The Sparrow was Silenced (IC, Finished)

by **Arakhkhar** » Sat Sep 14, 2024 9:26 pm

The Sparrow was Silenced

•The Invasion of Montepassaro•

Overview

The island Republic of Montepassaro lies in somewhat of a precarious position. With a population of just 142,071, it has always made it's existence something of a peaceful one - maintaining it's position in the western Badlands, and developing a particularly comfortable existence for itself in the course of it's centuries-long history. With some deposits of cobalt and lithium that have fueled a burgeoning, booming developed economy since the 1970s - maintaining a relatively insignificant position on the world stage. With a somewhat small and notoriously impotent monocameral legislature, and a rather simple 642km^2 of territory - it has never had the opportunity to truly stand for itself. It has, however, managed to carve out an existence through the sale of minerals, through tourism.

The island itself is a place of wonder - black sand beaches which the island is known for - for the great peak for which the island republic is named. A thriving culture, and all the trappings of tourism - as brilliantly red-roofed and white-walled resorts and estates dot the coastline - or perhaps one might favor the picturesque views of the Vesokean Sea from the town of Sabblanera, or perhaps if one should long for the delectable temptations of the city, one might find Porto Assur. In the valley of the forked river Savantara, grapes are grown in sprawling vineyards through the ash-laden foothills of the great grayish volcanic mountain which overlooks the island - and with a perfectly temperate climate, it has been known as among the most pleasant places in the Badlands. With highly variable, hilly and mountainous terrain, and rivers running throughout the country - it is also somewhat difficult to traverse, if not for the nation's highly developed system of roads and bridges for supporting commercial enterprise. The large port of Savoscia, which lays within the protective part of a bay - also provides economically vital functions, such as serving as the nation's premier dockyard and naval base.

Electricity is provided to support the developed nation's growing economy, from a variety of sources - geothermal electricity from the active volcano providing no less than 43% of the island's power, with hydroelectric power providing the remainder, the great dams on several of the points of the Savantera - and under the vigil of missile systems provided by the Americans, and by an early-warning RADAR system at the top of the mountain - and a small security force with it's own armored contingent, for keeping order, helping to protect against invasion, and maintaining their defenses and sovereignty. Naval mines lay hidden outside the port of Savoscia, and Harpoon batteries form their answer to naval threats. Montepassaro even has a small, but capable navy - a scattering of frigates and destroyers, as well as two diesel-electric attack submarines.

During the Nixian CIvil War - Montepassaro had said nothing. During the Imperial invasions of 2002, Montepassaro had made only passing remarks to condemn the extreme violence - even as civilizations were snuffed out. During the Sylvarian Civil War, Montepassaro had said... nothing - through the first Riverine War, and into the wars of Argyrean influence - even having resisted the resurgent Sultanate of Malkantriz, and having purchased foreign equipment from foreign suppliers - it believes itself to be, at the least, too inconsequential to notice - or perchance too insignificant to be caught up in the great power politics that have swept the Badlands.

But there is no island too inconsequential, no island too small - there is not one life that is too wretched, too beneath notice from the Imperial Principality of Arakhkhar. Even as they sat and rested on their laurels, in their vineyards, always watching the sea with never a glint of fear in their eyes - slowly, surely, eyes inhuman had measured and calculated and devised a stratagem for the region - a stratagem that required the continued reaches, further and further to grasp the very neck of the Badlands - and to choke it until it would whimper and die in the Empress's hand.

For Montepassaro lay across one of the most lucrative routes in the region - and more than that, from there, one might project power towards Thalassia, and deep into the Vesokean Sea - to form a citadel that could control the approaches from the west and prevent threats to the Imperial aligned-state of Malkantriz - as well as to begin to put pressure on the aforementioned Thalassians. Slowly - surely - with the calculations having been made, the ships fueled, the tanks readied - and the Troopers prepared in silence - they had drawn their plans to the minutest detail - and against the government of Montepassaro.

595 kilometers to the south, a vaunted Imperial Subjugation Group - the so-called "Black Fleet" sustains an overwhelming force - meanwhile, just 254 kilometers from the island nation - the submarine ace Subcommander Val, fresh from her victories against communist forces in Dolmot, in her patrol group - maintains position, playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the Montepassaran patrol group 2. 435 kilometers to the southeast, yet more Imperial submarines in the group U-19 steadily continue their approach. 584 kilometers to the north - VU-02 continues its southwards approach. Out to sea, and each no less than 100 kilometers from the shore, Montepassaran patrol groups continue to circle around - with little indications of what to come.
ORBAT

The Huntmistress

•UM-992, 187 kilometers southwest of Montepessaro, Montepassaran EEZ, Badands Frontier•

_{•02:32, September 14th, 2034•}

Revelry could not yet define what took place underneath the ocean. In the furthest reaches where no man could spy them - where the water around them was as black as the leather of their uniforms as they had a slight sheen under violet lights. But this was not Lirac bay, and it was not a time of celebration - a swift order had been issued in the wake of that most perfect engagement. Once again, they had been reassigned - once again, they would be called upon to serve with distinction. And now... now more than ever, the time had come for something more than the simple ambushing of cargo vessels.

Their orders were quite clear - since the events of August, they had soon arrived at Montepassaro - limited patrols here, and there, perhaps shadowing a destroyer from some nation or another - but now... now there was cause to act. They had all seen it on the cascading display - the ping, the sounds of three engines in turn readily audible from ninety kilometers distance as they steamed south.

A little swish on the screen, as it updated so very quickly - always with a gentle noise, one ever so slight in the dark bridge. A voice, as soft as the gentlest touch of a delicate feather on face, broke the silence only.
“Three contacts... Bearing 0-6-5, heading... 1-7-0. Distance... ninety-thousand meters."

A soft sound was uttered in response - the black uniformed Subcommander in her leather and silver watching and listening eagerly to the goings on of the bridge - alongside a little creak as she leaned back into her seat, gripping the sides of the chair with a smooth grip.
"Those would be our targets. Inform UM-772 - we're going hunting - move to intercept, follow along... come about to heading... 1-6-5 - proceed at 22 knots."

"Heading, 1-6-5, 22 knots - by your will, Subcommander."
Creaking, creeping - sifting through the ocean. Even the faintest sound might prove fatal, and they all knew it - with hours passing, minutes, they counted the seconds - and not one of them dared even to sweat, for fear that the sound of the droplet might produce some sign of their presence. Even as the nighttime passed by , and as above the water - the cold night began to gently hold above - they maintained in their silent realm of darkness, watching as the signals swished by - eighty-thousand meters.
A creak.
They continued. For hours, they did - and in each, there was always so much that flowed through their heads - hundreds of meters underwater, approaching the enemy - they might be detected. They might be intercepted - perhaps they would not get to launch their torpedoes - or what if they had missed? What if the crushing water above them crumpled them, and their graves never to be found at the bottom of the sea? And to what end? But yet, in each - there was something admixed with the fear. It was something a Volkov, perhaps, knew well, something their people had been known to be addicted to - it was the very sensation of chasing... of stalking unaware, but dangerous prey - every moment spent down here being one of danger - that they could very well perish - perhaps that was why they had loved it so, from all the drudgery of noble or Imperial life, perhaps here - here alone they could find their greatest prize - not only to serve the Empress, no - something beside that - to watch with a glint of sadistic eyes as the unaware and the incompetent fell within the periscope's gaze - or perhaps simply to watch the lights on the SONAR, each denoting a unit - be snuffed out. Or perhaps it was the chase itself - watching steadily, feeling the anticipation and the dread build in equal, delicious measure.

Here, in the depths - basking in violet light and staring down as that little indicator swished momentarily - the little contact denoted, now, and identified by the specific acoustic signatures - Daring Class, two Maestrale class - watching them as they traveled at 21 knots. Seventy-thousand meters - sixty thousand - swish again, as time yet passed - fifty-thousand meters. Forty-thousand meters.

"Report."
Came the word, the first spoken in hours. Within moments, a report was sounded out from the chair - a gentle swivel made with the report being necessary.
"Targets bearing 0-8-8, speed - 21 knots - heading 1-8-0. Distance... thirty-four-thousand meters."

"Helm, come about to heading... 0-9-5 - and then halt - inform UM-772 to do the same. I want VK-9s ready as well. Inform them to fire on my signal - minimal spread and on Stalking mode... terminal phase... at 70 knots."

The anticipation - the lack of hesitation, the anxiety as the moment yet approached - the swish, the ping, the sounds and hopes of hundreds now under and above the sea - a game of cat and mouse, in which who was the mouse and who was the predator might change in a moment. The continuing threats, the ever-present mix - neither could see each other, and only one was aware of the other. It was always this way - but in this moment, and this moment alone - they had the upper hand.
"Confirm. Range - 34,000 meters. Torpedoes ready, Subcommander."

Anxiety - aptly rewarded.

"You may fire when ready."

From two submarines, each fired exactly three torpedoes - two for each target. Or, rather - the tubes were already flooded, and the doors opened - but rather than shoot out, creating a host of noise - instead relying on a pumpjet motor to travel quite slowly - just five knots... growing, gaining distance - and using their existing target data, they would plot their own 'courses' - making a single turn, each, allowing the launching point to be even further obscured - sacrificing some small amount of range. At this point, both of the submarines were continuing to hold steady - running their engines at a fraction of their usual power - as the torpedoes began to approach, using the last known position and bearing of their target to make midcourse corrections from their sudden turns - and soon, they began to build speed - as they closed a chosen distance of five kilometers, the torpedoes threw off their shrouds - building to their cruise speeds - before long, they had entered their terminal phase - screaming towards their opponents at 70 knots - racing through the water.

Aboard the sleepy ships - there was little time to react, little time to respond - at 4 AM, who was on watch? The sounds of shouting, of the yells of men as sonar picked up just too late the approaching attackers - and desperately, as the seconds counted down - men, sailors, rushed in barks of orders as those aboard rushed to their battle positions - but it was all too late.
One, two - 330 kilogram aluminized PBX warheads slammed into the sides of the RMS Fortezza - one directly to the engine room, and another directly to the right, striking directly in the ship's center of mass. Acoustic decoys, hastily deployed, had been useless - signal processing and a complex series of magnetic indications and pressure sensors had kept the torpedoes perfectly on their course - a jet of fire rose high into the sky, as it struck a fuel tank - the ship catching flame. Scraps of slag and metal rose, shot into the air with the force of the detonation, as the ship, having lost power, the lights flickering and dying as the ship rapidly sank. Another two struck one of its accompanying frigates - the ship cracking in two as the sheer force of the impact split it apart - screams broken by the detonations, by the great sounds of cracking steel - the groans of dead ships as they slipped below the waves rapidly. Hastily, from one of the frigates - they had activated their active sonars, searching desperately for the threat which had struck its comrades - and a single helicopter, desperately attempted to take off - but then the frigate, too, was struck.

And this, this was a rather spectacular detonation - fire in the night, as the torpedo struck the ship's magazine, storing the high-explosive ammunition for it's main gun system - and what followed was nothing short of a cascading set of failures. From one, came another - as the center of mass of the ship was struck - yet more fuel was spilled, more high-explosive munitions now suddenly exposed to the warm embrace of a spreading fire. One after another, pieces of metal were thrown hundreds of feet into the air, following unceremoniously - men floated in the water, their bodies charred - the helicopter having found no time to take off in such short notice, simply drifting with the waves in turn.

