A new generation (IC|Closed|Attn. Arakhkhar)

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

The cacophony of engine humming filled the Freud Air Base, a few square miles or so of concrete barracks, asphalt runways and dreary but otherwise functional terminals brimming with soldiers, agents and various military personnel who bustled about the airport, awaiting their guests. Runways were cleared one by one, aircraft being wheeled back into their respective designated warehouses, doors slamming shut as a sizeable space was prepared for their Arakhkhari visitors to land safely upon.

As they awaited the inevitable arrival, the anticipation in the air was palpable, many excited and anxious to see the nation which had effectively become their new colonisers touch ground upon British Arzelentaxmaconean soil. Some were terrified by the prospect, shutting themselves in their homes until the strange and - to many - feared nation’s ranks had left, whilst others treated it as a fateful yet exciting experience. Queues of normal civilians who had driven or even flown to see the Arakhkharis in person had begun to form outside of the air base, eager to get a first glimpse of the arrivals, cameras and video recorders at the ready. Of course, many weren’t exactly oblivious to the nation’s rapidly growing empire which had now - somewhat ominously - began to ramp up its influence in British Arzelentaxmacone, however some were none the wiser, seeing them as an albeit unknown but potentially valuable ally. Even the soldiers themselves were eager, many promising their families and friends a description of who - or what - the Arakhkharis were like in person, a feeling of anticipation and anxiety being replaced with a childish sense of excitement for some, whilst others kept their feelings muted, to say the least.

Freud Military Base - Two Miles from the Air Base

The light dusting of snow resting on the muddy dirt ground glistened somewhat in the morning sunrise, hues of orange and crimson reflecting upon the nearby lake, a thin sheet of glass-like ice enveloping the watery depths. Since summer had arrived, the locals of British Arzelentaxmacone had been able to enjoy a brief but pleasant bout of sunshine, sometimes accompanied by warmer temperatures, some even breaching the rarely-met 15° mark. As such, the organisers of this fateful day’s events had chosen to hold the first round of training on a warmer day, with the sun shining and the clouds retreated into the horizon, leaving a clear, blue sky ahead.

General Clark- one of the few remaining military generals who had continued his work through the reigns of the Leader, Clarkson and now Olaf - sat atop the nearby tank, parked just outside of the grey concrete walls of the military base, located amidst the snowy plains and knolls. He took a sip of his steaming cocoa, savouring the rich, chocolate taste as he gazed into the distance, thin clouds of smoke rising from the tank’s humming engine. It was a brief but pleasant comfort prior to what could quite possibly be a long and difficult day ahead, which in truth, he wasn’t sure about. Junior officers, most of them only about 20 to 25 years old, waited within the base, geared up and excited for the day ahead, whilst the General saw it in a somewhat different light.

Over the years he had served for BA, Clark never imagined that his home nation would be so firmly under the thumb of Arakhkhari influence as it currently was, and truth be told, felt a little bitter towards his nation’s new ‘allies’, and was somewhat concerned for the future of the Arzelent nation. It went without saying that Clark would be devastated to see millennia of history lost to colonisation, to watch his own nation be slowly consumed and incorporated into the growing Arakhkhari empire, but saw little opportunity to counter it himself. General Clark knew that he’d simply be executed by his military higher-ups at the first sign of ‘possessing revolutionary principles’, and would rather not take the risk. However, he also trusted the government - the way the young General saw it, President Olaf was a good, noble man who simply loved his wife. Yes, allegations of him being influenced by her still continued to spread and be widely shared throughout the nation, but there was surely little sinister about their relationship, and at the end of the day, there was no harm in them loving eachother as they did. Maybe Arakhkhari support could be the future of BA, bringing the island nation out of its gruelling war with the rebels and into a new age of prosperity and stability.

And, if Olaf supported Arakhkhar, how bad could they really be?

OOC: This is a thread revolving around the training of a new shock trooper division involving British Arzelentaxmaconean junior officers, and is closed to all except Arakhkhar and myself. However, do feel free to read along.

