NationStates Jolt Archive

Nasaad, Northern Um Lizaan proxy capital.

"And so it is with great respect and reverance for peace and stability that I chairman of the People's Socialist Republic of Northern Um Lizaa do request the National Socialist Union of Iraqstan do recognise us as the rightfuly elected and supported government of the northern um lizaa state and grant us the sovreigncy we so desire. In further diplomatic requests we ask that the wall of purity be dismantled and a semblance of trade between the two halves of Um Lizaa begin. We request all military incursions by the People's Nationalist Army be ceased and hostilities end with an official signing of a peace treaty.


We appeal to the humanity and morality of the Iraqstani people to lean their mighty führer into accepting our requests rather than follow blindly in his attempts to annex the sovreign nation of Um Lizaa any further. This war has lasted longer than desired and all semblance of honour has fled the battlefields.

We the elected leaders of the north do request that all prisoners of war be released back to us along with any political prisoners taken during the campaign of independance." A simply dressed man recites to a typist who taps away at the keys of an old and outdated type writer preparing the first public and international speech made by the People's President Nuzaad il Samaas. Watching the man type as he speaks Nuzaad smiles to himself and pats the man on the shoulder. "A fine speech comrade, a fine speech indeed. Today we will make history." He says to the man who looks up in a pause of typing and nods. "Yes comrade president, today we will hopefully bring peace to this world." Is the response, a proper response rehearsed for years by the people of Um Lizaa.

Nodding for the typist to continue Nuzaad clears his throat and resumes speaking "In accordance with the treaty of non-agression and ceasation of hostilities we the people of Northern Um Lizaa also request by the international community a publicly recognised rulership and sovreignty for our lands. We request an opening of trade between-" In mid sentance the dull whistle outside grows louder and then in a blinding flash of light the bunker is breached, the burning fireball breaks through unleashing it's firey hell upon the people inside.

Outside in the small coastal city the process is repeated, countless shells rain down upon the city, the only built up area of the coast line, out to see the constant flashes of cannons and the colums of fire as missiles are launched are the only beacons of the attack against the city....

Kel'damaas, Northern Um Lizaa settlement (Center for People's Liberated Political party)

A mother and father sleep soundly in the small house they share with three of their children, outside the wind howls softly the trees creaking with the wind. Gasping for breath the mother sits up in bed quickly, her eyes moving to the faint illumination of a night light and the small shadow infront of her. "What is it sasha?" The woman asks as the girl climbs onto the bed and whimpers. "A monster outside mamma, it's roars woke me up." The little girl whispers before burrying her head in her mothers arms. Picking up the child the woman hugs her tightly to her and walks to the window, opening the curtains she looks curiously out into the sky as repeated flashes of light sparkle against the clouds. "What is that I wonder" The woman asks her self as the distant thud rolls over her and the windows rattle slightly.


"A monster mamma, I can hear it's whistling voice even now." The little girl whimpers against her mother's ear as the woman listens intently and too hears the soft whistle slowly growing louder. The lights in the sky fade away the rolling thunder goes silent, moments later the land around her explodes violently the bright light and explosive shock throwing the woman back from the window the glass shattering sending shards of death into the room, the little girl screams in terror as her mother falls lifelessly to the floor a shard of glass hanging from her throat.

On the bed the man awakens with a start, falling to the floor he rushes to where his wife lays dead and scoops up his daughter, holding her tightly he runs down the hallway calling for his sons to come with him. Outside the raining doom continues explosions rock the small city, as shell after shell hits buildings and roads, sending people and debris flying. In the small house the family cower in the lounge room, unable to move any further as the faint whistle of another shell echoes through their house before the building explodes in bright light. Faintly the father in his last moments feels fire engulf his body a brief moment of pain before darkness claims him......

Outside the city is in turmoil, people run back and forth the explosive shells stop raining down and the people pause the silence deafening, in the distance the rumbling commences once more the people stare in fright as the sky lights up again the distant artillery pieces launching their deadly payloads at the city. Silence. The soft whistle of shells begins once more the people turn to flee as all around them shells land and explode less violently than before, in the light of explosions the people begin to see others clutching their throats and bleeding from their eyes. Screaming in horror people realise the attacks and engulf themselves in terror.... Hours later the last woman falls dead her body convulsing hard enough to snap her own spine her lingering moments pure agony as her eyes fill with blood and she drowns in her own fluids....

Northern Um Lizaa rally point,
Fourth Artillery brigade, four hours before the attack.

"You will move into position and hold until ordered otherwise. All orders to fire will come directly from the office of the Reich General. Your target will be the inland city of Kel'damaas." Are the words that echo through gunnery cheif Adolf von Lichten as he aquires the co-ordinates for his 150mm howitzer to target. Tapping the intercom he begins to speak. "Target aquire herr general." Is all he says the acknowledgement from Artillery commander Lucas bin Fasaam echos over the channel. Sitting back the gunnery cheif looks over his shoulder at the faint outline of the huge 200mm cannons who stand ready should the order come for them to fire. If they start to fire then we're in trouble. He thinks to himself as he recalls the payload of each 200mm shell a single Enhanced Radiation warhead or simply a neutron bomb. Shuddering he recalls the briefings he had on the destructive capability of such shells and prays silently to the eternal goddess that today isnt the day they get to see them used in live fire exercises.

accross the near two hundred vehicles all at the maximum range for their weapons the air is still and stale they had arrived in their positions some six hours ago, surrounding the villiage of one hundred and twenty thousand near the beginning of the night. Stepping outside the vehicle the cheif looks over at the men around him their rifles resting against tracked wheels of artillery cannons. Laughing and joking about the men seem relaxed all of them knowing that eventually they'll be killing women and children and...rebels? Traitors of the motherland is what the führer called them but Gunnery Cheif Lichten wondered otherwise, sure the state said they were rebels but what where they fighting for? Didnt they realise the state was the power? Didnt they see the good the Union had done for them? No of course not, even he hadnt seen the good of the union yet. All I have seen is the death and destruction the union has caused. He thinks to himself, once more wishing he could be someone else a worker maybe, possibly a company leader?

Crackling over hundreds of radios a simple order is passed through the ranks "Fire at will." The words of the Reich General. Shuddering in his uniform the cheif turns back around and takes his seat at the fire controls, behind him he is distantly aware of the huge 200mm cannons arcing their huge barrels at the sky, they too had co-ordinates to target it seems. Blocking all other things from his mind, a skill they taught him in training he focuses his entire will upon firing the huge cannon as behind him men load shells into the gun. The roar is deafening and before long all he can hear is the ringing of bells in his ears as the gun fires again and again and again..........

OOC: Yes in some cases people will know of this attack. Certainly sattelite feeds will tell them. for the most part this attack has remained unknown. Eventually there will be a public release. For now consider it the first step in a large campaign.

Imperial Palace, Arpia, Reploid Productions

"Tengoku and Makai stations are both reporting explosions in the Um Lizaa/Iraqstan theatre. Patterns would indicate a systematic barrage on Um Lizaan strongholds." Tiffany Celta reads off the report, a twisted scowl on her face.

"Damned treaty. Those bastards are going after the folks we weren't able to extract... and if we try anything, we violate the terms of the treaty and risk losing our Triumvirate membership!" Tsume growls, baring his full set of fangs in an uncharacteristic show of wrath.

"So we can't do anything directly." Firefury nods, her own face surprisingly neutral given the news. "The area being bombarded... it isn't technically part of Iraqstan, is it? If we come to the aid of a sovereign nation to merely assist in its defense... we aren't attacking Iraqstan then. Set it up right, and they'd be firing on us first."

"Queenie, that's damned close to the line and you know it." Tsume turns his glare on the orange reploid. "That bloodsoaked son of a dirty whore Carlos would be screaming to the international community that we attacked him and stuck our nose into his business. We don't want to run the risk of that much bad PR."

"I am well aware of this fact, Tsume." Firefury meets the black dragon's gaze coolly. "Quietly look into the status of Um Lizaa's sovereignity in the eyes of other nations. We can discuss more thoroughly what to do after we have an adequete guage of the situation in the international community. If Mr. Quil'Raya is trying to lure us into war, he will be sorely disappointed. We have signed a treaty that bars open warfare between the Shogunate and Iraqstan, and promising dire consequences to the nation that violates that. We will adhere to that until such time that Carlos fires upon us."

"And when that diseased sack of slime does, then he can have fun staring down the barrels of every capship grade weapon in the space fleet as they show him the wrath of heaven." Tiffany takes a gulp of her coffee and scowls at the report.

"As pleasing as that mental image is, no, we won't sink to that level and ort the everloving beejeebus out of non-combatants." Firefury crosses her arms in thought. "We will adhere to the tenets of the Triumvirate of Yut character. If he violates the treaty, then we will ort the beejeebus out of his military capacity."

"And in the meantime?" Tsume paces the room, his talons clacking loudly on the tiled surface.

"In the meantime, prepare for the Green Flag exercises."

((OOC: Extremely glorified tag! ^_^ ))

"VY-14 data incoming from StratCent," announced an internal communications technician in the two-tiered bridge technician gallery in the aft of Olympus Mons' control room. "Putting it on secondary monitor three--not good news, sir."

Sky Marshal Rico nods and turns to the screen indicated, mounted to the left of the large strategic situation indicator taking up the fore of the room.

He folds his arms and frowns. "Damn."

* - * - *

Crosshairs appear on a screen, oblong blotches of red spreading from them like small pools of blood, computer-calculated radii of error. Nongeostationary ortillery from high orbit with a circular radius of error under ten meters isn't bad, better than a lot of earthbound artillery. "Shooting solutions made and naval eraser turrets locked to track, Captain."

The master of the heavy carrier Chrysalis nods, watching the computer update its estimates of hit probability and damage on the selected artillery units. "Stand by for orders from above."

* - * - *

"I'll admit, they're on the bounce. Third Expeditionary, Sixth Expeditionary, and Fourth Combined are all primed and ready. 85% shooting solutions and standing by."

Rico watches the monitors, jaw set, folded hands tapping lightly against his back as he quietly calculates. Just a word, and it could be stopped...

...and then missiles would fly to the Shogunate, and the accusations would fly for breaking treaties...

He sighs. "The real tragedies in this world are when good men can not do anything. Maintain alert, but maintain weapons lockdown. Just keep sending it up the line... and let headquarters know I'm all for a previously scheduled exercise just as a reminder."

The communications panel beeps loudly, insistently. After a moment, the beeping stops, to be replaced with an even louder, more obnoxious noise. A grumble is heard, then in the darkness a hand reaches out to touch the button to receive. "It's three in the morning. What is it?"

"Satellite images have painted military activity inside Iraqstan, Your Majesty. They're firing on somebody."

Treznor feels his blood turn cold. "What's the target?"

"That's the strange part, Majesty. He seems to be going after civilian targets in Um Lizaa. Our people on the ground there confirm they're firing an awful lot of artillery in the air. It's going to be easy for someone to make a mistake."

"No kidding. He's drawing a line in the sand, the idiot. Is the damage confined to Um Lizaa?"

"So far, Your Majesty."

"Has anyone else noticed it?"

"I can't imagine how they couldn't. So far we've noticed multiple adjustments in satellite deployment. The sky is gonna get awfully crowded up there."

"How about mobilisation? Has anyone reacted to it?"

"It looks like the Shogunate is maneuvering, but they're not making any overt hostile gestures. TYCS Expeditionary Forces have taken up position, but they're holding for now."

"Dammit. Fuel to the flames. Get on the horn and broadcast to the Triumvirate. Thank them for their...restraint and assure them that we're on it. Get a plane and escort prepped for 0600. I'll go talk to Carlos myself. Wake up Alex, and Ben if he isn't already. We've got to make some plans before I go. May as well knock on SHODAN's closet, too. She'll need to be kept in the loop. And last, but not least, get the Dread Lady on the phone. I'll take the call wherever I am at the moment. If she isn't awake by now, she will be."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Send this to the NDA members: Iraqstan has begun bombardment of Um Lizaan territory. This is a legal action, and not in violation of NDA treaty. However, this is provoking a number of concerned parties, and may result in retaliation of some sort. Be on alert and ready to provide whatever assistance you can manage."

"At once, Your Majesty."

"Anybody needs me, I'll be in the shower."

Prior William was meeting with the Provincials of a dozen or so Crosier communities. Most were regional—Bellarian and Tormodriani, and a few Vingali. But there were others from France, Italy, and even tiny Effrenata. They all represented active medical and humanitarian missions, and they’d been summoned to meet electronically and in person to discuss certain startling new information Prior William had received from an “anonymous source.”

“Dear Lord…” murmured Abbot Chazycki, listening to the news regarding the magnitude of the shelling in Kel’damaas.

“Er… this ‘source,’ William… reliable?” Prior Mark was tentative, wanting to disbelieve but knowing it was probably true.

“Highly reliable, Mark.” William thought of the mysterious voice in the transmissions from Scolopendran space, and smiled quietly. He honestly didn’t know the identity of the contact, but it did not take much intuition to connect it with someone fairly well-placed in Scolopendran society. Well-placed enough to have access to both resources and intelligence.

A bare hour later, they had the outlines established: Five Crosier teams and three teams of Sisters of Charity, each fully equipped with the most up-to-date humanitarian and medical supplies and equipment, would be ready for deployment within thirty-six hours. Supplies were being coordinated by the “anonymous source”—they would be awaiting the teams at the final debarkation point.

The final debarkation point was never mentioned, the teams would gather in Bellaria, and be airlifted from there by an InterAir charter.

The purpose, as with all such missions, would be strictly limited to medical and humanitarian aid—with the additional purpose of protecting any Iraqstani wounded or prisoners from the wrath of their Um Lizaan victims.

Within a very few minutes of the meeting’s breakup, the teams were being alerted. All were experienced medical and humanitarian workers. All had seen first hand the results of genocide in other places. All had a most irrational determination to keep the count of future victims of genocide as low as possible. All were cheerfully prepared to give their lives in such a cause.

Livestock, machine parts, more livestock, heavy machinery, consumer goods... The shipping manifest read like a port coordinator's nightmare, and being the port coordinator it was his nightmare. He sighed again and picked up the radio.

'Pim? I need you to go inspect some containers on the Westward Star. Drakonian registry, yeah.... Bring me the reports ASAP. I've got someone breathing down my neck to get them out of the harbor in twenty-four. Thanks...'

----

With thousands of cargo containers passing through the port every day it was nearly impossible for all of them to be inspected. Corners were cut - inspectors checked the tags put on by their nation of origin, and if they were just passing through they let them pass through. Of course, the inspector had no real way of knowing that the tag had been affixed just hours before - and carefully forged in a downtown embassy the previous night.

Not that they were incorrect - livestock were sheep, machine parts were recievers, trigger frames, and barrels, and heavy machinery was a half-dozen individually packed light attack boats, fueled up and ready to go. The consumer goods? Dozens of different types of toys from a Sunset factory, bound for the asian market where toy animals were a big hit. The freighter would take them from the harbor at Knootcap south towards El Hefe - with some stops along the way.

Somehow it made it on the news that night. S.I.N. and the YutLink blared it to all who would care to hear, from entirely different sources. Somehow classified VY-14 ISRsat images and vidrecords with commentary by TYCS field strategy analysists were included in the daily Combined Services press briefing packets handed out to all services in attendance; the same information found its way to S.I.N. indepedently through "a high level source in the Intelligence Section," much like the news concerning Lavenrunz some time before.

Either this was the luckiest day for leaks in all of news, or someone wanted it broadcast. People with any sense of situational awareness who saw the reports assumed the latter. Still, the message got out to those who could do something about it...

"So... this is why we formed the Caballeros, right, Dame Mahmuda?" The dark yellow-skinned man folds his arms as he looks up from wiping down his Civilian Defense Corps-issued carapace armor after a hard day of practice, Mongolian features frowning under a long mustache.

The Turkmeni nods. "Quite right, Sir Dowiyogo. This our chance to get out there and do what we must to protect these people."

The nine heads she shared the room with nod. From their backgrounds as relatively successful traders and buddies in the Civilian Defense Corps, they'd discovered a mutual streak of do-goodness bordering on the pathological and a love for the mildly anachronistic. Pooling their funds they'd bought a military surplus Sunset assault shuttle and painted the legend Correct Action over her prow; they obtained armor and weapons through the CDC, quietly planning to someday sally forth and take those jobs the government couldn't or wouldn't. They were Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar, after all, and the Third Pillar demanded charity to the weak, the downtrodden. Just because ten people couldn't save the world did not mean they should sit back and do nothing.

Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova of Tariq begins redonning her old yet clean and well-kept suit of Mark VI standard battle armor. "This is it, brothers and sisters. We signed a pact, and this is our last chance for each and every one of us to decide if it is truly what we wish to do. It is probably illegal; we may never be welcome in our homes again due to the same politicking which prevents 'our' militaries from doing their jobs and protecting the innocent. Anyone who wishes to leave can do so now and there will be no stain upon their honor, nor will we think of them less in our minds."

Lies, of course, but noble ones after a fashion; there are merely grunts of dissent from the other self-made knights. They had signed, they were in; there is no going back now. Suited up in their second-hand armor, they shoulder their second-hand weapons and tromp back into their second-hand shuttle with speed, for there is no time to lose. It will take four days to make the transit from Ringside to Earth; that time is needed to plan and go over what they had trained to do every weekend for a year in addition to CDC militia training.

"If we ten knights are going to take on a nation of billions," Sir 'Huey' Huaxpitzcactzin thinks aloud as he boards Correct Action, "then we'd better be smarter than them."

Office of the Führer,
Sirithilia, Capital City
Iraqstan

Sitting at his desk Carlos reads through the preliminary reports of the research department slowly, casting a lazy eye over the words seeking only the assurances of productivity his people are promising. A sharp and crisp knock on his door echoes softly through the room "Come." Is all Carlos states as the door opens quickly and a commander walks in holding a yellow folder tightly to his chest.

Snapping to attention his left arm flicks out in the apropriate salute amd the words "Mein führer heil!" are snapped out quickly. Walking forward the man deposits the folder on Carlos' desk and steps back returning to the proper military stance. Picking up the folder Carlos opens it and reads over the initial intelligence reports filtering in from various stations over Iraqstan. "So, we've got sevrel sattelites going active above us and Devon has issued an NDA wide announcement of our actions. Interesting." Clearing his throat the commander speaks clearly "Mein führer we also have reports from our men in the shogunate of the government twitching ever so slightly. We are unsure how deep our men have penetrated the country, but there was a twitch that was recognised. Also there are sat images of a fleet sitting in orbit, our trackers estimate that it is monitoring and recording our actions in Northern Um Lizaa." He finishes quickly noticing the change his his führer's facial expressions.

"Very well, I have also begun hearing rumours of a twitch in treznor. Assign more funds to that station and have them report in again as soon as they have any information." Dismissing the commander Carlos reviews the report more seriously.

Um Lizaan artillery front

Is this what we were taught to do in the academy? Gunnery Chief Lichten thinks as the booming roar of his howitzer swallows all other noise the surrounding jungle would make. Staring up at the sky he watches the stars blacken slowly, the smoke being carried by the wind the smell of death slowly seeping into his existance. Shuddering Adolf hunkers back down in his seat, watching the targetting data scroll over his screens removing all possible treason from his mind a loyal party man would instantly recognise the violence was nessecary. How many women and children had he murdered tonight? A party man would call them dogs and beasts being culled so the strong would prosper. No to Adolf they were women and children, the state couldnt properly erradicate the conscience of it's people through indoctrination and training. No instead he would suffer the curse of a madman, ordered to kill those he wished to live. Soon his commander would see the subtle shift in targetting information, soon he would realise all those explosions were not civillian structures but Iraqstani targets farther out, he was killing his own brothers now.... "I am a traitor my führer, forgive me in my next life." He whispers as he slowly looks over his shoulder the soft foot falls of a man walking towards him.

"Gunnery Chief Lichten, report to commander Sacheran immediately!" The soldier orders, his plasma rifle aimed decidedly at the poor chief who sighs and slips from his seat. "The price of the moraly correct is always high" He says to the trooper who escorts him towards his commander. Behind him Adolf realises his howitzer is no longer firing, looking back he see's the bodies of his crew being dragged from the vehicle, single bullet holes in each man's forehead. Yet more innocent children have died because of me. He thinks to himself as the commander slowly materialises out of the smoke surrounding the artillery group. Standing painfully to attention Gunnery Cheif Adolf von Lichten stares unflinchingly at the commander who walks slowly over to him, his pistol unholstered and hanging by his side. "Gunnery Chief von Lichten you have been found guilty of high treason and will be shot for your crimes. The führer prays your soul will remain untainted in the transition from life to death, but hopes you will suffer for eternity for your grevious crimes." The man says before raising his weapon and pulling the trigger. Falling to the ground Adolf belatedly realises he is still alive, the gunshot echoing through the trees causes very few to turn to look, his body emptying slowly of blood. His final vision is of the commander standing over him a smoking gun and then a final thought My god in heaven for you are whom I believe. Curse this false deity and her band of infidels. Sneering at the man the commander empties the pistol into the fallen soldier and turns away. "Dispose of it." Is all he says to the guards who pick up the remains of Gunnery Chief Lichten and cart him away, the howitzer once silent has returned to firing this time it's target real.....

Ministry for Defense,
Iraqstani, war office

Sitting at his desk Chief Analyst Sahkil reads over the growing list of casualties in the artillery strikes against the enemy cities, like all plans nothing goes the way it should. "Another vehicle falling victim to incompetant loaders." He mutters as another gap in the firing squads appears on the live feed. On other video screens the shattered and glowing hulks stand as signs of the continued effort to erradicate the vermin. In some views, the remains of Iraqstani artillery smoulder in th early morning light, in others images of attack helicopters unleashing hell upon pockets of forests to kill enemy movements.

Watching it all the Analyst smiles and prays silently to his deity Bless us our eternal lady for we are purifying the holy lands and removing the taint from your perceptions. We have earnt much honour this day and will continue. Returning to his work the chief analyst misses the death of the Gunnery Chief and fails to write him up in the list of dead soldiers slowly climbing it's way into the hundreds...

In another office within the same sprawling building a group of men sit reading over the growing list of enemy deaths, smiling they pass each paper between each other, the two cities slowly being reduced to nothing are an amusment for these five men. Continued assaults by artillery on enemy cities has resulted in upwards of three hundred and seventy thousand dead, resistance is mounting but expected to be quelled.

Jungles of Northern Um Lizaa

Rushing back and forth the many men of this resistance camp take their weapons, explosives and armour, all of them prepared to die for their people, cries of war echo through the camp as miracuously like all jungle areas communications speed through villiages. The death of their president has caused many to flee, stating they'd rather live as an Iraqstani than be bombarded by their fires and cannons. Others gathered weapons and prepared to fight, their battle slowly losing as more and more soldiers are killed by Iraqstani firepower.

In one camp a group of ten men sit planning, their faces hidden and their weapons loaded "Comrades, here there is a weak spot in their formations, the soldiers here are less experianced they do not look in all the trees. We can kill them and this half, but ultimately we will have to flee. Already the cells are scattering and going to ground awaiting response from our people out seeking arms deals with other nations. Soon we'll be able to mount a proper resistance" The resulting cheer floods the jungle causing many animals to turn and run afraid of the sudden noise......

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
General Hobs was asleep, it was the middle of the night and his bedside holloplate was beeping.
"Blaggards calling me at this bloody time of night..."
he sent one of his flabby paws out from the bed towards the button and finally pressed it, a face and a pair of spectacles appeared on the plate, a hand floated in and saluted.
"What is it Jenkins to have me called at..." He looked at the timer on the plate. "three fifteen a.m?"
"Something quite important sir, i think you should come to the map room and see this...."

"Sod, the bloody map room, just patch the bloody thing through..."
Hobs had by now sat up and was looking at the holoplate.
"Yes it's an island.... and it has artillery firing into a town on it.... jesus.."
"Yes sir, we have this basic run trough from out satellitte network. It appears the iraqstani's are trying to overun the rest of that island, there's around five and a half thousand troops... and they have only a few peices of armour and air power..."
General Hobs looked at the images... and was obviously in deep thought, he shifted himself slightly and the bed springs creacked to match.
"We should talk to Emperor Jamus Tomorrow morning...err this morning"
He corrected himself. "About putting peace keppers in there..."
The image of jenkins re-appeared, nodded and saluted before dissappearing.
General hobs sighed, yawned and rolled back into bed, he was snoring soundly again within 5 minutes.

*Tag*

It was early. Damnably early. Nathicana opens one eye to glance towards the windows still showing a darkened sky, and curses under her breath.

"I'm up ... I'm up ... what in God's name is it, Gianni?" she asks irritably, looking back towards the man standing near her bedside, already holding out one of her short robes.

"Urgent news concerning Iraqstan," he replies, his tone calm, yet carrying a certain weight to it that makes her shift into high gear almost as much as the mention of her decidedly unstable ally.

With a string of curses, broken only by occasional quick questions, she pulls on the offered robe and stalks down the hall to her office, followed closely by Gianni. "If you could, please, bring up something from the fridge, and a pitcher of ice water - don't bother waking Dom. It's going to be a long enough day as is. And please, after that, try and get some sleep. I'll be fine here." Several commlines and message boxes are lit up, and she opens the text bits as she takes the first call from her Minister of Defence, Giancarlo Torino.

As the known details are relayed, she feels her stomach sink. So he's doing it, after all the threats and posturing, she thinks with a shiver. Queenie and Speaker were both quite adamant before concerning the Um Lizaans. Gods, this could get messy. Already they're gearing up ... I should send assurances out as well.

The NDA missive was not unsurprising. Regardless of how distasteful it had been on occasion in regards to Carlos and his genocidal tendencies, it was the adherence to the ideals they had set for themselves on establishing the alliance that gave it strength. Deny him his sovereignty now, who then would support herself should the situation become reversed? It didn't matter that the liklihood of her bombing her own people was next to none. It was the principle of it.

Arrangements are made, the fleets increase the alert status they had been at since the first signs of trouble, and the Dominion military begins a nervous preparation, not wishing to be delayed as they had last time things went sour in Iraqstan. Tasks are delegated, the arrival of Gianni with food and drink going nearly unnoticed in the flurry of activity. And once she had gotten things more underway, a return call was patched through to Treznor, typing up and sending out a quick missive to Zero-One as she waits.

Perhaps now he will see clear to agree on those measures.

Destination: ZO-Shodey
Encryption: High
Return Path: DLN-Nathicana

Sis - I'm sure you're aware of the situation in Iraqstan. Any information you have that could be of assistance in solving this problem would be most appreciated. On a more direct level, those 'failsafes' we installed ages ago ... I -will- be working on authorization. Feel free to encourage the same as you see fit. God I hope we can nip this before it gets much worse.

-------------

To: TEEF Command Group
From: Giancarlo Torino, Minister of Defense

We are aware of the current status of affairs in Iraqstan, and are taking steps to remedy. We have also noted your position, and appreciate your continued patience while we attempt to solve the situation. We respectfully request that you keep us informed of any moves to change your stance in hopes that we could coordinate our efforts and avoid any possible misunderstandings.

3:04 a.m. -- Presidential Mansion, Sarion, Kelanthia

Footsteps clatter down a quiet hall in the basement of the Presidential Mansion as a minor functionary suddenly opens the door of the Operations Room and dashes a short way to the president's personal chambers. Flashing credentials to the KISA agents standing outside the entryway, he starts knocking loudly on the door.

"Mr. President, sir, we have something here that you need to see!"

Kelanthian President Gordon Grath starts slightly when awoken from his deep sleep by the aide.

"What the ..." he mutters thickly as he sits up, rubs his eyes, and stares at the door. " 'S three in the morning - this better be important..."

Grath wearily pulls himself out of bed and slips a sweatshirt and jeans over his pajamas before heading to the door. As an afterthought, he picks up his wallet containing the launch authorization codes for the substantial Kelanthian nuclear arsenal and shoves it into his back pocket.

As soon as Grath opens the door, the aide hands him a piece of paper and begins talking quickly.

"Mr. President, half an hour ago our satellites began picking up exchanges of firepower around the northern border of Iraqstan and Um Lizaa--"

"Iraqstan was attacked?" interjected Grath sharply, his mind racing.

"No sir, Iraqstani forces were attacking Um Lizaan targets," continued the aide hurriedly. "Very shortly thereafter, we received this transmission from Emperor Treznor."

Grath looks down at the paper and reads it silently as the two men pause upon reaching the door to the Operations Room. Finishing swiftly, he looks up with a pensive expression on his face. Immediately thereafter, he turns and enters the Operations Room, walking directly over to the communications desk.

"Send a transmission to Iraqstan," says Grath quickly. "To the Führer: Kelanthia is aware of the situation in Um Lizaa, and stands prepared to honor treaty requirements. Gordon Grath."

"Erm... sir... is that all?" asks the communications officer nervously. "Forgive me for asking, but that seems rather short and terse..."

"Of course it is," snapped Grath. "Do you think I want to be dragged into someone else's war? Do you think that I want complications with these 'concerned parties' Devon is talking about? I will of course give the Führer whatever aid is required by the NDA charter, but beyond that, I see no reason to get Kelanthian troops killed in a conflict that has practically nothing to do with our national interests."

"Of course, sir," replies the officer, and immediately begins typing furiously at his computer. "Do you want to send anything the rest of the NDA?"

"No," responded Grath. "If they want to know what we're doing - or for that matter, if they care what we're doing - they'll ask."

"Captain," says Grath, turning to another officer. "Get in contact with Arawn Installation, and tell them to begin preliminary deployment procedures for the VI Corps. Then, call Air Command and have them shift up to Alert Level 4 from 5. Finally, alert Sea Command to the situation and have them ready some transport assets, but tell them not to be obvious about it. Oh yeah, and tell all of the Marshals not to be too noticeable in their actions - with any luck, we won't have to deploy at all. I just want to be ready in case Iraqstan calls upon us."

"And you," says Grath, turning back to the aide that woke him up. "Get the Ministers of Defense and Foreign Affairs awake and in here as soon as possible ? I suppose I might need them."

Correct Action
Three days out from Earth

"Just like The Magnificent Seven, almost."

Dame Mahmuda scoffs, shaking her head at the shuttle's current pilot on-watch. The twenty-four person shuttle had been modified a little, with bunks for ten--not the most comfortable ride, with its Spartan accomodations, but it would do. "We're not cowboys, Sir Gahiji. Cowboys had no code of honor, not like that of knight-errantry."

Sir Huaxpitzcactzin--'Huey,' they all called the Aztec for simplicity's sake--snips off another strand of wire and covers the connection between it and the octonitrous plastic explosives inside the casing with a dab of nonreactive putty. "The Seven Samurai, then," he offers to the discussion, putting his completed demo charge in a small satchel with the others.

"Hrm... they were ronin, admittedly," Mahmuda Mahmudova nods, "but they still had to follow the code of bushido, which is similar in many regards. We, however, do not work for pay--only because it is the right thing to do."

"But they're the same movie," Toto grumbles goodnaturedly, nearly-black dark brown hands resting lightly on Correct Action's HOTAS controls.

"Well, the concept's certainly the same." Sir Sadaram sifts through his field medicine kit, meticulously removing each item and returning it from memory. "We go in, generally avoid the larger army, try to train who's capable of fighting and smuggle out those who can't. Women and children first, after all."

"While avoidance is the key to survival," Dame Constansa agrees as she puts a demolitions charge of her own into the satchel, "we still have to cause what damage we can. Accuracy, and all."

"Hell, it's an adventure, either way," Sir Chagatai says from his topmost bunk, putting aside his magazine with a broad-lipped grin, "y'know, the kind we've read about since bein' knee-high to grasshoppers. Think about it--we're resurrecting an idea that hasn't been applied en masse all too successfully for a good thousand years or so. Sure, took some tweaking, but I think we've got a shot at it."

"Heh." Sir Farid nods, steam rising from his cooking in the back. "A little bit of fame, even if as local legends, little bit of glory, and perhaps enjoying some spoils, all for doing the right thing to boot. True, can't get this kind of gig in the Military Services."

"Bah, bunch of political puppets," sneers Dame Omeragic with a dismissive wave. "Try to lure you in with that idealist schpiel, then stick you in garrison duty. Even if you second out to the TYCS, ya just get shuffled back and forth on warships. I mean, when's the last time they've ever done anything...?"

TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons
High Earth Orbit

"Task force reports all vessels in orbital line formation."

Rico nods, leaning slightly on one elbow at his console at the apex of the officer's semicircle. With all vessels equally spaced on this orbital track, thirty thousand kilometers up, they could keep up a constant observation of Iraqstan without station-keeping... and constant fire coverage as well, but that was a different matter entirely. Folding his hands, he leans forward and frowns, looking over the latest feeds.

He ran the Um Lizaan Extraction Campaign. His troops were the first to pound dirt in Um Lizaa; he'd interviewed the extractees... he stops drumming his fingers against his console. There's no need to get angry quite at the moment, Juan... Could possibly get away with it; worked for Mandrake after all... but, no. Iraqstani retaliation would just negate however many I'd manage to save.

Leaning back in his seat, the Sky Marshal sighs. Goddamnit. I hate politics.

IngolfTech Weapons Division, Orders Department

"Whoa. Have you seen this order?"

"What order?"

"Ten thousand military laser carbines, with solar recharge units and spare power packs. Five thousand more slugthrower rifles, with ammunition. Five thousand needle grenade guns. Twenty thousand laser pistols. A thousand multi-purpose heavy projectile launchers. Twenty thousand high explosive grenades, ten thousand sonic anti-vehicle grenades, ten thousand incendiary grenades, and one thousand seeker-striker anti-air missiles to fit said launchers. Looks like someone's fitting out a private army."

"What's the national routing number? Is it on the approved list?

"Yeah, looks like everything's in order. Cash already transferred from a numbered account in Moneylaunderingstan. Hey, looks like MilMeals and Personal Armor both got some big purchases as well."

"Huh. Well, not our business who it is, so long as we get paid."

Tsaraine's Plexus information network resembled the Internet only in that it held most of the data of the Greater Ascendancy; it was organised into strict layers based upon security clearance levels, and input and output were strictly controlled.

The SuperPlexus network was less so; if one had the Direct Neural Interface hardware required to access it, then one was above clearance levels. One was above screen displays, too; data was piped directly into the brain through a collection of virtual-reality environments.

Rene Seingult's was the Commonwealth Library of Tsaraine, as it had been in the mid-800's (in the Obsidian Event, of course, it had been turned into molten rock, and the books inside had burnt); a thing of vast shelves, quiet voices, and the omnipresent smell of books.

Those books represented the sum total of the Greater Ascendancy's data, avaliable for her access with a thought. Rene was busy checking the shipyard developments at Far Stone when a priority message appeared, a jarring tone and a line of red script in the air.

Priority Alert! Global Surveillance Subcorps reports military action in Iraqstan!

With the appropriate command to the system, Rene was in the Rukiko Kfosi, the Eyes of God - the Global Surveillance Subcorps' own simulation of the data they recieved from the Setnets orbiting in their pole-to-pole orbits over Earth.

Subcorps Commandant - Graf, in the new ranks of the Greater Ascendancy - Rakhenakh tsaKoinah was waiting for her there; he was the only member of his Subcorps who possessed the DNI technology.

"Show me Iraqstan," she told him, and tsaKoinah nodded, and gave the commands to the system.

The Rukiko Kfosi environment was derived from the Setnet data the GSS recieved; here at the outer level, that was Earth itself, a blue-green-brown ball surrounded by debris, sattelites, ships, and stations. They fell towards the planet, Iraqstan growing great beneath them, until the entirety of Um Lizaa lay beneath their feet.

"We've got footage of the Iraqstani Army attacking Um Lizaa," Rakhenakh told her, "Artillery and some infantry. Most of the country is in disarray - well, more disarray than usual.

"We've also got footage of fleet mobilisations by the Triumvirate and the Arpeans - you know how they are about Iraqstan, of course. The Arpeans in particular will be looking for any possible causus belli they can use to attack Iraqstan - their Empress is rather unobjective when it comes to our friends in Sirithilia."

"If any little upstart attempts to take advantage of this situation, we shall give them the same treatment Justitium got during the Iraqstani Civil War," Rene said. "Yut and Arpia would be more difficult. But none of them, with the possible exception of Empress Firefury, wants a war over our pet madman. I told him not to let this happen again, Dau karkaradt Ruki!"

"There is also a message from Emperor Treznor," Rakhenakh told her, and the communication flashed up on the screen. Rene read it, and nodded. As (almost) always, the Emperor made good sense.

"Thankyou, tsaKoinah. Keep watchong the skies!"

With that she was out of the Rukiko Kfosi and into the minimal virtual environment of the Communications Corps, little more than paper and ink with which to write one's missives.


Message To: NDA Council
Message Fr: Arkhora Rene Seingult I, Deep Tsarai, Tsaraine
Message Re: Current Situation

Friends, the Shrike ortillery systems are ready as always for operation, should they be required (though be advised I will not authorise their use against Um Lizaan targets at this point in time). Further readiness will require more time, but I am confident that Tsaraine can get a force to Iraqstan if it is required.

~ http://shade.jonpearse.net/Rene.jpg
~ Arkhora Rene Seingult I
Arkhreifane of the Interior
Abnatr A'abnatratj e Anlabjatj


OOC: I have got to find a better sig pic...

"Queenie, folks are getting twitchy over this whole Iraqstan thing. The skies overhead are moderately busier, I imagine the NDA is aware of our increased mobilization, even though it's only for wargames." Tiffany Celta paces, reading the news off a datapad.

"Well of COURSE the NDA is going to be all antsy. On one side, they've got their ally of extremely unpopular international standing getting all... well, more of the same, and on the other side, they know that people who are extremely unhappy with Carlos are getting twitchy about this latest." Firefury nods. "Sit easy, I'll issue a statement to the NDA reiterating the fact that the Shogunate and Iraqstan have a non-aggression pact, and that we will not fire unless and until we are fired upon, and that the current mobilization is in preparation for a joint Triumvirate wargame."

"Stupid politics..." Tiffany mutters, leaving the office.

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic/Military
To: All NDA member nations
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira - Reploid Productions

Alright, ladies and gents, given the recently... interesting... events in Iraqstan, I'm sure everybody's nerves are shot to pieces at the moment. I just felt it a wise idea to reiterate the fact that the Shogunate will not move to attack Iraqstan unless we are fired upon first. While we most thoroughly condemn Carlos Quil'Raya's actions, we aren't keen on starting up a steel peniifest.

Our current mobilization is in preparation for an upcoming Triumvirate wargame and is unrelated to the present situation. We don't like Carlos, that much is common knowledge, but we're also not bloodthristy warmongers.

http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/furyavatar.jpg
~Firefury Amahira
~Lady Shogun Eternal under the Wings of Chaos
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>

http://img69.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/inn.jpg
Imperial News Network
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Empire!

Führer calls emergency press conference

Standing infront of a tide of camera flashes Carlos appears smug in his stance his face showing an amused grin and his eyes sparkling with joy. Beside him stand two figures one a man with thinning hair dressed in the uniform of the Iraqstani guard, the guard emblem shining brightly on his right breast pocket. The other is a man wearing a military uniform of similar cut to Carlos' but less cleaned.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, fellow Iraqstani citizens and members of the international community. As some of you know by now three days ago Iraqstani forces engaged two cities in Northern Um Lizaa, with artillery fire and in some areas a continued assault by helicopters and fighter jets. This whilst a violent action is entirely with reason. The People's Socialist party of Um Lizaa was the target, a threat to the continued stability of the region and a threat to Iraqstani security as well as breaking many laws in place to prevent the corrupt and dishonourable party systems from taking grasp of our pure lands.

We in a strategic and terrifying attack have struck and destroyed the very core of the people's party by killing their arrogently self confessed People's President. We have continued to enlighten those that housed these enemies of the state through a series of artillery strikes against cities and structures.

We have met some light resistance in the form of small arms fire against our ground troops and there have been minimal losses, the might of the People's Nationalist Army is holding against the petty and weak lines of defense the enemy is throwing at us. We expect to have total victory within 20 days with subjugation and ceasation of illegal political movements s short two months after that.

Before any nation see it fit to step in on behalf of the People's Liberated Army of Um Lizaa I must caution you first. These people have been responsible for a series of bombings throughout southern um lizaa slaughtering hundreds of women and children in their blood thirsty rage against the all powerful state.

The National Socialist Union and her council of advisors agree with me that today marks a new era of Iraqstani domination. The world has seen two sides to the pure and enlightened peoples of our lands. The side of righteous purity and now the side of swift and merciless vengance against our enemies. Some nations will seek to place their collective snouts where they are not wanted and we expect international resistance to increase but hear this. You will be engaging in hostile actions against the sovreign rulership of the Um Lizaan island and will in no way be recognised as a legitimate force in the international community.

Any incursions by foreign troops will result in an official state of hostility between the respective nations and Iraqstan. We will hold no mercy for enemies of the state. Your soldiers and children will burn to death in the fires of the pure should you seek to anger us. I will speak with you all again soon in order to declare victory over the counter-revolutionary and with words of praise for our valient warriors. We have recieved many transmissions from allies in the Non-Democratic Alliance and I thank them deeply for their continued support of our nation. I also extend further to the international community that all the actions taking place within our lands are done so with complete and legal reasons. The motherland does not tolerate traitors and terrorists killing her children. Heil the motherland!" Turning from the camera Carlos and the two officers file from the room leaving behind a flurry of questions and a spattering of camera flashes.

http://img69.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/inn.jpg
Imperial News Network
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Empire!

Stepping into the back room of the press hall Carlos turn to the man wearing the similar uniform to him and smiles "Any suggestions Reich General?" He asks the man who clears his throat and nods. "Yes mein führer. I suggest you increase Iraqstani Guard presence within the northern realms as I am quite sure we will eventually face foreign aggression for these actions. You have admitted to shelling civillian cities to kill a few members of a would be revolutionary movement. This will anger many of our enemies and might cause them to slip in their vows of honour for the non-aggression treaties." Nodding Carlos turns to the Iraqstani Guard soldier. "And your opinion Herr General?"

"The same mein führer, replace the PNA troops with Iraqstani guard to ensure total victory. Eventually foreign aggressors will come and we must smash them quickly to show the world we do not stand lightly aside and let inferior vermin run rampant in our lands. Infact I would strongly suggest mobalising the reactionary forces near the shogunate lands to warn them off of any intention of joining in the hostilities. Perhaps send another two fleets into the area to act as a defensive line against their incursions. We also have the option of launching a full nuclear strike against the shogunate and decomissioning them entirely but that would prove costly to us in the long run."

