O Beautiful, For Heroes Proved, In Liberating Strife.

[Incelastan]

OOC: As this is a civil war thread, it will remain in Nation States, rather than International Incidents. Also, if you wish to participate in the roleplay, I strongly suggest lengthy, realistic, in-depth roleplaying posts. One-liners will not be accepted in the future. You have been warned. Also, don't try to land in my territory with a massive army in one post. That is completely unrealistic. Armies have to be mobilized, often with reserve units called up to supplement their strength. Supplies have to travel considerable distances. Oh, and most countries attempt diplomacy before rushing into war. Just a relevant point, I think. Keep your roleplay realistic. If a national government wouldn't behave that way in real life, don't attempt it in a roleplay. Most countries have diplomatic corps for a reason. Same with intelligence services.

Also, just to be clear, this nation doesn't reflect my RL views...not for the most part, anyway. I have a puppet in the same universe, as it were, New Soviet Trans-Ohio, but I doubt that I will involve it in this RP, as that would be puppet-wanking.

IC:

Susan B. Anthony Line Sundered, Rome and Utica, New York, Encircled!

National Information Service Wire (NAS-W)

ILA troops have now sundered the Susan B. Anthony Line in upstate New York a second time, cutting off Rome and Utica in that state. Local residents have reportedly begun fleeing as refugees from ILA forces, for fear of purges, executions, etc. ILA units that have captured Rochester have already begun reorganizing key aspects of the social, political, and economic order in favor of the Masculist ideals and vision for the future of the former United States of America. Subversive organizations, such as NOW, the ACLU, the SPLC, NARAL, etc. have already been dissolved and their assets are forfeit under the laws of the Masculist State of Incelastan. All liberated territories are to be incorporated or annexed into Incelastan, after all. Prominent public officials, such as the Mayor, Council, and other officers of the municipal civil government, have been placed in protective custody, subject to indefinite detention, due to the abolition of the rather silly and outmoded notion of habeas corpus. All feminist literature is to be considered contraband, and as such, confiscated and destroyed. Gender studies' courses will also eliminated in all local institutions of higher learning.

Some 5,643 enemy combatants and 11,335 enemy non-combatants have been captured as well, and their future status will depend heavily upon the success of their re-education. For the present, they remain in captivity in POW camps in northeastern New York. The enemy divisional commander, Major General Teresa Van Horn, who was taken prisoner, has been executed for war crimes and crimes against patriarchy. This last is a recent crime that has become illegal since the establishment of Incelastan. Since patriarchy is understood to be a social good, even imperative, all attacks upon the institutions of patriarchy are deemed crimes against social order as well. At last count, the enemy also suffered losses of 7,235 killed in action and 1,546 missing in action. Final victory over the criminal feminist-Marxist regime in New York State is deemed imminent at this point and henceforth as well.

In other news....

Three women caught without passes after curfew have been incarcerated in Portland, Maine by district authorities.

Catholic Monsignor Anton Bobek has proposed a summit with a representative of the Directorate. Details not available at this time.

Former Congresswoman Jaclyn Robertson has been indicted in Trans-Ohio by Communist authorities there.

[Incelastan]

War and Operations Service (WOS)
Masculinium (former Boston),
Capital of The Masculist State of Incelastan


"Yes, yes, yes, of course! Very well! We will have someone there as soon as possible! This is a very urgent matter indeed! Excellent! Very good news! By God, we have those ladies and their lackeys on the run, don't we? Make sure that none of them escape! I want to make full political hay of their capture! The commanders of the 8th, 13th, and 19th Mechanized Infantry Brigades, no less! I told you that fixed bayonets will give us a psychological edge in frontal assaults, didn't I? Plus, they're the ultimate assertion of manhood, you know, and this war is absolutely war to the knife! Also, the use of mustard gas worked out pretty well, didn't it? Too many naysayers need to eat crow, I think! I was right....I was right! They ran like Chicken Little from our cold steel!" Major General Peter Davis, Chairman of the Directorate and Director of War shouted excitedly as he banged his fist on his desk in his office in the seat of government in Masculinium.

He listened a bit to the next call before shouting again, "Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes! By all means, meet that priest. It's a first step toward international recognition, and by the Vatican no less! That's a very big deal! What's the worst that could happen? We have to recognize Catholic marriage? If necessary, so be it. Because Catholics don't divorce, thus can't take men to the cleaners! Anyway, yes, set it up, Armin! Well done, friend! We're really making waves, changing the world for good! The Revolution is moving forward! For Patriarchy! Smash Marxism! Smash the Matriarchy!"

With that, he hung up on Dr. Armin Stern and prepared the instructions for the Incel Liberation Army, the country's ground force that had just surrounded and bagged three new brigades of the foe, the far too feminist-oriented (well, any feminist orientation was too much, of course!) Commonwealth of New York. Luckily, so far, the hastily organized Commonwealth Army was no match for the ILA. The latter had drawn heavily from various paramilitary forces instead of just the general population and was far more zealous, committed, disciplined, and better armed. They were certainly better at wielding psychological weapons as well as physical ones against the foe. The equipping of bayonets and the use of mustard gas were inspired tactics, as they terrified and demoralized the often green defenders of the Empire State. At this rate, they'd be in Albany before that lady Governor knew what hit her. Then she would wish she had run, if she hadn't by then, of course!

Maybe she shouldn't have worked so hard to disarm her citizens, should she, Davis sneered. Not his problem. She was doomed, not him. He was the victor and he would continue to be. The triumph of Masculism would mean the end of feminism once and for all. Just as well. Feminism and Marxism were treasonous, criminal ideologies, weren't they?

[Incelastan]

Rome and Utica, New York Fall!

More refugees are fleeing upstate New York, due to the capture of Rome and Utica by the Incel Liberation Army's 1st Army Corps, under Major General Lewis Evans. Some 12,345 Commonwealth Army troops have been killed and 9,435 were captured, dealing a real blow to the Commonwealth of New York and its defense. These have joined others in Camp Elam, swelling the ranks of those interned at hard manual and menial labor for the State. The officers were separated with a view toward examination, interrogation, and possible arrest and trial for crimes against patriarchy. The remaining ground commander, Major General Todd Holmes, was executed for crimes against patriarchy and war crimes, along with several other senior Commonwealth officers who had been recently tried and convicted for their various offenses. The Cities of Rome and Utica were annexed by Incelastan and leading public officials there have been purged, arrested, and removed from office. They were placed in protective custody as well.

Evans was appointed temporary military governor of upstate New York, or at least the areas liberated by the ILA. As of this report, he announced similar measures, prohibiting feminist organizations and literature or any with feminist sympathies. Gender studies', of course, were to be eradicated. Both civil and military officers of the Commonwealth, naturally, were set to be re-educated while in POW camps such as Camp Elam. Trials would inevitably happen, though not quite yet. Things must calm down a bit more before that. According to the Chairman and War Direction, Major General Peter Davis, "The incorporation process will take some time, but I assure you, my friends, all of New York will soon become part of Incelastan."

The Commonwealth Army has since evacuated or retreated to a new defensive line, the Mary Wollstonecraft Line.

In other news...

Monsignor Bobek is now scheduled for a summit with Foreign Affairs Director Dr. Armin Stern.

New ten ring note carries the portrait of Elliott Rodger.

Left-wing terrorists captured in midnight raid by Pennsylvania authorities.

[The Chevalcestrian Republic]

IC: the Chevalcestrian Republic declares war on Incelastan.
This law has been rushed through the Commons and Lords due to outrage at Incel mistreatment of women.
It was immediately signed by the Lord-President (a Chad).

[Incelastan]

48 hours later....
Masculinium (formerly Boston),
Capital of Incelastan

"Look at this silliness. A formal declaration of war from some country we never heard of before in our lives. I don't recall seeing it on any map. Probably some hoax written up by some Chad with absurdist fantasies. Much like Hitler and his silly attempts to use divisions that only existed on paper the last week or so of his life. Steiner's attack was never coming, you know, but it was to somehow restore the balance or whatever. I don't have time for delusional fanatics, of course. Must be someone's dream of being the white knight in shining armor or whatever else rubbish comes from fools who still believe in chivalry. What the hell is a 'Lord-President,' anyway? Someone needs another thorazine drip, I think," Dr. Armin Stern, Director of Foreign Affairs, yawned as he read about the absurd declaration from some likely banana republic or whatever.

"Considering that we control much of the former American Northeast, have a sizable revolutionary army, access to plenty of covert ops personnel, sympathizers around the world where society imposes celibacy upon young men against their will, and, of course, weapons of mass destruction, well, it's a bit stupid to declare war on us instead of something more practical, such as offering to take on dissidents or whatever. We have no silos, sure, but we have airborne nuclear gravity bombs, nuclear, biological, and chemical cruise missiles, and SLBMs with MIRV-type megaton warheads, all of them inherited from the old U.S. Air Force and Navy. We have a battle-hardened, veteran fighting force, a real war machine that is rapidly overrunning New York State as we speak, and these fools speak as if they can swat us like flies!" Major General Peter Davis, Chairman of the Directorate, Director of War, and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, scoffed, getting raucous laughter from the rest of the Directorate, the country's six-man ruling junta.

"This is nothing but posturing for the ladies, I think. A typical Chad wanting to offer himself gallantly to come to their aid against the 'evil creeps,' or whatever. Never mind that these folks brought their doom upon their own heads. I propose that we do an immediate ballistic missile test with a target suspiciously close to them. We have sufficient range, of course. Conventional warheads, of course, but enough to make the point. Next time, well, it won't be conventional, will it?" Lars Larsen, the Director of Criminal Justice and Civil Law, suggested.

"That should make them piss their pants, I should hope. By the way, I've signed off on the cruise missile strikes against Albany. All the more urgent now, to make the point, wouldn't you say? Conventional cruise missiles, of course, but that's not the point. I bet that old battle-axe in the Governor's Mansion will start sweating very profusely after this, if not worse. Even the Chads in their armies should start to lose their resolve, to say nothing of others. Perhaps it will motivate an Incel uprising against the Governor and her administration. Also, prepare our Denial of Service attacks on their power grid. I want to see what they do when large parts of their infrastructure fail them. Also, we're preparing an airborne assault on Long Island. It will be a great way to lead up to Operation Yankee when we're ready to seize the Big Apple," General Davis added.

"Man, I want New York City so bad I can taste it. Same with Albany, of course. Imagine our troops smashing through and taking Gracie Mansion by storm! That should be a lot of fun! Okay, anyway, what else," another voice, Brigadier General Darien La Rousse, the State Security chief, asked.

"Well, about the trials....I have some ideas for how to put the next batch on trial for their crimes against patriarchy. I think that you'll enjoy these ideas, in fact," Larsen beamed as he contemplated the next wave of treason trials for the deposed leaders of the old regime, both in New England and New York State.

The purges were brutal and ruthless, but necessary. Society could not be revolutionized with the enemies of the revolution standing in their way. As the saying went, one couldn't make an omelet without breaking some eggs.

[The Chevalcestrian Republic]

"This is nothing but posturing for the ladies, I think. A typical Chad wanting to offer himself gallantly to come to their aid against the 'evil creeps,' or whatever. Never mind that these folks brought their doom upon their own heads. I propose that we do an immediate ballistic missile test with a target suspiciously close to them. We have sufficient range, of course. Conventional warheads, of course, but enough to make the point. Next time, well, it won't be conventional, will it?" Lars Larsen, the Director of Criminal Justice and Civil Law, suggested.

The missiles are shot down.
Chevalchester sends their own missiles as well as 32 fighter jets, 12 bombers and 4 troop-carriers to slay the woman-abusing, subhuman, beta bastards.

[Incelastan]

"This is nothing but posturing for the ladies, I think. A typical Chad wanting to offer himself gallantly to come to their aid against the 'evil creeps,' or whatever. Never mind that these folks brought their doom upon their own heads. I propose that we do an immediate ballistic missile test with a target suspiciously close to them. We have sufficient range, of course. Conventional warheads, of course, but enough to make the point. Next time, well, it won't be conventional, will it?" Lars Larsen, the Director of Criminal Justice and Civil Law, suggested.

The missiles are shot down.
Chevalchester sends their own missiles as well as 32 fighter jets, 12 bombers and 4 troop-carriers to slay the woman-abusing, subhuman, beta bastards.

OOC: I have warned you already that these kinds of posts will not be accepted. This is one-liner stuff and I do not participate in it. Consider yourself banned from the thread.

[Incelastan]

24 hours later....
Masculinium (formerly Boston),
Capital of Incelastan

"Those cruise missile strikes against Albany seem to have had the desired effect, of course. Serious casualties, of course, much damage to key parts of the infrastructure, along with the Denial of Service attacks, of course. That should cause some real panic in the hearts and minds of our enemies. By now, they should have a very hard time even turning on their lights, let alone anything else. Perishable food being thrown out, nothing but cold showers in the dark, and, of course, no internet, no computers, no TV, no radio, no media of any kind. That should make life very rough for the Governor and her whole company, at least until they can get their power grid back online. There should be a lot of people unable to access money or anything. I can imagine the effect that this will have on their morale, especially with large parts of their military and police requiring the services that we just denied them," General La Rousse chuckled at the thought of what the Commonwealth's capital and the whole sector must be suffering right then.

"In the meantime, we have our airborne assault plans for Long Island. That should really take the wind out of their sails, when huge chunks of said island are now under our control. Of course, they have made repeated diplomatic overtures, after denouncing us repeatedly in the past as an illegitimate regime and a 'rogue state.' We have no time for that nonsense. We will deal with them, alright, when they surrender! Unconditional surrender, of course! We will not rest on our laurels, but will secure New York State as an integral part of Incelastan. We have more men to liberate from the shackles of Marxism and Matriarchy! Vive le Revolution! I propose that, as soon as they get their radios working again, we blast them with all kinds of martial music and other dire warnings as to their future. O Fortuna sounds particularly ominous, don't you think?" General Davis smirked as he laid out his ideas for further psychological warfare against the foe.

"What about more use of mustard gas on the front? Should we do more of that?" Lars Larsen asked him now, "I can expedite a few dozen executions while we're at it to further terrify and even horrify them!"

"That sounds excellent, at least in my view. We all know that these trials have but one verdict in them: guilty. They were already condemned before they were arrested. Why would we bother arresting and trying the innocent? The presumption of innocence is utter rubbish. We all know that they never showed such consideration for men that they tried and convicted in the court of public opinion during the whole #MeToo foolishness. Why grant them any special privileges, the cravens? I still like how they never expected us to take over New England. It was such a bastion of wokeness and identity politics! Which was precisely why it was the viper's nest that had to be cleaned out first once everything collapsed in DC. Anything further, gentlemen?" Dr. Armin Stern loved to use that word ironically, as the days of chivalry were long past.

No one would mourn the passing of such outdated and absurd notions, anyway. Nor of Fourth Wave Feminism, for that matter. Well, no one who counted. The Governor of New York, her administration, and her adherents absolutely didn't count, not to the Directorate and their increasingly fearsome Incel Liberation Army. Which not only was a field army these days, but one that repeatedly smashed all resistance in its path. Resistance....what a thought, Dr. Stern mused. Even if they set up a resistance movement, what would they fight us with...pink hats? Guns weren't a right anymore, unless one could defend said right...with guns. They had at least partially disarmed their own citizenry, just making it easier for the liberators to keep the new social order in place. Incels on top, chads somewhere in the middle, and ladies on the bottom of the pecking order, as they deserved to be. What was the popular radical feminist phrase, "not equality, but equity." Well, this, my friends, is true equity....real justice. And it was so sweet.

[Legatia]

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, 3 Submarine Squadron [3 SUBRON]
MRS Blackfin (S403), Barracuda-class nuclear powered guided missile submarine
-
Atlantic Ocean, approximately 80 miles east of 'Boston'

The sleek form of the Barracuda-class missile sub sat silently about 50 feet beneath the Atlantic waves on an otherwise grey and dreary day. Operating on its lonesome a stone throw from the North American coastline, it was not, however, alone. A Carrier Task Group- Blackfin wasn't aware of the number- was approaching, and at least two other friendly submarines were within a couple hundred miles of its current position. Blackfin had been at action stations for the past hour as it maneuvered to its deployment zone, in range for its MRS-18 COSAC land attack cruise missiles. It had spent that that time scanning its surroundings for hostile presences- ships and aircraft of any kind that might compromise its position in the five minutes it needed to conduct its task.

The submarine had received its mission twelve days prior, when reports of war crime violations on the North American front had first reached the public, causing an outcry- and a demand for response. Blackfin was simply the start of it.

At the helm of the submarine, perhaps- no, certainly ironically, was a woman. The first such to command a Meridonian nuclear-powered submarine. Captain Alexandria "Alex" Dartley sat at the submarine's periscope, conducting a visual scan of the clear horizon before her crisp command came. Her normally brilliant blonde hair was beginning to fade in hue as she put on years, pulled into a short folded ponytail behind her ballcap.

"Down scope."

"Down scope, aye, ma'am." Her XO, a salt-and-pepper bearded Commander by the name of Rankins offered a gentle sigh to the straight faced woman. "..Radar and ESM sweeps report nothing. We're still too far out for communications with anyone else, but we've got the room to launch. Time is T-minus two."

Dartley turned to her XO and offered the same concerned face as always. She was the kind that took everything seriously, mission or practice. This time it was justified, Rankins surmised, even though he wanted to alleviate his skippers' concerns.


"Bring us down to launch depth, one-nine-zero." The XO called this order for her, to which the Captain nodded her assent. The submarine began a gentle pitch downwards to the ordered depth, levelled herself out. Then the Captain's attention turned to her weapons position, her foot squeaking gently against the metal floor.

"Weapons." Her head snapped to a fire controlman, who turned from the missile control board.

"Ma'am, I show one hundred and twenty green tubes. Coordinates are set, missiles spun up. Tubes one and three loaded ACTORs, two and four loaded Commorants. Launch doors are open."

Dartley's eyes glanced at the digital clock hung above the Tactical Action Center. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen..

"XO, your keys. Initiate launch prep."

The Captain and her XO inserted a pair of consent keys into the fire control console, releasing the safeties on the missiles aboard Blackfin. Eight, seven... The two shared a glance.