The first strike had been dealt - 14,000 tons of displacement, and nearly a third of the Montepassaran navy's total displacement entirely. The waking hours of the morning to come would bear with it the complete loss of patrol group one.

It would not be the last strike of the day.

Prepare for hostilities

•Montepassaro, Vesokean Sea, Badlands Frontier•

_{•06:00, September 14th, 2034•}

The nascent dawn set upon the nation of Montepassaro - perhaps, for the last time.

Those who had been awake in this part of the morning - they would be given a message no one had wished to hear. From every television and radio station, to government mail accounts - a single message was sent - one that would disturb the rest of the island, and its inhabitants.

We are the servants of her majesty, the Empress Lira.

It is by her will that she has ordained your sublimation into the Empire.

Your culture will adapt to service us.

In the end, you will realize the futility of your struggle, for there is no existence outside the Empire.

Embrace your new life, or perish as an example to others.

We offer you the mercy of purpose, to find your place within our Order.

You have six hours to comply.

Si Vila Vaykrayn.
Si desiin Imperarkvit.

Parliament was in silence. The Prime Minister was woken from his slumber, and the Minister of Defense was woken - each had been initially startled - and within moments, the situation had been... identified. The authorization codes were genuine - the message authentic - the threat, they assumed, real. Patrol Group One could not be contacted, not by radio nor by satellite - they could not be seen on RADAR, and every indication had pointed to their annihilation. Whoever was still asleep then would be no longer, as from the radios just afterwards - the local emergency alert system would be brought online. Patriot and Harpoon batteries would be brought online - swiveling and watching the sky and sea for the chance to defend their homeland on the very preliminary orders that would be brought out in the event as a part of a pre-planned contingency program.

EMERGENCY - IMMINENT THREAT OF INVASION - PREPARE FOR SUSTAINED HOSTILITIES - THIS IS NOT A DRILL - EMERGENCY

But the truth was - parliament was soon to be whipped into fury. Some, the hotheads - suggested that they should begin an immediate counterattack. Some, the cowards - suggested that they surrender now, and negotiate with the Empire. Others, of course, wanted immediate evacuations - to run to Thalassia, to Dolmot - even in the midst of civil war - anywhere was better than here. Yet, with the hesitation, the slow actions - the Minister of Defense had already begun his own war-planning - making a flurry of orders as mobilization began - roadblocks were established, and by an hour later - roadblocks had been established across the country. Even those, however, were overwhelmed - as some rushed to their boats in their own vain attempts to flee with their families.

From Aurora airbase, east of Porto Assur - F/A-18s would begin to take off - one after another - as the crackle of radio chatter came online. Yet, dread had pooled - in the hearts and minds of sailors, as the signs had indicated they were facing an opponent that was not one they could stand up to. For the young sailor Vittorio, this felt more true to him than to anyone else - he had seen, with seen, with horror, the onset of the Sylvarian Civil War - he had seen the march of the Shock Trooper's heel - he had seen what had became of that place - and in all those twenty-eight years of his life, he had never once dreamed that he would see it come upon his homeland then.

Sitting in the cockpit of his fighter, laden by his suit - he had dreamed back to those days he had spent - those youthful, happy days of frolicking in the fields of the verdant valleys, in the shadow of a mountain - taking the hand of his Bella, hand in hand - oh, how delicate was her little hand - and that face with those bright eyes of grey, that hair so dark and long - a smile bright with red-cherry lips. To dance, to play - to frolic and work on an island paradise, with the girl he loved. It was that, more than anything, he felt was at stake - that smile, the freedom to do as one pleased - to act according to one's desires, hopes, dreams. Yet, there was always that sobering reality - that all this struggle was, perhaps, pointless - their army was dwarfed, almost certainly, by the enemy - they had lost a third of their navy already. There was little he could do in his fighter, even with his squadron. A doomed fight - him, and everyone around him had known that.

But who would Vittorio be if he did not fight? If he had succumbed to tyranny - if those around him would have submit, utterly - who would stand in the defense of the world? His country was not Sylvaria - it did not possess the resources of the Daeva, nor the navy of Greater Marine - it did not wield politics as a blade as the Azmen government did - yet who would stand for Montepassaro? There was no one - no one to stand for Montepassaro except for the Montepassarans for themselves - and each and every one of those men knew that. They would die, perhaps - be taken as slaves, for those who survived. Through torment and anguish, through the flames of burning villages and high above in the sky - deep underwater, and riding south on those blue waves with steely eyes - they would not be known as the nation which knelt to the tyrant at the first taste of blood. He owed it to his bella, to the children he would never have with her - so that perhaps at least the memory of the valor in the fight for freedom might be passed down some rainy day, in the harshest embrace of chains - whispered under the gaze of cruel overseers.

To his death, perhaps, he went. But, as they would learn - it was better to have fought and died than to have lived for what was soon to come after. For what was to occur in short order was… predictable. Vittorio’s sortie did not go south - not yet, for the enemy was not yet in range - instead circling about the island with an air-to-air loadout prepared.

Parliament would take every moment of those six hours - they would spend each moment debating, taking in the relative merits of evacuation, of fighting, or of surrender - and with each moment, compelling arguments were made - some had thought that the better part of valor, of proving themselves fighters might go to history - and serve as an example of courage to others, who might one day fight and liberate them. Some preferred surrender - pointing out the conditions of those territories which had surrendered willingly to the Empire, and believing that valor was ultimately not worth the deaths of thousands of their citizenry. Some believed it best simply to run - to hide - but ultimately, through the impassioned pleas - consensus emerged.

They would stand - they would fight.

Unto their very last.

To the last

•Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•11:59, September 14th, 2034•}

There was little consideration for the struggles and hopes of a people aboard the Rising Shadow - the blackened mass of steel and weaponry that rose forty meters above the water - and one of the modern age's few, sparing battleships. Some had considered such a thing, the last death throe of an era long-gone by. Some, perhaps, had counted upon their own weaponry which they possessed in spades - their cruise missiles, their ballistic defenses, the great implements of the modern age to sweep aside the past - some, perhaps, considered it simply inefficient. Yet there was little in the way of those who would test those theories - not against a full Independent Subjugation Group.

With the lack of a response from the little island republic - such was considered all the signal they needed to begin their combat operations. From the black decks of carriers upon the grey sea - mist rising around them as they pierced through the ocean, aDB-24N fighter aircraft began to take off in conjunction with aDB-25N 4.5th generation multirole fighters - the entire battlegroup heading north at a moderate speed of twenty knots - forming two air defense squadrons, while DBSAP-220 early-warning and control aircraft had already been in the air -soaring high in the air as they monitored the growing buzz of transmissions.

The enemy, for all intents and purposes, were not morons - they did not dare venture south, outside the protective coverage of the Patriot missile batteries that had sheltered the island - neither on their frigates, which were now conducting regular ASW patrols with their helicopters - allowing themselves to make full usage of the island's harpoon batteries and it's surface-to-air missile systems. It would make some... some of the efforts of the various light hunter patrols more difficult. However - the enemy would lack any real answer to what was to come - the inevitable alpha strike - so it was that the imperial forces would prepare a multifaceted approach to the problem of dealing with the enemy.

The threat faced before them was evident - their own long-range search radar, corroborated with satellite imagery, had confirmed several things - for one - the positions of said batteries, and the positions of the ships in question. That being said, they were currently remaining at a standoff distance - about 600 kilometers away - with early warning aircraft up, they'd be able to identify launches of the enemy. With that being said - the threat had to be neutralized beforehand. So it was that the vertical-launch cells mounted on the Empress's Shadow, in conjunction with those on the VgN.4/99 cruisers - would begin to fire off their salvos - twenty ShV-260 anti-ship missiles, 10 fired from the Empress's Shadow, 5 from the VgN.4/99s, - and from the flying aDB-24s in their strike configuration, they would let their ChShR-90 decoys loose - exactly twelve of them, which rocketed off beforehand - traveling at a rather low speed in the beginning, but increasing as speed - picking up velocity as they accelerated to distract their targets.

Seven to the destroyer - 5 to each of the frigates - and another set of three as an added auxiliary, staggered somewhat to be fired behind the main line to provide a few-second's reaction time, in turn with the decoys - which would each attempt to fly in a similar trajectory up to the terminal phase - acting as distractions from the main assault as the main set shot up into the sky, tilted, and began to rocket out at faster than the speed of sound - flying low above the sea to avoid radar detection. They would scream over the sea, as callous purple eyes watched on with no shortage of unnecessary glee as they rocketed out towards their targets.

A game, is what it was. A game to those who had launched those missiles, a game to those who would land on those black sands - it was not quite taken seriously. The struggles of a nation and a people, these were but the toppings upon a cake of cruelty - the anguish, the suffering - it mattered little in the face of the Empress's will. For all the rhetoric and justifications of a nation shouted out with glee to the world, it was not the ultimate salvation of the human race that was held in those hearts of deep purple - it was a heart fueled by the very consequences and conduct of war - of conquest itself. Perhaps, to see the light of hope be extinguished from the eyes of a lesser being - perchance, to witness as freedom was stomped out and obliterated as a concept before the overwhelming superiority of the Empire. An exercise, even - an exercise in cruelty and in the exertion of power.

Such, perhaps, was what drove this action - beyond the veil of callous calculation, it was something else - a more fundamental cruelty.
A shroud of sensibility that disguised an unquenchable drive for the further acquisition of things - here, there, in the very recesses of humanity's underworld - to grace the tallest peaks and to seize them for the Empress. As those missiles roared, and as VLS systems soon roared in turn to answer the call of those missiles - too little, far too late - there was naught but the consideration for an ultimate victory - not salvation, but conquest itself.

In addition to those initial strikes - there would be additional strikes to be made against the patriot battery looking south - a further sixty-four ShV-260s, in their land-strike configuration - this was intended ultimately to pulverize that battery to prevent them from reacting to the strike against the few ships there. Such was borne from the Imperial strike doctrine - utilizing certain ships with highly capable, long range cruise missiles fired from themselves - in conjunction with a more typical airborne strike - this, to ensure saturation from a number of sources with the intent of totally eliminating the capability of the enemy to react to all threats simultaneously.

Of course, there would be a response.
The enemy would, with the advent of the missile salvos - begin to furiously fire off salvos of ESSMs in the vain hope of interception - and indeed, in the short span that remained - some of those missiles would be indeed. But, beset by jamming from aDB-27 electronics warfare aircraft - they would receive spoofed responses, seeing radar ghosts where none truly existed, and firing at those ghosts - while the threats themselves remained pertinent as they screamed towards. There would be no true answer to what came after that - even as some were intercepted, two of the ShV-260s would slam into the destroyer - detonating with several concussive blows that ripped truly massive holes in the vessel - which began to list, as men screamed and as metal was ripped from its mountings and into the air.

The frigates would find no luck either - being slammed with the missiles, and in turn, finding no recourse or real way to escape their fate - sinking rapidly in turn as the missiles slammed into them without much regards to the fate of the crew nor the ultimate fate of the civilization they represented. In turn - skimming low above the water, and screaming over through the landscape - the Patriot battery would fire valiantly, to the utmost of its capabilities - but ultimately, it would be eliminated.

And so it was - war was active - the Montepassaran navy was, simply put, no more - and so was about 50% of the nation's entire capabilities of long-range air defense. The war had just begun - the bunkers had been prepared, and men lay in wait - time would tell how much it would ultimately matter in the time to come.