[Arakhkhar]

couldn’t quite fall asleep.

Instruktion

•Freud Base•

•August, 2024•

---

A summer’s day indeed - and with summer, and with… the recent turn of events, the Red Empire had found itself somewhat… more purple than before. With the onset of the rebellion having taken full swing, and with an active intervention - the Imperial Principality had slowly drawn its designs for an increase of influence in the nation. It was these projections that indicated they may have a pro-Arakhkhar ruling party within a decade, or so.

But… a catastrophe had struck, one fateful day in Arz - and it was a catastrophe indeed - for those who had engineered it had not foreseen what was to become of that fateful attack against the very heart of the nation.
Olaf Kurtii - once an… unremarkable man, was thrust into the highest office of the nation - his dutiful wife, the Baroness, having proposed to him on the very day of his inauguration as president - he was a man who had… accelerated the wildest dreams of Imperial planning, and had done more in just a few months what would have taken more typical coercion and manipulation years to achieve.

Regardless - the Red Empire was far from stable. In the deepest crevices of labyrinthine steel tombs of the fortress island of Namenos, or from the tallest Gothic spires of Novalira which reached and beckoned - one thing was clear. The Red Empire was not prepared for a war. The rebellion had proven this. Regardless of whether or not it was a measure for influence - it was also a necessary endeavor to reinforce and prevent a collapse of the Arzelent military, while also securing the loyalty of at least a proportion of it… to reinforce Olaf’s position.

And so… a black aircraft did pierce that clear day - glinting in the distance, reflecting the light of the August sun brightly - the engines roaring, as the large four-engine jet aircraft made it’s final approach and descent unto the airfield. It was a military plane, no doubt - but like all things of their make, it was a smooth design - elegant, but functional.
And from within - eyes of deep purple stared out, the muffled sounds of the engine barely audible from inside the cabin - they looked out with dispassionate analysis at the frozen land, beading down upon them, at those who had gathered with which to see the onset of their new… benefactors.

A gentle screech - a little touch - the wheels graced the ground after the plane had made its descent - and slowly, surely, the speed died down, the engines quieted and settled, and the aircraft began to taxi to it’s… allocated position.
From within - a number of Shock Troopers waited without any emotion - waiting endlessly for the ramp to descend so they could march out… adjutants, support personnel, logistics officers - all in their blackened auxiliary uniforms twitched a little, or perhaps picked little imperfections from their uniforms - checked their boots, that they were in perfect shape.

And for one - the Instruktark Seraia - she looked out at at the Arzelent people with… callous perception - to weigh them in her mind, and find out how best to mold them.
People were like clay, she considered - and to know what to make of them, you had to know first the material one worked with. It didn’t matter if some was… wasted in the process - such would only detract, anyways.

She adjusted her own blackened leather uniform - already, in perfect order - every silvered button perfectly aligned, her tall, brimmed cap resting upon her pale head with absolutely perfect alignment - and with a brisk walk, she made her way from the functional, almost undecorated cabin - to the hydraulic ramp in the rear of the plane.

The click-clack of her boots was all that the others needed to know, as every Trooper and soldier on that plane straightened themselves out - not daring even to sweat. Soon enough… the hiss of hydraulics was heard - and like as if in a movie with the arrival of some alien invaders, the Troopers emerged - each, mechanical in their motions and movements - rifles held ready. They were not the typical Shock Troopers, however.

Rather than be adorned in the black and greyish armor that all has been made so dreadfully aware of, these were troopers of the arctic - long, flowing white armored coats, with armor that had been made for operations in wintery environments. Though… they retained the haunting motif - the twin purple goggles which shone brightly with their toxic hue.
They were followed after by the instructor Seraia - who looked out before her, to find her greeting party… the Troopers, naturally, saluting her - each with their right hands closed to a fist, placed over their hearts.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

As the shock troopers arrived, the officers awaiting them saluted mechanically, hoisting the flag of Arakhkhar high above, and finally bowing deeply as a sign of deferential cooperation. It wasn’t the first time they had hosted Arakhkhari troops in their nation, although this felt as if it were more important, considering that the events of this particular visit could bear a significant impact on the future of the international relationship, the threat of Arakhkhari influence bearing down upon British Arzelentaxmacone being more pronounced and serious than ever before.