The general finishes and steps back to his spot beside his leader. For his part Carlos simply nods and dismisses the two heading for his personal offices and the privacy to think without the suggestive thoughts of others pressing against him.

Empire meeting room, 0730hrs
"Well your highness we have only a few options, in fact two..." General Hobs took a sip from the cup of tea that sat before him.
Emperor Jamus yawned and bit on a peice of toast, he chewed for a few moments before swallowing.
"And they are...?"
" One. We sit back and do absolutely nothing... two, we send in some of our ships and take as many of the citizens as refugees as possible..."
"I see, option two sounds more favourable, i suppose well only be there peacefully unless shot at?" the Emperor bit into the toast again.
"That's the aim sir, we are just trying to get those innocent civillians out of there... i wouldn't suggest no more than twenty five of our ships, five of the capitia's and 20 of the freighters, of which ten should have troops aboard, six should be used for refugees and four should have armour on them, that's around twenty thousand men, including logsitsics.."
Jamus nodded and wiped some crumbs from his mouth, they rattled as they hit the large oak table.
"Have it done then..."

Off the coast of Um Lizaa, 700ft above sea level.

The X-soldier saluted crisply and stood to attention before talking in it's dull monotone.
"Ready to send down the freighters for extraction sir, we have informed the cities via their radio networks, surprise should be total, and we should have them out in around four hours, we have distributed gas masks due to sensors indicating a presence of chemical weapons."
The Captain nodded and the Soldier returned to the Cargo area and boarded the Slamander.

Five minutes later the first freighter had set down near a cty half a dozen Salamanders rolled out , they had mega phones and began to call out to the people, some civillians came out timidly, scared that the whistling death of the shells might begin again, some began to board the Salamanders, they had scabbled out from the ruins and grabbed what they could before climbing aboard.
http://img52.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/Salamander.png
A Salamander APC

Firefury's Office, Arpia, Reploid Productions

After her advisors file out, the cool facade the orange reploid maintained earlier shatters like a dropped glass. "That... that... Ooooh, what I would give to be the one to deliver the Goddess's Judgement on that overglorified monkey!" Firefury hops to her feet and paces the length of her office. "Damn the whole situation!"

The reploid's agitated pacing slows as she watches a news feed of Carlos making his most recent public broadcast, and a slow smile spreads across her face. "Foreign nations are one thing... but it's a known fact the are things beyond government control..."

The War Room, Imperial Palace, Reploid Productions

"I don't like it, Tsume." Tiffany shakes her head, skimming over some data from orbit. "I think I'd prefer Queenie being hopping mad and ready to pull a trigger on the guy. That calm thing she sometimes does just flat out spooks me."

"I understand what you mean, it's extremely unsettling when she gets that calm... I rather imagine that calm is the eye of the storm- deceptively tranquil, with something even worse just over the horizon." The black dragon taps a talon on his muzzle in thought. "No responses yet to Queenie's quick memo to the NDA, but I suspect they've got their hands full with the less reasonable members of the international community."

"Well, I wish them luck with that. MilIntel's intercepted transmissions from Iraqstan to those fleets they've got parked uncomfortably close to our turf. They haven't decoded it yet, but they suspect it's orders for some more posturing. I'm ordering the ISON grid's big cannons to alert status. If that pea-brained sack of crap wants to wave his compensation at us, I want it clear that if he starts something, we will gladly answer. We paid enough to GMC for that defense grid just for this sort of thing. They fire on us, they get shot at by those gigantic farking railway cannons."

"And the status of preparation for the Green Flag exercises?" Tsume inquires.

"It'll be a few days yet before the prep is done for the computer simulations, and it may take longer to get underway since I'm sure Treznor's got more pressing concerns right now than a war game where he's playing the OPFOR."

"Heh... maybe we'll get lucky and some big do-goodie nation will interfere in Iraqstan and raise enough hell that they have to pull those fleets back. Given GMC's recent induction into the NDA, I doubt they'll feel too comfortable honoring our mutual defense pact and having a fleet or two of theirs staring down Carlos' fleets like they were during the Big Lift." Tsume chuckles darkly. "Oh what tangled webs we weave..."

"In a word, politics suck."

"Hear, hear!"

It was three in the morning and off the northern coast of Um Lizaa a squall was tossing a EHTransWorld container ship around like a hamsterball rolled down the stairs. The rain and waves were hammering the ship but despire the rough weather small shapes could be seen on the deck manuvering a lift frame onto a shipping container and lifting those over the side of the ship. Doors opened with a clange inaudible in the gale and a daggerlike boat slid out and into the tossing seas.

"Keep ahold of something!"

The pilot of the small craft shouted instructions at the Crosiers huddled under the wheelhouse as he started the engines and sent the craft shooting towards the distant shore. The lean, low craft slide through the water with barely a whisper, it's low-pressure waterjet slowly accelerating the boat to 10 knots. The Crosiers were more concerned for their cargo of course - strapped to the deck were crates full of food and medical supplies, childrens toys, and a single bedragled sheep in an open crate. The Crosiers had questioned the presence of the sheep, but the pilot had simply warned them away. The look of malice in the wet sheep's black eyes had something to do with it as well.

Half the boats had Crosiers and their supplies, the other half had weapons and still more sheep strapped to the deck. None were armed - unless one counted the sheep.

Reasonably Priced Violence
Flagship, Danderii Free Mecenary Fleet
The Belt

"So, here's what we need to do: find a way to insert several thousand packages full of arms and armor into Um Lizaa. Note, we have not been hired to do any actual fighting against Iraqstani regulars." With that, the little admiral at the head of the briefing room table sat down.

"Well, that means a straight out combat drop is out of the question," muses Captain Bella Quinn. "For that matter, even disposable pods would be difficult - they'd probably catch too many during deorbit, and the surviving equipment would be concentrated and easy to sweep up."

"I agree," says a ship captain, Alesander Thorne. "For that matter, a sea approach isn't perfect either. We'd get far less inland coverage than we want."

"That's true. What we need are small packages that are easy to distribute and can evade detection," says Admiral Sainmith.

"You know," says the fleet quartermaster, "I think we've still got a lot of electro-optic camoweb from that business last year. Never did get rid of it."

"And those old probe bodies - even covered with the web, they could make a slow reentry and still carry enough munitions for a fair sized partisan group."

"Good. Get engineering working on the modifications. We've still got a day or two before the next Jumpship run for Earth - I want to move before our employer decides that it's too late to do anything.

Northern Um Lizaan patrol group alpha

Sitting at his station aboard the patrol boat Invincible hope Sensors chief Libenstraum flicks his eyes over the sonar and radar casually, another boring shift aboard the oceans. "At least the weather is exciting" He mutters to himself as the waves rock the boat violently.

'Ping' is all he hears and he tears his eyes off the window and back to his screen, infront of him a small shape appears on his instruments, fading in and out of contact randomly. "Sir! I've got a contact due east of us! Bearing right for us. Estimated distance 40km" He shouts to his captain who turns quickly and heads to his side. "Well then get all guns ready and prepare to fire on the approaching ship. Communications hail that thing I want to know what it is" The captain orders and turns back to his seat as around him the bridge springs into action.

"Unidentified vessel off our starboard identify yourself. Repeat this is Iraqstani patrol guard Invincible Hope call unidentified vessel off our starboard. Indentify yourself immediately or we will consider you hostile." The communications officer says forcefully into his microphone as his transmission heads out accross all channel.

Sitting back the captain of the ship rubs his index finger with his thumb, idly setting his mind for the game ahead.

Um Lizaan forward radar station 4,
Northern Um Lizaa

Sitting at his desk the radar operator idly watches his screen as around him the jungle thundres with the sounds of artillery off in the distance, shuddering the operator remembers idly when this position was shelled only four months ago. They said it was for the good of the union, the traitors inside were giving information to the enemy. The operator thinks to himself as on his screen he catches a flash of a flying craft as it flashes over his screen.

Jolting forward he checks the feed and shakes his head "Fools." He whispers as he watches as a vehicle rolls down out of the freighters belly and begins rounding up citizens. Getting on the radio he finds the closest unit of soldiers and informs the commander who issues new orders for his people.

Heading out quickly, the eighty five men reach the target zone inside of three hours the roar of their jeeps echoing through the woods, undoubtedly giving them away. Heading in quickly weapons drawn the commander stands at the back megaphone in hand and turns it on. "Violators of Iraqstani soils, we know you are there. You are ordered by the führer of Iraqstan with whom this country claims allegiance to leave at once and return your hostages to their homes.

We do not want to fight those who have been mistakenly forced into a hostile zone by the lies and deciets of what ever government you work for. They have lied to you, we are not the enemy your government is. Come out now and we will treat you as honourable beings." He shouts, the last word echoing through the trees as his men silently advance, plasma rilfes held ready. Behind them the jeeps train their heavy machine guns on the buildings closest to them the windows covered entirely.....

A single engine growled, infront of the soldiers a Single Salamander rumbled out and across the street in front of them, the dull monotone burst from a speaker.

"We have seen what has been happening to these people, women, children. They are not hostages, we are removing them for their saftey, our government is not lying and we are loyal to them, as soon as we have rounded up the civillians, we shall leave, we do not wish for a conflict that is unecessary...ssary..ary, our orders are not to fire unless fired upon, we are aware that there are eighty-five men with you, we do not wish to see them harmed, our weapons to make war are devistating, and we wish no harm to any sentinent lifeform in this country."

"Sir, we have bad guys moving in, look." The aide pointed at the map, the Admiral sighed.
"Prepare the 506th squadron, just in case, we don't want to hurt the buggers..." he sighed and looked at the map.
"Better deploy the tanks to that position aswell, they only have jeeps... poor poor buggers..."

Four Kyzyl Tanks Growled into action, they rolled rather calmly off of the freighter and headed towards the position of the command Salamander that was talking to the Iraqstani guards, another Salamander followed along, full of some 30 X-Soldiers hefting Plasma rifles, and the deadly Venom Chain gun.

The radio on the assault boat 40km west of the patrol boat squacked and the pilot leaned close to hear everything.

'Someone needs to shoot that comm officer - either he doesn't know where he is, or else he is fishing...'

Pickking up the microphone he formulated a sarcastic response and a quick plan. Screwing his mouth up he adopted what could only be called a Texan twang and responded.

"Why don't ya'll tell us where we are starboard of? Cause currently I'ma sitting off Corpus Christi - how bout you?"

With one hand he turned the boat into the trough he was riding and gunned the engines while the other opened a cabinet and took out a diving mask. If they got close his plan was to jump over the side and get as far away from the boat as possible before the sheep went into action. Speaking of which...

"Alright guys - get ready. We might have some Iraqstani's coming for a visit..."

Behind him he could hear the sound of crates splintering as hooves shattered wood with ease.

----

"Did you hear anything?"

"Nothing - sounded like static."

The boat continued to head for shore, the warning message drown out in electrical interference. The rest of the boats were spread out - more because of the storm than any specific plan. Their goal was to get to shore and hand the boats over to the resistance. There was still the little problem of getting the pilots off Um Lizaa, but they were clever men and women - something would come up.

Olympus Mons
High Earth orbit

"You're kidding."

"No..." the strategy think-tank liason frowns. "Some large but heretofore unheard of nation has popped out of nowhere and looks like it's starting a half-assed extraction campaign. Dropships have touched down in Um Lizaa; we've backtracked through Voyeur data and know where they're from. We're checking the infonets to get what little information exists."

Rico groans softly. "Sounds vaguely familiar, but now is not the time. What's the Iraqstani response?"

"We're reading ground mobilization in Um Lizaa but we're not reading any strategic assets as of yet."

"FleetCom, put the task force at Event Condition One. Operational power priority is sensors, followed by weapons. This could be enough to set them off, but I don't know against whom. StratCom, when you get enough information for me to send, I'm going to send a message down to Iraqstan informing them it is not Triumvirate activity."

"He wouldn't believe you," the strategy officer says wryly.

"Point. Still..." The Sky Marshal sighs and leans back in his chair. "How long do you think it will take for this to cause some sort of exchange?"

* - * - *

Correct Action
Two days out

"Hm. I wonder what Amadis of Gaul would think of asymmetric warfare."

"Sorry, Lady Maissoneuve, but Amadis didn't have to worry about slugthrowers." Sir Huey grins slightly. "Back in the days when a doughty arm and a big horse made someone a lot more powerful than the next guy, people could afford to be Homeric heroes. Thing is, I bet you ten to one that the Iraqstani can shoot just as straight as we can, and I still think the best way to survive is to not get shot, carapace or battle armor or no. Best way to not get shot is to not make a scene. Best way to not make a scene is to be sneaky."

The woman of French extraction sighs, leaning back in the pilot's chair. "True, true... how far has honor fallen."

"As far as needed to keep people alive. Besides, that's what the Herald system is for. It assists us with keeping larger forces off balance and allows us to boast as is appropriate. Got to get the name out, after all... part of knight-errantry, after all. Still... while we're on the subject of staying alive, what about an ops check on that sat-hack, Sir Ekianga?"

Kushamura frowns down on the makeshift device in his hands. "Well, it should be done. We know TYCS sat data is open domain for navigation, with increasing layers of security... enemy combat data is pretty low priority. Still, I know they have Zero-One-Em-Cee sniffers constantly patrolling and I really don't want to try a hack until we absolutely have to, seeing how the triangulation data we use for positioning also instantly gives us away if we make it a two-way conversation... like trying to draw out tactical info."

"Fair 'nuff," Huey replies with a shrug.

Fidelis Transhipment Point
L5, Terra Orbit

"God, what a mess," says Admiral Maisnith. "Do these people know the definition of covert? Carlos isn't exactly known for his patience and lack or paranoia, and these people start openly landing troops."

"Maybe he'll re-aim some of his missiles away from and blast these morons," suggests Bella.

The admiral snorts. "Yeah. That'll leave only a couple thousand of them pointed at Arpia alone. Still, it might draw some attention away from the skies. We'll remain in high orbit until we've compeleted all modifications, just in case Carlos gets it into his mind to try and shoot up the TYCS."

Brother Kedran, with his long military background, was in nominal charge of all the teams, although each team had its leader as well. The five Crosier teams coordinated with him pretty effectively—many of them knew each other well. The three Sisters of Charity teams were another matter. Sister Maria Goretti McKillean, the one in charge there, had listened calmly to all the briefings, but had told him afterwards, “You tend to your knitting, boyo, and let me tend to mine.”

However, the Sisters appeared more than competent, wetsuited and equipped with night goggles and breathers, as they all were. Everyone had a micro-oxy tank and a small repeller motor strapped to their backpack, as well. The micro-oxy tanks, while safe as houses in a wet environment, would have to be discarded or (more likely) handed over to Um Lizaan military personnel for ‘disposal’ after their landing. Slightly modified and fitted with detonaters and timers, the micro-oxys made fabulous incendiaries.

The eighty missionaries had been selected from the fittest and most experienced their Orders could offer. Most had medical training, all had at least one other specialties. There were a goodly number of priests among them, and they had a flexible and well-briefed operations plan memorized, with various options and contingencies. It was almost a military level of planning. Although they would do no fighting, of course, the situation was such as to make military-style organization essential.

Their “anonymous donor,” whomever it might be, had done them proud, equipping them not only for the transfer and landing, but providing the best possible cargo, in salvage-ready crates equipped with locator chips and ultramag units. Five of the Brothers and Sister Maria had the ultramag locator/activator units clipped to their belts.

Now most of them were semi-flattened in their landing craft, a few keeping an eye on the conditions using their night goggles. The EHTransWorld crew were releasing a radar/sonar interference package—lightweight drones that mimicked targets—over a wide area. With luck, if anyone was paying attention to them, their landing craft would slide unnoticed through the surrounding “noise” of interference.

They’d promised to do their best to get the other landing craft up to shore using the ultramag, if needed, but their own mission had priority, of course. They were pointed at a smallish cove that was well within Um Lizaan control, for now. No one knew they were coming, but hopefully the Um Lizaans would be more curious than hostile. They were clearly not Iraqstani. At least one or two members of each team spoke Arabic, Iraqstani, and several of the local dialects.

In her own boat, Sister Maria grimly told her stomach that she didn’t have time to take any nonsense from it now. She wasn’t a good seaman, but damned if she’d let that keep her from making sure her teams reached shore safely and with their supplies. She’d taken a hefty anti-nausea dose, that would have to do. Next to her, Brother Ludo was praying under his breath—calmly, steadily, saying the Rosary. A good idea. She passed the word, and as many of her Sisters as weren’t struggling with their own seasickness joined in. The soft drone mingled with stormnoise and the hiss of the jets as the darker-looming bulk of the shoreline crept closer.

Ignoring the turbulence shaking the jet streaking toward Iraqstani airspace, Treznor pours over the latest reports. Communications intercepts report activity on the seas north of the Um Lizaan coast. Satellite tie-in showed an awful lot of unusual traffic keeping just inside International waters. His eyes narrow in suspicion. Freighters? Very conspicuously not violating declared territorial boundaries. Friend or foe? All the same to Carlos, but still, Treznor wonders. He moves on to the next report.

Dropships of unknown origin. Subtle as a brick. Someone landed a few thousand or million tons of metal in Um Lizaa and started unloading an army. Treznor pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. Those absolute idiots. Why do they have to make my job that much harder? I'm sure Carlos can wipe them out without too much trouble; they've got no lines of support. But all the same, treaty requires a response. Dammit, there's no way I'm going to avoid getting pulled in to save Carlos. Again. He swears that when he finds out who owns the dropships, he'll send them a nasty letter. For a moment, he wishes Lancaster were still alive to deliver it.

He pulls up a keyboard and begins typing up a missive.
TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: NDA Top Secret
Broadcast type: Diplomatic / Military
To: Carlos Quil'raya, Iraqstan; Nathicana d'Aquisto, Dominion
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Devon Treznor - Treznor

Intelligence paints some fool landing dropships in Um Lizaa. I know for a fact it isn't the Triumvirate; everyone pledged to keep their noses out of it per treaty stipulations. So that means yet another well-intentioned crusader is trying to charge at our windmills. I recommend scrambling the Joint Forces and raising the alert status for member nations. I can't imagine how these fools expect to survive a military response, but that's what they've provoked.

I don't get it. Rumour has it we're supposed to be the warmongers. Why is it we're the only ones who try to talk before sending in the troops?

Devon
<end transmission>
He proofs the letter and sends it with a sigh. The last thing he wants is another war. Unfortunately, the choice has been taken from him.

There are several score Shrike guns strung in pole-to-pole orbits around Earth, providing 85% coverage of the planetary surface. Only one, however - Sh-049, christened by it's operators the Hammer of Righteous Fury - will be in position to fire upon northern Um Lizaa for the next few hours, and it is the Hammer which quietly ups power from Fusion Reactor Alpha to the coils of it's oversized Gauss cannon.

A depleted-uranium shell, fifty centimeters across and twice that long, is inserted into the firing chamber.


Encryption: NDA Top Secret

Message To: NDA Council - Emperor Devon Treznor, Führer Carlos Quil'raya, Dread Lady Nathicana
Message Fr: Arkhreifane Tanyi ralKeyra, High Stone
Message Re: Problems detected...

The Global Surveillance Corps reports multiple bogies deploying troops in northern Um Lizaa. Shrike ortillery system Sh-049 will be in a position to fire five projectiles as this target as it passes overhead; do I have the go-ahead to tell the gunjockeys down in the Eyrie to open fire?

If JF Intel has data on the nationality of the Justitium reenactors, I can give you data on the possibility of hitting their military facilities or capitol also.

The Arkhora and Arkhreifane Ekina of the Exterior want this thing to stay clean, but it looks like that isn't going to be possible. That being the case, overwhelming force is required.

~ Arkhreifane Tanyi ralKeyra
High Admiral of the Inner System Fleet
Arkhreifane of the Space Force

Spreading out through the villiage the soldiers arm their rifles, body armour clattering less loudly now that their guns were held at the ready. Crouching behind a building a single soldier leans out quickly, viewing the area and noticing the movement. Ducking back behind the wall he radios in his position and the amount of firepower.

"Ficken Sie!" The commander utters softly as he motions with his hand for the jeeps to pull back slightly. "Get the AT's ready and have command prepare to scramble a squadron of starfliers, these idiots seem to think they scare us." He orders his communications specialist who prompty barks into his radio.

As the words of the foreigners drift through the trees the commander watches his men, many of them snorting in disgust and checking their weapons quickly. In the villiage itself the feeling is somewhat less relaxed but still a sense of superority remains over the troops. Checking his weapon lieutenant Hasovy looks down the scope of his modified rifle and watches the men walking about the freighter some of them armed others helping vermin. Sneering grimly he mocks pulling the trigger and falls back further inside the building his rifle now barely poking through the curtains.

Tracking a single man the lieutenant hovers his finger over the trigger, waiting for the call to attack but only silence meets his radio signals.....

-----------------

Sitting at his desk in Sirithilia Carlos reads the messages trickling into his office from intel sources and communications, his expression a mask of rage as he looks over the photos and documents of the foreign invaders. Flicking to the message from Devon, Carlos sighs and writes out a hasty response.


TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: NDA Top Secret
Broadcast type: Diplomatic / Military
To: Devon Treznor, Treznor; Nathicana d'Aquisto, Dominion
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Carlos Quil'Raya, Iraqstan

I have become aware of these fools and have weapons moving into position, initial contact has been made by a forward recon force and the vermin claim to be helping people flee. They have refused to leave after being ordered too and are still taking on um lizaan nationals. I am authorising a mobalisation of the fourth Rocket division to begin moving into position in the southern half.

Naval assets are being mobalised to hit any stragglers and I've had contacts with foreign vessels off the coast, unsure of their identities and unable to do much but pursue. Likelyhood of foreign intelligence penetration is high.

As for the mobalising of the joint forces, I suggest holding off on that. Nothing to date has become anything to worry about, my forces in the area are better than expected and I feel no need to add stress to the alliance with such a move. On that note, I am authorising the use of the Tsaraine ortillery on the vermin vehicles and once intelligence has back traced their location I will begin discussing possible retaliations against their homelands. Nuclear divisions have been activated in the event that any nation arpian or not decide to initiate more than what a treaty calls for.

Sitting back Carlos smiles at the letter and hits the send button. "At least they wont wonder if I feel these fools are Yut in origin. Even they are not as foolish as to defy a treaty." He whispers as he drafts up another letter this time to another nation.


TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: NDA Secret
Broadcast type: Military
To: Arkhreifane Tanyi ralKeyra
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Carlos Quil'Raya, Führer

Acting independantly of the council I am giving the authorisation to fire upon the foolish wannabes as soon as possible, they pose a threat to continued security in the area and seek to kidnap rightful citizens of the Union. I am unsure how the other member states of the council will react but I am sure they will agree with me.

May luck be with you Arkhreifane

Respectfully,
Carlos Quil'Raya

-----------

Off the coast the captain fumes at the response and snaps out orders "Man the guns, get ready for combat these fools will burn in hell tonight!" He yells as the men around him spring to action his very voice fueling their own annoyances.

As the large ship swings towards the other vessel the captain mumbles silently watching the sensors as the blip fades in and out, sometimes appearing to be heading the wrong way other times just not moving. Blasted government, more worried about their missiles than their sensor equipment. He thinks sourly too himself as the crew continue to report not sighting of the foreign vessel.

The newly christined Texan kept the throttle open and gunned it up the back side of a wave moving towards shore and through the air to land with a splash on another wave.

'Sound like a cowboy, act like a cowboy... Ow.' The impact had shook him around and he had bashed his elbow on the console pretty solidly. 'Maybe no more acting like a cowboy.'

Dashing from wave top to wave top he kept scanning the horizon as he crested each wave until he spotted the search lights of the larger ship in the distance. Right between him and the shoreline.

'Well f...'

The larger ship, while slower, could cut him off if it spotted him before he passed it. It was either run for the shore or run down the coast and hope there was not another patrol boat further along. If there was he would be pinched between the two of them - not a good situation. Better to risk one...

Turning towards the shore the small boat blasted from wave top to wave top, engine howling as it sucked in air instead of water.

The Admiral sighed, this wasn't going smoothly. The HAEKO government was more than aware of the threats and the "meddling" as he called it wasn't going to go smoothly at all, he sighed again and shook his head.
"Why didn't we whine at them first..."
"Probably because they would have all been dead by the time we stopped him?" the aide looked quizzically.
"mmm"
"Sir, we have something coming up on the scanners, looks like a ship."
"Oh drat, better arm up... What is the status on the deployment?"
"Tanks are nearly there, Salamander is deploying it's troops now, the CS is falling back now."
"Mhm, better give them the 506th wing, they could do with them, or they're screwed, I need to contact the Palace." he turned to the holoplate and pressed the switches

Imperial Palace, Kyzyl-city

"Put bluntly sir, this is a mess, I suspect they will open fire on us soon, our sources indicate that their leader has little paitence, and is slightly Nuclear happy, I doubt we will survive." the holoimage of the Admiral floated in the middle of the table.
"Continue with what you can do, we need as many of those people off of that island as possible."
The Admiral nodded, a voice came from behind him and the image quickly dissappeared.
"I didn't like the look of that...." Emperor Jamus Kyzyl Frowned at the now dead holoplate.
"Me either" General Hobes sighed and stroked his large moustache.

Truth and Reconciliation - Capitia class Kyzyl vessel 1000 feet above sea level

The Admiral turned back around and walked over to the floating map.
"What? What is it?"
The aide pointed at the two vessels that were chugging their way towards the coast.
"If we don't stop them, the freighter is lost.."
"Better get another wing or two of Fury's out there then...keep the 506th ready incase anything happens in that village."

Eight Fury Fighters left the port on the Capitia and set a course towards the two ships that were in the turbulant waters.

Olympus Mons

"Looks like our mystery idealists are increasing presence in the region."

Sky Marshal Rico sighs. This is why we're not there, you fools... put in for a penny with Carlos and he'll give you the whole pound. "All right then. FleetCom, order the fleet to maintain a constant-observation fleet orbit, but do not move to observation station-keeping. Amassing over Iraqstan would look like preparation for ortillery... which is not what we want Carlos to think. I want one fleet to change orbit to cover that new... whatever you called it..."

The strategic command officer references her screen for a moment. "Kzyzl-Orda, sir."

"Right. Send the Fourth Combined to regional stationkeeping between there and Iraqstan. If these two start tossing missiles--either direction--I want them downed in transit, at least. The Fourth and Sixth Expeditionary can cover Iraqstan and down any missiles in boost phase Carlos launches; it's up to the Fourth to intercept anything from the newbies in transit. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," replies the fleet communications officer.

"Alright then. Comms, send a message up the line to TYCSHQ on the order of we may require humanitarian relief services on a national disaster scale on immediate notice. If anyone gets dusted we offer aid."

"Acting, sir."

"Jeebus H Hyskos," Rico says to himself as he swings up his console, lifts himself out of his seat, and starts pacing across the room, thick rubber boot soles tramping softly on the metal deck plating, "this is a foreign invasion that can get the NDA involved... we bloody asked first before landing... sure, gunboat diplomacy asking, but it counts. What are these people thinking?"

"You may be giving them too much credit, sir," the helmsman finds himself quipping.

"Hush, you."

Tenchuu Fleet flagship Hand of God class Peace With Conviction, Makai station

"Flightleader Altana, TYCS forces are presently in observational positions in the Iraqstani theatre. Seems some aspiring idealists are trying to start what the higherups tried to prevent the LAST time around."

"In other words, they're trying to instigate a war of liberation?" The lanky Drakonic Oramos Altana skims the command monitors and their constant stream of data.

"Hard call... hostilities haven't broken out yet between Iraqstani forces and the newbies, but according to MilIntel, it could hit the fan at any given moment. Tsarainese orbital strike equipment appears to be preparing to fire, they're probably awaiting permission."

"Hn... what happens in that theatre is not our concern. Our concern is to maintain the safety of the Shogunate and her allies, and we will do so with our continued vigilance. Those righteous fools trying to rescue people there are certainly brave. Foolish and quite possibly suicidal, but brave. The consequences of their actions are on their heads, and theirs alone. If they get themselves tangled up in violence with Iraqstan, so much the better for us, as that means Carlos will have someone else to vent his petty anger on." Oramos nods slightly. "Maintain current position over the Shogunate. The Iraqstanis will be our concern only if they come and make themselves our concern. Let the TYCS keep an eye on them, and those fools landing forces play with them for awhile, may Shimeki spare them."

"Ryoukai!"

OOC: Placeholder to make the thing post. Jolt is weird with quotes, I suppose it's to stop people making horrible big quote pyramid spam.


Encryption: NDA Secret

Message To: Führer Carlos Quil'raya
Message Fr: Arkhreifane Tanyi ralKeyra, High Stone
Message Re: Problems detected...

Führer Quil'raya, with all due respect I cannot act on such an authorisation. The Shrike orbital net is a Tsarainese system, not a Joint Forces system, and it is most certainly not an Iraqstani one.

Should I recieve authorisation from a majority of the Council members, acting in their authority as Council members, I can then apply to the Arkhora for final approval. Only then can I transmit firing orders to the control crews.

As it is, I can tell you that the Arkhora will not give the authorisation to fire on your say-so.

Nei'udh dvokh Ruki Aestrakhor aseiravda, and good day. Or as good a day as may be expected, given the circumstances.

~ Arkhreifane Tanyi ralKeyra
High Admiral of the Inner System Fleet
Arkhreifane of the Space Force

"Oh bloody hell."

The Trium forces monitoring the scene were not answering. One of two things, she figured, and only time would tell. S.H.O.D.A.N. had been notably silent as well - something that made her blood run a little cold. And now this.

The last time some idiot had gotten it into their heads to 'save the Um Lizaans' without so much as a 'by your leave' had resulted in the deaths of hundreds, a huge tab for the operation, and had created a tension between her two alliances in regards to certain parties.

She sent a quick acknowledgement both to Treznor and Tsaraine, just as the missive from Iraqstan came through.

"Hold off? And sweet Jesu, already threatening nuclear strikes if the Trium flinches ... goddammit." Massaging her temples slowly, elbows resting on her desk, she opens one eye to peer at her screen.

"God damn these men. Damn them all straight to hell," she mutters darkly, cursing as she sits up and reaches for the pitcher of ice water nearby.

After taking a slow sip from her topped-off glass, she puts in a call to Minister Torino, advising him of the new information, and instructing him to continue the alert, and the preparations. Need for assistance or no, there was, as noted, always 'guilt by association' to take under consideration. There were several she wouldn't put past attempting a diversion or two during the chaos, and damned if she was about to let that happen on her watch. Calabrese, Pellegrino and Massetti were also allerted. Guard on her 'guest' was to be increased, and security throughout the government, tightened up. "No chances," she said simply, "and keep the public feeling as secure as possible. Work with Evangelista and Talia for the proper spin."

A second note was sent to Tsaraine, requesting extreme care in how and when such attacks are utilized, if at all, and that every effort to avoid using them within reason be attempted.

Last but not least, after a careful deliberation, a message was also sent to several Trium leaders.


Encryption level: High, Trium Council

To: Queen Firefury Amahira, Reploid Productions
Speaker-Rrit, Scolopendra
Queen S.H.O.D.A.N., Zero-One

RE: Iraqstan, current situation

Before things get entirely out of hand, and in case previous messages have failed to get through, please be aware that we are doing all we can to minimize the fallout, literally, in Iraqstan.

I have been advised that a new threat outside our two alliances has been making inroads and stirring Carlos further, as I'm sure your surveilance shows as well. I understand how difficult it must be holding positions as you have been - I remember all too well the meetings held over the Um Lizaans during the last extraction. I can make no guarantees of a repeat this go 'round, but I do feel the need to reiterate the delicate nature of the present situation.

We have recieved confirmation from Carlos that he has authorized and is prepared to use nuclear retaliation in his words 'in the event that any nation, Arpean or otherwise, decides to initiate more than what the treaty calls for'. He is already working to trace the source of these new invaders. I do not think it is going to be pretty.

In the face of all this, I cannot stress strongly enough how important it is that actions on the part of the Trium are beyond reproach. I would also request, regardless of how it may go against your natures, not to interfere in the event of a retributive strike against this new target in any way that could be construed as 'infringing' on the current treaty with Iraqstan.

I hope that this will, beyond all hope, end with minimal loss. Please keep in touch, and keep me aware as you can of any changes in your current stances. It will assist in trying to head off any possible unfortunate misunderstandings. Anything I can use to help diffuse this damnable mess, I will.

-- Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion

Walking up to Devon as he leaves the diplomatic customs point he extends his hand in a friendly manner his posture and language open and calm. "Devon my friend! A long time it has been since you visited here."

"Carlos! I didn't expect to meet you so early. You're looking fit." "Believe it or not, but you rank highest amongst my short list of foreign friends and so you get extra attention upon arrivals. Sirithil forbid I neglect my duties as host." Carlos responds, with a wry smile playing on his lips.

"I'm flattered. Damn, it's hot. Is it winter or summer here? I can never tell the difference." He gestures to an aide, who hurries up with a small box. Treznor removes a small, brightly wrapped package from it. "For you, old friend." "Hot? My friend it's not even 30 degrees outside! It's lovely weather." Taking the package he raises an eyebrow and shakes it. "What is it?" "It's a drinking flask, half a liter. I filled it with the best scotch I could find. Which means it's scotch I bought from you, but it's your own damned fault for making the best I've ever tasted."

"Well then, an even better reason to restrict supplies of it!" He responds quickly that smile once more playing over his face. Motioning with his free hand Carlos leads Devon towards a waiting car and two black suited guards who stand ready on either side of the doors. "How's Lidric? And Yvonne, of course." He gestures sharply to his own security detail, who wait behind looking disgruntled. "both are fine, infact Lidric is learning very quickly how best to fit the mould of future leader. Yvonne, she enjoys her new post in the defense ministry she's quite skilled in her work."


"No kidding. My security hasn't been on the same level since I let her go. Glad to hear about Lidric. You still want Nath and I to polish off his education? We might have a unique opportunity to do so." He steps into the car and shifts over to make room. "Of course, He's almost yearning for more to learn of the world. I think it'll be a few more months before his mother will let him leave on his own though." He says climbing into the limo beside Devon and nodding too the two guards he climb seat themselves in the front of the vehicle. As the car pulls away Carlos turns to look at his friend and raises an eyebrow. "So other than my delightedly good nature you're here to talk about Um Lizaa and the arrival of those unknowns yes?"


"Naturally. Your choice of artillery targets has everyone nervous. Then when these newbies dropped in to meddle, it soured the pot even further. Nath is working on the Triumvirate from her end, and I'm here to provide moral support." "Of course, I take it you recieved my letter about not wanting the NDA to take a mobalisation yeah?" "I saw. I'm confident you can handle this threat, whatever it is. But what the hell brought on an artillery barrage on Um Lizaa? The next thing I know, the sky's getting so crowded you could practically walk across the horizon on satellites and 'observation craft.' It's like you're deliberately provoking people to take interest in your internal affairs."

Chuckling softly Carlos shakes his head. "I cant provoke what's already there. People have an eye on me anyways and they'd notice things no matter what. As for the artillery. Those settlements housed a political campaign against me. Political opposition is illegal. I was disciplining the vermin." Treznor snorts. "Political opposition is illegal in Devonton, too. You don't see me firing howitzers at community housing. We have Guardsmen for that kind of thing." Carlos chuckles softly "But those that disappear in the night are never remembered as those that are blown to bits during the day." Treznor sighs and looks out the window for a moment. Then he looks back. "Remember GOD and Danneland? Why did we join up with him and his organisation?"

"Because it was a promising victory towards sovreign respect. We joined up with him because we saw a means of living as we wished without fear of retalliation." "And why did you follow me when I left?" "Because it was becoming a puppet of GDODAD. We all know what smell that left behind." "GDODAD is infamous for reacting with their military, seeking out excuses to go to war. When I first proposed the NDA to you, it was because the world had forgotten how to talk first. Nobody wanted to negotiate peace, they just wanted to demonstrate who had the bigger army.

"We've denied applications from strong nations because they brought a bad odour with them, or just wanted to use us for protection after pissing somebody off. We worked hard for a reputation for neutrality and peace. What changed, Carlos?" "Indeed, and you've known for quite some time, Iraqstan is less than friendly within it's own borders. Another key founding in the NDA was the promise of security to act as we see fit within our own lands." He counters gently, his face hardening slightly. "Nobody is saying you can't enforce policy as you see fit, old friend. It's just that your methods are provocative. You seem to favour firing cannons when a gun would do. I'm not here to tell you how to manage your country. I'm here to remind you that particularly now, your actions are provocative. It's not just about getting what you want, it's about keeping peace with the neighbours."

"Lets face it Devon, no matter what I do particularly now as you put it all my actions will seem provocative. Nothing can change that." "Yes, but there are degrees of provocation. You don't need artillery to suppress a political uprising, it's just more fun that way. Granted. There are a number of times I've wished I could just blow away a city block. But you're not even considering alternate means to handle this problem, and it looks like you're drawing a line in the sand and daring folks like the Shogunate to cross it."

"If they want to see that, then I cannot stop them. I learnt the hardway only recently that dealing politely with the Um Lizaan results in deaths. half a million killed in a single attack one time, foreigners executed and cities burnt in another. I've tried diplomacy with them. They are incapable of anything but basic animal responses." "You can't identify the ringleaders? Or maybe just gas them in the night? It has to be this way?"

"It was a choice, no matter which way the dice fell there'd be consequences. Be it a night op gassing of the cities like I've done before, or a full scaled military maneuver that ended the opposition quickly and made a statement to the world that I'm no longer bending over for anyone's demands. In a way you're right. I'm drawing a line. The line where I refuse to go lower." Treznor sighs and nods. "Well, judging by the way the world is reacting, I'd say you've won. The Shogunate has declared they're staying out of this, unless they get fired on first. Triumvirate fleet elements are watching overhead and keeping out of it. Our alliance is on full alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And you've got another crusading fool forcing you to commit your forces to remind him to mind his own business. "So I'm here to show we're still behind you, and to offer advice."

"I have no fear of that. Our dreams differ from each other's slightly. We started the NDa with a dream of being able to live as we please. Well, here it is, today we can live without fear of foolish crusades against us. The fools in Um Lizaa have not even fired. I'm authorising an emergency dispatch of air weapons to the area to prevent them from leaving. They fear Iraqstan." Treznor grins. "With good reason. I've seen examples of your weapons programs." Carlos smiles "Then you can begin to understand the dreams I've had my friend. Imagine what it would be like to be free of the impure that hang at our feet. A purifying revolution sparked from one country and spreading over the world." He whispers gently, a feral grin sliding over his face. Treznor frowns slightly. "So long as the world catches fire on its own. A lot of nations aren't ready to accept purification just yet."

"Indeed." Carlos says softly, before shaking his head. "Either way, what advice do you offer?" "If you can find out what government or organisation is behind these mysterious crusaders, we can put pressure on them diplomatically. Remind their neighbours if they're so eager to push their own agenda on you, how much provocation would it take them to 'rescue' some of their own citizens? Spin it, as usual." "I'll have intelligence working on it immediately. Although I'm beginning to wonder if some of my agents abroad have been compromised. Alot of avenues have shut down recently. Unfortunately I'm currently blind in the shogunate until I can get word to the station there."

"If you can capture some of those people, even if they won't talk we can trace their equipment back to their origins. And since they're illegally trespassing, you have the right to forcibly detain them by any means necessary. If some of them were to become missing in action, they could be 'encouraged' to talk. No one is immune to every method of interrogation." Carlos nods softly "And we have many ways to make people talk. Of course I'll try my best to get atleast three of them."

"Precisely. If you really want to stir things up, you can see about sending some covert ops in. If one of those dropships were to suffer a mishap with one of their nuclear weapons, then that's just more proof that their intentions weren't so pure. And, of course, the Um Lizaans will have only brought that upon themselves." Carlos chuckles softly. "The vermin shall erradicate the unclean. I like that spin." Treznor winks. "I thought you might. Now, how about a drink, to old friends?" Carlos laughs and retrieves two glasses from the fridge and a bottle of scotch. "A drink indeed. We've a bit more of a trip to get to my private estate. I apologise for that my friend."

"No apology necessary. Which reminds me, I need a best man for my wedding..."

(OOC: Another post to come when I'm awake)

--<Transmission Type: UberQE-Encrypted Military Communique>--
-<Sender: Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit, FSS>-
-<Destination: Dread Lady Nathicana D'Aquisto, DDLN>-
--<Subject: Iraqstan>--

Nathi--

I passed along your message to the commander-in-chief of the Combined Services; his response is attached. We are not going to get involved further than we need to. We are preparing humanitarian relief missions, but only as a contingency for strategic nuclear attack in the Shogunate, Iraqstan, or this newbie nation that has intervened so rashly.

You do not need to worry about us or our image. We are going to limit, if we can, damage done but we are not going to interfere with Iraqstani and NDA affairs. We wil most certainly not fire first. Do not confuse alertness with haste to attack.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/speaker-to-animals.gifSupreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit
Chief of State
Federated Segments of Scolopendra

--<End Transmission>--

--<Transmission Type: UberQE-Encrypted Military Communique>--
-<Sender: CINCTYCS>-
-<Destination: Dread Lady Nathicana D'Aquisto, DDLN>-
--<Subject: Iraqstan>--

Dread Lady:

The TYCS Earth Theatre Task Force is monitoring the situation under the command of Sky Marshal Rico--you may remember him as the operational commander of the Um Lizaan Extraction Campaign, done with Quil'raya's permission. We insist that we are only monitoring at the current point in time, although we are maintaining readiness in case of a preemptive attack on Shogunate assets.

Our silence was not altogether unintentional. Our current force projection strategy is to minimize the effect of any sort of strategic exchange between Iraqstan and the Kzyzl-Ordans, those responsible for the current poorly-executed extraction campaign. Standing Earth Theatre orders are to intercept any missiles that may be launched by Kzyzl-Orda towards Iraqstan. We are fully aware that incursion onto Iraqstani soil is a breach of NDA security and, as such, we recognize that it is politically nonviable to engage in any sort of extraction campaign at this time.

However, standing orders are also to intercept any strategic missiles launched by Iraqstani forces no matter the target. Missile targets cannot be predicted during the optimal boost-phase interception time and we are not going to gamble with Shogunate lives. If you believe it necessary to relay that to Quil'raya through someone he trusts, that is your perogative. We have not told him ourselves because we find it extremely unlikely that he will believe us. If you need to discuss this with Sky Marshal Rico, it can be done. We do not plan any "interference" past that.