Rules
1. Posts not composed by myself should be limited to responses from news institutions or the foreign ministries of governments.
2. Declarations of war/military deployments to the Badlands are not yet allowed, unless with my express permission.
3. Posts should be high in quality, including proper spelling, length, and content.
4. No godmodding/powermodding.

by **Foggycap** » Sun Sep 15, 2024 3:41 pm

In response to the claims of invasion, per movements on KTO satellites, and open intelligence shared between Gonswamza and Foggycap, a broadcast was delivered to Montepassaro. Even in the midst of an invasion.

Code: Select all: To all who can travel, to all who can flee- Minstekko opens our arms for you! We are perhaps one of the closest to the action, offering our protection as our land is open to thee! We are aware of the slaver cult due to destroy you, thus, we shall defend your kin with our lives! Even if we are unable to act, not directly, we shall host your government in exile, your people, so as to avoid a massacre like that orchestrated in other regions under the guise of a spontaneous infection. Margaret shall personally shake your hands, as you settle in to protected shelters, to wait out the storm and perhaps reclaim your glory. May Gaia guide your paths, may she protect you all in these troubled times.

by **Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries** » Mon Sep 16, 2024 6:18 am

SIC (I guess):

"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants."

— Thomas Jefferson

Beisinghausen Small Arms Expo

Whispers of the war thousands of miles away had trickled rapidly over to Stratusia. Two men in suits, visibly of higher standing, rested in a lounge, the entire VIP lounge was empty, except for them. The common visitor seeking to get their hands on a new firearm or look at the new relases and upcoming prototypes and prospects were below, clamoring for a look.

"This is bullshit!" cried out the man in the gray suit across from Gerhard.

Gerhard Sprechter sighed. A level headed man, he was the director of the state-owned defense conglomerate Waffenfabrik Stier. Across from him sat Aleksandr Mihaily Federovich, his antithesis, the firey-worded CEO of Quartiermeister-Bewaffnung GmbH, the family-owned armaments provider dedicated to civilian defense.

Gerhard knocked a shot of schnapps.

"You know, this is a dicey issue. We are the not-quite member-observer in the ISD, run by Arakhar, and the KTO doesn't seem to quite approve, but they are too reluctant to do anything..."

Aleksandr shook his head disaprovingly.

"Thousands of people will die! We need to help them!"

Gerhard finally snapped. He slammed the shotglass on the table, giving the bartender a jump

"You know what? Thousands of people already die! Don't you remember the The Fekundan Civil War? Paberian Civil War? Lots of people died! It doesn't matter if we intervene or not, they're gonna die anyway!"

Aleksandr took in the notion with shock. They had been comrades and squadmates of the 112th Motorized Infantry Division, and Gerhard was the strong-willed, level headed mediator.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm carving my own path. At least I'm not a government lapdog. The people of Montepassaro have a right to defend their... Heimatland, just as we did ours from Japan in '39."

"Fine! Go... go ship off more weapons! Don't fucking come back sobbing to the government when the Arakharis sink your silly blockade runners!"

Aleksandr stormed off, out of the expo grounds. He would make the world change for the better. Montepassaro deserved a fighting chance.

Gerhard began his unveiling of the Obr. 2024M Sturmkarabiner 61, the newest generation of Sturmkarabiner.

The people of Montepassaro have a right to defend their Heimatland. Aleksandr's words continued to echo in his head. Perhaps Aleksandr was right. Perhaps Montepassaro had the right to defend itself.

He ran the largest defense conglomerate in the SRoM. Perhaps he could make some changes for the better as well.

OOC Autor notes:
1. If possible I want to do a Blockade running style RP where Quartiermeister-Bewaffnung GmbH runs guns and aid packages into Montepassaro while avoiding Arakhari naval assets.
2. It would be insanely funny if Weltkria rolled up
3. MACV SOG time coming up (maybe)

by **Arakhkhar** » Tue Sep 17, 2024 7:56 pm

Terror and Dismay

•the skies above Montepassaro, Vesokean Sea, Badlands Frontier•

_{•08:23, September 15th, 2034•}

The smoldering wrecks of a missile system had not yet ceased burning, and the sinking wrecks of the naval force had not yet slipped underneath the waves - before the next stage in the Imperial plan was to be executed. The beginning of the war had bore with it the elimination of the Montepassaran surface force - and yet, the subsurface threat remained, as they had very well known. The light-hunter patrols and the Vixen-pack would continue to search on for the enemy submarine threat, while slowly tightening the circle ever nearer to Montepassaro proper - such action, however, would take a back-seat to what was soon to take place in the air.

Vittorio's squadron of F/A-18s would take off for the last time - the engines roaring once again in a somber cacophony - one after another, as some had wanted some new effort for some strike against the Imperial fleet. It was not something that would be entirely without a bite - the volume, would simply not work. They had been wanting them to carry, each, two AGM-158 LRASMs - with the intent on striking the Imperial fleet from afar, and then quickly retreating - however, they lacked the volume to ensure saturation - a simple 24 missiles. It was as such that rather than attempt the impossible - they would instead carry their air-to-air loadouts, and attempt to prevent the Arakhkhari Aerospace Forces from establishing air-superiority or from conducting SEAD. They would carry, naturally, as many AIM-120 AMRAAMs as they could possible hold, with a pair of Sidewinders to boot.

To compensate for their lack of stealth, or means of detecting it - they would fly close to the island, where one Patriot battery remained, trying to maintain constant sorties in conjunction with their F-16 squadron - maintaining a constant cycling between them to try to prevent the inevitable. What they could not do, however, was to prepare for what was to come afterwards.

In the rising orange sky - 12 black shapes darted and whisked about - storming through. Purple visors which covered the whole face, showing a frenzy of targeting information and flight data to the callous pilots - the aDB-24s had taken flight. There - they would opt towards their own strategy. Rather than cross into the range of the Patriot battery before enemy air units were eliminated, nor enter the range of the formidable AIM-120, they would instead opt to using standoff air-to-air weaponry in internal bays - utilizing a datalink to the DBSAP-220 AWACS to provide midcourse guidance at long ranges. They would have to approach quietly - remaining at high altitude to give the missiles more energy, and suddenly kicking their afterburners in to give every joule of energy before firing off two VTShR-110s each - two for each of their targets, and they fired from a total of 230 kilometers away - taking a picket strategy, and then backing off.

Without even knowing they had been detected, or what had fired against them, the radar-warning receivers of the F/A-18s would kick in - too little, too late. Every attempt to dodge when the missiles still held a considerable degree of their kinetic energy from those measures taken earlier had resulted either in a dodge of one - and a hit from the other - or both finding their marks. The squadron was wiped out - leaving a dangerous gap in Montepassaran air-defense capabilities. The Montepassaran airforce would soon make its second decision which would leave it vulnerable - rather than launch their F-16s for a new sortie, they opted to keep them grounded - only to engage once a detection had been made at suitably close range - effectively relegating it to a reactionary force. This, however, would be the aim and intent of the most recent strike.

To immediately follow it was the beginning of yet another mission - that of conducting SEAD. A squadron of aDB-27 aircraft, specially designed for this purpose, would begin their own roaring into the sky - the electromagnetic catapults offering a quick, near-immediate launch as the carrier air-wing prepared for its strike against local air-defense systems - something which was to be timed with cruise-missile strikes against the island's coastal defense missile batteries, power infrastructure, and command and control centers. This would be matched with aDB-25s, which would follow along in a single squadron to provide necessary air-to-air combat duties. It would fall upon the A.N.S Rising Shadow once again to conduct strikes against coastal defense batteries, and a second squadron of aDB-25s to provide the killing blow against Montepassaran air defense.

They soared high into the air, the morning sun to the east not yet high in the air - creating an almost picturesque image, the black outlines of the forms of the aircraft silhouetted against the sun's beaming glare, laden with anti-radiation missiles - the Montepassarans, forced to conduct EMCON, would be effectively blinded of their air-defense capabilities - as the Patriot battery’s radar would detect incoming missiles. Reasoning that they were homing on that signal - they would shut off their radar, as they prepared to reposition themselves quite rapidly. Meanwhile, the squadrons - now over land - would begin their own efforts. Satellite imagery had held, and they still knew the location of the Patriot battery’s launchers - and it was as such that from the 12-plane aDB-25 squadron assigned to that task would begin to fire off their own GShKR-80 air-to-ground missiles - from each, two of them - with two for each launcher, and the remainder of the missiles being sent to attack the radar post, command center, and ammunition depots.

This, would, ultimately - eliminate the battery - as missiles came in, slamming at subsonic speeds along and eventually detonating their 450kg warheads without much of an issue - finally clearing the way for strikes against other infrastructure. Yet, with all these clinical assessments - the war of numbers and screens against each other - there still remained what the people would witness on the ground. Some would record videos of Imperial aircraft flying over their homes - of the screams of missiles, and the sounds of detonations ringing through the valley. And yet - it was all to come to a head - as the fleet would begin its approach... as a nascent bombing campaign began - targeting critical infrastructure before the attack, as rippling strikes against internet, power transformers, and radars began - the rolling thunder had now reached across the land - leaving no reprieve, neither for soldier nor civilian.

Come hither the drums of war

•Sabblanerra, Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•12:21, September 15th, 2034•}

Sabblanera.

The black sand beaches for which the city was named - the great home of Montepassaro's many tourist programs, and one of the finest resort places in the Badlands. Stationed there were the coastal defenses of the Montepassarans - Harpoon missile batteries, and nearly a full brigade of infantry north of them to act as a military force for responses. Nothing, however, could have prepared the city - as the fleet approached, they remained mindful of those batteries. Reconnaissance was extensive beforehand - and the locations of the batteries were known.

And so a decision was made - before beginning the attack - the Rising Shadow would begin their efforts. However, something different would take place - with the rather often usage of costly cruise missile ordinance earlier being something that they were not interested in repeating when there were more... cost effective means of threatening those batteries... the three 18" turrets, with subcaliber munitions, had the range to fire out of range of those batteries - able to fire at 180 kilometers out. Slowly, they would steer into position even as the efforts of the naval aviation maintained near-constant strike sorties.

The Troopers would stare out unto the sea - and some of them would stare at the great gunnery. With the mechanical hum, they shifted into position as the great battleship slowed - the turrets humming, and rising up as precise, fine calculations were done in the blink of an eye by powerful fire-control computers working in tandem with existing targeting data.

And what followed afterwards was truly... deafening.
One after another, the horrendous sound - the great blasts of naval artillery, in one of the first direct combat uses they had seen in the existence of this vessel. Fire shot out from the barrels, and casings discarded - as subcaliber rounds were propelled at 1,600m/s towards their targets - finned, and with onboard GPS guidance - they could effectively steer towards their targets with pinpoint precision, without the expense of a full missile - soaring through the air, and now, with no real opposition from the air that could threaten the battle-group - the forces at the site were defenseless against them. Nearly a full hour continued throughout the entire bombardment - and as the batteries were eliminated - they could begin to approach closer - as the Anguish transports could follow in turn. Approaching ever nearer, the naval task force split itself into two groups - the carriers remaining at 100 kilometers away, with a portion of the escorts going with - and with the second force, approaching the shore - with its landing force, led by the Rising Shadow - this would be taken at a heading where they could still fire their artillery - using high-explosive shells at 60-70 kilometers against the approximate position of defensive emplacements - organized so quickly, the units of the Montepassaran 2nd Infantry Battalion could not have even created a sufficient defense.