Meanwhile, the civilians had a mixed reaction, many seeming absolutely ecstatic at the arrival of the Arakhkhari guests, waving flags depicting the ISD emblem and the Arakhkhari standard beside that of their own nation, some even cheering and waving. Camera shutters flashed and flickered as they snapped hundreds of pictures of the soldiers, with a few press photographers amid the crowds of cheering supporters. Others seemed a little less enthusiastic, watching with bated breath and anticipating expressions, silently awaiting the next step of the shock troopers. It was a rather good representation of Arakhkhar’s general popularity in BA - some saw it as a new dawn to be celebrated, while others felt it was the beginning of something much, much bigger and more complex than they could have ever imagined.

At the doors to the air base’s front entrance gates, a considerably more decorated officer stood, her jacket creaking and jangling with many medals and awards for years of dedicated service. She was - like many Arzelentaxmaconeans - of a slim build, only standing at about 5’2 feet tall and with dark hair, complementing her green eyes. Saluting, the officer stepped forwards to greet the Arakhkhari troopers, whilst the hustle and bustle of the crowd continued in the background.

“Salutations, friends of British Arzelentaxmacone. I am Georgina Kuznetsova, Colonel and recipient of the Medal for Distinguished Achievement in the field of International Combat. Welcome to Freud Air Base - for the training, you will be located in a nearby military barracks headed by my good friend and colleague General Clark.”

[Arakhkhar]

The instructor stepped down, and slowly made her approach to the officer before her - giving a sharp salute, the one that her own people had so frequently indulged in. A closed fist upon her heart. Taking a moment to take the relative weight in the arrival.
“I am Instruktark Seraia. I have 12 years of field experience, and a further eighteen as an officer of the Imperial Military - within which time I have been awarded on four separate occasions.”

She looked out at the Arzelent people - regardless of whether they cheered or not, crowds made her uneasy - one might conceal a terrorist within with relative ease.
“Well… met, Colonel Kuznetsova.”
She spoke as if unfamiliar with greeting others cordially - and gave a slight smile, before promptly resuming her military callousness. The Troopers behind her did not relish the sudden fame - they did not stop to wave, nor could they flash a smile. There was only a military precision about one and every action, one that underscored each and every heavy step they took. It was what their reputation had demanded of them - that from the moment they donned those masks, they were no longer people - but instruments.

And now, the time would soon come to instill a similar value into a series of recruits. It was a task that the instructor found… difficult, despite her long history. With her own, she knew how they worked - their cultural values, their… faith being the same as hers, under one Empress - she would need to find some concordance with the Arzelent officers she was to train, and, in turn - the volunteers to form this new legion.

“Colonel - my Troopers shall require lodging for the duration of their assignment. I shall expect that they shall be given barracks…”
She paused for a moment.
“If possible, have the barracks be mixed with Arzelent soldiers who are to volunteer for the new formation. It is better to lead by example, generally.”
She glanced for a moment at the crowd.
“Is it… common practice to have the civilian population be made aware of military instruction? Is… a speech required of me?”
She tilted her head a little, somewhat questioning.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“Pleasure to be meeting you, Instruktark.” The colonel said politely, and gave a slight smile in return. She was a little uncertain of what to expect from her counterpart, yet it didn’t show, her expression as self assured and confident as ever. “Yes, Arakhkhari troops will be given the finest of accommodations available in the barracks. There is a reasonable amount of space, and good indoor heating and facilities, so I believe all needs will be suitably accounted for.”