..Two, one... zero.

"Initiate launch sequence."

--

One hundred and eighty seven feet above the submarine, otherwise still Atlantic water broke with a brilliant white plume. The sleek black form of the cruise missile pierced the surface, floated perhaps ten feet up into the air, and then flattened the waves with a deafening, dull roar of rocket engines. It took itself a thousand feet into the air before its wings and intake valve were opened and the rocket motor at the rear separated. The now jet-powered missile began a gentle descent at 600 knots that terminated 30 feet above the waves. This was repeated one hundred and twenty times in rapid succession as Blackfin emptied her missile tubes. Elsewhere closeby in the Atlantic up and down the coast of the areas occupied by 'Incelastan', the two other attack submarines contributed twelve of the same missiles to the attack - a total of 144 missiles rocketing towards the New England coast.

In seven minutes, provided there was nothing to intercept them, they would make the cross from the open ocean. From there, they would cross over the forests and roads, the hills and lakes of the province before seeking their targets out. Radars in their noses, GPS uplinks in their targeting computers, and pre-loaded terrain imagery from their database would steer them clear of both potential threat areas and of terrain, and onto their primary targets.

Most of the attack positions were those locations housing combat aircraft- specifically, fighters, interceptors, bombers, and patrol aircraft that could pose a potential threat to follow-on combat aviation operations, and the soon inbound fleet forces. Their hangar positions were known from satellite intelligence, and guesses as to where the fighters were exactly were given by HUMINT. A salvo of eight missiles was reserved for a suspected chemical weapons production facility, and twenty missiles were allocated for those air search radars closest to the Atlantic shores.

Beneath the Atlantic ocean, the submarines, their launches complete, secured their bay doors and slinked away from their launch positions, putting as much distance between the obvious launch positions and them as possible before any force could sortie to counter them in size.

[Incelastan]

The radar signatures of the cruise missiles produced an almost immediate sense of panic in the towers manned by the Incel Liberation Army's anti-aircraft defense system, known as "Dragon's Teeth." Brigadier General Ivar Swenson, commander of the anti-aircraft defense command for the Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut sectors, quickly contacted the officers in operational command of the MANPADS and anti-missile theater defense systems. He also alerted the General Staff and the Central Command of the Incel Liberation Army, reaching up the ranks to General Davis himself. Davis shook off a sense of foreboding before clearing his throat and ordering that the maximum number of aircraft must take flight and anti-missile batteries must operate at peak effectiveness at this moment.

"General, sir, we have reports that so far, we've blocked 84 of the enemy missiles, but 60 have gone through, doing significant damage to our airfield and air bases. This damage can be repaired, of course, but it will temporarily, at least, reduce our air combat effectiveness and readiness at this time. However, in the interest of using those air units already in the air, I propose a massive air strike and air bombardment operation against the Commonwealth ground and air defense forces. Also, our first airborne units have captured several key points of communications and command on Long Island, but we will need more drops and amphibious landings to reinforce their operations," the Deputy Director of War, Major General Alistair Royce informed his boss.

"Do it. Do it now," was all Davis said.

“They also struck our chemical weapons factory in Leominster, formerly of Massachusetts. They caused sufficient damage to said facility as to delay continued production there. We thankfully also have the other chemical weapons plant in Concord, formerly of New Hampshire, as well as the biological weapons lab in the former CDC facility in Vermont, both very much still intact.! I recommend that we target enemy positions in Albany and on Long Island with more mustard and chlorine gas strikes. Use or lose it. And then execute Operation Gray Death,” Davis firmly decided with a determination that more than impressed his colleagues.

“The anthrax spores?” La Rousse stipulated.

“Yes, definitely. And find out who hit us and why. Whatever it takes. I want to shove an ICBM up their ass. I want them to know and fear our real power. And if it’s a sub, sink it, whatever it takes. Those bastards have to pay. In the meantime, crack down even harder and execute far more folks for crimes against patriarchy than ever. I want to send a very clear message. Fuck around with us and find out. And, of course, I want more raids. I want our enemies to tremble as they for the dread knock at the door. Now, get to it, folks!” Davis instisted, slamming his fist on his desk.

This war had just began.

[Legatia]

((OOC Note: If any information in this post is inaccurate to you, please shoot me a TG. Thanks!))

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, Fleet Intelligence Office [FIO]
Fleet Operational Intelligence Section Six [FOIS-6]
-
Roger M Williams Fleet Intelligence Center, Port Sistine, Alexandria Territory

Their foots reporting sharply on the polished marble floors, a pair of senior officers of the fleet made their way past flocks of office workers, naval personnel, and civilian contractors. Tucked tightly beneath their left arms were thick manila binders, their service caps beneath their right. These were the two officers in charge of the intelligence gathering operation over the North American conflict.

Junior in rank was a Lieutenant Commander, shaven bald and with dark, steeled eyes. He was African in origin, muscularly built- though this was not quite obvious beneath his dress uniform. To his left was his senior, a Captain, an older man whose jet black hair was just beginning to show the first signs of greying. The men had in their arms intelligence gathered over the past months in a dossier format, compiling known 'major players', weapons manufacturing sites- and, most critically, known locations of WMDs in the Incelastani state. If Meridon were to deliver a serious blow to the regime's fighting capacities, they'd need to swipe the metaphorical gun out of their hands before they knew who to fire it at.

Standing guard at the door was a pair of masters-at-arms, regarding the officers as they approached the meeting room. The men flashed identification badges on their lapels, and were permitted entry to the room.

Seated at the large oaken table was a motley of men whose ranks were far senior to the officers who had just entered. Admirals, Army and RMC generals, and the Chiefs of Defense Staff were present in the room. Video-conferencing in was the President himself, his screen showing a background devoid of light, indicating he too was in a secure location.

"Sirs, Captain Hutchley and Lieutenant Commander Dawson, reporting." The intelligence officers snapped a salute to the assembled general staff. The seniormost Navy man in the room, Admiral Harford, waved them down.

"At ease, gentlemen. Have a seat." And so they were seated.

On an opposite display projector was a map overlying the American eastern seaboard. Units were displayed in rough locations, as they were observed. Blackfin and the two advanced submarines were plotted on the northern seaboard. 3 and 5 Carrier Task Groups, steaming north and off the shore of Georgia at the time by a few hundred miles, were also there. Units from all sides of the civil conflict were noted- as were static high priority targets. The Leominister chemical plant, evaluated as temporary neutralized, were noted. The positions in Vermont and Concord were noted- they were not hit as munition counts were limited.

Standing to begin the briefing was the man put in command of the operation from home- Vice Admiral Thomas Turei, a Tangaran man who, despite his own age, maintained his well-built form. An officer with decades of experience, this was not his first rodeo discussing operations with senior brass- but he had to admit he had never had to give the President a sales pitch. He cleared his throat, his gaze long. Pointing to the board, he began his speech.

"Gentlemen, last night's strike on the New England Coast had less than desirable results. About 40% of the strike package was intercepted, which indicates that their air defense system is more robust than we had anticipated. However, the successful strikes on the air base will give us a few day's window in which to work on neutralizing their capacity of fighting in the air. Blackfin is withdrawing to conduct a resupply with a tender out further into the Atlantic along with the other two attack submarines. When this is completed- seventy-two hours from now- they will return to station able to fire one more time before they will have exhausted their onboard land attack munitions."

"Joint Carrier Task Group One, along with the trailing surface action group, will reach the coastline about a day or two after that. By the time they take their station in the Atlantic, however, there is a more significant threat that will need to be neutralized. On that point.." The Vice Admiral gestured to the intelligence officers, who rose to take their positions besides the display.

Motions were made to a number of military bases, naval stations, and other locations, suspected or confirmed, of holding nuclear weaponry. Captain Hutchley cleared his throat.

"As of current, the regime, as we'll be referring to them, possesses unguided air-dropped bombs, cruise missiles, and submarine-launched ballistic missiles. Over the past few months, we've pulled all of the stops out with Abroad Intelligence in the loop to figure out where these are. We can't say with complete certainty we've accounted for every single one, but we believe that we have figured the location out from known former locations and platforms, satellite reconnaissance, and human intelligence. The most concerning of these will be the ballistic missiles aboard Ohio-class submarines. We've determined that with the lack of trained submarine crews, these platforms are unlikely to sortie- and if they do, it'll be a while before they can push out of dock. Our guess is that these would be used as static missile platforms. Second on the list are the cruise missiles, which are expected to be dispersed within their territory. We can say with certainty we know the location of approximately 87% of these- the remaining locations are suspected, unconfirmed, and or unknown."

"In order to neutralize this threat, and bring this fight to an entirely conventional footing, we've developed Operation Shadow Hand. A three-pronged approach to neutralizing the threat posed by weapons of mass destruction possessed by the regime- in one night."

The officers in the room shifted uncomfortably, knowing what they were about to hear was an *extremely* risky gambit. The regime's territory wasn't that large, but pulling off an operation of that magnitude would be a tight ship all by itself. The Intelligence officers gestured once more to the Vice Admiral, who rejoined them at the head of the board.

"Operation Shadow Hand will commence when all of our assets are on station in 96 hour's times. Now and over the past week, we have infiltrated a number of special forces teams into the area, who are currently in holding positions in points in Canada and in safehouses across New England. These consist of Army Special Task Forces and Commando units, Marine Raiders, and Naval Special Warfare Combatants. Imbedded Abroad Intelligence Service agents will be providing logistical support."

"The operation will begin with an alpha strike conducted by both carrier air groups as well as cruise missile launches from the surface ships of the CTGs, the reloaded submarines, and the Surface Action Group to saturate and overwhelm enemy air defense systems. Priority targets will be any and all radar systems, air defense systems and known static and mobile emplacements, command and control facilities, radio relays, and confirmed static combat aircraft positions along the entirety of the seaboard. The time on target will be coordinated so all initial targets for standoff munitions are hit at 0027. Straggler air defense systems will be neutralized by SEAD aircraft. With their radar systems blind and without any air defenses to cover them, a fighter sweep will be flown over the airspace to knock out and keep down any aircraft that attempt to launch."

"At 0022, our special forces units will initiate raids on known nuclear weapons storage facilities inland for static weapons depots, such as air-dropped munitions and storage silos, which are unlikely to be ready for rapid deployment. If possible, embedded counternuclear technicians will neutralize the bombs. If not, the building will be leveled, and followed up on by further strikes by aircraft. Each team has specific time constraints delivered to them, built on expected strength of enemy forces and potential quick reaction forces responding to the assault, but all attacks should have concluded by 0200. "

"Combatant Diver Units, deploying from the two attack submarines there with Blackfin, will enter the storage harbor and scuttle the missile submarines by utilization of satchel charges along the pressure hull, completing this and exfiltrating no later than 0035. We expect minimal resistance during these operations. Teams will be infiltrated and exfiltrated using submersible diving vehicles."

"Once a fighter cordon is established, strike aircraft will proceed to, seek out, and destroy mobile and stationary nuclear cruise missile launching sites. Given that all objectives are completed within a positive timeframe, the combatant commander may authorize strikes on the remaining confirmed chemical warfare facilities at his discretion. We anticipate air activities over New England to conclude about 0430, where we will evaluate objective completion and figure on our next steps."

"Gentlemen, I'm not going to lie to you, I'll put it straight, this is a plan that banks on a whole hell of a lot going right. If missiles with warheads get into the air, it starts getting hairy- but it's better we make an effort to keep them there, rather then hoping they never get launched."

The room remained tersely silent for a moment as they thought of the details of the plan laid before them. It was risky- but any plan involving nuclear weapons was.

The first to chime in was the President.

"Expected civilian casualties, and risk factors?"

"Minimal to none, provided everything goes right. These weapons are not located in the vicinity of civilian settlements. If any of them are prematurely detonated, or launched, all bets are off, sir." Turei answered the question with a stern nod to the Commander in Chief.

"Why are we not targeting the chemical weapons storage facilities as primary targets?" Arthur McCann, the Chief of Army Staff, asked. Turei's arms crossed as he shook his head.

"Sir, it's our belief that this operation is already complex as-is, and we opted to concentrate the special forces units we have on the limited targets to both concentrate firepower on the nuclear storage sites and minimize time on targets. The nuclear weapons are the most credible and immediate threat possessed by the regime. Once they're wiped out, we will have time to re-evaluate the damage and attack those sites as necessary. Deprived of any significant launch systems, it's unlikely they'll be able to deploy any chemical or biological weaponry with any rapidity."

McCann didn't seem satisfied, but he relented.

"And how assured are you of attaining air superiority over New England in the span of a night?" Now was the Air Force's turn. Air Commandant Matthew Rodney, a more squirrely man with a thin mustache, posed a question with an arched brow.

"Between the two carrier task groups we have eight available fighter squadrons for tasking. With their quantitative lack of airborne radars compared to the task groups, their degraded air capabilities following our initial cruise missile strike,and the expected destruction of assets on the ground, I'm not counting on it being a walk to the convi, but it should be relatively rapid."

The officers relaxed in their seats. Turei had come prepared. The men flipped through their own manila intelligence briefs impatiently, some took a sip of water. Eyes passed between senior officers, and finally, rested upon the television screen. The entire potential of this operation being conducted lay on one man's shoulders.

"Mister President?" General John Argus, Chief of Defense Staff- Meridon's most senior military officer- asked his boss. The President's head rested atop interlaced hands, the man in thought for a moment. His eyes were focused, unblinking.

"..General, Operation Shadow Hand has my green light. Please keep me apprised. I'll be seeing you in Cordelia in three day's time."

The chairs in the room were pushed rearwards, as the men assembled stood up. Now the die were cast. Time would show where they fell.

[Incelastan]

New York Airspace
Above Saratoga Springs

Given their "use it or lose it" instructions, Captain Michael Hewitt and his crew of their B1-B Lancer bomber proceeded to launch their 8 AGM-158 JASSM cruise missiles at any target of opportunity. They were also acting in a fashion that bewildered what HUMINT and satellite intelligence the Commonwealth of New York possessed. They dropped their 6 GBU-38 JDAM GPS guided bombs as well, with an effect that was both physically and psychologically devastating to the air and ground forces of the Commonwealth over Saratoga Springs. The city, dangerously close to the state capital of Albany, was moderately sized, but culturally quite important as well as being so close to the seat of government.

"Well, that should definitely give the Governor a rude awakening, shouldn't it?" Hewitt chuckled, as did his crew, together, even as around them, bomber and fighter pilots followed similar instructions along the front. The immediate impact of this sudden "strike of opportunity" was pure hell for anyone caught in the open. Having barely, and in some cases, not quite restored power disabled by the Denial of Service cyber attacks, the air strikes further crippled enemy resistance. The defensive perimeter utterly collapsed, especially as the ground forces unleashed both chlorine and mustard gas again, not to mention the use of fixed bayonets in rather anachronistic assaults meant to instill real terror and destroy their morale. The playing of martial music and the dropping of some leaflets that happened to be aboard various aircraft contributed to this effect.

Within hours, all of the enemy's defensive lines had crumbled, a panic stricken rout ensued, and several population centers were declared "open cities" by their municipal government in response. Among these were Albany, the state capital itself. Governor Michelle Watson ordered the hasty evacuation of the city had served as the seat of government for the Commonwealth of New York for literal centuries, transferring or destroying as many documents as possible in her highly nervous, agitated state. It was unknown to many, but the fifty-six year old Governor also suffered a moderate heart attack. The state government and military were effectively rudderless, as the Lieutenant Governor was missing and no one could be found to take command of a military only so recently created as an expansion of the state's national guard when the federal government so abruptly collapsed. When she had been elected, it was to be chief executive of one of fifty states, albeit a rather large and well-populated one. She had many somewhat progressive ideas for the future of her state, as well as a lot of notions steeped in identity politics. She had never bargained for this.

What managed to be preserved of the state government reassembled on Staten Island, as far away from the danger at the front as was manageable, but this had the further consequence of damaging national morale. Not to mention, of course, that this was too far from most of the front to be an effective command center for a national command authority. The state government was virtually in exile now, a real blow to the fighting spirit of its troops. The front utterly unraveled in most places now. Ithaca, Poughkeepsie, and even Buffalo were swiftly cut off and forced to surrender, either as open cities or in quick urban campaigns as their defenders were overwhelmed by the speed, mobility, and ruthlessness of their foe. This was an army, the Incel Liberation Army, that had proven willing to use any means necessary, including chemical, and as Operation Gray Death was executed, biological weapons.

Within 48 hours, most of the state was either directly occupied or isolated and preparing to be so occupied by the foe. It was a truly swift collapse, one even faster than the humiliating defeat of the Arab coalition in the Six Day War or the Allied forces on the Western Front in May of 1940. The State Security Police there, as back home, was soon to begin their raids, kicking in front doors at all hours and rounding up enemies of the Masculist State and emerging Masculist Party, or more precisely of the Directorate, the junta of six men who governed the nation. Feminist activists, lobbyists, lawyers, judges, legislators caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, state officials who were on the wrong side of the political leanings of the new rulers (which were most of them), pundits, etc. Clerics, community organizers, etc. were all arrested. Communists, socialists, even liberals, moderates, and some traditional conservatives were quickly consigned to re-education camps, just as the captured military officers and men were dispatched to POW camps, where they awaited forced indoctrination efforts, among many other attempts to break down their past allegiances. Torture, beatings, water hosings, etc. were to be expected at these places, not to mention isolation, even partial starvation.

It was a dystopian, totalitarian nightmare, and they just woke up to find themselves in it. As the area of Commonwealth control receded to merely the boroughs and vicinity of New York City, the rest of the state's population found itself doomed to live under very real military occupation, dressed as "liberation." Very few were fooled by that, but there were to be many collaborators, as always happened in such cases. Opportunists were quick to emerge from the shadows, whether ideologically committed to the cause or not. All they must do was express loyalty to the new regime as it began restructuring the state's administration, and they were sure to reap the rewards from their clever and ambitious choice. Party members were installed as quickly as possible in every corner occupied by the ground forces. The newly captured airfields and air strips were convenient places to refuel and repair their aircraft, which was a good thing, given the damage to their usual hangars and other such facilities from the cruise missiles.

