eye about her advisors: “Why exactly are we not helping them enough?”

“We have transferred weapons and money, and of course –“

“Yes, I have heard of the weapons, the money, and the aid efforts. I have not said that we are not doing anything, I said we are not doing enough.”

“You cannot possibly expect us to restore prosperity into a country that has been struck by hundreds of megatons of orbital strikes overnight, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Please, Duke Annsbach, do not mock me.” – she looked at the Reichskamphenite nobleman as if he was only a college student that had failed an examination. “No, not overnight. But I do expect to see signs of growth. I wish to see Imeriata’s wounds healing like on a man who has had a healing spell cast on him. And these rebels, Annsbach. These rebels.”

“Iztala.” – another man, an Allanean this time, suggested helpfully.

“I understand that they are slavers of some manner. I believe that we should aid the Imerians in bringing them to order. “

“I believe it is not so simple.” – the Allanean had no intent of lowering his eyes as he looked at the Queen. “We cannot just tear the place up with strike packages. Even if we could, there is a danger of us getting it wrong.”

“This is of course true. Have Morrison put a study group together.” – the woman shook her head, letting her long, jet-black hair flow below her shoulders. “I trust the Imerians, but the study group’s results will be useful either way.”

*

Izalta, Absolute Royal Federation

By the standards of Allanean fashion, Professor Anatole Wilding was an elegant human being. His cyberarm was fashioned to resemble the armor of the knights of old, and his suit even included a tie, which was a rare thing indeed for an Allanean of any stature. A thin, stubby cigar in his flesh and blood hand, Wilding paced towards the Imerians.

The man was but the spearhead of a team of experts that were even now descending to the ground from an Allanean supply airship a few hundred yards away – economists, culturologists, drone operators, biologists, geologists, meteorologists, religious studies experts, military intelligence officers and programmers. Anatole Wilding himself has been a professor emeritus from the Miskatonic University – and, perhaps more importantly here, an OAS reservist, called in here to review the situation.

“Greetings!” – he called out to the Imerians. “So what have we here?”

[Imeriata]

The Absolute royal federation. Izalta

"I believe the locals call it a dock professor Wilding!" Olaf offered helpfully as he bowed before the Allanean professor giving his cybernetic arm a suspicious look for a moment, with the sort of frown only an armaturer of a subject could give. My deepest apologies though, it was originally my good comrade Björk auf Holmburg that was going to greet you professor Wilding, but he..."[/i] Olof hesitated for a moment and his eyes seemed to grow less focused before he cleared up his throat a bit.
"He had a feast he needed to addend so he is sadly unable to escort the professor for the professors stay!" He added quickly as he bowed again. "I am Olaf auf Swiborg, adjutant in the 3rd African field army and I will be you guide, guard, and liason during your stay here in his royal highness, may his line rule until the last of days, domains!" he continued before he nodded and a dwarf appeared at his side and moved up in that odd lumbering way that, that stunted breed walked.

"The dwarf will take care of the professors luggage would the professor need it! The situation is however looking rather well all in all, the enemy surrendered the city after a duel of champions and withdrew beyond the river Lud, we have yet to attempt a crossing since they hold the bridges but we have been able to prevent them to destroy the major ones, currently are we moving up artillery and aeroplanes to the front lines to attempt to keep them either suppressed or forced to withdraw as we hammer their positions and make a crossing under that cover!" he explained cheerfully.

[Allanea]

The professor raised an eyebrow momentarily at Olaf's wording, but then adjusted. Very well. So who are those people we are fighting? If you permit, my team will begin working as soon as they can, to work out a report for Her Majesty's government, and then we can send more help.

[Imeriata]

"Sure, I can assign some slave fighters to defend you would you need it and talk with Jungfrau Eikvylda, she might not be human but despite that so is she surprisingly quick to get things done and get her hands on information, those giant rabbit ears is good for something i guess! That would not be an issue would it professor?" he asked quickly with a curious look on his face as he studied the newcomer carefully as if he tried to discern something from his reaction to the situation.
"However his royal highness, may his line rule until the stars themselves grows dim, the high king, promised the king of Greater Prussia and Allanea that we would be more than happy to accept any form of support,so any information we can provide will we attempt to give you, there might be some classified files and so on that will be refused you in the name of the security of the crown but otherwise will we be more than happy to provide any information or resources that the professor might require!" he added quickly as to keep the conversation going and to hide his study of the man.

[Allanea]

”Let me be frank with you. We know nothing. For an invasion plan to succeed, it’s necessary to have either complete superiority, or detailed information, or preferably both. As I understand, the Izoltan rulers are themselves of the same culture as yourself, which makes them formidable soldiers, and particularly on the defensive. For this reason the Ministry of War feels it will face some serious problems here if it does not look into the circumstances in great detail. So if we can, could you explain as much as possible to me about the Izoltans both high and low? Who rules here, and what are the tribes under their control? What are their habits and dispositions? How do they earn their bread?”

*

The Allanean soldiers set up their tents, and even as they did so, several of them worked to assemble their first drone – a device with broad, slender wings, buzzing gently as it rose to the skies. While the Professor questioned his Imerian colleagues, the soldiers and researchers under his oversight were already working to lay cable that would connect them to the Imerian headquarters, or requesting information about the country, its climate, soil, and economics. Clerks were unfolding heavy laptop computers – thicker and heavier than those seen in the civilian world – and already beginning to type out their first messages, dictated by their superiors – requests for assistance to Imerian officers, primarily, but also summaries of what they were learning here.

[Imeriata]

"No, the people here are not us!" Olof said, a slight frown spreading over his face at the suggestion "They are not of the high cultures, either of the Scanderan cultures or the Sun people! They do however share some similarities and hold to the same gods as the people in the federation but they are a people onto themselves!" he added in an explanation, while people from Imerian Africa was neither Scanderans in geography or race so had they accepted the high culture and were seen as Scanderan as someone from Vedian or Karmanjaka despite their dark skin and distance from the home continent. A concept that people called greater Scandera.

The Izaltans however were smilar enough due to influences from both people coming over the ancient trade and raiding network that connected the old sunrealms with the Scanderan continent so it would probably only be people from the area that would point out the differences besides the language and race.
"The people however are brave, they hold to the goddess Ishiri, the two faced goddess, that is one of her temples!" he continued his explanation nodding to a large black temple, a small square was open to the public where sacrifices to the goddess was carried out and some temple prostitutes were chatting as they had taken a break while sharing some sort of bread or cake. The majority of the temple however was closed off by two giant bronze gates where priestesses stood guard, they were covered from top to toe in black robes with their faces obscured by silver masks which gave the whole area an ominous aura. Two giant statues stood tall and proud on the sides of the gates, one of each of the goddess two faces. While the bodies were the same with a muscular naked woman, her hips and chest wide but with the feet of a bird of prey and two giant wings. It was however her faces that was different. On the right one had the face of her as the goddess of fertility, it was a face that was happy and inviting, promising good harvest and children aplenty. On the other side however was her in the aspect as the goddess of war and destruction, her face was twisted in a nightmarish grin of fury, only death and pain could be expected from her in that shape.

"She promises that she will take those who fall in battle in as part of her Harem, lover soldiers in all eternity, so I suppose their soldiers should be seen as womanly and weak as they are fighting for lust rather than pious purity as those who follow shimmering Bel or the Fierce Sun! Those deities are masculine and strong though, and they followers will show that on the field of battle which is why I suppose their upper classes follow the fierce sungod! A more stern god, that is one of his monks over there" he continued frowning a bit at the idea of soldiers being lustful before he nodded in another direction. A naked man, starved and dirty sat on a corner of the harbour and was talking to a people. The followers of the fierce sungod was ascetics by nature as their god demanded that they refused any pleasure and monks generally starved themselves to death while bestowing people around them with their wisdom.

"The main export of the realm also speak to their soft side I suppose, fruit, oil, various medical herbs, jewels like obsidian, fine cotton, tea, other decadent items! Though since we import it I suppose such weakness bleeds over! However they also grow the Aligo fruit here, an important import that is a rather valued commodity in most kitchens, even if it has a hard time surviving elsewhere in the federation! They also gave us the Lag'or fish while inedible has a rather potent poison that are used in medicine!"he added more as an afterthought, showing clearly that at least to his Scanderan military mind it was pious matters that was the main driving force of a people and dedication to manly aspects of nature rather than feminine ones was what determined a people's worth as warriors. This divide between a feminine and masculine world was a very common idea amongst most people in the federation and scholars had a hard time agreeing in what part it had originated from but it had spread over the old trade routes long before there was an absolute federation that kept the whole area united under Scanderan dominion. The land was however very fertile, the dark soil was covered in ancient ash as the shallow ocean between the three main islands had once been an volcano of unimaginable proportions, that while now dead and cold had once in time immemorial been a danger to life on the planet itself. The reef that had grown up in this once ferocious power was even to this day full with Obsidian, that was a valued jewel in the entire federation.

"The Fauna is rather interesting though consisting mostly of either birds or Crocodylomorphs!" he said nodding to a boat, a trippel hulled one that was long and narrow that had made a landing and where the fishermen was busy unloading a big horrid creature, it was large and covered in thick square scales, it face was long and narrow and reminded of a Gharial but it it had a large triangular shape on it's head and it's snout was sharper and lacked the nostrils commonly found on that kind of crocodile, it's eyes were also large and bulging out of it's sockets, it had a pair of fins that ended in what looked like sharp claws and it's tail ended also in armoured fins.
"Are you familiar with Xenomorphs? because they are somewhat similar! Well the name at least, they both have morhps in them, these animals though only are relatives of crocodiles and the similarities end with the morph part... so I suppose not similar at all now that I think about it...!"

[Allanea]

For a moment the Professor was stunned by the vastly inappropriate comment the Imerian had made, staring at the man in disbelief. ”No, that’s… entirely unlike a Valaquine in every which way other than, I mean… the word Morph is in it. At any rate, these are fascinating bits of information. They are going to be very important in our planning. And those fellows’ weapons, do they have an air force with which to guard their skies from being dominated entirely by the Royal Air Force?” – he pondered momentarily. ”As I see it, we should plan an operation which would involve our cutting off any sources they might have of arms supplies from outside their realm, and then we should land an Allanean force, then have our two forces work together, naturally I am almost entirely a civilian in my own training, but I do believe…

”Excuse me, Professor?” – a hissing voice was then heard, and the Professor turned to see.. an enormous, ten-feet tall, glistening shape standing a few yards away.

”Yes, Poruchik Plagnor?” – the Professor turned, looking at the officer. He seemed not to be phased by its elongated head, nor by its long, spear-like tail or double jaws – in short, the officer was a member of just that species which the Imerian had just mentioned.

”We have the network plan worked out and are ready to start laying the cable.” – the Poruchik replied.

”Oh!” – the Professor smiled. "Olof, please meet Poruchik Plagnor, he’s our communications officer for this mission, overseeing basically all our phones, computers, all of these things." – if he suspected that Plagnor had overheard the previous conversation, he did not say a word.

[Imeriata]

The Scanderans eyes first widened in shock and then narrowed in suspicion as he looked at the newcomer, some of the soldiers a bit back had risen up stiffly for a moment but the lack of any reaction from the creature had made them sit down again, even if they did not look too convinced by the newcomer.
"A pleasure!" Olof said diplomatically with a nod,
"I can see if someone can be found to assist it would it need some assistance with the federal communication network too!"he offered absentmindedly as he took out a book and flipped through a few pages filled with runes, deciding that maybe insulting their allies and friends were not the best approach to start a campaign.
"Would you need any requests taken care of please bring them up and we will deal with them...." he said looking at the alien's mouth, lacking eyes it was hard to tell where one would look when addressing it but he hesitated at a moment, not sure how to properly adress it, technically so could one apply your royal prince or princess but that did not really seem appropriate either. "Drone-officer Plagnor!" he decided at finally, falling back to the Imerian custom of mixing civilian and military titles for officers.

[Allanea]

'Poruchik. Just Poruchik.' - explained Plagnor. 'The Plagnors have always been happy to provide an honorable service in the armed forces. As to the issue, I believe we should use simple copper cable to link our two camps, as this would be secure and yet technologically simple for us all.' - the creature gestured with his awful, clawed arm, demonstrating how he would pass the cable.

[Imeriata]

"Very well, I will make sure to find someone to work beside... Porushik!" Olof said with a nod, not sounding too happy about such an informal way to adress someone, he was however certain that Göran auf Bolgerholm would have some men that could keep the creature under observation and get a communication line made.
"But anything else we can assist with at this stage?" he asked as a roar overhead made him look up at a trio of biplanes that kept speeding by, magic runes that kept them from falling apart and to prevent magic-countermeasures glowing faintly under the wings even if the speed was too high to make out exactly what they said. He relaxed however a bit more to see the orange and beige of the royal aerocorps rather than the red of the local airforce that while tiny was still nothing he wanted to have flying around an operation as important as a naval landing or their military HQ.

[Allanea]

Encrypted Message from the Greater Prussian Study Group in Izolta, to the Imperial Leadership

Preliminary research confirms second-tier suspicion. Environment possesses whipper jokers. Recommend rainstorm. Recommend activating assets comparable to the scope of the friendly operation. Require additional research assets before main assets can fully arrive.

*

In Allanea, quarters of Panzer Division Majstaad

“ROTA! POD-YOOOM!” [ COMPANY! REVEILLE! - RUS.]