The slow approach. The anxiety in their minds, as they waited within their landing craft - the Troopers had none of that anxiety. How could there be, when the pride of the fleet stood behind them? When they had stood in Bodroasia, and landed on those shores - it was a slaughter then, and they had felt it was going to be one now. As they sailed - helicopter gunships flew overhead, carrying their own mobile infantry - with anti-aircraft batteries already eliminated, they would fly low - and to the west, where they could land troops safely to seize vital roads and bridges to the west - preventing the enemy from joining the fight in the west. In the meanwhile, the 1st Amphibious would approach under the cover of heavy artillery fire - every position identified by reconnaissance, every hiding place blasted with high-explosive shells as they approached. When they did finally come up onto land - the black metal clashing and following onto the fine black sand - the roar of new engines came about, as AIV-31I infantry fighting vehicles came out unto the shore in turn with TT-44 "Arachnid" Armored Personnel Carriers - the rat-a-tat of machinegun-fire and shellfire all around them, as autocannons now joined the mix.

In foxholes and hastily-dug trenches, cratered by artillery fire - the remnants of the 2nd Infantry Battalion continued, against all odds, to fight - even as Shock Troopers dismounted and came to the ground, rifles readied and following behind a mechanized wave - they would not surrender the beach. The screams and shouts of men as they tried, desperately, to wage war - but it would not last. Concussive artillery, the screams of the dying in the daytime - the constant sound of automatic fire. The Troopers who seemed invincible and indefatigable - and in just an hour, the beachhead was finally secured.

It was the village of Salezio that was the first to bear witness - a quaint little arrangement. It was hardly a scattering of homes sitting atop a gently sloping hill - overlooking the black sand beaches. They watched with horror as the black battlecruisers and the Rising Shadow bombarded the coast - those same brave young boys whom they had just served with fresh, warm meals - they had known their reassurances - that it would just be a short engagement, that they would go on to war bravely and drive out the invaders. Even if their eyes told the truth, the villagers had wanted to believe those precious, sweet lies - that blessed, naive image of war, where the young men would ride off and drive out the enemy, and return as the valiant defenders to their Bella. Even as fire had thundered earlier in the day, they had hoped - hoped that there would still be a fight ahead, one with that glorious victory ahead of them.

But when they saw the black vehicles roll up through those twisting and gravelly roads, columns of Shock Troopers moving alongside - as more and more yet landed on those black sand beaches which they had known and loved, once - it was met only with silence.
Only with stunned awe could they meet the purple gaze of the invaders.

Only with silence did they watch the purple banners come hither.

And only with contempt were they treated thereafter.

by **Socalist Republic Of Mercenaries** » Wed Sep 18, 2024 10:09 am

Quartiermeister-Bewaffnung Headquarters

Aleksandr Mihaily Federovich stood in front of the camera, the dim light casting shadows over the small, improvised studio in the corner of his office. The place was no more than a bare concrete room with a single tattered flag hung up on the back of the wall, cleared of any major identifiers, yet its coldness gave it an air of seriousness. He checked himself in the small mirror propped against the wall. His attire was simple—a tan polo shirt that fit snugly over the upper half his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up once, a pair of black aviators hiding his sharp, calculating eyes, and a Multicam balaclava obscuring the rest of his face. He was a firey speaker, and his college buddies and high school buddies back from the in the Stratusian Revolutionary Youth League knew really well.

He adjusted the aviators, and walked over, taking a seat on the folding chair.

He had transformed himself into "Der Quartiermeister", a persona meant to be as enigmatic as possible. It was Aleksandr’s way of staying hidden in plain sight, to inspire and recruit while keeping a shred of anonymity intact. The thin balaclava felt uncomfortable, but necessary, and almost suffocating. He looked behind him, the flag of the Spanish International Brigade, tattered from conflict, now framed up behind him. It was part of the family collection, and perfect for the occasion.

"Ready?" Aleksandr's voice was muffled behind the balaclava but firm.

The RCA-TK-40, a camera from 1954, the only true color television camera they had at the moment, came to life.

He shuffled the paper, straightening out the seams before tapping it gently on the table, clearing his throat.

"My friends, my comrades, my fellow freedom fighters," Aleksandr began, his voice deep and resolute, with the weight of leadership behind it. His words echoed off the cold walls.

"Tonight, Montepassaro stands alone. Our brothers in arms bearing the war-banner of the free world are bleeding as we speak."

He drew in a quiet breath through his teeth.

"For too long, we have watched from the sidelines as the oppressive slaver-state of Arakhkhar trample over the free and the brave. But no longer. We stand on the edge of a great fight. A fight for freedom, for justice, and for the preservation of nations like Montepassaro. This tiny island nation, which represents the hopes and dreams of its people, stands as a symbol of resistance. But they need us. They need you."

He paused, taking in a breath, while pointing to the camera, before returning to his speaking pose.

"Sylvaria, beautiful Sylvaria, dismantled by civil war. The Arakharis came in, and swept up. Assimalated. Sylvaria, once a beacon of the free world..."

Pausing again, he held for a whole second, to add in dramatic affect.

"Snuffed out."

He let the last word hang in the air, drawing in those watching. Aleksandr had carefully crafted this speech, knowing it needed to strike deep, to ignite something visceral in the hearts of potential recruits. He knew clearly couldn’t rely on pure facts or military rhetoric—he needed emotion, fervor, and the promise of something bigger. A promise for adventure. For glory. For ideas.

“We, the International Legion for Intervention in Montepassaro, call upon the brave and the willing. It does not matter if you have no experience, no rank, no title. What matters is your courage, your commitment, and your belief in the cause. We are ordinary people—students, workers, dreamers—who have said ‘enough is enough.’ We will not stand idly by. Montepassaro will not fall like Slyvaria! ”

He formed a fist, and slammed the table. His cameraman jumped slightly.

"Under the banner of freedom, we will fight. We will defend Montepassaro against tyranny. We will show the world that the power of the people cannot be silenced by the clanking of tanks or the roar of jets. We will be the shield and the sword. We will be the future."

Aleksandr didn’t waver. He maintained a careful balance of authority and inspiration. He paused again. He had lost his spot! Frantically, behind his stoic façade of an inspiring leader, his eyes scanned for where he left off.

"Join us, not as soldiers, but as guardians of freedom. Montepassaro needs its defenders. You can be one of them. Fight for something greater. Fight for what is right. Let us show the Arakharis, their offensive will drown in their own blood. Will you stand with Montepassaro? Or will you let them fall, like Sylvaria?"

He looked for the line after, he felt that something was missing. Nothing, blank. A short phrase, of Latin origin popped into his head.

"Sic semper tyrannis." And thus to the tyrants, how fitting.

With those final words, Aleksandr held his stare into the camera for a few more seconds. His covered face revealed nothing, but his eyes, hidden behind the black aviators, felt the weight of what he’d just set in motion.

The technician gave a small nod as the camera clicked off, the faint hum dying down. Aleksandr exhaled deeply. The speech was over, the message delivered. Now it was out of his hands.

He took off his aviators, and pulled off the balaclava, which stank of prespiration. Noticing his face, now slick with sweat, he reached into a bucket of towels he left beneath the table, and wiped his face off.

"Shit..."

He pushed those thoughts aside. There was no room for uncertainty. The video would be uploaded to every social media platform within the next hour, and the Legion would have its soldiers, ready or not.

He rubbed the sweat off his face, and glanced at the technician.

"Send it," he muttered, his voice roughened with fatigue, but still sharp.

With a hit of a button, ripples were set in motion. The ISI would be on to it in minutes, most definitely, the world within a day.

OOC: I plan on sending a legion of 2,300 untrained redditors to get absolutely steamrolled by Arakhari shock troops because it would be funny, if that's allowed of course.

by **Arakhkhar** » Wed Sep 18, 2024 11:25 pm

OOC to SROM:
It would be somewhat difficult to get foreign fighters in at the moment. It is not quite like Ukraine, with a wide-open land border.

That, and the war will be over in... anywhere from five days to about a week. I honestly doubt one would be able to get there in any time to mean anything.

Family Responsibilities

•Montepassaro•

_{•13:23, September 15th, 2034•}

Journal of L. Sagliavici, 15.9.2034
Entry 3

The sound of thunder rumbles still in the valleys - yet there was no lightning to match them - only the black daggers of the invader cutting across the throat of the sky. Smoke rises from the city that I had known for so long, in those tall, pillars of grey and black in the distance. There is a rumbling in the sky, and sometimes, it becomes deafening.

Karl asked me a question, today - he asked when everything would be fine again. I could not tell him the truth, and so I choked out a reassurance - 'Soon, my son - everything will be fine' I spoke to him then - but I would suppose even a child could see that I was not sure myself of what our fate would be. I could see it in those big eyes of his, that he knew in turn - something silent conveyed in the look we shared, or in my tone of voice.

I have seen the trucks roll by through the village. I counted twenty,-two and the men inside them had a serious look - all of them, riding south. Older than Karl, certainly - but not considerably. I do not believe they truly knew what they were doing nor where they were truly going.

It is no secret, where they go - Maria, she spoke of the happenings on the coast. I had wished my prayers to those young boys for victory - but I must confess that the others do not believe. I must, for the safety of my family, count myself among those who would not put stock in those men - they had been boys.

I have seen the look in their youthful eyes, and it was no look of confident victory. It was a look in the eyes I had seen before - the look of my Son, when we had been stranded in the mountains all those years ago - that look of loss, of some form of hopelessness - and yet, we had made it out of there, then - which is something I cannot say for certain we would have now.

So many are predisposed to the idea of this war being unwinnable already - so much as what has taken place can be called war, and not as the simple trampling of the flowers in the garden. ~~I must ask,~~ (Erased scribbling)

Everyone speaks of the enemy - what they have done in Sylvaria, or to Kurvental - yet it was always so far to me, then. How could we truly have taken stock in something that had taken place across the breadth of the Badlands - how could we have regarded it with anything more than a passing, transient horror - one that faded with the very next flourish of the next tragedy in the next day?

Something we had never considered, I would suppose. Too late to think back to then, and to what we could have done now - not that I personally am responsible for anything other than my family. But it is with them in mind that I have made a decision that would affect us all - I have spoken with Maria, and we have agreed - we will leave for Savoscia. The boys in the trucks, in their fresh uniforms - they told us it was a safe place, that the government wants people to go there - that there is food, shelter, such things there. Most have taken that offer already - and more and more, I see the wagon-carts coming north, filtering through. I do not know if our salvation lays in Savoscia, but for the sake of bright-eyed Karl - of my darling Maria, and the smile of my sweet little Natalina - I will do what I must.

The road is clogged with the huddled of those coming from Sabbianera - this gives us time to pack our things. I have been told only to take the essentials, that we may go home soon. I do not believe that to be the case.

I will write more before we have departed.

by **Primeva** » Thu Sep 19, 2024 7:08 am

Dronninglund Palace

The Queen Regent and her courtiers were at lunch when news of the invasion arrived. Frida Sellander-Rosey and those with her were enjoying a meal of top sirloin roast beef seasoned with dry herbs and covered in gravy, along with potatoes and salad. It was the sort of meal the average Primevan might get to experience only a few times in their entire life, and the Queen Regent's poorest subjects might never taste. The succulent food was washed down with glasses of imported wine and sparkling water sweetened with fruit syrup. The Queen Regent was in a good mood - her ice-blue eyes sparkled with mirth as she conversed with the assortment of ladies and gentlemen who had secured places in orbit around the royal family. Some held positions of actual significance, and others were simply members of important families who could not excluded without ruffling delicate plumage.