In just 48 hours, the process of swallowing the Empire State and roughly doubling the size of its territory established the near total triumph of the Directorate in its war with the Commonwealth of New York. Sure, there remained the nominal state government on Staten Island, but again, its distance from the rest of the state made it effectively useless outside of the Big Apple. Even that was in jeopardy, what with the airborne and amphibious operations, which were admittedly hasty, which seized a growing share of Long Island from its erstwhile possessor, the Commonwealth of New York. While the enemy cruise missiles had weakened their cause in several places, they were far from done. Especially they had secured a masterstroke of military genius that had essentially won their war against Governor Watson and her Commonwealth.

"A bit premature of her to declare the State of New York a Commonwealth in the wake of the Federal Government's collapse, of course. She just wasn't up to the job of leading a nation. She was, at best, a provincial authority, nothing more. I suppose that she felt that she had no alternative. In any case, we have identified, based upon various technical and other data, the source of the cruise missile attacks against us. Meridon, sir. Some surprisingly distant democracy that I had scarcely heard of in the past. Then again, the ever shifting global map has produced some interesting nations in the tumult of recent years. Such as ours, of course," Dr. Armin Stern declared, even as he tried not to think of what might have happened to his own estranged family who had fled Incelastan to New York once it ceased to be simply New England.

Stern's family were Orthodox Jews, very strict, very observant, but he himself was secular and essentially an atheist. He was dead to them and vice versa, but he still worried about them on some level. He was nominally a "Masculist," but that was a state church recently organized and barely existent at this point. He believed in nothing theologically, but everything politically, of that ideology. He was, in short, a fanatical devotee of the notion of an androcentric, patriarchal society, albeit one without the usual institutions such as the nuclear or even extended family. The gender segregationist dogma that guided the new regime that controlled the nation was his obsession and like the others in the Directorate, he would stop at nothing to crush its enemies.

"We must retaliate and swiftly. Mobilize as many of our submarines, destroyers, and cruisers to seek out the bastards responsible for the strike. Also, prepare an official warning and ultimatum to the government of Meridon. Tell them that we are prepared to launch our ballistic missiles from our submarines, if necessary, and bring total destruction, absolute terror, and utter calamity upon them if they persevere in this unwarranted intervention in our war to liberate all of North America from Marxism and matriarchy. We must make them pay for this and not allow them to get away with it. I will not have them spoil my victory!" General Davis insisted, "General La Rousse, what was your latest report from the raids?"

"Many more people secured for re-education, both here and in New York. Camp Elam in particular has swollen in size, and it is far from alone. We have every reason to hope that our enemies will be broken down and forced to renounce their former politics in time. The trials...and executions shouldn't be too far off when required, of course. We can certainly expedite them," General La Rousse reassured the one who was increasingly more than just primus inter pares (first among equals).

Increasingly, he was simply known was the Boss or the Chief. The Chairman. The emerging dictator of the nation.

"Excellent. Now, we must be making progress on repairs to our hangars, I hope," Davis tapped his fingers on the table.

"Certainly, but it will take some time to make them more effective. Thankfully, we have the new ones from the newly captured airfields. By God, we've achieved a military miracle here! The panic we instilled in the foe has shattered their resistance. Once New York City is secure, we can, albeit temporarily, redirect our focus to this new enemy. They will have to be stopped somehow if we are to resume the work of liberating this entire continent. Admittedly piecemeal, but it will be done. But first, the danger must pass, both from them and what remains of the Commonwealth. I can't wait to bring that bitch to trial and her whole cabinet!" La Rousse declared.

"Well, these past 48 hours have certainly witnessed some developments! The trials will be forthcoming, especially once we take New York City. Meanwhile, our prisons and camps are nice and full. We've rounded up all kinds of dissidents these days. Book clubs, house churches, witch covens, and worse. These arrests will probably shake up a lot of folks, but that is even better. We are going to take this world to its very foundations! We will smash feminism once and for all, both here and throughout the continent, showing the world how to eliminate the menace that it presents to humanity and civilization! This is truly glorious!" Lars Larsen, the Director of Criminal Justice and Civil Law, shouted with delight as the latest information was discussed.

The only pall over their mood was this threat from Meridon, which seemed like one indeed. Why had these interlopers meddled with them, anyway? Didn't they know that the Directorate had inherited all of the assets of the former United States Navy in New England? They didn't have the naval station at Norfolk, of course, but that was in Virginia, controlled by the Dominionist regime there. But they had a sufficient remnant of a once First World fleet to present a real peril to anyone who dared to cross them. They had nuclear weapons, after all. They weren't some Second or Third World nation to be swatted like flies. What the hell were the Meridonians thinking? This wasn't their fight, after all. It was none of their damned business!

It was Incelastan's sacred duty to unite the North American continent under their rule, after all.

[Legatia]

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, 1 Joint Carrier Task Group [1 JCTG]
MRS Marin Bay (R13), Sistine-class aircraft carrier
-
Atlantic Ocean, approximately 220 miles off the New England coastline- 92 hours hence

The situation had grown worse. In merely 48 hours the near whole of an entire state had collapsed under the regime frontline, making the gamble just that much more dire. Before Incelastan had time to reposition its nuclear forces, the operation had to be conducted without a hitch.

Marin Bay had arrived at the head of a Meridonian task force unusual in its size, but the response demanded was extreme. A pair of fleet carriers, six destroyers, two frigates in their escort groups alone. An additional surface action group of five destroyers and three frigates. The two submarines of the escorts had joined the two attack and single cruise missile submarine for their contribution in the missile attacks.

2319. In two minutes, the carrier group would sound action stations. It would take about an hour for the carrier's eight squadrons of fighters to become airborne. In command of the air war was Baymark's Commander Air Group, sitting aboard one of the four AEWC aircraft circling overhead, Raycaster.

The strike was organized as such. At E-hour (execution time of 0020), Incelastani radars would be targeted, jammed, and destroyed by the fleet's 16 Backwave electronics warfare aircraft and engaged with onboard decoys and MUS-88 CORAM anti-radiation missiles, and a squadron of Wasps firing CUS-154 SOGAW glide bombs and the same anti-radiation missiles as used by the Backwaves.

With their wide area air defenses neutralized, cruise missiles launched from the fleet would finish the job of levelling the playing field. A total of 264 MRS-18 COSAC missiles would be launched against hangars, runways, command and control facilities, launchers, naval vessels and arms storage warehouses all across the seaboard, in addition to a supplement of 20 MRS-33 Commorrant anti-shipping missiles whose jobs were exclusively to hit known Incelasatani surface combatants- particularly, as many of their submarines as they could find after the divers were done with them. Two strike squadrons of Wasps, 24 in total would finish the job on the naval combatants, launching GBAU guided bomb units and Longbill surface to air missiles, before proceeding inland to clean up whatever aircraft and other priority targets on the ground were not neutralized in the initial strike. Twenty-four Lynx air superiority aircraft were tasked with air control, finding and shooting down anything that looked like a military aircraft. Another twelve-ship was to act as quick-reaction CAS for targets up and down the seaboard, split into six two-ship flights available for rapid strikes against the targets the SOF were attacking. One flight of Lynxes provided combat air control to the fleet, and another flight of Wasps were on ready reserve.

2321.

As scheduled, a boatswain piped the message first, and soon after the message was relayed to every ship across the fleet-

"Action stations, action stations! Set condition ONE throughout the ship, all hands man your battle stations. Combat departments, make ready reports to the TAC. Action stations, action stations!"

Throughout the surface fleet's ships, boots stomped down hallways and bulkheads were screwed shuts. Lights darkened and portholes were covered. Every sailor aboard every ship, trained well in their duty, took his or her position.

From Baymark's flight deck, the first to take off were the AEWCs. She contributed two at the same time. Sixteen seconds later, Marin Bay shot off its two, their turboprop engines humming distinctly as they climbed into the pitch blackness over the ocean.

Looking over the flight deck, Vice Admiral Taurei- having recently taken his place aboard Marin- watched the coordination with awe. He had seen this dozens of times before in practice, but this was for real. Dozens of aircraft waited in line for the utilization of their catapults, inching forward as the first in line rocketed into the night sky. Next in the air was the combat air patrol Lynxes from Marin, followed by the fighter sweep flights beginning their launch from Baymark. Then came the Backwaves from both ships, and then the legion of Wasps from both carriers.

0001.

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, Naval Special Forces Group (NSFG)
11 Squadron Combatant Diver Unit
-
Former US Naval Submarine Base New London, 20 feet beneath the surface

20 men from 11 CDU had snuck into the bay of the New London base aboard a trio of swimmer delivery vehicles, rebreathers held tight around their mouth and armed solely with suppressed pistols and a set of grenades, spare for about four men with suppressed high-caliber rifles. The rest of their weight capacity was taken up by massive amounts of plastic explosives, whose destinations were the hulls of the ballistic missile submarines of the fleet. If they had any extra, they were going on the same submarines. They could not afford to screw this up. Every single one needed to be rendered unusable. They had parked their vehicles outside the bay and swam about half a mile into the waters of the bay carrying their payload in satchels on their backs, hands and sides.

An uninterested sentry pacing the dock was seized, pulled into the waters, and executed, a hand held over his mouth as a combat knife opened his neck to the sea. Another pair were eliminated by sniper shots, the barrels just as quickly returning to the water as they had emerged. Their pathway was clear, the lead man signaled underwater to divers behind them, their vision tinted in hues of night vision green.

Not a word was shared between the men, not radio nor voice. Hand signals would have to suffice from the Lieutenant Commander in charge of the operation. Only the men knew him- there wasn't any distinguishing marks about them that would indicate rank, the only indication of their nationality the subdued flags on their riggings and wetsuits, which would never been seen by a soul.

You, on security, there. You and you, set the charges. You and you, that sub- there.

The divers began their work. High-grade thermite and explosive charges were fixed to the known and assumed structural weak points aboard the submarines- reactor rooms included. If the reactor room flooded and contaminated the rest of the sub, there wouldn't be recovery efforts anytime soon. The bay might get somewhat irradiated- but it was a much better risk than a weapons detonation. The Navy hadn't hired environmentalists.

Each charge was rigged to a remote detonator, which would send a signal to begin a countdown as soon as the commander deemed it so. Over the course of forty five minutes, their work was completed. Perhaps the smoothest of that night's operations, it went without a hitch. Sentries were occasionally picked off, dragged into the water and killed. Those shot were drowned, so as to leave no evidence. The rest worked their craft under the water, their rebreathers not betraying them above the surface as they did so.

When every missile submarine had enough explosives and thermite on the side of it to completely obliterate its pressure hull, the commandos regrouped and swam away, under the cover of the waves. The time was 0015. The bombs would detonate in twelve minutes- at 0027.

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, 1 Joint Carrier Task Group [1 JCTG]
5 Carrier Air Group [5 CAG], 10 Naval Electronic Attack Squadron [10 NEAS]
E6M3 Backwave electronic attack aircraft, Avalanche 2/2-1
-
Atlantic Ocean, approximately 140 miles off the New England coastline

Leading the strike package of 72 aircraft including themselves was a long front of Backwave electronic warfare aircraft, sixteen in total having launched against the New England coastline. The sky was dark, the only forms their slime-blue formation lights visible only close enough to maintain close cruise formation over the open skies.

These pilots stared intently at their screens. No doubt they had been detected. It wasn't likely they knew they were the electronics jamming aircraft, and that was the point. They flew just to the edge of the coastal missile battery's engagement envelope, and waited a moment for the first indications of surface-to-air launches. And then, they disappeared.

They were certainly still there somewhere- but no one on the ground would be able to tell where. Electronic jamming noise saturated radio and airwaves, ruining any attempt to identify the fighters from range.

Avalanche 2-1, the package leader of the SEAD flight, marked his approach of the weapons employment point. The word would come-

"99, this is Raycaster. Straight flush. Out."

And then it did. Fifteen seconds before reaching the commit point, weapons release authority had been granted by Raycaster. The pilot gave the 'thumbs-up' to his backseater- who pressed the button for weapons release.

0020. The first shots were fired by these electronics warfare aircraft- a rain of high-speed anti radiation missiles loosed from the rails of the Backwaves, targeting the radars that would allow surface batteries to detect and engage them and their followon forces. They would not have time to escape. The missiles could track the radar even if it shut down once it got an emission out of it. This was preceded by a wave of decoy aircraft simulating missiles- each Backwave carried a pair of anti-radiation missiles and six of these decoy missiles per aircraft- a total of 96 decoy missiles, and 32 anti-radiation missiles across the electronic attack flight.

The follow-up attack was launched by the trailing twelve-ship of Wasps, who unleashed a follow-on deluge- 24 more CORAMs were lofted into the sky and towards hostile radars, and from altitude, 48 SOGAW bombs were released on gliding trajectories towards known air defense missile batteries and coastal air force base sites.

From the ocean below, the missile strikes began. The Surface Action Group's flagship, Anamaru, launched first, and then the JCTG's escorts launched their own missiles. On time with the rest of their targets, the five Meridonian submarines began releasing their cruise missiles to join on the impact. Each attack submarine launched four each of its Commorant anti-shipping missiles against naval forces at anchor and at sea, limited in this regard by the number of available tubes- this being four for all submarines.

Between glide bombs, anti-radiation missiles, cruise missiles, and anti-shipping missiles, 388 inbound projectiles were launched- this wouldn't count the additional 96 decoys that were meant to trigger a response from the radar defense sites, mimicking terminal inbound munitions and wasting valuable air-to-air missiles without ever letting the ground controllers know what a grave mistake they'd made. When these decoys were illuminated by radars, the anti-radiation missiles would acquire their signatures and home to destroy the tracking and search radars like moths to a light. As radar sites across New England were knocked offline, leaving the entire region defenseless in the span of minutes, the glide bombs, cruise missiles, and antishipping missiles would begin their work without anything in place to stop them. Without radars to guide them to targets, the skies would be naked as a baby.

Finishing what had been dusted upon in the earlier strike, the submarine and surface-ship launched cruise missiles targeted command and control sites, static air defense missile sites (specifically targeted against launchers), runways, hangars and parked aircraft on tarmacs, and arms depots up and down New York and New England. All of these missiles were programmed to hit their targets at the exact same time- 0027, their launches staggered for this purpose. The antishipping missiles were launched towards anchored and afloat large surface combatants and submarines.

Two flights of Wasps prepared to clean up the strategic targets began to flow from their holding points. Fighter sweep aircraft took position, strung on a line that would cordon the majority of the coast. Once the radars were down, they would take out any aircraft trying to take flight out of Incelastani airbases like stepping on a roach.

The night sky erupted with fire. In New London Harbor, the first hit was made. As divers retreated from the harbor, Incelastan's ballistic subs erupted in plumes of fire and flame, water quickly penetrating their hulls as they were returned to the depths.

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, Army Special Forces Group (ASFG)
41 Regiment Rangers, 8 Batallion Ranger, B Company
-
Undisclosed location in Connecticut

A motley convoy of civilian vehicles had slipped quietly through the American countryside over the last day, taking up positions in abandoned buildings, bombed out homes, underpasses, and other locations far from the eye of civilians or 'government' officials. Two of the Army's four battalions of Ranger infantry- eight companies, as they were operationally split into, and from there into platoon size groupings to avoid suspicion- had been quietly flown into Canada, with their government's consent. From there, vehicles were rented and border crossings were made in discreet and derelict places. These vehicles consisted of vans, tarp-covered pickup trucks, SUVs and other utility vehicles that would not look out of place on an American highway. They kept to themselves, drove roundabout and isolated routes to their target safehouses, and carried all of their food with them, generously donated by Canadians and some of their own field rations.

In command of Bravo Company was Captain Alexios Kahale, a Tangaran mustang officer who sat restlessly behind the top of a small hill overlooking the base he and his men were tasked to assault that night. He had two platoons of infantry and a weapons platoon under his command, and they were playing security and support elements to the assault being conducted by a platoon of Marine Raiders.

Shadow Hand was one of the most complex military operations in SFCOM's history. Billions had been invested into Meridonian special forces over the past decade for operations of this caliber. Now it was time to see if it paid off.

The Captain knelt with the platoon of his assault element, looking at his watch. Thirty seconds until 0022. Through green-tinted lenses, he checked his men first, giving the platoon commander to his side a nod as he then checked his own weapon. The Marines were somewhere to his west, perpendicular to his lines.

The watch ticked to 0022. A hand went to his microphone.

"Execute."

GPMGs opened up within a second of the word being called, hosing down guard towers with FMJ rounds. A pair of soldiers with MAAS antitank weapons engaged guard structures and vehicles, and in the following seconds, infantry rifles began to join in. All of this fire was focused on the opposite side of the base from the nuclear weapons facility to make a big flash of light and keep their eyes off the much smaller Marine Raider team who would be sneaking into the back to disable the weapons stockpile, or render it unusable with their attached counter-WMD personnel. They would need time- but the Rangers had brought ammunition.

Across the territory of the regime, similar raids were being conducted at known weapons storage stockpiles. Their localized force would be initially overwhelming to the regime forces, but in time, they would have air support to count on holding off any reinforcements as well.

[Incelastan]

Masculinium (formerly Boston),
Capital of Incelastan


"This report is genuine?" Davis pronounced it genu-wine, due to his birth in Kentucky, far away from New England where he presently ruled supreme.

It was an ongoing joke that, being born in the same state as Jefferson Davis and Abraham Lincoln, he might have been related to one or both of those men, especially given his surname. His background, however, was a lot more mundane, being an orphan raised in a Catholic orphanage in Louisville. Despite his recent acceptance of Stern's proposed negotiations with the Vatican, Davis personally detested the Catholic Church and anything that smacked of female authority, thanks largely to the nuns who had abused and mistreated him as a child. He had been named after Saint Peter, supposedly the first Bishop of Rome, not that he cared for the notion. Davis actually had military experience, serving for ten years in the Army prior to his court-martial, which had landed him at Fort Leavenworth for sexual assault of a female superior in the Military Police. Nowadays, the formerly dishonorably discharged ex-con was a Major General and had found great vindication in that fact. He had a boxer's body, battered, but buff, and his crewcut made it clear that this was a real soldier at heart.