Kuznetsova pondered the Instruktark’s question for but a moment, struggling to find a definitive answer. It was certainly an unexpected - and frankly surprising request, however, she found it difficult to say ‘no’ to the Arakhkhari, even though British Arzelentaxmacone was the host for this particular event. The colonel was naturally a little intimidated by the far superior gear and technology possessed by the shock troopers stood before her.

“It is an.. unorthodox request, although, I’m sure that if I let Clark know he can organise something or other. The junior officers themselves should be fine with that as well - they’re new conscripts, by the way, all very young and new to the military, so do consider that they may not be as.. well versed on army tactics and training as we are.”

The colonel then turned to the cheering crowd, who were now being restricted behind a few temporary steel barriers, lurching forwards every now and again as they were held back by a number of security personnel, to ensure none of them could do anything stupid. “No, it is not our culture to disclose military secrets, however somewhere along the line somebody opened their mouth and now it seems that everyone this side of Arz knows of today’s events. Of course, the location of our training ground is unknown and will remain entirely confidential for every member of the public, I can assure you. They are just… big fans, I suppose.”

[Arakhkhar]

She nodded slightly.
“Very well. General Clark, I shall like to meet him.”
She paused for a moment, as she suddenly thought of something.
“My… detachment does consist of women, and the soldiers of… young men. I do not wish for that to be a problem.”

“I am to be working with conscripts - and your officers, they are conscripted?”
The instructor, perhaps, remained with her cold tone of voice - but she was inwardly already somewhat frustrated. Conscripts, from her perspective, were utterly useless for the most part. She preferred volunteers, quite heavily. Perhaps one could not scrounge up the same numbers - but each and every one was of a good caliber.

“These… Junior Officers… have they been trained in tactics at any form of military academy? Or will I be working with… a blank slate?”
She walked slowly, the clicks of her boots against the ground made with a serious weight to them.
The Corporal’s answer, however… it was one that she found strictly unprofessional - but then again, the radicality of a nation was a force to be harnessed, not stifled, lest it turn to rebellion.
“If possible, find whoever opened their mouth. I would like it closed. Secrecy, Corporal, and the shadows - it is the cloak under which that we work, that gives… a shroud to our dispositions. Conceal your strength until the very moment at which it must be released - to impress your friends, and terror unto your enemies. Break concealment too soon - and it is like… releasing the bolt of a crossbow when it is only partially wound.”

She continued as she walked.
“Today it is a training operation. What if it is an offensive, the next? Some… endeavor best left shrouded - such as the personal movements of the Baron?”

The Instruktark finished her little tirade - thinking of what next to be done as she came to a sharp halt upon her heels - ignoring the general commotion.
“But of course, you must… be aware of that already. As I have… stated earlier, I would like to meet General Clark.”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“Ooh, yes, you will certainly be able to meet the General himself. He is supervising the training today, so you shall have plenty of time to meet him and discuss any potential issues or concerns.” She explained, as she hurried to keep up with the sharp, quick movements of her Arakhkhari counterpart, almost losing her footing as the Instruktark turned to her. The colonel was considerably shorter than her, and had to crane her neck slightly to look up and speak to her.

Kuznetsova did wonder whether the woman was a little frustrated by her tone and lack of courteous attitude towards her, but put such thoughts aside, remembering that if she made a poor impression on the Instruktark then she herself would face the consequences, possibly even risking an.. incident being organised by the secret police, as they usually did with those considered to be ‘traitors’.

Traitor could mean anything, really; perhaps a rebel, or, what worried her more, a soldier deemed to have exhausted their use to the overall military. Once a soldier was useless - decided by if they had recently been making a fool of themselves or embarrassing British Arzelentaxmacone - they would be disposed of. Yet Kuznetsova couldn’t risk looking anxious in front of her Arakhkhari counterparts.

“W-well, I.. they are conscripts, yes, but they have certainly received an adequate amount of training and experience beforehand to ensure they are able to be moulded and trained as you wish today. As for whom was responsible for opening their mouth.. I don’t know, to be honest. But they shall be found and punished accordingly, I promise. And, besides, it makes little difference - where we are going is confidential, both in location and existence. Heck, barely any civilians - if any - know it even exists in the first place. Please, come with me.”