We are also standing by to provide humanitarian aid to any victims of strategic attack no matter where they occur. Hopefully that does not conflict with realpolitik.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/cinctycs.gifCINCTYCS
Commander-in-Chief
Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services

--<End Transmission>--

--<Transmission Type: UberQE-Encrypted Military Communique>--
-<Sender: Dread Lady Nathicana D'Aquisto, DDLN>-
-<Destination: Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit, FSS>-
--<Subject: Iraqstan>--

Speaker,

I apologize if it seemed I was trying to tell you how to do your job - it was not my intention. If my tone was brusque, perhaps it can be accounted to the rather heavy load of 'challenges' recently. I'm afraid my intent was likely misread, though I appreciate the detailed information, and your reassurances. Please pass on my thanks and compliments to your Chief.

It is not your image I am concerned about, my friend. I think I have known you long enough to know your strengths in that area. Were simple image the case, I would have made a Trium-wide request. It is your safety I worry about. While I realize that you have impressive capabilities, I still fear what could happen should Carlos get itchy fingers at the wrong time. We also have been preparing, not only to guard ourselves should the occasion demand it, but to assist others should things continue to deteriorate. I admit I would prefer such efforts not be needed on behalf of my friends and fellow alliance members.

The NDA may not share all of your ideals, I admit, but one thing we are not is hungry for war. There is no conflict of interest here. In both capacities, Trium and NDA, I am hoping for the best, and will continue to support efforts that work towards minimizing damage of whatever sort, including your plan to solve missile problems. I will discuss this with Emperor Treznor before any decision is made regarding Carlos. I am hoping Devon has had a chance to speak with him, and may have some insights as to his thoughts and intentions.

Again, apologies for any unintentional slights. I allowed my concern to perhaps inapropriately color the tone of my missive. Should any additional information come to light that will assist us both in keeping this situation from escalating further, I will pass it on.

--<End Transmission>--

Meanwhile, those few forces in the general vicinity of Iraqstan, kept their cautious distance, watching closely from afar, and awaiting word on a change of status, hoping the rumbling giant that was Iraqstan would once again settle back into a fitful sleep once its ire had run its course. On the home front, preparations continued, contingency plans were reviewed, and supplies were gathered with much the same hope.

In her office, Nathicana quickly typed out an additional note, encrypted and sent along an all too familiar channel.


Dev --

We need to talk. I am hoping you've had an opportunity to speak with Carlos. Given that, I hope you are also willing to give some serious thought to failsafes. Buzz me when you can. I've additional information that could, possibly, influence your decision.

--Nathi

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Trium standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic/Military
To: Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira - Reploid Productions

I apologize in advance if the tone of this missive comes off as haughty, arrogant, sarcastic, or any other variation of unpleasant- needless to say, things have been buzzing around here ever since that overcompensating meatbag Carlos started shooting up Um Lizaans again.

Shogunate military forces are staying as far as reasonably possible from the Iraqstani theatre, however if Mr. Quil'Raya's trigger finger gets too itchy, you should be aware that any WMD attack on Shogunate or allied assets (note that I only say Shogunate assets- if he wants to WMD those idiots landing forces into oblivion, that's his business- those twits have no treaties or alliances with the Shogunate) will be met with the maximum retaliation to prevent further such attacks. I personally doubt it will come to that, at least not for quite some time, as I'm sure even a guy as maniacal as Carlos realizes that if he pushes the world too much, it will eventually push back.

It may be a smart idea for those of us originally involved in the first extraction to have a meeting to discuss the future developments in this quaint little mess. In any event, I have sworn that the Shogunate will not initiate hosilities with Iraqstan, and come life, come death, come fire and pain and darkness to blacken the day, I will adhere to that oath. Whether Carlos is possessed of the same steadfastness remains to be seen.

http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/furyavatar.jpg
~Firefury Amahira
~Lady Shogun Eternal under the Wings of Chaos
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End transmission>

Amid the swirling confusion of storm noise, Brother Kedran became conscious that there were other noises mingling. They were familiar, and his stomach tightened. Cautiously, he lifted his head, to where he could get a view of the horizon to the far side of the little flotilla of landing craft and its convoying interference drones. Flashes—distant, irregular. Something—a small, dark spot—that might have been the bulk of another ship on the horizon, or maybe not. He looked up. There was stuff going on up there, but between the storm and the limitations of his night goggles, it wasn’t too clear.

When he looked down again, Brother Ryan, one of the team leaders, was watching him. He nodded a reassurance that he didn’t feel.

Somehow, he thought, I don’t think we’re the only ones out here. But he didn’t want to think about who the others might be.

Things got rather confused for awhile. The wind picked up, for one thing, and the flotilla dispersed even wider. He tried to pick out the other landing boat of missionaries from among the amorphous shapes in the dark, tossing sea around him, but there was no way to tell. The rumbling of the wind and storm met other noises. Stuff in the air… something else out there at sea… he thought.

But the bulk of the shoreline was definitely looming closer. The wave pattern had changed, they were definitely in shoreward swell, now, working with the low power jets, helping their progress except when some particularly large cross-comber nailed them and half-spun them around. For a moment it looked like they’d head back out to sea again, but then the gyros kicked in and slowly the boat returned to its heading.

Only a few more meters… one boat was already beached. He couldn’t see if it was the other missionaries or not, it was a long way up the shore. Another boat appeared to be hung up, hovering perhaps twenty meters from the shore, bobbing unnaturally… were there rocks here? Had their jets gone wonky? Faintly, a scraping sound came to his ears, just above the pitch of the wind/surf mixture. With a heave, the wallowing boat freed itself, resumed progress toward the shore…

…and then slowed, suddenly, slower… slower… almost dead in the water, and its profile was subsiding… the waves overwhelmed it and it was gone. Small dark objects floated on the surf for a few moments. A wave scattered them, he lost sight of them, they vanished in the dark and slashing water.

”Dear God, don’t let that be the other missionary boat…” he prayed fervently, even as his own attention returned to the shore looming ever closer…

Arkhora's Offices, Deep Tsarai, Tsaraine

The times Rene had actually sat in the throne of the Ascendancy in Kel Eridhant could be measured on one's fingers; it had become known, among certain circles, as the "empty throne". There was another chair, in Deep Tsarai, which had conversely earned the title of "the throne", as it was where Rene did the vast majority of her work.

It was big - big enough to dwarf the woman sitting in it, and she possessed the full height of generations of Tsai ancestry. It was black. And, most importantly to Rene's mind, it was far more comfortable than the elaborate thing of gold and amber in Kel Eridhant.

It had superPlexus access, too, as well as a host of lesser screens and displays.

On one of these, an update from Tanyi ralKeyra at High Stone was scrolling. Rene hadn't expected the Council to authorise Shrike use, but at least they knew it was avaliable if it was needed. Quil'raya had authorised it, but the offer had been to the Council itself, not the Führer.

Rene found, once again, that Nathicana d'Aquisto balanced Carlos' excesses well; there was a missive from the Dominion reminding her to ask questions before shooting. She prepared to do so.

"Do we have an ID on the foreign incursion into Um Lizaa?"

With everyone else reluctant to act, those fools were the major threat to stability in Carlos' backyard.

"Ana, Arkhora. We do not."

That was some analyst deep in Nova Reio, monitoring the situation by q-link, ferreting out makers and owners from observed designs and capabilities of the incursionist's equipment. There was a suprising amount one could see from orbit. Technology was a wonderful thing.

"Keep looking. And when you do, get me a message form to their head of state. Let's see if we can get him to call off this thing before it gets worse."

Daniel looked over papers concerning the situation with Um Lizaa. He shook his head, picked up the phone and dialed all numbers to Veers except one, he stared at the phone for a long time and then put it back.
Age.. damn time! He shook his head even more, he had been one number, one push away from ordering Danneland to get invovled in another conflict, without even thinking about it. Mabye Veers was right, sending in troops into the Eurusea conflict would just result in another missery for his nation.

This nation wich he had built up under a so long time, but his memory had started to fail him. Damn time! He could hardly remember the rebellion all those years ago wich resulted in the first genocide on Danneland.
The nuclear attack wich had made him and his people to flee over the mountains .
His eyes stared into the dark chaimber wich was supposed to be his office. It felt more like a prison nowdays. He took a deep breath, the air filled his lungs.
"Damn...time"

Once again he picked up the phone, but this time he dialed another number, to Carlos. No need to send silly letters, this would be more of a friendly call.

He got through to some scretary.
-"I want to speak to Carlos"
-"Carlos is buissy at the moment, and if you do not have an appointment.. and how did you get this num--"
-"LISTEN WOMAN! I will talk to Carlos whenever I feel like it!"
-"Listen here old man! You cannot expect to talk to the great Führer Carlos just like that yo--"
-"My name is Daniel, I rule a nation wich you may know the name of.. its called Danneland.. and im not old!.. just.. just.. just give him a message that I called.. just ask him to call back"

There was a brief silence on the other end.
-"Yes sir, I will do that. just let me write this down... Dictator...Daniel...of..Danneland...call..him... okay, bye bye"
-"Goodbye"

*click*

Daniel leened (sp?) back in his chair and closed his eyes. "old" he muttered to himselfe. Age, what a horrific thing. He began to cough vilently and opened a drawer in his desk, pulled up a small container with pills in it. He took two and made way for them down his throat with a glass of water.
He called in his secretary and ordered her to pack a bag, and tell Veers to run the nation for a while.

Unreality

"Right." Rico's military netspace avatar was a ghostly approximation of himself, bit of blue fractal fuzz around the edges, just like the other two avatars in the extremely simple Gaurad-shaded cubical 'room' with no windows, no doors, and no texture. It was the preferred mode of teleconferencing; for some reason, those trained in the absolute necessity of situational awareness do not like their simulations--outside of training--to fool them with an overly detailed simulacrum of reality. "So, any suggestions?"

"I suppose talking to Iraqstan isn't quite an option?" Sky Marshal Fani-Kayode of the Sixth Expeditionary folds her blue-tinted arms, light brown face smirking.

"You think they'd believe us? Besides, I think it would be redundant," Juan explains himself with a wave of his hand, "if Carlos thought that incursion had anything to do with us we'd already be shooting down missiles."

"True enough." Sky Marshal Marechenko of the Fourth Combined frowned, lightly tapping her well-defined chin with one finger. "How about the Kyzyl-Ordans?"

"What, just to say 'what the hell are you doing, get out?'" Tandra smirks again.

"No..." Katyusha holds up one finger. "I propose to be more diplomatic than that. Tell them of the situation, just who they're dealing with, and why they should listen to us. You, Marshal Rico, should be quite useful for that."

"True." Sky Marshal Rico of the Fourth Expeditionary chuckles. "I did organize the extraction of two-hundred-fifty million, after all."

"Exactly. With that, we prove we aren't morally bankrupt by refusing to act now." Marechenko speaks quickly as her thoughts form. "We show that the situation is tenuous and that they are a destabilizing influence where the lives of our citizen-members are at stake. We suggest they grab who they can and haul themselves out, but using a circuitous route to prevent as effective tracing. Most of all, we insist that diplomacy is key or we'll have a repeat of Justitium."

"Good idea," Rico nods. "Agreed, Marshal Fani-Kayode?"

The dark woman nods. "Excellent idea. I'm too brusque to pull it off, admittedly, and Marshal Rico I think leans too much towards the gunboat."

"I'll get right on it," Katyusha says before disappearing--

TYWS-SCV Leviathan
Low Earth Stationkeeping, between Kyzyl-Orda and Iraqstan

The black-haired woman takes off the electrode skullcap and replaces it in its nook of her command console before placing her green officer's cap back on her head. "Comms, transmit a message to Kyzyl-Orda... whatever appears to be a central government communications center. Use a directed radio tightbeam--hopefully that'll be sufficiently secure. No encryption."

The communication technician nods, his hands flying over his station. "Set up, ma'am."

Sky Marshal Marechenko nods and closes the transmit contact on her console.

Message to Kyzyl-Orda

Kyzyl-Ordan authorities:

This is Sky Marshal Katyusha Marechenko aboard the Triumvirate of Yut supercarrier Leviathan, flagship of the Fourth Triumvirate Combined Fleet. Our forces are monitoring the situation in Iraqstan and, while we agree with your idealism in this matter, we must insist that this course of action is unwise.

A few years ago we organized an extraction campaign out of Um Lizaa to prevent mass genocide there after... managing hesitant permission out of a reluctant Carlos Quil'raya, current leader of Iraqstan. We managed to extract two hundred and fifty million Um Lizaans, who are now living in the Shogunate of Reploid Productions. Because of that and other political concerns there is now a cold war between Iraqstan and the Shogunate, a Triumvirate member. Strategic assets on both sides are aimed at each other because Carlos doesn't trust the Um Lizaans and we don't trust Carlos.

However, your actions right now are a lot like something we would do if we didn't have missiles pointed at our citizens. As such, your extraction missions are a destabilizing influence in what is a tenuous situation at best, and perhaps ill informed. Being an unauthorized incursion into sovereign Iraqstani territory, Carlos is authorized not only to respond with his own forces but call in the NonDemocratic Alliance, his group of allies, to respond with him. He did just that to a nation called Justitium which attacked him during a civil war around the time of our extraction campaign, and that nation has never recovered.

I can inform you that the NDA has no real wish to go to war with you over this. We do not want to go to war with Carlos over this. We have full reason to believe from our intelligence sources that you have not currently been identified as the instigators of this incident, and we have no intentions of passing it on to anyone who would use the information to retaliate against you. It is therefore our sincere recommendation that you grab what extractees you can and pull out immediately, covering your tracks so your origin is unknown. We understand that the situation in Um Lizaa is disconcerting and if we had the freedom to act, we would. However, we also believe that you should be fully informed of the circumstances you are getting yourself into.

In the case of Iraqstani or NDA reprisal against your nation, we will not interfere except to attempt to intercept strategic missiles launched either way between you and Iraqstan. We cannot extend our resources past that for now. For that reason, while we believe your efforts are salutatory in intent, we also believe them to be mistaken in reality.

We will maintain this communications link; we are currently in geostationary station-keeping and so are open to your response. Please utilize tightbeam or laser pulse transmissions to maintain security.

Sky Marshal Katysha Marechenko
CO, 4TCF
TYWS-SCV Leviathan

The holopad lit up instantly like a christmas tree, it made General Hobes and Emperor Kyzyl jump, the spectacled face of Jenkins appeared.
"FOR GOD'S SAKE JENKINS BEEP THE BLOODY THING FIRST! Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack." Horbes was red faced and patting his chest.
Jenkins rolled his eyes, then saluted crisply. Kyzyl grinned.
"What is it anyway?" a still flustered Horbes spat.
"We got this sir, hold on a second...."
The Small green tinted figure of Jankins tapped at some keys that were invisible to the General and the Emperor, the figure was replaced by a large version of the Scolopendra message.
"Oh crap, were on the verge of fucking over ALOT of the world, ummm Horbes, a suggestion if you please?" The emperor sighed and looked at the general.

"Ummm...do what they say before things blow up immensly?"

"Well isn't 'us running around and grabbing who we can' what we're doing anyway?"

"Yes." Horbes nodded.

"Well we should carry on, but not for TO much longer, I doubt they'll fire the first shot before we have escaped." Horbes stroked his moustache again.

"We'd better send a message back.."


To: Sky Marshal Katysha Marechenko of CO, 4TCF, TYWS-SCV Leviathan

While this information was not known to us, we were aware of the risks involved as towards der fürher Carlos. However, we had no previous Knowledge of the present Cold war. Much to our own protests, we shall leave once we have approximately 2500 citizens on board, on that you have my word.

Emperor Jamus Kyzyl.

Leviathan

Acknowledged--I won't deny you a goal--but please make it quick. If you can do it on the move, all the better. Every additional minute spent on Iraqstani soil increases the probability of something going wrong. If you need to, just call us on last transmitted coordinates.

Marechenko out.

Sky Marshal Katyusha Marechenko
CO, 4TCF
TYWS-SCV Leviathan

* - * - *

Olympus Mons

-Contact successful, Marshal Rico. They say they're going to stay on the ground until they can pick up two thousand five hundred.-

Rico sighs softly. "Can't fault them their ideals, at least. Are they aware of the greater situation?"

-They are, Johnny, or at least they acknowledged to that extent.-

Another short sigh, fingers drumming softly on the cylindrical armrest that acted as a pivot for the Sky Marshal's slablike master command console. "Understood. Maintain present position and stand by to intercept rocks. I have a bad feeling about this."

-Acting, Marshal.- The voice over the speakers snaps off as the command communications channel is closed--connection is always maintained for coordination purposes. "Comms, prepare a missive to HQ and the NDA. We've done all we can proactively here."

* - * - *

--<Transmission Type: Allied Encrypted Military Broadcast>--
-<Sender: Sky Marshal Juan Rico, CO4TEF, TYCS>-
-<Destination: TYCSHQ, NonDemocratic Alliance standard channels>-
--<Subject: Incursion in Um Lizaa>--

We have made contact with the authorities responsible for the Um Lizaan incursion, informed them of the situation, and recommended that they leave with all possible speed. Their most recent response states that they plan to extract 2500 and then leave; this is open to change to a more recent escape plan. If the nation of Iraqstan or the NDA decides that it is necessary to launch reprisal raids or campaigns against this action, that is their perogative; we have done all that we can.

We will provide humanitarian aid in the case of further conflict to any affected civilian populations on a wholly neutral basis, and will maintain alert to protect Triumvirate interests, and for now can act as a channel for diplomatic communications. Beyond that, our proactive capabilities are exhausted.

Sky Marshal Juan Rico
CO, 4TEF
Coordinating Officer, Earth Theatre Task Force
TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons

--<End Transmission>--

Hostile Landing zone

Making sure his clothes matched those of the citizens in the villiage, sharpshooters von hecklson aimed back down the scope of his rifle and placed the crosshairs over the head of his target, a mid level officer on foot. Following the man about his movements Von Hecklson clucked mildly too himself as he loads a single round into the rifle and steadies his breathing slowly.

Over his comm set the faint voices of his comrades begin to report in having contained the advancing troops within a large perimeter and evacuating the populace. Muttering back a simple "In position" Von Hecklson looks back down his scope and returns to once more following his target.

"Aah screw it." He mutters before clicking his radio "Target on the move, security breeched takign him down." He mutters before pulling the trigger the rifle bucking in his arms as the bullet flies out towards it's intended victim.....

Listening to the report Commander Shackel curses in Iraqstani before grabbing a radio he begins to shout orders into it, ordering his men to take cover and at the same time begins ordering additional support from artillery and air assets in the area.

-------

Northern Um Lizaa coastline

"Sir! Air recon reports boats nearing the coastline!" The communications officer shouts out to the captain of the ship who spins around and begins ordering course deviations. "Head for them, order guns to begin loading and arming. Battlestations initiates inform HQ we are moving to make contact with vessels and will asses threats upon arrival. Suggest activation of other coastal defenses in case of a land incursion." Recieving a loyal response the captain returns to once more looking out into the blackness around his ship, his eyes straining to see targets. Is that one? No, it's too far away. Blast it, recon put multiple contacts in international waters near us but damned if I can find them. He silently mutters to himself as he once more curses the lacking power of the Iraqstani naval sensor equipment.

Landing Zone
The Lieutenant fell like a rag doll.
The Cry of "SNIPER!" screamed out from where the drop ship was, it echoed around the village, like th death toll it was.
A Seargent grabbed some cover behind a Salamander.
"I need air support, the bastards have shot at us! I need the air support now!"

Truth and Reconcilliation, 100 feet above sea level
"Shit." the Admiral had heard the order on the radio, and had gone pasty white.

His aide was already giving the order for Beta wing to take off and hit the Iraqstani forces that where in the village.

"All Orda forces, you are weapons free, I say again, you are weapons free.. God be with you!"

Four GRUNTS with venom guns had clicked off their safties and opened fire on the Iraqstani troops, several others with Plasma rifles had dived into houses and did the same with their plasma rifles, a Kyzyl tank aimed for one of the Jeeps and fired.

In a low Earth orbit, and on the other side of the planet from the fighting, the mercenary destroyers Kestrel and Uriel open their aft mainbay hatches. Out of each begins to drift about five hundred cubical wooden crates two meters on a side, wrapped in a plastic ablative shield. The entire cluster is in a careful orbit that will have it entering the atmosphere just before passing over Um Lizaa, and a relatively slow velocity. As each one does so, the ablative shield slowly heats and melts away, until only the the wood below remains. At a programmed height, a set of almost clear nylon parachutes are released and the crates begin serenely floating downwards. They are remarkably stealthy - the now-gone ablative material barely even glows, wood absorbs radar, and the chutes are radar-transparent and nearly clear.

About half of these crates are targeted toward urban centers, with rest spread through the countryside and the small villages and towns. A few undoubtedly get tangled in trees or power lines, but most make safe landings on the ground. Should someone look inside, they would find quite a large cache of weapons. Each one contains a hundred combat knives, a hundred small laser pistols, a hundred more heavy maser rifles, plus spare parts, power packs and solar rechargers for these weapons. There are also boxes of grenades and a pair of rocket launchers, along with several dozen anti-vehicle rockets of various types and ten seeker-striker anti-aircraft missiles, similar in principle to the old Stinger missiles but a bit more advanced. Instruction booklets for the use and maintenance of the weapons are included, along with helpful tips on the construction of home-made weapons and explosives. Four general-purpose medical kits finish off the cargo.

These weapons are rugged and simple to use, in many ways similar to the AK-47 and its various descendants, right down to the genericness of them. They could be from virtually any space-tech nation or manufacturer, although they do seem remarkably similar to some KCTS products. That, of course, likely means nothing - Zin Karma is not exactly well known for his reluctance to steal other people's product lines, and they do lack any KCTS markings or serial numbers - in fact, there are no such marking at all. The crates themselves are simple dried lumber with foam padding inside, and the chutes have no identifying marks either. The manuals could have been printed by anyone with a home printer and some waterproof paper.

The crackling pop of gunfire erupts from the targetted troops and the sniper smiles inwardly, dropping his rifle his picks up an out dated sub machine gun and checks once more that his clothes are that of an um lizaan citizen and rushes out, his weapon spraying bullets in every direction. Screaming out in the arabic tilted language of the Um Lizaan he charges forward the civillians around him turning quickly.

"Rise my comrades! Fight back these evil mongers for the state! They will take you away and kidnap you!" He screams constantly, his weapon barking loudly between shouts.

-----

As the jeep closest to the firing troops explodes the men scramble for cover the anti-tank weaponry ready. Behind them the jeeps accelerate off, the gunner firing endlessly with the heavy machine gun on the back. With a sizzling pop and a trail of a smoke an anti-tank missile flies through the growing smoke of the burning car heading for it's target the closest enemy tank.

"To arms brothers! Long live the führer!" The commander shouts as behind him the definitive shriek of the troops main assault rifle opens up, as bullets fly all around him. Grabbing his radio he talks as quickly as he can "Repeat, we are under attack. Enemy forces have begun an assault upon our security sector. Requesting reinforcements." He repeats over and over as in the distance the gentle rumbling of artillery is heard and moments later the heavy shells begin to rain down in the midst of the villiage, exploding and hitting civillian and military personel alike....

---

Um Lizaan forest

Creeping through the dense forest private first class Von Eckshem listens to the cracking trees above him and looks up quickly. Gasping softly he barely registers the object falling towards him before it lands, crushing him to death from it's fall. Jumping back from the grisly sight the poor man's buddies look away uttering a soft prayer for his soul before opening the crate and gasping. "Mein Captain, we think you should see this." A radio specialist whispersi nto his pack before surveying the forest with his rifle slowly, was that an intake of breath in the trees? Maybe just a wild animal.

Walking quickly towards his men the captain steps over the still twitching leg of the poor private and peers into the crate his eyes widening as the multitude of weapons before him. "Have them taken back to base, get them shipped out immediately. The führer will reward us well for this find." He whispers before taking out one of the highly advanced looking pistols and claiming it as his own. Soon the rest of his twenty man squad follow his action, each holstering their new laser pistol where their former .45 pistol hung on their hips, before spreading out and setting demolition charges in the surrounding area to remove all trace of the find.

Ten minutes pass and the crate has been moved back to a waiting helicopter which immediately flies it out of the hot zone and back into southern um lizaa where reports of a huge forest fire are slowly trickling in. Smiling the helicopter pilot looks at the co-ordinates of the fire and chuckles softly. "You work well mein captain." He whispers before reporting in to be assigned a new mission.

The cate of weapons is repacked in an Iraqstani secure case and driven by secured convoy to the Iraqstani held port of Unas Kaleer where some ten hours later it's handed over to an escort of twenty Iraqstani guard who ride the ferry back to the motherland their prize stored safely in the bottom of the huge boat....

Several GRUNTS were injured in the shooting, then several opened fire on the civillian weilding a machine guns, the purple flairs from the plasma weapons cut and sang through the air.

The Tank in the street growled, then went quite for a second, then ruptured apart, destroying several houses and several GRUNTS with it.

"FALL BACK!"
The scream went up, however there was another tank still in the street, it growled to the side of the smoldering remains, fired again, then jammed into reverse, GRUNTS scrabbled onto the sides of the tanks as they screamed into reverse, several more fell to the gun fire, of the Thirty men that had deployed, around fifteen were on the tanks escaping, some just held on for dear life, others had grabbed their plasma rifles back into the firing position and began steady firing at the Iraqstani's.

"This is beta wing, ETA of air support is approximately one minute out, where do you want it boys?"

"Round the drop ship beta wing, we'll need all the help we can get soon."
The engines on the four Fury Fighters flaired and dipped towards the coastline.

They're shelling again. Queenie suggests a meeting, though the last time put Carlos' back up so much he laid down sanctions for a while. We've got some idiot meddling in a situation already set to explode. If things spiral out of control, I'm going to find myself caught between my two alliances on account of that thrice-damned madman.

Nathicana scowled darkly, pouring herself a full glass of red wine. She sipped it slowly, all the same, forcing herself to relax somewhat, to enjoy the rich flavor of it for a moment.

I should have seized control entirely and let that bastard die when I had a chance. Hell, if nothing else, we could have temporarily installed an automaton via Shodey for the transitional period. I still have a chance at influencing things for the positive if his plans have not changed for his son. If it isn't too late for the boy already, that is. And there is the rig.

She drinks deeply from the glass, topping it off again, then corking the bottle and setting it aside. cursing Devon under her breath.

Goddamn that man! Why can't he see it's needed, despite the unpleasant sacrifice of ideals? It's that sort of soft-headed, soft-hearted idiocy that got us here in the first place. On my account, no less. Still, I wonder. Would she agree to something without Devon's knowledge? Sis has an interesting outlook on morals as I do most of the time, if not moreso. So why do I find the idea of having her help with my dirty work distasteful, while mindraping and neutralizing or outright killing Carlos seems simply common sense?

Family, of course. Respect for another. Carlos was rampant. He was a threat not only to herself, but her alliances, her friends. She tries to picture other people in Carlos' position, needing to prove to herself that this was not something personal, a throwback to her initial fear of the man from that night in Iraqstan on the tour.

While her levels of patience and possible allowances change slightly with each name, she finds to her satisfaction that no one is immune. The difference of course, is that unlike Carlos, most of the others were not likely to force her to make such decisions.

Aye. Not likely, though not impossible. Uneasy rests the crown ...

"Enough. It's time people sat down and spoke. Together. No more back-room dealings."

Taking another slow sip of her wine, Nathicana slides her portcomp over and begins typing, hoping that perhaps this will help keep the situation from deteriorating any further.

And we shall see if Mr. Quil'raya will go far enough to outright abandon our charter.


>>open transmission<<
Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
Re: Iraqstan

To: NDA and Triumvirate Leaders
(Any involved with or concerned over the current situation)


It occurs to me that all the care and concern in the world is not going to do any of us a whit of good if we do not take the opportunity to sit down and rationally discuss our concerns, our intents, and our options.

In the interest of upholding the ideals I have always believed in, those of diplomacy and cooperation between nations, however different they may be, and in the hopes of salvaging this situation before it deteriorates any further, I suggest a conference.

While I understand the concerns of many due to possible mistrust, valid or no, I offer the Dominion as a possible meeting place, with the option of secure telepresence representation. I find that in such situations body language and facial expressions are a necessary element to effective negotiations, yet understand that physical presence could be a problem for more than one of us.

As a member in good standing, I would hope, of both alliances involved here, let me state for the record that I see no conflict of interest on my behalf, as I seek no advantage here that is not mutual to all - that of a continued absence of open hostilities. You all know my stance on sovereign rights. Neither alliance has ever infringed on that to my knowledge. You also know my dedication to peaceful resolutions. It is my hope that I am not alone in this pursuit. To those of you with rather strong feelings on the issue, realize this - I am not asking that we all walk away from this liking each other, so long as we all wallk away in one piece.

I hope that my judgement of character has not been in error, and that I will hear from you all shortly with suggestions as to how best this meeting should be accomplished.

--Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion

>>end transmission, return channel: open<<

The bow of the boat cut into the sand of the beach with the sliding sound particular to metal cutting through sand. Stumbling a bit from the sudden stop the pilot recovered and raced to the rear of the boat. Bungie cords whipped through the air as he uncovered the crates there as well as his impromptu draft animals. There was the dull *poom* of a naval gun firing and the pilot rushed - no use looking for the one that might get you. Bungie cords went into carrying handles and a pair of crates went over a sheep's back.

The pilot didn't know much beyond the fact that he wasn't supposed to annoy the sheep, and that they were not really sheep. He was hoping to lead them up the beach but when the first one to recieve the crates ran off the boat and into the surf he just shrugged and continued while it rushed through the waves and up the beach.

Then another shell landed in the surf, and shortly another. They were quickly finding the range and he knew it. Water or beach though? The question was decided for him when a shell hit the front of the boat and smashed it like a children's toy. Grabbing a crate he ran up the beach followed by the last sheep. Another shell hit the center of the boat and blew it to pieces, sending crates flying and bits of metal raining down on the pilot as he dashed for the cover of the shore grass.

8:44 p.m. -- Presidential Mansion, Sarion, Kelanthia

"Mr. President, sir, there's a high-level incoming transmission for you," calls a communications officer over the bustle of the Operations Room. "It's from the Dominion."

Gordon Grath, who had been spending much of the last few days in this same room monitoring the Iraqstani situation, turns from the satellite images he had been reviewing and strides over to the desk. Picking up the message, he reads it carefully before turning and handing it to Stephen Kaufmann, the Kelanthian Minister of Foreign Affairs. Kaufmann, whose days have brought him nearly as much stress as they have to Grath, reads the transmission and tiredly sets it down.

"As usual, Nathicana is the one acting level-headed," says Kaufmann, turning to Grath. "I was getting worried that Quil'raya was going to do something really stupid and rile up the Triumvirate... and God knows how little we want to be fighting them. I didn't think that things were quite to the panic level yet, but if the Dread Lady thinks it necessary to send something like this out, she must think that there is a very real possibility of Carlos provoking a Triumvirate reaction."

"Of course," agrees Grath. "A full-blown Triumvirate vs. NDA war would be ruinous for us."

"Not to mention Nathi herself," adds Kaufmann. "I guess it makes sense that she's doing everything she can to keep everyone calm and collected."

"Indeed. So shall I tell her that a secure teleconferencing link will be sufficient for our involvement?"

"Certainly," says Kaufmann, nodding. "We aren't more than minor players in this, so there's no need for you to be there in person. The only way that we'd become actively involved in the fighting is if a full war breaks out, and even then we'd be pretty insignificant."

"Except as a convenient shooting range for Triumvirate space-based weaponry," snorts Grath. "We don't have a damn thing to counter it outside of those antisatellite missile pods we lofted a few years ago and some fighter-launched antisat missiles. We'd be able to take out, what, two or three ortillery units? A small warship? We should be able to compete with their ground and atmospheric forces, but anything beyond that, and we're toast."

"Which is exactly why we don't want anything to happen," says Kaufmann. "As probably the least advanced of the NDA, we stand to lose the most in a conflict that includes space weaponry. At the same time, we have exactly zero rapport with the Triumvirate, and no involvement in the current situation, which together mean that we'd have basically no status or prestige at the talks."

"So we could get our asses whipped because of the actions of other people, but nobody cares enough about us to listen to us," Grath buries his head in his hands, sighing deeply. "You know, maybe I should go just to plead for peace in the event that the others aren't quite so eager."

"No," says Kaufmann firmly. "Remember, hardly anyone takes us very seriously. You'd probably just make the Triumvirate representatives think that we're nothing more than a bunch of whiners, and right now, we should avoid, as much as possible, the Triumvirate having a bad opinion of us. Just let Nathicana know that we'll be there electronically, and that is enough for now. Just don't let on how important this could be to Kelanthia; we don't want to give her any impressions that could be taken the wrong way."

"You're right," says Grath, looking back up. "I'll get a message off right away."

{Encryption level 12}

TO: Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion
FROM: Gordon Grath, President of Kelanthia
RE: Proposed conference

I thank you for the invitation to the conference of Non-Democratic Alliance and Triumvirate of Yut leaders, but regret to inform you that I will not be able to personally attend. I will, however, be more than happy to attend via a secure teleconferencing link. I realize how important this meeting is to maintaining peace, and am more than willing to be a part of it in the aforementioned capacity. Please contact me if you need any further information.

Humbly yours,
Gordon Grath, President of Kelanthia

TO: Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion
FROM: Atef Al-Zief, President of Sunset
RE: Proposed Conference

Dread Lady,
While we are only obliquely involved with this matter there has still been some concern over events aired in the Senate and amoung the public and this has been accompanied in some sectors by demands for action. Thus I will be attending to make our views known and in order to more completely understand the situation as it exists now.

Atef Al-Zief

----

"Yes - I'd like you to come along. It will be a little bit of a coming out session I suppose, but this looks like a situation that will spill over into your term and you should best be ready to carry it forward."

Atef closed the link with Jon and began to poke through the files he would need to review before departing. Intelligence files dominated the list of course, but the system kept reporting that some of the files had been moved and that it was having trouble locating them. Very odd - he was supposed to have access to everything to make sure no funny business was going on.

As their boat made a grating sound and the first shell exploded behind them, the steady sound of the sisters’ praying faltered only momentarily, as it was swallowed up in the explosion. They were fast on the shoreline. The ramp was dropping. Sister Maria thwacked Brother Ludo on the shoulder. With a nod, he gestured to his team. They made swiftly for the ramp, disembarking in formation, then immediately scattering and heading for the treeline. No ordnance. Sister Maria made the broad arm gesture for general disembarkation. Twenty of the missionaries remaining in the boat split into pairs and headed for their assigned crates.

The disembarkation was quick, orderly. Only one minor disaster—two of the brothers had been hit by a particularly vicious wave just as they’d hit the water, and lost their crate. The sheep had simply trotted down the ramp, swum off, and made for the treeline; ignored by the missionaries.

When she could tell that the teams were making rendezvous under the cover of the treeline as planned, Sister Maria took a moment to look around her. Another boat had made shore; in view, its materials had been disembarked and now it was backing away from the shoreline, jets rumbling low as it fought to free itself from the sandy strand and the incoming surf. More shells were falling now. No sign of Brother Kedren’s boat that she could see. A ripping, whizzing sound startled her, screaming over head, and almost at the same time the water some yards from her erupted, knocking her to her knees and momentarily taking away her senses of hearing and sight. A rain of debris splashed around her, but she was lucky… nothing landed directly on her.

With a muffled exclamation, she waved the landing boat off and struggled to her feet, staggering a bit in the swirling surf. By the time she was beyond the tideline, she was running. Sister Ennis had run to meet her, threw an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m all right,” she hollered in Ennis’ ear, above the noise. “Get them into transit formation!”

Brother Ludo had the GPS module out and operating already. “The town is that way,” he gestured. “It’s about two and a half kilometers inland, between us and what was the area being shelled, by about thirty kilometers.” They exchanged glances, both knowing that their information was sketchy and more than a day old. Who knew what might have happened to the attack zone? Still, thirty kilometers was a good safe margin—they could set up a stable base of operations, and send mobile units forward to triage casualties and deal with them there or send them back.”

She thumbed her own locator on. If Brother Kedren had landed and was activating his, they should be able to find one another. It remained dark. She bit her lip. “We can’t wait, not with them shelling the water. Any moment they’re going to get the bright idea to shell the beach. We’ll have to move out and let them find us as we go.”

Ludo nodded, and they separated, he to the front and she to the rear. The heaviest crates would have to be collected later, hopefully with Um Lizaan help. But the most important gear was in two-man carry crates, and the missionaries picked them up and set out at a good clip.

"And, last but far from least, we have a letter the Dread Lady. In summary, she wishes to host a summit of Triumvirate and NDA leaders, in order to try and work out the current Um Lizaa situation," concludes Minion (1st Class) O'Rouke, aide to the Emperor.

"Will Gregor be back by then?" asks Tarvi Andivar-Vetinari, who, while not an Emperor, is quite close to one.

"No, my lord. Furthermore, Speaker Alton is unavailable, and Lady Martial Mallory is attending a Jugg match outsystem. Fluid time and all that, you know."

"I suppose we need someone important?"

"Yes, my lord. Prince Victor said he would love to go, but he that broke his leg in six places in a climbing accident."

"I suppose this is what I get for all but shoving Gregor to Venus," Tarvi says with a sigh. "Very well, get a ship ready to take me. Let's hope I don't start a war or something."

{Text Message; Standard Trium Secure Comms}
x King-Consort Tarvi del'Andivar yos'Vetinari (IUoCetaganda)
o Dread Lady Nathicana D'Aquisto (DoLNathicana)

Lady Nathicana, I shall be glad to attend this summit. The Um Lizaa situation is of great interest to the Cetagandan government. While unfortuantly Gregor can not attend at the moment, I assure you I have full negotiating powers in this matter. I look forward to seeing you.

Tarvi Vetinari
Imperial Consort, Imperial Union of Cetaganda

{Message Ends}

Office of the Führer,
Sirithilia. Iraqstan

Sitting at his desk Carlos reads the reports floating in from Um Lizaa and sighs softly. "Well, general it seems the option to fire was taken from us by the fools trying to take my people away. We've got a full blown skirmish in one part, the enemy is retreating but we're taking heavy losses. They've got Iraqstani Guard advancing to their position as well as an artillery barrage happening.

Naval units report firing on unknown boats landing on the northern shores through the cleared lanes. Seems we've uncovered an air drop of weapons by an unknown nation, advanced weaponry laser pistols and we've uncovered one or two other crates raided by um lizaans full of some form of rifle...." Carlos continues his personal computer beeping with reciept of a message and the phone ringing from reception.

Standing up the General salutes properly and collects some papers "I will return later mein führer. Heil the glorious!" Turning sharply the man leaves the room as Carlos rubs his temples before picking up the phone, skimming over the message he chuckles. Nathi can wait, no doubt another meeting to discuss how far I'll bend over for them this time. He thinks sourly to himself as he recieves the message from Daniel and blinks. "Old horses come out to play it seems." He whispers and returns the call, waiting for the line to be picked up.

Turning to his desk, the music playing softly in his ear Carlos begins to type out a quick response to Nathicana.


Message beginning
Encryption Level: Diplomatic
To: Nathicana
Re: Proposed Summit

Nathi,

After much consideration and advice from senior members I have come to the conclusion and will meet with you in the dominion when the time is set. I have another meeting with Devon scheduled for tomorrow and a phone call on hold right now to Daniel of Danneland. As you've undoubtedly heard shots have been exchanged in Um Lizaa by Iraqstan and the unknown soldiers, I did not fire first. They attacked unprovokedly whilst our men secured the town to prevent further hostility by the populace.

We have reports of a single Um Lizaan freedom fighter being killed by these troops and it is this man that reportedly began the conflict in the villiage with Iraqstani and the enemy. This was not a violation of any NDA mandates and I will defend my right to self defense until my last breath has left my lungs. I will not be punished for something I did not start.

As for the conference I doubt much will be acheived but the idea is worthy of recognition and thus I end this with a promise to be there in person and to listen that is all I can offer for now.

Sincearly,
Carlos Quil'Raya.

Message Finished
Encrypting.............
Encrypted
Sending.............
Sent

-------------------
Um Lizan conflict zone

As his single man charge ends in blood the Um Lizaan dressed soldier dies with a final cry for the populace to rise up and beat back the invaders. As his eyes close the civilians rushing towards the foreigners begins to falter their eyes flicking between the dead man and the smoking barrels of the foreigners.

A single cry is met with a cheer of others who turn and run from the foreigners yelling curses back at them and pelting them with rocks they scatter into the villiage grabbing what ever they can and leaving. In the distance the soft thrum of helicopters is heard as three large troop transports slowly fade into view their heavy machine guns surveying the ground intently.

Hovering near the Iraqstani perimiter ropes roll from the choppers and men jump to them and slide down their weapons strapped to their backs. As the two choopers empty their 20 man compliment they pull back, washing the villiage with a spattering of gunfire before turning tail and leaving their troops deployed.

Rushing forward through the circling dust the Iraqstani Guard leader rushes to the commander who hunkers down his left arm bandaged from a gunshot. Standing the commander salutes properly and reports the situation to the forty men who unshoulder their plasma rifles and take up defensive positions around the secured area.

"We have artillery firing into the city but I dont know how good it's doing, our eyes have informed us of enemy air cover heading our way but our coastal and inland air defenses should hold them off." The commander says shouting over the booming of weapons close to them.

Nodding the Iraqstani Guard leans in close and begins to shout "We've got a tank column being mobalised from Kessel Dol Qula they should be passing through the wall in about six hours. If we can hold these fools off that long we'll be in a better position. My men will reinforce your guys until then. I'll put forward a request for air support both gunship and fighters. Until then lets get back to it!" He shouts before taking up his rifle and turning to his men and shouting their orders. Recieving shouted responses the forty men disperse into the villiage.

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Trium standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic
To: Nathicana D'Aquisto, Dread Lady of the Dominion
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira - Reploid Productions

Glad to know my suggestion was well-received. For the sake of keeping the meeting cool, I will not attend personally. (I fear my presence would only serve to rile Carlos up, if our last meeting was any indication.) I will send Tsume however, as I think he is more than capable of speaking on my behalf, especially given the Shogunate's lack of involvement in this current fiasco.

He knows everything that I do regarding the Iraqstan situation, including that. You can count on him to be discreet. Given our almost periphial involvement in the current fiasco, I hope that this meeting goes smoothly. If Carlos wants to lay flaming waste to those idealistic idiots trying to extract Um Lizaan civilians without so much as a "pardon me", that's his business.

We have kept most of the latest news watered down in the refugee camp. Iraqstan is still a raw wound for the refugees, the last thing I want right now is for Carlos and his itchy trigger finger to provoke them into causing unrest- a ploy that I would not put past him.