Peter Clement Davis was a very dangerous man, especially when enraged, and right then, he was livid. He crumpled up several blank pieces of paper, did origami with them to try to calm himself, threw them across the room, lit a cigarette to calm himself, and poured himself a good Kentucky bourbon, proper sour mash on the rocks, to settle his nerves. He stood and punched General La Rousse, himself a former Sheriff, right in the face, before Lars Larsen and Armin Stern held him back and soothed his temper. The Chairman of the Directorate, also Director of War, was enraged and yet began to cool off now. He had been literally shaken back to his senses, allowing him to perhaps think clearer. Nodding, not bothering with an apology that would be a sign of weakness, he cleared his throat, and spoke calmly, yet loudly.

"We are in a very strange situation, truly bittersweet. We've just conquered the state of New York, yet now we basically have no air force and barely any semblance of a navy. Maybe a coast guard left if we're lucky. Our nuclear deterrent is hors de combat, aside from maybe some ground-based cruise missiles somewhere that might have been missed, no? Well, that makes things pretty much worse, doesn't it? Here's what we do. Analyze the tax collection capacity and prepare a draft plan to increase taxation to cover purchase of replacement aircraft and at least hunter-killer attack subs, as well as some destroyers, at any rate. That's what we can attempt to replace at the earliest. We still have some limited supplies of sarin nerve gas, which we can break out if necessary, but for now, they must be closely guard to avoid their detection and capture. Do we likely still have these....Meridonian black ops units on our soil? Or have they returned to Canada, from which they must have been based?" Davis scowled as he asked this question, popping some aspirin to deal with the emerging migraine that pained him.

"In the meantime, sir, the raids have produced genuine results, I might add. We've more than tripled the population of the camps overnight, sure to add an intimidation factor for when people might contemplate any kind of anti-tax protests. I think that increasing the reparations tax would be the best bet. Limit the outrage to those groups already not enamored with our regime. What can they do without the support of those who still likely back us or at least tolerate us? Oh, and we can start collecting the reparations tax from women and minorities in New York. Not to mention expropriating the properties of all of the churches, mosques, and synagogues in New York State now. The clergy are a little too busy working their asses off in re-education camps to protest that move," La Rousse mostly ignored the prior assault when he bragged about his success in the raids and the roundup of dissidents....however, his use of the normal pronunciation of "genuine" was an understated retort.

Davis grimaced at that reminder of his own origins as a hillbilly from such a backwoods state as Kentucky, but let it slide as a bit of a weak sauce kind of reprisal for the vicious right cross. Well, he was a former boxer as well as a professional soldier. In the old days, at least as an ex-con, he would have been in real trouble if he had decked a Sheriff, which La Rousse had been in his native Vermont (not a deputy, either...he was a lawfully elected Sheriff of a county prior to defeat by some woke asshat in a later election). Now, all the man could do is subtly insult him, which was an improvement in his status and a demotion in the Brigadier General's.

"Proceed with the plans to confiscate the property of camp inmates. They need to pay for their re-education, to compensate us, don't you agree, Lars?" Davis asked Larsen, who smirked in response.

The Directorate made a point of deliberately impoverishing its enemies, so as to make them focus on survival and provision for their families instead of planning some kind of next move against the regime. Plus, there was a grim satisfaction in depriving women in particular of ill-gotten gains. The Directorate generally sought to reduce women to permanent underclass status, relegating them to menial and traditionally female jobs and banning them from typical masculine and high-end career positions. That was another form of retribution for past judgments of community property, alimony, excessive child support, etc. by heavily biased courts, which had largely been dissolved after marriage was abolished and divorce with it. Families as such no longer existed, the sexes increasingly segregated as a means of depriving women of any means of support that was not contractual in nature. Children were now mostly in state orphanages, learning the principles of the Revolution and being liberated from the myths of feminism, Marxism, etc.

The reparations tax was no joke. It was highly punitive as it was and regressive as well, being particularly harsh against divorcees who had benefited from favorable settlements and such. The more such judgments in one's favor, the higher one's tax burden, even as the state disbursed some "restitution" to previously disadvantaged ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends. Women were typically forced to sell their homes and increasingly move into women's hostels, with living conditions that involved bunks, restricted decor options, plain and unseasoned soups and crackers or semi-stale bread, lukewarm tap water, and limited vitamin supplements, so that they could still function without too much malnutrition. Those were the lucky ones, not sent to the camps. Conditions in the camps were often barely livable, if at all, even if one didn't count torture, beatings, psychological terror, medical experiments, and overwork....and the indoctrination or "re-education" sessions, of course. It was deliberate brainwashing or intended to be. Family court judges were among the most harshly punished in the camps, along with divorce lawyers, HR counselors, college kangaroo court judges, etc.

It was revenge, plain and simple.

"In the meantime, gentlemen, do we have enough civilian aircraft for Operation Dire Straits?" Davis asked La Rousse, bringing them back to the wartime situation.

"Absolutely. We still plan to fill them with the maximum amount of fuel, especially as we won't be needing it as much now, include some convicts who would otherwise be shot, get some volunteers willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause, and hurl them into civilian soft targets in Meridon itself. We have naturally disguised as much as possible, because we don't wish to...you know. We should also add some for Canada, to punish them for allowing these raids to be staged from their territory. Kamikaze, here we come! If this works, perhaps they'll think twice about giving us any more trouble. Just remember...this is an act of terrorism. There's no going back after this. Meridonian civilians will die. By the hundreds. Maybe thousands. They won't forget about this," La Rousse stated for the record, not that it would dissuade anyone....he just wanted his caution as a matter of record.

"Execute it. Show them that their intervention, their...meddling, will have consequences!" Davis banged his fist on the desk, furious that someone had deprived him of an air force and navy, at least until he could purchase new ones.

This was supposed to be his moment of victory and triumph, not of defeat, "And finish the damn job in New York! I want that bitch Governor freezing her ass off in a re-education camp by the end of the week! Are we clear?" Davis demanded.

"In the meantime, we can shoot some more and display their bodies for the benefit of the public. Such as the Mayor of Albany. That shrew really has it coming, don't you think?" Larsen chuckled as he contemplated this act of personal revenge.

He had dated the recent Mayor of Albany once. She had been one crazy girl, downright insane. The idea of a woman like this...running a city? It was enough to make him shudder in horror to even contemplate such a prospect. They were both lawyers back then, working for the same firm, in fact, and she almost got him fired after they broke up on bogus sexual harassment charges. He had quit the firm, anyway, moved to Rhode Island, joined a men's rights organization as a legal counsel, even if that meant a pay cut, and went out of his way to bad mouth her to as many people as possible. Her career must have recovered somehow, or else she just gave up on law and went into politics. He was going to enjoy watching her terror as she was put to the wall and faced a firing squad. The bitch really had it coming.

"In the meantime, let's do our level best to maximize use of SAMS, particularly MANPADs. Stingers, for instance. They're our best protection left at the moment, weak as they are. Oh, and if a few Stingers happen to slip and shoot down Canadian civilian aircraft by accident....oops? Maybe they'll think twice about helping our enemies in the future, as public ire at the loss of their commercial passengers hits home with the population," La Rousse proposed.

"An excellent plan. No doubt of that. Stern, any other thoughts?" Davis asked the Director of Foreign Affairs.

"Sure. I think that we need to arrange fake defectors to place moles in their highest circles. They can then pass useful information back to us on the Meridonian plans, going forward. And if they're caught, well, at least they will be remembered with honor for their self-sacrifice. That's the only immortality that exists, right? At least, if like us, you don't believe in such a thing as souls, that is," Stern added, not mentioning that many of his religious tradition believed in soul sleep after death, anyway.

The rabbis were forever arguing about the afterlife, nobody sure as to what Sheol really was. He didn't really care. Hashem was a myth. He didn't exist. It was all a contrived religious tradition, necessary to keep their community intact ages past, but long since an anachronism.

"How about the Youth Brigades? How are they coming along?" Davis asked La Rousse next.

"Very well, sir. We've got some seven brigades already trained, some seven more in the process. They'll be finished in a month, if still a bit green. In any case, you'll have your boy soldiers before you know it. I'm eager to see what they can do in battle myself," La Rousse answered with a wicked smirk.

The future generations of men wouldn't be such wimps and simps, would they? They'd be soldiers...warriors, just as men should be. The future wouldn't be female after all, just as it shouldn't be. The only future for females was poverty and servitude. The natural order of things.

[Legatia]

Federal Republic of Meridon
Tullamarina Approach Control, Smith Island Territory
Tullamarina International Airport, Tullamarina, Smith Island Territory
-
Approach Control Center 1100 hours Meridon Standard Time

Half a world away, Meridon was untouched by the ongoings of the conflict in North America. Some in the control center- including those with brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters involved in the attack- had commented on the resounding success of Shadow Hand. Meridonian military tweeters were stunned by the overwhelming success of the operation- almost as much as the planners were. Post-operational analysis revealed the almost complete annihilation of regime nuclear armaments, the debilitation of their air force, and eradication of their air defense network before the sun rose over the continent. When the command structure woke up, there would be a rude awakening.

The operation had resulted in minimal casualties on the ground for friendly forces, particularly in the Ranger regiment who dealt with the bulk of the engagement, a few dozen casualties both wounded. Not a single aircraft had been downed, but a few had been damaged and would require repair. The success of the operation had skyrocketed the ruling Federal Party's ratings by a landslide.

What was to come, however, would change that. And it started in a well-lit underground room ten feet beneath Tullamarina Airport, with an approach controller noting a deviation from a filed flight plan in one of the approach controllers. Meridonian naval vessels operating in the Pacific had noted that multiple airliners were unable to be hailed by long-range approach controllers, and few of them had set transponder codes properly- not for a hijacking, nor for lost radio communications. No carriers were operating that far out to investigate the disturbance, but an alert was passed to traffic controllers across Meridon's western seaboard to expect traffic with radio trouble.

Standard procedure was to follow their given flight plans, which Meridon had access to- if the airliners had filed them. This aircraft was not.

"Ahh, flight number 3305 on a south westerly heading towards Tullamarina, this is Tullamarina Approch Control, we have you deviating from your courseline. Climb and maintain 30,000 and turn to two-zero-zero."

No response. The airplane kept turning towards direct south, and descending.

"Ah, flight, what the fuck is going on here? He's going too far off course, not communicating.. his flight plan isn't even fucking complete." The operator waved down a supervisor to monitor the situation. He sniffed a rat.

"Something's not right here. He's not even going towards the approach lanes or holding areas...not to mention, he's way off schedule. Look." The supervisor pointed to the aircraft's flight log. "What the... Westfalen airport, is that even real? Is Westfalen an actual airport-"

He blinked. It wasn't every day he considered doing this, but there was no reason not to.

"Get the Air Forces on the line- possible rogue aircraft."

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Air Forces, Tactical Fighter Wing 25 [TFW 25]
32 Tactical Fighter Squadron [32 TFS]
Meridon Air Base Whetgrave, Smith Island Territory
-
Air Defense Alert Station, 1106 hours Meridon Standard Time

About two dozen men sat in the hut near the hangars on the western end of Whetgrave's fighter park. They were the operators and control staff for the alert fighters for Air Sector Northeast, the crew for five jets- one four-ship flight, one spare jet, ten maintainers and four orderlies and assistants for the crew as they lazed around. Alert crewing fighters was not an enviable task. It was free flight time, sure, but most of the day was spent twiddling your fingers in a hut in the middle of nowhere with poor cellular reception.

On an average weekday afternoon such as this, the alert crew would be three hours into their shift. A group of pilots were reviewing the results of a training sortie. Four were watching a college football game, the rest were reading magazines, their phones, or eating lunch. The newest squadron squadron 'sunnie'- Junior Officer, by the singular star-like rank emblem on her shoulder- had hauled pizza in for the alert crew thirty minutes prior, a welcome relief. She wasn't on alert herself, but she had stuck around to converse with some of the squadron's pilots.

In the control room sat two of the orderlies at stations, conducting menial work about computers or piles of paper. All of that monotony was interrupted as the central telephone unit went off.

"Whetgrave ADA, BASE OPS, priority."

The telephone receiver was snapped from the set.

"ADA."

"Scramble twoship NORDO jetline northwest. Acknowledge."

"ADA!" The receiver slammed into the headset, the second orderly leaped from his chair, and slammed his fist into the red alert siren.

Immediately the building was deafened with the sound of an electronic klaxon deafening all other activities. Pilots, flight crew and maintainers dropped whatever was in their hands, rocketing to their feet as feet tore against the wooden floor, the exit to the outside being flung open as a stream of twenty men and women sprinted to their stations. Maintainers rushed around the plane, pulling tube socks and intake covers for the jets, grounding wires and safety toggles on the jet's armaments. Pilots flew to stored gear racks as they shouldered flight harnesses, threw on helmets and began to zip everything up- from there they flew into the aircraft, got a thumbs-up form the ground crew, and began to start the aircraft.

Ten jet engines roared to life as pilots went through their checks by memory. The moment the jet's chocks were pulled and the 'OK' symbol was given by the ground crew, two fighters rolled straight to the runway, ignoring the normal protection procedures that were sacrosanct for runway incursions. A pair of F5M6 fighters rocketed into the sky, banking northwest on intercept headings towards the incoming planes.

Five minutes later, the second pair left. Thirty seconds after them, the fifth.

But for some, they were too late.

---

Federal Republic of Meridon
Tullamarina, Cordlight District
7th Street
-
Five minutes after impact, 1117

The street was covered in fire and smoke. The plane had not hit any one building, but its debris had slammed into a number of ones, killing scores of office workers and civilians on the ground below. Sirens wailed in the distance, the fire department and city police rushing to the scene- what officers were already present were evacuating the area.

The body of a pair of office workers were strewn on the ground, thrown from a destroyed building. A car had been set alight, its flattened form spewing acrid smoke into the air. Screams and cries filled what was once a hustling center of business and commerce as bystanders and victims fleed or attempted to render aid where able.

The cockpit of the plane had lodged itself in a storefront, through which a fire was quickly building. The shopkeeper ushered customers through the back exit, men and women who had been enjoying the breakfasts moments prior, their faces overcome with soot, blood, pulled into panic.

The war had come home.

In Tullamarina, the lead aircraft had made its target first, diving from altitude towards populated areas on the north coastline- not the airliner, but another, smaller plane, a business jet, outside of a flight plan. It had ripped its wings off doing so, but it made little difference. It had targeted a dense commercial sector in downtown Tullamarina, where skyscrapers were wrecked and debris began to hurtle onto the innocent crowds below- by far, the most significant. In smaller cities further west from Whetgrave and in Helena Territory further south, three other planes hit targets- a shopping mall, a residential sector, and a resort in Helena. Airspace controllers were paralyzed by the completely unprecedented, unexpected attack on civilian facilities. Not all of these were on international flight plans, and many were business jets. The early estimates ran in the two hundreds of deaths, but that toll was going to climb.

The rest, however, would not get through. Air Forces Air Defense Command was quick to interpolate where- or rather, who- the attack was coming from. Within the hour, Meridonian skies began to fill with fighter aircraft from every available Air Force alert squadron. Aircraft arriving were put into holding patterns as the country's airspace was shut down. All flights were landed soon thereafter, and those that did not comply were intercepted and made to do so. The remaining dozen or so regime-piloted aircraft were narrowed down, located, and shot down well over the Pacific Ocean. These included all of the larger aircraft, who were immensely more suspicious considering the type of aircraft they were. Lynx and Wasp here, too, worked together, closing with, identifying, and downing these airliners.

As the sun began to dip over Meridon, behind closed doors in Cordelia, things began to set into motion.

---

The Cordelian
Meridon's First Choice in Journalism

MERIDON |GLOBAL | CULTURE | SPORTS | TECHNOLOGY | LIFESTYLE |ECONOMY | MEDIA | OPINIONS

---

DEVELOPING:
KAMIKAZE PLANE ATTACKS ROCK HELENA, SMITH ISLAND TERRITORIES- HUNDREDS DEAD- INCELASTAN TERRORIST CELLS BLAMED

---

Multiple locations in Meridon hit by airborne suicide attacks- Airspace shuttered 'until further notice'- MDF 'actively conducting security operations'

---

By Catarina Dulles| 2 APRIL 2023

---

The aftermath of a jet aircraft impact into the Smithee Mall complex outside of Togeta, Helena Territory. Similar attacks were conducted across the two provinces with death tolls expected to rise.

---

Meridon was rocked by a series of coordinated terrorist attacks by kamikaze airplanes across Helena and Smith Island territories by at least four separate airplanes, targeting civilian areas around noontime, including attacks in Tullamarina, Togeta, Kohaku and a resort outside of Sippera, Helena Territory; with evidence pointing to these attacks being conducted by agents associated with the 'Incel' government of the self-titled Masculist Republic of Incelastan. These attacks are likely retaliatory for the Meridon Defense Force's 'Operation Shadow Hand', which largely destroyed the nascent Incelastani state's nuclear weapons stockpiles and almost completely eradicated its air force and navy in the span of a night.

According to corroborated flight radar data, witness and police reports, the first attack was conducted in Tullamarina, Smith Island, striking a highly dense commercial area and causing multiple casualties. They were followed by an attack against a mall in Togeta, a residential area outside of Kohaku, and a vacation resort near Sippera. Initial reports have indicated that at least three hundred people have been killed in these attacks, with more wounded and the count expected to rise.

Details regarding how many of these aircraft were able to conduct attacks in Meridonian airspace is currently scarce, but evidence is pointing to the commandeering of chartered aircraft in foreign countries, including the possibilities that some of these aircraft were stolen or commandeered from within Meridon itself.

At an emergency press conference held by Chief of Defense Staff General John Argus, a number of details were released. The Defense Forces reportedly conducted over thirty aircraft intercepts and 'engaged and destroyed' at least twelve aircraft operating in and around Meridon, all of these civilian airliners and business jets. All non military or emergency air traffic has been grounded for the next seventy-two hours.