In the night, the alarm rang. Hundreds of feet hit the floor at once. In forty-five seconds, the men were fully clothed, grabbing their rifles from under their pillows. In a minute, the first tank crewman had cleared the door. In fifteen minutes, the first engines were coming alive. In an hour, the first tank transporters, ladened with the enormous, heavy Kotesh tanks were making it out of the base. Within the first day, the tank division – save for the one regiment that had been deployed to Diyaristan still – was already on the ship that would carry it to Izolta.

As the Allanean troops began their preparations before the final decision to go to war had been made, the divisions that were scheduled to go to Izolta had been on twenty-four hour readiness – which meant, in practice, that the entirety of the Izolta Field Army would be at sea within two-three days. It would be in Izolta within two weeks.

In the meanwhile, on Greater Prussian airbases in Mystria, several flights of strategic aircraft were being readied. In orbit, satellites were collecting infra-red photography of the Izoltan homeland.

*

My beloved Royal Cousin Primus!

Forgive me for not writing earlier. As we speak now, my people are preparing their first operation against the traitors that have so rudely thrown back your kindness and rejected your rule. However, as we consider them still your Royal subjects, I would like to clarify certain issues.

Under which rules should our forces engage the traitors? Should we restrict ourselves directly to their uniformed forces, or would it be permissible for us to engage elements of infrastructure that are principal to the traitors’ war effort, as would be permissible in a war against a foreign opponent? My experts inform me that a series of strikes against the aforementioned can choke off the traitors’ ability to resist and in fact reduce the amount of lives lost in the long run.

Yours,
Alexander.

[Imeriata]

Official communiqué from the absolute royal federation of Imeriata and her realms

From: His royal Highness Primus rex Stjärnkhrone XIV silferföd by the grace of the gods high king of the absolute royal federation and divinely appointed ruler and unifier of the Scanderan races, the descendant of the first Imerian high kings especially and foremost Emanuel the first, Son of Oskar II, the son of Primus the XIIIth, the son of Emanuel the VIIth, the son of Gustav the IInd, the son of Anders the IIId, the carrier of the royal sword first carried by the demigod Belrion son of Bel, vanquisher of evil, Champion of life and light, defender of the living and vanquisher of the dead, liberator of slaves, breaker of chains, the protector of the federal crown jewels, the holder of the sword of Halmir and carrier of the enlightened torch of civilisation, patriarch of the noble house auf stjänkhrone, carrier of better and more important titles than the space Russians and the king of Old Tyrannia, Chief of chiefs, Shan of shans, Monarch of monarchs, Prince of princes, Crowned in steel, fire, and flowers. Flame of all flames, protector of the faith of the chronicles and the city of the burning rose and the arch cleric, leader of ritual and sacrifice, chosen of the fierce unconquerable sun and crowned in starlight, mortal protector of the faith of the two faced goddess and defender of her temples and chosen by all gods big and small. As well as the protector of the free city states of Ta’ka sha’mirias well as defender of Hungary and her regions and the realms as king of Imeriata and as such the king of salt, forest, river, and mountain, defender and autocrat of flodmarkerna, Sundet, Söderang, Söderberga, Innahafsarna, Aster öarna, Vast öarna, Sydvedian, Storfloden and the river king, king of Vedian and the duke protector of the mountains, Eple Halvøyn and lavlandet, king of Erathia and as that the duke of Ankea metsä and ruler of the thousand lakes, the lord and defender of Länsisola and Etelä-kentät, king of Karmanjaka over the ancient rivers river, from the ancient mountains mountain, king of Northern Taranakan, king of Izalta, king of Nordomark, and king of Andervel but also the righteous and lawful king of New felandia and the king emperor of Dajing, the duke of Sydvinland, Northern Venezue, Sthalinge, Gustavsland and Sjöland, The Shah of the crown states of Ta’ka sha’miri and the Padishah of all of Ta’ka sha’miri, The lord regent of the colony of Nova Imeriata, Imerian Africa, Angland, the two peninsulas of Tvaude and of Somalmark, The Grand duke of Suderland, The prince of Isarna, Salmo, judeheim and Khan of Salonia, Sultan king of Ramir, the Emir of Sandland and Jarl of Salywa and the free city of Krakborg and Styrfastning, defender and lord of the city of Arkham and Sirmera, and further more the ruler of the federal terretories of Vastermark and the northern iceplains and as such high chief of Isfalten and keeper of Sfartmård , By the right of the constitution of the protectorate leopridaeria prince defender of leopridaeria, the high lord of Kalmer, Salmoborg and Gaseborg, Lord of the countless cities and lands under his most blessed and righteous rule, the lord defender of Imerbürg, Coparborg, Vesiki, Sjöborg, Afrikas fastning, Erikasborg, Nova Imerbürg, Wein, Udeborg, Angborg, Ambir, Nya Landborg, Nymarksborg, Sorgerstad, Anderborg, Nordanstad, Kängruborg, Sthalstad, Kängruborg, Judeborg, Moskstad, Daji, Sajing, Ademarksborg, Salem, Söderhamn, Öborga, Dragograd, Gapur, Bor-zut and Táibĕi but as well the Enlightened Emperor of Nicksyllvania and as such the King of Leazus, Emperor of Helman, Grand Prince of Zeth, Emperor of Japan, Emperor of Jungria, Duke and king of Hornet-Kereburos, Despot of the Great North, Grand Duke of the Western Badlands, Master of the Southern Marshes, and the king of Dragkon and the wielder of the Holy Swords, the Demon Sword Kaos, the Holy Sword Nikkou, and the Greatsword of the Empire, Nickiller, Great Protector of the Helman Wall and Majino Line, also by the right of his birth high marshal of the royal guard and the Imperial commander of the Imperial nicksyllvanian army, the grand commander of the federal order of the golden sword and the Nicksyllvanian order, the knight commander of the order of the golden cross and the order of Africa, the lord commander of the colonial order, the high commander of the federal order of the silver rose and the order of Scandera, the Taranakan order and the Order of Vinland may his reign last until the end of time and may the empire and federation he rules stand even through the flames of the endtimes to protect all of his royal highness subjects.
To: His royal highness Alexander auf Blaken-Kazansky king of Allanea and Greater Prussia
Regarding: Reply to; Letter
Encrypted: Yes

---

We are most joyful to so happily accept the aid brought to us by our beloved and blessed cousin, may the divine gods bring thy house and lineage great glory and many sons.

The rules and engagements will be those following the full rules of the code of chivalry, officers are not to be shot unless in self defence by the rank and file, any loot captured will be divided with one tenth going to the commanding officer, one tenth to the ruler, and one tenth to the widows, temples are not to be destroyed or used as defensive positions. However we are more than willing to not only allow but also to attack and destroy industrial centres that are vital to the war effort, however we also need to inform you that there is a commander amongst the enemy, squire commander Alashk auf Kilik that it is paramount that his personal property or estates are not to the damaged nor his positions contested.

While he is not on our side so is he one of the higher ranking officers amongst the enemy and hold a different religion than the other nobles in command. While he sadly enough is not a traitor so will he come into possession of a large sum of coin, and with his positions and estates not attacked and with a list of potential nobles to be given the fiefdom after our victory with his name on top soon to fall into enemy hands due to the work of the inqusition so are we certain that the evidence will be far too much for his superiors to ignore and he will be forced to switch sides.

Further more, when this war is over would we also offer your royal highness the chance to join us in Imerbürg, your royal highness have served us and our household greatly several times and we are of the opinion that we should reward your royal highness accordingly.

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Signed and approved by:
His royal Highness Primus rex Stjärnkhrone XIV silferföd by the grace of the gods high king of the absolute royal federation and divinely appointed ruler and unifier of the Scanderan races, the descendant of the first Imerian high kings especially and foremost Emanuel the first, Son of Oskar II, the son of Primus the XIIIth, the son of Emanuel the VIIth, the son of Gustav the IInd, the son of Anders the IIId, the carrier of the royal sword first carried by the demigod Belrion son of Bel, vanquisher of evil, Champion of life and light, defender of the living and vanquisher of the dead, liberator of slaves, breaker of chains, the protector of the federal crown jewels, the holder of the sword of Halmir and carrier of the enlightened torch of civilisation, patriarch of the noble house auf stjänkhrone, carrier of better and more important titles than the space Russians and the king of Old Tyrannia, Chief of chiefs, Shan of shans, Monarch of monarchs, Prince of princes, Crowned in steel, fire, and flowers. Flame of all flames, protector of the faith of the chronicles and the city of the burning rose and the arch cleric, leader of ritual and sacrifice, chosen of the fierce unconquerable sun and crowned in starlight, mortal protector of the faith of the two faced goddess and defender of her temples and chosen by all gods big and small. As well as the protector of the free city states of Ta’ka sha’mirias well as defender of Hungary and her regions and the realms as king of Imeriata and as such the king of salt, forest, river, and mountain, defender and autocrat of flodmarkerna, Sundet, Söderang, Söderberga, Innahafsarna, Aster öarna, Vast öarna, Sydvedian, Storfloden and the river king, king of Vedian and the duke protector of the mountains, Eple Halvøyn and lavlandet, king of Erathia and as that the duke of Ankea metsä and ruler of the thousand lakes, the lord and defender of Länsisola and Etelä-kentät, king of Karmanjaka over the ancient rivers river, from the ancient mountains mountain, king of Northern Taranakan, king of Izalta, king of Nordomark, and king of Andervel but also the righteous and lawful king of New felandia and the king emperor of Dajing, the duke of Sydvinland, Northern Venezue, Sthalinge, Gustavsland and Sjöland, The Shah of the crown states of Ta’ka sha’miri and the Padishah of all of Ta’ka sha’miri, The lord regent of the colony of Nova Imeriata, Imerian Africa, Angland, the two peninsulas of Tvaude and of Somalmark, The Grand duke of Suderland, The prince of Isarna, Salmo, judeheim and Khan of Salonia, Sultan king of Ramir, the Emir of Sandland and Jarl of Salywa and the free city of Krakborg and Styrfastning, defender and lord of the city of Arkham and Sirmera, and further more the ruler of the federal terretories of Vastermark and the northern iceplains and as such high chief of Isfalten and keeper of Sfartmård , By the right of the constitution of the protectorate leopridaeria prince defender of leopridaeria, the high lord of Kalmer, Salmoborg and Gaseborg, Lord of the countless cities and lands under his most blessed and righteous rule, the lord defender of Imerbürg, Coparborg, Vesiki, Sjöborg, Afrikas fastning, Erikasborg, Nova Imerbürg, Wein, Udeborg, Angborg, Ambir, Nya Landborg, Nymarksborg, Sorgerstad, Anderborg, Nordanstad, Kängruborg, Sthalstad, Kängruborg, Judeborg, Moskstad, Daji, Sajing, Ademarksborg, Salem, Söderhamn, Öborga, Dragograd, Gapur, Bor-zut and Táibĕi but as well the Enlightened Emperor of Nicksyllvania and as such the King of Leazus, Emperor of Helman, Grand Prince of Zeth, Emperor of Japan, Emperor of Jungria, Duke and king of Hornet-Kereburos, Despot of the Great North, Grand Duke of the Western Badlands, Master of the Southern Marshes, and the king of Dragkon and the wielder of the Holy Swords, the Demon Sword Kaos, the Holy Sword Nikkou, and the Greatsword of the Empire, Nickiller, Great Protector of the Helman Wall and Majino Line, also by the right of his birth high marshal of the royal guard and the Imperial commander of the Imperial nicksyllvanian army, the grand commander of the federal order of the golden sword and the Nicksyllvanian order, the knight commander of the order of the golden cross and the order of Africa, the lord commander of the colonial order, the high commander of the federal order of the silver rose and the order of Scandera, the Taranakan order and the Order of Vinland may his reign last until the end of time and may the empire and federation he rules stand even through the flames of the endtimes to protect all of his royal highness subjects.

[Allanea]

Leyfield, Greater Prussia, the Emperor’s Personal Office

“The very task of an individual, Rudolph – whether it is an Emperor, a King, a military officer, or merely a citizen – is to look through the superficial nature of a thing, and to understand its core substance,” – said Alexander, as he showed Rudolph a map of Izolta, on a large screen laying horizontally on his desk. – “Should you be able to grasp the substance of a problem, its core, then the specifics will fall into place, and can even be settled by others.”

“Consider, for example a war effort. You are familiar with the phrase, ‘amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics’, yes?” – the Emperor looked at Rudolph. There was something deceiving about Alexander’s appearance. He looked young, only slightly older than Rudolph himself, but as the young man looked into Alexander’s large, brown eyes, he saw in them that thing – not wisdom, no, but a certain weariness which the millennia worn into him.

“I am familiar, Your Imperial Majesty.” – Rudolph said.

“In a very big sense, it is a lie.” – Alexander replied.

“A lie, how?” – Rudy wondered. “Doesn’t the Army march on its stomach?”

“Very true. But you tell me – when you had to fight the Phyrexians, and you were assigned a company in the Emergency – did you have to figure out every truck’s movements and every vehicle’s repair schedule?”

“No, a Warrant-Officer did this.”

“This is an essential reality. Unless it is your direct responsibility, all you need to know as a command officer is that there is a path that the trucks or trains with the ammunition can take to your position, and that your wounded and dead can be carried home. The issues of logistics that a military officer, or staff officer, or even general, faces, are operational issues. Keep your lines open, don’t move so fast that your own trucks can’t catch up, and you’re basically there. On the other end, you need to figure out what your enemy needs to fight – and then you apply operations. In other words, the issue of strategic logistics boils down to… find what you need to shoot. And then shoot it. In this case, we’re calling it Operation Wet Blanket.”

“Because a Wet Blanket goes over a fire?”

“And in this case, it denies the Izoltans…”

“Their source of fuel.”

“Bright lad.”