I wish you luck in managing this fiasco- you'll need it.

~Firefury
<End transmission>

So Nathicana is trying again to pull what she can from the fire. Just like last time, actually, though that meeting was made without my knowledge or presence. This one must be different - I shall not see this happen a third time!


Message To: Dread Lady Nathicana D'Aquisto, the Dominion
Message Fr: Arkhora Rene Seingult I, the Greater Ascendancy of Tsaraine
Message Re: Re: Iraqstan

You have, I think, the best head of us all among the NDA - this should perhaps have been arranged when this situation first arose. Unfortunately, I won't be able to attend in person to this meeting - I'm sure you know how it is.

I will, however, have a q-link screen delivered, and attend remotely. Maybe we can salvage this situation before it deteriorates into a full-scale conflict.

http://shade.jonpearse.net/RSeingult.gif
~ Arkhora Rene Seingult I
Arkhreifane of the Interior
Abnatr A'abnatratj e Anlabjatj


OOC: Yay for new sig pic!

"Yes, yes, send it along. Just staple our bit to it while you're at it."

TRIUMVIRATE OF YUT COMBINED SERVICES
EARTH THEATRE TASK FORCE

TO: Dread Lady Nathicana D'Aquisto, the Dominion
FROM: Sky Marshal Juan Rico, 4TEF
SUBJ: Um Lizaa Summit

Ma'am,

I'm sending along confirmation that both the local task force commanders and Advisor Kommetrez of Scolopendra will be able to teleconference to the summit. We will also invite the instigators of the incident to the summit, as they are most definitely involved.

For the continued safety of their delegates, I will recommend that they telecommute.

Sky Marshal Juan Rico
CO, 4TEF; CO, ETTF
TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons
"Right, send the other one too."
TRIUMVIRATE OF YUT COMBINED SERVICES
EARTH THEATRE TASK FORCE

TO: Kyzyl-Ordan authorities
FROM: Sky Marshal Juan Rico, 4TEF
SUBJ: Um Lizaa Summit

To whom it may concern,

The Dominion of Dread Lady Nathicana is sponsoring a summit concerning recent events in Iraqstan. You may wish to attend to better explain your position and perhaps stall a full NDA retaliation against your forces. We have kept your identity confidential as we have promised; to continue this, we offer our services as a relay for you if you decide to join via teleconferencing.

For security reasons, we will not tell you the location of the summit. For similar security reasons, we recommend you accept our offer.

Sky Marshal Juan Rico
CO, 4TEF; CO, ETTF
TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons

Daniels body was more like a pile of flesh, rather than the elegan charismatic one he used to have. Those were the old days, the good ol' days.
His phone rang, but it took some two minutes before he reacted. He picked up the phone.
"Carlos on one sir"
"thankyou" he pressed the button and a small click was heard in his ear.
"Carlos, my dear friend" Daniels voice was old and uncertain. "How are you doing these days?.. I've heard that you..well.." his mind played tricks on him, he couldnt remember what it was that was going on.. "..well...ah.. Um Lizaa.. bombing, Its always good to know that you still have it in you.." Daniel paused to clear his head and get his thoughts togeather.. "It is long since we talked, ate togeather.. and I could use a vacation from this cold and bitter la--... so I wonder if I may pay you a visit, a friendly one.. I know that you are a buissy man, with the...the...the... Um Lizaans and everything.." Daniel began to cough violently, he pulled up a syringe
from his desk and extracted its substance into his vain. "sorry about that, well.. I wonder if you can make some time for an old friend?"

The Holoplate lit up again.
"What is it now Jenkins?"
"Two thing General, one the Um lizzaans we were trying to save have run away, we expect they'll be killed, we've lost around a dozen men and one tank in street fighting, and we have received a message from the Scolopendrians"
"Shit, Order all them the hell out of there, and what's this message?"
The Image, once again was replaced by the text.

TRIUMVIRATE OF YUT COMBINED SERVICES
EARTH THEATRE TASK FORCE

TO: Kyzyl-Ordan authorities
FROM: Sky Marshal Juan Rico, 4TEF
SUBJ: Um Lizaa Summit

To whom it may concern,

The Dominion of Dread Lady Nathicana is sponsoring a summit concerning recent events in Iraqstan. You may wish to attend to better explain your position and perhaps stall a full NDA retaliation against your forces. We have kept your identity confidential as we have promised; to continue this, we offer our services as a relay for you if you decide to join via teleconferencing.

For security reasons, we will not tell you the location of the summit. For similar security reasons, we recommend you accept our offer.

Sky Marshal Juan Rico
CO, 4TEF; CO, ETTF
TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons

Horbes sighed.
Jamus looked at the message, and tilted his head slightly.
"Looks like I'd have to go do that, where's my dress uniform?"
Jamus got up and headed back towards his room, twenty minutes later he was in an officers uniform of the Orda Military, however this one was a light blue with the Dove of the brest pocket, Jamus put the hat on and looked at Horbes.
"Suitable? Good, I'll be at the Holo-room waiting for this conference to start, send back a reply."
Before Horbes could react Jamus was out the door and down the hall way.
Horbes Blinked, then looked at the floating image of Jenkins.
"Erm, you heard him!"

To:Sky Marshal Juan Rico
CO, 4TEF; CO, ETTF
TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons
RE: Conference.

The Emperor himself is ready when you wish for him to "arrive" at the conference.

General Horbes
Commander In Cheif, Kyzylian Armed Forces

The report on the Crosier projects in Um Lizaa was flagged red, not often seen in the stacks of daily briefing material carried by the Sostituto to the Papal Apartment. The initial project on the southern end of the island was relatively standard in nature. This business of an ‘anonymous donor’ was intriguing, however. Nataka had included a note in the margin: ‘Colasuonno?’ If it was possible to trace such financial shenanigans, the Vatican Bank director would be the man for it, but Leo was less concerned about the source of the donation than about the implications of the tersly-summarized sheet on the larger project.

The Pontiff sighed. The Crosiers were… aggressive, in their enthusiasm for the more vigorous forms of humanitarian missions. It was a wonderful thing, a gift of the Holy Spirit, truly, but…

Now and then a problem. They were an independent lot. This project had been coordinated by the Bellarian Provicial General, but it included units from houses in five nations, and doubtless individual missionaries and teams from others. And now they were in a zone that was rapidly heating to the boiling point. He scanned the summary of known involved nations. The juxtaposition of the Triumvirate and the NDA was the interesting point.

He set the file down, eyes narrowed, looking into the middle distance, for a good thirty seconds. “Triumvirate and NDA… hmmm…” He turned to Monsignor Kwan. “Iulio, has Arrivabene left for the Dominion yet?”

The secretary nodded. “Yes, Holy Father. We had word of his safe arrival just last night.”

Leo was silent for a few more moments. The Sostituto and the secretary knew better than to speak. Finally, with a nod, he said to Nataka. “Draft a letter. To the Dread Lady Nathicana, to be conveyed personally by Arrivabene. We have concerns regarding the humanitarian implications of the situation in Um Lizaa. As a member of both the Triumvirate and the NDA, she is in a unique position to review the situation. We would consider it a favor if her government would be so kind as to brief our representative on the situation as it develops, and keep us abreast of any proposed international action.”

He set the folder aside, and moved on to the next item, the Um Lizaan matter already receding from his mind.

Later that day, an official courier under Arrivabene’s personal seal delivered the message by hand, to the Dread Lady’s villa. The letter from the Secretariat of the Apostolic See, brief but cordially worded, written on the distinctive official Vatican paper stock, was covered with a note from Arrivabene. Handwritten in his own elegant, legible script, it said:

Respected Signorina,

A small unofficial item of information, which may be of use to you as you consider this official correspondence: I am informed that the Holy Father, himself, has expressed a concern regarding this situation.

+Arrivabene

The Tank Lurched back into the Landing Zone, six GRUNTS still clung onto it's sides as it barrelled up the ramp of the drop ship.
"WE NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" The soldier screamed into the sergents ear amidst the artillery explosions that were steadily drawing closer.
"Air support is still at least thirty seconds out, we have to sit tight or we can't get outta here quick enough, set up a perimiter around the drop site."
The Soldier nodded and began shouting out orders.

"Sweet Jesu, but I've asked for it this time," Nathicana muttered, going through the recent batch of missives. Relieved that so many had chosen to respond, and surprised at some of the notes and intents, she set about answering them all as politely and quickly as possible, already jotting down notes for Calabrese to attend to.

This isn't going to be easy.


Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: President Gordon Grath, Kelanthia
Re: Conference

My thanks for your prompt and courteous reply. You have always been such a strong support to our alliance, and have been invaluable in your contributions, most recently, on the Island and the meetings there. I realize how difficult it is to take the time for such discussions, which is why we suggested teleconferencing to begin with. Please let me assure you, there are many who are taking advantage of the avenue. It is a difficult time for all of us. The fact that you are willing to assist in this effort is very much appreciated. I will need all the cool heads I can manage there, after all. I am pleased I can count on you.

We will begin the conference at [time/date] to give everyone ample time to respond and make what arrangements they need for it. Again, I thank you for your support and attendance.

Sincerely,
--Nathicana D'Aquisto



Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: President Atef Al-Zief, Sunset
Re: Conference

Honorable President,

Your attendance will be very much appreciated. Any clarity that can be achieved between all who have an interest here, for whatever reasons, will be a step in the right direction. So long as there are people willing to sit down and discuss, I hold the hope for a peaceful resolution.

We will begin the conference at [time/date] to give everyone ample time to respond and make what arrangements they need for it. Thank you again for your prompt reply, and your support. I will make certain that arrangements are made for your arrival.

--Nathicana D'Aquisto



Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: King-Consort Tarvi del'Andivar yos'Vetinari, Cetaganda
Re: Conference

It is good to hear from you, Tarvi. I'm sorry our next meeting is under these circumstances, but I am grateful for your support and assistance in this all the same. I have full confidence in your abilities and authority. We will begin the conference at [time/date] to give everyone ample time to respond and make what arrangements they need for it. I will make certain to arrange proper accommodations for your stay.

--Nathicana D'Aquisto



Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: Führer Carlos Quil'Raya, Iraqstan
Re: Conference

I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your willingness not only to attend, but to do so in person. I realize this cannot be easy for you to manage all things considered, nor do I want you to feel we are challenging your rights to do as you will within your borders. Nor am I accusing you of anything.

My suggestion that we all sit down and talk, openly and without closed doors, was simply to
try and lay some concerns to rest. We have a lot of nervous nations watching, and I hope to avoid any misunderstandings. If not for those unauthorized landings you've had to deal with, I doubt things would have reached this point. As it is, I felt that taking a proactive approach would be for the best, and hopefully help illustrate that this is, as you have stated, an internal matter that you need to solve that shouldn't be of any concern to the rest.

I deeply appreciate this show of confidence and support. I will make certain the proper arrangements are made pending your arrival. The conference will begin at [date/time] so as to give everyone ample time to prepare and arrive. Again, my thanks.

--Nathicana D'Aquisto



Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: Queen Firefury Amahira, Reploid Productions
Re: Conference

There is never a time when diplomacy is unnecessary, Queenie. My thanks for your support, and understanding of the delicate situation. I'm certain Tsume will represent your interests well. I also appreciate your keeping things as cool as you have, all things considered. Be assured, I will be doing all I can to make certain things remain calm, and that we all walk away from this with minimal damage.

We will begin the conference at [time/date] to give everyone ample time to respond and make what arrangements they need for it. I'll be certain to make the arrangements for Tsume - do let me know of any special requirements he may need, and thank you again for the support.

--Nathicana



Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: Arkhora Rene Seingult I, Tsaraine
Re: Conference

Arkhora, you are, as always, too kind. I have always believed our alliance to be strong because we have an abundance of good minds and solid leadership. I understand entirely about scheduling and such, which is why I suggested the teleconferencing. Nevermind the 'difficulties', shall we say, that exist between some of those agreeing to meet. Your support and assistance in helping keep this from spinning out of control is deeply appreciated. You have always had a level head, and a knack for getting what you want without offering up offense. I'd say we stand a good chance here.

The conference will begin at [date/time] so as to give everyone ample time to prepare and arrive. I'll be certain to get your link up and running properly. Again, my thanks.

--Nathicana D'Aquisto



Origin: DLN, Nathicana
Encryption level: High
To: Sky Marshal Juan Rico, 4TEF
Re: Conference

Acknowledged, and appreciated. Please forward my regards to the Advisor, and assure him that his steady presence does much to ease my mind, and that he is most welcome. I will see to it that accommodations will be made ready for him. The conference will begin at [date/time] so as to give everyone ample time to prepare and arrive.

I can't guarantee the reception this 'mystery party' will recieve, but I shan't deny them access all the same. Lets hope they finally manage to grasp the gravity of the situation. My thanks for showing restraint and care in your monitoring of the situation. Your job or no, it is appreciated.

--Nathicana D'Aquisto



The last missive gives her pause, and she ponders it carefully before penning a reply. It would only be polite to respond in kind. So, the meddling begins. Lets see how well the man measures up to the myth, shall we? It should at the very least introduce him to how things are dealt with on an international level in the Dominion.


Your Eminence,

Once again we find the Church is well-informed of current events. I am however curious as to why our little tensions here should cause such concern. I assure you the situation is well in hand.

Still, I am reminded of the benefits of having a fresh perspective, and perhaps a more neutral voice who lacks the usual political ties present. The Vatican is, after all, a respected body in and of itself, and I am certain it shares our interest in a peaceful resolution to the unfortunate tensions.

Thus, I extend to you my personal invitation to attend an upcoming conference wherein the current situation you referred to will be addressed. Perhaps, as noted, in a neutral advisory capacity, or concerned observer?

Should this opportunity appeal to you, please come to the government offices at the Gianfigliazzi building at [date/time]. I will make sure you have the proper clearances.

Until then, my dear Arrivabene,

--Nathicana D'Aquisto

Smiling Carlos leans back in his chair, the image of Daniel flickering through his mind. "Thank you Daniel, I'm honoured you remember me and have such kind things to say. I do have some time to meet an old friend but at the moment I wouldnt dare risk the saftey of such an honoured being as yourself. Perhaps once the situation in Um Lizaa has settled some more we can arrange for some time to meet and catch up with one another. I'm sure Devon Treznor would be glad to hear from you too." He says respectfully, into the phone as the conversation continues. "Tell me old friend what have you been up too? You disappeared from many a scene for quite some time, I was beginning to think the worst had happened?"


---------

Squatting behind his slowly shrinking piece of cover Istam leans out once more his plasma rifle beeping slowly but loudly a clear signal he was low on resources for it to continue to function. Pulling his head back he presses his rifle aroudn the corner and opens fire, the weapon spitting the fury of the sun towards his enemies.

All around him the crackling pop of weapons can be heard, both shriek rifles and plasma rifles mingling with the explosions of artillery and the enemy gunfire chattering away, turning his head Istam watches sadly as one of his friends is hit, his body burning from plasma and crumpling to the ground. Crying his name Istam unhooks the remaining grenade on his belt and arms it, tossing it as hard as he can into the knot of enemy soldiers and running to his fallen friend.

"Sven! Medic!" He shouts belatedly realising he is out in the open the chatter of enemy weapons grows louder before he falls, his body engulfed in flames along side his fallen comrade.....

A safe distance away the Iraqstani Guard commander gathers up the dog tags of the fallen men and sighs "May Sirithil bless your souls and allow you to enter the halls of the eternal." He whispers the old battle prayer as the forty dog tags fall back to the earth, their once shiny faces now tarnished with blood and dirt.

With artillery raining down the distant thrum of helicopters is all but missed as four black widow attack choppers fly into range their heavy rockets firing salvo after salvo at the enemy position, dry of rockets they begin attacking runs with their heavy machine guns laying waste to the civillian structures around the enemy site.

ooc: Well, it seems we've stalled. Tell you what - lets forego the pleasantries, as everyone invited would no doubt have/ask for/recieve proper clearance to get there if travelling, and the connections would be in place for those teleconferencing. So ... for whenever folks are ready, lets get it on. Realize between work, school, other duties it's likely to lag, but don't want anyone hung up on my account.

http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/conference.jpg

The conference room set deep in the heart of the Gianfigliazzi building was, it seemed, set to recieve those slated for arrival. A large panel of two-way screens was set at one end to relay those teleconferencing, and a small wet bar was set at the other end, fully stocked with beverages and light repast, even for those of more unique needs such as the Reploid, Tsume. Power cells. Good god ... Should the meeting carry on later than was hoped, the kitchens were prepared to either cater here, or host the delegates in the more formal dining area. Appropriate rooms were prepared and waiting in the diplomatic wing, with attendants assigned and waiting to see to and of the guests needs.

"Well," Nathicana murmured to herself, taking a slow sip of her usual ice water. "Here goes nothing."

Olympus Mons

"Well, that's settled. Comms, you know the drill." Rico swings up his console and stands up out of his chair in the command room, easily stretching out his slightly mesomorphic body. "Call the Kyzyls and tell 'em it's on; I'll be in my office. Patch me in through there."

Titan

Automata Alshai Kommetrez doesn't even look up from the daily paperwork.

Conference Room

One screen blinks on to reveal Advisor Kommetrez's impassive face, around thirty years old but much older in the eyes, brown skin worn by countless tiny pits and scars. Behind him is simply an inky blackness, and he seems to be gently lit from all sides.

Another screen below it pops on, showing first a blue screen with the Triumvirate insignia over a quick legend--Sky Marshal Juan Rico; Coordinating Officer, Earth Theatre Task Force; TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons--and then blinks to reveal him settling into a utilitarian chair behind a steel desk, a large matte poster of a President-General-class supercarrier behind him.

"I hate this damn thing, gives me a headache.."
Jamus Straightened his hat, and smoothed the patch of his coat around the Dove. and straightened the second dove on the officers like hat.
He sighed and looked ahead as the screen fizzled infront of him, a connection was made and the Flag of the Orda filled the screen for the breifest of seconds before being replaced by Jamus, he looked to the left and right slightly and then waited.

Treznor takes his seat next to Carlos, looking for all the world as though he were sitting down to dinner. However, he eschews his usual glass of scotch, instead pouring water for himself.

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
<< We're good to go. I arranged with S.H.O.D.A.N. to give priority to monitoring Carlos for this meeting. Hopefully, she won't need to temper his responses. We can look at the results later and decide what we're going to do.
}

He looks around the room and nods. "Let's do this."

Olympus Mons
Command Room
...the Flag of the Orda filled the screen for the breifest of seconds before being replaced by Jamus...
Admiral Mitsuharu, de jure commanding officer of the flagship, blinks. "Don't tell me they just--"

The communications officer nods. "Looks like, sir. I couldn't edit it out in time--we're not working on a delayed feed."

"Nor should we." Mitsuharu grumps, folding his arms and slouching back in his chair at his console. "We gave them every chance. You saw it, right? We're not here to protect them from themselves. Still... FleetCom, tell the Fourth Combined to up their alert status. Just in case."

"Acting, sir. Maybe no one saw it."

The Asian admiral scoffs. "Right, and maybe I'm a kzin."

Stupid tech idiots, heads will roll after this, mark my bloody words...
The earpeice crackled in Jamus' ear.
"Shit, sorry your highness, we'll keep the damn things out of the way from now on."
"Yes... you'd better or you'll be before the bloody firing squad! Understood?" Jamus had turned around and looked down slightly, hsi voice no louder than a whisper, full of menace.
He turned back around and smiled, the usual diplomatic smile, freindly, but frosty, warm yet cold.
One of these days, possibly today, our actions will kill us.

Nathicana waits for everyone else to settle in, taking a sip from her usual ice water now and then, nodding as things start to fall into place, and the expected connections are made.

"As soon as everyone is ready, we'll begin," she says, smiling warmly as hospitality demands. Even if it made her jaw ache, she had sworn there would be no show of nerves.

<LOS Communications - Devon>
{
<< Understood. And if you don't mind my saying so, about bloody time. Lets just hope everyone keeps their-- Sweet Jesu, did you see that? The idiots just flashed their flag. After all their efforts and the Trium forces ... I'll have my people get on that.
}

"Ah.. you are right, I will visist you as soon as your problems are over.. my sudden silence was because I feelt that I didnt have time to care about international events, I had a country to rebuild.. nuclear attacks does tend to do alot of damage" he paued for a moments, "but I hope to hear from you soon.." and with that he said goodbye.

Stretching a bit, Tarvi settles back into a recliner in the Emperor's private office deep inside the palace. Placing shades over his eyes, he carefully plugs a communications cable into a tiny external port of his augments. For a moment, he finds himself sitting in the middle of a infinitely large black plain under a pure white sky.

"Bolt, is the feed ready?"

"I'm opening the line now, Lord Tarvi, along with a secondary line in case you need to converse with fellow Triumvirate members in private. We're interfacing directly with the QE relays in the Dominion. I've got a couple of layers of ICE up, but it shouldn't effect transmission lag. I'll also be monitoring again intrusion," replies the EI that runs the palace network and internal systems.

"Thank you." A moment later, the scene blurs and he finds himself sitting in the conference room. In the actual room, he appears on whichever screen or projector has been allocated. The only difference is where Bolt has prudently replaced Tarvi's old T-shirt and short with the appropriate Vetinari livery.

Treznor looks up at the incoming transmission, and sees the blue flag with the image of a dove bearing an olive branch. His mind races to bring up the list of every nation he's ever heard of with a similar flag. Thirty-nine. How many of them sport advanced dropship technology? Five. Then the flag shifts to the image of a high ranking military officer with peace symbols displayed prominently on his uniform.

Treznor nods his head slowly. Ah. That makes it even more interesting. But it also presents us with an opportunity. We'll see what people think.

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
<< I've got some minimal intel. I'll get Ben working on the rest. Kyzyl-Orda, futuretech nation out of the Federated Klatchian Coast. You may have heard of them. They sport such dignitaries as Dyelli Beybi and Vrak, that odd walrus race. It's a relatively small region, but nothing to be underestimated. I wouldn't lay good odds on our being able to retaliate directly against Kyzyl-Orda without a punishing response.
}

He clears his throat and addresses the holographic image. "The Non-Democratic Alliance bids greetings to the Empire of Kyzyl-Orda."

Atef slid into his seat, dropped a datapad on the table, and took a sip of water.

"Whenever you are ready."

He didn't really have a lot to do - just support the flag so to speak. Given this and the other things he did have to do it was reasonable when he pulled the datapad over and began working his way through a mountain of paperwork.

"Oh - Jon won't make it. He's off talking to a new nation. OnyxRose or something - pop up like weeds really."

Tsume settles his armored frame into his seat as comfortably as a six foot mechanoid dragon can in a chair that was probably never meant for that purpose, nodding polite greetings to the other representitives, even Carlos. "I am pleased to attend, even if my nation's involvement in the current... situation... is all but non-existant."

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
<<Please forgive the intrusion, I just wanted to make certain you were aware that this particular avenue of ulterior discussion was available, though I'm fairly certain Firefury-sama has likely mentioned as much already.

Our only real concern at the moment is the increased Iraqstani naval activity we've detected in international waters off the Shogunate coastline. It is not a large concern, certainly a low priority compared to everything else involved, but it is still a concern.>>
}

Rene had considered several different settings for her own part of the conference - what others saw was important, after all - it affected how others thought - but had eventually discarded any number of simulations, and the Amber Throne, in favour of her chair, which was comfortable enough for a lengthy session, but still formal enough to be respectable.

Like everyone else, she saw the flag of the mystery guests - >> Data Survey: Flag, white bird on blue field. Identify nations. - but cut off the search when she heard Treznor speak.

>> Data Survey: Kyzyl-Orda, Empire of. Basic overview.

Finally, we shall see who these meddlers are. For their sakes, I hope they can talk fast.

Over the q-link, she was content to continue to watch and wait.

Shit, they saw it.
Jamus nodded at the figure who spoke, the computer ran a search and flipped up his name and picture.
"And Greetings to the Non Democratc Alliance and you Emperor Treznor"

Hanging up from the phone call to Daniel Carlos gathers some notepads a pen and some documents before heading for his door. Turning around he makes sure the last few orders for the Um Lizaan initiative are signed and heads for his private jet.

-=majestic timewarp scene.=-

Sitting calmly at the table Carlos looks over the other dignitaries and then to the camera feeds catching the tail end of the flash he raises an eyebrow before clenching his hands into fists, accidently snapping his pen. Muttering a quick apology he turns away from the field his face a mask of outrage and fishes another pen from his pocket and writes a simple note on some paper Find Kyzyl-Orda and burn them. Looking back up his face once more the mask of diplomatic niceness he smiles at the camera his jaw clenched tightly.

Someone is gonna burn for this, and no doubt I'll be having words with Nathi and devon after this. Blast it all. He thinks to himself as he forces the anger in his heart to still once more. Clearing his throat he nods politely towards Nathicana before speaking "Well my dear Dread Lady you've gathered us here and then some." He whispers quietly, his voice hinting at venom for one of the parties present. "I'm ready to hear people's opinions and... Reasons." He continues his voice louder this time and more under control. "I dont feel the need to open this meeting with any claims about the lack of existance of any conflict. It'd be stupid and today isnt the day I feel like insulting leaders of foreign governments." HE finishes before sitting back calmly and looking over each representative slowly.

Tsume nods slowly, his plated face an unreadable mask, his tone surprisingly light, masking whatever his true thoughts may be. "Your conflict is of no concern to my homeland." The mechanoid appears to be avoiding refering to Firefury or the Shogunate by name, likely to rub as little salt in that particular wound as possible. "Our only business at this gathering is your increase in naval assets parked in international waters off our coast, especially given that we have done nothing to help or hinder your current... operation. One would think you have better uses for all that firepower, given how it seems other nations with a different sense of diplomacy have taken it upon themselves to meddle in your affairs in a rather active manner." With this, the dragon shoots a sidelong glance at the screens, notably the one being used to relay the Kyzyl-Ordan's delegation.

Tsume bobs his head for a moment. "However, this is but one relatively minor concern among many more pressing which we are not involved in. Your nation and mine have an agreement to prevent undue hostilities, and I rather trust that agreement shall remain unbroken." The dragon eyes Carlos evenly, the merest hint of his fangs shining in the room's lighting, a subtle emphasis on the mention of the non-aggression pact.

ooc: I believe the only ones who haven't chimed in are Kelanthia and HVS, who may be having connection problems as we've not seen them in a while. Kel I know isn't on all the time at any rate, so, if it's alright, I'll assume we're all there and just keep this baby going.

<LOS Communications - Tsume>
{
<< Acknowledged. And ... [wry grin analog] Acknowledged. Well spoken there, by the way. Queenie chose well. Carlos has a knack for irritating even the most even-tempered of sorts when he so chooses, however, as I'm sure you are already or are at least becoming aware. We'll do what we can to keep things calm. As nasty as it may sound, I think perhaps continuing to direct his attention to the meddlers is a good course. They have, after all, willingly put their hand in the bear trap.
}

"First of all, I wish to thank all of you for attending. I hope that we can all work together to keep these proceedings and the current situation as amicable as possible."

Turning slightly to the Iraqstani leader, she finally takes her seat. "I think, Carlos, that we are not gathered here to point fingers or lay blame, but to assure one another that the recent tension will not spill over into an unfortunate misunderstanding that could end up costing us all dearly. And to address, since they have seen fit to grace us with their presence, the nation responsible for causing more unrest than is absolutely necessary by blatantly ignoring your sovereign rights and attempting to abduct your citizens," she finishes, turning her attention to the Kyzyl-Orda delegate, smiling warmly.

"Perhaps an explanation is in order?"

<LOS Communications - Devon>
}
<< I've dealt with Vrak before, albeit on a very social basis, and found them amicable enough. Perhaps I could make an effort to re-establish some ties there. We are both in KIST, which gives me an opening. And I'm certain I've that's where I've seen this Kyzyl-Orda before as well. I'll have to look further into the membership lists to see if there is a region-wide connection there we could exploit. I agree with your assessment, however. That is not a situation I'd be inclined to get involved with.

<< You realize, don't you, that we are not obligated to assist. The loopholes in the charter provide for this. I realize it would look bad under the right light, but given the proper spin, and the fact that Carlos himself has chosen to distance himself from us, and continues to erode our image with his actions ... It is unsavory, but it is something to think about. I have more than enough trouble on my hands presently without our dear but dangerous ally dragging us into another conflict of his own creation.

<< I for one look forward to Shodey's analysis when this is over.
}

"Yes, well my apologies about that, it's just we don't like to see inncoent civillians getting killed, gassed excetra. We merely stepped in and tried to help, but of course, most plans back fire, and er, heh as you can see I am here having to defend myself and my people, and my Empire from reprisals."
He tilted his head to one side and smiled.


"Damn fool better know what's he's doing... This can go two ways, arse up or tits up, either way we'll suffer some form of reprisal..."
Horbes shook his head as he watched the Conference from his own screen, he wasn't there at the meeting of course, no point in a military officer getting involved in such talkative affairs.
He sighed and looked at the various leaders and diplomats in the room, the screen hovering idly infront of him.

Tarvi leans forward. "That's nice, Emperor...whoever. I think I speak for most of us here when I say I don't like what's happening in Um Lizaa." He smiles broadly, and continues in a sweet tone. "Of course, you don't see the rest of us unilaterally invading a sovereign nation and risking the deployment of strategic weapons against civilian population centers. Did you even consider the possible repercussions of your action, be it for your nation, other nations involved, or the people that you're supposedly saving?"

"I beleive what we were trying to do was extraction, as opposed to invasion, rather different, but still landing troops...but what the Iraqstani's were doing was coming into conflict with the Geneva convention, bombarding civillian targets etcetera.."
Jamus kept a firm look on his face as he looked at the Cetagandan delagate.

"Really. You know, I don't know if a single nation represented here has signed these 'Geneva Conventions.' I believe the NDA may disagree with you on the definition of invasion, as well."

"Killing Civillians is just plain wrong..we intervened because women, men and children were being killed, I suppose you applaud this kind of behaviour?"
The Emperor looked lightly alarmed by such statements, his eyes showed it, irregardless that his face remaind in the same fairly neutral state.

OOC: Sorry for my absence... I wasn't able to get on yesterday. I hope you don't mind if we just assume that Grath has been present since the beginning.

'Geneva Conventions?' thinks Grath to himself wryly. 'You wish, buddy...'

Remaining silent, Grath leans back and continues to watch the proceedings, but this time wearing a small, bemused smile on his face at the naïveté of the Kyzyl-Ordan delegate.

"Of course not," the Sky Marshal adds harshly, checking himself before continuing in a more even tone. "However, there is a reality beyond the basic... triggers of your response. Your blind interference has heightened the tension in the nation of Iraqstan and any additional tension there threatens a very large number of people I have personally sworn to protect."

Kommetrez nods. "And it is our job to remove that tension. I do not believe it goes against the greater interests of the larger scale to ask how quickly you can have your forces out of the area. The sooner they are removed the sooner this tension can be released. A sign of good will would perhaps not be untoward at the moment to make up for current... incursion onto soil. Intelligence failures happen, and I think we can all be large enough to forgive that to some extent."

"Applaud? No. Willing to risk the lives of hundreds of millions by blindly rushing in without even an attempt at diplomacy? Also no."

Jamus sighed, looked up to the left slightly as his eyes moved, obviously reading. He sighed again and looked slightly annoyed.
"According to my reports they've been trying to 'leave' for over an hour, but they have been pinned down by artillery and infantry, our contined presence in the area seems quite certain as long as that is still happening.." he pursed his lips and frowned.

"You don't like seeing the actions you have without proof that we've seen, acted on. And we don't like seeing the sovereign right of our ally trod upon, nor having foreign military operatives making landings with nary a word to anyone, running their operations covertly, causing an uproar in the already delicate balance of things, and for what? A bare handful of lives, which you now have doubtlessly condemned with your actions? You call that a humanitarian effort?"

Nathicana pauses, taking a quick sip of her water, shaking her head with exasperation.

"You gave no thought to the bigger picture, and apparently did not care that you were entangling yourselves in a situation obviously beyond your ken. You sir, have behaved in a terribly suspicious and utterly irresponsible manner. Mince words if you will over 'invasion' or 'extraction', but the fact remains, you are the agressor here, and quite firmly in the wrong in spite of your 'good intentions'. We all know where those can lead when not backed solidly."

"As for this 'Geneva Convention' you speak of, I have never heard of it, nor, would I consider it to hold any form of governance over me or mine if I had. None of us I would think, condones the slaughter of innocents," she says with a brief glance at Carlos. "However few would argue the right of a ruler to put down acts of treason and rebellion within their own borders, which I am told is the case here. Not only that, but I have been lead to believe that it was your men who opened fire first? The fact that your forces are now currently pinned down is unfortunate, no doubt. An uncomfortable situation indeed. Perhaps a more viable option would be to order said forces to surrender, withdraw your presence from the immediate area, and negotiate their return to you with the leader whom you have thus far run roughshod over with your well-meaning but irresponsible actions."

ooc: Apologies for the total ooc post, but I shall be away for alot of Saturday, and it's kinda late now so I can't garuntee a post untill Sunday.
Sorry.

<LOS Communications - Tsume>
{
<< Acknowledged. And ... [wry grin analog] Acknowledged. Well spoken there, by the way. Queenie chose well. Carlos has a knack for irritating even the most even-tempered of sorts when he so chooses, however, as I'm sure you are already or are at least becoming aware. We'll do what we can to keep things calm. As nasty as it may sound, I think perhaps continuing to direct his attention to the meddlers is a good course. They have, after all, willingly put their hand in the bear trap.
}


Tsume sits quietly, listening to the discussion, his stance implying the patience of a rock and the predictablity of an earthquake.

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
<<[chuckle analog] So it would seem. It may be selfish, but my concern is for the lives of those 200 million refugees, not a handful of stragglers. It would be nice if we could save them all, but as idealism approaches reality, it does tend to become prohibitively expensive. If these fools want to dance with Carlos, and it draws his attention away from his staring contest with Queenie, so much the better.

[wry grin analog] Though I most certainly do not envy you the juggling act you must attempt courtesy of your rather infamously unpopular ally. I assume S.H.O.D.A.N. has some measure of involvement here as well, in her own special way?[wink analong]>>
}

Chuckling politely to himself Carlos clears his throat and looks at the Kyzyl-Ordan leader cooly. "As far as I can tell, I have never signed nor acknowledged any form of governance over myself other than what my own conscience tells me. To push an idealistic means of oppressiing the right to sovreign rulership on me is a gross insult and you will only be permitted to insult me once.

As my esteemed Nathicana said yes, you're people fired on my soldiers who were under orders to secure the area and permit the safe withdrawl of your people. Your cowboys saw fit to attack both my soldiers and an armed civilian we had been hunting for some time. You not only violated our sovreign borders but you also instigated a hostile action which I can only see as a preclude to further acts of war.

How ever, before the polite and undoubtedly respectful screaming match begins from my counter parts in the NDA and to an extent the triumverate" Carlos spits out the word triumverate as if it's bile looking to be removed. "I am willing to accept the surrender of your soldiers AND a substantial compensation for lives lost by your gun happy cowboys in the field." He finishes, looking smugly at the leader before tilting an eyebrow towards the sky waiting for the response.

Ambassador Calvin "Coolidge" Drzka sat as silent as ever, just watching the conversations on his video screen, his face betraying no emotion at all.

[OOC Translation: I haven't finished catching up on this thread.]

Heartland Capital, Northern Um Lizaa side

The crackling pop of machine gun fire echos through the streets as women and children flee one way and men rush the other, their weapons held ready. In the distance dark specks can be seen against the skyline, as dropships rumble forward twelve of them fly over head followed closely by four missiles, each hitting a target and sending the drop ships and troops to a firey death within the ruined (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/umlizaacapital.jpg) streets of the city. The explosions roll slowly towards the fleeing people, dislodging yet more ruined building and causing the debris to rain down upon them.

With their positions comrpomised the missile firers are swamped with retaliation fire from locations in the distance, the echoing boom of artillery swallowing the cries of the children in the streets. With the missile nest dead the remaining twenty Sabershark (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/Sabershark.jpg) drop ships smoothly come to a hovering halt above the ruined streets and descend to the ground. With a wheezing hiss the rear bays open and disgorged hundreds of Iraqstani guard, their weapons held ready and firing before they even reach the city streets.

Spreading out around the drop ships the soldiers open fire on the fleeing civilians, cutting down man woman and child, slowly armed citizens begin to return fire, their weapons burning through the protective armour of the Iraqstani guard and leaving bodies on either sides. With the last soldier on the ground and fighting the twenty drop ships whine as their turbines spin and they slowly lift off, putting air between them and the battle on the ground before switching to their main engines and screaming off into the distance to return once more with troops to add to the battle.

At the crash site of one of the downed dropships, six men crawl from the wreckage, their armour damaged and their weapons lost, climbing slowly to their feet they become instantly aware of a crowd of civillians around them, each holding a rock. Backing into a small group the six men withdraw combat knives and prepare to defend themselves. As one the crowd shrieks and pelt the six men with rocks and other projectiles near them, stoning the soldiers to death before rushing forward and stripping the bodies of clothes and holding them up as testimate to their victory.

Inside the downed ship a pilot stirs his legs crushed beneath his controls, his sub machine gun just out of reach as around him civillians rush about ignoring his barely moving form as they dismantle parts of the ship and flee into the ruined streets as over head a drop ship comes to a halt and ropes roll down from the rear bay as soldier after soldier rope down to the crash site and begin defending the downed craft. Inside the radio crackles with it's remains and a voice breaks in and out of focus "Repeat...Hear me?....Repeat...Anyone..me?" Wincing the pilot reaches for his helmet mic and responds in a bare whisper "I hear you..trapped...pilot...help" He manages before passing out as around him the soldiers return fire and yet others begin attacking the ship to free the poor man.

Jamus sighed, he closed his light blue eyes for a moment and thought.
I suppose that'd be acceptable, after all those men are expendable...

Jamus sighed again and his blue eyes flipped open, the light from the screen reflected on his eyes, he swallowed, cleared his throat then spoke.
"I think, in light of my present situation those terms are acceptable.. what for of compensation do you want?"

Grinning smugly Carlos casts a lazy eye over the other delegates before turning to the reploid. "Forgive me ambassador for not addressing your concerns earlier. In regards to who to lay the blame on for the hostile actions made against me I have no reason to accuse the shogunate outright but there have been weapon drops from unknown parties aiding these terrorists within my borders so suspision is not fully removed. I was once given a promise that inspections could be made against shogunate areas and so I will be pulling that promise to the foreground as soon as it is possible for a team to be organised and sent out.

We have also had reports of unknown ships landing people along the northern coastline and so I once more will be requesting inspections of shogunate assets near and around the exile camp to properly remove them from the picture. Until that time those forces mobalised will remain in place as a safe guard against further if any breaks in the non-aggression pact we so duly hashed out another meeting ago. This is not a negotiable thing and so I will not be accepting a compromise." He snarls off, looking over the reploid with contempt. That one is gonna earn me a screaming fit from dear old Nathi. He thinks to himself, barely keeping the smile hidden from the others.

Turning back to the Kyzyl-Ordan leader he puts on a sneer of contempt before speaking "My terms are simple, your people surrender all of them, including the pilots and freighter drivers. That equipment up to and including the freighters themselves be released to Iraqstani control and your people lay down their arms and await transportation to a maximum security prison until a later negotiation for their release is made. I also expect a payment of 20 million credits be made to the widows and children whom lost their fathers in a blatant act of aggression against non-hostile forces. Furthermore I expect any intentions you have towards Iraqstan be considered duly before putting action to them. These are hardly much to ask given the circumstances of your interventions." He finishes, looking smugly over at Nathi before nodding to Devon and the Kyzyl-Ordan leader.

Tsume bobs his head once, his hard metalic face schooled to an unreadable calm, showing no signs of anger or even mild annoyance at Carlos's blunt statement. "I shall make certain then that the proper authorities are made aware that your inspections shall begin soon, and make certain that proper arrangements are made to ensure your inspectors are safe from harm."

He taps a talon against the table, just enough to elicit a light *clink* noise, in thought. "While meager words are not enough to satisify one such as yourself, our intelligence assets have noticed a massive increase in activity in the skies over your nation, and to our knowledge, have no relation to my nation. We rather prefer to keep our assets well removed from your region, as I'm sure you must have noticed that both the First and Third fleets are holding position over our airspace. I will see to checking about and finding if one of our corporations has decided to meddle. If they have, you can be certain they will be dealt with, as violation of our current pact would count as treason."

The mechanical dragon stops tapping his talon and gives Carlos a stare so level and cool as to make the horizon seem horribly lumpy and the Antarctic tropical in comparison. "As for your military assets in our region, they shall be watched. We are not a people to be bullied, and should your men overstep their rightful bounds, I can make no promise as to their fate. We will guard ourselves closely, but should you, as you like to put it, 'do more than a treaty calls for', you should be well aware of the consequences."

That said, the dragon turns to face the screen displaying the Kyzyl-Ordan. "My allies in the Triumvirate have already had words for you, but I have some as well." The barest hint of a displeased hiss enters the black dragon's voice. "As you must now be aware, my nation is in a state of uneasy peace with Iraqstan. Millions of lives hang on the balance. Now, say that Carlos had not shown the wisdom he did in verifying who was landing forces in his territory, and had simply assumed that my nation had violated our treaty, and opened fire on my nation. There are weapons of unpleasantly high property damage in the armaments on both sides. Say that Carlos had assumed that your men were ours, and launched his at my nation."

Tsume twitches the bladed end of his tail idly. "Had your blunder ended in the worst occuring, I can assure you, the wrath of the Lady Shogun Eternal would fall upon you and yours almost as swiftly as it would upon Carlos here, were he that foolish." He raises himself to his full height, looking every bit the fearsome predator out of magic and myth, leveling the screen with a dark expression. "I would very strongly suggest that you accept Carlos's terms with extremely good grace, and be glad to get off easy. Perhaps then you will remember to do your homework before sending men and women to their deaths and upsetting an already delicate international situation."

It had taken Arrivabene little time to get settled in; he’d sent his staff on ahead, and the Massetti, as ever, had been quietly (and expensively—but that was to be expected) efficient. The villa had been purchased, the modifications were underway, his staff was installed, all by the time the Archbishop arrived.

Vicente Massetti, a cousin of Amadeo’s, had known just who to contact for construction and other kinds of assistance. Before he left to return to Italy, he’d briefed the Archbishop on security matters.