Into this pleasant scene strode two men - one in the livery of the court and another in the uniform of the Royal Commonwealth Defense Forces. The footman made a discreet sound that caught the Queen Regent's attention, bowed, and said, "Your Majesty, Colonel Nels Janniksen, from the..."

"Yes, I know who he is, Ralf," the Queen Regent snapped. To her lunch guests, she said in a less harsh tone, "He's the poor soul the Ministry of Defense sends to tell me bad news."

The footman said nothing in reply, but Colonel Janniksen took two steps closer, bowed, and said, "Your Majesty, there has been a development which Minister Preben thought you should be informed of immediately. May we speak in private?"

The Queen Regent sighed. "Fine. Await me in the drawing room. I will be there momentarily."

Colonel Janniksen bowed again and left, following Ralf the footman to a nearby door. Frida rose from her seat, causing a sudden clatter as the other people at the table rushed to set down utensils and rise from their own places. "Hopefully this will not be long," Frida said with a pointed glance towards the retreating colonel. "And then I shall rejoin you, and finish this wonderful meal. Please, carry on in my absence."

The circle of courtiers around the table bowed as the Queen Regent excused herself and walked to the drawing room. She moved with practiced grace - no matter what this annoying man had to tell her, she would not threaten her royal dignity by showing any sign of hurrying. Ralf opened the door for her, allowing the Queen Regent to sweep into the well-furnished room. The footman remained in the room, standing dutifully by the now closed door. "Privacy" for a monarch never meant being truly alone - one always had to have servants on hand. Colonel Janniksen had learned this lesson during the many briefings he had delivered during the Sylvarian crisis.

"Your Majesty," he began after bowing once more. "It appears that Arakhkhar has launched another invasion. This time they have targeted the island of Montepassaro..."

"I know that name," Frida remarked. "How do I know that name...oh! I believe I spent a very pleasant vacation there, prior to marrying dearly departed Gustav."

"It is a popular tourist destination," Janniksen affirmed. "Unfortunately, it is currently under air and missile bombardment by the Arakhkharis, and we expect that landings of troops aren't far off. It seems unlikely that the island will hold out for more than a few days."

"What a shame," Frida said. "They had such nice beaches. And the weather was simply gorgeous." She paused in her reverie. "Why did the Minister of Defense see fit to interrupt my lunch with this news? This island is on the other side of the region. Surely we would rather their attention be directed as far from us as possible."

"Minister Preben believes that it is a worrying escalation of Arakhkhari aggression..."

"More worrying than shoving half of Sylvaria into their maw?" Frida sniffed in disdain. "Colonel, please thank the Minister for his continuing diligence, but kindly inform him that not every regional event requires my immediate and personal attention. This seems like something that could have waited until our next scheduled meeting."

"My apologies, Your Majesty," the colonel said with a short bow. "I will give your message to Minister Preben."

"Thank you. Now, Colonel, I am going to return to my lunch. Please refrain from bothering me unless some truly concerning crisis erupts."

The Queen Regent swept past the Colonel, ignoring his bow. Ralf seamlessly opened the door as she approached, allowing her to continue back to the dining room without ever breaking her stride. Again the clatter of silverware on porcelain as the courtiers rose and bowed as she approached. She waved them back to their seats and took her own.

"Honestly, you'd think sometimes I was the only person in this government with a functioning mind," the Queen Regent said. "Now, where were we? I believe we were discussing your children, Lady Hilmar?"

by **Arakhkhar** » Fri Sep 20, 2024 12:11 am

Caution

•Sabblanera, Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•September 16th, 2034•}

The continuation and the development of the acts of war continued on without hesitation nor any form of mercy - the onslaught continued without so much as a consideration for what the people had wished, and in the course of battle - several accomplishments were made through the exploitation of breakthroughs on the operational level - men and women alike had fled from their villages, seeking refuge via the routes to Savoscia - only to find that their struggles were pointless. Guarding the bridges they had thought were their routes to safety - with eyes of horror, they found only vigilant Shock Troopers, and their TT-44 armored personnel carriers - forming roadblocks and checkpoints. The roads were closed - and in the pace of the advance, they had stunned almost everyone in the area - the Montepassaran military still yet impotent to act with any form of coherence.

With the advance - the headquarters of the 2nd Infantry Battalion in Livolia was stormed by force - and with it, the roads and bridge north seized. There was no escape for the elements of the 2nd Infantry Battalion, now - which had been trapped in Paladena - a town which was now facing the foremost struggle of its existence. With the encirclement of Paladena complete, the citizens and the military alike now began the process of digging in - resorting to the usage of couriers and paper maps, in the face of their complete lack of adequate equipment to deal with radio jamming, which, by now, had grown omnipresent. They remained under constant barrage from 160mm artillery fire - and in between each bombardment, they were met by assault conducted by infantry fighting vehicle - the Shock Troopers within fighting with a ruthless onslaught, and always forcing the Montepassarans to give up yet another trench line - never quite able to settle in against near constant strikes from loitering munitions such as the H-24, which had eviscerated more than a few Montepassarans in their trench lines - all to the lament and horror of the local populace - which tried, desperately, to survive the assault. Some of the particularly brave, however, attempted to bring home-cooked meals to the soldiers defending them - even under fire from artillery and air untis.

Livolia itself had only a token force for its own defense - two platoons of infantry, alongside the local police forces. The local citizenry, even, with a small army of pensioners - those who had wished merely to defend their homes with old bolt-action rifles and hunting weaponry, joining the defense out of nothing more than impromptu patriotism, stood alone against the advance - but despite their valor, they were unable to compete with a force which had known where they were at all times, which had swept aside all previous resistance - and which did the very same to them in the present moment, leveraging extreme advantage in numbers, firepower, and information to decisively crush the small force. After just two hours of fighting - Livolia, a town of roughly 11,000, had fallen - as the mayor had surrendered at gunpoint, thus far the largest town to be taken - but not the last. Along the southern coast - a company of mechanized units were sent to seize the coastal towns and villages, accomplishing the task in five hours - with a negotiated surrender being accomplished in the same day. The bulk of the 10th Armored Shock Division continued north - but were slowed down by some of the scattered partisans who had settled in the hilly passes. Gunships, Shock Infantry, and infantry fighting vehicles would continue to fight throughout the day - and on that western front, the advance was only fifteen kilometers in depth - but it was done with minimal casualties, while inflicting rather horrifying losses on local Gendarmes and partisan unit - ensuring the next day's advance could go practically unopposed.

In the east, around Sabblanera itself - the pincers began to close - to the west and east, elements of the 1st Amphibious continued to storm through - seizing the coastal town of Iavaci within the day, and with a similar drive to the south - placing the entire southern flank at risk. Encirclement, by this point, was certain by the end of the next day. A sustained air assault against the city had sparked several fires, as several of the town's gas stations and unattended power services had caught fire - with the complete breakdown of the local fire department, there were none to respond to the fire itself - with only the old and stubborn, who had refused to evacuate - or those who had been unable to, perhaps assuming that the military would hold longer, left to fend for themselves. Efforts continued throughout the entire day to fight fire under sustained artillery fire - a courageous effort, perhaps, as many sought to save the city.

On the northern front, on the eastern bank of the local river - the offensive was stalled. Elements of the Montepassaran 1st Armored Brigade had responded in enough time - and with the narrow pass, the 10th Amphibious, with a lack of heavily armored equipment such as the A-70I main battle tank and the Imperial Air Force focused on other fronts - the decision was made not to continue the offensive in that area until heavy artillery and the air units could be brought in to eliminate the threat - in short, to wait until the fall of Sabblanera and the elimination of the pocket in Paladena, along with the rest of the 2nd Montepassaran Infantry Battalion. This gave valuable time to those few refugees who had opted to take the northern route, to Porto Assur - but it would also heavily complicate the logistics of defending such a narrow pass.

The Imperial Air Force was not impotent - hitting convoys to the north, preventing the reinforcement of the limited unit defending the mountain pass - and using bunker-busters against the armored stockpiles and hangars in and around the city of Aurora - effectively putting an end to any chance of the Montepassarans ever again launching another air wing.

The war proceeded according to the Imperial Design.

By the Vicereine's Will.

Illegibility

•Montepassaro•

_{•September 16th, 2034•}

Journal of L. Sagliavici, 16.9.34
Entry 4

The rumbling goes on to the North and south. I could not sleep in the night, I simply could not - what sleep could there be in such a place?

Sleep, I have learned, is a privilege reserved for the dead.

I had very nearly earned my rest earlier - the refugees, coming in from the city - some of them were not quite as amenable as I would have hoped. Late in the night, when the moon shone above and I lay awake - a man had came to our door, and he wanted provisions for his journey. I explained to him that I had a family of my own to feed, my wife, my son - and my little daughter - and yet, he would not relent - he spoke that he had his own, and that I was a cruel man for not allowing them to eat. He was younger than I was, a little taller - and with very angry eyes, as though the idea of relaxation was foreign in his mind.

I did what I had to do, then. Yet, I cannot get the sound of the screaming out of my head - the fight was short, and he ran out. I pray to Christ that he has found some help after the fact - and yet, I had to dwell on the origins of such an attack. Such a man could very well have been my neighbor - perhaps I may have bought bread at some point from him, before this present state of affairs.

It wasn't anger, I recall now as I write this. It was fear. Not of me, nor of starvation - but fear of fate itself. I can, at the least, understand that fear - for I know it well. And yet, as I write this - I cannot imagine yet taking my hand against my fellow man. Perhaps this is what they want. Yet, though I may understand fear, I have yet to reconcile with it - and that of others.

Perhaps I should have given him something - crumbs, yes, but what more could I spare? Anything to avoid what more present violence already takes place. The Lord knows, there is already more violence than there had ought to be on this island - as I yet put these words to pen, I am fully aware that such a scene may very well be repeated a hundred, no, a thousand times over.

I spent the full night watching the outside. I am unarmed, yes, but still formidable enough even in my age to urge the wiser among the fearful not to believe I am easy to rob. Others in the town were not so lucky - the Cagliaris had joined that endless stream of refugees, and mere minutes after they had left home - their home was stripped clean of everything they did not take with them or bolt down - I saw those ragged hordes carrying off sofas, that precious little vase that the old man bought so many years ago - yet I could not say or do anything to stop it. Had I gone out there, they surely would have entered my own home - and I do not wish to think of what would happened, then. The night passed with much ardor.

The sound of thunder and of rumbling continued to roll out throughout. There were fires, I saw, such horrible fires - all of Sabblanera seemed to have been set aglow, with the touch of inferno - and I knew than that I had seen what I believed was the end. The fear, I knew then, was a justified one. These invaders - they are not like the pirates who had came before, those years ago. It was war, then, when those men had soundly defeat ed the enemy - a human enemy.

But how can we defeat the black spears which pierce through the day and the night?
How can we fight and prevail against that which seems everywhere?
I am not one to fight this - I could not.

We've prepared everything for our departure. The crowd of refugees appears to have dispelled - I'll try to leave as soon as we are able and we've packed everything we could ha(illegible)

That noise

it is an engine, but not the one I have heard earlier

A growling like some beast I could not known before in all these years

Eyes of violet

Shine so bright

Through the window

She found me

(Illegible)

by **Foggycap** » Fri Sep 20, 2024 2:45 am

ISIC:
A telegram was sent to Foggycap, relayed to Gonswanza, offering an urgent message. Yet, it resulted in no action, before a draft was made for a speech. Given the lack of fleeing civilians spotted, at least, off the coast of Minstekko, and a lack of response from other nations beyond empty words (if that), Margaret, who was meant to be a rational leader, had started to act irrationally.