* * *

2000 km away from Izolta, Operation Wet Blanket

The bombers swept forward. For this action, they did not carry their full payload. Only sixteen missiles fit into the cargo holds of each of them, the stealth craft swept towards Izolta in a broad front. Six hours after they left their home bases behind, the planes shut off their radios, their active sensors, everything that made them possible to detect. On a radar, they would have the radar signature of a small bird, and only the Allanean and Imerian military would know the time of their coming. Nor would they enter the range of the enemy air defense.

In a regular situation, it would make their targets difficult to strike – but they were aided in this endeavor by a simple reality – their targets were Izolta’s oil refineries, the sources of the country’s aviation and tank fuel. And air refineries do not move, nor can they dodge. Satellite photography and passive satellite navigation was enough to achieve a surgical-like precision – even without a single active sensor being active during the strike.

The black, blade-like bombers were a thousand miles away from their targets when they cut loose of their missile armament. The missiles fell, dropping down and forward from the planes’ bellies, and then their own engines ignited and carried them forward. They flew towards their targets, parallel to the ground, with small winglets spread out like those of a plane, less like rockets and more like small, angry jet planes. Some carried a single, large warhead. Others would burst overhead – if they were not shot down, that is – showering the target in small bomblets that would burst into fiery zirconium shrapnel, causing dozens and dozens of fires.

All of this, of course, if they hit. If nothing went wrong over their two-hour-long flight.

But then the Allaneans launches far more missiles than the Izoltans had refineries.

[Imeriata]

"BLÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖRP!" the alarm was blaring as people was running around in panic, the sound while installed by the Scanderans when they built up the realms defence forces to protect their own empire was still local made and imitated the horned crocbeasts that delved on the Phyrgh plains just between the ridge and the black shore. Similarly did alarms tend to imitate horns all over the old federation from the miniature mammoth horns of Scandera, to the horned terror birds in Sydvinland, to some rather primitive metal horns used in the sun realms. This little tidbit of information was something that Ilk Akahr did not have time to ponder however as his sandal clad feet kept hitting the ground as quickly as he could as he decided to bolt for it.

"Take a job guarding the oil refineries they said!" he muttered as he managed to push up the door where he and a few other sat playing bricks, the wooden gamebricks being all forgotten and by now he could never remember exactly what the other two men had. Like most other people in the refinery he was running as fast as he could to the trench that had been dug around the facility just in the case of an air raid like this. He and the men behind him had at least managed to get their KVG-09s over their shoulders as they all basically threw themselves down the trench. Their Scarlet tunics and hats in sharp contrast with the white ones of the civilians around them.

They hardly had time to hit the floor as they could hear how the point defence track layer that the army had driven up to them, also painted in a deep brownish red rather than the royal blue that it had originally been shipped out in, started open up with a fury, rotary cannons quickly spinning and spitting death tracking the incoming self propelled shell. While Ilk had never really gotten his head exactly around how it did what it so was he certain that the objects spirit certainly had something to do with it. All things had spirits that all were either foes or friends of the fierce sun.

Quickly did he twist his bottle that hung from his belt open and poured it down into the trench floor as the coconut wine quickly and greedily got observed by the trench, at least he hoped that this sacrifice would make the trench more willing to protect him. KABOOOM a massive explosion rung out from behind him which informed the world around him that maybe the point defence tracklayer had not been able to do it's job properly, the fury of fire and shrapnel that a second or two flung over them and ripped the trees outside of the refinery area to shreds. The trench however seemed to have accepted his sacrifice and gave the men inside of it plenty of cover as while some few metal pieces and so on fell into it so were nearly everyone protected as they clung to the far side that was dug into the side of the wall and as such not in the line of fire for any falling objects.

When finally it seemed that it had stopped to fall objects did he chance to take a peak out of their cover and saw some rather nasty result on the refinery. Flames were boldly reaching up for the skies and thick black smoke rose up furiously deciding to challenge the brightness of the sun itself for dominion of the sky.
"Bugger... that... that is.... well by the shining sun I am happy we all got out of there!" a voice next to him muttered as his fried Ilkhor rose up and looked at the devastation followed by Bolkh as the trio just shook their heads while men now rushed out of the trench in and desperately were pulling leather suits for firefighting out of sheds and hidden areas in the jungle to try to save the plant. Supported by a naked monk that rushed back and forth shouting curses and drawing arcane and holy symbols in the ground in an attempt to deal with the fire. All being things way above their paygrade as the trio sat down and shook their heads.
"Bricks?" Bolkh finally asked and seemed to have pulled a set out of somewhere in his uniform which garnered a pair of suspicious looks from his friends.
"Are we going to find any duplicates in there that matched the set we left?" Ilkhor finally asked.
"Wha.. how dare you? I offer my own personal deck and this is how you reward me?!?" Bolkh said shocked and with as much indignity as he could match, all while putting the set back into one his pouches without showing the set to prove it Ilk noticed. "Well if you are going to be like this so do you not get to play with my bricks and we could use dice instead!" he added finally as he drew up a large pouch of 8 sided dice.
"I swear if you get all suns or roses so am I going to give you such a beating you cheating rascal!" Likhor added as he laughed while Bolkh looked as shocked and started to argue, all while still pulling a smaller pouch out of the original pouch which it also quickly vanished into his uniform somewhere. Ilk laughed as he shoot a look over his shoulder again to see the flaming mess that used to be what they guarded, he hoped that would not negatively affect the war effort. Little did he know that they had almost entirely lost their ability to refine oil until at least heavy repairs had been carried out.

[Allanea]

Logistics is the bloodstream of war. Through its mighty sinews, fuel and ammunition flows to the army’s muscles. Like the pumping of a mighty heart, the logistics centers of an army work. The shipments are selected, the movement of the trucks, the ships, and the planes begins. It is planned according to a special cycle, like a dance. In the morning, while the soldiers begin loading the first trucks, railcars, and planes, the officers plan already tomorrow’s cycle. The blood pumps – like oxygen-rich blood from the country’s heart, ammunition, fuel, and healthy, well-rested men, forward to the line. And back from the line, it pumps back – broken and burned-out husks of vehicles, tired men with their eyes sunken in their sockets, and the dead, in sealed, leather-like bags and Army metal-lined coffins.

The fighting soldiers are war’s muscles and bone. The blood nourishes, and the body is ready for action. Like the fingers of a terrible giant, warships and submarines close upon the enemy’s throat. His own arteries are closed by the giant’s hands – his own cargo shipments are cut off. On the dark blue of the night sky, the fire of his refineries burns for days – like an unstaunched bleed from a wound.

Reconnaissance, however, is war’s eyes and ears. In orbit, the satellites circle, their lens, unfeeling and emotionless, take photo after photo. Their watchful station is brief – the speed of their movement is hard for a mortal to even grasp – but after darting across the horizon, they return again and again. Below these, in the skies, drones prowl, the buzz of their engines almost inaudible. Near the ground, aerostats hover, seemingly innocent, seemingly outdated and harmless craft – but fixed in their gondolas are dozens of cameras and infrared sensors. They follow the movement of every enemy soldier within miles and miles. Like a wild animal, they sense the heat of the enemy’s bodies. Computer cables, running along the war balloons’ tethers, carry this information to machines that then compile knowledge about each of these bipedal, warm shades.

Nor does the monster only see. It listens, too. Radio broadcasts, the outputs of radar stations – all of these collected and stored. It matters not only what was said – sometimes, indeed, the monster cannot understand that – but also where the broadcasts had come from, at what intensity, for frequent it is.

The high command, however, is war’s brain.

The monster observes. It sees the enemy’s movements. It sees the fire of his factories – no longer now the fire of production, but now the fire of destruction, in which hundreds of thousands of barrels of oil are consumed. It sees the slow advance of its allies.

The monster orients itself. In its mind, the simple data has meaning. “He has become weaker in my hands now, but he is strong yet. I must now do something else, to weaken him further.”

The monster decides. “I can see, but so can he. How do I blind him and deafen him?”

The monster acts. “

*

Leyfield, Sovereign Duchy of Leyfield, the Queen’s Office.

“Menelmacari financial analytics have stated that Izolta’s fuel refining capability is so limited that it could, for practical purposes, be said to not exist at all.” – the soldier said, looking at Queen Cassiopeia. He was a young man, or at least he looked like one, his hair dyed in a bright shade of pink. His black uniform had the badges and rank of a Captain in OAS.

Cassiopeia looked at the fresh photos – each portraying a confusing, blobs of grey and black – as if someone had tossed a few bits of very dirty cotton swabs onto satellite images of Izolta where the refineries had been.

“Tell my Aunt’s analysts they are correct. Izolta’s oil processing industry does not exist.”

The man’s face now carried a modest smile, his teeth not showing as his lips moved. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Now.” - the Queen continued. “Operation Polyphemus.”

“Our soldiers are already on the planes.”

“Very good. How many operatives do we have?”

“Fifty men. They will operate in teams of unequal size, so we’ll have as many as fifteen teams."

"Excellent. More than enough, probably. Brief me on the progress."

*

The Allaneans begin to arrive, by a cargo plane landing near their previous positions. Some of them are men, others are women. They are of nearly every race – humans, elves, dwarves, orcs and drow. Another plane carries in more equipment – jeeps, motorcycles, buggies, and others of this type – the terrible menagerie of Special Forces warfare.

One of the men – his skin olive-brown, his mouth a grimace of crooked sharped teeth, his ears broad and sharp – walks into the Imerian liaison’s tent. He does not knock.

“My name is Nurbag Futkareg. Captain Nurbag Futgarek, Organization for Armed Shenanigans, Free Kingdom Armed Forces. I need three of your liaisons, a patch into your radio system, and fifty travelers’ road maps of the country. Road atlases will do.” – he says in a hoarse voice.

[Imeriata]

The tent itself was rather luxurious with tapestries covering one wall depicting nature scenes while the other wall was covered by leather bound books while a large dark wood desk sat in the middle, all resting on a fine carpet. A human looking creature sat in a fine chair behind the desk and only the large fuzzy ears in a vague rabbit like shape was the only thing that set her aside from the humans that rushed around her with reports and so on and the Nekos, the most obvious pair being two young men that were at one another with fists as a large group of soldiers around cheered them on and waved coins. She wore a rather odd set of clothes that on the other hand very much was neither local nor Scanderan in design, her lower legs were wrapped up in a very thin white skirt that reached barely down to her knees and she wore an odd sort of cloak on her top. The cloak was buttoned up and reached down to around her navel. It was however very folded which allowed her to mover her arms without exposing too much of her. With a deep sigh did she look up from the book in her hands, "the brave raider" as it was written, in English for once rather than the ever present runes that could be found all over the camp. She put the book down, revealing a very fine illustration on one page of a creature very much like her own that threw herself at the arms of a Scanderan man, tall with long flowing blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in blue and white that was busy kicking the face in on a group of men in bright orange overalls all the same cracking a fearsome looking whip at them, the whole scene seemed to take place in either some sort of factory or ship due to the metal wall with machinery going on in the background. A fearsome furious anger was on his face as the overall clad men fled back in horror while his free hand went to a chain that hung from his belt.

She leaned forward and gave the man that just busted into her office an annoyed glare as her gaze moved down to his feet with the annoyance only a bureaucrat could manage as she took out a piece of parchment and a pot of inc, deciding apparently not to make a fuzz of the whole thing as she pulled out a quill, a very finely coloured one from one of the terror birds of Sydvinland with an golden tip as she dipped it in the ink.
"Calm your wolves captain sweet whiskers!" she said, almost muttering the last part as she looked up with a smirk as her eyes went to the man's very much shaved face, her own facial expression saying all she thought about that as she stared to write something down.

"We will see what we can do for your men..." she added as she looked suspiciously out at the group that was there "and... nurses? Logistics?" she continued questioningly as she indicated with a nod to the women that one could see out there. Something that the Scanderan men had noticed as well and were now whispering to one another. Quite a few that had enjoyed the relatively woman free area that a military installation was to skip out of their warm uniforms hasty covered themselves up with some embarrassment, she could already hear the complaints this would bring from the sporting arenas that operated in the sun people manner and so on. Of course she could already see some of the men around them whisper to one another, one pair that had been sitting in the shade, braiding and washing one another's hair had stopped and were making snide remarks if the laughter was anything to go by. Probably the same old amusement that most men found in seeing women in such a masculine environment.
"I will see what I can do, however I have written down a request for you to patch you into the radio, and get the logistics to hand over local maps!" she finally added with a quick nod as she poured what looked like sand all over the paper from a nearby jar. She took the paper and poured the sand back into the jar quickly and shouted something in the good old tongue over the orcs shoulder as a young man rushed in, dressed in the uniform of the royal guards' logistic branch but did not look old enough to shave yet. He gave a quick bow before he took the paper and rushed off quickly.
"Anything else I can do for you and your men in the meanwhile captain s... captain Futarek?" she added quickly, slightly mangling his name.

[Allanea]

"Some beer would be nice," - growled the Orc. "Our alcohol ration has not shipped with us."

[Allanea]

“I will admit,” - Futgarek began to explain, “that it is unlikely you’ve ever heard of us. We are members of the Free Kingdom Air Force, Special Operations Team Nightjar. We are here as the front edge of an Air Force mission to suppress the traitors’ air defense network.”

“Beer? Not that I know of, it is not a too popular drink in the federation am I sorry to say, we have strong ciders, wines, and mead if that would be a good substitute!” the bunny girl offered to the man’s earlier question before she leaned back and listened.