“We had a local firm do the initial sweeps and installation, then I personally handled the secondary procedures. As your Excellency requested, we removed the most obvious of the surveillance devices, while leaving some in place, here…” he called up an exploded floorplan and landscape plan on the Archbishop’s viewer. “We left enough, I hope, to allow them a basic, um, comfort level.” He pointed out the areas covered, shaded red, including the Archbishop’s office, personal quarters, main clerical office and file rooms, the main communications room, and the public reception salons.

“In this area, I think we have achieved complete impenetrability…” he pointed to the green-shaded inner communications room, a small suite of rooms adjacent to the Archbishop’s quarters, a section of the garden, and an odd little room off the villa’s main kitchen. “Here, I am less certain, but it is likely that surveillance is significantly impeded or minimized.” He waved at the areas showing in blue on the plans.

“As to the source..” he shrugged, and grimaced. “They are good, here—as good as anything we can come up with. Everything we ‘found’ and destroyed was meant to be found and destroyed. There are any number of factions who might have interests in knowing what is going on in the Nunciature, and any number of private contractors to supply the tools. Of course, everything ultimately goes back up the line to the government, but whether there is any direct government involvement…” another shrug. “If so, the tracks are sufficiently well-covered for diplomatic courtesy.”

“Essentially, we know there is surveillance, and they know we know. The only areas of uncertainty remain in precisely how much each of us knows.”

The Archbishop nodded. “Of course. It’s well in line with standard policy. We tacitly permit a certain level of surveillance in these totalitarian states, to keep their all-too-easily excited paranoia under reasonable control. Of course, diplomatically, it doesn’t exist, since diplomatic facilities are naturally exempt from such measures. So they are very discreet, and we are very discreet, and we all agree that it’s not really happening at all. It looks like you’ve done a most competent job, Vicente, but I’d expect nothing less. My regards to your cousin.”

The man nodded, and bent his head. “Please, Excellency, your blessing…?”


He’d made his way to the Gianfigliazzi building, both to present his credentials officially, and to deal with the clearances for the upcoming meeting regarding the Iraqstani matter. Time enough, when that was out of the way, to take the Dread Lady up on her offer of a pleasant dinner. Neither she nor he would have time until the meeting was over.

Her note had been something of a surprise. Decisive. Incisive. And yet, it hinted at the existence of certain blind spots… He’d penned a brief note of thanks, and left it to be delivered with his official credentials. Their first exchange had gone well.

And now he looked around the room, docketing the attendees with a blandly courteous interest, and making copious mental notes of every word from everyone present. Quil’raya’s statement about arms being dropped from space was interesting, on a number of levels. The Kyzyl Ordans were clearly struggling to salvage what they could; it was just too bad that their humanitarian impulses had gone so badly awry.

The interesting part of the whole thing was what wasn’t being said.

Nathicana pointedly ignored Tsume’s reference to their failsafe, choosing for now to end their silent conversation. She made every effort not to let her tension show, nor her further irritation at the barbs Carlos’ further statements were armed with.

I should have killed the bastard when I had a chance. (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=277792) So help me, I should have done it. Had my head and heart not been so damnably soft on account of Devon (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=281923&page=1&pp=40), and my nerves nearly shot on account of both and worry considering that thrice-damned treacherous Mateo (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=278407) … never again. She’s making excuses for herself again, she realizes. Something she knows is more a way of blowing off steam than truly laying blame. Funny how Devon still managed to work his way into the equation though, as usual.

A surrender, after all that … something just doesn’t fit here. They claim to be humanitarian, bitched about having their people at risk … then just turn them over to someone like Carlos without blinking an eye. Without asking for their return. Or any concessions. Her eyes flicker over the other attendees, both here and via vidlink, trying to gauge their thoughts, and possible reactions. Of interest was Arrivabene, whom she had not yet had the opportunity to speak with face to face. Already she could see he would be a challenge – in her eyes, a high compliment.

“Well then,” Nathi says, lightly resting her hands on the table. “It would seem we have the beginnings of an accord here. The Kyzyl-Ordans have agreed to surrender their forces currently on Iraqstani land, and seem willing to work with Carlos on reparations. The arrangements already made between Iraqstan and the Shogunate still hold strong, and both are in agreement, so far as I can see, on previously agreed on inspections, which I am certain will show both my good allies to remain true to the letter of their treaty. As for reports of arms and supplies being dropped, I put forward that if a previously unknown such as Kyzyl-Orda took it upon themselves to actually land troops, it is not so far-fetched an idea that other, similarly-minded nations or unaffiliated organizations might take the opportunity to do what they could to in their eyes, ‘help’ the Um Lizaans. Like it or not, Carlos, there are many in the world who do not agree with you, or your methods. I say this not as a condemnation, but as simple fact. It is necessary to look at all options before committing oneself to any unfortunate courses of action.”

“I believe that the honorable,” the word seeming to lack somewhat in sincerity, “representative of Kyzyl-Orda better understands the gravity of their actions, and perhaps now can see a part of the bigger picture of just what is at stake here. I see no need for further ‘threats’, implied or otherwise. Perhaps, if there are no further comments, concerns, or items that need discussed, we should close this session and let those who need to get back to business while Carlos and Jamus work out the details of their agreement?”

The Meeting

Advisor Kommetrez's face nods. "I doubt it will be accepted, but I do offer to be an intermediary in the process of this accord. The Segments have no direct interest in the immediate conflict except to see that violence is kept to a minimum and thus the chances that our allies come to harm kept to a minimum as well."

"Agreed. Sorry that I'm not too much the professional diplomat, or I'd try to help too." Sky Marshal Rico frowns slightly. "We can either maintain our duties as a bounce-station for signals to and from Kyzyl-Orda or else they can use more direct modes of communication, whichever is more acceptable. If anyone needs to talk to us, just page us--questions, concerns, things of that nature. If all is going well at the moment, though, I have a fleet to run and thus request to be excused."

Correct Action

"Alright... here goes." Sir Ekianga Kushamura turns a bulky knob, face being gently lit by the snowing display. Twisting some knobs, the makeshift screen begins to take on better clarity. An excited noise of success--"Ah!"--immediately followed by a more sedate one of thoughtfulness. "Hrmmm."

"Results, Sir Ekianga?" Dame Mahmuda floats over to look over the computer specialist's shoulder.

"Well," he replies, looking over the multicolored icons and their tiny little labels superimposed on a topographical map of Um Lizaa, "I've got bad news and I've good news."

"Go on," Sir Huey behests.

"Bad news is there already looks like there's an army in Um Lizaa, and it is neither the Ticks or the Iraqstani." He shrugs, looking around to gauge the reaction--a raised eyebrow here, a frown there--before continuing. "The good news is that apparently most of the Iraqstani army is mobilized and centered around countering this threat, which is a lot bigger than an outmoded assault shuttle with ten people on it. There's a relatively clean corridor of entry here--" he says as he traces a line with one finger "--and we can probably put down inland right here where the Voyeur net reads practically no mobilization whatsoever. Little dinky village in the middle of nowhere, apparently. I'll upload it into the nav system."

Sir Y'vain, currently taking flight duty, watches his screen update. "Ah, I see what you're talking about. There's a few patrol boats there, though we can fly low enough that they shouldn't be able to see us by radar and our active camouflage should mask our visual signature. We will leave a sonar trail by passing close over the water, but ambient noise should drown it out... right?"

Sir Ekianga nods. "Ya, it should. Rushing air is not really all that loud. Once we get over land and can use terrain to cover, shouldn't be much of a problem."

"Estimated time to arrival?" Dame Mahmuda turns even colder than usual, firm iron in her voice as she checks the armor cabinets.

"I'm going to take us in well inside international waters so no one catches our ionization trail from reentry. That's gonna be nice and gentle, then we'll take a circuitous route in to the corridor Sir Ekianga pointed out. We'll be over Um Lizaa in an hour."

"Good." More iron from the Dame as she pops open her suit and steps into it. "Everyone suit up and get ready. Those tribarrels can't man themselves."

Fifty Minutes Later

Correct Action speeds four meters over the crests of the waves at eight hundred kilometers per hour, the air rumbling around it and blowing the waters it passes over into a gentle wake. The shuttle itself looks like a mirage, a fuzzy distortion of the air and clouds behind it, certainly not standing up to a close inspection or even much of a far one. Then again, the primary purpose of camouflage isn't so much to be invisible, just to be harder to detect. People see ghosts and weird spots on their vision all the time, after all, and usually pay them no mind when they have real things to look out for.

Inside, Sir Chagatai and Sir Farid sit in their battlesuits in their stations by the side doors of the shuttle, armored gauntlets idly tapping the simple, bulky, and lethally effective tribarrels they ride that stand ready to slide out with the doors. They can act as Correct Action's point defense, if needed--it was what the agreed-upon percentage of their investment profits could cover, as milspec automated point-defense systems are somewhat hard to come by. Sir Y'vain and Dame Dijana, their simple fatigues now covered by the hard plates and somewhat fluid meshes of carapace armor, carefully guide the ship as pilot and navigator respectively. Sir Farid and Dame Mahmuda, in their powered armor, sit at the point seats closest to the rear egress door, ready to clear the landing zone for Dame Constansa, Sir Huey, Sir Toto in their less effective carapace armor. Finally, Sir Anasabhanu takes the middle seat in the shuttle, his armored fingers playing over the triage kit in his hands.

They all know this is the dangerous part, and that if they get caught now, all their planning and training will have been in vain.

This is the last time I listen to Horbes' suggestions, silly sod is to quick to the trigger finger and I bloody listened and let him do it...
His eyes fluttered open again as he let out a small sigh.

"Those surrender terms see quite aceptable" The word surrender came across quite stressed, he then licked his lips, they glistened as the moisture was placed upon them.
"Exactly how many of your troops died? So we know how much to have sent to you of course. And which currrency?"
Jamus now looked genuinly sincere, his eyes had relaxed slightly, and the holograph of him moved leant forward.
"Also surrendering the freighter and all equipment on board is acceptable... against my best wishes, however this, as I have now seen is not the way to go about or conduct ourselves." A small laugh escaped from his lips.
"I hope you can accept my full apology to the NDA,the shogunate, and you Carlos..."

Smirking victoriously Carlos regains his composure and nods politely to the Kyzyl-ordan leader. "You have made an honourable decision. So far in that conflict there have been a reported fifty deaths at the hands of your soldiers and another fourty five wounded in the process. That figure may have risen since the start of these talks but perhaps not as for currency Iraqstan runs off of the menelmacari credit which serves our purposes better than the former currency which has no backing so it would be greatly appreciated if payment could be made in menelmacari credits rather than anything else." He whispers smugly before eyeing the other people present both physicaly and digitaly. "Are there any other matters that you'd like to bring to my attention?" He asks politely, his facial features pooled into a manner of calm authority.

----------

Artillery batallion ten.
Um Lizaa.

The roar of the howitzers drown the forests night life away, the startled squawks of birds long since vanished with the continued assault on the small town some thirty kilometers away. The men of the group move with motive, their minds firmly locked on the task at hand Destroy all resistance, burn the vermin from the planet is the order that rings through their minds as each shell launches itself onto a trajectory of firey death.

Walking quietly around the artillery pieces armed soldiers patrol the forests their assault rifles held ready and their sensor equipment tuned to detect any movement and body heat. A crackle over one soldiers radio causes another ten to move to his position the artillery distantly quietened by the explosive boom of a land mine going off. "This is chalk two to all units, hostiles on our tail repeat, hostiles on our tail." Comes the radio call as four men run quickly from the forest their armour pitted and shredded from enemy fire.

Rushing quickly into position, four men carry a machine gun of a strange design, a blocky case with multiple barrels. Setting up the men aim the weapon towards the area the fleeing soldiers appeared and wait, the crackling of bush is slightly heard over the distant throb of artillery. Suddenly as if appearing from the very smoke around them the soldiers find themselves faced by an onrush of sixteen armed men their cries mixing with the bark of artillery.

Stepping back the two soldiers on the machinegun press a button and send thousands of rounds into the onrushing enemies their bodies shredded by the seemingly endless rounds being flung at them. In seconds the threatening onrush is reduced to little more than bleeding pulps as the gun finnaly quietens it's multi-barreled vengance complete. Turning to face his partner the machine gun soldier blinks as his comrade lays dead on the ground, blood slowly leaking from the bullet hole in his forehead. "I...I didnt even hear them shoot." He whispers as he closes his comrade's eyes and whispers a silent prayer begging the doors to valhalla be opened for the brave dead....

Four hours pass and still the artillery fires, suddenly over the vehicle comms the order to cease fire speaks out the guns slowly drown to a stop, the silence left behind is deafening. Behind them soldiers become aware of the huge vehicles behind them, slowly raising their massive cannons into the air the shells sliding into place. "By order of the führer, the following actions will take place. In the city of kas'najah the resistance has increased to the point of open treason. Your comrades have died with honour to bring us to the point of victory. Now you see the wrath of our vengance against the vermin that killed them! For the motherland!" The officer in charge of the battallion screams out as behind him the booming roar of the 200mm cannons erupts, sending soldiers to the ground in terror and from the force of the shots.

In the night sky the soldiers literaly hear the air tearing as the massive shells fly far and high their deadly neutron payloads accurately aimed at the city far away. In the city, the roaring onrush of the shells can be heard, the remaining citizens stare at the sky in terror some tending to wounded children whose limbs no longer appear atached to their bodies. With the shells raining down they once more take cover behind their makeshift blast shields and shelter under the ruins of buildings.... The shells finnaly reach their targets and detonate the roar of nuclear energy rushing outwards reducing all in their wake to debris and body parts. The fury of the thiry strong four kiloton warheads spreads through out the city, engulfing building and being alike the massive neutron radiation ending the lives of still many more.

In the distance safely away from the threat of nuclear death the artillery group stare in awe as the sky lights up some thirty kilometers away the nuclear explosions visible only as highlights against the nightsky, behind them the cannons fire once more their deadly salvos destroying more of what was already dead.... Shivering in fright a single soldier turns to look at the huge cannons his mind shocked by their power "By all that is honourable, the goddess really has blessed us with power." He whispers before dropping to his knees in praryer, distantly aware of others following his lead all paying tribute to their eternal goddess....

Foamy waves become rolling ground in a flash, and Correct Action slows to a more respectable speed, hugging what close terrain it can find in Um Lizaa as grass and ground flit under it in mottled shades of brown and green. Inside, the knights-errant remain at their positions. "Well... no triple-A. Lucky."

The village decided on is on the map, but doesn't have a name--not a recorded on, at least. The TYCS map indicates it to have a population of less than two dozen, just a little hamlet deep in Um Lizaa. Not strategically important except that it is close to a few other hamlets, mostly looking like it ekes out a life via subsistence farming on the less-than-prime land. The shuttle sets down in a copse of hills, camouflage blinking off to reveal Los Caballeros' coat of arms--a blue and red shield with three silver pillars blazoned on it, all on top of crossed lances--painted on the side of the shuttle's gray hide. The doors slap down, and the battle-armored troopers quickly clear the landing zone before covering up the shuttle with camouflage netting.

Now comes the time for situation assessment... and to proceed from there.

Walking through the forest Abdul, keeps his makeshift rifle held ready, his ears picking up the distant rumbling of weapons being fired far off in the distance. Keeping a keen eye on the jungle around him he slowly begins the walk towards one of a few hilly clearing from which he can sneak up and spot in the distance the location of the latest artillery attacks.

Walking quickly, yet quietly he reaches the base of the steep hill and begins a slow and stealthy crawl up one side, his aim the top and the view of the surrounding areas. Climbing as quickly as he can yet still remain unseen Abdul reaches the top of the hill and looks about him, taking note of the other hills close by and the small villiages scattered around him. "For his glory do we suffer." The man whispers as he scans the nearest hills, for threat.

Blinking in shock he watches as a patch of jungle suddenly turns into a flying craft and a weird crest. Grabbing his rifle he ducks back down behind the top of the hill fearing he'd been spotted. Waiting for what seems like minutes Abdul holds his breath, fearing that any minute now the sound of grass and dirt crunching under the heavy footfalls of Iraqstani troops he whimpers before slowly crawling back up the hill and peering at the strange craft a little way off.

"That's no Iraqstani symbol." He whispers, his fear spiking quickly as a possible new threat seems to of landed right ontop of him. Cursing under his breath Abdul quickly climbs down the hill and crouches in the smattering of bushes as he watches the craft closely, his eyes never blinking he slowly creeps forward rifle gripped tightly.

"Hey, Dame Mahmuda, I'm getting movement." Sir Farid checks the top-down sensor map in his suit. "Single contact, moving towards us from the southeast."

"Alone?" Mahmuda, the power-suited Joan d'Arc, looks about intently.

"Yup. All by his lonesome. Shall I go investigate?"

"I'll go with you. Either he's one of the people we're here to talk to or else he's an army scout we need to clear out. Keep the shuttle ready to lift off just in case."

The two troopers easily walk in Abdul's general direction at an oblique angle, weapons dangling in front not at the ready. Leave it to him to make contact, that's the idea... but Farid can't help but look directly Abdul and wave gently with a smile.

ooc: given how things have gone etc, I propose that those wishing to stay in the meeting can, and those not, don't. Transcripts can be provided with the details of the agreement, if continued here - no breaching state secrets with that. I think at least we've settled things and set other things in motion as far as governmental concerns ... yes? *looks worried momentarily* Anyways. Enjoying the show with the Idealists vs the Naziboy.

Nathicana stood, giving her jacket a brief tug to straighten it, looking at each representative in turn as she addressed the group.

"I thank you all for taking the time to come, observe, voice your concerns, and most importantly, discuss before anything more serious happened. I hope that we can always utilize such avenues to avoid the possibility of unecessary future 'misunderstandings'. For those physically here, I invite you to enjoy the hospitality of the Dominion. For those not, I offer the same when your schedules permit. Advisor Kommetrez - grazie for your offer. I shall leave it up to Carlos to accept or no."

"To the Kyzyl-Ordan delegate, your apology is noted. As for the Dominion, our acceptance of such will depend greatly on the manner in which you carry yourselves from this point forward. We do not take actions against the sovereignty of our allies or those that upset the delicate balance we have somehow managed, lightly."

Nathi takes a moment to glance around the assembly again. "I call this meeting at an end for those wishing or needing to depart. Transcripts will be provided on request of any subsequent agreements between Iraqstan and Kyzyl-Orda past what has been proposed. I am confident the Shogunate and Iraqstan are capable of working out their issues as well, though I offer my services as has Advisor Kommetrez, should mediators be desired."

Gathering up her things, she quietly walks over to Arrivebene, leaning down to speak softly.

"Your Excellency. I am pleased you chose to attend, though you have remained rather quiet along with several of the others. It is an unfortunate thing that this has been our first meeting, face to face. Perhaps, if your schedule allows, tonight would be a good time for the dinner we spoke of previously? There may be concerns fresh in your mind from today's events for one, we have much to discuss for another, and it would be a far better end to the day spent in the company of one who appreciates the ambiance of our similar cultures. So many miss the subtleties," she finishes with a wry smile.

Nodding to the other delegates Carlos, leans back in his chair his face a mask of neutrality as he smiles politely towards the Kyzyl-Ordan leader. "Your mens surrender is eagerly awaited in Um Lizaa as is the opening of communications with the shogunate and the union in regards to inspections." He finishes, flicking a glance at the reploid before watching Nathicana whisper to the Vatican rep.

Wonder what that is all about. He thinks quickly before dismissing the idea and making his way over to Devon and smiling. "Devon my friend, maybe we could talk for a bit? Our last discussion was cut off so sharply in Sirithilia."

----------

Blinking in surprise Abdul stands from his hiding position on the hill and points his gun directly at the waving figure and shouts sternly "Who are you? What do you want?" Moving forward he keeps his gun between him and the two people as he flicks his glance about the area searching for a possible ambush.

Reaching the two people he tightens his grip on the weapon and stares at them intently "Step no further until you've answered my questions and be cautious of the hills, the führer has many eyes in these parts now days." He cautions softly, his stance relaxing slightly once he confirms they are neither Iraqstani nor NDA soldiers.

Treznor stirs for the first time since identifying Kyzyl-Orda, turning to nod to Carlos. "I think this went surprisingly well. I'm at your disposal, of course."

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
<< That went better than expected. I fully expected Carlos to push them against the wall with demands they couldn't meet. I also expected them to object, at least haggle a bit, before they caved in. I wonder what we're missing.

<< And speaking of missing something, who is this gentleman you're speaking to?
}

Nodding Carlos chuckles slightly, "It went well yes, but I cant help but feel something else is going on. The Kyzyl-Ordans gave up too much too quickly. I'm going to be ordering my people to infiltrate areas of that nation. I dont trust them. On to other more pleasant things, I dont think I gave you my response to your comments about marriage in my office. I'm surprised and pleased, I'm suspecting I know who the other party is but please tell me." He smiles and claps his old friend on the shoulder before pouring himself a glass of water.

<LOS Communications - Devon>
{
<< Thinking along the same lines, I see. It was too easy. As hard as they pushed at first for their 'rights' and 'doing the right thing' they certainly rolled over quick. Odd. Something stinks here.

<< As for the rather dashing gentleman here, he's the newly appointed Legate to the Dominion on behalf of the Vatican. Yes, Dev - it would seem with the new Pope, and the efforts of some of my dear citizens, the Church has a renewed interest here. Granted, it could cause some difficulty, but this man happens to be Archbishop Arrivabenne - the Archbishop Emilio Arrivabene of the Valenti-Gonzaga. Rather brilliant when it comes to handling money and the like. Bailed the Vatican out at one point, if memory serves ... at any rate, it should prove interesting.

<< I'm trying to set up dinner with him - something he and I had discussed previous to his arrival. I'd like to get a better feel fo him, see if I can't see better where they plan on taking things here, not to mention, find out if I can utilize that talent of his, should it prove 'safe enough'.

<< Should be interesting. Give you and Carlos some time to discuss as well, though I do hope regardless, you'll stick around at least for the night. If you happen to need some bribing, I promise you won't be disappointed if you stay. [wink analog]
}

Um Lizaa

The two power armored (http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/compyart/mi.jpg) troopers stop immediately as Abdul challenges them, raising their bulky gauntlets up to their broad armored faceplates. While it looks like they are shielding their eyes from the light, it's just a precaution--the thick transplas faceplate is rated to stop rifle rounds at range but there's no point in taking chances. Once the armed man approaches close enough that getting shot in the face is somewhat more unlikely, they lower their arms and nod.

"Thank you," says the first in a feminine but coldly neutral voice. "We have been trying to avoid those as well--I am Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova of Tariq, and this is Sir Farid Sotoudeh of OrbPlat-Three. We, and our shuttle over there that you surely must have seen, are knights-errant of Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar--The Idealist Knights of the Third Pillar." She bows shortly.

Sir Farid grins with closed lips. "Yup. Relieving the distressed, succoring widows and orphans, bringing justice--or at least trying to--for the oppressed, that sort of thing."

Staring at the two figures Abdul just blinks and shakes his head "If it isnt, failed landings by one group, it's a successful landing by a group of mad knights." He whispers to himself as he moves forward and peers at the male speaker curiously. "And just how did you come to know of the struggle here? I didnt think much news came from our land."

Motioning with his rifle he points back towards the ship "How many more of you are in that thing?" He asks curiously whilst staring at the designs and markings on the ship.

The two share the benefit of having a closed radio link to speak through, conversing in stage whispers while their microphones are disabled and Abdul muses to himself. I told ya the first person we'd come across would react like this...

Yes, yes, I know, but he isn't shooting us yet, no? And he's asking a question. Toggling her microphone back on with an easy shake of her head (at least that's what it looks like from the outside), Dame Mahmuda smiles while Farid replies first. "Well, perhaps the looney responsible for most of it doesn't let news out, but he's also not really subtle 'bout the whole thing either." He points up. "This time the news got leaked and so here we are to do what we can." Another boyish grin.

The lady-knight-errant nods. "Yes. If our government refuses to act and do what is right, then it's our responsibility to do so. There are eight more of us in the shuttle."

Chuckling Abdul lowers his rifle and shakes his head. "I guess it's believable, do you need anything at all? What is it that you truly do want here?" He asks quietly, almost thoughtfully as he rattles ideas about in his head.

"Obviously you can penetrate the defensive screens he's got set up, if any at all as easily as you like, why has nobody else come to our aid? You said your government is refusing to do anything why is that?"

Sir Farid shrugs. "I dunno. We're not them--though it prolly has somethin' to do with the whole 'pointing nukes at allies' sort of thing." He hrmmms softly as Dame Mahmuda gives him a quiet look. "Still wholly unforgivable, agreed."

"What we want," Dame Mahmuda replies, "is to help. We know that the Iraqstani army is currently dealing with whoever that incursion is, and that buys us time and opportunity to help in whatever ways we can. There aren't many of us, but we can still do something." Her usually carefully even voice lets just a little emotion, perhaps a bit of zealotry, seep into the word.

Nodding Abdul steps to the side and chuckles "Well, for now I'll trust you comrades. I hope for your sake that this isnt a betrayel, I will lead you to where my people are waiting. How will you hide your ship for the time you are here?" He whispers, as he steps closer to them, shouldering his rifle and nodding.

"My villiage is not far, we've remained unnoticed by the Iraqstanis because we're small and move around alot. We keep our women and children with us and they often take up arms when we meet an Iraqstani patrol, but usualy we see maybe one or two a month this deep into the country. The Iraqstanis generaly stick to the shorelines and the areas around the wall." He finishes, his eyes growing distant at the memories of building that wall.

Another quick radio conversation. Nomadic, huh? That throws a kink into things a little...

Not necessarily. We teach them, they teach others... The dame points to the craft. "We have mimetic camouflage netting which will make it appear to be just another hill, and we can carry our supplies with us--limit the amount of times we have to visit and possibly blow our cover."

Sir Farid nods. "Yeah, so the shuttle is pretty much a nonentity unless you need an extraction. Otherwise... lead on." The man behind the faceplate smiles broadly with good humor.

Nodding Abdul tucks his rifle over his shoulder and walks towards the craft. "I'd like to meet the rest of your people if that's alright. AFter that, once it's dark we should move. The Iraqstanis tend to move about during the night, they seem to prefer night time incursions into our regions of late. We've many contacts in other villiages, it is in our best interests to know constantly where an attack is taking place or which villiage is playing host to Iraqstani soldiers.

The more of their movements we know, the better we can plan to avoid them. We've suffered many losses during our movements and unfortunately we are running low on able bodies to fight. Soon I think we'll be unable to do anything but scatter into the jungles and hope they dont find us." Sighing Abdul shakes off distant pains and walks slowly towards the ship.

"Nighttime, eh?" Sir Farid ponders aloud as Dame Mahmuda leads the trio to the shuttle. "They're probably using either IR or starlight amp... and I don't think we thought to bring enough nighttime gear for everyone."

Sir Chagatai peeks out from the side door, powergun tribarrel "mini"gun still safely stowed behind it inside the armored hull of the shuttle. "No, but we've got some ourselves and have plenty of battlefield illumination stuff."

"Rally around, Caballeros, full kit," Mahmudova orders in a stern voice over the radio. "Take what you need; we've made contact." Finishing up their tasks inside Correct Action, the knights-errant sling their packs and weapons and march out, all the plate armor looking vaguely medieval as they arrange themselves. Four in powered battle armor, including Sir Farid and Dame Mahmuda, and six in combat armor of ballistic plate made of energy-dissipating ablatives over their smoke-cloud camouflaged fatigues. They all carry a variety of weapons, but every single one carries a three-foot light sword at their hip.

"You've already met Sir Farid and me," Dame Mahmuda, "but that cannot prevent us from introducing ourselves properly. I am Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova of Tariq, the marshal of Los Caballeros." The tallish Turkmenistani woman bows shortly in her grey battle-armor, her arsenal clacking and shifting slightly as she moves. Like practically anyone in powered armor, the weaponry she carries is more limited by simple surface area to position things rather than actual mass. She carries an ubiquitous powergun assault rifle of either Scolopendran or Sunset make, an over-the-shoulder tube launcher with a magazine of small missiles, two unremarkable chemical-powered neonapalm hand flamers on hip-holsters, two 10mm powergun pistols mounted just below them, a tubular object on the belt and, just above that, a sword in a leather scabbard.

"This is Sir Farid Sotoudeh of OrbPlat 3 is my adjutant and engineer of Correct Action." The jovial Arab bows, smiling broadly as he usually does, his battle armor and weapons clattering softly in much the same way. Carrying a 12.7mm belt-fed machine gun with a hip brace, missile launcher, a open-air plasma flamethrower carbine, more pistols... another tube, which also seems pandemic, and a sword, he (along with the rest of the powered-armored knights) looks more like a walking armory than an infantryman.

"Sir Anasabhanu Sadaram of Ziyad, our apothecary." The North African medic bows shortly as the dame introduces him, armed identically to Sir Farid in addition to the large medical pack slung around his shoulders.

"Sir Chagatai Tomor-ochir of Rull, master of arms." The tall, broad Mongolian nods rather than bows... no need to head-butt anyone yet. His armor is equipped about the same as Mahmuda's.

"Dame Constansa Maissoneuve of Al Mahdi, grenadier." The short, almost bleached French woman bows with a smile and a soft chuckle at the archaic title. As her carapace armor fails to augment her strength, she is limited to only a rather mean looking 15mm hypervelocity needle rifle, a 10mm powergun pistol, and the usual cylinder and sword.

"Sir Ekianga Kushamura of Maka'rios, our scribe." The very dark brown man chuckles and bows shortly, tapping the portcomp at his side, accompanying the sword, tube, pistol, and hypervelocity rifle.

"Sir Y'vain Dowiyogo of Nuha, our pilot." The Pacific Islander is silently glad his title predates the aviation era. Pilot of a sailing ship, pilot of a shuttle... all the same. He carries an energy rifle of some sort, probably an eraser from the multiple tuning and power dials. Everyone not yet introduced is similarily equipped.

Dame Mahmuda pauses for a moment, mouthing syllables to herself before continuing. "Sir Huaxpitzcactzin, son of Tiacapan, of Gyfiawnder, our other grenadier." The big Aztec grins broadly with closed lips as he bows, shoulder keeping his rifle on his shoulder. "Everyone calls me 'Huey.'"

The dame lets the breach of knightly etiquette pass. "Sir Gahiji Toto of Trúnaður, our other apothecary." The dark Egyptian bows with a grace unusual in the bulky armor, carefully holding his medkit.

"And finally, Dame Dijana Omeragic of Stonozka, our navigator." The slender Bosnian bows slightly, perhaps a little hastily. With the introductions complete, the ten return to their tasks.

Sir Huey grins again at Abdul, leaning in conspiratorially, speaking behind the back of his hand. "Sorry about the big long string of introductions, but Dame Mahmuda is something of a traditionalist. If we're lucky, she'll forget to repeat it every single time we meet a new bunch of people."

Chuckling Abdul hides his smirk behind a formal bow of his head and looks back up at the gathered group and their weapons. "My name is Abdul bin Farraad. You could probably say I am a warrior, but I would say I am a survivor. We have fought hard and long these years but all we have managed to acheive is survival. Even now more of my brothers and sisters fail in our mission to survive as the Iraqstanis are using nuclear weapons against us. We've had reports of artillery attacks carrying nuclear warheads.

They are intent on wiping us out or killing enough that the rest of us submit. We cannot accept this and will and have fought to the end many times. When we get to my villiage, we will send word to other patrols and cells throughout the country to send a member to us. From there we can plan properly." He adds, slowly motioning for the group to follow him as he walks cautiously away from the space craft his rifle once more at the ready as the scans the forest around him.

Everyone takes up their full kit--equipment, bedding, supplies, and so forth--complete with a few carts and follow Abdul, walking in careful formation. The battlesuited knights take the corners--forward left, forward right, rear left, rear right--and escort the rest, snoopers down and scanning the area over the full electromagnetic spectrum. Stealth demands that ultrasound sensors be left off for now.

Sir Chagatai looks down at Abdul's makeshift rifle. "Pardon, Mister bin Farraad, but are all of you equipped like that? If so, we'll have to fix that as part of organizing viable resistance."

Outside of that, the knights-errant are mostly silent except for some soft whispering through radios and throat microphones. Hrm. We can't organize massive resistance or the Iraqstani will just glass the island.

And if we just train them to be annoying... tricky. Still, building up an underground infrastructure is a good in and of itself.

Well, look at it in the long term--death by a slow bleed is just as effective as something a bit quicker. As long as the Um Lizaans can stay alive, they can make continued Iraqstani occupation not profitable enough to continue but not detrimental enough to just annihilate.

But we're not talking about a rational man here, we're talking about Quil'raya. If he can't have it, my guess is that no one can.

There is value in the statement 'it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees.'

Can we make that decision for them?

I don't think anything we could do would change any ultimate decisions by Quil'raya... all we can do is help and change what we can.

as the group walk through the slowly growing jungle Abdul turns his head to look over his shoulder at the man asking the question and chuckles. "Most of us are armed with very basic weapons, a few of us have managed to hide weapons given to us by the former People's Militia that aided us during our last attempt to rise up. You probably remember that one.

What you probably dont know is the thousands that disappeared both here and in Iraqstan because of that fiasco. We had reports from operatives in the mother country, of entire families disappearing at night. One morning they are there. The next their house is occupied by someone else and the entire street doesnt remember them.

The camps in the area near where my villiage currently resides have been abandoned for some time, but occasionaly we find an Iraqstani patrol in the area. Iraqstani Guard for the most part, the Führer's attempt at elite units. They fight hard but ultimately they are more concerned with removing evidence than from killing us. We leave them alone now days since they only either bury bodies in the camps, or burn records.

It's the camps like Reichstag and Von Kuchev that we fear. They're still active camps. Every night our people report their incinerators working. Camp Reichstag is mainly populated by Um Lizaan children form the northern side. Occasional families from the south. Usualy the ones that need to disappear end up in Von Kuchev." He adds, shrugging as he pushes his way through the trees and bushes.

Hours pass before the group slowly come into hearing distance of a small villiage the sound of children playing echos lazily through the trees and bushes. Smiling Abdul turns and opens his arms wide as the group walk into a clearing and all around them perhaps one hundred houses nestle closely to the trees and openings the single shaft of moonlight piercing the center of the villiage.

"Welcome comrades to my little part of the north." Abdul says with a smile as his two kids run quickly up to him, their eyes shining as they scream out "DADDY!" and leap into his waiting arms.

This is unwelcome news indeed. The knights-errant look at each other with appropriate frowns and quick radio-whispers. The idea of knocking over a concentration camp, while quite welcome, is quickly estimated as being a little out of the league of ten knights. With a larger force, though, perhaps they could return...

The weapons situation is also most unfortunate, Los Caballeros not having sufficient excess wealth to equip anyone past themselves. Better armaments were definately a priority now, and there have to be some somewhere to be had...

-That's what we're here for-, Sir Farid says quietly, with an unusual tone of seriousness as the kids leap into their father's arms. -Now let's get these people set up. Anyone see anything interesting along the way?-

"I think I got a glimpse of nylon along the way," Sir Huey offers with a soft murmur. "I don't think anyone's been doing paratrooper training around here, though."

-It may be worth investigating further-, Dame Mahmuda replies. -Sir Chagatai, you may want to bounce out there with Sir Huey for guidance whenever we can make ourselves available. Still, we should establish rapport first, and that may take a few days.- Stepping forward, she reactivates her external speakers with a smile. "I suppose this would be the appropriate time for me to say 'take us to your leader.'" Just doesn't have the same ring to it as 'what lord lives in that castle' or 'who rules this domain?' Oh, the sheer... hm... lack of poetry of the modern times.

Chuckling Abdul puts his daughter down and once more pushes his rifle back behind his arm and extends his hand to Dame Mahmuda. "You're talking to him, I sometimes find it nessecary to relieve the other men from doing the hard work. Managing the town and leading this cell of the movement can be quite stressfull. So I take patrol duty now and then. The other men hate it when I do but I still do it."

He says with a sly grin and steps to the side. "Please, accept our villiage as your own and rest if you need too. We dont have much in the way of accomodation but we are more than willing to open our arms to comrades willing to aid us in this struggle for freedom." He says the last part loudly and is met with a chorous of agreement from the gathered people around him.

Smiling he motions for two men to step forward their faces hardened after years of battle. "These are my two closest friends, Commander Sa'haad and Lieutenant Hussein. Both were officers in the People's Militia during the uprising that resulted in millions being liberated to the shogunate. They defected to the revolution about the same time the fighting flooded over onto the mainland of Iraqstan.

We've had the pleasure of being trained by them and the honour of fighting along side them for some time now and they have proven to be very good at their work and are Um Lizaan to boot." He says patting the two men comradely on the back. "They suffered greatly in the führer's training camps and when forced to shoot their own people they found it too much. The same as every conscripted um lizaan they turned on their masters. They bought us guns and ammunition and we've used their knowledge of weapons dumps to collect out dated weapons like we use now. They also act as second and third in command of this cell respectivly." He finishes, smiling proudly at the two men beside him who step forward and offer their hand to each man in the group and bow respectfully to the Dame.

"Excellent." The Dame finally removes her helmet, which does not reveal much more about her face as her hair is covered in a sort of linen wimple in the style of a chainmail coif, albeit comfortably more conformal as the fabric allows. The rest of the knights-errant follow suit, the females wearing identical headdress under their helmets, while the males wear a darker-color coif of a thicker material, looking something like an arming coif usually worn under chainmail. "Sir Huey says that he saw some nylon a few miles back. Have the Iraqstani--or anyone for that matter--been dropping anything with parachutes recently?"

"There have been systems in history using air-dropped seismic sensors to try and locate people in the jungle," Sir Farid offers, "and if this is one of them we should neutralize it quickly. I'm not sure how good Iraqstani tech is that way; it usually has to be pretty good to pick up individual people."

"Beyond that, in what way can we be of the most service?" Dame Maissoneuve smiles as she opens up a decently-sized satchel full of demo charges. "We have armor, we have training, and we have explosives."

Shaking his head Abdul chuckles "No, the Iraqstanis out here tend to be a bit more obvious in their hunting for us. Usualy a plane flying over head followed by a raiding party. Noting we never miss. As for the fabric, we picked up a crate that an unknown party dropped almost ontop of a patrol group a bit ago.

We've been unable to figure out who delivered them but they were weapons and ammunition, mostly cheap laser weaponry and explosives, we've made use of the explosives on forward Iraqstani bases." He says with a grin and points to the small group of men off to the side all wearing black masks and heavy camoflauge equipment. "The lasers we gave to those men, former members of the Iraqstani Guard. They were recruited out of their um lizaan homes and later expelled from the military for being who they are.

So we simply armed them and recruited them into the army now they fight for us and are quite good at it." He finishes, looking over the men before shuddering. "The training they endured is quite horrible." He whispers softly before turning to look back at the Dame.

"As for your assistance, we seek better co-ordination between the many cells in the area and perhaps better training."

"It may then be wise to go back and check on what Sir Huey saw," Dame Mamhuda replies. "If there are more weapons for the taking, we should take advantage of that. Our first priority should be organization, training, and equipment. After that we can begin striking the Iraqstani occupiers where they are weakness--supply lines and convoys."

"One thing y'all may want to start on is a tunnel network," Sir Farid says, looking around at the jungle surrounding the little village. "The terrain's perfect for it, and it'll allow you to multiply your strength against adversaries that don't know the area as well. Would also work for making caches and safehavens and such that the Iraqstani can't get to easily."

"We do have a lot of inexpensive and well-encrypted headsets that can help with aiding coordination and such," offers Sir Ekianga. "If you can organize meetings, we can offer our training in small unit tactics and guerilla warfare--it's a national pastime where we're from."

Nodding Abdul listens intently his face showing his focus clearly. "Yes, we've pondered that idea before the tunnels but we've yet to stay in one place long enough to build them. We've heard of other settlments building entire complexes in the sides of mountains and hills.

In fact there's a cell operating out of the old capital that claim to of breeched into southern held territory on quite a few occasions." He continues, his face looking slightly amused at the notion of penetrating the Iraqstani defenses so easily.

"For the moment we've been focusing mainly on arming ourselves and attacking Iraqstani supply lines and forward recon posts, keep them looking over their shoulders so to speak."

------------

Square of Enlightenment
Sirithilia, Iraqstan
1350 hours


A podium stands vacant in the center of the square of enlightenment behind it the flags mounted atop the flag poles wave strongly in the afternoon winds, the entire square ripples with the voices of thousands singing the national anthem as before them Iraqstani soldiers march past in parade ground formations.

The flags aloft the poles are symbols of their own, the Iraqstani flag and the Iraqstani Guard reich division flag (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/IraqstaniGuardflag.jpg), both symbols of power and both striking a cold respect into the gathered citizens. As the voices of the thousands begin to quieten down, a small group of four people can be seen walking towards the center of the square.

Stepping up onto the podium, Carlos raises his arms high, his pistol clutched symbolicly in his outstretched hand. Around him the crowd rise to their feet, hands clapping and voices crying out support for the führer. Stepping up to the microphone he waves his hands, slowly bringing the crowd to a managable ruckus.

"Proud people of Iraqstan, I come before you today not with promised news of total victory but with a heavy heart at the policies I must now enact. You have all seen the aftermath of the terrorist bombing of a local shopping center four days ago, it was by no fault other than the lack of manpower that this tragedy has occured.

Twenty thousand pure innocents slaughtered by the filthy vermin of Um Lizaa, today we enact our move for total vengance against these evil doers. It has been agreed upon by the department of defense and the Reich Generals, that effective immediately a further one million males between the ages of 17 and 40 are to be conscripted into the military for a servitude of five years.

This is a mandatory policy and anyone found within the set birthdates not adhering to the policy will be arrested as grounds of treason and executed. This policy is to be enacted nation wide. IT is a privelage to serve the powerful military of Iraqstan, it is not just a right but it is a nessecity for our continued existance. Rise up, take up arms against the verminous enemies of the motherland and show the world you are ready to die for the right cause! That you are willing to fight for Iraqstan!

As we speak the actions in Um Lizaa are increasing, the presence of the military is tripling and the Public Security Service is taking over more and more police actions in the Iraqstani controled southern districts. Total occupation of the north is rested entirely on the conscriptions beginning tomorrow.

Without your help we will not see a brighter future! Your brothers and sisters in nationalism are calling for you to take up arms! You will be given a gun each, food, water, shelter and lots of ammunition! your enemies have nothing! Scrap clothing, inferior weapons and a lack of purifying desire to dominate!

The union calls upon you now the children of the reich to rise up and defend the blood rites you all possess in this national socialist revolution. Rise up and show these vermin that they are to know their place beneath us! Show them that you are the master race!" He shouts, his hands clutching the microphone tightly as all around him the crowd roar on their feet, a singular voice shouting out "Sieg Heil" as arm after arm stretch outbefore the bodies of the people, in the customary Iraqstani salute.