The perpetrators of the attack have been verified by Meridonian intelligence services as agents loyal to the 'Masculist Republic' of Incelastan, an unrecognized breakaway from the United States of America whose rampant war crimes and reported crimes against humanity initiated a punitive response from Navy assets almost a week prior. The identities of the pilots of the aircraft are unknown and likely will remain so.

President William Acton, speaking from Whiteriver Manor in a scheduled address to the nation, has pledged support to the communities affected by this attack, and has ordered the Defense Force to Alert Condition Two. In his speech, he said the following:

"As with you all, I am horrified and taken aback by this senseless attack against civilian targets in our homeland. I grieve with the families who have lost, and my heart bleeds for the victims of this senseless tragedy. So too am I angry. This was an attack not against just us, but against who we are as a nation, and what we stand for. Meridon will not stand by idly. The Senate has conferred in emergency session, and has authorized the unrestricted employment of the Defense Forces to ensure not only the neutralization, but the eradication, of the threat posed by this regime. To the monsters who would prey on the innocents to save their own hide, justice will find you and it will not rest. The policy of Meridon will not be one of containment, but of eradication. Tonight, we stand with our family, our neighbors and our community. We help them pick up the pieces, and learn to walk again. Tomorrow, we shall ensure that this never happens again."

The President ended the conference without taking questions, and inquiries to both the State and Defense departments on the ramifications of this 'unrestricted deployment' have not been verified. The Defense Forces currently have significant naval and air assets currently in theater, which are expected to continue operations against the regime in the coming days.

If you or someone you know have been impacted by this attack, you are urged to contact the Meridon Red Cross at 1800 332 0303.

---

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[The Military State of the Galapagos]

The Galapagos had never been the most liberal nation. Even from birth it had always been Americas authoritarian brother. That would all change post civil war as an elected council was set up and parties, some of which had been banned previously, jockeyed for power in the halls of government. Even then the Conservative Party had been the dominant force in control of the Galapagos for as long as many young voters had been alive. With the progressive party a distant 2nd place it was up to moderates and defectors to get reforms through the senate and legal branch and lobbyists to get the president to pass said bill or in more extreme cases lobbyists would target the senate and legal branches themselves to overrule a presidents decision something that was important to ensure a single person could never fully control the Galapagos again.

Why was that important? It’s because Incelastan lacked those moderates and liberals that the Galapagos had. They lacked the restraints on power that the Galapagos constitution provided. And of course they lacked any common sense whatsoever, at least that was the government’s excuse was as to why Incelastan was this way. The liberals needed the people’s support because only the lord, and any 6 year old with basic knowledge in mathematics knew that the progressives were a minority. They needed the support of the powerful lobbyists that could sway the more moderate faction inside the Conservative Party to vote for something, some action against the injustices happening just north of them, not in a distant third word country in Africa or South Asia but in North America where innocent men and especially women were being tortured and killed in mass by a regime run by braindead manchildren who got rejected by a women for most likely not showering in a few weeks and who now had a chance to take their rage out on civilians. The progressives efforts were ultimately cut short when nobody could agree on what to do. Some wanted military confrontation while others wanted a more lenient approach on the handling of this rouge regime.

The only thing they could agree on was an open borders policy to refugees fleeing persecution in their ruined home. A statement would be announced later in the day read by the Minority Senate Leader Caitlyn Roseberry a women herself in which it invited any and all New Yorkers fleeing prosecution into the Galapagos with promises of protection and actual basic human rights and freedoms. And after all that, after all that preparation, all they could do was pray it got to the Incelistani people and even then it was up to change wether or not they’d believe them. Nonetheless it was all the progressives could do at the moment as the conservatives had control of the government.

Despite that being all they could do officially, out of the halls and eyes of bureaucracy they had much more leverage and freedom to act. Two Geyser Class submarines would be deployed following the announcement. Capable of firing surface to surface missiles they could, in theory, destroy Icnelastani government installations in one fail swoop. After all while the Incelastanis may have been bluffing about nuclear weapons the fact they had apparently crashed a civilian airliner in Meridon and the Galapagos wasn’t one to not have a contingency plan for this especially considering the distance between them and Incelastan was much closer than that of Meridon.

[Incelastan]

A Call To Action!


Looking for work, for steady pay, adventure, manly pursuits, a chance to get revenge upon those who demean you, call you "neckbeard" and worse? Looking for payback for those females who openly mocked and humiliated you and spread your embarrassment online to make it worse? Looking for revenge for those who keep pressuring you to conform to insane social norms?

Here's your chance.

Join the Incel Liberation Foreign Legion! Sign up today, get an enlistment bonus of 10,000 rings, learn how to drill, march, fight, endure hardship...become a man! Prove your critics and bullies wrong! Don't waste your bullets in crime. Use them in war! Help fight for the first ever incel state in the world, Incelastan! We have liberated New England and New York, and we will march to the liberation of North America, and someday, the world! The Great Incel Revolution will sweep the globe, destroying Feminism, Marxism, and Democracy once and for all!

Act Now! Be part of history! Make HIStory! Join the Incel Liberation Foreign Legion today!

"That's an excellent ad, my friends. It's a great start toward our long-term vision of a world where we put the chads and staceys and other normies in their place. I can only imagine how much it might have cost us, but with the expropriations and reparations taxes, we can move toward putting out more of these ads to recruit volunteers. If the French Foreign Legion can be an enduring institution, why can't ours? There are plenty of folks eager to break free of their ruts. Granted, some of that is self-imposed, but what can these people do when society treats them all like Holden Caulfield in Catcher In The Rye? Well, they can fight back. Better this than the school shootings and mall shootings and whatnot. This can make a real impact upon the world. It was only when we banded together and formed our movement that we became a real threat to the social order, just as we should have been all along," Erwin Yancey, Director of Finance for the Masculist State of Incelastan, commented on the recruiting ad that the War Directorate put out.

"Now, hopefully, they'll allow it to show, at least for a little bit before they shut it down," Colonel Oscar Hernandez, Director of Internal and Native Affairs, remarked dryly.

"Oh, it will post on the internet more than anything else. Be harder to shut it down on every website, after all. And now we have notoriety. I expect that we will have more volunteers than we could train at once. We'll have a queue lining up to serve our cause. We still need to replace some of the aircraft, though capturing some airfields on Long Island, if we can manage it, would be a start. We are down to just three serviceable warships, all three of them hunter-killer attack subs, out of our entire fucking navy, so that's a pain. However, I have an idea. Do what America did the last time it had a very weak navy. Privateers. Issue letters of marque and reprisal, authorizing merchantmen to seize commercial shipping on the high seas. They might bitch, call it piracy, invoke the Declaration of Paris, which was in 1855 and no American government ever signed, anyway, but tough luck. Make them...literally, pay us the money we need to purchase more warships and aircraft!" Davis proposed.

"Well, that sounds reasonable. This, however, doesn't. A challenge to a fucking duel by some idiot with grandiose and anachronistic notions of chivalry. That wasn't even what chivalry was about, anyway. People need to read less Arthurian legend, more actual history. It's like that meme, 'she wanted to be treated like a princess, so I sold her for an alliance with Poland.' Anyway, this fool thinks that you can have chivalry, feminism, and organized religion all work together. One of those would have to give, preferably all three, of course," La Rousse smirked as he lit a cigarette and used the lighter to burn the rest of the written challenge, "that's what I think of this henpecked fool, War Minister so and so. His wives might have him underfoot, but I have no wives. I don't let society or women dictate my actions to me."

"What about this insane rant by that Acton fellow? Acting as if he and his didn't have it coming to them after their meddling into our affairs?" Stern sneered now.

"Deny everything, of course. Let them prove it. They didn't have casus belli then and they don't have it now, either. Blame Noxoje or that caliphate place that the War Minister guy is from, the one that probably practices honor killings, even as he prattles on about 'women's rights.' Blame New Soviet Trans-Ohio, for all I care. Hell, blame New York City, saying that they are trying to lure them into war with us. Just as they can't prove anything about the camps or the chemical or biological weapons, but everyone suspects them, anyway. The inmates certainly know about them, of course!" Larsen chuckled at the likely frustration of President William Acton if Incelastan denied everything.

How would they prove a damn thing, right?

"I'll be sure to add that they committed aggression against us, attacking our military without warning, so that we were unprepared for the threat. And formally declare war upon them, of course, on those grounds," Stern suggested.

"I agree. All in favor, raise your hands," Davis instructed them.

Everyone raised their hands, especially Yancey, who hadn't forgiven either of his ex-wives for the ruined state of his personal finances for years...until certain friends in the manosphere came to his rescue.

He hadn't forgotten his debt to them, either.

"How about more...cyber attacks, this time on Meridon? Denial of service, malware, attacks upon their government websites, power grid, so forth. I think that has merit, don't you agree?" Hernandez, ever the computer geek, proposed.

"Works for me. Let's roll. Viruses, spyware, malware, adware, etc. Trojans. Etc. Hack the shit out of their electronics! Make them experience real consequences in their everyday lives! Let them try to recover from that well enough to fight us!" Davis agreed.

Everyone nodded in assent now. The war was about to escalate...big time. If Meridon thought that the loss of nukes meant that Incelastan couldn't reach them where they lived, so be it. They would soon learn a very bitter lesson.

"Now, about those three submarines...keep them radio silent, I think, and have them roam freely, attacking enemy civilian shipping without warning....generally behaving like German U-Boats in World War One. We don't have the numbers to harm their navy, but we can make the suffer in other ways, of course. Can you imagine it?" La Rousse proposed.

"Sounds good. Make it so," Davis did his best to sound like Jean-Luc Picard, but of course, it was a Trekkie joke.

Yet he was in earnest.

"We have work to do, folks. Let's get this show on the road," Davis adjourned the session.

It was time to roll up their sleeves and get their noses back to the grind. They had a revolution to advance and that they would do with their dying breaths. It wasn't just a hobby, after all. This was a crusade against the enemies of patriarchy, and one by one, they would all be crushed. At least if the Directorate had any say in the matter.

An Open Letter To The Nations Of The Uxorious World,

We, the only nation on Earth that is not uxorious, not controlled by matriarchy and gynocracy, we the Vanguard of the Great Incel Revolution, fighting for the liberation of mankind worldwide, hereby announce that, as of today, 3 April, 2023, two years after the Great Incel Revolution began here in the former United States of America, a nation destroyed by feminism and Marxism, due to the acts of military aggression and belligerence committed against our nation by the Federal Republic of Meridon, a state of war now exists between said nation and the great Masculist State of Incelastan. We also categorically deny anything to do with the alleged acts of terrorism of which we were accused by the government stooges on the staff of The Cordelian. Once again, the lying foreign press, advancing the evil causes of Marxism and matriarchy, has baselessly libeled us, but they will know the consequences of their deliberate falsehood in the fulness of time.

Liberation is on its way. Beware, those who oppose the Great Incel Revolution, for it will come to you, too, someday. To fight the forces of global liberation and revolution is futile. It will only destroy you. Surrender or prepare to be crushed underneath our jackboots. Nemo me impune lacessit! Also, War Minister so and so, we will not dignify your duel challenge and the foolish uxoriousness that it represents. We are not ruled by wives, for we have none, unlike you.

Sincerely,
Major General Peter C. Davis, Chairman of the Directorate, Director of War, and Commander-in-Chief of the Incel Liberation Forces
Dr. Armin Stern, Director of Foreign Affairs
Lars Larsen, Director of Criminal Justice and Civil Law and Commissar of the Militia
Brigadier General Darien La Rousse, Director of State Security and Intelligence
Erwin Yancey, MBA, Director of Finance and Economy
Colonel Oscar Hernandez, Director of Internal and Native Affairs

[Incelastan]

OOC: Should I consider this a dead thread? I'm beginning to think so. Maybe in another day or two I'll pronounce it dead and arrive it at my own conclusion to the story.

[Legatia]

((Hey Incelastan, I'm still working on a post. Give me a bit longer, I'll get it up for you. My posting pace these past few has been pretty quick, normally will take me a day or two.

[Incelastan]

((Hey Incelastan, I'm still working on a post. Give me a bit longer, I'll get it up for you. My posting pace these past few has been pretty quick, normally will take me a day or two.

OOC: Ah, okay. Just wondered. I'll check if I don't get banned over some foolishness in General over calling an actual Nazi....a Nazi.

[Royal Frankia]

Straits of Narses

In the name of the Compassionate, the Merciful, the Just, Peace be upon those who remain. Peace be upon the Children of the Atkana, who off the coast of glaciers hath perfected praise. Peace be upon the Jewels in the Crown of the One, that have brought forth the Holy Fire and the Rites that set one upon the Path of Enlightenment.

The Great Folk had come to this world, known by many names but still the same, a thousand cycles before. Countless realities had they witnessed, countless empires had they seen rendered unto dust. They were old when the first man emerged from Africa, and they would outlast him in countless ages yet to be revealed by the Fates.

It was the nature of the Great Folk to show compassion, to uplift those who still fought over the fiction of scarcity.yet, the Natives of this world had faltered in the qhest for the stars. They had turned to skepticism of their sciences, and had sought strife over cooperation.

Their creeds were as many as the stars in the night's sky, but fragments of the One were seen in all of the major faiths. Their holy men would be visited with dreams, depicting what the natives referred to as "Armageddon". The world would falter, and sink into a new Dark Age should conflict upon this world in this age continue.

Such dreams would come forth not from the Heavens, but from those stations established upon the glacier bound sea. Far to the north, beyond the developing nationsm, the Sanctuaries of the Faith Eternal proclaimed the Glory of the One.

The Great Folk had grown more pious, casting aside the inherent worthlessness of pleasure and material possessions. Those who had sworn Holy Vows took this one step further, seeking peace upon worlds distant from where their forefathers had trod. Here, they wrote and practiced the Rites, reflecting upon the glories of Life and Death.

The drones dispatched from these Isles of Narses, the Jewels that kept ever burning the Sacred Fire, would give more precise information on the nature of the present contlict. The Great Folk here were not soldiers, though they possessed the means to wipe out the human powers a thousandfold should they desire. The Council of the Holy Seers had authorized no direct intervention, but opened their palms to sate the thrist for blood demanded by the Fates.


O Most High, O Mistress of Creation.
Hear our prayers, before the holy fire.
See in our hearts, the great compassion we hold.
For those that slay one another,
For those that seek strife rather than peace.
In your name, the name of the Most Merciful,
The Most Compassionate.
The Most Holy.
Bring peace, bring peace, bring peace.
Deliver these your Creations,
From the Abyss, from black death.
Sala.

O precious Lambs, O Sons of Light

The persecution of the clergy would be condemned, as well as the theft of temple property. Heralds of Light would appear in the street to preach sermons against the persecution. The Atkanite had experienced persecution, and had known of its perils.

The Heralds would wear a white rainment, whose radiance surpassed any of this age upon the world. Their words would echo across the city, before those sites once considered holy.

O Children of this time, Children of the Age.
Do you forsake those, who have forsaken everything?
Do you turn your back on your rabbi, your priest, your imam?
Such have been with you, through a thousand travails.
In the eyes of the Source of Wisdom, O Holy One.
Your Revolution in the name of Reason,
Is in defiance of all that Reason stands for.
Repent, repent, repent!
O Sons of Earth, lest you succumb to Darkness.

With that, the Heralds would vanish, leaving no trace that could be determined. It would then be seen the Holy Vani, or to the natives the angels of their lore. These holy projections would circle the great metropolis three times, each time proclaiming the Glory of the One. It was noted that they would perch atop a holy site and weep bitter tears for those scattered Sons of Faith.

The structures would glow most holy, and around them holy apparitions would appear. Even the spirits of those long departed would appear to their relatives, showing them the horrors of the Abyss certain for the Apostate. They would call upon the panicked multitude to rise, rise in the name of Faith.

[Legatia]

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, 1 Joint Carrier Task Group [1 JCTG]
MRS Marin Bay (R13), Sistine-class aircraft carrier
-
Atlantic Ocean, approximately 180 miles off the New England coastline

Meridon grieved, thousands of miles away. Her sons and daughters, much closer to the fight, however, were not intent on sitting idly by.

VAdm Taurei was infuriated when he heard the news. None of the planes ever flew his way, which meant his forces were powerless to defend their homeland.

Two words rang through his mind, and the mind of every man in the task force. Every hand heaved towards this effort, and every task set at once to the following.

Never again.

When the sun rose over the horizon the day after the attacks, the retribution began. Unlike the massed attack of Shadow Hand involving over a hundred carrier-based aircraft, these attacks were reduced in density, yet constant in reoccurrence. Two-ship flights flew punitive missions over the skies of New York and New England, day and night, rain and shine. Targeting pods and ground search radars scoured sectors identified by satellite passes as concentrations of regime military power. Arms depots, what remained of their aircraft and runways, vehicle storage yards, trainyards, weapons manufacturing facilities, logistics hubs, static military bases. At any point in the twenty-four hour day could a regime member look up, and not know if a guided bomb was hurtling to evaporate everything about him. Boston (or Masculinium, as it was called) was targeted extensively with precision weaponry dropping to flatten party headquarters- this being preceded by humiliating low-level fly-bys of Wasp aircraft scattering leaflets over the city, low enough to be seen but too high to be accurately targeted. These messages warned civilians (and anyone who read them) that any buildings associated with the Masculist regime and its war machine were not safe, and would soon be struck.

Soon could be as little as thirty minutes. Buildings identified by undercover AIS agents of having high concentrations of soldiers, party officials, and general traffic were located, tagged, and forwarded to Marin Bay. The two carriers in the JCTG would provide a flight of strike aircraft to level the building, trailed by a leaflet-dispensing aircraft to carry the messages. "It is not too late! Let Freedom Ring once more and overthrow your oppressors!"

In the case of the headquarters, it was thirty-two. A pair of Lynxes delivered a quartet of guided bombs to demolish the building, debris filling the street as their sleek grey forms could be seen roaring back to the task group on afterburners after.