“No, I cannot say I have heard of you nor your men!” she admitted “could be the uniforms though, not really colours that make us ladies swoon and inspires the bards to sing of your tales!” she pointed out before nodding out of the tent where a group of soldiers from Imerian Africa and Vedian seemed to be discussing something, both dressed in the pale blue, gold, and white of the hot weather operation uniforms, the Vedians in their white kilts and sun helmets while the Africans wore simple fezes but otherwise looked like any regement from Imeriata would. “Like those lads!” she offered helpfully tilting her head a bit with a bit of a distant look on her face with a smile spreading slowly. She shook her head for only a moment and her face took a more scarlet tone and her ears laid down defensively back down her long hair.

“I mean some blue or scarlet could not hurt!” she offered quickly.

“Then let us issue the men a drink of hard cider,” -the Orc said. “We are going to have a very fascinating day ahead of us. What is known about the traitor forces?”

“I will see if I can get something out of the logistics!” she said with a nod. “Well the traitors are entrenching on the other side of the river a few quarterroads northwards!” She said pointing in the direction.
“We are currently flying in troops and preparing to move in the artillery so that we can make a full push at their lines and we have the advantage that we can concentrate our forces currently while they have to spread theirs out or risk having us land troops behind them and cut off their supplies due to our aerial and naval superiority!” she continued to explain “however these men were royal guardsmen or were trained by royal guardsmen so the fight will still be a fierce one!”

“How broad is their trench line?” - the Orc mused - “Could a small group of men go around it, or perhaps sneak through their lines?”

“I mean probably? They just started to entrench, but in all honesty i am part of logistics and not exactly aware of how the enemy is positioned exactly, not really part of my job but I can get someone who is aware of it if you wished it!” she offered with a shrug, hers was a life far away from the more worrisome part of the battles and instead knee deep in lists and schedules as she sent ammunition and provisions the right way. “I am not sure how well supplied you guys are though, I could set you up with federal weapons and food though if that is an issue, I am not sure if your equipment fit our bullets or if you have managed to get your lines up and running yet!”

“We have...” - the Orc waved his hand dismissively - “Three, four days worth of ammunition if there’s a fight, and we are going to get more airlifted in soon. Due to the nature of what we’re going to do here, we’re unlikely to need the vast supply of ammunition that our friends in the infantry require. But I thank you for your hospitality and the arrangements you are making for my men. The next issue is seeing someone who might be able to assist me more.”

“I would recommend the command tent, about 50 wolfstrides or so east!” the bunny girl said quickly, raising her eyebrow a bit with a frown over the last comment but then again he was right so she shrugged and picked up her book again. Being assigned to assist men with logistics that already had all they needed was something of a dream job it turned out.

The Orc nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll be on my way.” - and with that, he strode towards the command tent. He entered at a rapid, confident pace, and saluted.

“My name is Nurbag Futkareg. Captain Nurbag Futgarek, Organization for Armed Shenanigans, Free Kingdom Armed Forces, good sers.” - his respect for the Imerians was visibly improving for every minute he was spending in this place.

A large group of officers looked up, either wearing the distinctive kilts, fezes or turbans that showed from which realm they hailed. All of them gathered around a large detailed map over the island chain, impressively painted with everything a military commander could need to know drawn on it. No matter if this was industrial centres, railroads, roads, terrain, heraldic emblems of local nobles, one rather improbable sea monster drawn in one corner and a dragon perched on the mountains in the centre of the chain.

A large number of small miniatures depicting aeroplanes, infantry, armoured formations, and artillery was placed on it representing federal and hostile formations. While most seemed to be busy streaching out around the rivers to the north so had a sizable unit of armour, artillery and airplanes been gathered in the rear and judging from the lines paced on the map so were the federal officers apparently already planning a push despite how most of the army was still making landfall.

“Ah, herr Futgarek!” the officer that seemed to be in charge said, at least he was the one who’s arms were the most covered by intricate austrian knots. The man was an old gentleman with white hair braided into long fuzzy braids with colourful feathers braided into them. His fez was decorated with a large gem that held a large collection of feathers in it and he had a pelt of a lion, the southern kind rather than the Scanderan one, hanging over his shoulders as a cloak. His skin was dark like mahogny and worn after many a years in the field. His eyes though stood out sharply in contrast with piercing blue colour that seemed to be very similar to the sky in a mild summer day.

“I was just explaining to my men how we could gain the initiative by launching a full push straight at this shallow river crossing here!” he put a riding stick he was holding straight down on a blue line on the map that seemed to be straight north of the gathering formation of Scanderan warriors but was lacking in much of red miniatures that represented hostiles.

“Would it fall so could we push onwards with jungle fighting regiment through the dense woodland and quickly capture Bur-Kala here, a minor railway junction but one that would give us a rather sizable network to exploit and redeploy through!” he said and looked up studying the orc not dissimilar to how a school teacher may study a child.

“A fascinating plan. Is there a massacre we seek to prevent?” - the Orc asked - “But tell me about these woodlands.” - he said, as he removed a small device, about the size of a pocket notepad, from one of the many pockets on his uniform, and commenced writing on it with a small stylo.

“Would it be feasible for small teams of officers, drilled in the usual arts of ranging,” - he used here a term that, he hoped, Imerians are familiar with, “to infiltrate through these woods, and therefore end up in the enemy’s rear? Moreover, what do we know about the types and forms of air defense which the traitors possess? Divisional and theater SAMs and permanent radar installations are most important.”

“More than feasible!” the commander agreed with a quick nod, “However we had hoped that the new operational range of our troops would force the enemy to withdraw and allow us to encircle and capture positions not able to withdraw with the main army rather than start a mere harassment campaign!” he continued to point out, “made rather harder due to our own light infantry not yet having made landfall with their own equipment and supplies, so our ability to launch such an operation is sadly lacking at the moment and the more we wait the enemy might be able to entrench the position we hope to break through!”

“The woodlands are not as dense as further upland, the trees are still mostly palm trees and the under vegetation is rather sparse however that quickly changes when you move north with more proper kinds of trees taking up the majority of the forests with dense under vegetation and vines!” he explained quickly, apparently having taken the time to study the local flora and climate before the campaign begun. “The enemy is in possession of both tracklayers that has air reaching self propelled shells from our own design and tracklayers with radar capabilities, however we also know of them having radar stations spread out over the islands, due to… well it was we that built them back in the day! The stations should be here, here, here, here, and one there!” he continued pointing at several positions on the map that were spread all over, However they tended to be built around the main mountain chain at as high elevations as possible, and resulted in a coverage of the entire island chain.

“The issue with the mobile units is that we are not exactly sure where they are located, while we have spotted some here and there so are they mobile so there is no saying if they still are in the areas or not!”

“Harrassment is for amateurs.” - the Allanean said. “Guerrillas harrass. We will devastate. Now, here is what I plan to do, and you tell me where we can work together. We will have our men move ahead of the line of engagement, as a special operations team we can move deep behind enemy lines faster than you can hope to advance. From there, we can assist you wonderfully by guiding the fire of bombers and naval craft and artillery on anything of importance we find, with a priority as I said on enemy air defenses and aircraft should we find any. The notion of this is very simple - the more we damage the enemy’s air defense systems, the more we can apply firepower not only along the front line of battle, but throughout the entire depth. Is this something that meets with your approval?”

“I am not entirely in favour of it, we would be very hard pressed to offer you support would you be engaged with more than you can handle except from the air! Letting our allies get cut down would be rather rude of us” he said, making the air word sound a bit like he did not entirely suspect that mere flyboys would be able to keep it together enough to save anyone.

“However the plan is a solid one so I will leave the decision up to you, just keep your eyes open for geese would you attack enemy positions, just like us do they make use of war geese to guard their installations!”

“It is of course entirely possible we will die doing this,” - the Orc conceded, “but I will endeavor to ensure this does not happen, and if we do die I will not begrudge you in the afterlife if you do not do the impossible. “

“Very well, Hold me a seat in the eternal feast in that case herr Futgarek, I am old but I still hold the hope that I will be granted entrance to the feast that awaits all fallen warriors!” he said with a smile and a nod.

“Though, I would suggest acting as properly as you can in your raids or risk the enemy burying your bodies if you fall!”

“That is what we do. Now, I do believe that we should start out during the night. Do you have a jaeger, or a hunting volunteer, or some such soldier that knows the lay of the land?”

“Well… we used to have a whole field army that was more than well versed in the region!” the commander offered drily before he looked around at the officers around him “Though I think we have one man, friherre squire Björn, he had some estates in the region and was a rather enthusiastic hunter of big game crockbeasts!” he added as most of the officers looked a bit doubtful about offering one of their own to a foreign raiding team.

“Very well then,’ - the Orc offered. ‘ I shall leave with my men as soon as it gets dark. If it wer possible for someone ot barrage the slaver positions around nightfall, this would also be quite nice.”

[Allanea]

Victory, speedy and complete, awaits the side which first employs air power as it should be employed. ¬ Air Marshal Sir Arthur ‘Bomber’ Harris.

One thousand kilometers away from Izolta

The bombers are once more skimming through the evening skies. They are small in number – ten of them only, two of them tasked for each of Izolta’s long-range radar stations. They speed forward, once again. Not a word is said on the radio as the bombers approach the rebel country – and indeed, it can be hardly said that they ‘approach’ at all in a meaningful sense, because the closest they ever are to Izolta is still over an hour of flight. They descend, now, to launch altitude – skimming as low as the war machines dare to the surface of the sea. Soon they begin to launch their missiles – each of the craft carrying several of the things.

There is not a single word broadcast on the radio as they strike. The missiles skim as low as practicable over the surface – they, too, require no radar or sensor to guide them to the fixed positions of the enemy. The vast dishes and antennae of the long-range radar are unable to move. Once the missiles, guided by inertia and by listening to the broadcasts of navigation satellites, are out of the planes’ bellies, the only way to stop them is through shooting them down.

The logic of the Allanean plan is a cold one.

If you put your finger on a mouse trap’s lever, you are quite likely to get your finger caught in it.

Put your foot onto a bear trap, you are likely to have your leg broken.

In this sense, reaction follows action.

Fire your long-range missiles – from beyond the range of the enemy’s weapons, even their detection – at the enemy’s fixed sites.

Some of them carry dozen of submunitions – just powerful enough to harm a radar dish, or an antenna, or some other such piece of equipment, or perhaps a truck or half-track. A tank? Unlikely, but, though possible, not very relevant.

Others carry a half-ton warhead. These, upon approach to their targets, will rise somewhat in the air – and then dive, locking themselves onto the RADAR emissions of the enemy radar installations.

This is the first evening of Operation Polyphemus.

[Allanea]

“I will admit,” - Futgarek began to explain, “that it is unlikely you’ve ever heard of us. We are members of the Free Kingdom Air Force, Special Operations Team Nightjar. We are here as the front edge of an Air Force mission to suppress the traitors’ air defense network.”

“Beer? Not that I know of, it is not a too popular drink in the federation am I sorry to say, we have strong ciders, wines, and mead if that would be a good substitute!” the bunny girl offered to the man’s earlier question before she leaned back and listened.

“No, I cannot say I have heard of you nor your men!” she admitted “could be the uniforms though, not really colours that make us ladies swoon and inspires the bards to sing of your tales!” she pointed out before nodding out of the tent where a group of soldiers from Imerian Africa and Vedian seemed to be discussing something, both dressed in the pale blue, gold, and white of the hot weather operation uniforms, the Vedians in their white kilts and sun helmets while the Africans wore simple fezes but otherwise looked like any regement from Imeriata would. “Like those lads!” she offered helpfully tilting her head a bit with a bit of a distant look on her face with a smile spreading slowly. She shook her head for only a moment and her face took a more scarlet tone and her ears laid down defensively back down her long hair.

“I mean some blue or scarlet could not hurt!” she offered quickly.

“Then let us issue the men a drink of hard cider,” -the Orc said. “We are going to have a very fascinating day ahead of us. What is known about the traitor forces?”

“I will see if I can get something out of the logistics!” she said with a nod. “Well the traitors are entrenching on the other side of the river a few quarterroads northwards!” She said pointing in the direction.
“We are currently flying in troops and preparing to move in the artillery so that we can make a full push at their lines and we have the advantage that we can concentrate our forces currently while they have to spread theirs out or risk having us land troops behind them and cut off their supplies due to our aerial and naval superiority!” she continued to explain “however these men were royal guardsmen or were trained by royal guardsmen so the fight will still be a fierce one!”

“How broad is their trench line?” - the Orc mused - “Could a small group of men go around it, or perhaps sneak through their lines?”

“I mean probably? They just started to entrench, but in all honesty i am part of logistics and not exactly aware of how the enemy is positioned exactly, not really part of my job but I can get someone who is aware of it if you wished it!” she offered with a shrug, hers was a life far away from the more worrisome part of the battles and instead knee deep in lists and schedules as she sent ammunition and provisions the right way. “I am not sure how well supplied you guys are though, I could set you up with federal weapons and food though if that is an issue, I am not sure if your equipment fit our bullets or if you have managed to get your lines up and running yet!”

“We have...” - the Orc waved his hand dismissively - “Three, four days worth of ammunition if there’s a fight, and we are going to get more airlifted in soon. Due to the nature of what we’re going to do here, we’re unlikely to need the vast supply of ammunition that our friends in the infantry require. But I thank you for your hospitality and the arrangements you are making for my men. The next issue is seeing someone who might be able to assist me more.”

“I would recommend the command tent, about 50 wolfstrides or so east!” the bunny girl said quickly, raising her eyebrow a bit with a frown over the last comment but then again he was right so she shrugged and picked up her book again. Being assigned to assist men with logistics that already had all they needed was something of a dream job it turned out.