Then again, she let her emotions swell, kicking over her desk as it slid to a stop in the air, the instruments of her own destruction only working to mask her fit, before she got around to fixing her office.

Yet, she was considering her next move. Angelica already was deciding to cut relations, Gonswanza was out of reach. Even if she screamed into the void, it just would not answer.

So she pushed to change the narrative to see if others would react, beyond empty promises.

IC:

We, the colony of Minstekko, condemn the actions taken against Montepassaro. Foggycap joins us in turn. Together, we have found evidence that this "operation" is yet another genocide in the works, orchestrated by an empire thirsting for new victims. Blood shed pointlessly for the sake of violence, and not for any other reason. Anarchy for the sake of anarchy. Like rabid dogs they descend upon the innocent to defile them, to betray any hopes of protection from persecution. Yet, so few others have considered tgis. In fact, we fear others may instead be supporting this mindless culling. Are you so cowardly to give in to a mindless killer, one who only preys upon the weak and defenseless? How pathetic. We condemn those responsible and the ones who aid them, given they know who they are. You are not loved. You are not wanted.

That was the message broadcast into the world, though Margaret only followed idle reports from observers put at sea, and thus, she was unaware of any actual attempts to help. Not that it was expected. The badlands was evil for the sake of being evil, violent only because it can. She didnt exoect her words to be taken seriously, much less garner a response from anyone. Like yelling into the void, once again.

by **Arakhkhar** » Sat Sep 21, 2024 12:15 am

It is cloying

•Montepassaro•

_{•September 17th, 2034•}

Journal of L. Sagliavaci 17.9.34
Entry 5
I could not bring myself to write this, for shame that it could yet fall before human eyes. Yet, I put pen to paper once again, as if it had meant anything. The previous entry of my journal was… cut short - I could do nothing.

Yesterday, I had gazed in the eyes of the invader. Last night, I had gazed into the eyes of of a being that was not human that had possessed an intelligence that was as cold and unknowable as the depths of the Vesokean sea - as she turned to look at me, I felt a cold breeze flow through tha air, as though the winds of the Silent Sea had passed through the north, and the blood froze solid in my veins. Those eyes of violet, in the dark - I can never forget them. How they stared at me from the window - like gazing into that eternal void from whence they came - and I knew in that solemn, eternal moment - that I had seen death.

And her name, as I would soon come to learn, was Ordinal Ivara. She had asked for permission, before entering my home. I saw the two others standing behind her, black rifles held low - and I knew then I had no choice. I remember the moment still as vivid as it had happened then - they each stood, tall and yet elegant in their own matter. The feeling of the cold was ever-present, and it was bitter indeed.

I stepped back, then, taken aback by the sight - never before in my life had I seen one of the long-vaunted Shock Troopers - curved armor that sloped. The striking violet eyes - the black armor. It was how I would imagine receiving a visitor from another world, when I had first read those fantastical stories of those from beyond our world.

What struck me was the non-chalant nature of the interaction. She explained, with the door open, in that horrible gravelly voice - she explained to us that we were under new administration - the… expectations that this new administration had for us. I asked who was our administrator - and she had answered in no uncertain terms that it had yet to be determined - that everything was to be determined in a short period of time. I was told, then, not to ask many more questions - that such was something that shouldn’t be done.

I believe I was wise not to ask any further questions on that day. Wise, or perhaps a coward - I know not which. I would attempt to get out, now, but I now have the rather reaching implication that the situation in any other part of the country is much the same. There has been no word from the central government, nor the military. The flow of refugees has stopped completely - and I am forced to conclude that the state has, in its totality, ceased to maintain control over the area.

My wife has not spoken a word since that moment, and little Natalina could not stop crying - as she writes, her wails continue. Karl - he kept looking to the windows, asking about the women in armor outside. It was strange - not quite with fear, or some expectation of imminent departure. Perhaps the stories of war have appealed to the young boy, and I am yet impotent to tell him the truth of what really has occurred.

What can I do, now?

When boys look to the invader not with fear, but with some excitement - the exoticism, perhaps, like one of his adventures. I know that this is no ordinary occupation.

Sometimes, when I open the window - there is a smoke in the air. The scent of something charred, burned. It is sickly sweet, and it hangs in the air like a dark cloud. It is not the smoke burned from wood or rubber, nor of the flesh of an animal.

I know what it is as I write these words now.

Karl asks me what it is.

I lie to him.

But I know.

I just haven’t dared to look.

Assailment

•Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•September 17th, 2034•}

The thunder and the drums of the war in the mountains - the onslaught continued - as remorse vacated the conceptions of those who had been fighting now. The war was not yet three full days old - and yet, what was soon to occur was a complete collapse of morale on the part of the defenders of Sabblanera. With the military having been stalled even from sending the 2nd brigade, and with that unit now totally encircled - there were few left to the defense of the city itself. What little organized effort remained now existed only to combat the growing fires that had enveloped large parts of the city itself. An organized resistance was impossible - and it was as such, in a darkened room underground the city-hall’s white columns - Mayor Agliari, his… trembling figure slouched over a desk - a single lightbulb hanging precariously above, swinging from side to side.

Three figures stood ‘round him - the figures of men. What more could be said for that which would take place in that conversation that took place - with silence presiding in that musty room. A little radio transmitter sat upon that little wooden table - alongside a number of sheets of paper. There was not much to be said - only with the pictures of the fires, and the knowledge that a fight here was - ultimately - hopeless.

Sabblanera fell that day. The considerations of those men - the lives at stake, and the city that remained - Agliari couldn’t bear it any longer. To be absolved of responsibility for the lives at stake, at the cost of their freedom - it was a worthy trade, in his mind. What more could be done - than to finally surrender, and to surrender, to finally put an end to the madness? There was only one radio frequency open - and it was one that was left open for that temptation.

“The… course of this… [crackle]-ttle has been decided already by the powers from afar.”

“Sabblanera has stood proud for centuries - our forefathers had founded it with the intent and purpose of seeking a new, prosperous life - and indeed, they had stood together in that time.”

“As mayor of this city - the very concept of surrendering this city to a foreign invader is one I do not relish - and I can speak in no greater terms that this… this was no affair to be done as an honor. We have been faced with an unimaginable cruelty.”

“I call for surrender only that our city is, in form - preserved - that our people kept alive, at the least. That the burning and the killing stops. I plead upon the ears of the Empress, of the Vicereine Se’vana - whoever has been the architect of this invasion. I plead for mercy.”

“Please.”

“No more.”

“Sabblanera resists no longer.”

The occupation of Sabblanera was swift afterwards - with the units assigned to its capture moving quickly then after - mechanized units moving rapidly to seize the initiative - they were, however, hard-pressed to keep order without the support of local police forces - even as the city itself surrendered, many of its citizens refused to surrender - and the sounds of liquidation would go headlong into the night.

Elsewhere - the battle continues in some places, and was concluded in others.
The Paladena pocket - containing the remnants of the 2nd Infantry Brigade and the bulk of its fighting strength - had been systematically been attacked from the air, by artillery - by mechanized forces, and under the terrifying glare of Shock Troopers. The pocket was eliminated - and the town around it, rather than be truly captured - reduced mostly to rubble. The weeping went on into the night - as mothers cradled their bleeding sons. Some - those soldiers who had been taken prisoner by the Imperials - would find themselves in a more dire scenario, as victorious Shock Troopers opted to thoroughly enjoy their prisoners - drawing lots for who would take whom.

The 10th “Vicereine’s Will,” with it’s breakthrough at the western front achieved - broke through the narrows, and finally found their approach into the lowlands east of Savoscia - well suited to the kind of mechanized, armored warfare which the division had excelled at. Elements of the 2nd Infantry Brigade that had escaped annihilation, along with elements of the the 1st Grenadiers - and lastly, the third seperate reconnaissance company, with its M3 Bradleys. It was, perhaps, the last elements of Montepassaran combat strength in the Savoscia area - but outmaneuvered, and outnumbered - and entirely outmached in firepower - they were unable to prevent yet another encirclement - and annihilation.

That would be, if not for a heroic break for the city - taking every last element of strength to withdraw to Savoscia itself - abandoning the settlements around it. Local police and militias here prepared for a fight unto the death - establishing ramshackle checkpoints in the narrow streets - readying every element they could to hold out for an evacuation.

But an evacuation was not to come. UM-772 and UM-992 would see to that.

by **Arakhkhar** » Wed Sep 25, 2024 5:13 pm

Grievance

•Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•September 18th, 2034•}

Journal of L. Sagliavaci 18.9.34
Entry 6
They came to our house again - and to every other house, too. They rushed in, early in the morning, before I had even yet woken from sleep - everyone was. It was today that the invaders brought us from our homes - brought to the village center. It seemed a colder day than usual, and I somehow found this familiar place so alien to me now - under a sky of reddish-blue that had been blotted with the occasional stacks of rising smoke that still carried from Sabblanera, or from the sparse spattering of little white fluffy clouds that seemed uncharacteristically cheerful for that time that it was.

Only hardly dressed - I stood there, shivering slightly, my hands behind my head. My son, I had... lost track of him - and Natalina was left inside, crying - she is quiet, now. But there, stood in the city center - I stood with what I can only describe as a mix of dread and [scribbled, hastily erased text]. There, stood atop the old market platform - someone who I can only presume was an officer of some kind, or some other type of Trooper - dressed in black and silver armor, with that same helmet. Perhaps it was the one that I had spoken to earlier - and perhaps it was another, it is impossible to tell.

She explained that we were now under Imperial military rule - that there would be a curfew put in place for the remainder of the 'strategic operation.' We were told that resistance would be punished - and that as of yet, we had ought to obey all instructions. I watched as another group began to search the homes - dragging out those who had hid, and breaking into homes to confiscate weaponry. I remember still as we were all searched - as some form of small drone turned, floated around - and had hovered in front of each of us, perhaps to record our faces.

She spoke still, then - continuing always to outline emphatically the importance of collaboration. I do not believe many were stirred particularly by this - certainly few took relaxation with the idea that we now 'marched under the Empire's wing' and were being 'watched by the Empress.' But more and more, I had gained a certain feeling - the sun continued to shine, the place around us was still the same marketplace it had been before - so I struggled to consider what, besides the simple sensation of watching these figures, was particularly alien in this setting.

It has occurred to me, now - what was different still.

The bitter cold of the day, even when the sun yet shone - that strangeness about the land, about the grounds, about the looks in the eyes of men - and in the unfamiliar, deathlike masked invaders that now stomp about. I have concluded, not only are we being hidden from the world - but that this great darkness that has enveloped our nation indeed has extended and obscured our plight from the eyes of heaven.

May the Lord forgive me for yet dreaming these words which I had never thought I would have had to write - May he forgive me for still putting them to paper.

God, God Almighty - I no longer feel your warmth. I ask you - where are you now?

Where are you now that we must stay in the cold and in the dark?

Percussive Compliance

•Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•September 18th, 2034•}

The advance continued, regardless of any metric of resistance that had been put up against them by this point - the advance, which had now, through the bold advance of mechanized units, had penetrated to within 20 kilometers of the capital of Porto Assur - the lead reconnaissance units even claiming to have seen the domes of the Parliament in the distance. Yet - there had remained an obstacle to the actual conquest of the capital. The bulk of the Montepassaran 1st Grenadiers Brigade remained in the town of Aurora, just 10 kilometers away - which, in the time it had taken to get there, had settled in significantly.