A large van awaited them, with blacked out windows and a moderately well furnished interior with a number of seating benches and a rack of weaponry lining the walls. The colonel bowed deeply, allowing the troopers and the Instruktark to enter.

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark continued her walk, oblivious to any such considerations on her Arzelent counterpart - she hadn't considered such... consequences for failure before her eyes - but she did detect the anxiety. The occasional stuttering had been a dead giveaway to it - but rather than be irritated at this, it was something she… almost enjoyed. The fear that she inspired had induced a certain… feverish attitude, almost - it was an accommodating atmosphere.

“It makes a difference indeed, Colonel. Who speaks now may speak in the heat of battle, letting their babbling fill the air - and informing the enemy of plans. Silence, Colonel, is worth killing for. I expect you shall live up to that matter.”
She spoke as if her commanding officer - but lacked much in the way of real authority over her, being only an instructor. It was, however, her purpose and task to instruct - and so when she spoke, it was with the same forcefulness she applied to the newest, most green recruits. Stern, callous, even - but ultimately, not rude or overly demanding.
“As for those conscripts… I will like to conduct a little survey. They volunteered for this training assignment, at the least, I presume?”

She continued to follow after Kuznetsova - watching the colonel’s bow - not quite aware of Arzelent custom, she perceived it as a bow that a slave or servant would perform. Somewhat stunned at the gesture, although not quite showing it, she gave a courteous bow to about a quarter depth - the ‘polite’ bow between individuals in which there was a slight power imbalance.
Stepping inside after her seemingly courteous gesture - she examined the interior as it stood, taking a seat - firmly planting herself in one of the seats. The Troopers followed after her - in pristine shades of white and black, their purple goggles aglow, illuminating the van slightly.

The Instruktark gestured towards one of the weapons racks with two of her gloved fingers - as she calmly asked a question.
“May I examine one of these service weapons?”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

The Arzelent colonel’s forehead beaded with sweat as she continued to seem rather anxious, climbing into the van and sitting on the end of one of the benches, looking around awkwardly at the shock troopers.

“Ah.. w-well, yes, all the conscripts have been briefed on the training, and then volunteered for the initiative. Some, however, were randomly assigned the task since we didn’t have the adequate number of people for two division’s worth of shock troopers.”

Kuznetsova seemed a little surprised by the Instruktark’s question, and shifted her gaze over to the weapon rack. “Oh.. really?. I suppose, if you want to.” She muttered meekly.

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark furrowed her brow slightly - she wasn’t quite anticipating this response.
“We’ll have to screen such individuals, ideologically. Shock Troopers are a volunteer force, Corporal. Those who cannot join or who do not live up to the standards of the unit are simply left for home defense. It is a tough course, tough training for the men. If possible, I shall require a duty roster of the men.”

She spoke softly - but with an expectant tone, as if she had done it thousands of times before.
“Some will not be up to the task, I suspect. Some will be filtered out - and show themselves as living gems. In each, however, I shall strive to push them to their best. That is the very nature of what we train into our soldiers and… something we impose uniformly within the Empire. Though you are… not part of the Empire, it is a standard one should look forward to - the mark of a Man no longer man, no longer man but… machine. The instrument of another’s will. A soldier, yes - but more than a soldier - the living embodiment of zealotry, of strength. But…”

She gestured to the weapon.
“May I?”
The Instruktark leaned in slightly, with a questioning tone in her voice and analytical eyes. She intended to inspect the weapon - see if it is in working order.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“Of course, I understand; only the best can be selected for the task of making up the new shock trooper division. You can ask all of your questions to my colleague, General Clark. He has likely been informed more on this matter than I have..” she chuckled half jokingly, but seemed otherwise rather awkward, quickly silencing herself. It was difficult to act normally in a van full of shock troopers, their glowing goggles seeming to stare into her soul, judging her in silence.