The Orc nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll be on my way.” - and with that, he strode towards the command tent. He entered at a rapid, confident pace, and saluted.

“My name is Nurbag Futkareg. Captain Nurbag Futgarek, Organization for Armed Shenanigans, Free Kingdom Armed Forces, good sers.” - his respect for the Imerians was visibly improving for every minute he was spending in this place.

A large group of officers looked up, either wearing the distinctive kilts, fezes or turbans that showed from which realm they hailed. All of them gathered around a large detailed map over the island chain, impressively painted with everything a military commander could need to know drawn on it. No matter if this was industrial centres, railroads, roads, terrain, heraldic emblems of local nobles, one rather improbable sea monster drawn in one corner and a dragon perched on the mountains in the centre of the chain.

A large number of small miniatures depicting aeroplanes, infantry, armoured formations, and artillery was placed on it representing federal and hostile formations. While most seemed to be busy streaching out around the rivers to the north so had a sizable unit of armour, artillery and airplanes been gathered in the rear and judging from the lines paced on the map so were the federal officers apparently already planning a push despite how most of the army was still making landfall.

“Ah, herr Futgarek!” the officer that seemed to be in charge said, at least he was the one who’s arms were the most covered by intricate austrian knots. The man was an old gentleman with white hair braided into long fuzzy braids with colourful feathers braided into them. His fez was decorated with a large gem that held a large collection of feathers in it and he had a pelt of a lion, the southern kind rather than the Scanderan one, hanging over his shoulders as a cloak. His skin was dark like mahogny and worn after many a years in the field. His eyes though stood out sharply in contrast with piercing blue colour that seemed to be very similar to the sky in a mild summer day.

“I was just explaining to my men how we could gain the initiative by launching a full push straight at this shallow river crossing here!” he put a riding stick he was holding straight down on a blue line on the map that seemed to be straight north of the gathering formation of Scanderan warriors but was lacking in much of red miniatures that represented hostiles.

“Would it fall so could we push onwards with jungle fighting regiment through the dense woodland and quickly capture Bur-Kala here, a minor railway junction but one that would give us a rather sizable network to exploit and redeploy through!” he said and looked up studying the orc not dissimilar to how a school teacher may study a child.

“A fascinating plan. Is there a massacre we seek to prevent?” - the Orc asked - “But tell me about these woodlands.” - he said, as he removed a small device, about the size of a pocket notepad, from one of the many pockets on his uniform, and commenced writing on it with a small stylo.

“Would it be feasible for small teams of officers, drilled in the usual arts of ranging,” - he used here a term that, he hoped, Imerians are familiar with, “to infiltrate through these woods, and therefore end up in the enemy’s rear? Moreover, what do we know about the types and forms of air defense which the traitors possess? Divisional and theater SAMs and permanent radar installations are most important.”

“More than feasible!” the commander agreed with a quick nod, “However we had hoped that the new operational range of our troops would force the enemy to withdraw and allow us to encircle and capture positions not able to withdraw with the main army rather than start a mere harassment campaign!” he continued to point out, “made rather harder due to our own light infantry not yet having made landfall with their own equipment and supplies, so our ability to launch such an operation is sadly lacking at the moment and the more we wait the enemy might be able to entrench the position we hope to break through!”

“The woodlands are not as dense as further upland, the trees are still mostly palm trees and the under vegetation is rather sparse however that quickly changes when you move north with more proper kinds of trees taking up the majority of the forests with dense under vegetation and vines!” he explained quickly, apparently having taken the time to study the local flora and climate before the campaign begun. “The enemy is in possession of both tracklayers that has air reaching self propelled shells from our own design and tracklayers with radar capabilities, however we also know of them having radar stations spread out over the islands, due to… well it was we that built them back in the day! The stations should be here, here, here, here, and one there!” he continued pointing at several positions on the map that were spread all over, However they tended to be built around the main mountain chain at as high elevations as possible, and resulted in a coverage of the entire island chain.

“The issue with the mobile units is that we are not exactly sure where they are located, while we have spotted some here and there so are they mobile so there is no saying if they still are in the areas or not!”

“Harrassment is for amateurs.” - the Allanean said. “Guerrillas harrass. We will devastate. Now, here is what I plan to do, and you tell me where we can work together. We will have our men move ahead of the line of engagement, as a special operations team we can move deep behind enemy lines faster than you can hope to advance. From there, we can assist you wonderfully by guiding the fire of bombers and naval craft and artillery on anything of importance we find, with a priority as I said on enemy air defenses and aircraft should we find any. The notion of this is very simple - the more we damage the enemy’s air defense systems, the more we can apply firepower not only along the front line of battle, but throughout the entire depth. Is this something that meets with your approval?”

“I am not entirely in favour of it, we would be very hard pressed to offer you support would you be engaged with more than you can handle except from the air! Letting our allies get cut down would be rather rude of us” he said, making the air word sound a bit like he did not entirely suspect that mere flyboys would be able to keep it together enough to save anyone.

“However the plan is a solid one so I will leave the decision up to you, just keep your eyes open for geese would you attack enemy positions, just like us do they make use of war geese to guard their installations!”

“It is of course entirely possible we will die doing this,” - the Orc conceded, “but I will endeavor to ensure this does not happen, and if we do die I will not begrudge you in the afterlife if you do not do the impossible. “

“Very well, Hold me a seat in the eternal feast in that case herr Futgarek, I am old but I still hold the hope that I will be granted entrance to the feast that awaits all fallen warriors!” he said with a smile and a nod.

“Though, I would suggest acting as properly as you can in your raids or risk the enemy burying your bodies if you fall!”

“That is what we do. Now, I do believe that we should start out during the night. Do you have a jaeger, or a hunting volunteer, or some such soldier that knows the lay of the land?”

“Well… we used to have a whole field army that was more than well versed in the region!” the commander offered drily before he looked around at the officers around him “Though I think we have one man, friherre squire Björn, he had some estates in the region and was a rather enthusiastic hunter of big game crockbeasts!” he added as most of the officers looked a bit doubtful about offering one of their own to a foreign raiding team.

“Very well then,’ - the Orc offered. ‘ I shall leave with my men as soon as it gets dark. If it wer possible for someone ot barrage the slaver positions around nightfall, this would also be quite nice.”[/align]

Some time later

[align=justify]At nightfall, the raid teams began to filter off into the North - each by their various means, some scooting along by their motorcycles or quadbikes, in teams of two or three, others in large teams. Here it is not possible to tell of them all, but it is possible to tell of one - Captain Nurbag Futgarek’s team.

They were ten soldiers - an Orc, seven humans, a drow, a hobbit, and a dwarf. These were no common soldiers, nor was their skill and equipment ordinary. The juniormost man was still a lieutenant, the least experienced one had trained with Team Nightjar for three years. One of the humans had the marks of a battlemage - his camouflaged tent-cloak’s hood lowered, a wand-holster attached on his vest. The dwarf carried in his backpack what looked like a long-range radio set but definitely was not one - and one of the humans did indeed carry a backpack radio set.

Then there were the weapons. The drow carried a long bag of army camouflage on a pair of cloth straps. There was of course a machinegunner, and a man with an RPG launcher, and of course another man what appeared to be an enormous revolver rifle. Carbines, pistols, knives, and so forth were worn, and those who could carried also a pair of short, innocent-looking tubes strapped to their backpacks, a bit like the tubes carried sometimes by engineering students.

Finally, standing near the men was a small - clearly robotic - vehicle on eight round, thick wheels, which had boxes and kitbags strapped to it.

There had been massed movement all around them for most of the night as heavy and medium tracklayers, assault guns, tracked artillery, and support vehicles had rumbled through the jungle followed by large number of demi-tracklayers and even the starkorm infantry carriers. All following the preparations for the large push. In the distance could one even now begin to hear the thunderous rumble of artillery and counter artillery open up at one another, followed by even lower sounds of horns and march music that the guard tended to blast at high volume in battles, this however was not responded to, a good sign if any that there were not a massed enemy formation ready yet to face the federal assault.

A trio of aeroplanes speeded over the group of Allaneans, however the darkness made it impossible to say if they were federal or rebels from just a casual look as both sides used cream colour markings on their planes and the darkness made it hard to tell if the main planes were coloured orange or blue. The distant thunder however seemed to have scared up a bunch of lizard like creatures, that rushed past them, the familiar crocodile like scales were present but their legs were straight and more adapted for sprinting long stretches rather than the short and spread out ones that their more common cousins had that were better suited for short sprints and swimming. Their snouts were also odd and duck shaped filled with what looked like maulers rather than the sharp predatory teeth that one could expect in crocks.

The Allanean soldiers commenced their movement through the woods in single file, with one of the humans taking point, and the robot taking up the rear. The device’s engine seemed to be nearly silent, as the machine followed after the men, its ridged, wide wheels moving deftly over obstacles. Behind it, a rough attachment made out of cloth and sticks was dragged, brushing over the tracks left on the ground by men and machine alike. A careful observer would, of course, still notice that someone had passed here, but to count how many had passed, or how swiftly they had walked, would be difficult.

As they walked, Björn and Futgarek were kept carefully to the middle of the file, where they could not be immediately killed off by a front ambush, a mine, or perhaps a rear ambush.

Futgarek’s yellowish eyes tracked the scaled creatures with respect and awe, he found their agile, predatory movements worthy of admiration. But it was not the time now, quite sadly, to speak of the marvels of nature, red in tooth and claw as she was. The Allaneans walked on. Even in absolute peacetime, they would come off as nearly silent, their feet placed carefully with every step. Now, with the roar of battle to their side, the far off explosions of friendly and enemy shells alike served further to obscure their presence.

The march was in its own way stressful - there seemed to be something almost shameful in how they had to walk on, uninvolved in the heroic struggle which the Imerians were now already engaged. Yet all understood that this was military necessity. They had a task, and if they carried this task out properly, they could yet bring home glory equal to that of the infantrymen who were even now about to engage in pitched combat against the traitorous foe.

Among the thick wood, the party continued to push forward, their movement taking them in a sickle-like route, off to the right and past the enemy’s positions. A regiment of men could not hope to make this movement unspotted, and even a company would have a problem doing so. Futgarek’s squad, however, moved like the very shadows themselves.

Nor did they say a word to attract attention. Hand signals - a commando raising one hand or both, opening or closing their fist - were the way in which Futgarek’s warriors directed each other’s movements through the woods - until, about two hours into the journey, the Orc Captain turned to the Imerian. In the night, his eyes seemed to gleam like those of a cat. “Honorable squire,” - the Orc whispered - “How soft is the earth around these parts?”

Björn stood out a bit from the men around him, instead of camouflage did he wear a khaki tunic and trousers, knee high boots of brown leather, and a thin cream cloak that was lined with red on the inside, his head was protected by a rather common looking pith helmet, like those worn by the royal guard and it was adorned by a rather impressive feather collection both from colourful birds and large terror birds from Vinland. His weapon of choice seemed to be one of the large dragon hunting rifles that as the name implied was capable of taking down one of the large fire breathing beasts but also lightly armoured military vehicles. However he also had a more reasonable KVG-09 carbine slung over his shoulders and a wicked looking slashing blade hanging from his belt. All in all a very common Scanderan hunting getup rather than the blue officer uniform one would assume he would wear. The only hint that he was part of the military at all was that he still had his military austrian knots sewn onto his tunics arms in a rather odd mixture of the civilian and military, something the royal guard apparently were totally ok with.

“Oh nothing too bad this far south! My young fellow milad!” he squire said with a cheerful but heavily accented tone, it was however far from as thick as certain Imerian accents could be when they basically just mixed the two languages with a casual disregard for anything foreign. “A bit sandy but nothing too bad, unfortunately so are the wildlife the most disappointing thing about the area!” he continued nodding to the quickly disappearing crockbeasts.

“Those there are Herbivores and about as large as the beasts come down here, the only thing worth bagging are Og’khals as the natives call them, a bit longer and predatory, looks something like a mix between a crock and a pike but they are only about the size of one of you Jonhies dogs, will stay way clear of a human though so the challenge is tracking them rather than fighting them!” he explained as he looked over his shoulder with an almost sorrowful expression at the dog sized creatures that by now where long since gone.

“It is further up hills the big things are, you should see the crock drakes as we call them, big and fiercely territorial, look like a massed crock with a bulldog like snout and long slender legs, ambush predators and violent buggers like you would not believe fellow my lad!” He continued, showing his somewhat over enthusiasm for hunting and local fauna.

“That is indeed all going to be useful should we have time to hunt something, which I believe may come into importance in a few days if we are unable to find food.” - Futgarek said, although he smiled as he spoke it, and from the way his sharp, Orcish teeth gleamed in the moonlight it was clear he too relished the notion of a hunt. “But it is not that I am concerned we will sink into the soil. I am interested in knowing that we can dig in it, which according to you we can.”

As he spoke, the men pushed on through the woods - by now they were quite beyond the din of battle, for unlike the soldiers there they were contending with no foe, and could simply walk, and walk. For a group like this, twenty miles in a night was not at all an unusual feat.

It would be near morning that the men began to approach their goal - the very edge of the woods. Here, Futgarek located an appropriate hill - one deep enough in the woods that it was still covered in trees, but one from which he could see out. Tired, aching, the men began to ascend.

But - just before they reached the top, with the mass of the hill between them and the edge of the wood - the men stopped. After a brief inspection, an observation post on the other side of the hill, facing the outside, was chosen.