Aurora - a town of 9,072 people, was not a particularly large one - a mere village, by the standards of some nations. It was, however, one of the nation's largest military bases - with a single frigate docked there, and with a submarine pen located there, as well as a large concentration of the Montepassaran air-force. It remained the headquarters of the 1st Grenadiers - the most well trained and equipped Montepassaran formation, and of that, its armor was concentrated here - with M1A2 SEPV2 main battle tanks, supplemented by 12 of the older C1 Ariete MBTs - alongside it, many of the M2A3 Bradley infantry fighting vehicles that the nation had at its beck and call. Furthermore - many of the men within the town had now begun to take to their defense - not retreating or fleeing, but instead building roadblocks, piling cars and scrap to form impromptu checkpoints. With radio communications jammed - and with constant air attack - the local citizenry and military had, in effect, taken its own organization - the forces of the Town of Aurora had now made it a hardpoint on the road to the capital, under the Organization of Montepassaran Partisans. Rather than rely on communications - they had taken to forming a large garrison underground, using the sewers for transportation and communication.

It was through the purposeful interception of communications - through the employment of a Black Operations unit operating in the night, which would conduct a rather swift scouting operation - and due to the supposition that due to the lack of surface activity, it was likely that the enemy was either destroyed or underground. The Shock Troopers would have to be sent in directly to stamp out resistance - but before that, a period of preparation was to take place. Heavy bunker-buster type bombs had been attached to aDB-25s - dropped against the fortified Aurora Joint-Services Military Base as a way to destroy the heavy equipment of the local formation. In addition, 16cm howitzer-fire would begin to ring out - the sound of blasts sounding against the plains, and ringing through the valleys. This artillery would be fired indiscriminately at the town of Aurora, after it had become clear that it was to be a fortress town.

To the west, near Savoscia - the 10th continued its offensive - with a single battalion moving north - only to find that the bridge north had been blown in an attempt to slow down the Imperial advance - with the few who had not been encircled attempting to fight a skillful rear-guard action as they attempted to cut north - however, the pace of the mechanized advance and the numbers involved meant that any genuine-fighting retreat would simply be overwhelmed - and forced to blow the bridge north early, the force there - consisting of the entirety of the 1st Motor Rifle Battalion - was annihilated, while remaining elements held and dug in at Savoscia proper.

Refugees and soldiers alike watched the sky with horror as women and children crowded onto any available ships - while the men, brave - picked anything from pitchforks to rifles in some desperate, valiant, and ultimately doomed bid to fight off any attack - with a similar breakdown of the Montepassaran central command structure and political authority, this meant that it would, similarly to in Aurora, have to organize into a provisional force for the purposes of managing an evacuation - and indeed, at organizing a defense. However, the situation was growing immediately desperate - Savoscia was a major city, but it was, first and foremost, a port town - a naval base had protected it, and it was protected by mines. The narrow channel that had led into its bay was thought to be an excellent way to control invasion from the sea - and indeed, it did that. However, the port was extremely simple to blockade instead. A single one of the VgN.4/99 Battlecruisers, the A.N.S Pensive Approach intercepting and capturing ships that attempted to break out - as well as preventing any chance of naval resupply. Joined by destroyers G-23 and G-82, the position could be maintained - as such, everyone, and everything inside the port of Savoscia - was trapped. The lack of radio communications or methods for the ships to signal the coast meant that this was not yet known - and so an evacuation was still yet organized, in the hopes that a breakout could be achieved.

The interception of ships outside of visual range was done for a simple purpose - to permit the existence of a perceived escape, those within Savoscia could believe that there was an escape, a way out of fighting - rather than fighting to the death, they may rout, and in doing so - permit their capture. This was a specific doctrine of Imperial protocol - as a method of speeding up a campaign, as a means of avoiding facing costly last stands.

Elsewhere - a new front was yet again opened, west of Porto Assur - elements of the 1st Amphibious Division once again brought out, landing along the shores via hovercraft, with the intent of cutting off any escape or evacuation to the west - which would make any retreat from the towns of Aurora or Porto Assur impossible, ensuring that the campaign there would prove a climactic end to the war - in only three days time, the advance was now on the doorstep of the Montepassaran capital - and with the end of the war now in sight before anyone yet opened their eyes to see what had already taken place - hope was waning, and terror began to reign.

The Reign of Terror, as conducted by petty opportunists - looters and rapists - was all driven by fear. Terror begot terror, violence begot violence - but terror, in earnest - that, that was yet to begin.

For what a petty terror it was, that of the aimless and the opportunists!

Real terror had a written doctrine. It was a science - and it was a code, a method of governance and a means of implementation.

And it was a science that had been mastered.

by **Arakhkhar** » Tue Oct 01, 2024 10:25 pm

The Cut of the Scythe

•Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•September 19th, 2034•}

From across the front - the efforts continued throughout the breadth of it. Aurora, as quickly as it had settled in - had almost immediately been bypassed as armored forces passed from the outside, cutting across open fields - under the covering fire of howitzers and with a harrowing attack from the air. The onslaught was further joined as Shock Troopers would begin to dismount - some from their infantry fighting vehicles, and some from a new addition to the fray.

The IG-55 'Hunter Killer', as it was called - joined the assault. From it, 80mm Rocket fire, combined with precisely targeted barrages of 23.7mm cannon fire, aimed within the headset of a gunner that provided a real-time HUD to her callous eyes - suppressing and targeting anything that dared attempt to prevent the assault into the town - a man who attempted to reach for his heavy-machine gun position was almost immediately eviscerated when a high-explosive shell detonated just to his right - of which there could be no attempt to even yet find the body. Another team, rushing and panting through the corridors of a broken building in the cacophony of artillery and detonations - would find that as they turned into one of the rooms with open windows - they would find themselves staring down the violet-tinted glass of one such gunship - and almost immediately, they would be faced with a similar fate - only this time at the behest of the machine-gun mounted in a remote-ball turret - which simply rotated in place for about a half-second - and with precise aim, targeting and eliminating both men - riddled with holes, they dropped. It was then that the IG-55 would casually bring itself up, the engines roaring - the doors on the side opening, and black cords being thrown out - one after another. With great, heavy clanks - Troopers made their descent, coming to the ground.

The suppression phase lasted only an hour before the Troopers finally breached the barricades - moving in with perfected squad tactics, utilizing massed reconnaissance drones to identify and target strongholds or holdouts before they became a problem - mopping up what remained, under sparse fire - the majority of resistance would still, naturally, remain underground. It was such that an effort was now made - the entrances to the underground were systematically identified, covered or destroyed - and from the largest entrance, a municipal sewer access station, hastily printed leaflets would be dropped - and messages would be pumped in through a speaker.

You are hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned.

Your government no longer exists.

Your homes burn in their steads, and the longer this endures, the more suffering your nation shall endure.

Cease your futile resistance, and be relieved.

Refuse to accede - and you will be Liquidated.

You have 30 minutes to decide.

Choose wisely.

Those below did not take one minute to decide their course of action - for when the great steel cover was lifted to drop those leaflets, it was immediately met with a scattering of assault-rifle fire from the defending Montepassarans - wielding their Duveaux rifles steady. The course was now set for the continuation of what would be, inevitably, a bloody fight - steely determination had defined them, as they counted their bullets and counted the minutes until their finest hour. Honor, courage - to live, fight, and to die for a free Montepassaro - to take with them countless of the invader.

Except the invader never came.
Not with the advent of black boots and purple eyes, at the least. After precisely thirty minutes, something quite simple was done - and something rather nefarious in turn. When the great iron manhole covers were lifted once again - every rifle was locked upon them, the eyes of Montepassaran men and women steely - prepared to fight to the death. But anxiety and courage, the determination to fight to the death - it was soon met with confusion, as tubes were placed through the hole - the light that shone through the hole had bore the onset of confusion - and confusion quickly turned to horror as a white, thick gas began to be pumped through in a continuous flow - dispersing rapidly as it began to drift ghostly to the stagnant ground. Heart-rates quickened, palpitations of the heart - eyes twitched - those men and women who had been determined almost immediately began to scream and shout, making a mad dash to run out, away - anywhere that wasn't there. Some screamed and shouted for mercy - some cursed at the top of their lungs - but after a few minutes, there was only silence.

PWV-53 vehicles had been brought in, past the barricades which had been annihilated during the suppression phase - part of the attached Psychochemical Warfare companies, of course - and they would prepare hoses, linked to the pressurized tanks they each carried for storing concoctions of chemicals - a variety, they carried, in separate tanks. It was the first operational usage of Substance One-Zero-One, code-named 'TESERAKT' - a new, potent nerve agent derived from research into Cyclosarin. Those few who had gas masks - mostly members of the Montepassaran military - would now have to fight in a thick white haze - their skin covered just enough to keep on going. Their filters were already degrading, and they wouldn't have long to fight.

And from whence the gas came - so came black cords as well, as Troopers made their spiderlike descent into the sewer systems. Clean-up crews, who lacked any gas mask filter - instead using a tank of pressurized air fed via hose to provide a capacity to breath, as to avoid filter degradation. It was a simple enough affair - shoot whoever remained alive. Among the stagnant corpses and rotting sewage that lay still - they would ultimately find only one firefight - a lone man sitting among the corpses.

Aurora was secured - and Aurora had been wiped off the map in its totality - but with that, and with the events at Savoscia - the Monteparassan ground forces had been effectively annihilated in totality. The road to the capital was now open - and with it, the last real hope for any salvation of Montepassaro from the state itself - had it ever existed in the first place - had now been vanquished. With Aurora bypassed and liquidated, Imperial forces would begin to spread out into the countryside - village after village was being swept up in the purple tide, and with fear - people looked on as the conquest of their home country proceeded.

With the attention of the Imperial Aerospace units now free - Savoscia was left exposed and vulnerable - as the veteran units of the 10th Vicereine's Will division proved a force that was too unbearable for any continued resistance - and it was ultimately left with a decision - to fight, and to die - or else, to surrender, and with it - to save the refugees from certain death. It was with a heavy heart that the call went out - and the white flags were raised, if only to keep the women and children alive.

The Harvest

•Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•September 19th, 2034•}

The swift onset upon the rest of Montepassaro had its other effects, in turn.

The war, quick as it was, had left behind a great mass of people who were left behind to the state itself to contend with - the Montepassarans who had watched on with silent horror as a storm had befell their nation - with fire and thunder, and in the rumbling of engines - they had found no solace. Yet, for many, the occupation had passed over them swiftly - at first, there was little indication of what was yet to come - there were the searches, the imposition of curfews - but not much consideration seemed to have happened for what was yet to be done with the Montepassaran people.

An indication would come about in the village of Sovacia - one of the first to be taken, near Sabblanera.

It was a cold day in that little hamlet - no more than 50 families lived in its worn down, ancient homes - the ones they had lived in for centuries. Finely crafted clay, laid into red bricks that lined out little homes - simple roofs for simple lives that had gone mostly unchanged for countless generations - never had they seen any reason to. The town's tallest structure was nothing particularly special - a simple Church, whose bells had stopped ringing since the great storm. The Troopers had maintained a limited garrison, with only occasional patrols stemming from the local control zone - whom the locals would always watch with a mix of fear and hate. Yet they had never done more than confiscate that which they perceived might prove a threat - but at this time, it was more than that they would confiscate.