“Yes, you may.” Kuznetsova replied, gesticulating vaguely to the weapon rack.

[Arakhkhar]

She gave a small nod, evidently unconcerned.
“Then it seems I have… much to discuss with the good general. I am aware he has been one of the key elements of your war effort.”
As she spoke, she reached for one of the service weapons - taking it into her hands - and studying it as she spoke.
“I believe that should prove an… interesting topic. I must confess - I have never served in this area. Though I have met some who have, naturally, to listen to the experiences of the general himself - it will allow me to adapt my course as necessary.”
She gave a small ‘hmm’ as she examined the service weapon.
“How familiar are you with your nation’s service weapons, Corporal?”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“Uhh..” she trailed off, narrowing her eyes as she looked at the particular model in hand. Of course, it was natural for Kuznetsova to have some knowledge on the matter of BA’s service weapons, but of course, it was impossible for her to know every single detail.

“This particular weapon is the..” the colonel clicked her fingers, remembering the name. “..RK-62, I believe, 7.62×39mm cartridge and a range of a good few hundred metres. One of our finest assault rifles, originally manufactured in Finland but now widely available in British Arzelentaxmacone. We use it mainly for its cartridge size, but it also has a handy bayonet function, which comes in useful for our sabre-wielding soldiers. See?”

Kuznetsova gestured to a roughly inch deep groove in the side of the assault rifle where a sabre was designed to be attached, and smiled slightly. “It’s a fine weapon indeed.”

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark continued to examine the weapon - pulling back the bolt, to feel how smooth it was.
“7.62x39mm?”
She spoke, as she slowly pulled the bolt forward - checking if there was a round chambered inside.
“A bit of an old cartridge. It has its uses, to be sure, but I personally believe you would be better off switching to… 5.45x39mm. The average conscript can carry more of it, and more than that…”
The Instruktark detached the magazine with a click - setting it beside her.
“It’s got better ballistics, and a better wounding potential. There’s also our native cartridge. 6.8x41mm - which offers some of the best of both. Lovely ballistics, while retaining that wounding potential.”

She conducted a visual inspection of the rifle itself - checking inside the mag-well, and having felt the bolt - to try to see if it was well-lubricated or not. With a little twist and twirl, she aimed down the sights - to see if they had been adjusted properly.

She spoke calmly as she aimed down the sights - her face giving no indication of what her inspection had revealed.
“How often, Corporal, does your military regulate to conduct inspections and maintenance of such weaponry?”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

There was a single round chambered within the weapon, loaded rather a while ago, which was clear from the slightly dried out lubricant lining the bolts and the thin layer of grey dust collected upon the firearm. However, it still worked well as per usual.

“O-oh.. well..” the colonel trailed off, her smile fading slightly. She felt somewhat uncomfortable being in the same room as somebody with a loaded gun, and shifted in her seat anxiously.

“We.. inspect them every now and again, when the time calls for such a review. The weapons on the rack are, after all, usually used for the troops carried by this vehicle, which in itself is a rare occurrence so.. we needn’t monitor them too closely nor too often..” She chuckled slightly as if it were a half-joking statement, but soon fell silent, glancing over at the Instruktark.

[Arakhkhar]

She held the rifle disapprovingly - holding and examining it from multiple angles - before slowly reaching with a single gloved finger, scraping along the bolt - to watch the dust and lubricant. Releasing the magazine, she set it aside - and she examined both sides of the rifle.
“A weapon is the extension of the self.”
She spoke, as she checked the safety.
“It must be treated with care - treat it well, and it shall treat you well when you require it most. It takes one minute to disassemble and reassemble an AK-pattern rifle, of which the RK-62 qualifies. Some can do it blindfolded.”