“Shovels.” - the Orc uttered briefly, and the men began to dig. Ten green shovel blades, grey metal showing along the edges where they had been sharpened, bit into the Earth. Before the Imerian’s eyes, men who had just now walked the entire night dug, cut down branches, and placed the branches over the resulting holes. By the time the sun was fully up, the men had fashioned themselves a small, rather uncomfortable dugout on the side of the hill that faced the outside of the woods, and unrolled their cloaks into small, uncomfortable tents on the ‘inner’ side of the hill, tents just small enough for a single man to sleep in.

“Now we rest.” - Futgarek said, laconically.

“Right..” Björn said eying the groups tents with a bit of suspicion before he shrugged, he himself had been busy cutting down small trees and rather than digging out a place to sleep had he made himself a raised bed by crossing the newly cut tree into a box and pinning it in place with sharpened stakes, before tying down a flat surface on top of his box that he then had put palm leafs on. “Just keep your eyes open for serpents and biters, nasty little buggers those ones! Not really a danger mind you but they can give you quite a jolt if you are not prepared for them!” he said finally as he pulled what looked like a large bowl out of his own package and was just about to fill it with water that he had gathered from a stream they passed ago before he froze and looked very annoyed at the women in the group.

Muttering something in the good old tongue he instead rose up and headed out into the jungle “Well try to get some rest at least, I have some matters to attend to!” he said over his shoulder in English finally.

By the time the men woke - about the afternoon - the dwarf, hobbit, and two of the humans had in fact been bit, sporting unpleasant welts on their faces and throats. The soldier who had been watching the camp while they slept now took his turn to sleep, and Futgarek went off to the other side of the hill, where the observation point had been dug into the hillside and camouflaged, and began taking stock of his surroundings. A few dozen meters from Futgarek’s ‘cave’, a soldier was unfolding his backpack, raising a fat antenna into the air, concealed only by a few shrubs.

The radar station was visible on top of a large hill, and surrounded by a hastily built ridge that exposed only the top and radar to allow it to do its job properly. A few dugouts could be seen on the ridge itself where armed guards most likely were positioned, yes, at one place could one see the red turban of the local armed forces. Sharpened stakes were driven into the foot of the ridge to further reinforce it and for some odd reason were a flock of geese spread out around the entrenched position, not the Scanderan giant kind, but regular ones, bering red vest with the heraldry of the realm sewn onto them. A similar arrangement had been placed around the Scanderan camps back at the coast but the vests were blue with the royal shield embroidered on them.

Of course could one also see a flag, red with a silver shark, was fluttering proudly in the wind.

Futgarek remained calm, unsheathing from his kitbag a camera. Carefully balancing it on the edge of the observation slit, he attached the lens, and carefully removed its cover. The lens did not gleam as the Orc took several photos of the camp, and then covered the lens again.

He then nodded to one of the men, and a computer made its appearance from within one of the boxes tied to the ground drone’s back. On this machine, the Orc began to type, with speed and agility that seemed unusual for such a vicious-looking creature. As he typed, Futgarek entered into his report principal details - the location of the radar, the amount of troops he could see, their movements and so forth. To this he appended details about the weather.

“So, friend Björn,” - the Orc asked, “is there anything you saw that I need to put into this brief report?”

“The geese are a bit worrying!” Björn muttered as he took out a long monocular and scanned the approach. “There probably is a point defence system we cannot see and if they are following federal doctrine should there be some heavy repeating rifles there, the guards however should not be more than a group or two!” he added thoughtfully as he looked over the place.

“They might be using mines…. But I doubt it, the sudden advance of our landing and their forced withdrawal so would I guess that they needed to put their mines down to reinforce their frontlines rather than here!”

“VEry well,” - the Orc said as he continued to type. “Okay, now we’re going to.... “ - as he spoke, he pressed a button. For about three seconds, a light lit in the corner of the computer’s screen, and was gone. “Hope nobody spotted that,” - he said cryptically.

“Spotted what?” Björn said as he gave the computer a very suspicious look. “Is the machine betraying us? Does it’s spirit need appeasement?” he quickly added with a frown and glared at the machine, falling back to the animistic approach most federal subjects had to the world around them.

“The broadcast may have been spotted.” - Futgarek explained. “Although, of course, it is unlikely. We prefer short-burst text satcom,” - he went on, in a lingo that Björn would no doubt find equally cryptic, “it keeps us on the air shorter. Now we wait. How do you fancy a meat ration?”

“Please and thank you!” Björn said not entirely sure he trusted the machine anyway nor too sure on the english terms but he suspected it had some Scanderan equivalent, probably with less abbreviation, Imerians in general seemed to dislike the practice. “May I offer you bread in return fellow my lad?” he asked in return pulling out that ever present part of any Scanderan dish. This one dark looking and long with red, black, white, and orange pieces in it that most likely were some kind of fruit, nuts, or vegetables. Scanderans were very fond of their flavoured bread after all.

“My Gods!” - the Hobbit soldier said as he looked on the conversation, “this is amazing! I was not looking forward to the ration crackers.”

The Allaneans’ ration meat consisted, on the other hand, of a mix of beef... and fat, which seemed to have been used both to preserve the meat and to season it. The Special Forces troops didn’t seem to fancy boiling a meal this close to the enemy, however, water was of course still with them, in which some pink sugary powder was dissolved, giving it a somewhat sweet taste, quite enough to wash down the meat. Finally, jam was available to put on the bread, and so was a sort of sweet condensed milk.

There were, of course, also Army crackers - but the less is said about those, the better!

The Scanderans ration were similar in design, jam was available but made from mashed apples that björn poured on his meat. A scanderan costum that had spread over the federation and with the lack of herbs and spices native to the Scanderan home continent so were the people there forced to rely on fruits and fermentation to flavour their food, something that resulted in a rather extreme diet that shifted between bland, sweet, and sour. Often a mixture of all three at the same time. Of course this was nothing that the rations survived either as Björn offered a package of sourcabbage mixed with vinegar to the rest of the people. He did however spare his candy wrappers for himself though, if one could call them candy. While Imeriata did produce candy on large scale that were traditionally sold in white cones to the delight of children so were nuts, fruits, and honey rather popular treats as well for the wee ones. The military it seemed had settled on the later approach by offering their soldiers bars of nuts, and dried fruit that held together with a glue made from melted nut fat and honey that had been allowed to harden. A snack just named candy flavoured candy, if there was any other flavours Björn had not really bothered to bring any.

This the Allaneans enjoyed greatly, and also offered Björn a sweet chocolate-like paste that could be spread on bread or crackers if he did not for some strange reason fancy the condensed milk. With the food being consumed, the Allaneans proceeded to carefully bury the wrappers and cans under a nearby bush, to reduce if so possible the smell. Then they returned to observing the enemy camp, with Futgarek inviting Björn to share the dugout with him.

“Now, dear Bjorn,” - he whispered. “What can you explain to me about these traitors and their uniforms?”

“They are still using the same cut as in the old days!” Björn said with a shrug after looking up the hill.
“In the old days men from this realm wore simple blue tunics without buttons, with white and gold patches sewn onto them!” he continued to explain “with a golden turban, all around the same colours as the rest of the guard! They also seem to favour sandals rather than boots but since we are in a warmer climate than what is proper so is that not too odd! However since they broke off from the federation they seems to have changed their colours to red with a darker turban and white patches sewn onto their uniforms, A rather odd fascination if you ask me, but that is low cultures for you!” he said munching on the nut bar for a moment before he seemed to have realised what he said.
“No offense intended of course!”

“My gods,” - the Orc whispered, leveling the camera on the edge of the small slit that served as the dugout’s ‘window’, and pressed a button on its top. There was no sound as the camera did its work, it was of course a digital setup. “How would one separate the officers from the men? I take it the ones with the fancier outfits are the officers and battlemages?”

“The naked men and women would be the mages, however our magics comes from arcane rituals and holy scripts!” he explained “Our magic sadly enough is too slow for active combat use so we prefer to just enchant our weapons, or manipulate the weather and go at it the old fashioned way!” he explained with a shrug. “The officers would be wearing capes and ornate golden inlay in their white patches, also look for feathers in their turbans and so on, also look at their sleeves, the more intricate the knots the higher the ranks!” he continued holding up his own sleeve with the austrian knots on them.

“But… keep an eye on both of them, if they have an intricate knot on one side but a simple one with white in it on the other so are they adjutants, the white knot is their own rank and the more intricate one is the officer they are serving under’s! Also keep an eye on where the white one is, if it is on the right side are they the personal adjutant of the officer and on the left are they only working for him!” he explained the imerian rank system, a complex system but one easy to learn as far as he was concerned.

“So by and large the traitor armies have not yet invented a new system that would be hard for us to understand?” - Futgarek clarified.

“I doubt it, they just have had three years to establish themselves as a monarchy, they most likely have more important matters to attend to, that said why would you fix what is not broken? The absolute royal federation maintains the finest military force that light has ever touched, to change would be to degrade such a fearsome weapon!”

THe Orc looked on at his newly-acquired comrade, but did not say a word. “This is reasonable,” - he said after contemplation. “Now we do have some time, could you explain for me perhaps what does the officer’s honor entail in Imerian tradition?”

“How do you mean? As in his privileges and duties or his etiquette? My grasp on English is not the best I must admit!”

“What are the actions that are considered dishonorable for a man to undertake in wartime?”

“The same things that are seen as dishonourable all over the place I would say if I am a betting man, I am not really sure how you johnies look at things but we generally look down on men that kill innocent bystanders, disregard banners of truces, fights in enemy uniforms, kills herds intentionally rather than capture them, to bring dishonour and harm upon temples, clerics, and maidens and similar things!” he said, the last one he said as he was giving the women in the group a suspicious look.

“I do however know that you foreigners also expect to find quarter and mercy in city fighting!” he said as a last thought
“When a city’s defences are breached so should the garrison surrender after all but modern war makes that just the beginning of the battle!” he continued shaking his head, “nasty business city fighting”

“So in combat, when it is considered dishonorable for one to surrender, and when it is considered reasonable to do so?” - Futgarek asked - “In days of old, as you know, so were knights often captured for ransom, but today this is rarely done.”

“You do not get prince money?” Björn said curiously as he looked at the other group, now with interest in his eyes. “Surrender is not dishonourable unless you are told by your officer to hold the line!” he explained their own system “An officer is supposed to pay for his own ransom but the crown generally chips in if he is unable to pay it out of his own pocket, of course that would be dishonourable, but not as dishonourable as getting your own men killed for no good reason!” he continued to explain “We then also offer prices for tracklayers, officers, ships, and aeroplanes if you are brave and smart enough to capture them!”

“Of course if you decide your position is secure enough and that you can hold the line so would the reward of the warriors heaven not be too unappealing to most people, even those that hold the fierce sun god or the two faced goddess would be tempted by the rewards offered to a soldier that fell in battle in the life after this one!”

“Most excellent,” - the Allanean said, - “Although in our culture it is considered inappropriate to demand a ransom. On the other hand, it is within our custom to treat prisoners decently unless they come from a culture which would not have done likewise had they managed to capture one of ours.”

“We do treat our prisoners well!” Björn complained, sounding a bit annoyed at the implication. “It depends for us too, sometimes the high king, blessed be his line. may give his royal highness, praise be upon his swordhand, warriors the blood banner, one of our revered warflags, and when that has been unfolded before his royal highness, may his name be revered, warriors we are not to offer mercy nor request it, all prisoners are to be struck down, by rifle and bayonet if the time is pressing or by stringing them up on the trees if we have it. Neither shall we burn the enemy’s corpses but they are to be buried in the ground to fester!” he explained, an event that rarely happened but if the federation was pushed far enough and the regulations of war was not respected they were more than willing to not only go that far but release world burning bombs, gas, and even sickness as weapons on the foe. He shuddered a it at the thought of world burning bombs and the burning tree like shape they left in their wake, not good for much except to end the wars since the land they were used on become relatively unproductive and they lost the reason to fight over it.

“But this is not this type of war, or at least not quite yet.” - Futgarek said. “Now while we wait, can you tell me more about the different noble houses of this realm?”

“Not too much I must admit, I am more well versed on the wildlife and am not high enough on the social hierarchy to be a must have guest!” he said with a shrug “they are federalized enough and keep to our traditions of heraldry, but most realms do that since even before eröfringstiden! Trade between these regions and he home continent meant that we shared a lot of ideas between one another!” he started to explain, sounding more like someone repeating something for a school test and then realised too late that they memorised it too well and had not gotten the information out of their heads too far.

“Their version of Grefe is a Uglait and instead of grafs they have Ugilkals, their call their friherrar the same as us but instead of lardins they have Ugruls!” he explained finally. “I think they claim that their nobles descends from fire spirits that rose from the volcano and that in the olden days they used to have rituals where they bedded firespirits but do not quote me on that one! You should ask that bunny eared logistic officer when we get back, I think she knows that one better than me to be honest” he said, sounding not too sure about himself.

“Oh well, I do plan to have a better source of information in my hands... come evening.” - said the Orc - “To speak of it, so you should teach me those Imerian card games that I have seen people play at the camp.”

“Oh it is simple, you have a deck of 11 cards, three lardins, three kings, and three dragons, those are divided into colours, green, gold, and silver. So you have a green lardin, king, and dragon, a gold lardin, king, and a dragon, and a silver lardin, king, and dragon, but you also have a two tricksters, gold beats green, silver beats gold and green, green beats trixters, trixters beats everything but green, lardin beats dragon, that beats king, that beats lardin, you place a card in a pile that can beat the top card and when you cannot place anything so have you lost!” he explained simply. Way too simply and quickly to be a good description of the game.

The result was, obviously, a game played in which Björn handily trounced the Allaneans. And again. And again. They played until it got dark, and it took several games for Futgarek to begin to get the hang of it...