The black armored cars rolled slowly about the gravel streets - bearing with them the boots of the hated invader. Yet, no call nor expression of that hatred was expressed - only the stares. Once again, as was standard by this point - they began to clumsily assemble outside for an inspection yet again - yet it was this time that there was something unfamiliar. Stood among the usual black troopers, the familiar boots of the oppressors - there was a triad of those who seemed... wholly too ornate for the little village. In long silken robes of black, with elaborate headdresses - little ornamentation of purple jewels that shone slightly, slight markings of silver that adorned them. They occasionally made their sweeping stares - and in those stares which they had brought on, they were left vague behind masks of white - and the eyes, the eyes seemed not present, as though the holes in the mask had only an infinite and consuming blackness - a cold one, akin to the feeling of drifting through space.

More confusion yet still remained when a call was made out - not for weapons, nor for money or tithe - no.
"All persons aged 16 or older will remain in the section allotted, all persons 15 or younger shall form a separate line. Move!"
The electronic voice of a Trooper had barked - and the people, like clay, obeyed uneasily. Gravel crunched underneath their sluggish, reluctant steps - and occasionally, only a crow cawed incessantly at the image laid before it.

The adults and the children were called out - and each were instructed to stand in separate lines - an uneasiness weighed heavy on those mostly elderly men and women, their gruff, bony faces now struck with a concern for what was to become of themselves - some waited, perhaps, presuming they were here to die. With the children, there was also an uneasiness - pale boys and girls, who had spent their days just a week ago playing amidst the beckoning fields - and who now anxiously awaited, ached as they watched their parents on the other side of the village.

There stood no more than thirty children - ranging from four to fifteen. The... three robed women, they began to survey with those sweeping stares once more - but it soon became clear to all that it was not the adults they were interested in - for their stares were increasingly directed upon the children. Some of them shuddered, or made short gasps - like the shadow of some great raven passing them over, the Temple Sisters watched over them - appraising the - perhaps seeing in them something no-one else saw.

Something was being relayed between them - cold whispers that were uttered without speaking, and to which they listened without really hearing anything. Some of the children had proven - suitable.

It was with little glances, as little hands were clutched unwillingly by silken-hands - and it was with tears and shouts as mothers and fathers watched them be lead away, as the most intense form of grief was immediately brought out - some, perhaps, in defiance, even tried to go after them - only to find their parental spirit broken with the crushing blow of a shock baton. Big, childish eyes looked back upon the faces of those whom they had once known - some were filled with tears.

Others looked back with no spirit at all.

Never would they see those distant, anguished faces again.

by **Arakhkhar** » Sat Oct 05, 2024 4:55 pm

End of an Era

•Porto Assur, Montepassaro, Badlands Frontier•

_{•19:02, September 20th, 2034•}

"In hindsight, it was perhaps inevitable." The hollow voice had pierced the empty ruins of the parliamentary hall - a light shone from above, traveling through the hole in the great dome - the last of the light piercing through to where the voice's origin stood, in that broken and empty chamber. Shards of steel and concrete stood scattered across the marbled, checkered floor - little pieces of marble chipped and shattered from the force of the impact of high-explosive blasts had concussed throughout the building. The man stood silently, in his own solitude and his own solace - the solace found only in the merciful arms of death at the end of a life long lived. A solace which was sometimes disturbed by the occasional sound of gunfire, of blasts in a distance which always seemed to shrink in every moment that passed hereafter. The constant chopping and thumping of helicopter-gunships making their own imposition of terror in some far-off part of the city.

He was not speaking to anyone in particular - in that dark and empty room, there was no one yet to listen. Perhaps he spoke to the entire nation in that instance - that doomed and vanquished nation which he once called his own. It was choked, somewhat, as he still found himself in the throes of grief - it was difficult to say good-bye, after all. He still looked around at those parliamentary halls, recalling with fondness even the sharpest of those old debates that would take place here. How sacred was that bickering! How great of a luxury was it then, something they could no longer afford to pay - for it was of a cost incapable to them. "Perhaps it was meant to be - that every nation should inevitably find it's own demise in... in the flames of war. Torn asunder by forces we could not possibly control - and yet, now, here - as I... look at these... broken seats - I find in them the last moments that I shall be a Montepassaran. That my father and his father before him took light of the work of this place - it amuses me now, how short-sighted it was..."

Whirring from the distance - a blast to the ground. Like lightning it came, rending the ground and soil from the Earth and demolishing a structure that had taken months to build - terror, the imposition of organized terror upon such a scale - ever nearer did those blasts grow. From his hollow voice - he spoke out through the blasts and into that darkened hall. "The drums, the beating of the drums, come hither the drums of war! Let us be drowned out in their cacophony, and consumed in the endless march of the Empire of Shadows! This place, in all its struggles - the hopes, and dreams, and the loves of a people, swallowed up by the black tides - the calculation of tyranny to impose tyranny for its own sake - the end of an Era, and behold, for above this city of fire, the Dark Heralds of the New Era whip and lash against us."

The cue had been answered - for the chucking sound of the helicopter blades continued onwards, beckoning doom yet as they traversed against the pale sky - the distance growing short, and time, already at an end - now coming to its final death in the last moments of a nation. "Hear, now - hark how they come in force. The ravens above circle and bear with them a new institution - yet I find no comfort in this order which stands to be imposed. How could I find comfort in the embrace of the black glove which now lays pressed against the throat of all free men - which squeezes, and lets the whole nation choke and wither? But there was never a choice in the matter. A supposition, then, that these words and lives we have lived were always meant to end as they were - that the order that is to come shall bare some resemblance to that which came before. There will be children born after my own, and there will yet be lives lived in the shackles of tyranny - they would yet live in the sunlight... under the watch of Iron Eyes all the same. There will be loves yet to have, fears, hopes, dreams as such - and yet I find myself of the conclusion that whatever form that is to take - I shall find no recognition of it as in what I used to know. A pale and hollow resemblance of Man - that shall become the model which we are to live after and yet aspire to be. And I... I cannot see it so."

He raised his voice high, and his back straightened - the ghosts of the past watched him now from every corner of the room, in that funeral and procession of their nation altogether. "Arise, O' Nation of Mine - for the last time, listen to my voice - even should you be impotent, let Heaven be my witness, and let God hear my prayers and these cries - for I know then that these words will not be lost to the death of history! Let it be known that this nation indeed has carried out the duties of its existence, and that this government has instituted to the fullest force of its capabilities the good it was capable of doing - let it be known that those men who died in hopeless defenses did so not out of stupidity, but out of the very character of this nation which I am blessed to have been born into from all of the thousands which dot this vast creation! That they died, yes, or were captured, all in the defense of the ones whom they had loved - and in a great national brotherhood, that all has transpired has been according to that character - that this defense, even against such a foe as vast and as impossible as this, that we have made our defense earnest - with strength and conviction in our spirits. It is that being - that national character, today, that I call upon Heaven to mourn - it is this nation which I address today that I ask to remember in your hearts as you slip into the shackles of endless bondage. I know that salvation, here, is impossible - but if I must speak with the very last breath of this nation - remember, I beg of you to remember, - let hushed tones speak of thy bravery, O' Knights of the Sparrows! Remember, O' Remember, that happy and joyful land of mine! Keep tight to your hearts the name Montepassaro, and never let that vestigial, ancestral memory die!"

There was a click - a sound of something answering that ill-fated call. At first, one click - than another - the heavy, weighted sharp steps of boots upon the marbled parliamentary ground - the man's breath didn't waver as he gazed up to the sky, to that light which cast down through that hole in the roof - only to find that it was slowly coming to an end, as a cloud began to loom overhead - the light coming to a close, and the sharp clicks of heels coming closer still to this moment of finality - and then, a sharp, practiced round of dull applause from a single set of hands - dulled by gloves of leather. He knew then who, who else besides Heaven had come to listen. A voice called out from the halls afar - the voice of a woman indeed, the voice of the new who had come to deliver her... comments. "I assure you, Minister - though I am not the subject of your address, I must admit... I am touched. Such passion - such conviction - the final, dying moments of your society, captured and encapsulated perfectly within one... final moment. How wonderful it is that you have prepared such a procession."

Her words were spoken as coldly as the embrace of a fresh-winter's snow - yet they lacked the magic of that moment. It was a cruel type of cold - the acknowledgement of suffering, and the passive casting aside of it. He knew that only the invader could have spoken as such - and so he gave new direction for his words, words directed unto her - his chin pointed upwards, and his tone answered with bemusement. "Ah - so - you've come here yet, to the brain of this nation of mine torn asunder by the campaign of your peers. My compliments - I had not thought you yet so punctual to gaze at this funeral of ours. That was not yet meant for your ears, if you must know - I would ask that it remain sacrosanct."

And soon enough - she rounded the corner - and just 20 meters from where the minister had stood, her pale face and eyes of violet staring deep - the form covered in leather and in silver, little epaulets adorning. The sharp click of her heels against the ground became sharper still, but less periodic. "I would not be one to deny you the prayer to your God, so long as it was just that. But it was an acknowledgement of death, of... a little slip into the night which we have imposed. What I have imposed - a cry and a beckons to remember. But memory is a fickle thing - and you should find that a call such as that may go unanswered. If no one else should remember those words of yours, I shall - if only for the posterity of the historical record. It is moments such as these which are of a singular beauty - surely you must see that - the death of a nation, the procession in the dark - the impassioned cry to heaven. It is why I cannot forget your words now - and I assure you, there will be a memory of Montepassaro as you have known it. It will be known, proliferated between those who had seen it come to an end."

She made her approach - to which the Minister did not respond nor immediately answer as she marched up the shattered marble, sometimes kicking aside little pieces of rubble as she soon stood just half of a meter from the man. They each stood eye-to-eye, and each was locked at each other - one was of the infinite wonder and range of human passion. The candle of hope and light in the dark, captured in eyes of shining green like emeralds - and in the other - the cold embrace of the void itself in the darkened eyes of purple, which radiated and glowed in the dark to an unnatural luster. It was he, he who spoke then next - as he slowly withdrew a holstered knife from the sleeve of his coat - making sure to let it bear before him - and to where she could clearly see as he drew it from that leather sleeve - it was a beautiful peace - a work an art in and of itself, the hand-carved wooden handle made from beautiful padauk, and a pommel of steel pointed to a spearpoint - the long blade of a black steel. Carved deep into the blade itself - the words Mori spiritus animae. He considered for a moment, in one... infinite moment of what he could yet do - he might very well draw the blood of the invader here and now - and yet something prevented him from doing as such.

He turned the blade in his hand - and turned it to the pale being before him - a tentative hand reaching out and offering it to her with openness.
"Take it."

With an expectant gaze - she slowly drew her own-leather bound hand - plucking the knife from him, feeling the weight of it in her pale hand - as she did so - she eventually placed it in her other hand, in order to remove her glove - letting her pale fingers grace the handle, to feel it for herself in her hands.

"It is a fine work of craftsmanship, Minister Merlo. Your grandfather must have been proud of his work."

He did feel some part of himself die, watching her hold and weigh it in her hands - but it was this that he found his solace once again. He was ready - he set out his hands, as if to embrace heaven - and waited for the inevitable to come - for her to test that blade - closed his eyes shut as she drew near.

.

..

...

..

.

But then - a little chuckle. A snicker, perhaps, would be a more accurate term to describe what it was that came from deep within his conqueror's voice - and soon enough - the steps returned to his ears - but this time, they were receding. As he stood there waiting for death - death withdrew once again.

"You have much to learn, Minister."

He did indeed.

And now?

He would have the chance to learn.