She did not demonstrate - simply re-attaching the magazine and continuing her cursory examination.
“My troops will be taught regular maintenance - at regular intervals.”
She paused, and handed the rifle over to the Corporal - before speaking in her native language to one of the troopers in a commanding manner.
“Solkriel. Ivir’loh ir vintik.”
The trooper with goggles shining bright and her armor of white quickly reached for her weapon - a RAK-74 Assault Rifle - somewhat shorter, made of a steel with a black polymer - an attached suppressor with it.
“Please, Corporal - what do you think of this weapon?”
She offered the rifle to the Corporal, holding it in front of her.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

Kuznetsova took the rifle, turning it over on her hands and running a gentle finger along the polymer with a sigh of relief. For a second, she didn’t know what the Instruktark would do, and was instantaneously relieved as soon as her Arakhkhari counterpart set the weapon down.

“It’s… nice. I haven’t seen a weapon like this before, though - what are its advantages over, say, our own RK-62? It seems to be rather.. different to our usual standard service firearm array, as I’m sure you can probably tell, now you have handled both. Oh and, I’ll, umm.. put this back.” The colonel murmured, placing the British Arzelentaxmaconean assault rifle back onto the rack, a soft metallic thud emanating from it as she did so.

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark let her hold the weapon for a few moments - to let her observe the polished look, the bolt, attachment system - before she broke her silence.
“The RAK-74 is one of our newest assault rifles, having been already widely circulated among Imperial Shock infantry, and now beginning to enter with the reserves. It has numerous advantages.”
She gestured to the layout of the magazine, behind the trigger.
“The bullpup configuration allows for a greater barrel length while having a smaller overall size. This makes the weapon easier to handle in close quarters, while retaining it’s effectiveness at range. Changing the barrel is quite easy, and can be done to attach a reinforced barrel, for long term suppressive fire, a lengthened barrel, for… designated sharpshooting, or a slightly shortened one - should you ever really require a carbine.”

With her gloved index finger, she let it circle around the attachment rails.
“These… these rails are integrated with the weapon. Allowing for the sturdy application of whatever attachment you might prefer - a flashlight… a laser… an underbarrel grenade launcher, or something like a bayonet, even.”

She now gestured to the magazine.
“Would you kindly pull back the bolt - and hold it there? You will catch a sight of its cartridge, 6.8x41mm Arakhkhari. Full-metal-jacket. It performs well against armored targets, with a higher muzzle energy than comparable 5.56x45mm NATO, 5.45x39mm Soviet, or 7.62x39mm Soviet. It has a better wounding potential than 7.62x39mm, and a higher range and performance compared to 5.56x45mm.”

“Due to it’s construction - being a gas-operated rotating bolt assault rifle, and due to how we have built the frame - it is simple to disassemble and maintain. The only real downside is initial manufacturing cost.”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

She held the gun curiously, running a finger along the weapon and drawing back the bolt carefully, allowing her to inspect the cartridge more closely, noting the differences between the standard British Arzelentaxmaconean dimensions and its Arakhkhari counterpart. It was, as the Instruktark had told her, rather different to their own Soviet-related cartridges, and she seemed to gradually become less hesitant and more curious, inspecting the contents of the gun’s interior.

“It’s.. interesting, really. Would we be able to import them at all, for our military here in BA? I’m confident that a good weapon like this would be just what our troops need. Particularly the Dejeni Division - we’ve been promising them better firearms for a while now. This could be just the thing.. provided Arakhkhar was comfortable with export them. If not, maybe we could cover the manufacturing costs by making some here?”

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark seemed somewhat pleased with the deliberations of her counterpart, if not demonstrating it externally - watching carefully as she seemed to pry and inspect the weapon as it was.

“Naturally, yes. It is not my… area of responsibility with regards to the export of weaponry - but I know that your nation makes increasing use of our… equipment, for a variety of things. I’m certain that there can be an export deal arranged. Though… with regards to actual local production, I am certain that the fellows who make this weapon would prefer to set up their own factory in the area. They’re… a little touchy about non-subsidiaries producing their equipment.”

She paused a moment, speaking softly.
“When you’ve finished with your… inspection, would be so kind as to hand the rifle back to the trooper sitting on my right?”