“Get ready.” - Futgarek said suddenly, as something on the screen of his laptop blinked. Around them, the other Allanean soldiers withdrew - some into the dugout, others to thet other side of the hill. Futgarek raised his hands to his ears, and opened his mouth wide, and so did the others, inviting Björn to do the same.

Björn simply nodded and did the same as he laid down in a as gentlemanly manner as was possible, his carbine at the ready rather than the huge hunting rifle he had used for the trek here.

Somewhere over the sea, Allanean bombers began releasing their payloads - long, sleek, dart-like missiles, speeding towards the locations where teams like Futgarek’s had found enemy radar dishes. Four of the ‘darts’ - each of them a thin contraption just about four yards long, its sharp fins extending about two feet from its slender body - were speeding just to the camp which was stretched out below them. As they came close, they swerved slightly, speeding towards the radar dish itself.

Loud bluurs! started to ring out from the camp on the hill and one could hear people shouted and were running out and preparing to defend the camp. Whatever the attack would be was never to be decided as point defence system started to roar and spit white tracer lines up over the edge of the ridge around the hilltop as two missile came through. The other two had apparently been intercepted out by the defence system that the radar station was keeping up and had kept the royal aeroforce from making large headway inlands. quickly did they start to spot their target and and trace towards it, in an nail biting movement was it hard to tell who was going to win, the missile or the tracers. Then.

With a terrible thunder did one of the tracers struck true and one of the missiles vanished in a tunderous fireball in the air. The defence system started to spin around towards the remaining missile. Lines were quickly moving towards the target but it was impossible to say who would win the race. A hope quickly started to rise in Björns throat as the missile seemed to almost touchdown. Then one of the white lines connected.

It was hard to tell exactly what it had hit as a large explosion rocked the hilltop and massive flames rose up towards the sky itself followed by a massive thunder, smoke, and raining of dirt and stones. Once the rumble had cleared was there a large gap in the ridge, one could see the radar bunker on the other side had a massive hole in it, and the radar antenna was hanging at a worrying angle, only kept from the ground by a few pieces of steel reinforcement that had been built into the bunker. The antena though despite all that looked surprisingly free of holes.

“Uhm… is… is it dead?” Björn asked confused as he looked up to the place, despite the large hole and most likely dead operators was it hard to tell how wrecked up the electronics themselves were. The bluur sound continued from a speaker and one could hear shouts and cries, many fewer than there had been before, but still a few.
“OKALO! OKALO!” someone shouted loudly.

“MIGAL!” someone responded in a frantic tone.

“HOOONK! HOONK!” the geese shouted, frantically trying to get away from the destroyed ridge.

“Fucking cockmongler yezh kosmaty s pizdoy polosatoy,” - said the Orc Captain, and it would be about two minutes later that a second wave of munitions would arrive - twenty this time, fatter, shorter, and some with much broader wings. They were slower, too, gliding swiftly without any engines powering them, and the air could be heard whistling around their blade-like wings as they descended.

Once again the air defense systems came alive, and this time most of the bombs were taken down with ease. Two survived - one, slamming into the ground near the RADAR set. Even as far away as our heroes were, the explosion caused the ground to shake around them, soil streaking down on their heads from the ‘ceiling’ of their dugout.

The other bomb shattered into pieces in the night skies, and its contents spilled out onto the Izoltan camp below.

”Bomblets!” - Fulgarek hissed with delight, a second before they detonated - dozens and dozens of small explosions, rippling through the entire Izoltan camp, showering their surroundings in shrapnel and flaming zirconium, its brilliant flame hard to behold with the naked eye.


“Aye Shell-laying shells!” Björn said with a nod. “We use them both as regular shells and self propelled shells!”

“Now it is time.” - Futgarek said, as he placed his hand on his sword, and whispered a single word into his radio.

On the very crest of the hill, five of the team members fired off their disposable rocket launchers, the rockets wooshing through the air as they sped towards the enemy tent. The clatter of a machine gun was heard as the Allanean machinegunner - wary of Björn’s warning - fired upon the geese.

Among the noise and the violence, the Orc captain ran out of the bunker and ran downhill, unsheathing his sword - a dark, rough-looking blade with a nasty-looking hook on one side. Behind him, several of the commandos followed with fixed bayonets. Curiously, the drow was not among them.

“WHat the…. THE ENEMY! THE ENEMY SHOOT COVERING FIRE NOT AT THE BLOODY BIRDS!” Björn shouted, a hint of stress in his tone “THEY ARE ALREADY HONKING, NO POINT SHOOTING THEM NOW!”

He pulled his carbine and started to shoot upwards at the hill, more in the attempt to make the enemy keep their heads down, which they did as he advanced with the Orc. One of the geese hissed and started to advance on him, while they were aggressive birds and more than capable of breaking bones in a human did it get a quick kick in the face which sent it tumbling backwards. Björn speeding past it as it tried to waddle after.

All around them did the Geese honk aggressively, showing what their main use was, anyone even attempting to sneak up on the base while just ignoring geese as birds, or even worse try to attack them would get an angry reception, alerting everyone about the intruders.

They were also cheaper in cost than dogs and gave the garrison eggs at the same time, making them a beloved part of the royal guards biological warfare divisions arsenal. Even if guardsmen assigned to them ended up with broken arms from time to time.

The role of guard hounds that the geese filled however left dogs up to more specialized roles, like the warhounds of old. Björn cursed loudly as before he could even shout a warning two lumbering beasts, the size of bears and as heavily built rushed out, their faces covered with wrinkles like those of Molosser breed dogs and with dark grey fur with white warpaint one of them headed straight for him, slowing down for only a moment as it sniffed in his direction before turning sideways heading straight towards the Allaneas, while not barking so could one still see their horrific teeth and the bloodthrist in their eyes.

“He cursed to himself, they were Scanderan breeds trained by the royal guard, of course they would not go for him or the natives, it was the same reason they themselves did not deploy the dogs themselves in front line duties back over at the front.

“Nakhui s plyazha!” - the Orc roared, firing his service pistol at one of the oncoming hounds. On the crest of the hill, the machinegunner shifted fire to the enormous, furious animals - each seeming to be the size of almost a small horse - and a second later, the Drow sniper made herself known at last, taking a single, aimed shot at one of the dogs - and then, a second later, another.

But neither did the Geese quit the fight quite yet. One of the enormous birds lunged forward, hissing and screaming, at one of the commandos, and within seconds, Man and Goose, Goose and Man were locked in a struggle to the death. At this close range, the Allanean could not fully bring his carbine to bear, and instead used the stock and bayonet to fend off the fowl attacker, who in turn went at him with beak and wings. At last, after a long struggle, the man sunk the blade of the bayonet into the bird’s fat body, and it collapsed with a terrible dying cry.

One of the dog fell down as the bullets brought it down, the other, horrifyingly enough made a sudden sprint sideways as the second bullet sang out, and lunged straight at the orc, bleeding all over with only fury keeping it going by now.

Futgarek roared back at the animal, swinging his sword at the terrible beast as it jumped. Yet at this distance, not even death would have prevented the dog from smashing itself into the soldier’s body, and Futgarek fell, swearing awfully as a rib in his body cracked.

The dog bit furiously down in the orcs shoulder as it tensed up and died, it’s jaws fueled as much by death spasms as it was by bloodlust when it bite down. However as certain breeds were known to do it’s jaws locked solid, in a last attempt to take whatever it went at down into death with it.

“Suka pizdetz nakhui, krokodilova zhopa, ebanoj kobyly vysran', tarakan'im huem v bloshinoj pizde tolcheny!” - roared Futgarek as he attempted to wriggle free of the dead animal’s jaws, and added a range of curses in the Dark Speech of his people. “Battlemage! Over here!”

In the mean, the rest of the commandos moved forward, throwing grenades towards the nearest tents. This seemed almost superfluous, given the fires still burning throughout the camp and the destruction caused by the submunition strikes. Each of them looked out in a different direction, carbines at the ready, hoping to see anyone of value.

A loud DUNG DUNG DUNG revealed that the enemy had indeed turned around and one could see one of the watercooled heavy machineguns had been turned around and were chewing out the massive ammunition that made the weapon a borderline autocannon, the crew hiding as well as they could behind the shield of the weapon. An officer ran around, a sword, a short and thin thing compared to the top heavy slashing sabre that Björn was waving about. He was shouting something, in Imerian from the sound of it as he pointed it directly at Björn. What few soldiers that were left had gone to ground, hiding in holes and opening fire with their long Scanderan made battle rifles, accurate and with quite the heavy rounds behind them.

There was now nothing left for the Allaneans but to go to ground as well, trading fire with the enemy while the battlemage handed the Orc a small, reddish bottle, which he proceeded to down, the drink strong and somewhat sweet, like honey. He tossed the bottle vaguely in the enemy direction, and then dropped to the ground, as if dead.

On the hill, the other team members attempted their best to suppport their comrades - the sniper taking measured shots at the enemy machineguns themselves, hoping to disable the mechanisms, and the grenadiers firing rockets at the machine gun nests.

And then, in a single motion, Captain Nurbag Futgarek burst forward. In five seconds he was among the Izoltans, his horrifying Orc sword brushing aside the officer’s slim blade. Roaring defiance, he hefted the man onto his shoulders like a bag, even as the Izoltan struggled to break free. “I’ll be off now!” - the Orc shouted, and began to retreat, carrying the Izoltan on his shoulders as the man kicked and pounched at him with little effect.

The officer had just spun around, and attempted to punch the orcs weapon with his pistol, a pistol that he had quickly spun around into a rather effective looking club due to the old style design Imerians favoured beside their revolvers. However the attack was not to come as the officer gulped in surprise as he was lifted up, his sword flying away and he cursing loudly, both in the good old tongue and the native tongue.

There was a sudden stop of the fire from the guardsmen that now looked at one another in confusion as they saw their officer being hauled away.
An NCO looked up after them with a more than puzzled look on his face now and asked something that sounded very much like the local for “Are… are they allowed to do that?”

As the enemy fire begun to raise up again, a bit uncertain now, the allaneas were looking rather fearsome and they had just lost their officer. Finally did the fire stop but the rifles and machineguns remained aimed at the intruders as an NCO suspiciously looked up, a long stick in his hand wrapped in flowers, vines, and grass.

“Leaving now!” - said Futgarek, and attempted to wave his sword hand in farewell, however this appeared rather clumsy as he was also attempting to hold the enemy officer on his shoulders. “Have fun ! Ciao!” - with that, he and his team began their escape.

[Allanea]

[joint post with Imeriata]

Somewhat later

The Izoltan officer would find himself in a room shaped like an elongated rectangle, with the air within it dry and cool. The floor was covered with grey, rubbery linoleum, and the room lit in soft, white light from a pair of long lights that seemed to be worked flush with the ceiling. A flat, metal table was fitted directly into the floor on a single leg, and a simple chair for the prisoner was also fixed firmly to the floor on one side of the table. Attempts to move it would simply uncover the reality that it was firmly welded in place and was not going to budge. In the section of the room opposite the prisoner there was a kitchen counter with a pair of kettles and a small refrigerator. Seated - on quite obviously, a more comfortable chair, a swiveling type sometimes called a ‘manager chair’ on the other side of the table - was an investigator, a tall, quite obviously very muscular man with captain’s ranks, his hair cut tight and short, a small tattoo visible on the side of his head. He was smoking a cigar as the Izoltan was brought in and placed - fairly unceremoniously - on the table. The smell of the flower-scented tobacco was clear in the cold, dry air, and the hum of an air conditioner motor buzzed softly in the background.

- “Good evening, Knight Akal Hok'bin,” - said the officer. Naturally, Hok’bin was not given an opportunity to rest after his capture, and had been brought here immediately after his medical inspection. “I am Captain Alan Znark, Free Kingdom Army. What unit were you with?” - he emphasized the were slightly.

“In accordance with the ancient traditions of warfare and the laws of the upper classes so do I reveal my name as Akal Hok’bin, the son of Falik Hok’bin, the son of Akal Hok’bin, the son of Hok Hok’bin! By brotherhood given the military name Ko’rigul!” Akal answered stubbornly in the good old tonge, apparently figuringing that whoever was on the side of the high king spoke that tongue rather than his own local one.

“Speak common?” tried the Allanean.

“Dahn ʃad͡ʒakna ælteah'leth.” The prisoner chanced shaking his head.

“Oh well,” - shrugged the Allanean, and momentarily reached for what appeared like a cell phone, fiddling with a screen for several seconds to type out Bring Bjorn here if you can.

It took awhile for Björn to walz in, his earlier hunting getup was replaced with an civilian dress, a grey tunic with gold rims, tight trousers and a red cloak, the top of it was however dressed in a skin from one of the local crockbeasts. However just like before did he wear his military pith helmet and his arms wore his austrian knots that pointed him out as a military man. His belt similarly wore the sword he had during his military campaign. He nodded to the captive with a friendly smile as he entered and greeted the Allanean with taking of his hat.

“Greetings, friend Björn. Could you so kindly ask this gentleman what unit he was with?”

A quick exchange of words followed, this time in the local tongue rather than the more civilized Imerian one.

“He says that his name is Akal Hok’bin, that he is the son of Falik Hok’bin, the son of Akal Hok’bin, the son of Hok Hok’bin and that his military name is Ko’rigul, and that he in accodrance with the old ways as a gentleman and an officer refuses to answer anything that would jeopardize his fellow warriors and that his breeding entitles him to a certain level of treatment and that his family will be able to pay his ransom!” Björn translated with the tone of someone just translating a military manual, something he most likely was.