Basking in the devotion Carlos nods to the two Reich Generals beside him who begin listing birth dates one after the other as nation wide communications are made to the right parties and the men and young men are drafted into the IDF....

"Arming is good, but to truly achieve victory, organization is key. Resistance has to be coordinated, or else it only serves as a distraction," Dame Mahmuda asserts. Beside her, Sir Ekianga blinks, then brings his left hand to his rear, right working on some sort of dial and keypad affixed to the side of his belt. The dame looks over her shoulder and arches one eyebrow, frowning a little. "A problem, Sir Ekianga?"

Kushamura of Maka'rios frowns a bit more. "Just some more signals intelligence. I'll go over it later. Fully agreed, though, coordinated resistance is a must or else it really is an annoyance rather than a threat."

Given previous conversation on the subjects of threats and reactions, Mahmuda and Ekianga share an instant, silent conversation with their eyes. The news is not good, and the dame picks up on that immediately before turning back to Abdul. "Time is, as always, important. How long do you think it will take for us to establish secure communications among the settlements?"

Frowning in thought Abdul looks at the ground for a moment before lifting his head back up and looking at the group of foreigners. "We could have a stronger contact line with the largest cell in roughly a day at the most. The Iraqstanis are notoriously lazy concerning phone and radio communications, they believe we have none and so they dont bother to scan them very often.

I think it's something like 1 out of every twenty communications is intercepted now days, it used to be more until they dismantled the technological infrastucture but we found a way around it. We've been lax in communications of late since we move around so much, but we can set back up our radio lines in a day tops." He says, nodding to a group of men who disappear into a simple hut and the sounds of rummaging about are heard.

"That's good," Sir Ekianga explains as he idly taps the device on his belt, "because I just heard a report that the Iraqstani are adding a million people to the draft quota and planning to treble their forces here--I believe the phrase used was 'total vengeance.' Communications and a secure code system are a must against that kind of force."

The commander of Los Caballeros nods, idly tapping one armored finger against armored bicep, arms folded lightly. "And this is why training will begin immediately. First step will be to teach avoidance and disengagement procedures, which will allow us to avoid contact not on our terms. Second step will be to move on to the fundamentals of combat, heavy on jungle guerrila warfare."

A muttered gasp echoes through the crowd close enough to hear the statement and the soft buzzing of whispered voices ripples through the gathered villiage as the word spreads. Abdul for his part, takes a step backwards in shock, his eyes wide in surprise. "A million you say? What good can we do against that?" He asks, in response to the suggested tactics.

"Perhaps, comrade Abdul it is not what we can do, but what we must do." A voice whispers from the side as Muhammed bin Farrah steps forward, his rifle slung casualy over his shoulder and bows politely to the knights. "Please, let me introduce myself. I am Muhammed bin Farrah, commander of the second Um Lizaan infantry division and former captain in the People's Militia." He says confidently, his eyes focusing on the dame.

"Forgive me for not arriving sooner, but my cell needed to be reorganised after a failed offensive in the former capital. We took down a transport or two on the Iraqstani side of the city, but were pushed back by Iraqstani Guard and People's Nationalist Army troops. There has been a continued pouring of Iraqstani presence in the old city. They know if it falls we will gain a siginificant strategic ground over them. Half the city rests on their side of the wall, and it's the only section of the wall they put live troops in patrols along. The minefield doenst run through there due to the terrain so they have patrols on both sides of the wall constantly." He adds, before embracing Abdul in a brotherly fasion and standing at his side.

"I was ordered by the central command to re-establish links with the outer villiages such as yours. We're losing very badly now thanks to the disruption in land held communications, I also bring news of the Iraqstanis using nuclear weapons on some of the larger cities. No survivors have been found in Al Najaf a city of four hundred thousand..." He adds quietly before turning to the knights. "On behalf of Comrade President Khalid Tarabay we extend our gratitude to you for helping us in this time of need." He says formaly once more bowing respectfully.

"Someone has to." The skin around Dame Mahmuda's eyes tightens a little bit, but her voice remains firm as she bows in kind. "This sounds like an act of desperation, which means we still have a chance and plenty of opportunity. It will take them time to mobilize, equip, and train a million soldiers; time we should take to do likewise. Also, if there is some way we can prevent them from reinforcing easily, so much the better."

"That's where egregious use of explosives comes in," offers Sir Huey. "We can put holes in airfields and sink ships at the mouths of harbors. We're certainly not going to use mass-transit, so if we can deny the enemy its use, so much the better. If we run out, then Sir Y'vain and Sir Ekianga can take Correct Action out to get more."

Sir Chagatai indicates a box he carries via a rope slung over his shoulder. Letting it down, he opens it to reveal piles of headsets. "And these are our much-vaunted communications devices... huzzah for military surplus. Their bandwidth is probably a bit broader than the Iraqstani are used to and they're self-coding/decoding using digital PGP technology. Even if a signal gets intercepted, they'll need a bank of supercomputers pulling a hundred Crays running for a few years to break it via brute force."

Sir Huey gets an idea. "Do the Iraqstani happen to have any centralized ammo dumps? Those would be good places to hit... if they're far enough in the rear to be poorly guarded, we stea--" At the look from Mahmuda, he grins. "We reappropriate as bounty won in honorable battle whatever we need. If we can't get close enough, then we mortar it and watch the fireworks."

chuckling Abdul shakes his head. "They have a few small outposts scattered through the area, but nothing well armed. That being said they do store alot of weapons just south of the wall, and if we can sneak through the old city and over the wall we can break one of those caches wide open. Or as you put it, make it turn into a fireworks display."

Nodding thoughtfully Abdul crosses his arms "Even if that doesnt work, I know they keep small arms and some machine guns at the camps incase the residents attempt to revolt."

Eyeing off the communications devices Abdul looks to his comrade and grins "I think, these could help immensly. It'd remove all the danger of long range communications with each other." He says recieving a nod from the other. "Also we are gathering some roaming villiages together and building an entrenched tunneled area out of one of the many cliff faces along the north eastern shoreline. The tunnel networks are built and we have people living in them already, the Iraqstani know nothing of them but we have had spotters reporting seeing battleships moving past in the distance." The other adds, his voice cool and calm.

"We need a way to eliminate those battleships and possibly give ourselves some air defense, it wouldnt take too much for them to start dropping chemical bombs on villiages and cities again." Abdul adds quietly shuddering at the memories of watching his first wife drown in her own blood from one such attack.

Marching slowly througn the ruined city the Iraqstani Guard patrol keep their rifles held ready, their eyes flicking to each civilian they pass, suspecting all and watching everything. Behind them the soft rumble of a tank can be heard, the first armoured unit presence in the entire region for some time now.

Over head the whine of engines brings the eyes of few to the sky now days as yet more troops and air dropped into hotspots all over the crumbling city, the chattering of gunfire and the distant explosions have become a constant background noise for the resident.

Sitting in the barracks a lone soldier writes in his journal his body huddled close to the light so as to avoid notice from others.



Today we saw a woman take up a weapon and attack us, it was the first time we've had to shoot a lady. Our commanders told us that these people were the same as rabid dogs and needed to be killed. But I cannot help but feel we should be treating them with some form of enemy respect.

They are willing to die for their crimes and we must be willing to punish them for them. They have betrayed the state and the Führer, yet I still feel that the woman did not need to die. I've had letters delivered to me from home the last few days, they've conscripted my brother. He's in a training camp near Sirithilia. I can only hope he survives the training.

We've had briefings on the increasing of armed hostilities against us and our unit commander has said we'll be moving out into the jungles soon to track down the roaming villiage cells. They've avoided the artillery barrages too well and now we gotta hunt them down on foot.

The last time we chased these insurgents we lost strong men. Ahmed was one of them, some rebel shot him in the throat as he pleaded mercy. Luckily the Guard came to our rescue they seem to be ever present in the more violent areas of this city.

I wish I could join the Iraqstani guard, their armour and weapons are impressive to see, but my fate has led me to the People's Nationlist army, I'm unable to join anything more. Curse my family for being half Iraqstani. My love Heidi has written to me again, tomorrow I'll write back to her. Patrol in a few hours we're to patrol a warehouse district and defend the arms cache there from rebel attacks.

That should be interesting, we'll have heavy machine guns this time, and some tank support atleast. I wish we could use something other than a viper mk1 those things cost more to maintain than it does to feed me. The Führer needs to upgrade all the tanks in the PNA to that of the Guard, we do the most fighting. We should have the better equipment.

This entry has taken longer than I expected so now it's time to put my pen down and report to roll call. Maybe tomorrow I'll have less depressing news to talk about.

Gathering his weapon the soldier tucks the journal back under his pillow and heads out into the smoke filled light and heads towards the small patch of ground used for roll call and briefings.

Days passed, and training was going... well, it was going. The knights-errant taught everything they knew, from gunnery and small-unit tactics through electronic warfare and hacking to demolitions, and distributed their little headsets throughout the resistance via the extant Um Lizaan system of runners.

The concept is simple enough, and the model is proven in history--the Mặt Trận Giải Phóng Miền Nam Việt Nam worked just fine this way. The knights-errant teach everyone they can, and those who turn out to be best filter out to the other cells and villages and teach there, creating a network of teachers and students. Every village is told to become as self-sufficient as possible, to search the countryside for "manna"--the wooden crates scattered across the countryside filled with weapons from who-knows-where, but better than the makeshift muskets and poorly-maintained weapons of the natives.

A few times, Iraqstani army patrols had come close to detecting the nascent 'Lizaan Cong,' and Sir Y'vain moved Correct Action about a few times to better hiding places. Now it sits in the middle of one village in a large camouflaged ditch, central and easy to get to without worrying about organizing trips out to it.

Whoever planted these things across the island is a gift from God, thinks Dame Mahmuda as she leads another 'class' in the hold of Correct Action, away from prying eyes. Her eyes gleam as she speaks with something not unlike the zealotry of Iraqstani 'cleansing,' but far different in application. "The rules of guerilla warfare are very simple. You will rely on the fact that this land is yours and you know it better than the invaders who seek to destroy you. They are far from their homes, fighting a war that they only see through propaganda. You are fighting to live, to survive. These rules will see you through.

"When the enemy is overextended and your force is superior, then you attack. Emerge not from the hills, but from the brush. Appear in their midst and then attack where they cannot retaliate when they are not ready. Immediately disperse and fade thereafter, for they will want revenge but there ire will dissipate as they will have no target. This will also cause them to recenter their forces, which will leave another flank open for your comrades to attack.

"Where the enemy is strong and fortified, do not attack except to harass and draw out their strength. If they have a fortress, mortar the convoys that supply it. If they come out to do battle, disperse. Never fight any battle that you are not sure of victory.

"Whenever the situation is not in your favor, disperse. You do not have the resources to fight battles you cannot win," no matter how noble it may be, she completes in her mind."

Pacing across the deck like a preacher, she lets the spirit of the ideologue flow through her, emphasizing her speech as she catches the attention of the audience. "The priorities are simple and set throughout history:

"First, the people must be made to understand that they must fight, and the popular belief must be against the aggressors. We must do this, but we must do it quietly because the inhuman invaders take no value in human life. Your people see the threat, but you must go out and incense them. Organize them.

"Second is the matter of unification. You are Um Lizaans, and your opponents are Iraqstani. You wish to see your children grow and prosper; they want only to rape and destroy. There is a difference, no?

"Third, bases must be established. Because of our needs, these cannot be truely permanent; they must be mobile. Still, we need centers to equip our comrades in arms, to organize our actions. This is the stage we are now in; the ones where you are vital links in the chain that will bind your people together and repel the invaders with your strength.

"Fourth, equipment. By the grace of God we have been given arms from some unseen benefactor, but they are not enough. We will use them as best we can, and then we will hit the depots the invaders think are safe. We will take their weapons and put them to more righteous use as tools of protection rather than instruments of slaughter. We will take them by force of arms, as rightful spoils of battle; we will take them by sleight of hand, when any invader leaves any weapon unattended we shall whisk it from behind them."

She pauses for effect, letting the silence speak inbetween her words. "Fifth. We are ready to do what we must to fight the invaders. Amongst yourselves, amongst your organization, you must decide what you want your future to be--and then you fight to achieve it. Drive the Iraqstani from your shores and be free!"

* - * - *

Elsewhere, in the dusty shade behind a simple building, Sir Ekianga whistles low. "This sat-hack is worrying me a bit. Look at the force concentrations." The Voyeur ISRsat display on his screen shows the growing Iraqstani presence as a blob of red along the transit routes.

"Hrm. We may want to step up operations as soon as we can," mutters Sir Huey. "I know some of our new sappers can probably get into the seaports and airports. A few hundred pounds of ammonium nitrate shaped-charge on that airport's main runway will cut off the ability of Iraqstan's heavy-lift planes to support their forces, and planting limpets on some of those big troop ferries and sinking them at the mouths of these harbors will limit the tonnage of what the Iraqstani can pull through."

"Yeah, but then they know it's game on after that and they're gonna go nuts on anyone they can after that."

Sir Huey frowns. "Right... this'll take care. We tell what populations we know are spotted to pull out slowly, leaving a core behind to keep up appearances that leaves just before we hit. Of course, we don't tell 'em why. Then we smack their links to home."

"Not to mention," Sir Chagatai adds, leaning against the wall, "we can use the buildup to put a raiding force in position of these outlying weapons depots here and here." He points with his finger at the dusty screen. "The moment they start going apeshit they'll be drawing forces away and we can probably hit at least one of 'em. Steal as much as we can grab and blow up the rest."

"We should probably lead these things," Sir Ekianga proffers.

"Yeah, we should," Sir Huey confirms, "but we gotta go through Dame Mahmuda first. My thought is that we'll be most useful on the dump raids. Dame Constanza and I should lead the demo jobs on the ports; blowing up airstrips will have to be an inside job."

"Well..." Sir Ekianga muses, "if we pull it off, it should be a huge morale-booster for the Um Lizaans. What should we call it?"

"Codename before... let's call it Launcelot. Sounds dashing enough," replies Sir Chagatai after a moment of thought. "After it, we'll come up with some different name for the history books, like 'Night of the First Push Back.'"

Rushing through the morning haze of smoke and dust five men lean behind the cover of a tattered wall before the leader pokes his head around the corner quickly "Fuck!" he shouts as bullets wizz past, sending sharp slivers of concrete flying as they hit against the wall the men are hiding behind.

"Alright boys, we've got six unfriendlies to the north of us, team two is coming around behind them but is encountering resistance. They're more co-ordinated than usual so this means we gotta do it skillfully. Huey, blight and Samson. You three head over to that sandbag over there and set up for supression fire me and Karth will sit here and lob a grenade into the midst of 'em. Alright go!"

Stepping around the corner the team leader opens fire on the six men, forcing them to duck behind their makeshift cover of cars and ruined walls. Using the explosive cover the three men dash accross the road crouching behind the sandbag wall as to their left the men firing step back behind the wall.

"Okay, on my order supression fire. Go!" Standing up all three men open fire on the six guys who stood back up and resumed their shots at the wall, ducking back down they fail to see the team leader step out from the wall and lob a grenade into their midst. Exploding sharply the frag grenade shreds the six men, leaving them bloodied and unmoving on the ground as the four men rush forward their assault rifles trained on the spot where they were standing.

Kneeling beside one of the fallen enemies the team leader grabs his radio and contacts command. "This is IG32 to IG90." He shouts as the wind in the city picks up, sending crackling pops of broken glass and debris along the road. "This is IG90 we read you 32." The voice crackles over the radio. "We have secured the objective, all six men are down and the square is ready for use. Repeat, objective secured bring in the flyboys." "Roger that IC32, choppers are on the way."

Looking over the dead men the team leader points to the small stash of surface to air missiles and smiles "We got their air defense nest and team two is reporting they've neutralised their threats and are digging in to hold the corner." He tells his men who fan out into covering positions their weapons trained on the two entrances to the small square.

Over head the distant thrumming of helicopter blades grows louder as two blackwidow assault craft hover over the square their rocket pods firing endlessly into a building north of the five men, with roaring explosions the building slowly collapses in on itself the helicopters now using their 30mm cannons to lay waste to any people fleeing the scene.

"This is eagle eyes to IG32, advise we have three unfriendlies heading towards you from entrance two of the square, they are fleeing the tiger and into the slaughter over." A recon pilot radios in as the three men round a corner and begin slowly walking into the square. Standing up the five men of first squad open fire the bark of weapons drowning out the screams of the three men who dive behind what ever they can find, their bodies bleeding from wounds.

"This is 32 to home, objectives secured. Mission is successful. Phase two can begin." The team leader radios in an hour later after the two fire teams have inspected the ruined building and neutralised all threats within it. Behind them the faint rumble of vehicles turns into a roar as four SteelViper MK3a tanks roll into view their rail gun turrets glinting dangerously in the sunlight as a gunner scans the surroundings with the 20mm recoiless rifle.

Walking past the tanks a soldier wearing the rank bars of a captain steps forward and shakes the hand of the team leader "Good to see you lieutenant, give me a sitrep." "Sir, we've secured the building and neutralised the surrounding area of hostiles. The city is ours sir!" Is the response given as the captain smiles and pats the lieutenant on the back. "Job well down boys, you've made the first Iraqstani airborne division proud. Ease up and head back to camp. We're done for the day!" Saluting the eight men turn and job towards their trucks which roll to a stop beside them and wait as the eight men mount up and head back to the center of the city, where their camp is situated smiling at securing yet one more city from the hands of the rebels....

Hazhir Ocalan grimaces, peeking from the windowsill of a quieter building. He didn't like the idea of letting a few die to hide the larger numbers readying to disperse... but Command had come down and said not to take any fights that couldn't be certainly won. The Iraqstani bastards had come in force, and while the fighting for the city could have taken weeks... the Um Lizaans could afford to "lose" the city more than it could afford to lose the men guarding it.

The same men currently hiding in the sewers. It was so much easier when the tunnels were pre-built... and the enemy had decided to centralize itself so well. Leaning over to the decaying, cracked porcelain sink hanging from the decomposing drywall from a single stripped screw, Hazhir takes the wrench laying on his lap and taps it once... twice... three-four... five times on the corroded iron pipes.

Several meters beneath his feet, the metallic clanging reverberates in the tight passageways that criss-cross the city, ringing loudly in the silence to the few men waiting. One nods two others waiting on a ladder before repeating the signal, the process repeating again and again as more teams hear the tapping...

Across the city, twenty, perhaps thirty men peek from under manhole covers, then slip out in blind alleys and deserted streets. One, the first, checks the area with his rifle, not as shoddy as before; the second then leaps up and pulls an efficient-looking black metal tube from his back, setting it on its end and two little legs that extend from the top of its barrel. The marks on the ground are simple, rocks or chalk marks indicating positioning; the settings already laid in the night before and checked once more. Speed is of the essence--not accuracy.

The mortars laid out, the second man of each team reaches into his satchel and retrieves a streamlined finned canister clearly labeled "TB" in block white letters, more gifts from the mercenaries and the strange knights-errant. Each only has one...

Each missile traces a nearly silent path through the air, their streamlined bodies specifically designed to avoid the characteristic whistling associated with air streaming into the vacuum left by projectiles. Ten meters over the central camp, at various points in the base, they pop almost soundlessly, blowing a fine granular powder to the winds while a central canister no larger than a firecracker slips down on a little ribbon-like parachute.

One after the other, the firecrackers burst with frightening bangs immediately drowned out by the intense roar of the powdered explosive catching alight, the thermobaric fuel-air rounds detonating in a furious pressure wave of compressed air three meters above the ground.

Back at their firing positions, the mortarmen are already loading another round, this time a simple homemade canister, not as accurate nor as lethal, but enough of both. They duck down as the canister drops into the tube, its priming pin contacting the mortar's actuator, lighting its rockets and shooting the canister from the mortar with a characteristic 'bloop.'

Underneath the base, men cringe at the muffled WHUMPs from above, check their lines, then begin spooling out away from their fifty-five gallon drums of crude ammonium nitrate explosives. Normally used for the crops, here they would expend their chemical energy in a more destructive fashion--if it is enough to crumble buildings, then it is enough to collapse manmade tunnels...

Immediately after their fourth canister is away and their satchels are empty, the mortarmen immediately dash into buildings and away, losing their tracks in the alleys and unplanned walkways of the town. The sappers, on the other hand, count the dull rumbles of the results from their positions hundreds of meters away, the crack-booms not relating anything of the shrapnel and fire they rain down upon the Iraqstani Guardsmen underneath. One... two... three... the instant that third series of crack-booms lets loose, the sappers depress the plungers of their simple electric generator boxes and toss them into manholes, running off immediately after. The toothed plungers turn gears connected to magnets, which induce current in wires, which go to the blasting caps in the drums--

The ground under the base heaves up in three, four, five places with a roar that shakes the entire city, then falls down in wrecked heaps of rock and rubble--only a two-meter fall, at most, but enough to collapse any buildings whose foundations fall with the wide sinkholes. Dust and grit blow through the empty sewers the firey explosions and the pressure burning and blowing them clean as they channel the remainder of the blasts out.

And the few freedom fighters disperse into the brush...

* - * - *

"Okay. We've been preparing for Launcelot for weeks," Dame Mahmuda says with a steely glint in her eye as she paces back and forth in the hold of Correct Action, "and it's time for us to take action. Our power-armored knights will split into two groups to assault the ammo dumps--Sir Chagatai and Sir Anasabhanu will take this one," she points at the map, "and Sir Farid and myself will challenge the second one. Dame Constanza will take Sir Gahiji with her to plant limpets on the heavy transports in this harbor, and Sir Huey will be accompanied by Dame Dijana will attend to that one. Sir Ekianga and Sir Y'vain will remain on Correct Action to coordinate Launcelot."

The assembled knights-errant nod eagerly. Previous to this, they have all been in the background--now is their chance to prove themselves in honorable battle.

"You all have your Heralds, I know. Use them to distract and inform." The dame indicates a simple commercial megaphone without a microphone, instead having a welded-on armored box. "Let them wonder, and let them fear the honorable names of the glorious Los Caballeros!"

Walking his way along the paths between tents, temporary shelters and other wooden buildings, a lone soldier smokes a cigar, his eyes wandering lazily over the distant shadows of the buildings around them. Listening to the soft chatter of men in their tents, joking or playing cards he suppresses a sigh, wishing he was back in his own tent with some of the guys in Rein company.

Turning his back on the road he flicks the smoulder remains of the cigar into the sewer and unzips the fly of his trousers, sighing as his bladder is relieved. With a roar that echos loudly down the streets the mortars explode, sending waves of fire in every direction, one such wave engulfing the poor private and sending him to join his brothers in the halls of the dead.

As the explosive fires pass men scramble from their tents and burning wooden structures, shouting out orders and calls for friends and targets, the clicking of many weapon safties being turned off drowns out the shouts for a moment before once more explosions cover the area this time ball bearings and shrapnel taking down soldier after soldier, the screams of the wounded out weigh the shouts of the uninjured.

Running from tent to tent, and building to building soldiers gather weapons and protective gear, their NCOs barking out orders and assembling units into some form of combat effectiveness as the enemy fire continues to rain down on them. With the suddenness of the attack, the entire ground erupts, the rumbling roar of awoken gods tearing through the nightsky.

Crying out in fear, soldiers grab for what ever they can as the ground beneath them gives way to burning pockets of explosive death and the crumbling foundations of their once secured base camp.....

With the morning sunshine glinting through the smoke filled sky the remaining men sift through the rubble of tends, buildings and upheaved road hunting for injured and searching for missing friends and brothers. The scene is watched over by the division commander, his red and black uniform absorbing all forms of hope as he talks with his commanders. "We've lost a good seventy people with another eighty injured herr major. Fighting strength has been halved for most units with the loss of weapons to the bombs in the sewers." A captain says quietly, his voice grim his face covered in ash.

"Very well captain, muster the division we're pulling back to regroup and rearm. Then we'll head further in and track down the bastards that did this. We'll kill them all I promise you that. Dismissed" Looking defeated the captains turn and leave the major to his thoughts as bodies are piled into waiting ambulences and driven to the morgues, injured soldiers are stabalised and driven at break kneck speeds to military hospitals and local hospitals for treatment.

Looking over his shoulder the Major shakes his head at the column of armoured trucks and troop carriers, rolling slowly almost reluctantly away from the now burning city, their final act of vengance to burn the city to the ground as over head a group of bombers roar over their bomb doors open dropping explosive after explosive on the dwindling city, turning houses and roads into rubble and fires. "The führer will not be happy with us for this." The major mumbles as the last of the 54th Iraqstani airborne guard evacuate the city, their expressions ones of shock at the attack done on them....

The survivors of the nameless city look on from the hills. Not everyone had been evacuated... not nearly... but they had done what they could. Even through the fires, they could see that their adversary had been bloodied. The mighty Iraqstani military had been repelled... and they would be again, and again, until they finally left the Um Lizaans to themselves.

* - * - *

Throughout Um Lizaa, stories of the successful retaliation quickly spreads. Cities being destroyed by the Iraqstani--nothing new. Cities being abandoned, however... and with enough advance warning to evacuate a good deal of the citizenry through the sewers and into the brush--this is exciting.

* - * - *

Getting from one point to another in Um Lizaa is done via a series of trails under the dense jungle canopy, traveling up and down over hills and through rivers, carefully followed in safety, easily abandoned in danger. The knights-errant leave their armor unpowered, carting it about in old, rusting trucks... if they're lucky, and the terrain is flat enough, and secure enough. If that's not an option, then there are carts drawn by mules, donkeys, and oxen, their makeshift wood wheels and rubber tires carving ruts into the soft soil worn dusty with travel. Across some of the deeper rivers, not too far across, the only option is to ford them by foot--there, the knights-errant with powered armor suit up and walk across while powered down, a slow but not extremely difficult process.

Along the way, they talk softly to pass the time--no cadences or loud singing for morale, because rumor has it the Guard has been dropping acoustic sensors into the trees.

* - * - *

"So, who are you people?"

Sir Farid chuckles, walking alongside the . "We're Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercar Pilar, knights-errant dedicated to elevating the oppressed, righting wrongs, all while succoring widows and orphans for the greater glory of Allah in all His names."

The Um Lizaan in the cart, a kid barely past sixteen, shakes his head. "That's no answer. Knights don't wander around saving people."

"They didn't for a long time," Farid grins behind closed lips; "we're here to fix that."

"Where did you get your equipment? Your training?"

"Well, the equipment is half-issued from the Civilian Defense Corps, half-purchased. Where I come from, the right to vote has to be earned through some form of service. This could be joining the military, or being a policeman, civili servant... that sort of thing. The most popular way is to go through the Civilian Defense Corps--three months of military training, about on par with most nations' soldiery, then reserve status. Basically a weekend a month of evaluation and additional training. Only get paid for training days, though... not a big deal--the big draw is being free to go get higher-paying civvie jobs and still be eligible for voting in federal elections.

"Los Caballeros--the Idealist Knights of the Third Pillar--we're a bunch of these militiamen who got tired of our government standing by while you guys... you know. We all had plenty of cash from good investments and what not, and so we decided to do something about it. I guess one thing that my nation definitely frowns on is idle rich, and we were well on our way... no need to be idle, eh? If we can help out, it's our obligation and duty to do so."

"Strange people," the teenager muses. "Where are you from, anyway."

"Never said we weren't." Farid enjoys the conversation; it distracts him from the damned flies and mosquitoes and everything. "And that... gotta keep some mystery around us, neh?"

* - * - *

After a few days, all is in place for Launcelot. Rebel activity begins to surge sporadically across the nation, all well away from the central locations like the airports, the ports, the depots. More shows of resistance like before; retaliatory attacks, all fought in the same hit-and-fade manner.

"The target is a small villiage on the edge of the contested lands. We are getting reports of an increase in militarisation and unification of the scattered rebel groups with hints of strangers being at the core of the growing dissent.

Weapon wise the rebels are gaining more and more skill, with that we are moving weapons caches further back towards the wall, with ones at the wall being put behind it. The 54th Airborne division will be reassigned effective immediately to wipe out this villiage. Rein company and a squad of Iraqstani Guard Reich division soldiers will take part in this assault.

Insertion of the airborne will take place via dropship over the center of hte villiage with the guard being airdropped on the edges of the villiage. You are to secure and eliminate all beings present in the villiage and then burn it to the ground. Now we are aware of leaks within the People's Nationalist Army so this time they are not being involved in this attack. We're going to kill as many as we can and then interr the remainder in camps along the coast.

These vermin need to be purified comrades and to do that we must show them that we are not afraid of their taint. We must show them that the smell of the impure will not drive us off these lands. We will cleanse them and these lands in either a bloody fashion or with righteous victory. We will not rest until they are dead. Question? No. Good. Dismissed." Leaving the tent Major Wilhelm von Goeczeck heads towards his waiting jeep as the squad leaders head towards their waiting drop ships.

Villiage of Al Samiah,
Edge of Contested zone
Um Lizaa.

Staring up at the sky the single Um Lizaan night patrolman hears the distant whine of engines and takes his binoculars out and scans the skyline, the black shapes of dropships slowly fade into view their running lights turned off and their camoflauge protecting them from being easily recognised.

Within moments the light explodes with light as the forward weapons of the dropships flash with fire, sending their deadly hail of missiles and bullets down into the villiage, erupting against hut and bunker destroying those within the buildings as easily as gods destroying world.

Coming to a hover above the center of the villiage the dropship's rear door opens and from it jumps soldier after soldier a full compliment of one hundred troops land on the ground, their assault rifles crackling and barking as they fire on fleeing civilians, cutting down those they hit and terrifying those they miss.

Spreading out into the villiage the men break down doors and charge into houses, in pairs and in groups of four, each building they enter flashes with light as weapons are fired and children scream. On the outskirts of the villiage a second drop ship hovers, and slowly lands it's read door opening to disgorge thirty soldiers, their clothing a different cut to the others, spreading out into the waiting forest the soldiers activate their treznorian stealth system and wait.....

Why do the airborne get the kills whilst we sit and play maid over the villiage. Rifleman Von Shzults thinks to himself as he checks once more the integrity of his stealth system and freezes hearing the snapping of twigs to his left. "Movement." He whispers and heads forward, stopping behind a tree as he spots a group of six Um Lizaan soldiers, their hushed voices sounding frightened. "Contact with hostiles, my co-ordinates." He whispers and recieves a clicking of the comlinks in response.

Walking forward once more Shzults freezes as he spots another Um Lizaan, looking straight at him and pointing a rifle. "Compromis-" He starts to say before stopping as the um lizaan fires his weapon, sending a spray of bullets into the flesh of the suddenly revealed soldier. All around the six rebels the jungle errupts with gunfire, precision bullets taking them down in seconds, as a medic rushes to the aid of the fallen warrior quickly administering morphine, trying desperately to save him.

"Nein, commander! I can save him." The medic shouts fifteen minutes later as the unit commander drags him away from the now closed eyed corpse of Rifleman first class Heinrich von Shzults. In the villiage the wooden huts burn brightly, the men of the villiage laying in piles around the edges weapons still held in their dead hands. In the dropships the airborne soldiers treat their wounded, of the hundred soldiers only seventy walk away unscathed, the villiage put up a bigger fight than anticipated.

Heading back to their dropship the Iraqstani Guard carry their dead comrade respectfully, the other squads suffering casualties aswell, though none dead. Climbing into the dropship the commander looks over his shoulder at the smoking villiage and whispers "The vermin shall pay with their lives for the dead they have given us." Getting whispered words of acceptance the commander looks over his men and smiles "Tomorrow we move this fight into the heart of the enemy's lair! We head further north men!" He shouts above the whine of the dropship's engines as they fly slowly back towards their base and a debriefing...

Iraqstani Supply Depot--Baq'a, just south of The Wall

Getting "over" the Wall was hardly a problem--the difficulty in static defense is just that, they don't move. The Um Lizaan resistance had already dug several small tunnels well under the wall, and others had discovered one natural cave complex which not only crossed under the Wall in safety, its labyrinthine caverns add a margin of security by losing the unwary in its intertwined corridors. The power-armored knights-errant took this route, as it was easier to carry their powered-down suits through the dark, dry caverns than through the small tunnels of bedrock and sod.

Sir Anasabhanu peeks around the edge of shattered display window of a tattered storefront, a building that once served as a grocery store in better times, looking towards the compound that served the Iraqstani as a general supply depot--some arms, some ammunition, some rations, all neatly categorized and arranged in their pallets of stacked boxes. "I see it," he murmurs, then tosses his head down so his snoopers slide down over his eyes. "See the guards too. You see 'em?"

In a destitute apartment building a few dozen meters down the street, Sir Chagatai looks down from a window on the top story, missile launcher shouldered, casually lining up the targeting reticle with his first target. "I see 'em. I'll take out the machine gun nest on the right, then you take the one on the left. I'll keep drawing sniper fire while you go in and support the troops."

The knight-apothecary nods, then relays this to his force of Um Lizaan freedom fighters, huddled against the walls, assault rifles close to their chests. "Right. Just waiting for the signal."

Iraqstani Airborne Ammunition Magazine--Umm Lajj, deeper south

Dame Mahmuda sets her jaw, almost taking on an imperial look as she looks at the collection of bunkers and buildings that make up the major ammunition stores of the Iraqstani 54th Airborne. "Seems too quiet--the adversary is not here, or is hiding..." She grimaces unconsciously. "Sir Farid?"

"I say that's a good thing, Dame Mahmuda," Sir Farid replies, voice a lot harder than his usual easy banter. "It's why I suggested we leave our missile launchers at home. All the stuff in those shacks"--he points needlessly at the Quonset huts and low earthen bunkers--"doesn't react well to various high-powered forms of killdeath. We'll have to go in and clear the place manually after taking out the few perimeter guards."

The dame frowns. "And now we let the timetable run."

Al Syra, Southern Um Lizaan Coast

Dame Constanza smiles quietly in her enclosed carapace armor, the peaceful sound of her breath calming her as she works with the makeshift limpet mine in her hands, fingers clad in tough, durable polychain armor. Next to her, pressing lightly against the barnacled hull of the heavy military auxiliary ship, Sir Gahiji watches as the dame applies the large conical device to the hull, well fore of amidships. "What are these going to do, again?"

"Well," she replies peacefully, shaking her head with a chuckle as her Zen-like silence is broken, "this string of directed charges will flood every compartment of the ship along one side. This will force it to list, then turn. The second set of charges will tear open the fore, making the ship nose down at--hopefully--the mouth of the harbor. That's why we have to stay on site and blow the ships as they leave."

"And of course we know this ship's going to leave because it was taking on cargo and soldiers?"

The dame simply nods, pushing herself softly off of the hull. "There. The charges are set--time to get the surface antenna up." Stringing out a line of insulated antenna-cord, she tapes it along the hull up to the waterline before looping it around a few times and hopping out of the water just long enough to slap it lightly to the side, above the waterline. Underneath the docks, the probability of anyone seeing her is near zero as she slips back down into the water.

The two swim off, and, as if on cue, the ship pulls away her gangplanks and begins to slowly steam for the mouth of the harbor. "Ship's on the move on this end," Dame Constanza reports, "we'll tell you when she makes bottom."

Al Najaf, Southern Um Lizaan Coast

Sir Huey's head just barely bobs above the surface as he floats under the docks, watching his target sailing away. "Our charges are set and the ship's moving." His gloved hand flips open the safety cover on his left forearm, exposing the trigger switch. "Okay... at the mouth of the harbor. Going down."

With a flick of the switch, the first set of charges on the cargo ship goes off in quick sequence, each distinct blow rattling those inside. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. "What in the nine hells is going on?" shouts the captain, leaning against the rust-preventative grey primer helm, bracing himself against the ship's already noticeable portward list.

"We're listin' hard to port, Skip," the helmsman replies with alarm as he spins the wheel to the right. "Helm's not respondin'..."

The rudder, torn from the rest of the ship by the last charge, settles in the mud on the end of the harbor while several meters above the captain pulls down the in-ship phone. "Engine room--what's the situation?"

The ship's engineer wades through the shin-deep water to the phone, yelling at his mates to hold up the mats against the water flowing in from knee-height. "We're punctured right through in six, seven places and we've only mats for three, sir. Something's punched into every single watertight compartment and we can't keep 'er from goin' down."

"We are not abandoning the Fuhrer's ship here, not at the mouth of the harbor! Keep her afloat!"

"I'll do what I can, sir, but it'll just be buyin' time--"

"Then buy me time!"

That option is voided when Sir Huey flips the second switch and the bow of the vessel flies apart in a massive upward column of spray and flame, the smoking wreck quickly plunging into the deep. Sir Huey nods, and Dame Dijana lobs her Herald armored megaphone up and onto the deck of the docks. The two slip back down into the water and bottom-walk towards their comrades waiting in the brush.

The megaphone lands hard, bounces, and starts blaring. "Let this be a warning to you, doers of evil, oppressors of the innocent!"

---

"A warning? What in the--" the guard looks over to his right at the sound of the proclamation, not seeing the missile streaking in from his left, although he does hear it as a loud hiss before it chars him into unrecognizable carbonized ash in a bright blossom of flame. His comrade at the other machine-gun nest begins firing blindly, suppressing invisible hordes with streams of tracers that serve only to aid the guidance of the missile from the storefront--another flash, and another man is sent to an early grave.

"We are Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar, knights-errant who stand against your vile acts of wanton oppression in the name of God and human decency!" Sir Chagatai's missile launcher goes snicker-snack as another HE missile slaps home from the magazine. He lines up with a group of men just beginning to congregate towards the blaring Herald, then fires again. Snicker-snack.

---

A burst of 12.7 millimeter rounds tear one guard almost in half, his hands clutching uselessly at his rifle as he goes down in a ruddy mist and an expanding pool of crimson. "Chaaaarge!" cries Dame Mahmuda, leaping over the rotting hulk of a vehicle she hid behind and running towards the gates, her powergun rifle blazing in triple thunderbolts towards other guards just turning to hear the proclamation. Behind her, from buildings and the sewers, come scores of Um Lizaans, pausing to kneel down, acquire target, and gun down the Iraqstani where they stand, just as they were trained to--for going "over the top." Sir Farid lays down another spread of heavy machine gun fire, moving forward more slowly on the side, taking care to conserve his ammunition in rapid bursts of ammunition. Soldiers begin running from the barracks--braap, braap, braap--and go down in clouds of red from the door.

"Shit, where are these people coming from?" Private Husseni follows his instincts and hits the ground; his sergeant, wiser in the way of battle, is torn to shreds above him by splinters of collapsing wood and bullets not stopped by the flimsy government-construction walls.

"If you support evil, you are our foe. If you oppress your fellow man, you will find yourself facing our sword."

---

Quil'raya Major airport, southern Um Lizaa, deep within Iraqstani-held territory

Scramble sirens begin blaring across the military sections of the airport which, these days, is essentially all of it. Airman First Class Tatwani shrugs, sticks a cigarette in his mouth, and flings himself down into the driver's seat of his flight line cart. Putting his foot to the gas, he kicks a cardboard box out the side and drives from the armory down towards the flight line.

---

Iraqstani Airborne, after their initial surprise, start sniping from their windows and the corners of buildings, shooting down Um Lizaans with controlled but uncoordinated fire, quickly channeling Dame Mahmuda's charge towards part of the depot with more cover and where the guards were already devastated. Um Lizaan sharpshooters in the buildings scope these pockets of resistance and start laying into them with their bolt-action rifles as Sir Farid with a squad of Um Lizaans in support walks into the fire zones, his machine gun blaring, chewing away corners of the earthen bunkers and metal huts, spraying those hiding behind them to the four winds while rounds ping off his armor. He ducks behind cover for a moment, slings another belt from his backpack then slots it into his machine gun before closing the loading plate with a smack. A deft pull of the bolt and he turns back out, hosing down anyone he can find.

Running from a fire corridor set up by the Airborne, Dame Mahmuda plants her back against one of the sloped earthen bunkers, directing her squad with first a crooked finger, a quick jerk, moving her hand in an arc towards the top of the bunker. The Um Lizaans around her nod, pull out their various obtained and makeshift grenades ranging from military frag grenades to Molotov cocktails. Lighting their fuses and pulling their pins hurriedly, a frantic motion, they calm themselves and throw their weapons as one over the top. The Iraqstani behind their barricades and vehicles look up; some duck down and other start to run as the grenades come down, spewing fire and shrapnel through cloth, armor, and soft flesh. The dame runs up the sloped side of the bunker, jumping from the top, howling like a banshee as she leaps from the top with her jump jets, powergun pistols thundercracking their spears of energy at the troopers. Holstering them at the apex of her jump, she pulls her hand flamers and starts spewing gouts of neonapalm over screaming soldiers. One squad stands firm, firing their rifles at her; a group is shot away, another burned, but they stand fast. She lands and runs for them, discarding her flamers which her suit pulls back on their tethers, drawing powergun pistol in left hand and small cylinder in right. With a flick of her wrist, the cylinder snaps open and extends with the characteristic whip-crack of a police baton while she puts the targeting reticle of her pistol on the group of men, firing to keep them down, scoring hits on some and ignoring their charred carcasses falling.

"We will not rest as long as our holy quest remains unfulfilled. We will not stop until all evildoers have renounced the ways of oppression and torture or lay dead, slain by our righteous fury."

---

Sir Chagatai ignores the burst of wood, splinters, and sawdust from assault rifles, letting loose another missile at a sniper tower. Snicker-snack, and he lets another missile loose at a fuel tank on the opposite side of the depot. Slish-click--out of ammunition--and he drops prone, low-crawling to a new position as he readies his powergun rifle. Bright, loud, and perfectly distracting.

Sir Anasabhanu tosses out a smoke grenade, then another one, then leaps from the blasted-out window through the thick white fog, 12.7 millimeter machine gun at the ready and snoopers down, gunning down who he can see by their very body heat through the smoke. The Um Lizaans follow him over, letting his shouts guide them as he explodes through the other side of the artificial cloud, spraying at a group of guards to keep them down as he crouches in a slow run to a corner. Firing again once in position, he keeps the area clear as his soldiers run from the clouds and gun down the hapless rear-echelon support soldiers caught in the open.

"You have but one option--surrender immediately, and you will be forgiven and allowed to live in peace. Fall from the ranks of the oppressors, and live long lives for the betterment of humanity. Throw down your weapons, raise your arms, and we will let you live. If you refuse, you will fall to the will of God via our feats of arms."