These strikes continued over the next few days consistently, without pause. As Day One ended and went into Two, with military targets becoming more scant or more complicated to strike, other areas were prioritized. Targets struck included what remained of Davis' abilities to wage strategic warfare. Leaflets were dropped in the vicinity of chemical weapons plants, which were subsequently saturated by MSS-33 M.2 Strike Commorant missiles launched over the ocean by Wasps, and followed up by thermobaric weaponry dropped from Lynx fighters to ensure the complete eradication of the facilities. Struck in more conventional manners were sites known to harbor other military support activities- to include cyberwarfare, both urban and otherwise, with guided bombs and Strike Commorant missiles to reach targets further inland. These buildings often did not receive the leaflet warnings of the higher-profile command and warfare buildings struck. Of course, some consideration was given to targets who lay close to innocent civilian ventures. The more crucial the target, however, the more likely it was to be hit, with or without warning.

Back home, the regime's cyberwarfare attempts- what cells and groups were unmolested by Meridonian bombings- had some effect. While Meridon's cyberwarfare units had been put on alert after the civilian bombings as part of the general military LERTCON amplification, the effects were felt, primarily in those sectors with low security- small businesses, gas stations, ATMs, colleges and universities at worst. The attacks lasted hours at most before cyber warfare was able to isolate them, in some cases locate them, and in some of those cases, retaliation came from the front end of a guided bomb.

Information warfare strikes were also run by the "Paperboys"- the new term for the fighter pilots who dropped leaflets from their jets instead of bombs. Civilians were given phone numbers, email addresses, and other electronic means to pass information to Meridonian defense intelligence services, anonymously or not. These targets would be verified by other human intelligence measures, including satellite, human intelligence, and otherwise- and if meeting the criteria, the targets would be attacked by naval aircraft. Of course, there was always the potential for false information and saturation attacks by regime officials, so all of these methods of information were run through sieves to gain actionable intel.

Day Four, however, saw a different strike added to the mix.

At 0430, two full squadrons of fighters- one Lynx and one Wasp- were launched from Baymark and Marin Bay. Instead of straight eastwards deeper into New England and established targets, their heading brought them southeast.

---

Over Long Island
The sun rising over the far horizon, fighter pilots of 3 Naval Fighter Squadron- the Black Taipans- would be involved in the first strikes of the ground game. Already overhead was an E6M3 Backwave flight of two, providing jamming and targeting information in addition to services as a FAC/A. It had spent the last two hours discovering formations of regime troops conducting their assault into Long Island. It was unlikely that these troops all were night-fighting capable, which meant that at least part of their lines would be identifiable. Part would lead to the whole. And that was enough.

Armored vehicles, fighting positions, and command posts were identified and targeted by the two flights. The Taipans, driving Wasps, were the first to strike, releasing GBAU guided bombs on their pre-planned targets in unison.

Up and down the fighting lines would these bombs erupt, cratering the static posts first- command centers, logistics depots, control nodes, strategic points such as overpasses and overlooks. Pilots and weapons systems officers then switched to their laser-guided munitions- bombs, missiles and rockets all. Particularly used in excess were the SAGR guided rockets. Small enough so that two 19-round pods could be fitted onto a single missile pylon, this meant that attacking aircraft could carry seventy-six of the miniaturized guided rockets, which had more than enough energy to penetrate armored vehicles, buildings, and lightly fortified structures.

These rockets were launched at will, often rippled, at anything that looked like a justifiable target. Armored vehicles' cabin roofs were penetrated by the 70mm rockets, troop formations were pelted with them- often in multiples. As an empty pod was completely utilized, it automatically jettisoned from the aircraft, tumbling to earth with all the grace of a sheet of paper.

The ground troops would hear the rumble and feel the energy of the roaring jet engines wreaking havoc above them, low enough to witness but beyond range of effective MANPAD engagement. The grey-winged forms of Meridonian fighter jets swooped over the sky like vultures.

They were not the only pain that would originate there for them.

Meridon Defense Forces
Regiment Marines Commando- 17 Commando Task Unit
17 Battalion Marine Commando
-
Ronkonkoma, Long Island, New York- Operation Oak Hand

A crew chief peered down the aisle of the C22M Adjutant, its narrow fuselage fully loaded. 24 Marines sat down the aluminum hallway, rifles sat between their legs or in their laps, heavy weaponry rested to the side. He looked out the back of the aircraft, watching the water of the Atlantic be interspersed with a row of destroyed houses from Long Islands' barrier island strip.

"Thirty seconds!" A cry from the forward crew chief. He parroted the call. "THIRTY SECONDS!"

Marines within the hold made their final checks. The actions on their rifles were cycled, magazines were checked, weapons were drawn into hands. Their landing zone would be the first landing of Meridonian troops onto mainland America- an intent to halt and reverse the advance of regime forces along Long Island. A reinforced infantry company would be making the spearhead into what was once known as MacArthur airport, securing it for follow-on reinforcements from the fleet.

As the tiltrotor aircraft transitioned their engine nacelles upwards to slow for landing, buzzing past them was a pair of D6M5 Adder attack helicopters, mainstay offensive airborne platforms of the Commando Task Unit's Air Warfare Element. Guided missiles and unguided rockets raced out from its wing pylons as the 20mm chin-mounted cannons peppered infantry formations.

Their landing site was near the terminal building at the airport's southern end. With jet aircraft providing top cover, attack helicopters providing close fire support, and crew chiefs utilizing medium machineguns to cover the exit of the landing troops, the company of Marines Commando stormed from the helicopter, taking combat positions as they unloaded in triplets. Four waves of dismounts would be offloaded for the first company.

From there, the company would secure the terminal and send its platoons to hold the landing strip against oncoming Incelestani forces. When the second company arrived via another wave of the tiltrotors, they would conduct a coordinated movement eastwards, aiming to engage regime forces and push them to CR-97. By the time the third would arrive, supporting assets would be coming ashore in the southern town of Sayville- specifically, the CTU's AMMV armored fighting vehicles. These, supported by the embarked weapons company for close defense, would rendezvous with the command element establishing headquarters at the airfield. From there, they and their weapons company would be distributed to the two companies taking and holding the eastern frontline. Given they were successful, follow-on forces would come in the later hours to shore up the defenses, and through the night, begin an offensive that would attempt drive Incelastani forces further east along the peninsula- hounded by attack helicopters and orbiting jet fighters.

The infantry were limited in number, but these were Meridon's most elite troops- thus, fit to bear the name 'Commando'. Extremely well-drilled, experienced and well-equipped, their trained aggression would be the deciding factor in a fight where numbers were not likely in their favor. Their air support would border on excessive at times, supplementing the relatively thin spread of infantry- once the reinforcements arrived, however, this would become a much more conventional game.

[Incelastan]

The Home Front,
Incelastan

The primary effect of much of this activity at first was to drive everyone either indoors or underground, into whatever makeshift bunkers or bomb shelters could be found. For Davis, this made command and control obviously a bit more difficult and strained, much as it did for the rest of the Central Command of the Incel Liberation Forces. For the present, this also prevented anyone getting out on the streets en masse and caused people to be glued to the news on TV and online, to the extent that the Internet even worked. Of course, despite the best efforts of the State Security Police and other security organizations and service, including the Office of Web Guidance (internet censors, the very thing that incels used to complain about in the old days), information became viral, if a bit confused. Some were distracted by bizarre, even occultish reports of mysterious entities of light whose words didn't translate very well into English and didn't make grammatical sense in commonplace American English, especially in New England. There were different accounts as to what was heard or seen, based upon how well one could see them, especially with all of those flares, flames, and smoke after the air raids and air strikes.

In any case, various forums and subforums spread a variety of gossip, tabloid level claims, etc. Those inside mostly dismissed it as that kind of nonsense that you would see in certain rags found in supermarket checkout aisles. The bombings and air strikes, even the leaflets, however, were more serious, and people discussed it as quietly and carefully as possible. Never on phones if they could avoid it. Those were sure to be monitored by agents of the dreaded SSP. Everyone by now knew that arrest by those guys meant not jail or prison, but the infamous "re-education camps." The once proud Americans, New Englanders who once flew the famous Gadsden Flag, with its rattlesnake emblem and the motto "Don't Tread On Me" now took very seriously the threat of arrest and detention in concentration camps as a realistic danger. They were now very much tread upon, far more than they had ever been in the old days, whatever the flaws of the old regime. They knew this and resented it. They had been robbed of their freedom, dignity, and self-respect by men whose very goal was probably that at least in part for revenge and for spite against them.

Well, hate was a two-way street, and especially in Nantucket, long a bastion of "island mentality" (logical, being an island), notorious for past meaningless declarations of neutrality during various wars, the hate grew to the boiling point. Things had heated up so much that the district commissioner found himself searching almost in vain for a location from which to operate once the town hall was destroyed by Meridonian bombs. He retreated to the local airport, only to find it guarded by someone...and they weren't ILA. Facing him were the local police, as well as rogue Militia, who had joined them in an abrupt coup. The former Nantucket authorities, the Select Board, was safely in a re-education camp, but a brand new Select Board was in power, and they were already operating out of the airport...what wasn't damaged of it, that was. Maybe the Meridonians had known enough Nantucket history to wisely leave the airport mostly intact, maybe not. Either way, the commissioner was arrested and taken down to the local jail on the orders of a body almost certainly installed by the police and Militia themselves in the absence of an electoral process. It would be an interim governing body, but it would be a start.

It was, in short, a revolution. A revolution staged by local law enforcement and by mutinous Militia who had turned on their commander (also locked up in jail), but a revolution nonetheless. Almost immediately after the commissioner was in custody, the order came to take the Incelastan flag (borrowed from the British Union of Fascists, of all things!) down and hoist the classic "whale flag" of Nantucket Island. They were done with Incelastan and its regime. Whatever ultimately became of them, they would not live under that kind of rule anymore. Orders were given, ordinances enacted reversing all kinds of Masculist legislation, legalizing marriage (including same-sex marriage, of course), divorce, abortion, guaranteeing gun rights, at least for now (they wanted an armed populace, ready to wage asymmetrical warfare, if necessary), issuing letters of marque and reprisal for any Nantucket sailors and skippers who wished to prey upon Incelastan's merchant marine or whatever, issuing rationing tables, due to likely shortages of food and fuel under 'state of siege" conditions, and a formal declaration of independence was approved, "seceding" from Incelastan. At least for the present, they would be a sovereign nation.

As the new Chairman of the Select Board, Ryan Hopkins declared, "This might or might not be America anymore, but it damn sure still is Nantucket, and on Nantucket Island, we do things the Nantucket way."

Elsewhere in New England, the situation began heating up a bit, too, just not yet reaching the point of open insurrection. People began forming what several had called, with historical inspiration, "Committees of Correspondence." These were mostly people stealthily hiding out in various bunkers, cellars, "bomb shelters," etc. and communicating by CB instead of internet (too likely to be monitored again). Citizens' Band just made a huge comeback, and why not? The regime wouldn't be looking at that kind of traffic much at all, especially with the fuel rationing cutting back on motor vehicle use. Sure, there were still truckers, had to be, but most of these increasingly sympathized with these characters and were either not about to pry and snitch or were even part of the movement or shared their sentiments. Many of the guys who might have at first applauded some of the reforms or changes or whatever brought about by the new regime were now severely disenchanted, especially those men who were minorities, adhered to some kind of religion now banned by the Directorate, or missed some kind of family life, whether they agreed with the "white picket fence" suburban lifestyle or not. They had mothers, sisters, daughters, etc. after all. Their connection to women wasn't limited to mean-spirited ex-wives.

The regime had badly miscalculated the level of anger and bitterness out there. Sure, there had been a growing trend toward mutual alienation between the sexes, but there were also still plenty of vestiges and remnants of social sanity and sensible friendship, platonic or otherwise. Some of these men, albeit divorced and fleeced by exes, also had girlfriends, even fiancées in a few cases, some had even remarried, as had their exes in some cases. They had co-parented with their exes, even if coldly, coolly, or lukewarmly. In fact, several dozen truckers became involved in passing messages, coded or otherwise, down the line, and had even intercepted some arrests, preventing the transfer of women and disgraced men to the camps. A sort of "underground railroad" had started to take shape, however small in scale, and was likely to pick up some momentum at this rate, what with all of the raids. For the moment, the SSP had its hands full, trying to oversee the transfer of those recently caught up in the raids, and with the communications being so primitive, it went down right under their noses.

Police increasingly sympathized with dissidents instead of the regime. In fact, there were plenty of cops who, despite their right-wing reputation at times, were less than thrilled with a regime that had dismissed useful colleagues (for being either female or anti-regime), destroyed all of the rape kits that they could find (though some cops secretly preserved what they could, however they could, however contaminated or otherwise imperfect, just in case), and all but decriminalized sexual assault. Okay, closing the vice and narcotic squads had some sense to some cops, not so much to others, though those had cost good men and women their jobs as well, but closing the SVU type units...that was going far too far by half. In many quarters, the regular police had been low-key undercutting enforcement of the new regime's laws, even if plenty of SSP and Militia were around to carry them out instead. The regime couldn't really afford to shut down the police, after all. They need law and order on the streets, just like all governments.

Thrown into that mix were university students, all of them male nowadays, but now that they were free of the worries of the old days, such as college kangaroo courts that were admittedly BS show trial types, naturally missed having female classmates at times. They might not miss stupid items like "gender studies" courses, speech codes, and hairy armpit radical feminists calling them "pigs" just for being guys, but this regime had gone too far, had overcorrected, and taken away more than half of the student body. It was much lonelier nowadays, and even if they didn't miss those knock-down, drag-out fights with too easily butthurt female college students, among other things, they missed those smart, quirky, geeky girls as well as the more "normie" types, whether they admitted it or not. Toss in increasing numbers of infiltrators sent in by the nascent Communist and Socialist organizations that had mysterious foreign funding sources, and student protests began breaking out again.

In the commons, cafeterias, just outside various buildings, outside the administration, the now all-male faculty could smell what was blowing in the wind and, terrified as they were of the regime, nevertheless couldn't resist putting themselves on the right side of the growing discontent of youth. More than a few, quite a few, in fact, joined up with the protests, even shutting down the campus as they began pouring into the streets after days of extreme silence. The Youth Brigades were hastily called out to bully and intimidate them, so there were now clashes between radicalized student demonstrators and their professors on the one hand, and the Youth Brigade goons on the other. Jackboot, truncheon, and brass knuckles clashed with rocks, crockery, switchblades, Swiss Army knives, and Molotov cocktails.

Ironically, by taking away female student activists who might shout and scream at the top of lungs, but were less likely to resort to organized violence, the regime's security forces had taken away any "mellowing" effect of estrogen from the equation. It was raw, pure testosterone at work. Men clashing with other men, and many of them young men at that, tempers fraying ever more, impulses far less restrained, and blood inevitably shed as egos confronted each other. The much maligned "male ego" that the feminists once complained about now worked against a regime that frequently and consistently oppressed women, especially those same feminists. The protestors protested the war, the repression of women, the suppression of religion (a bit surprising, given how many of them were atheists, agnostics, or lapsed from their religious heritages), the ban on cohabitation, and even the marriage ban came up, along with the legislated, but not as yet implemented plan to implant all citizens with ID chips. After all, that was the ultimate case of Big Brother, wasn't it? Even many MGTOW nowadays thought that the regime had gone way too far in its revolutionary fervor. They hadn't wanted to lock up the women, just avoid relationships with them, after all.

The student protest movement spilled out onto the streets, forcing the regime to resort to martial-law, calling many troops out, just when they were most likely to be attacked by enemy bombs and missiles. Too many police were politically unreliable, after all. Worse, there were rumors that some police were even joining the dissidents in some cases, locking arms with them in places like Providence and Hartford. It wasn't universal or massive by any means, but it was an ember that could spark a much larger blaze if it got out of control. The regime cracked down and managed to send most of the riots scattering for now, mowing them down with live ammunition, but that couldn't contain growing resentment at the practices of the regime. When priests, rabbis, ministers, and other clergy, even several prominent Quakers, and a few members of what called themselves the "Church of the Angels," an apparent new cult, were among those slain or wound by live rounds, the images were unshakeable. The facade of revolutionary unity had been shattered for good.

The cracks in the edifice were showing. Incelastan was far from a monolith, far from a people in lockstep with their self-appointed leaders. They were a captive population, occupied by this regime like the people of New York, who had also begun to fight back in small ways. This was mostly men fighting back, but some women had broken out of their almost prison-like "women's hostel" public housing to spill out onto the streets in defiance of curfew. When some doctors and nurses joined the protests and threatened to strike, it was clear that quashing one riot wouldn't the end of it. News of the particularly gruesome "Hartford Riots" and "Providence Massacre," followed soon by similar bloody fiascos in Bangor, Maine, and Provincetown, Massachusetts, even spreading to Burlington and Concord...it was very bad news, very bad PR for the regime.

The wheels were coming off the bus in a hurry here. The war effort was sure to be undermined. The Youth Brigades helped crack plenty of skulls and round up the demonstrators for trips to the camps or else the infamous SSP and Militia death squads were joined by Youth Brigade ones. Even so, fear was not sufficient to keep a population in line when they were that displeased with a government, any government. There were even protests for "states' rights'," calling for the restoration of the states abolished by the Directorate in favor of so many smaller administrative districts. Rightist, centrist, and leftist alike, there were plenty of New Englanders now coming out of the woodwork, starting smaller, but now growing braver and bolder, in the spirit of the "Sons of Liberty," to protest open tyranny just as their ancestors did against King George III. A lot of folks had beefs with the regime, including the fact that they couldn't get beef that easily nowadays. Oh, yes, rationing was among the many grievances cited, both food and fuel, along with the infamous "reparations" tax particularly oppressive toward women and black men.

In short, the Directorate was in serious trouble and they knew it. Everything from the growth of this particularly dangerous, viral new cult called the Church of the Angels, to the growing militancy of trade unions who demanded an end to rationing and wage freezes, who threatened a general strike, to the fierce, increasingly radicalized students and faculty, many of them avowed Socialists and Communists, even anarchists...it was scary now. The lid had popped, and all of the hot sauce had just splattered everywhere. Farmers were angry about price controls imposed upon them, at not being exempt from fuel rationing for their tractors, at having their wives, daughters, etc. who were a huge part of the family farm workforce, taken away from them. And everyone was tired of the damned war in New York. And the mounting death toll from it...the casualty lists, especially from the air raids and air strikes. News reports leaking through of chemical weapons and biological warfare plans only made them angrier. Nukes were bad enough, but what was with these banned weapons being produced in violation of international law?