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

“Huh. Well, BA isn’t a subsidiary of the Arakhkhari empire.. yet.. so I do understand about the manufacturing matter. However, we would definitely still be interested in purchasing such a gun en masse, especially since we are currently attempting to normalise the usage of Arakhkhar-made weaponry in our military, including both handheld firearms and larger vehicles.”

She handed the gun back to the trooper carefully as the vehicle came to a halt, wheels screeching against the concrete road as they approached the military base’s outer fence, a few hundred meters of barbed wire and mesh.

“Well, we’re here everybody. Please collect your stuff and we’ll begin the day ahead by meeting the volunteers for this program. They’re just outside the main building.”

A guard, decked out in their usual uniform with their face covered entirely by a visor, flung the doors open, revealing a view of the barracks in the distance, the whole perimeter encircled by trees.

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark simply blinked a couple of times with response to the Corporal’s musing on the… nature of the relationship between their two nations. The Instruktark was well aware, of course, of the inevitable - of the overall goal over every effort - it just wasn’t very nice to be reminded that it was quite transparent.
“I was referring to subsidiaries in the economic, corporate sense, Corporal. The Imperial Arms Corporation uses subsidiary companies to produce products, in some places. BA… doesn’t have any privately owned companies, being a… socialist state… but I’m sure there are some state owned companies or industrial works that can be… leased to us - or at the very least, that licenses to produce our equipment be acquired by one such organization.”

With their arrival at the base - her dialogue with regards to economic matters came to a close, as now, the real work was upon her. She watched from the window as they passed the external security. She frowned slightly, as… seemingly, no one had asked the driver for ID, but otherwise said nothing.
“Excellent.”
She spoke quickly, the Troopers all coming to stand in near perfect synchronization - calmly, the group would begin to depart - and stepping out, the Instruktark took a look around - feeling the weather - evidently finding it amenable, being quite similar to the weather within the Principality.
She took a look around, and waited for everyone to follow afterwards before making her approach to greet the recruits.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

Kuznetsova hopped out of the vehicle, her boots crunching as they hit the glistening snow, packed down by the constant flow of vehicles parking in the square. She smiled thinly at the guards on the entrance, who pushed open the gates to the military grounds, an open space of snowy grass and obstacle courses surrounding the concrete barracks.

“General Clark is just up at that building, there. Once he has introduced you all to the conscripts, I’ll be on my way, but I am obliged to show you where to go - so, follow me, I suppose.”

She began traipsing through the snow, walking slowly but carefully to avoid tripping over in the icy snow. “Just this way..”

[Arakhkhar]

The Instruktark followed along, as readily as ever - the Troopers behind her blending in rather well with the snow.
“Far be it from me to not follow along.”
She turned back to the Troopers behind her - her tone becoming more sharp, as she ordered them to follow along in turn.
“Solkrieli, iviri’idir![
And so they marched along - having already formed a neat column to fall behind her - a small group, just 4 or so - but wherever they went, they had certainly left an… impression.

[British Arzelentaxmacone]

As they walked, a few rows of conscripts and volunteers became visible in the distance, waiting with anticipation for their new.. mentors to arrive. General Clark himself, mug of cocoa still firmly in hand, paced backwards and forwards, accompanied by Lieutenant Ludmill, who stood with his arms behind his back, gazing silently out at the plains. The troops - a mixture of young men and women - looked a little anxious, but were mainly excited, some with smiles on their faces whilst a minority were begrudgingly scowling, despising the Arakhkharis for how they influenced Olaf in such a powerful manner.

None were particularly well trained nor equipped for the mission, evident by the fact that most of them weren’t particularly muscular and carried their weapons hesitantly, as if they didn’t know how to even hold them properly. They stared at the approaching shock troopers, one waving enthusiastically in their direction, with Clark smiling slightly and reminding the young man to be courteous in the presence of such officers. The general himself didn’t care much for the Arakhkharis, but it was a mandatory part of his job to lead today’s training, so saw little opportunity to change his mind. If they even allowed him to do so, that was.