---

It's a wise idea, putting a munitions storage facility away from the flight line--the accident-prone flight line. If an airplane crashed into a weapons storage bunker or a fuel depot... that could be the end of the entire airfield--and so one has little overpowered carts pulling large trolleys of boxes labeled "EXPLOSIVES" and "DANGER" across the airfield from the makeshift magazines to the waiting helicopter gunships and ground-support aircraft. That's Airman Tatwani's job; a common sight.

Taking another long drag from his cigarette, he pulls it from his lips with a firm hand and taps it against the wick sitting on the seat next to him, which begins to fizzle with its ingrained gunpowder and burn down its lengths towards the back, and the large pallets of ammunition, bombs, and explosives.

---

One man takes a metalshod fist to his face with a sickening crunch; a slice of air and another lay gasping at his neatly and soundlessly severed arm, screaming with no sound. Dame Mahmuda wades in, right arm slashing as her monomolecular variable sword indiscriminately cuts through flesh, bone, and armor with baton-flexing cracks and sharp slices through the air. The squad, or what remains of it, breaks. "Get back here, you dogs!" cries a lieutenant, wearing the badge of an Iraqstani political commissar as he draws his pistol. "For your motherland! For your Fuhrer!" He raises his pistol, looking up just in time to see the fierce visage of Dame Mahmuda, knight-errant, cleaving him in twain.

After sliding her sword back into a short tube and reloading her pistol, she casually lines up her pistol with the ground next to running soldiers, and fires. Anyone who turns around is promptly given a five-centimeter hole through their chest. "This area is secure, Sir Farid. Your end?"

Sir Farid turns a corner suddenly and lets his machine gun loose with a final long brrrrap, mowing down the line of men before him. "Cleared, Dame Mahmuda. Ready to start clearing buildings."

---

"Stop firing, dammit!" The rear-guardsman throws his rifle to the ground, lying prostrate as Um Lizaans threaten him with their rifles, shouting at him to get on the ground now, pig! Sir Anasabhanu walks up, Chagatai's powergun thundercracking in the background sporadically as shouts of surrender begin to be heard over the quieting din of battle.

"Calm down, friends," the knight-errant says to the Um Lizaans, "just round these boys up and get them to help load up the trucks. We can pack all this to the hills in an hour or so."

Grumbling, the Um Lizaans gather their oppressors together, directing them at gunpoint to load materiel onto those trucks that are still operable--the idea being to simply drive them off as far as possible into the brush where additional Um Lizaan resistance can help cart off the spoils.

---

The smoke from the first cargo ship going down just begins to peek over the horizon--a tiny black puff--when Dame Constanza flips her second set of switches, sending another ship down into the not-so-deep. Men leap off the burning sides of the ship, some on fire, some sucked down by the suction of the ship's descent. She plunges almost straight down, her crow's-nest just peeking over the waves as she settles on the muddy bottom.

"No troop ships are going to get past that," Sir Gahiji says with a smirk.

---

Sir Farid shoulders through the door, rolling on the ground as the first burst of pistol and rifle fire whistles above him. Variable sword snapping out to the ready, he crawls down one aisle of bombs and artillery shells, shoulder-rolling onto his feet and pouncing towards one huddled group of soldiers. A private in the other group of defenders sees the armored knight lunge through the door, and instantly reverts to his training--he pulls an armor-piercing heavy grenade from his belt, turns the cap--

"--Jesus Christ, private, what the fuck do you think you're--" cries out a sergeant more mindful of the situation, reaching out a hand--

--and throws it. Sir Farid kicks a trooper away from his rifle before bringing his sword down on his head, then blinks as something bounces off of his helmet with a dull thunk. Looking down, he sees the grenade, recognizes it--

Dame Mahmuda walks from one metal hut to watch an earthen bunker lift into the sky, fragmenting in a billion pieces as streaks of smoke and fire jet out from it. She pauses, gasps, then crouches. "RUN! EVERYBODY RUN! DISPERSE!" Stopping only to pick up two shocked Um Lizaans, one under each arm, she jets out as quickly as her suit can take her while mortar shells, bombs, and artillery shells begin falling randomly. Um Lizaan and Iraqstani alike are torn apart by the maelstrom as everybody flees. One artillery shell pierces a metal shack, which explodes in kind, sending more live munitions out to spread the chain reaction.

"RUN!" A massive explosion bowls Mahmuda over, knocking out windows for hundreds of meters and shaking nearby buildings. Disoriented, she and many others simply begin to crawl away, as far away as they can from the fiery mushroom clouds of tons of ammunition exploding.

---

Airman Tatwani idles his engine on the intersection of Quil'raya Major's primary runways, rated to take on fully-loaded military cargo jets. Stretching a bit, he folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the sky.

His radio crackles. -Airman, what the hell are you doing out there?-

Taking his walkie-talkie from his belt, Tatwani looks back at the fuse disappearing into the pile of boxes marked "PLASTIC EXPLOSIVES. DANGER." Sure, they were electrically actuated, but that's what the chemical blasting cap was for--military cap, detonator, engineer M390-56CDE, right? Pressing the talk button, Tatwani is silent for a moment. He'd been thinking about this moment ever since he was told of his small part in "something big." A way for him to have, in some sense, justice after watching his family being carted away in the purges, the only reason he lived was that he was a stepson--a full-blooded Iraqstani... and now he is a loyal trooper helping cleanse the motherland of racial impurity.

For a few seconds, he just sits there, holding the talkie to his ear. Then, an almost silent choked sob, and a whisper. "For mom."





The next sound can be heard three miles away.

* - * - *

Away from the smoking crater, an armored megaphone begins to blare, knocked from its cardboard box in the blast.

"Let this be a warning to you, doers of evil, oppressors of the innocent!"

Walking through the ruined ammunition dump the next day Commander von Horst shakes his head and utters a curse under his breath. "These damned pigs are making us look bad." He shouts as the still smoking craters of the buildings smoulder in the morning light.

Turning to his left he heads towards the temporary medical tent and into a scene of blood, cries and corpses, his expression turning even more sour. "Captain, whats the status?" He demands as the captain turns to salute. "Sir so far we count nearly three hundred dead, one hundred and sixty seven wounded and rising. Of enemie deaths we so far dont know. We've also got reports coming in from other ammo dumps being raided and the vermin getting away.

Some survivors report of armoured soldiers leading the charges, definately not native and definately not from the surrounding regions. Dont know who but we're gonna find out." He finishes as the Commander stands beside the cot of a dying soldier, barely out of his teens as he cries for his mother before slowly going quiet, his eyes fixated on some distant image as his life flees his torture body.

"Damn it. Pull the 54th out to regroup and send word back to command that we're pulling back to Sil'Narah to regroup and prepare for a counter offensive along the norther borders." Saluting the captain turns and moves towards the radio truck his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Twelve hours later

Watching as the last of the wounded drive off, the Commander turns to his driver and nods "Lets go." He whispers as the jeep accelerates smoothly over the rough path and off in the direction of the convoy. Lighting a cigarette the Commander reads the final reports of the injured and sighs "Almost the entire division injured or dead, I'm down to twenty combat capable men and probably thirty injured but willing to fight. Hopefully the Führer will allow us to spearhead the counter-offensive. We deserve it." He mutters once more wishing his men could recieve the training the Iraqstani Guard got.

Watching the jungle flash past him Von Horst drifts off into his own world, his thoughts going back to the boy he watched die in the tent, the blood pooling beneath the broken body. Shaking his head he looks over at the driver the same age as the one just died. "What are you doing here son?" He asks quietly to his driver who looks at him confused for a moment. "My duty sir. The motherland asks her sons to stand up and defend her. I'm doing my part with the hopes of becoming an airborne trooper like you." Shaking his head Von horst looks out the window "If you're wise son, you'll stay a driver. You're just a kid. That's all we get kids and old men. The Guard get the rest." Sighing the Commander sits up straighter in his seat as they pull into the guarded gate of Sil'Narah one of the last remaining Iraqstani held fortresses on the northern side.

Al Syra, Southern Um Lizaan Coast

"Latest efforts to move the wrecks have failed sir, these docks are effectively out of the war. Quil'raya major has reported being attacked as well, we had reports of the explosion being heard as far as three miles in all directions from the airfield. We're limited to farmer runways and poorly built airfields. Our troop landing capacitiy has been limited to helicopters and some dropships. We're still secure to the south but the wall has been compromised, we're relaying mines through the city area of the wall and ensuring the other minefields are active. We're good to pull back if the order comes but we have roughly seventy thousand troops ready to push into Um Lizaa north and retake what we've lost." A major reports to the 54th Airborne's Commanding officer.

Nodding the General leans back in his chair and looks out at the ruined hulks resting in his naval control zone and sighs "We're being hit by an enemy that shouldnt be able to do this much damage. The Führer is wantign to know who these mysterious warriors with the rebels are. I want a blackguard element set up to recon some of the far lying villiages. I want to find out who these people are and where they're from." He orders the major who nods and leaves hastily sketching a salute.

Camp 4123,
Northern Um Lizaa

Walking his patrol along the perimeter of the razor wire fence private ecklesman watches the starved and dirty residents of the camp hobble, crawl or walk their way towards the rations building eager to get their scraps of food for the day. Shaking his head in disgust he unshoulders his rifle and continues to follow his patrol route.

Looking into the jungle he spots a face staring back at him and freezes. Bringing his rifle to bear he opens fire as the face disappears shredding the leaves and trees about him. "This is patrol 1 to HQ, I've got contact, looked like a snoop. Requesting immediate backup." He shouts into his shoulder comm as he slowly advances on the now smouldering spot where the face appeared.

Pushing his way into the thick jungle he notes the distant cracking of branches and stops crouching behind the stump of an old tree. Bringing his rifle up to his shoulder he braces himself and aims down the barrel, targetting the moving sounds coming infront of him. With a loud squeal and a grunt the wild boar runs past on it's stumpy legs terrified of the noise about it.

Behind him laughter erupts as the private spins about and looks at the six men who appeared behind him. "All this for a pig? Eckies you're slippin man. C'mon patrols over lets head in for some chow." Sighing Ecklesman shoulders his rifle and follows his comrades back into the camp, hitting away the begging hands of the camp residents as he goes. "Hands off me filthy rodents." He snarls as he lashes out violently against an old man, doubled over by hunger.

Walking into the soldier barracks he immediately breaths in through his nose, relishing the smell of cleanliness and fresh food being cooked. "It's chow time boys!" He shouts as he sits down to his meal forgetting about the face in the jungle.

TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons
High Earth Orbit (approx 10,000 kilometers absolute altitude)

Sky Marshal Rico looks over the sensor technician's shoulder at the raw sensor feed, picking out the splotches over known Iraqstani strongholds in the south of the island of Um Lizaa. "What am I looking at, Spaceman?"

The technician frowns. "Not sure, sir. Voyeur's picking up insane concentrations of IR burst and glow--'bout on the range of several kilotons in total in the case of this one." He points at one blotch quite a bit brighter than the rest. "We've also got dampening due to smoke on these points on the southern coast. I've sent it to StratCom already but the map points these places out as a major airfield, two ports, and an ammunition dump."

"What does it look like?"

The technician taps a switch, bringing up a spectrographic analysis. "We're getting lots of combustion components, high in nitrogen and phosphorous--tends to indicate explosions of powerful conventional explosives. Given the scales involved, I'd say that we're looking at a bombing spree... and, for once, it ain't the Iraqstani doing the bombing."

Rico simply frowns, folding his arms. "But it may be the Iraqstani creating an excuse." Looking over his shoulder, he calls out across the command room. "StratCom, tell your boys to request sat photorecon on the next Voyeur pass, all sites."

"Acting, sir," comes the response from the opposite side of the officer's semicircle.

A Little Village in Um Lizaa
Sir Ekianga looks down at his makeshift sat-hack and whistles low. "Looks like we pulled it off. The TYCS sats are indicating force movements going south... and dayamn that blast was big." His radio buzzing, he tilts his head slightly as he brings a heavy combat glove to his ear. "Sir Ekianga here--go ahead."

-Dame Mahmuda calling,- replies the cold feminine voice from the other end, made slightly tinny by the low-cost high-durability speakers, -how does the campaign unfold?-

"Well enough, apparently." The knight-errant sets his device on a flat spot of his console in Correct Action, then leans over to look over some notes scribbled on a nearby clipboard. "I got a call from Sir Anasabhanu saying that they've cleared out their objective and torched the rest. Looks like the prisoners have gone missing, though; at least those who didn't defect. The vehicles have been delivered to local deep resistance and the materiel split up; a good amount of military hardware's coming north to aid the struggle. Our sapper ops have closed the ports and the airport--have just been waiting to hear from you."

-Our objective exploded,- Dame Mahmuda says firmly, yet unusually quietly. -We lost half our force and counting, and Sir Farid gave his life for the good of Um Lizaa.-

Ekianga stops short. "Farid's dead?"

-The explosions started in the bunker he was in. It was noble and befitting a caballero idealisto.- Her voice suddenly becomes more imperative. -Have all the teams send you helmet camera feeds--we need you to assemble something to get the word out.-

The knight, still reeling in his seat, blinks. "Do what now?"

-The Iraqstani media will suppress this. We must bring the truth to those with the power to proclaim it.-

Near Camp 4123, Northern Um Lizaa

The owner of the face in the bushes darts off to the local resistance commander. The two debate momentarily, then send a message up the line.

We have to save our people as soon as possible--how are the defenses?

We could take them with a concentrated attack, but casualties would be pretty high. Some support from the outsiders would be helpful.

They're all out on their missions... except they do have their ship and a small crew here. Do you think they'd help?

If they're as you described... give us a day to plan, and tell them we'll need their support. The other foreigners won't get back for a few days, and this needs to be done now.

* - * - *

Sir Ekianga assembles a quick montage of combat footage, pictures of the aftermath of Launcelot, and cheering Um Lizaans then sends it to Dame Mahmuda, who inserts a voice-over. She sends it back to Ekianga, who forwards it through various complicated sat-hacks to Menelmacari, Mangalan, Scolopendran, and Karmabaijani news services among others before talking quickly with Abdul. "Hey, Dame Mahmuda--Correct Action is being requested as air support for liberating a concentration camp the resistance just found. Is that--"

-It's morally obligatory, Sir Ekianga. Sally forth and represent us well.-

"Righto."

* - * - *

SCOLOPENDRAN INDEPENDENT NEWS
"Because It Sucks to Be S.I.N.-less"

"Good evening. This is the 1830 edition of the news--thank you for choosing S.I.N.." The slightly thinnish anchorman looks at the camera, ice-blue eyes highlighted by his blue suit in a conservative retro-Mod style--Oriental cut, semi-high collar. Underneath him, the visual department overlays the current headline and the ubiquitous news ticker:

VIGILANTISM IN UM LIZAA
VIGILANTE GROUP CALLS THEMSELVES "LOS CABALLEROS" - CLAIM TO BE KNIGHTS-ERRANT - LOS CABALLEROS CLAIMS RESPONSIBILITY FOR BLASTS IN IRAQSTAN - TYCS "LACKING COMMENT" AT THE MOMENT

"Our top story: S.I.N. has just received an anonymous video made by a group called 'The Idealist Knights of the Third Pillar' which claims responsibility for a coordinated string of attacks in the contested Iraqstani province of Um Lizaa. As you may recall, Um Lizaa has been in the news as of late due to Iraqstani army atrocities in the area; Iraqstan also in a state of nuclear cold war with the Shogunate--Reploid Productions. This footage--"

The camera pans over a bit to allow a video window to appear over the man's left shoulder, showing clips from the video, all obviously taken from helmet cameras. "--shows these strikes from the ground and they appear to range from the destruction of military shipping to an attack on some sort of military installation. Natural results of the attacks--heat signatures, smoke, et cetera--have been confirmed by civilian satellites in Earth orbit. We are going to play this video in full for you now."

Zoom out, and fade to a title screen:

LOS CABALLEROS IDEALISTOS DEL TERCER PILAR
Fighting Because It Is Right

A female voice, cold yet firm, speaks over the title. "I am Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova of Tariq, leader of Los Caballeros. We are an order of knights-errant, driven by the greater morality of God and our own conscience to protect that which has been allowed to suffer in this era of realpolitik." The word is almost spat out; one can almost see the faceless woman sneer as she says it.

http://www.karlgrobl.com/Starving-children-India.jpg
"Oppression. Hunger. Fear. All of the things we claim that we are against, claim to fight against--all allowed to continue. Why? Are we afraid of the consequences? What of the people suffering now? The starvation?


http://www.amnesty.org/images/resources/vietnam/vietnam_deathpenalty_aug03.jpg
"The murder?


http://free.freespeech.org/americanstateterrorism/iraqgenocide/Genocide2gfx/BurnedBabyCrying.jpg
"The innocent cry out for aid. Do we provide it? Do we do what is right, do we do what is necessary? The cost of action may be uncertain."


A truely gruesome image of a child, apparently killed by artillery shrapnel--the rear three-quarters of his skull is clearly gone, the wounds strangely bloodless from flash cauterization.

"The cost of inaction is far too clear."


Fade to black. "And what we do? Protest? March? Call on the oppressors, appeal to their better side, try to make them see what they do is inhuman, is wrong?


http://free.freespeech.org/americanstateterrorism/solutions/solutionsgraphics/20Mar04NYC.jpg
"When was the last time a dictator listened to a peace rally? What can chanting accomplish when the evil willingly stops its ears?"


Back to black, suddenly. "Naught but soothe the souls of the do-nothings.

"This could not stand. And so we acted."

Suddenly flash to scenes of combat, hasty pictures drawn from stills of helmet cameras, full motion video. The sound is subdued, soft rapid pops of assault rifles and machine guns, explosions and fire in soft whooshes, the yell of men distant... but very much present.


http://www.pitt.edu/~megst20/war9.jpg
"We went there. We saw it for ourselves. Then we aided with knowledge. With experience. With the strength of our very arms. We organized, we trained... and then we helped them push back.

"We closed the oppressors' ports. We destroyed their airfields. We destroyed their weapons of pain and murder.


http://i.timeinc.net/time/daily/2001/0111/mazar1127.jpg
"It was not easy.


http://www.chs.chalmers.se/~best/images/omid_sotoudeh.jpg
"One of our own, Sir Farid Sotoudeh, lover of life, gave his life to end the oppression."


This last image appears with a pained grunt heightened in the background sound, not one of defeat, but of determination.

Another slow fade to black, the background noise of battle fading away. "Due to his sacrifices and the sacrifices of the Um Lizaan resistance, we have struck a blow against oppression. Against murder. Against the genocide we claim to oppose. This day, the National Socialist Union of Iraqstan, its legions of murderers, and its genocidal head reels back.

"It will not be the first time, nor will it be the last. We will fight until evil is repulsed from here; and then we will seek it out wherever the strong oppress the weak, wherever the orphans and widows cry for relief. It will be long; it will be hard; it may even be impossible--but we will try, and we will persevere, and, with God's grace, we will triumph."

---

Back to the news anchor. "We are uncertain where these 'knights-errant' are from--the only place mentioned was 'Tariq,' and that is a relatively common Arabic place name. When asked, the Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services simply said they "lack comment" until they can determine more about the situation."

(OOC: Thanks to all the people [yet not the situations] that provided visual material for this. The picture mentioned concerning the kid killed by shrapnel is a real one... I left it out because it isn't appropriate for the boards, but it does drive the point home.)

Imperial Palace - Reploid Productions

"So some vigilante group is raising hell in Um Lizaa, and nobody knows who they are, huh?" Firefury frowns in thought as the annonymous video concludes.

"Seems that way. Our intel on the situation is no better than the TYCS' info." Tsume taps a talon on the table thoughtfully.

"Sure as hell ain't any of ours. If it was a fringe group from here, they'd be calling themselves something like Kxo Whoukojk Jneht ev kxo Lodwovic Wettojj or something similiar in Japanese." Firefury skims over intel reports.

"Any official response from us?" Tsume inquires.

"Nah, none needed. We're in the clear. But make sure RPIN gets that video in the news- less of the 'let's fight!' bits, but definately the 'Hey, somebody's fscking Carlos over!' feeling. Too bad we really can't make any moves to help since that ratbastard's bound to be watching this area like a bloody hawk."

"Well, if these mysterious vigilantes keep up the pace, we won't need to do anything."

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Imperial News Network
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Union!

Terrorists kill hundreds in midnight assault

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The image appears on the screen of every display unit in the country, the music of the network playing softly in the background, flicking from the destroyed building the image is replaced by the Iraqstani flag and then the face of a deeply shocked news reporter.

"Good evening, I am Leila Aschuz for INN. In a daring and frightful midnight raid on a small Iraqstani occupied settlement in Northern Um Lizaa, terrorists calling themselves 'The Idealist Knights of the Third Pillar' destroyed what they claim to be military installations along the northern um lizaan sea board.

The building shown is the remains of what they accused the Iraqstani military of using as a weapons cache, containing artillery rounds, explosives and other weapons. These terrorists using frightening suicide attacks and heavy explosives destroyed the building housing wounded soldiers recovering from the dishonourable war being fought in the surrounding jungles.

The rebels who call themselves liberators of Um Lizaa have enganged the Iraqstani presence in Northern Um Lizaa in a war of terrorism against the innocent populations enjoying the security and protection of the Iraqstani armed forces.

We warn viewers that the following images contained in this news piece could offend some who view it and we advise viewer discretion." The woman finishes as the picture is replaced by a multitude of images from the Um Lizaan front.

AS the images pause one after the other, the woman speaks "As you can see here, members of the heroic 54th Iraqstani Airborne Division are evacuating an injured man from the scene of a fierce firefight in the streets of Al Syria in Northern Um Lizaa. This man we have reports coming in has died from gunshot wounds to the chest and legs he was captured by terrorists and sentanced to death for his faith in the glorious first reich."

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"Sadly, the violence isnt contained to the adult populations loyal to the first reich, these monsters and murderers are targetting children as well, wounding and killing all they find as a sign of their unbridled hatred for the purity of the first reich. They are merciless in their execution of prisoners they deem traitors to their cause. Children sadly are executed en masse as a means of generating support from the parents of other children held hostage in rebel controled towns all over the northern front."

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"Even the naval yard of of Al Najaf hasnt been spared the terrorists wrath as they use explosives to sink critical supply ships, full of food, medicines and clothing for the war torn masses in the northern front, the terrorists it seem are more focused on causing wide spread suffering and hiding it behind thinly veiled messages and accusations of evil by the glorious reich."

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"These rebels have set themselves a mission of wide spread genocide through the northern front, their targets are both, women, men, children the elderly and soldiers of the Iraqstani army. They are indescriminate in their attacking of civilian population centers, seeding roads and houses with landmines and booby traps, disfiguring and traumatising children with their lust for war and blood.

These animals must be stopped and the Führer has declared their movement to be erradicated at all costs, the first reich will not bow to these terrorists bent on destroying the innocents of Iraqstan. Our glorious leader urges you all to help in any way possible to further the cause of the Reich to the troubled and impure peoples of the northern fronts, to extend our righteous light to their blind and hollow halls. We must show them that purity can only be acheived through unity and that they must walk the path of enlightenment before they can truly understand the nature of peace.

We will report more on the events as they unfold. This is Leila Aschuz for INN."


The screen flashes to the Imperial News Network logo and flag before the next show starts...

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Imperial News Network
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Union!

~~~~~~

Outskirts of rebel village,
Northern Um Lizaa

The dropship drops silently to the ground, it's engines rumbling in the low range of human hearing, as the rear door hisses down slowly, the group of six men, dressed in protective armour step from the craft and shoulder their silenced assault rifles. The lead man, his face hardened by years of war turns to face the young men behind him and motions for them to kneel.

"Alright men, the village just north of us has been picked by intel as a likely rally point for these knights-errant. We've had rumours coming in from local snitches talking of seeing the strangers in many villages. This could be the one. We're to head in and snoop the place and head out, if we find any of them and can get to them we're authorised to assassinate with extreme prejudice. Thus the rifles. Understood?" Nodding the five other men fall into formation and the group in usion activate their treznorian stealth units and begin a slow creep through the jungle.

After half and hours creep the group leaves the jungle and gather against the wall of a small hut, peering around the corner of the hut, the team leader observes a pair of guard patroling the center of the villiage their weapons held ready. "I've got two contacts directly ahead of us." He whispers as he steps around the corner and unshoulders his rifle.

Leaning heavily into the shadowed areas of the building he sights down his rifle and tracks the two men, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Waiting he watches as the men pass a shadowed building and pause. Holding his breath the commando waits as the pair begin to talk, chattering softly in the cool night.

Looking over at the other shooter positioned opposite him he nods and as one they pull their triggers the faint hiss of their weapons breaking the night slightly as the two targets twitch and fall to the ground, their weapons banging slightly against the wooden steps of the hut. Covering the door of the hut the Team leader nods to two other men who rush forward, their steal units failing as they run and grab to two dead men dragging them into the shadows of the hut beside them.

"Field is down, repeat field is down!" Is the hissed comment over the team's tactical radios. Cursing the team leader motions for the rest of the group to follow him as they creep into the village heading straight for the camo netted area off to their left. Stepping inside the area the team leader sighs and looks at his men. "We're out of luck boys, this isnt the place we want." He whispers as he leans against an empty radio station.

Grabbing his back mounted radio the team leader dials in the frequency for his controler and reports the situation. "Confirmed alpha squad, secondry mission objective update. Cancel order of assassination and replace with destruction of village. Burn em down Captain." The voice orders and the team leader smiles. "Confirmed control. Alpha squad out." turning to his men he motions for two of them to head back to the dropship and grab some explosives.

"Okay boys, new mission, we're gonna rig the entire villiage to explode and then pull out, control wants this out post eliminated and then the gruns will move in and secure the area tomorrow. Understood?" Nodding the men turn sharply as outside the cracking of a twig alerts them. Focusing their guns on the door the other two soldiers return with bundles of explosives.

Smirking behind his face mask the team leader distributes the weapons and motions for his men to spread out, each taking a group of three buildings. Heading for his targets the team leader crouches behind and under the lightly supported building and chuckles. "Too easy." He mutters as he places a satchel of heavy explosives on each of the four support struts and crawls back out, his team he notes repeating the process around the entire village.

Four hours pass and the men finnaly finish. Pulling back to their dropship the team leader pats his men on the back as they pile into the craft which slowly takes off, it's jets slowly rising in pitch of whine as they move. Looking over his shoulder the man grabs the detonator control and steps to the opened door at the back and looks down at the village below him.

"Control this is alpha squad. Mission accomplished." He shouts into his handset as he presses the trigger, sending a command down to the placed explosives which one after the other, detonate sending a bright flash of light into the sky, the fireballs from the buildings chasing the dropship off into the distance.

Just Over the Treetops

"I still can't say I like this," Sir Y'vain says from under his flight helmet, head tilted slightly over his shoulder, eyes still firmly outside of the speeding assault shuttle.

"It doesn't matter if you like it," Sir Ekianga grumbles back, looking over his TYCS Voyeur sat-hack, "these people need our help."

"It'd be easier if Dame Dijana was here plotting courses to get me around Iraqstani stuff than out blowing up ships... wherever!" He brushes the bottom of the hull against an unexpectedly high treetop with a scraping thunk and a flurry of leaves behind the thrumming ship. "Shit."

"Look, low-flying takes you well out of LOS with anything pegged by the TYCS here," Sir Ekianga yells forward, "just keep the course."

"We're undermanned," the pilot says needlessly.

"I've got it figured out," Kushamura replies, "I'll take the port tribarrel and the other guns have been linked to your pupil-pistol. It's the best we can do in these circumstances. It's been hashed out with the forward command--"

Just Outside Camp 4123

"--with the knights and their vehicle. Our snipers will begin an attack on their guard towers while our mortarman takes out the radio equipment on what we think is the camp administration building. We've already got sappers cutting the ground lines; they'll tell us when they're done and that's when we hit them. Once the communications are cut, their shuttle will orbit overhead for fire support while we go in by squads--our trucks with the hedgerow cutters will go through the fences, making holes for us to exploit. Got it?"

The various 'company commanders' nod, although that is merely an estimation of their rank. This liberation called up resources from throughout the local area, ending up with a few hundred armed resistance complete with several support squads. The camp had been placed under immediate surveillance, and from daily movements the various buildings had been tenatively identified--the ones that the prisoners didn't go near or weren't allowed were flagged as barracks and administrative buildings, free to hit.

A runner bounces up through the brush, hissing a quick countersign to the challenges whispered and rifles raised. "The camp's been cut off. We're go."

In a very small clearing in the jungle, a mortar section drops their munitions into their tubes then ducks, the characteristic thoonk noises announcing that the rounds have been sent high into the air, curving down and covering the top of the administrative building and its immediate vicinity with billowing explosions. A small radio tower on top buckles, then collapses immediately after a second wave following a second or two after. The crack of bolt-action rifles pierce the air much as their lead ball ammunition pierce the soldiers patrolling along the guard towers, manning the machine gun nests.

"What's our targets?" Sir Y'vain asks quickly. "I see the site."

Sir Ekianga gets up and, moving from handhold to handhold, straps into the portside tribarrel hardpoint. "There's a series of rectangular buildings to the south--those are prisoner barracks. The camp leadership and barracks are square buildings north of them surrounded by three fences. You're clear to strafe them on the way in."

The pilot nods, disengages the limiter that keeps the nose pointing in the direction of flight, and tilts the nose down, eyes sharp for those square-shaped buildings.

Correct Action's drives, only as loud as someone humming to himself to those on the ground, are easily blocked out by the shouts of commotion and the explosions of mortar shells. Her ten-centimeter main powerguns, however, flash like ball lightning and crack like thunder, magnitudes greater than Sir Chagatai's powergun rifle elsewhere. Sir Ekianga kicks the foot lever and the portside door opens, sliding him and the tribarrel out into the blast; he immediately steels himself behind the gun shield, looks through the vision slit to find a group of soldiers with guns, and slams down on the thumb triggers. The tribarrels spin, firing in rapid succession, their individual thundercracks blending into a concentrated roar as blackened polyurethane discs stream out of the tribarrel's ejector, annihilated copper spewing energy towards the opposition.

Guards scatter from the noise and light and heat, bowled over by explosions and decimated by the surprise attack. Some immediately get their rifles at the ready and fire back at the shimmering not-quite-air--there doesn't look to be anything there, exactly, but that is where the stream of fire is coming from. Bullets ricochet off of the sturdy Sunset-made shuttle's hide as she starts into a close, low orbit, the tribarrels spraying towards whatever Ekianga can find to shoot at.

The guards thus distracted, the resistance move in. Two-ton trucks with crude metal armoring bolted to their fronts and the noise of their diesel engines dampened by the thick forest, burst from the brush to ram through the barbed wire fences, men kneeling or lying prone in the back with assault rifles shooting down guards. They hop down from the trucks, immediately creating firing lines and taking cover behind buildings, working to clear the area of Iraqstani presence.

The assault is threefold--one thrust moves inward from the prisoner area, using the distraction from Correct Action to quickly secure the prisoners and take the fight to any Iraqstanis fleeing the burning barracks or administration buildings in the northern section. This movement encapsulates them and pinces them against the main movement from the north, consisting of coherent teams creating a south-moving fire line, quickly identifying and eliminating pockets of Iraqstani resistance--a guard fires, and either a sniper shoots him, one of the resistance in the fire line shoots him, or a quick call to Correct Action gets her to swing around and spray the area with tribarrel or support powergun fire.

The third and lightest front moves behind the first southern one, securing exits and quickly escorting the prisoners out into the relative safety of the brush. Men, women, and children, all emaciated, all scarred in one way or another, hobble off or are carried, either by their fellow Um Lizaans or by the superhuman efforts of more mobile prisoners, a line of human suffering and pain incarnate... yet somehow vibrant, their eyes brilliant with their freedom even as their bodies fail them and they are picked up by comrades. A sort of shock is shared by the militia freeing them and those freed, one of seeing so much pain, the other of seeing so much pain released... but the latter is a far happier shock indeed.

A squad of the northern front slams itself against the facade of one of the perimeter buildings, looking up at a hastily assembled machine gun nest spraying fire towards the rest of the firing line firing from the brush and intervening cover. One man leans back a bit, lights the wick of a Molotov, and throws it up into the window; a burst of flame and repeated screams indicate its success as other Um Lizaan resistance knock out the windows and go up and over, beginning to clear the building. Away from the prying eyes of the knights-errant, they gun down anything that moves and doesn't wear a prisoner's uniform.

This being a prison administration building not associated with housing the ethnically inferior, the number of people left breathing is approximately nil. A few prisoners are taken, immediately knocked unconscious with rifle-butts and bound, but only because the squads in question have run out of ammunition.

The fighting is quick but far from painless, burning trucks showing where the southern front met up with stiff resistance from guards with machine guns and hand grenades and the bodies thick to the north. Several buildings collapse with the sheer volume of firepower put forth by Correct Action, her powerguns cutting through the simple buildings of wood and concrete, knocking out their support walls as they cave in, burying soldier and administrator alike. After the second one of these the resistance are well within the inner sanctum and clearing buildings; the remaining defenders surrender as the shuttle blares the knights' recording for all to hear.

* - * - *

The assault shuttle settles down in the square of the prisoner section, Sir Ekianga looking up from his smoking two-centimeter tribarrel. "We can take the worst off to shelter behind the lines. Grab as much medicine as you can from the prison hospital, if there is one."

Correct Action is filled to capacity--thirty, fourty people just simply stacked--with the sick, the wounded, the horribly scarred survivors of Carlos' ethnic cleansing and cries for racial purity, and as many boxes of whatever looks like medicine that will fit. She takes off with a notable groan, then speeds off with her cargo to a decently large village designated as a 'hospital town' by the resistance. Offloading quickly, Y'vain turns his shuttle back for the camp, readying to evacuate more.

While the shuttle is away, those Iraqstani who seem useless to grill for information are led out into the jungle and shot.

“You’ve seen the reports and the footage?”

Nathicana looks up from her desk at the deceptively soft-spoken man standing expectantly on the other side of her desk.

“Yes, Antonio. I have,” she answers, leaning back in her chair and pressing her fingertips against her forehead with a sigh. “And the answer is still no for now. Iraqstan is a viper’s nest that I’d just as soon not stick my hand in unless absolutely necessary. Carlos has been touchy enough as is without him thinking we’re in on this recent effort, or at best, trying to undermine him ourselves. Like it or not, he is an ally, and we will honor our pacts to the best of our abilities. While making life difficult for us to say the least, he has yet to outright break with the manifesto and alliance agreements.”

Pellegrino nods, having expected the answer and explanations. “If we present anything less than a united front, or start turning on our allies when it suits us, others are certain to smell blood in the water and take advantage of that, I know. Still, you cannot deny he is a liability, to say the very least. One that we could quite possibly remedy. His second – Al-Sahaf. He still thinks well of you, yes? If things were to—“

“Dammit, Toni, this is not the time for all that!” Nathi says hotly, scowling at the man, then quickly changes the subject. “I don’t suppose there are any definite leads?”

“Well, speculation runs rampant, but no, there are no absolutes at this point. I think we both can read the signs well enough to know where this is headed, however,” the man replies, leaving the names unspoken yet glancing meaningfully towards the little mouse card Nathi kept on her desk. “I will however say that there is no indication that any of this is government sanctioned, which should help put your mind at ease. Nor have we found any direct connections to the Shogunate – another bright spot in all this mess. Now, whether Carlos will believe that is perhaps another matter entirely, but we have seen no indications that he’s pushing in that direction.” Again, the unspoken hung gently between them. ‘Yet’.

That's all I need - a clash between my alliances. Damn that Carlos to hell, Nathi thought, adding in a few more choice curses for good measure.

“Is there any truth to the accusations from Iraqstan?” she asks quietly.

“Not in the way you’re meaning … not that we’ve found at any rate. Whoever they are, they’re a very organized group, though seemingly not as well-equipped as they could be. Another indication of a lack of government support given the Trium’s tech base. Still, we have seen no evidence of these Knights engaging in any such atrocities, outside what one might expect from a rebel uprising.” Pellegrino holds up a hand while he moves to explain. “Terrorist acts, yes, but the targets have not been the citizenry. There are, as always, the unfortunate losses of civilian lives here and there, but all indications seem to point to Iraqstan’s actions being covered by shifting the blame to the Knights and rebels. I don’t have enough information to say for certain how much truly has been rebel attacks. Granted, they are a desperate people, but …” he spreads his hands and shrugs slightly. “Information has been deucedly hard to get out of Iraqstan. You know how tight he runs things. We’ve already lost several agents as is just to get what we have on the situation.”

Nathicana nods, frowning as she reaches for her ever-present glass of ice water, then sips slowly as she gathers her thoughts. “If anything new comes up in the next few hours, come see me. If not, send to my portcomp. I’m going to be taking a short, quiet little trip. Very quiet, Toni. No flashy escorts, no horde of guards. I’ll take one of the ships en route, and grab a shuttle from there. Monitor as needed, but keep the hell out of my hair. Clarity achieved?”

“Crystalline, my Lady,” Antonio says, carefully hiding the knowing smile.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

>>Transmission Type: Encrypted Triumvirate Council<<
>>Sender: Nathicana D’Aquisto<<
>>Destination: Speaker-Rrit<<
>>Subject: Lunch<<

I find I’m going to be in the area around midday your time, and wondered if you might be up to a quiet lunch in some out of the way place or other where we might talk a bit – public or otherwise, though the quieter the better. Afraid I’ve had a bit of a headache the size of a rampant dictatorship today, and could use something more soothing if that is convenient. I shan’t be able to stay long, given my security team’s irritation at their rather errant leader. I swear, several have gotten the idea that they’re some sort of Knights what with my new title and all. Damned titles and aristocracy have been going to everyone’s heads around here.

In hopes that all is well with you and your idealistic charges,

--Nathi

>>End Transmission<<

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Executive Apartments - Stonozka (Topside), Federated Segments

Speaker is not a happy kitty.

Hawke is not a happy man as he concentrates more on his slides than the kzin holding the sides of his head in his hands and looking decidedly displeased. "We've been looking over the reports again and again, sir, and it's all circumstantial but it seems to add up."

Garbo nods, afro bobbing slightly as he leans against the wall. "Yup. We're getting scattered SIGINT from inside Iraqstan saying something about armored infantry, and the TYCS Voyeur system picked up some odd gravy signals coming out from there that doesn't match up to anything Iraqstani we know about."

"I've also had the analysts at Military Intelligence checking over that video," Foot-to-Ass Advisor Lance Hawke gripes in his usual deep, dark voice. "The camera footage matches our suit's helmet cameras, right down to the notation for heading, location, so on and so forth, as you can see here." He points to the corner of the current slide, displaying a still-frame from the video. "As you can also see in this still frame, a bolt-like atmospheric plasma effect similar to a powergun, which suggests either us or Sunset."

"Does that mean we are responsible?" Speaker growls quietly.

"Not necessarily. Sunset powerguns are on the arms market, and there's still tens of thousands of suits of outmoded standard armor left from when we passed 'em out during the Coalition War. Still... I believe so. The name they mentioned--Farid Sotoudeh--isn't overly uncommon in Arabic countries. However, we do have a positive I.D. from a CDC commander."

The kzintosh frowns mightily. "Sum it up for me."

"Citizen-Corporal Farid Sotoudeh, Second Platoon, Lima Company, Orbital Platform Three Armored Infantry, Civil Defense Corps. He hasn't answered any calls to any known contact numbers and wasn't home when we sent some people to visit. The suit serial number assigned to him isn't reporting back to locator calls. We tried pinging via Voyeur, but nothing came of that either." He continues, a bit faster than his usual declarative pace in response to Speaker's smouldering eyes. "I've ordered an immediate inventory of all CDC personnel and materiel. It's second hand, so there's a few equipment failures, but some can't be explained away. I'll get you the report as soon as I can, sir."

Speaker tilts his head to the next man, growling undertones in his voice as he removes his hands from his brow and folds them under his mass, unconsciously leaning over his desk. "If they are ours, what can we get them for?"

PseudoEmperor Julius Razak shrugs eloquently. "All things considered, not much, sir. Misuse of public property if they are our suits; we may be able to ding them for grand theft. Absent without leave; unavailable for service without prior arrangement, aggrivated. It's all Eff-tee-A UCMJ stuff; this is way out of the Federal Police's jurisdiction... although we could make the grand theft and misuse of public property cases our jurisdiction if need be."

"Double jeopardy," Janus says with a wry smirk.

"Dammit, point." Razak frowns. "And, in any peacetime case with both Federal Police and UCMJ jurisdiction, FPs take precedence. AWOLs aren't even penalized in peacetime beyond revoking pay and enfranchisement. We're not at war with Iraqstan by any chance, are we, Bob?" The silver-haired man looks over to the dark skinned International Relations Advisor.

Alshai shakes his head slowly, glowing brown eyes closing momentarily. "We are currently at peace with Iraqstan--relations are cold as ice, but peaceful at the moment. The cold war between Iraqstan and the Shogunate doesn't follow to us except for our Triumvirate obligations to step in when things go downhill."

"Great. So we take away their vote, fine 'em a little, and shove 'em in boot prison for a while and, because their civics are probably exemplary, they get out in a few months." Julius looks up to the sky with a soundless, exasperated look, throwing his hands up just a little. "We are limited by law from doing anything else."

"It gets better." Garbo pushes himself off from the wall with a practiced nonchalance, smirking as he steps forward. "Word on the street are that these 'knights-errant' are instant folk heroes. The people love 'em, and I can't say I blame them. We can expect this to not be an isolated incident. Let's face it; the people are chafing. They've had to reconcile 'simply accepting' Arda as a force we can't kick over in the name of good without screwing up a lot more than we can help. The same for Iraqstan. The same for a hella lot of other places we could mention, some of which we are quite friendly with. The Feddies--y'know, Sentient Peoples--are fine until someone mentions the ADK diaspora. C'tan, the same. New York n' New Jersey, also the same. They wanna do some good, like we all do, but everywhere they turn there's limitations and realpolitik. These knights, they don't give a chraa about any of that--they're going out and using their extranational nature to its fullest."

Speaker sighs. "To the point of militance, though?"

"I figure it'll be in degrees along a continuum," Janus says in a jaundiced, philosophizing air. "Some will be just as militant. Some will, unfortunately, be more so."

This elicits nothing but grimaces from the rest of the room.

"However, if we get to work now, we can start spinning this as what it is--overzealotry--and possibly turn this into something more useful. Yes, people will be spurred to action. However, most people are reasonable and will realize pissing off people with large nuclear arsenals is a patently bad idea. We may become a producer of lots of doctors without borders and perhaps guns if they need them, blockade runners for good and the like, and lots of charities too... but it'd take work to spin any of that into terrorism."

Razak hrms, idly rubbing his chin with one hand. "I may have an idea for that. Give me a few days for me to check with my cops and bounce it around a bit."

* - * - *

The meeting over, the kzintosh runs through his mail and sighs. He's not stupid, and the affected terminology is rather obvious.

--<Transmission Type: Personal Communique, Council of Yut Encryption>--
-<Sender: Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit, FSS>-
-<Destination: Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto, DDLN>-
--<Subject: Lunch.>--

It has been a while since we have shared a meal together and caught up on the times past and present. I am sorry to hear of your ills. Hopefully I will be able to assuage them somewhat.

I would be honored if you would dine with me at my home. It is not often I get to extend my hospitality to you. I do know several traditional headache remedies, and perhaps those will help.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/speaker-to-animals.gifSpeaker-Rrit

--<End Transmission>--

Sitting at his desk Carlos reads over the growing numbers of casualties and losses mounting up in the last few weeks and sighs. "They're dangerous, we sent in a recon team after we blew that villiage. Nobody was there, save a few guards and some communications officers. The entire villiage, emptied.

They're co-ordinating in ways we've not seen for some time, the camp they liberated, a million reasons to justify their fight. Anyword on if they've started uncovering the graves there?" He asks quietly, the man seated infront of him looking nervously at his führer.

"No sir, we've had eyes on that camp for some time, it seems they've taken the hospital ward patients, the subjects and the other camp residents, they've not come back to inspect the graves yet. We thankfully have an uploaded file on all the serial numbers of the residents in that camp so tracking them down wont be too hard.

They need to be cleansed as before my führer." Chief of cleansing Henrich von Ausvitz replies softly, his robes rustling softly as he crosses his legs. "Very well, issue an order to two of the sleeper units of blackguard to begin rounding up residents bearing those serial numbers, it'll take time but I want them shot or burnt." He mutters darkly.

Nodding the chief stands and leaves, his lack of salute showing how truly high up the ministry for cleansing and purification resides in the chain of Iraqstani politics.