"We're going to have to pull a rabbit out of the hat here, and soon, if we're to stay in power," Lars Larsen warned, even as Colonel Hernandez did something with his phone....he couldn't be sure what.

Maybe he should suggest to La Rousse to have the man watched. Hernandez wouldn't betray the Revolution, would he? Things were bad enough as it was.

As for Hernandez, he had simply communicated something, encrypted as it was, through the Vatican's resident Monsignor Bobek, who was in hiding himself.

Past the encryption, one would find this message.

"Tell His Holiness that it would be a bad idea to reach a concordat with the Directorate at this time. Their days are numbered and even they know it. They are almost certain to resort to something called Operation Resurgence, which would just mean a long, bloody guerilla war, a terrorist cell war of an incel underground against foreign military occupation. Take it from me, a lapsed Catholic, but this regime no longer has my heart or mind. Perhaps they should work with Meridon instead. And tell him that the camps are very real, and priests and nuns are being abused and mistreated in them. I lied before, but I'm telling the truth now. Take it as a confession or not, but don't reveal this communication to the rest of my colleagues."

To Meridon's intel services, he then sent a much smaller, also encrypted message:

Call me Simple Simon. Just know this. Simon Says, "don't drop the ball." Don't quit while you're ahead. It's a pressure cooker here and it's gonna blow up.

Long Island


The fight for Long Island quickly got out of hand here. What was going on, anyway? The fight for MacArthur Airport and Salyersville had proven very bloody and humiliating, as the ILA's airborne troops, for all of their superior firepower and strength compared to Commonwealth forces, were not even roughly on the same scale as the Meridonian troops. Only a relative few of the airborne units had actual US Army Airborne training, at least directly and in practice as well as in theory. They were not going to be able to carry out the level of proficiency as a professional army and the difference was now quite evident. What was worse, locals, for all of their soft and pampered ways, began actively assisting the enemy in every way possible, going out of their way to harm ILA troops and assist the Meridonians. More than a few ILA units found themselves assailed with rocks, guns, knives, tripwire, and Molotov cocktails, among other things. One group of elderly men ground up their nitroglycerine tablets, sacrificing their cardio health to make a homemade bomb that blew up an ILA fighting vehicle. Then they rushed the survivors, choosing to be mowed down with submachine gunfire rather than deal with the consequences of likely heart attacks or cardiac arrest. Many of them Vietnam Era Vets, one of them a Grenada Vet, this group of old men of mostly Italian, Irish, and Jewish ancestry proved that they were a lot tougher than the reputation of that part of Long Island, at least.

If this was what faced the ILA in eastern and southern Long Island, they were in for a rude awakening if they ever made to Brooklyn and Queens. Things would only get rougher, of course, as despite the Empire State's notorious gun laws, far fewer people were disarmed, especially these days, than the Directorate had assumed to be the case. Many of them had rough marriages or rocky relationships, to be sure, but they were in no mood for letting someone else round them up. Plenty of women fought back, too, of course, as this wasn't fully occupied territory yet by any means. The SSP hadn't had the chance to secure most of them by any means, not yet. Even the ones that they had grabbed were often quickly liberated by local "goonie, or "Dodger" squads, as some of the resistance folks liked to call themselves. Apparently, old movie and baseball references died hard. Everywhere that they could pass on information to the Meridonians, they hastened to do so.

Rabbis held resistance meetings in their synagogues, just before or after Sabbath, priests brazenly did so after Mass, even imams included coded messages in their prayers as they called out from their minarets. Militant atheists and evangelical pastors worked together to build barricades, to say nothing of the mainline clergy, such as the Methodist minister who quoted from the Book of Nehemiah as he urged fellow citizens to dig trenches and form more barricades against the invaders. American and New York flags waved alongside the rival flags of Israel and Palestine, folks who often quarreled over the Middle East now directing their ire upon the "fascist thugs." Sheriff's deputies and city cops used their SWAT weapons and tactics against the ILA troops now. People with Loyalist and IRA sympathies worked together, in spite of their Orange and Green spats with each other. Many Democrats worked with the minority of Independents and Republicans, NRA and GOA members now helping anti-gun activists learn how to fire shotguns, pistols, revolvers, and even those once hated "assault weapons" at their foe.

And the Commonwealth troops began rapidly pouring into the breach, taking up positions to help keep the enemy pinned in their corner of Long Island. The local Commonwealth commander dispatched a message by Morse code to the Meridonian equivalent, offering to follow orders in the mutual cause. After all, it was clear that the Commonwealth forces could learn some lessons from their new allies. A joint-command, with the Meridonians calling the shots, would work best right then.

Brigadier General Irving Markowitz damn sure wasn't going to let his ego help the enemy. These were fascists and anti-fascist forces had to cooperate in bringing them to heel.

"They can call themselves 'the Incel Liberation Army,' but they're waving Mosley's flag, and Mosley was a goddamned limey fascist and anti-Semite, a Nazi sympathizer at that. Those fuckers can go to Hell and spend eternity with Mosley, Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo, if such a place exists.' Hashem certainly has no use for guys like that," Markowitz, a Conservative Jew himself, scoffed.

He wasn't always the best-behaved or most observant, cussed a lot, but he was still a Jew and proud to be one...and he had no time or patience for anyone who would fly the BUF flag, whatever their reasons. That flag was a symbol of pure evil, just like the swastika "blood flag" of the Nazis. He turned to his XO, Colonel Sylvia Antonino, for mutual reassurance. Her response was a knowing wink. Much had indeed changed, for better or or worse. Maybe it took a homegrown threat to make Americans, or least New Yorkers, unite in spite of their many differences. Markowitz was divorced, but he was on at least tolerable terms with his ex now that their children were grown up and out of the nest. He wasn't about to let the mother of his brats, annoying as they and she could be, be rounded up and sent away in a new Holocaust.

After all, the oath was still something instilled in him by his parents and grandparents, dating back to when they escaped death by the narrowest margins at Treblinka. Never again.

Never again....never again....and never again.

"Never again," he said aloud.

Antonino turned and looked at him before repeating, "Never again."

She understood. This was personal. This was a war against brutality and barbarism. Against the sort of regime that almost gassed Markowitz's forefathers and invaded and occupied Antonino's grandparents' birthplace.

And this was on American soil. That couldn't be allowed to stand. They had been weak and cowardly and slow to respond, but that would change. They would stand tall now, by Old Glory and the Empire State.

This was a just war if such a thing ever existed.

For the ILA troops trapped in this hot mess of a firefight, they were caught in the wide open and had to fight their way to even some bases from which to operate on any scale with their enemies. Suddenly, Long Island was no longer sleepy, but alive and awake, full of anger and hate for them, and they could feel those resentful eyes in hostile territory. For this really was a hot drop zone and area if there ever was one. It was far from what they had been promised or had expected, and now they were in serious trouble. How would they get out of this battle alive, let alone victorious. Given the troubles at home, could the ILA even spare reinforcements for the Long Island Front? If not, what would happen to them next? Captivity? Or worse?

[Legatia]

Federal Republic of Meridon
The Office of the President of the Federal Republic of Meridon
-
Whiteriver Manor, Cordelia Federal Territory- 1900H Meridon Standard Time

Whiteriver Manor was a place of history. Thirty men- Meridon had yet to have a female President - have occupied these halls in their tenure as President before him. President Miller, Meridon's first, had died before it was built. But the great majority of great decisions had been made in these halls. The white building sat on a broad piece of property overlooking Cordelia's central White River, from where the home got its name. The parcel of land allocated was suitably large to give the President who lived there both protection from the noise of the city somewhat, and privacy from his citizens where he required it.

President William Acton, returning from his evening laps around the garden track near the river, was trailed by a pair of suited Federal Protective Service agents as he did so. There were a legion of such guards at the President's official residence, in suits or in body armor, guarding him, his family, and his staff. He knew he had a busy night ahead of him. A strategy meeting regarding the ongoing war in America. 'War' wasn't the official term for it. War could only be waged by two sovereign nations, and while Meridon had received a declaration of war from the Masculist State; the Federal Republic saw the group as a terrorist group rather than a sovereign country and had not offered it any semblance of a formal diplomatic response.

As was routine, an agent handed him a water bottle and a towel at the conclusion of his run. "Thank you, son." He recognized the man as a newer join to his force, still on smaller duties around the Manor. They exchanged smiles as the President returned inside to freshen himself up for what would likely be an important, but uncomfortable meeting.

-
Presidential Command Center- 200 feet beneath Whiteriver

Arranged around the spicewood table was a panoply of uniformed officials from the Defense Forces. Coffee was being poured out by an orderly, with manila folders rested before each of the individuals at the table. Navy whites, Marine dark green, Army olive greens and Air Force blues were the dress of the table. The outliers were the grey suit of Defense Secretary Meritt, and the black of State Secretary Reagan and the President himself. Vice President Townley was also present, wearing a white business suit with knee-length skirt, the sole woman in a room otherwise occupied by men. Every single person in this room had served except for herself and Reagan. Townley realized that this was an outlier because the vast majority of the room were defense officials, but she couldn't help but feel unnerved as she took her place besides the President.

Accompanying the collection of general officers were the Navy intelligence officers from FIO, she recalled their faces but not their names from the briefing she and the President received prior to Shadow Hand. With Oak Hand now in full swing, tonight was the first major situational update. Judging by the fact that neither she nor the President had been pulled aside urgently, she was fairly confident that nothing urgent or tragic had occured.

With the orderlies departing, the room was shut and secured as a pair of FSP agents filed in to hold the doorway. The lights were dimmed. Meritt nodded to General Argus, the Chief of Defense Staff, who gave his nod to Captain Hutchley. With a press of a slim TV remote, the wall-mounted unit flicked to a display of the eastern seaboard.

"Ladies and gentlemen, reports from the front are generally positive. 17 Commando Task Unit was successful in securing MacArthur airport, and were able to exploit a devastated command structure on the island to drive the regime forces east of Ronkonkoma to evaporate prior to the arrival of reinforcements from our airborne units. Local populaces were 'enthusiastic' in assisting our forces, and forces from the New York Commonwealth got the message pretty quickly. Our airborne forces were able to land unmolested and are joining the fight, a battalion now, and a full regiment's worth of troops by tomorrow. Vice Admiral Taurei has told me to expect Long Island to be secured in a matter of days. There are pockets of resistance, but we are hammering them day and night from ground, sea and air, working in coordination with civilian groups and Commonwealth assets."

The man flipped a slide. Revealed was information forwarded by the Commonwealth. Contact informations, troop displacements and dispositions. These troops were far inferior to the ILA's regiments, but they had one thing Meridon did not yet have- numbers.

"The Commonwealth of New York has requested to form a joint command under our direction. We aren't sure what their motivations exactly are in this venture, but it is a potentially worthwhile venture. We believe that it's going to be beneficial to work with an existing government, rather than to build one for the ashes. As of current... ahem. Mister President, I'm correct in assuming that we are not in New England to nation-build."

The President sighed and shifted in his chair, shaking his head. "Captain, I cannot give you a solid answer on that question. At current, our objective is the dismantling of this 'Masculist Republic' and the destruction of its capability to wage war."

"With all due respect, sir.. now is the time to start figuring out what our end goal here. Smashing the place to bits without someone to pick up the pieces is a recipe that devolves into another mess."

A chair rumbled from the far end, and from it rose General McCann, Army Chief of Staff, glowering. "Captain, you are out of line."

"Let him continue." To the room's surprise, Vice President Townley spoke up. McCann looked taken aback. Beside her, the President waved a dismissive hand, and the General regained his seat. Captain Hutchley turned directly again to face the President, and hesitated.

"General Whitehead?" The President addressed the aptly-named commanding general of the Regiment Marines Commando, by far the senior (in age) of the room. He was built strong as many Marines were, his face much more youthful than his age might call for, a close-cropped head of white hair the only betrayer of this fact. "What are your thoughts on this? Can your commandos integrate with these forces effectively?"

"Sir.." Whitehead started, interlacing his fingers about the table. "..It's not a question of integration of forces, the concern is the integration of command. Depending on how badly the Commonwealth forces are in need of leadership- and the fact that they lost virtually all of their landmass in two nights to a non-regular force indicates quite a bit about this- it will mean whoever is put in charge of that show will have a big cart to heave. My Marines will do what's asked of them, everytime. We don't have that guarantee with Commonwealth forces."

The table grunted softly as this fact was pondered. An eye turned to McCann, who exhaled a practiced answer.

"Mr. President, if it's what you order, the Army will handle it."

Acton rolled his eyes.

"..For one, I believe the Captain has a point." Townley's intervention in the gridlock was less unexpected this time, after the shock of the first. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Meridon shouldering the rebuilding of another country on its lonesome is not something any of us in this room wants. But it's what we're going to get if we spurn these people."

"She has a point;" noted Admiral Harford, Chief of Navy Staff. "We have a lot of force there right now off the waters. That's not always going to be the case. The sooner we start offloading this, the better."

"Offloading isn't the term I'd use." Townley's response seemed almost curt to her supporter, but the man regarded her calmly. "No one would say it's our duty to determine what the people of New England want for a government."

A slight chorus of mumbling coursed the room before the President sat up.

"General McCann, find an officer and make it happen. Not one of the regimental officers. Higher."

"Yes, sir."

"Let's continue, Captain." The President didn't mince. The Captain gave a nod and returned to the board.

"With this established, our next concern is the situation behind the lines. Vice Admiral Taurei informs me of good progress on the air war. All worklist targets as approved by the JCDS have been destroyed, including all chemical weapons facilities. Targets have shifted to opportunity targets in areas up and along the frontlines, but we have concerning reports regarding a certain set of operations run by the regime behind their backline. If you'll look at the third tab in your dossiers;" the Captain noted, as hands flipped through manila binders; "..we've received confirmation from our own intelligence agents and foreign reporters of the existence of the reported concentration camps. While the occurrences there are gruesome, for the purpose of this briefing remaining on task, specific evidence files have been omitted so we can-"

"Captain." Townley interceded again, shaking her head. "This is being set up as if it is crucially important. I, for one, want to hear."

The Captain paused, clearly expecting a rebuttal from the rest of the room- but there was none. Arched brows, instead, were his way from a change, except from the furrowed ones of President Acton.

"Captain, I have to concur. We need to hear."

The Captain sighed, pinching his nose. "..Aye, sir. While the list of uncorroborated reports is wide and vast-ranging, our intelligence sources have confirmed that these re-education camps are not exterminatory in nature, but death rates are high. Practices confirmed include various forms of torture, physical and psychological, and re-indoctrination. There are reports of forced breeding programs and medical experimentation, among other areas. Targets of these camps include.." The Captain had to refer to his notes for this one. "..A wide range of types, and generally, anyone with any kind of societal or organizational sway in post-Regime life, from politicians to clergymen."
'
It was not information they wanted to hear, but it was what needed to be heard. The air was even more uncomfortable.

"..There is a non-insignificant number of people in these camps, dotted in New England territory, and they are heavily guarded. We expect to have a slug-fight through New England before we can retake Boston, even if we have support from the coalition. We won't have the manpower to deal with a refugee crisis. While this is not a recommendation easily made, it is our evaluation that to prevent decreases in the combat efficacy of our ground forces that the liberation of these camps serve as a tertiary objective to the destruction of enemy forces and the securing of larger urban sectors."

Generally, the mood was of agreeance between the officers assembled. Reagan seemed horrified by the position, but did not speak.

Townley, however, did.

"..I find that unacceptable."

"Madam Vice President?"

"Gentlemen, what were we just talking about? That we're here to liberate these people from the regime. And now we're going to let them die so we capture more ground?" The woman shook her head. "..No. Mister President, I can't agree with this. Even if we're at a snails pace, we owe it to these people to take care of them."

"If we do that;" General Argus warned, "-we risk our entire formations being attrited as they are tied down and our progress grinds to a halt. Then we're back to a forever war, and more of them die for nothing. You can expect that they'll be put to use once the Boston bigwigs get desperate, if not as labor, then as soldiers."

An unease settled into the room. Yui Townley mulled her options. She frowned. Then, her head rose.

"Then why don't we use them first?"

"...Pardon, ma'am?"

"..These people are being used for labor, which means they aren't being culled. If we're in the interest of letting the native people take their homelands back.. why don't we give them what they need to do it? Make liberating those camps a priority rather than a sidenote. Give them weapons and equipment, and let them wreak havoc. The same to the folks on Nantucket, and to any other sensible group who wants to take arms for their own liberation."

A murmur went across the table. Argus turned to McCann, who nodded. He then turned to Air Commandant Rodney, Chief of Air Forces, who too nodded. Gestures went to the rest of the seated men in uniform, and then to the man at the table's head. General Argus closed his eyes and nodded.

"..Mister President, I think we can work with that."

Acton smiled behind a hand. He was impressed. Yui had grown quite a bit since he met the sheepish woman what seemed to be only a few days ago- but in the years they'd served together, he thought, perhaps it had culminated in this. His hands slapped the table.

"Get it done."

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Regiment Marines Commando- 17 Commando Task Unit
17 Battalion Marine Commando
-
Long Island, New York- 0940H Eastern Standard Time

Coming ashore in the early hours of the night prior was the Commando Task Unit's Officer Commanding, Colonel Charles Courtemanche. Of stocky build and French lineage, his was a stern-looking face that showed the age of a combat veteran without losing the sharp, almost fierce look it carried about it. He had coordinated operations, including the landing of a battalion of paratroopers, throughout the night and was due to take his rest in the coming hours after being up for the majority of a 24-hour day.

However, orders came in from Cordelia. He was to meet with the respective Commonwealth commander, and coordinate offensive operations to clean up the rest of the island. The relevant parties would be directed to the Meridonian headquarters at MacArthur airport, escorted through by a pair of Marines.

The command facility for the task force had been established in the former TSA offices of the main terminal, with a team of Marines managing battle coordination through its walls. Courtemanche had not taken an office- he was a man who hated sitting. He was in plate carrier and helmet when the respective parties arrived, eyeing them cautiously yet offering a handshake.