The Allanean sighed. “Quite unfortunate, this, given that Allaneans do not demand ransoms, and these are against our tradition.” - he did not see fit to mention that the Allaneans intended to release all prisoners of war at the end of the conflict.

“Well lucky for him then? Not having to pay his own ransom would make his family save quite a bit, Shame for that orc lad though!” he said with a shrug. “He could turn him over to the federation and then file a ransom that way though!” Björn said, more to himself than anything and making a mental note about suggesting that to the orc commando the next time he saw him.

The Allanean looked at Björn with some curiosity and then said: “Tell him that his people are very noble and brave, fighting a hopeless fight like this one.”

“Very well!” Björn said with a nod and translated what was said to the captive.

“He says that the fierce sun takes and gives, those that fall will be reborn higher in his grace!” Björn finally said as he translated the words of Akal. “But the chance to strike out on their own outside the shadow of the Scanderans were a worthy cause to fall for!”

“I can see where he comes from,” - the Allanean said amicably, “ask him if he understand that the Scanderans have allies.”

“Do you now?” Björn said, raising his eyebrow with a frown spreading on his face at the comment by the Allanean. However he decided not the press the issue and translated. Something that was met with a shrug and a quick comment by the prisoner.

“He said that while he was aware of them they are all barbarians!” Björn translated quickly “Weak and womanly in combat by soft living!”

“It’s understandable, is it not?” - Znark replied “They see this as an issue of honor and principle, and they are willing to fight for it even though it is most likely they will be defeated, which is what you would do in their place and so would I. They are honorable foes, even though they have committed terrible crimes, but because they are brave and honorable they may yet find redemption.”

“They are federal subjects, they are fighting against their sovereign, there is no honour in turning coat when the foe is lying down!” Björn countered “But I think we are moving away from the main subject!” he added lastly, neither willing to have a long argument or letting the other man get the last word on the topic.

“I do believe we have gotten an important piece of information here, Björn” - the Allanean smiled, “more than this man expects.”

“And that is?” Björn said raising his eyebrow in a puzzled manner.

“Come with me,” - the Allanean said, stepping out of the room. What the prisoner could not see was that the room was inside a steely shipping container, propped up on several bricks a foot off the ground. He did not bother to instruct the Izoltan not to do anything foolish. As the door closed behind them, the Allanean said, simply: “Have you noticed anything strange in what he said?”

“No?” the Imerian said tilting his head a bit now curious exactly what the Allanean was on about, he tried to think through what had been said but he could not think of anything that popped up.

“Consider how he spoke of the battles to come. He spoke not in terms of victory, but in terms of dying honorably and being reborn higher in the Sun’s grace. I do believe he’s either a very good actor, or he genuinely does not expect that his people will win the war.”

“Hmmm could be the case…” Björn admitted “Could also be a warrior willing to enter the afterlife that is reserved for those that fall! All the three religions say that those who fall in battle are blessed amongst the dead” He pointed out sounding less certain, after all at this point the guard had put their troops into a massed retreat and with the local radar station knocked out and only tactical rather than strategic assets available to the enemy were the royal aeroforce having a field day. Bridges and roads were blown up and retreating convoys were attacked so that the enemy had to separate and spread out while the guard were now on a full offense, surrounding and demanding the surrender of formations that had suddenly become trapped. Troops that landed in the harbour were being rushed to the frontline or prison complexes as the enemy retreat were picked to pieces with the new air superiority enjoyed by the Imerians.

In all honesty so had neither the Imerians nor the break away realms expected the federation to be fully armed and operationally this quickly, certainly due to Allanean support. And any plans they had for fortifying and preparing to fend off large federal assaults had suddenly gotten a massively shortened timeframe.

“Björn consider this,” - the intelligence officer said. “The Izoltans may be traitors to the lawful king, but fools they are not, or at least we cannot assume that they are. Perhaps they had underestimated the might of the High King, and are now about to pay for their foolishness. That is entirely possible. But as an intelligence officer, I must consider also an alternative: that they have some manner of awful trick up their sleeve, some strategy, or hidden ally, or foul wizardry forbidden to civilized man.” - he paused. “Even if they do not, we must have a full understanding of their hearts and minds. Therefore it is important to know that this individual does not know of such a plan, nor does he expect such a plan to exist.”

“A junior officer? I would imagine that their high command would keep cards like those very close to their chest!” Björn offered sounding not too convinced but admitting that it never hurt anyone to be a bit careful when lives were on the line. “Very well, what is your plan in that case?”

“My plan is to collect more documents, capture more Izoltans, and speak to them. Other than this there is very little we can do!” - said the Allanean. “Possibly ones of lower rank, even. “

[Allanea]

10 days later

The Allanean fleet was speeding forward to the Izoltan coast. An aircraft carrier, escorting warships, submarines, landing vessels – and far behind them, cargo ships carrying troops, tanks, and cannon.

Ahead of the main fleet, four arsenal ships steam. The logic of them being placed front is simple – they will be in range of their armament soonest. Now, at least, the ships are in range.

The enemy believes, still, that their Sun Goddess is on their side. They believe still, that the sun’s rays will melt away attackers as they melt away the winter snow. They are permitted, still, to believe this. But, a missile’s-flight away, the FKS Fimbulwinter is coming into range. Its massive hull is pushing forward, the deep blue of the ocean boiling up under its prow. Its deck is almost entirely flat – but covered in the hatches of missile tubes.

The slaver believes that the Gods desire him to own other thinking creatures as property. But within the steely bowels of the Fimbulwinter, heavy sailor boots are already knocking against the floors – thump, thump, thump. With heavy clanging, the blast doors are being slammed open as the sailors run down the hallways and into their positions.

The slavers of Izolta believe that slavery is the way of the world – as above, so below. They believe that the Gods own slaves, and so can they – just as they own their shoes, their homes, their horses and their cattle. Within the Fimbulwinter’s missile tubes, however, the warheads are resting prepared, electronic fuzes armed. In its computers, the maps have already been loaded – airbases, runways, aircraft shelters.

The priests of the two-faced sun goddess believe that slavery is punishment for one’s sins in a past life. That is quite possible – few people remember their past lives. At any event, it is likely that many of her worshippers will get the chance to find out the truth of this statement soon enough.

Tubes one through fifty, inspection complete, ready for launch.

Tubes fifty-one through one hundred, inspection complete, ready for launch.

Tubes four hundred through four hundred fifty, inspection complete, ready for launch.

All tubes clear for launch, Sir!

No doubt some believe that it does not matter. To some, the world is an unfair place, where might makes right, where it is sufficient that some are born to shackles and others to whips. That is a difficult argument to say anything against. Nevetheless, the Captain of the Fimbulwinter knows a very good counterargument.

“Fire all missile tubes.”

The Fimbulwinter is enveloped in flame and smoke. Its missile hatches slam open, one after another, and the missiles rise. Sweet gunpowder smoke fills the air around the ship as the booster engines take the missiles dozens of yards into the air, where they turn, and speed towards the horizon. From here, Izolta’s shore is not visible. It seems like the vengeful war-engines are simply vanishing over the horizon’s edge – one launch after another, in terrible rapid succession. It takes the Fimbulwinter nearly two hours to vent its rage. By that time, the first missiles launched had covered most of the distance that separates them from their targets.

Soon they will come down on the enemy’s airbases – some with unitary warheads, shaking the ground with hundreds of pounds of explosives, others shattering in the air into submunitions, others with bunker-penetrating warheads.

In the internal records of the Allaneans, this is referred to after the punishment for arrogance. It is – Operation Icarus.

In the evening of that same day, the Queen’s message arrives.

*

To Duke Uglait Bolug Kha'bin, I, Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea and Reichskampen, et cetera et cetera, send my greetings.

You have chosen to try and shatter the bonds of honor and fellowship that have bound you to your lawful King. You have chosen also to hack at the bonds of reason and kindness that bind one sapient to another, and to enact anew on your island the horrors of slavery. In short, you have attempted to walk, instead of the path of kindness, honesty, honor and law, upon the path of dishonorable lawlessness, and to act as traitorous brigands.

Yet your King is full of kindness. He has asked me and my warriors to treat you, and your many noblemen and knights and soldiers, with kindness and honor. His Royal Majesty is not only just, but also kind and forgiving. Rather than treat you as those who have trod upon the path of brigandry, he decided to treat you as warriors full of honor. As such, and upon the request of my friend King Primus, I once more implore you:

Come down from the path of war, and come to the negotiating table. Let us restore peace, and handle this issue as noble custodians of the law, and of the trust of our people – not as brigands and highwaymen. Release those you have enslaved, accept once more the authority of the Lawful King, and I promise you will be treated not merely ‘justly’, but also kindly and charitably and with noro.

Or, of course, you could choose to stick to fighting for your cause of treason to the last man. You have seen the devastating power which King Primus has at his disposal now. Ask yourselves: is this the power you wish to stand against in an unjust cause – or do you prefer to stand alongside it, among the righteous?

There is no dishonor in giving up a hopeless struggle for a false cause.

Rejoin us – there is still time.

[Imeriata]

Official communique from the Uglaita of Izalta

From: Her ladyship lady Sagli Kha'bin
To: Her imperial highness Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky
Regarding: A plead for mercy from those vanquished
Encrypted: Yes

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My Imperial highness, as I am writing this letter I am doing so in secrecy, away from the eyes of my father though he can no longer be said to be the master of his domains and away from the zelot monks that now lead our people and warriors into the field, for would this letter be seen by either I fear for my life. However I as the good daughter of the legitimate ruler of these lands must attempt to take action to preserve our line and those who give us their vassalage or their swords. In full truth we neither expected the absolute royal federation and our rightful master in the high king to be ready to call his banners to war this early nor that they would be willing to fight with such ferocity and our own men have been forced to cede first the oceans and then the skies to the Scanderan warriors. Our supplies are hard pressed and our strategic positions and resources are well known to our foe and your missiles are reaping a terrible deviations amongst our men and with some of our generals seeming to be switching sides. Only a fool would be willing to fight on, however the honour of warriors does not bend to neither reason or survival.

I know that your imperial highness has neither reason nor a good cause to take pity on me and my house but I wish to meet face to face to discuss our terms for surrender. While this would neither be any official nor carry much weight without the presence of his royal highness, the high king of the absolute royal federation, so would I still ask of thee to take pity on me and the linage of my ancestors and bring what we come to agreement of to his royal highness with me in tow, as a captive and price of conquest if that is your imperial majesty's wish, because I fear the wroth of the high king would we approach him directly and that the terms of his royal highness would be most harsh. While I know that I have neither the right nor the dignity to adress your imperial majesty with this request so would I still want to make the request to be allowed to negotiate with you in the name of my house, my father, my brothers and sisters, and the seconddaughters and secondsons of my father! I will of course come and meet your imperial majesty without soldiers nor weapons but those carried by guards of honour but will not make such a request to your imperial majesty.

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Signed and approved by:
Her ladyship Sagil Kha'bil, third firstdaughter of Uglait Bolug Kha'bin

[Allanea]

From: Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, etc.
To: Her ladyship lady Sagli Kha'bin
Subject: Imperial Mercy
Encrypted:

Your Ladyship!

Please understand that my situation is here a difficult one also. I am not a sovereign over His Majesty King Primus, nor can I give him an order of any kind. Indeed, in this battle the Free Kingdom is providing assistance to the Imerians, who are bringing law and order to what we, under our laws, consider to be their country. As such, I can only ask His Majesty to have mercy on your people, and cannot sign any treaties of peace or unilaterally conclude this conflict.

That said, I am able to hear you out. I will send for this purpose my representative, Army General Lilith Nikitina. She is on her way with her escorts.

* * *

In the Throne Room in the Reichsburg Winter Palace, so did Cassiopeia meet her general. Like silver, so was her hair upon her shoulders. Her eyes were cold as the steel of a sword, and her lips were pressed tightly together as she stoodbefore her Queen – she did not kneel, of course.

“Good day, Lilith.” – Cassiopeia said, and raised one hand to her side. With the air whistling, a weapon swept through the air, and suddenly it was in the Queen’s hand. It was a hammer – almost as large as a sledgehammer, its handle pure white, the striking head gleaming like silver, it seemed to almost, but not quite, glow. “Now I send you on my behalf, to the land of the traitorous slavers of Izalta. You will negotiate on my behalf, but remember that we are there to aid the Imerians only, and not to supplant them. As a symbol of my power, and of your task, here is my hammer. For this is the mighty Shacklebreaker. Let the slaver behold its might and know us, let the enslaved see its glow and be filled with hope. For you are not only Lilith Nikitina, general of such and such rank. You are now the representative of the Allaneans – let them know what we stand for.”

Nikitina’s eyes gleamed slightly as she accepted the weapon, holding it in mid-shaft, the enormous hammer feeling lighter in her hand than it should have – whether it was so lightly balanced, or whether this was its power, she could not yet tell

*

General Nikitina was escorted by nine warriors and a mage, but they were of the finest kind. Dressed were they in the finest armor – dark-green and heavy, that seemed almost like the armor of the knights of old – but within it, combined the finest of both technology and wizardry. And weapons gleamed in their hands, each worked over by the best gunsmiths, and infused with the magic of the best wizard. The mage leaned on his staff, which was of blackwood, and sigils of silver were engraved upon it.

These ten fine men took a day to arrive – by air of course, for it was chosen not to use the arcane arts for transport. The Allaneans did not see it fit to endanger themselves ahead of time by teleporting behind enemy lines. Then, the small group flew a helicopter along the shore, and inserted – carefully, low above the ground – to the meeting point.