"..Colonel Courtemanche, officer commanding of the Meridonian forces on Long Island. I have orders to inform you and your government that Meridon intends to establish a joint command with your forces- beginning here. It is our wish first to win the battle for Long Island- and from there, win you back your state."

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, Army Special Forces Group (ASFG)
41 Regiment Rangers, 8 Battalion Ranger, B Company
-
Camp Elam, New England- 0650H Eastern Standard Time

Captain Kahale and his men had remained in-country, having withdrawn to an abandoned logging compound deep in the back-country wilderness following the conclusion of his strike. It had been early in the evening yesterday when he had received a secure mesage via relay from a passing FAC/A aircraft.

He had made the journey overnight with his men, and had briefed them at the campfire the night prior. Each of these men had a reason to be motivated for this mission. Elam was the largest of the known concentration camps, and it was their mission to liberate it, secure it, cordon its prisoners, and supply them. His men weren't carrying the pallets of MREs and crates full of surplus AR-18 rifles, grenades and antitank launchers that were intended for these people- but it was their job to secure the camp for an Air Forces paradrop of close to a hundred standardized pallets of supplies, flown in from the C10M Atlas strategic airlifters of the Air Forces. Two other attacks were being conducting on similar camps by B Company's sister companies, albeit neither were as large as this attack was.

His men had taken position in a treeline a hundred yard from the side gates. They had commandeered, with the help of a local assistant located by an AIS agent, a surplus military deuce-and-a-half truck, and filled it with barrels of fertilizer bombs, propane tanks, and gasoline, topped off with a plastic explosive on a remote detonator. The Rangers would commence fire on one side of the base, while a squad on an adjacent side- the one where one of the primary gates was- would throw a brick on the accelerator, allow the truck to veer towards the gate on its own, and impact. The target was the gate area and the concentration of troops there, but in practice- it just needed to hit a fence, which it was more than capable of doing. If it didn't blow up on its own, the plastic explosives would be touched off, and detonate the gate. Wherever the gap it created was, B Company would maneuver around, enter, dispatch any guards, distribute their weapons to the inmates, and counter any counterattack with two on-station flights of CAS supplementing their own firepower.

The attack began as it had a few nights prior- machine gun fire blasted at one of the side gates, drawing the attention of the defenders away. When they looked back, a truck bomb would be hurtling towards their entrypoint.

---

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, 2 Fleet Tactical Logistics Group [2 TACLOGRU]
18 Naval Tactical Logistics Squadron
-
Single-ship C13M Pegasus airlifter, Nantucket Island, New England- 0750H Eastern Standard Time

Without knowledge of who was in charge of the small island of Nantucket, Meridon's forces did not yet reach out to those who were on Nantucket island formally. What did occur, however, was a fly-over. A singular C13M Pegasus of the Navy's 18 Naval Tactical Logistics Squadron flew low and slow over the tarmac of the runway, which was likely spared much of the damage inflicted onto other runways housing military aircraft.

From its rear cargo bay came eight parachutes, fluttering and thence crashing to the ground. Attached beneath them were weapons systems- relatively advanced ones included, from rifles to MANPADs, plate carriers, helmets, military rations, and other such supplies as might be needed to resist a counter-invasion by Regime forces. Attached to one such pallet was a small canvas rendition of a Meridonian flag, a letter taped to its back. It was not written by a member of the State Department in fancy prose on stationery. Instead, inside it was a laminated photograph of an aircrew of eight men and women, in flightsuits with sunglasses and smiling faces, standing in front of the cargo bay of an aircraft- the aircraft that was now turning back southeast. In hasty Sharpie scrawl on the white back was written the words-

"From your friends in Meridon!"

[Incelastan]

Long Island Command Conference

Markowitz was a bit nervous, never having been to Meridon or dealt with Meridonians personally, though he had thoughts of doing so right after his divorce. His military career conflicted with that, as did his custody and co-parenting issues, along with financial burdens caused by alimony and child support, so he never went. He had only dealt with multinational command while in Iraq, many years ago, but that was with Arabic-speaking officers in the reconstructed Iraqi army. He was also the highest ranking officer with active combat experience in the Commonwealth Army at this point. He was very awkward, but he reached out with a handshake, a reassuring gesture, from his Meridonian counterpart. Colonel Antonino lightly brushed his arm, as if to add some encouragement, even if it was a subconscious reflex. She tried to be professional, after all, but something about her combat veteran CO made her feel...safer and she wanted to encourage his confidence and leadership that bolstered her own morale.

Markowitz wore khaki BDUs dating back from his Iraqi War days, even though he personally disagreed with said conflict. It was a source of psychological comfort to wear this, the uniform that he once did during his sole combat assignment in the past. He was already reverting to his counterinsurgency mindset from that war, though well aware he had briefly been part of what amounted to an insurgency during that brief ILA dominance over this part of Long Island. He realized that the expectations of him were higher than they otherwise should have been, at least from his own side, as many Long Islanders and troops in his own fighting force viewed him as the closest thing to an "expert" that they had on hand. It wasn't an accident that the Governor handed him this job, after all. He knew why she did that. She saw hope at last of winning the war after all, and she seized it with both hands.

"Hello, Colonel. Welcome to Long Island. I'm Brigadier General Irving Markowtiz of the Commonwealth Army's 3rd Corps. I have five divisions, the other three in our military guarding the Big Apple's other boroughs. Yes, we're down to just eight divisions, which, with scattered troops from other units reassigned to them, have fleshed out to roughly fifteen thousand troops each....a total of one hundred twenty thousand or so. Give or take a thousand. We're operating out of Fort Hamilton, the only former U.S. military base left in New York City or Long Island. That was my posting when this whole thing came down, base commander at Fort Hamilton, so between that and my prior combat experience, Governor Watson assigned me to this mission and command. I went from commanding only the garrison here to this much larger force, if a bit...uneven in their combat experience and training. The Governor has summoned the General Assembly and pushed through a conscription act, preparing to draft people into service should it prove necessary. Men will be easier to induct, due to the past Selective Service system than women, but I imagine that plenty of women will be motivated to resist an incel conquest of this state.

"This is my executive officer, Colonel Sylvia Antonino. I think that she is already proving driven to expel this foe from our fair island. We are under your command, sir. This is Sean Flanagan, commander of the new Long Island Militia, a new creation from among the various civilian resistance groups. He also has combat experience, albeit from the Gulf War in 1991 and Somalia in 1994. He is, from what I have gathered, also willing to serve under your command," Markowitz introduced two figures standing with him.

"I was a Sergeant Major when I retired from the United States Army. Kind of weird to be standing with so many officers, to be frank. But I suppose that I am a militia officer of sorts now myself," Flanagan, his Irish roots apparent with his freckles and red hair, showed signs that he had taken it a bit easy in more recent years, and he just turned sixty-five....but he knew that he was indispensable right then and now.

"To think that I used to be in the Corps of Engineers, yet here I am. I was the first female commander of my battalion not that long ago, and that was a very big deal. This, I think, is a lot more of an important post, though far more...intimidating for that. We have mountains to move here, and we've just started our work," Antonino added her own commentary now, "I just got my silver eagle weeks ago," alluding to her promotion from Lieutenant Colonel to full bird.

Camp Elam, somewhere south of Burlington, Vermont.

Corporal Fritz Huberman of the State Security Police put out his cigarette just as he heard the spray of live rounds fired from some kind of machine gun, so responded as well as he could, with only his M-16 rifle, which he quickly switched to automatic mode to return fire at a more equal rate. It burned through more ammo, through, but right then, he wanted to outgun his foe in a hurry. He quickly realized that he was outmatched, and while wounded by an enemy bullet in his left shoulder, he dropped his weapon and raised his other hand to surrender. He was in no condition to fight back, as much as he wanted to do so. He just hoped that his captors weren't as brutal as he would be if the situation was reversed. As he waited for their response, he felt and heard the explosion from the truck bomb that destroyed the front gate, unable to warn his comrades of their impending doom. Whatever this force was, they clearly had enough ordnance to wreak havoc upon the camp.

If Huberman realized or cared that his uniform was very similar to that of the SS or the Stasi, under which his parents and grandparents from Dresden had suffered, he didn't indicate that. The truth was, at least those regimes had brought law and order, hadn't they, whatever their flaws. There was a sane social order, built upon the greater good of the community above any individual rights nonsense, particularly that folly of "women's rights." Why should some selfish, entitled wannabe princesses have their way at the expense of society, at the expense of men? It was far better to have martial regimentation, hierarchy, and patriarchy, wasn't it? Kinder kirche und kuch, as they would say back in the Fatherland. Children, church, and kitchen. Well, maybe not the church part, but that was another issue entirely. Huberman was a lapsed Lutheran, but the ideas of Martin Luther still influenced him on some level. His very Saxon soul found that Luther's ideas on social order particularly resonated with him, even if his grandparents had dropped the second "n" in their surname to Anglicize it a bit.

Meanwhile, the guards from Camp Elam quickly realized that they had been penetrated, but so did the inmates, who were eager to seize the initiative. Many of them very emaciated and malnourished, they nonetheless retained some fight in them, not nearly as "re-educated" as the camp commandant, Colonel Ralph Pryce, had hoped. They used whatever weapons available, some taken from their guards, to attack them, and occupy parts of the camp, liberating their fellow prisoners. Thus they cooperated with the Meridonian forces, even as Pryce ordered a heroic stand against the invaders. Greatly outnumbered, the guards used whatever arms that they retained, including squad machine guns, to mow down their enemy. For a police force holding a camp, they were very much armed like a military one, at least here, mostly in anticipation of an uprising. Even so, their enemies were everywhere, all around them, and they didn't have the manpower to patrol the whole facility and still fight off the foe.

Most of the guards continued to fight back, anyway, though mostly because Pryce stood there and insisted upon it. They determined to kill as many of the interlopers as they could, but they were still pinned down due to inferior numbers. They were physically stronger than the half-starved and overworked prisoners, which gave them an edge in hand-to-hand combat, but they didn't have the firepower once the inmates carried guns, great equalizers that they were. Several Molotov cocktails and grenades caused people to burst into flame on both sides, screaming in agony before bullets ended their suffering for good. Having finite numbers, the detachment at Camp Elam simply couldn't hold the place in the face of such attrition. The camp, named after prominent men's rights activist Paul Elam, fell into the hands of the Meridonians and inmates, just like two other such large camps, the other two being in New Hampshire, albeit one close to the Massachusetts border.

The leader of the inmates, such as emerged, was one Enrique Valles, a Puerto Rican who had been an American History teacher prior to his arrest for being an active Democrat and union officer. This had him associated with the "left" too much for the incel regime's approval, and he was both dismissed and arrested at the school, just days after daring to protest the unfair arrest of his school's female faculty members in his labor organizer capacity. The only Latino in his small Vermont town, that didn't exactly help him in some quarters. His most active partner in the insurrection against the guards that Meridon instigated was one Josie Jackson, a biracial community organizer who had once worked with ACORN and was a bit older than Valles, and was an open lesbian besides. Her feminist and Marxist leanings were more open, she had been in the camp longer, and so was physically weaker than Valles, but was mentally still tough enough to take a prominent role in the revolt. She had been working in Connecticut when she was arrested for opposing and defying Directive 32 firmly and loudly enough to annoy the regime.

There were only a few captured guards, such as Huberman, which raised the question of what to do with them. Take them prisoner now, as POWs? If so, where to hold them? Valles also knew that they wanted to spread the rebellion outside of the camp's walls and soon, but there were real logistical questions to answer, such as the prisoner dilemma. Could they spare anyone to guard the former guards, who were likely to be murdered by former inmates when anyone's back was turned, so brutal were they in treatment of inmates.

"So...what now? Do we try these guards first, or turn them over to you as POWs?" Valles voiced his concerns aloud in front of the Meridonians, "I'm Enrique Valles, by the way. This is my deputy, if you will, Josie Jackson. We're political prisoners, or were, in any case."

Nantucket Island

The drop of so many useful supplies and weapons had eased the pressures of ensuring that enough of the now anti-regime Militia forces were more effectively armed against potential invasion by the ILA. True, the enemy forces didn't have a functional navy now, but one never knew what tricks they might pull to try to recover the island, the first of their territories to break free from Directorate rule. The Select Board, under Chairman Ryan Hopkins, assigned Selectman Michael Goodhue to serve as the effective Secretary of Defense or war minister. Goodhue had been Chief of the Boat once on a destroyer, so that was hardly a shock. His naval experience was certainly good enough to qualify him as the most veteran member of the Board. Of the same English ancestry as the plurality of the isle's population, being of Puritan origins, Goodhue certainly looked the part, a stern, stolid expression on his face whether he was in services at the local Congregational church or coaching baseball or softball as he often did with youth sports organizations, or actively campaigning for the candidates of his choice.

It was Goodhue who began working seriously on distributing the arms and devising a plan on where to best place them, under a now revised defensive network strategy that he simply called "Moby Dick." He obviously intended to think of the island and its defenders as the white whale from Herman Melville's novel, and the ILA as the doomed Captain Ahab. "Moby Dick" was intended, like the white whale, to make any attack punishing and fatal to the invaders, whatever the cost. Snipers, machine gun nests, makeshift coastal defenses, and the use of civilian shipping for recon and harassment, along with local civilian aircraft, including seaplanes, were being all organized with a view toward making any landing doomed from the outset. There would be no ILA beachheads formed on Nantucket Island, not if Goodhue had anything to do with it.

"Well, Mike, you've outdone yourself. Now, how about a date? I have some fried cod, scalloped potatoes, and asparagus for supper at my place. I have some chablis as well. You really shouldn't be left alone to spend your whole life in quiet pursuit of duty and nothing else. You need to kick back and have fun at times, too," Stacey Carrick, his neighbor who had just regained her home thanks to the Select Board's "restoration" policy, told him now, "I haven't had a chance to host anyone since I was placed in that god awful hostel of theirs. A glorified jail, nothing more."

Goodhue shrugged. He was divorced, hadn't been on a date in a while, being scared off by too many "foodie calls" and crazies toward the end, but Stacey was a very pleasant single mother, an attractive woman with chestnut brown curls, and a registered nurse just returning to her old job. He had coached her kids, which had just been restored to her as well. He had even hosted them at his place once or twice. She wasn't the sort to just use a guy for a free meal. She was offering him one, in fact. What could it hurt?

"Sure, thank you. That would be very nice. Glad to see you back at it. It's been far too quiet without you guys around...and gals, for that matter. I miss Little League," he smiled, trying not to notice her wink.

"See ya at supper tonight, then. Seven?" she proposed.

"Seven works for me," Mike answered, not adding as he didn't need to that he would be on time. He was a former senior NCO, after all. He was always punctual. It came second nature to a sailor like him.

Masculinium,
Capital of Incelastan

"So, what do you want to do, then?"" Larsen asked Davis, with La Rousse listening keenly.

"Kill them all. Kill all of the traitors. No quarter. No mercy. Carry out summary executions of all in transit to camps. Order any remaining camps to kill all of the inmates and then form new detachments to use both as special operations units and as death squads. Abandon and destroy all of the camps. From now on, you defy our regime, you immediately catch a bullet. Let them realize just how high the price of high treason really was. Kill. Them. All. I want to see bodies piled up in the streets, burned on pyres, and if any firefighters dare to try to put them out, kill them, too. They're increasingly disloyal, too, I fear. No one is allowed to defy us. No one, not even brave men and their red engines like that. Ever notice how few women ever sign up for that kind of dangerous job? Very telling. So much for equality, right? I respect their work, but not their disloyalty," Davis decreed.

"Also, we could start taking hostages," La Rousse suggested.

"Works for me. Take husbands and wives, test if they really do still believe in these illegal marriages of theirs, if we take their spouses hostage and threaten them with bodily harm. Take parents and adult offspring, too. And spread word that anyone who reports a friend, colleague, or relative for sedition and treason will earn rewards. A thousand rings each. That should get us plenty of informants, shouldn't it? When all else fails, use people's greed against them," Erwin Yancey, the Director of Finance, spoke up now.

"I agree. Do it. Do it now," Davis insisted, eager to punish any and all dissidents for daring to agree with the foreign interlopers and invaders.

Elsewhere in Masculinium (observed by SSP agents trailing Hernandez):

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Oscar told the Monsignor, for that was part of his purpose for the meeting, nominally for negotiations with the Vatican.

"What are your sins, my son?" Bobek, an aging Slovak with a balding head otherwise covered with white hair, asked him.

"I have committed the sins of treason, complicity, envy, wrath, hate, vindictiveness, cruelty, fornication, lust, and unbelief. It has been six years since my last confession. I have lapsed from the Church and the faith, not attending Mass in years as well," Hernandez answered the priest.

"Are you truly repentant and wish to atone and be absolved, ready to perform penance for your sins?" Bobek inquired of him.

"I am, Father," Hernandez replied.

"I believe that, as you are still a single man, the best penance for you is to find a new career and a new life of devotion to God. I believe that holy orders are called for you here. You have been a soldier for Satan and for Man's follies, for a foolish and prideful and resentful dogma. Are you ready to become a soldier for Christ and Holy Mother Church? Are you ready to enter the ranks of the Society of Jesus? Are you ready to defect to the Vatican and abandon this wicked regime?" the Monsignor offered him what they had both been thinking about of late and understood...

Hernandez had already expressed his admiration for the discipline and moral courage of the Jesuits, more than once. He nodded.

"Then I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Come with me and begin your penance. Remember, this is a life of voluntary celibacy, rather than involuntary," the Monsignor intoned in his thick Eastern European accent.

Hernandez followed, unsure of whether he would actually live to carry out his defection.

It was an unusual penance, but it suited the rare circumstances of the man's situation and his career. Others understandably might argue that he traded one false doctrine for another, but that was a matter of perspective. Both Hernandez and Bobek would naturally disagree. Hernandez was ready to find a new purpose in life, after rejecting his present path as of one of evil. He was done with that, especially with the brutality and growing racism of the incel regime. It was time for a change. His midlife crisis had taken a very odd turn indeed.