~~~

Walking quietly along the rough jungle pathway, a lone cadet pauses his rifle pointing deep into the jungle. "Sergeant, I've got movement to my left." He whispers softly as the unit of men disperse along the road their weapons primed and ready.

Then suddenly as if riding the backs of terror itself the jungle erupts into gunfire, the chatter of automatic weapons following closely on the heels of men crying in pain as bullets tear through their exposed limbs.

Returning fire the deep gutterly shriek distinctive to airborne troop assault rifles roars from the pathway, the men regaining their ground and defending themselves as best as possible. An hour passes before finnaly the airborne troops are victorious, having layed down a patterned spray of grenades around them and calling in an airstrike from helicopters.

Looking over the bloodied and burnt bodies of his unit Sergeant Von Shultz sighs and issues the order to return to base. Grabbing as many IDs as he can from his fallen comrades he mentaly begins writing the letters home, telling the families of dead young men how their sons, husbands, and brothers died fighting for the first reich.

Somewhere(s) in Um Lizaa

Sir Ekianga flips through the documents recovered from the liberated prison camp, looking up momentarily at the rows of horribly emaciated wrecks of men, women, and children filling the makeshift wards, carefully tended to with soft words from their Um Lizaan comrades. "This is some seriously messed up shit," he murmurs to apparently no one in particular.

Across the island, nine people listen to his quietly spoken thoughts. -How bad is it?- Sir Huey asks.

"Real Doc Mengele stuff, Sir Huey. Serial numbers with names, dates, and locations; science reports; disciplinary reports--hell, people with limbs hacked off for 'discipline'--journals... sick, sick sick." Ekianga shakes his head slowly.

-Send it to the data haven,- Dame Mahmuda orders firmly.

The knight-errant nods, looks at the boxes and boxes of documents, and sets to scanning. "Hey, Sir Y'vain..."

The pilot nods quietly. His duty at the moment is obvious as he taps his helmet camera on and turns to the rows of the abused.

(OOC: More video to come sometime tomorrow, hopefully...)

Creeping quietly through the jungle the six man squad of Iraqstani Guard pause and activate their treznorian stealth fields. Each man freezing in place, his weapon held ready as a group of men crash through the dense, jungle their homemade weapons slung casually over their backs.

Communicating silently over their radios the Iraqstani Guard encircle the men as they pause to take a break, their water bottles glinting in the dim sunlight. Chattering away to themselves in rough arabic the five men fail to see the red dots appear at the base of each man's skull.

Squinting down his iron sight, trooper Hans von Groeber mentaly counts down the time till the order to fire, his mind emptying of thoughts as he prepares once more to take the lives of enemies to his fatherland. "Fire" is whispered deep in his head and Hans squeezes his trigger gently, the bark of his rifle silencing the noisy jungle about him, a single bullet penetrates the skull of his target as each man's shot finds it's mark on the target, the five men twitching once and slumping to the ground, blood oozing slowly from the wounds in their heads.

Stepping forward the Iraqstani commander de cloaks and checks the arms of each man, noting the serial number tattooed to their forearms and smiles mercilessly. "Radio to command and tell them we are now down to forty thousand inmates left to neutralise, not counting the vegetables." He mutters hoarsly as he and his men pull back into the jungle, leaving the bodies to slowly rot away in the humid climate.

~~~

Standing silently over the bed of a small girl, Mastery Gunnery Sergeant Von Schuker looks down at the sleeping form as he quietly points his pistol at her forehead, his eyes squeezed shut he hears the door squeak open as one of his men walk in, his footsteps silent against the night time noise. "Mein commander, the family is neutralised, come kill her and let us leave, we've another four houses to clean out before the night ends." The soldier hisses softly as the sergeant waves him away before turning back to the sleeping girl.

"May Sirithil grant me mercy for this deed." He whispers as he pulls the trigger, sending a single bullet between the sleeping girl's eyes, flinching as the muzzle flash lights up the room, revealing her innocent features. Stepping back from the bed he sniffs the air and sighs at the smell of burnt ozone and turns back to his soldier, dispose of the bodies, lay them in the streets and nail the children to the walls of this house, let them act as a warning against those who would fight against the reich." He orders hoarsly as he walks out of the house, and vomits into the yard, sickened from the deeds asked of him.

His men are quick to the task, the soft hammering of nails wakes only few and they fear looking out their windows, in this time of conflict, the soldiers are quick, nailing the two boys and one girl to the walls of the house, the little girl is stripped naked and nailed as if crucified to the door of the house whilst the boys on either side of her, the parents lay heaped in a bloodied mess on the walkway to the house, their bodies seeping from still warm wounds. Like the victims in the jungle all of the dead carry the serial numbers of camp residents on their forearms...

Walking slowly back into the forest surrounding the small town hours later the small group of men talk softly, each sobered by the grisly sight they left behind. "Inform command, that our objectives are met." The sergeant whispers as he climbs into the waiting dropship and finds a spot to stretch out and finnaly sleep, knowing he'll be haunted by that small girl's face for weeks to come....

It’s funny sometimes how seemingly little things can start a chain of events that become much larger than their individual parts. A simple spark becomes a blazing inferno, a single drop of water joins others to form a cascade, one rock falls, and soon an entire mountainside comes crashing down.

So it was with the new 'global' awareness that had been developing in the Dominion.

The more travel that was available, the more citizens took advantage of the opportunities to go abroad, and in their travels, learned more of how things were outside of their native land. New ideas, new ways of thinking, and in some cases, new ideals slowly began to take hold, and dissatisfaction was carefully expressed.

The Dominmion was a prosperous nation, and for the most, living was comfortable. Whether it was in the cities, the countryside, or indeed, some of the new outworld colonies that had begun development. There perhaps more than anywhere, citizens were exposed on a daily basis to the beliefs and philosophies of their more idealistic neighbors and allies. The larger the Empire became, the more freedom of movement, choice, and action found its way into everyday life. Questions began to be asked that hadn’t been before.

Why was it that some news that seemed common outside the Dominion failed to find its way into print or televised broadcast, or spoken word within it? Why, when the government quietly showed disapproval of some foreign powers and their methods, did they turn a blind eye to the atrocities allegedly committed by one of their closest allies? As the reports trickled in, as news feeds were illegally (from within the Dominion at least) downloaded from forbidden or limited access sites such as Scolopendra’s SIN, as the word spread of the situation in Iraqstan and the horrors being visited on the Um Lizzan peoples by Carlos’ regime, in spite of that government’s insistence things were the other way around, the more people tried to understand and find a reason why it was the Dominion remained officially silent on the subject.

The situation had been so peaceful for so long when it came to the public. No serious actions had been necessary since that mess with Mateo, really - certainly nothing that wasn’t small enough to deal with quickly and quietly at least. For the most part, the economy had been improving, the people were enjoying more prosperity (and surprisingly enough, freedoms) than they had before, and the reintroduction of the aristocracy had more than kept the general populace busy, distracted, and overall, content.

All things considered, perhaps they should have seen it coming.


(To be continued.)

There is a notable delay; the death camp goes unreported for a few days. Not particularly because it's gruesome, but it is; not necessarily because the Iraqstani keep providing great propaganda material by crucifying children, but they do; not entirely because the knights-errant are understandably drained from their recent adventures.

There's simply too much of it. Each photograph, each document may as well be a carbon-copy of an example in a history textbook almost forgotten in a past childhood. Lines of emaciated bodies, their eyes bugging from their heads, their bellies showing that strange loose flaccidity that comes long after distention... serial numbers, termination dates, lineages, experiment documents...

"If one cannot be subtle," Dame Mahmuda says softly in her low, firm voice, dropping another sheath of papers onto the dusty table, "then one must be blunt."

* - * - *

The next tape sent shows its patchwork quality; not poorly done, just blatant. No effort is made for seamless transition, no voice-over, none of the rousing pomp of the first.

Photographs first, of the facility in grim black and white, then a map. The camera scrolls over to various locations neatly labeled in machine-Arabic, with English subtitles provided for those who cannot read the language of the Prophet.



Video from the cleanup operation with that sixty-hertz buzz one gets from a poorly configured microphone, showing the squalid conditions of the prisoner barracks, rows upon rows of rickety wooden bunks, tightly packed horizontally and vertically. "Jesus," someone mutters, a bit overloud, inside the suit, an unintentional voiceover. "Look at this," he continues in Arabic (with English subtitles provided), looking down at the straw and human filth coating the floor, dirtying the angular lines of his smokecloud-grey camouflauged armored boot. A quick pan, looking over the shoulder at someone else in blocky powered armor, kneeling beside a few people stacked like cordwood.

The camera, the knight, walks over to join his comrade, providing the viewers a gruesome close look at the dead, never evacuated as they died where they lay, the flies buzzing about their open eyes, along their gaping open lips. "What happened, Sir Y'vain?"

The pause of a shaken head. "Died maybe two days ago. Beginning to putrify... can't tell what." An arm reaches from off the screen and gently opens one sightless yellow eye a little wider. "Jaundice. Don't know what sickness got 'em, though."

The camera shakes with a shiver, and then a bump cut back to the schematics of the facility, scrolling a bit too quickly for detail to be seen--stopping suddenly.

[]

Another bump cut to documents bearing Iraqstani letterhead... one column lists identification numbers, then periods across the page read over to a column labeled "TERMINATION DATES" in the same machine-perfect Arabic. Scrolling back to the ident number, and zooming in... then a flash of someone holding out someone else's forearm, the number burned into their flesh burning into the viewer's retinas. The first time is a flash, a quick 'what the?' and gone... then another flash with another number, each arm different, each number different, but the pattern soon becoming ingrained.

The camera pulls back to show that the sheet is sitting on a metal desk, and a feminine hand moves the first page aside, showing another page of the list; then another page, then another. She places each one over carefully, then she spreads them out, then disappears for a moment, returning with a cardboard box that she lets down onto the table with a dull thud, flipping through the contents to show that they are the same.

Another bump cut to the map, another quick scroll over.

[[MEDICAL LABORATORY]]

More helmet-camera footage of a walkthrough, the clinical pristineness clashing with the previous footage from the barracks. It looks to be an operating room with a body on the table... quite literally taken apart piece by piece, with electrodes hooked to the brain and an oxygen mask over the mouth... and the chest still moves up and down just a little bit, the compressors on the ventilator still pulsing up and down. The helmet cam moves closer, slowly, looking over the man's face and open skull, one armored gauntlet reaching out hesitantly...

and the man's eyes flick open, wide with fear.

Bump cut to another emaciated woman in a smock, sitting out in the jungle. "[i]What happened?" the voice in the helmet asks.

The woman looks to the side, eyes unnaturally large for her shaved head, her arms bone thin, pausing for a moment before replying in a dialect of Arabic in a quiet, broken voice. "I... they... they took us into a room, and... they separated us into groups. I haven't seen my husband since we were taken and split at camp..." She turns her eyes up to the soldier, to the camera pitifully. "Have you seen him?"

"There's a lot of people..." the voice inside the helmet shakes a little, "and we're looking."

She nods, turning her head away again, seeming to understand far too well. "They took my daughter away from me... took her to that lab, where they cut people open while they breathe. I know she's gone. Those they didn't take there... like me... they took to another room. Also..." A slow, dry swallow. "Also cutting... but not just to cut. They... they put something in me... and a window to watch it..." She looks up again, with an odd sort of scared hopefulness in her eyes. "It is some machine. Would you know what it is?"

"I'm not a doctor," is the slow reply, "but it's probably an implant."

The woman's eyes, her slight frown shows utter incomprehension. "Maybe... if you see it..." She slowly pulls up one side of her smock, being careful to maintain some modicum of decency, revealing a plate of plexiglas crudely planted into her left side, right beside the abdominal muscles and going clean through the abdominal wall, quickly cauterized skin piled up in lumps around it. Inside can be seen a kidney, a stomach gently pulsing with the motion of her heart, a liver... and some sort of device of plastic and metal planted harshly in the middle of it all, tendrils of coiled conduits curling back and into organs, seeming lacking reason beyond being a blatant offense to the natural organization of her body. "Can you tell me what it is? It hurts..."

Cut to black for a few moments, then panels of white text.

On DD MMM YYYY, we liberated a facility labeled only as
[b]CAMP 4123

Inside, there is evidence of Iraqstani crimes against humanity.

STARVATION
MEDICAL EXPERIMENTATION
GENOCIDE

All of the documents we have recovered we have scanned and are available at
WWW.DATAFREEDOM.404.MLS/CITP/

The last stays up for a moment while a woman, the same from the first tape, speaks in clear, slightly accented English. "The Iraqstani side of the Um Lizaan Extraction Campaign is a lie. They still brutally murder, oppress, and cleanse the Um Lizaans through their military and their camps. It is the duty of any moral person to stand up and resist this evil. We have seen it happen before, time and time again, in death camps and killing fields across the world.

"Why is it being allowed to happen again? Why are you allowing it to happen again? Perhaps you cannot fight. Stand up. Protest. Support the Um Lizaan people. Oppose the Iraqstani government and all it stands for; deny it your funds, deny its corporation your money."

Finally... a picture of two little boys and a little girl grimly crucified to the side of a house, a crude parody of the Passion, the wall of the house streaked red with blood pouring from their wounds.

"Take action. It is only by the will of good people doing nothing that evil holds sway.

"We will be here, bringing the fight to the adversaries, the henchmen, the evildoers. Those who perpetrate these crimes for false gods, for evil parodies of true ideals, shall meet the sword of Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar and, Allah willing, fall by it. We need your support, however. We are but only one order of knights-errant, against this stain on the face of the earth. You can help. Support the resistance. Support international aid to the Um Lizaans. Oppose the Iraqstani government at every turn.

"Do not turn a blind eye to these crimes. Do not allow them to occur."

The image of the crucifixion slowly fades away, to be replaced by the sigil of Los Caballeros--a red shield with a yellow cross, two silver swords crossed behind three stone pillars. A caption, "Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar," is below, along with another group of internet and matrix links where more information can be found.

* - * - *

True to their word, and with the assistance of several data havens throughout the Triumvirate and elsewhere, the knights-errant put up every single document they can scan and categorize, along with all the pictures of the horribly mistreated Um Lizaans. After doing so, they ensconce the cardboard boxes of evidence into their most secure lockers. It will have to get out, eventually, somewhere safer than here... somewhere where the proof can be used to its fullest.

The throbbing pulse of the music. The roar of the crowd. Method to Madness, on stage entertaining a crowd of over thirty thousand diehard fans in Campagne Stadium, Devras. Orlando Sali played the crowd as he always did, his souful crooning, wrenching dirges, and enraged rants guiding them through a range of emotions, the songs telling a story, the props serving to illustrate and add depth to the unfolding rock opera being played out on stage.

The life of a man, birth to death, was the theme, so it appeared. Many of the trials and tribulations within it, disturbingly familiar to many in the throng gathered to hear the opening show for the tour kicking off their new album, 'Eye on Eternity'. Songs from other albums mixed flawlessly with the new, weaving the tale of this nameless man from a namless land.

Then came a point in the show, nearing the end of the evening, where the lights dimmed, the music went silent, save for a low buzz, something straining at the edge of hearing. The noise became louder, growing, building, 'til the unmistakeable thump of rotor blades could be heard clearly. The sound system built it up from the center rear section of the stadium, flowing around to the right, accompanied by lights and directed wind to create the illusion of first one, then a series of choppers flying overhead and across the crowd, dsappearing behind the stage to the left.

Many in the crowd looked up in fear, instincts kicking in, memories distant but not forgotten leaping to the forefront. It was then they noticed the other sounds. Distant battle. The crackle of static-ridden comms. All slowly building as if the conflict were growing clower. Cries of pain and anguish mingled here and there. Harsh barked commands making some flinch. And through it all, the out of place wail of a little child that sent a cold shiver through the expectant crowd.


--Some people call them terrorists.--
--These boys have simply been, misguided.--


And the music softly built behind this, filling in the gaps, growing stronger, taking on a definite militaristic beat, Mia Fuscelli's guitar adding its own harsh counterpoint as the four band members appeared, rising up out of the stage. David Casciotto gave the drums a life of their own, providing the heartbeat of the music. Paul Scelto accented it all with the hard driving bass in his usual introspective style. Each one was dressed in various non-descript combat fatigues of no one nation in particular, each in their own small pool of light cast from directly overhead, casting their facial features into shadow while the huge screen behind them lit up with pictures.

Pictures that to some seemed ... frighteningly familiar. And for good reason.


--I try to keep my faith alive--
--I'm close enough to trip the wire.--
--I cannot keep my hate in side.--
--I'm gonna set myself on fire.--


Here were old newsreel scenes from outside prison camps. Interspersed, the least of the haunting images of the Knights Errant tapes. Clips garnered from the internet. Scraps and findings of whatever they could gather, beg, borrow, or steal. Pictures and passages in bold red broken type font detailed atrocities and numbers and names between sections of pictures, overlaying the last frame before moving on to steadily worsening scenes.


--I get closer beat by beat,--
--to get the thing I really need.--
--I'm fucking terrified.--
--Will you be ever satisfied?--


Marching Iraqstani soldiers, displays of military strength juxtaposed with the horrifying living conditions of the Um Lizaans, the tortures, the mutilations. And through it all, the band played on, taking turns belting out their accusatory lyrics.


--Day after Day innocent people are being deported,--
--interrogated and tortured - put through the third degree.--


The video stream was relentless, blatant in its unapologetic representation, the artists on stage pointing out to the crowd, towards the city, to the screen behind them as they continued on, challenging their listeners, and in turn, their nation to wake up, to take a stand.

--Our societies are saturated with bloodlust,--
--sensationalism and violence,--
--as a result of alienation from oneself's reality.--
--How much longer do we tolerate mass murder?--


Nowhere in the Dominon had such scenes been shown on such a large scale, in such a venue, and delivered so intensely as this. A passionate people in the best of times, and if it were to be admitted, a people who felt themselves above so much of the pettiness and ugliness of the world, it hit ... and it hit hard.


--Handcuffs and shackles won't frighten us.--
--Neither cattle prod nor electrical whip will silence us.--
--We shall use all peaceful means to overcome tyranny.--
--Persist and march on.--
--They can't use our shame against us,--
--regardless of race, social status or gender.--
--We're all affected.--

From fear, to shock, to horror, to outrage ... and at the peak of this the steady marching beat shifted into a high speed guitar-heavy new challenge, feeding off the crowd's emotions, setting off the powder keg they'd built.



--Will we close our eyes, will we fall for those lies,--
--or will we make the conclusion that this life's a delusion?--
--Will we do what we're told, 'til the day that we're sold,--
--or will we raise our voices, make alternative choices?--

--What's up? Our silence is death!--
--What's up?- We shall resist the violence!--
--What's up? And we'll never give up!--
--What's up? Only death is silence!--

--Are we victims or winners, believers or sinners,--
--do we sit in the saddle, or are we just cattle?--
--Are we wretched or bold, are we garbage or gold,--
--can we make the right call, can we change it at all?--

--And that is what this country is looking for, now.--

--Acceptance is surrender, vile and vicious slander.--
--We don't want to be ruled by a handful of fools.--

--Will we close our eyes, will we fall for those lies,--
--or will we make the conclusion that this life's a delusion?--



At first, it started in ways one might imagine - chairs pushed out of the way, mosh pits forming and growing, people with far too much pent up emotion needing a release, needing to channel that energy in the quickest way possible. From there, it grew. Immediate targets were their surroundings. Chairs were thrown and smashed, those that weren't bolted down. Those that were still attracted violence as the crowd, consisting mostly of people aged sixteen to twentyfour, exploded.

The security contracted for the event was overwhelmed in moments as the frenzied crowd rebelled against initial attempts to calm them. Such a thing had never happened before, they had had no indication that such a thing would, and past performances and expectations had left them sorely unprepared for the crowd's reaction. Emergency calls went out. Those who could get to what riot gear was stored on site scrambled to gather it up, and made what efforts they could against the overwhelming numbers ... which just wasn't enough. As the situation grew more and more out of control, the band looked on first with concern, then with fear, hurrying off the stage, seeking the emergency back way out. This, of course, for the crowd, was the last straw.

Given the location, the polizia forces were quick to arrive, the local soldati close behind - there being blessed little difference in the organizations. Black-garbed authority figures in riot gear closed in as the crowd spilled out onto the streets, those who had been watching from nearby buildings joining in the spirit of rebellion, egged on by the armored arrival. Subdual methods were in practice, non-lethal, but after a history of dealing harshly with troublemakers, no punches were pulled here.

Rubber bullets and small stun packs were fired into the crowd, both from the troops on foot, and those making their way in on choppers hovering over the open-air stadium. As over thirty thousand people raged and panicked, people were injured, many trampled underfoot, shoved through barricades, and once towards the front, pushed through windows just by the sheer press of the crowd. Teargas was shot into the midst. Truncheons were used on those attempting to flee or fight the guardsmen. Sirens screamed and the crowd roared and wailed. As the gas disappated, fires began breaking out, whether set deliberately, or accidentally. Cars were turned over and smashed, traffic was backed up and redirected for several blocks back in every direction, looting of the sports shops and consession stands was only the beginning as the madness spread.

Rioters took up makeshift weapons, brandishing them at soldati troopers, throwing bottles, bits of rubbish, anything they could get their hands on, the mob fervor quite literally taking control, driving them on as they railed against a system that had forever kept them down, kept them controlled, kept them docile.

In the face of such outright and unexpected agression, on such a scale, decisions were made, based on previous history, the need to gain order, and keep the security forces safe. Orders quickly went down the line, weapons were exchanged, clips switched. Here and there, where the resistance was hottest, believing themselves to be upholding the law, troops fired into the agitated and angry crowd.

The screams and wails, the sharp report of weapons fire, the sirens and the flames went long into the night.





Lyrics quite shamelessly borrowed from KMFDM - 'Terror' and 'Search and Destroy' on account of listening to them was the inspiration for this entire incident ... and it seemed to fit perfectly in my mind.

The Segments, on the other hand, are not perhaps so extreme in their response.

At least, not outwardly.

The arguments, the searing outpouring of hatred against oppression and oppressors, occur in living rooms, coffee houses, tea rooms, and streetside cafes across the nation, the severity of their anger inversely proportional to the public nature of the venue. Everywhere, though, from pubs to meetings in auditoriums to gatherings of friends to the average person alone in his or her home, has the same seething rise of bile.

Something has to be done. That's all there is to it.

Friends call up friends, and they chat angrily, and they begin, unconsciously, to brainstorm. Who's allied with the Iraqstani? The Dominion and the Empire of Treznor. We can boycott their goods, or, at least, the goods that come from Iraqstan via them. We can petition their governments to do something to get their wayward ally in line. Bury them in mail, as it were.

Unbeknownst to them, plans for that are already underway in the Dominion itself. Scolopendran exchange students, drawn by the Mediterranean culture and climate, begin talking to their native friends in hushed tones. The natives talk to their friends, especially after the brutal police retaliation to the mob riot, and networking grows the groups until they fill auditoriums and small campsites. Now, the problem, the Scolopendrans say, is that the mob was just that--a rioting, dangerous mob. There are ways to confront the government peacefully, where to dispel it, the government must either use non-lethal force, allowing one to try again; throw people in jail, adding fuel to the fire; open fire, and prove that they are no better than the Iraqstani; or begin to acquiesce. We must allow them ways to agree that allow them to save face, the foreigners say, we must give them an honorable out.

Within a few days, desire turns from plans to reality. In the Segments, new charities suddenly appear of people taking on the title of knights-errant--not militant--but willing to bend rules to do what's right. Funds begin pouring from Scolopendran pocketbooks through chains of connections, finding their way to this group or that, as is their free right to do so. Some of the new orders begin to acquire gear themselves--mostly in the form of vehicles (some donated) and medicine, willing to run borders and blockades if need be, but some acquiring weapons of war as well. Very few go this far, however, no more than a thousand individuals. All being legal and without record, there is no choice but to allow it as the market will bear.

In the Dominion itself, protests begin, forming in public places. Hundreds of students, all wearing black armbands, standing silently in the face of what may come, some bearing signs with blown-up pictures of Iraqstani atrocities and what statistics are now available from Los Caballeros. Other signs, and banners, call on the people and the government to cease supporting Iraqstan and oppose them any way they can. "BOYCOTT IRAQSTANI GOODS." "NO AID TO IRAQSTAN'S GOVT."

Elsewhere, in dorm rooms across the country, more students start making black construction-paper crosses for an even bigger demonstration, planned for the Piazza itself. Visual aids are always helpful to get a message across.

Especially when there are millions of them.

Speaker-Rrit 's abode is not exactly inspiring, being a one-story affair literally tucked into the Art Deco canyons of underground Stonozka, skyscrapers to its left, right, and arching over it. Such is the price of having to have the presidential palace near the downtown. Despite being unusually small for its locale, it still doesn't manage to stand out, exactly, its concrete geometric architecture fading into the rest. It has a small garden in front, which is slightly unusual, as well as a overgrown trellis that arches over a sidewalk path that curves gently in an S-shape from the sidewalk end, which is watched over by two troopers in assault armor.

When Nathi enters the tunnel created by the trellis, her footsteps seem to echo just a bit louder than expected, especially after being dampened by the plants. Cursory examination of the trellis underneath the plants would reveal it to be made of very wide-gauge steel with very small holes for the plants to grow into. A simple, and unobtrusive, defense.

The front door stands, surprisingly enough, open, or, perhaps not. It's a nice day, and the screen door is enough to protect from whatever insects may be buzzing about inside the trellis, which actually generates a decent breeze.

It seemed like ages since she had last been here, and her purpose for the visit steals the usual sense of comfort the location offers. And then there were other matters. Always something. Why does there always have to be something? She adjusts her hijab - a memento from a past excursion, showing Scolopendran red with glossy black centipedes as a pattern - and steps forward to politely knock against the door frame. "Speaker?" she calls out tentatively.

Speaker-Rrit peeks his furred head out from the kitchen, near the front door, and smiles. "I was just finishing my preparations. Today turned out to be busier than expected." Brushing off his hands, he opens the door with a slight bow and a sweep of his free hand into his home, as usual.

The inside is pretty much as it always is--tapestries decorating otherwise blank walls, a low table and cushions for guests in the dining room adjacent to the kitchen; the comfy-looking recliner in the living room near the back of the house. "Are you hungry? I have been working on lunch here."

Nathicana returns the slight bow in kind, murmuring a quiet thanks as she steps inside, once again appreciating the comfortable calm of his home, even with the anxiety gnawing at her stomach. "It would be a pleasure," she says, putting on a smile. "I apologize for the short notice, and for the reasons behind it. I'm afraid it has become unavoidable."

The kzintosh nods gently with a quiet sound of assent. "It is the traditional Chinese curse," he says wryly before continuing in something that is very much not Chinese, "Oks irgeeth veeti proninj heen'ti wtunu sezo." He walks back into the kitchen and checks the refrigerator. "What would you like? I already have some wine and juice out on the table."

"That will do nicely, grazie," she says, arching a brow at the saying, cursing again her lack of understanding of the decidedly difficult Heroes' Tongue. "Is there something I can do to help? I know I'm dismally inept in the kitchen, but I can follow directions well enough."

Speaker chuckles softly. "I am sorry--a recent habit of mine to say proverbs in my own tongue. 'May you live in interesting times.' I have some sandwiches ready, if I remembered your preferences correctly. I also have some baby carrots for the side, if that is acceptable."

Nathicana smiles and nods. "More than acceptable. Sounds delicious, actually. Too often when one visits, given our status, it's frills and fluff and very little good, simple, filling content, have you noticed?" She sits down on one of the chairs and watches him thoughtfully for a moment, then offers a crooked sort of smile. "I think I've had enough 'interest' over the past few years to last a lifetime."

"All too agreed. But, as it seems, all times are interesting." He takes a container out of the fridge, piles some carrots onto each plate, then returns it to its place, finally leaving the kitchen bearing two plates. Once everyone is served, he sits down on one of the lower cushions, which works to maintain everyone at the same comfortable eye level. "It seems right now is even more interesting than most."

"So it would seem. Always something, no?" she says with a wry smile. Nathi thanks Speeks as he sits her plate down, at first nibbling on a carrot as she waits for him to get settled in. "You've seen the reports then, I take it? Perhaps the students is where I should start. It is hard enough when it is our own, but we've your citizens to deal with as well. And that requires somewhat more gentle handling."

"I have," Speaker says, a sort of unreadable light in his eyes that may be somewhere between mischief and pride, the sort of pride one has in a respectable but misplaced act. "If you wish, I can tell Kommetrez to have the consulates give them a stern talking to. Even if they are Triumvirate citizens in a Triumvirate land, the local customs and laws must be respected."

"That is where we run into difficulty, you see," she says, her features hardening ever so slightly, knowing damn well the kzin's love of freedom and pride in his citizens. Still ... "Technically, disturbing the peace as they have is more than enough to have them deported. If there is a way to work around that however, I would prefer it. Relations are becoming strained enough over this mess. My problem is trying to maintain a united front on both sides of this, which due to a certain son of a bitch has become nearly impossible." Nathi frowns, then takes a bite from her ham and swiss sandwich.

Speaker thinks quietly, idly popping a carrot into his mouth and munching on it. "My reports described them as standing out of the way yet being present. I am not sure if that is a breach in the peace... but that is beside the point." He shrugs a little. "My problem is that, unlike your nation, our government has no say in what our people do with their spare time, barring things like theft or murder. You can have them deported, and we can urge them to follow your rules, but that is about it."

"Speaker," she began patiently. "As much as I realize the idea to be foreign to you, even the appearance of publicly defying the government has been something we have not allowed in the Dominion for years now. While I have indeed been making efforts to gently ease back on restrictions, the timing of all this is incredibly inconvenient. If we give in, we appear weak. And where there is weakness, it is exploited and used to topple the weak and set up new strength. Your citizens are with their well-meaning idealistic ways setting my nation and myself up for a fall far worse than would have happened had that last coup succeeded. I have already introduced more change than a good part of the nation knows what to do with. This additional pressure ..." Nathi gestures, then sighs in frustration, pouring herself a glass of the wine, then sipping slowly. "This needs to stop."

"This additional pressure was probably inevitable. This is how states evolve." Speaker folds his hands on the table, voice firm but understanding. "There is a difference between letting people speak their minds and actively listening to that speech. There have been protests, outside my office, to drop all relations with you and Treznor. Their views are unrealistic and summarily ignored."

"You told me once that people thought we were weak because we simply looked it. Willing to listen to dissent that may have some basis in reason. Appearance is not necessarily reality and listening is not weakness--as it is internationally, it is internally as people are people. Besides, if you do deport Scolopendran citizens--which is your right--then you have your own people there. I cannot stop your own people. There is a principle of spite in nature and in politics. Without some sort of release valve for tension, increased pressure meets increased resistance. If you continue to resist in the way of a police state, yes, you could fall. But that is not adaptation; that is stagnant resistance to a new trend that cannot be avoided. Pressure valves avoid explosion. You need not become libertarian in your virtues, but there is point in continuing to continuing to be so forceful when it is counterproductive."

He holds up a hand.

"However, I do have favors in our various universities and I can recommend to them to recall their students for various reasons. It happens, and it will allow everyone involved to save face. Once my people are out, however, it becomes a purely internal concern for you."

Nathicana shakes her head, one hand moving to rub lightly rub at the point between her brows before looking up at him. "I'm not so much concerned with international views of weakness, Speaker, as I am with weakness being percieved by my own people. The fact that you and I both understand that it was inevitable is neither here nor there. The fact that this is not the right time for such issues to be addressed, or laws to be lightened however, needs to be recognized. Never has a leader of the Dominion held office for as long as I have. As a result, never have some of the issues that I have had to deal with grown to the level where they have presented a problem. We have entered a new age, and with it, new problems have cropped up that we as a nation are unprepared to address, and ill-equipped to handle responsibly without a good deal of control and care. Unofficially, I have little against citizens peacefully voicing their opinions, knowing where the control and power lay when all is said and done. Officially, such things have before now never been allowed, and if it is seen that the government does so due to pressure, it sets a poor precedent. Far better to introduce such things slowly - as I have been with other things such as political input on a local level, which also never existed before the coronation - and do it as our choice, not our 'best option'."

She takes another bite of her sandwich, washing it down quickly with a sip of wine. "I would greatly appreciate any assistance you could offer in that regard, at least until we can find a way to resolve the situation. We have had enough regrettable violence over that bastard. I understand that there is only so much you can do, and I promise you that however this pans out, I will do my best to assure that your citizens are handled as gently as possible."

"And you will have all the assistance we can provide," Speaker replies resolutely. "There is a reason we assisted with your 'housecleaning' after the coup--to put it bluntly, you show the most potential for improving the state of your nation and your people. It is not in our interest or the interest of our ideals that you fail now. What I do recommend is only a marginal easing of restriction, using less-than-lethal force where lethal force was the only other option. As long as these demonstrations remain nonviolent, nonviolent measures should be used to combat them. If you need to exile ringleaders, we can hold them in the Segments; they will be able to take advantage of our freedoms but, not being citizens, we are free to keep a closer watch on them. Once this crisis passes, or once a move is made that 'forces your hand' and allows you to save face, then you can adapt under what does not appear to be internal pressure."

Speaker-Rrit smiles after this. "Of course, you can always rely on us for advice. We will try to be more pragmatic and less idealistic in what suggestions we provide, although it will always be tainted by the latter." His ears flicker a little.

"Should removal be necessary, I have offworld holdings that will serve a similar purpose without throwing in already overly-enthusiastic rebels in with vehemently like-minded damned idealists like yourselves - no insult intended. As for measures, you should know me better. Subtlety and care, whenever possible. The incident at the concert was," she pauses, the half smile that had started to show at the 'damned idealist' comment fading to a frown, her eyes showing more remorse than might be expected. "The concert was a tragedy. There is no way around that. Measures have been taken to ensure that such things do not happen again, God willing. So long as we have an understanding here of our intents, and our limitations, for now, I think that will suffice."

Taking a firmer hold on her emotions, she sits up a bit straighter, and nods. "Again, any support you can offer, within reason, is appreciated. I also realize there is little you can do about the boycotts, given how there is simply no forcing people to buy. Perhaps it is time to speak of these Knights and what your government may or may not know about them?"

Speaker-Rrit listens quietly with a bit of empathy in his expression for his friend, and nods at the last. "We do believe that they are AWOL from Civilian Defense Corps duties. Their equipment is mostly self-bought, from what it appears, but we have very little that we can charge them with should they return. We cannot freeze their finances because they are hidden offshore. Beyond what quartermasters and shipping logs can tell us, we know as much as you do."

"I was afriad of that," she says, sighing softly. "At least to the best of our knowledge, the Reploids aren't involved. I will do what I can to keep Carlos off the track, again, within reason. The last thing I need is to have my alliances at each other's throats." She looks to Speaker hopefully, though it's clear from her expression she isn't expecting much. "I don't suppose there is anything you can do with them either?"

"They are criminals here," the kzintosh replies, "but only of theft and being absent without leave in peacetime. While the latter is rather severe, I doubt that disenfranchisement is the kind of punishment you are looking for."

"Actually, it isn't punishment I'm looking for at all," she says, dropping her eyes and taking up her glass again, swirling the wine in it before taking a slow sip.

"Other than ordering them to stop, there is not much we can do." Speaker looks slightly puzzled. "They are acting without orders now so it is unreasonable to expect compliance. The best we can do is distance ourselves from them and ensure no public funds go their way. The last thing I need is for the Segments to be considered a terrorist-sponsoring state."

Nathicana nods slowly as he speaks, quietly savoring her wine. "Well, I suppose ordering them to do so creates similar problems for yourself that forcing a halt of protests in the Dominion does for us, no? With the noted exception of our reputations and usual methods, of course." She watches him closely as she continues. "I'm afraid that ensuring their funding gets stifled will be as difficult as turning off the flow of ideas and information to my citizens would be. Reports tell me a good many of your people are more than willing to support the Knights. The state-sponsored terrorism may be a hard image to shake, given the reactions we've already seen. After all, Carlos and his regime do stand for everything your nation has bled and died to fight."

"Which is why I find myself glad in some respects that, with some exceptions, we cannot limit how our citizens spend their money. We have some ideas on how to keep the more militant groups under control, but... if people want to make charities and call them knightly chapters, that is their prerogative."

"Unfortunate, from my perspective of course, but understandable. So long as you publicly do whatever you can to put a halt to their activities, that is all anyone can ask of you," Nathi says, again dropping her gaze as she idly toys with another carrot. "Until the proper solution can be found, regardless of our personal feelings on the matter, we must be mindful of our image and how it affects the situation." All the same, she doesn't look pleased at her words.

"That is, of course, how it always is. There is a possibility we can capitalize on the generated idealism and prevent capitalize on the generated idealism and prevent the militant knights-errant from getting too many more recruits, however. Razak thinks that if we introduce Space Patrol and International Rescue now, then it provides a third option that will make only the most extreme tend towards vigilantism."

Nathicana nods, taking another slow sip of her wine. "For what it is worth, you have my apologies," she says quietly, for now, not clarifying. "I agree with the introduction, however. It would likely be a good outlet for the Dominion as well."

Speaker-Rrit nods. "Again, 'interesting times.'"

One last thing bothered her. The one thing that in fact, was what had her more concerned than the entire Iraqstan situation and subsequent problems combined, when it came down to it. And yet, she was unsure of how to broach the subject. Enough time had passed that she had hoped some reassurance would have been made, and yet, there had been none. Interesting times, indeed.

"I've been meaning to ask," she finally says. "How is Kommetrez ... managing?"

Speaker-Rrit tilts his head a little bit, arching a brow just a little. "Pardon?"

"You mentioned him earlier," she says, pausing to take another slow sip of her wine, this time, not dropping her gaze. "When last we met, he was in a ... difficult position at best. Add to that the current non-responsive state of Angelus, I have been concerned, although I grant you, much of what happened there has weighed on my mind."

"He has been... quiet as of late. Angelus is simply back to introspection, according to him." Speaker frowns slightly. "It is disquieting."

"Is there, do you think, cause for concern?" she asks simply, her inflection showing that her such concern is not limited only to Kommetrez.

Speaker-Rrit shrugs gently. "I do not know."

Nothing. Perhaps then, our suspicions were correct. Nathicana nods, seeming to withdraw slightly, finishing her sandwich in relative quiet, her expression thoughtful. After taking a last drink of wine, she sets aside her glass and looks back to Speaker. "Please, give him my regards. I have not envied him his position through many of these past situations. He is a good man, after all." She adjusts her hajib slightly out of habit, shifting topic again. "Well Speaker-Rrit, I thank you for your hospitality and your candor. Perhaps we have come to a better understanding today as to where our nations stand respectively. I have taken too much of your time as is."

The kzintosh nods quietly at the 'good man' comment, then frowns a little at the mild overemphasis on formality. "I would hardly say so. I am always willing to help a friend, and if anything does come up with Alshai I will inform you. He is not the most open of men, after all."

"We all have our limits, it would seem, some of us being more open than others. I suppose we are hardly in a position to judge," she says. "Even among friends I suppose, it can at times be difficult to trust."

"We are doing the best we can to alleviate this situation," Speaker replies. "It has blindsided us too. Right now mutual trust is needed if we are to make any progress."

"One would think, no?" Nathi replies, perhaps too casually as she reaches for another carrot, snapping off a small bite. "Although I understand about being blindsided. It's happened to us a time or two as well, in recent memory."

Speaker-Rrit frowns, wondering what he's done this time, replaying the recent conversation in his head. "It happens to everyone. We are doing what we can to prevent the spread of this; unfortunately, that is not very much due to the libertarian nature of our laws. Kommetrez has been unusually quiet as of late and we have been too polite to pry. Perhaps we should. As for cause for concern, I really do not know if there is any yet, other than those already broached."
"I know your culture sometimes frowns on plain speech but, to ensure understanding, I am not hiding anything." He says this with a quiet determination, firm but not unfriendly. "I trust you fully, kzaw-tzobu."

"If I thought you were hiding anything, we wouldn't be speaking right now under these circumstances," Nathicana says, simply stating a fact. "However if plain speech is what is desired, culture notwithstanding, then let me speak plainly, considering your statement of trust, seeing as this is the first reassurance I have had on it in some time."

"Was it this trust that lead to our exclusion from the decision to allow Angelic Skies to run rampant? Was it this trust that guided your actions in assisting to arrange for them to infiltrate Metus, knowing full well our precarious position regarding our Ardan connections? Was it this trust that put us at risk without giving us so much as a 'be warned' when plans were laid? Your people are not the only ones to have suffered and sacrificed for the greater good, my friend."

Speaker-Rrit frowns deeply. "I was not informed of this either." (OOC: I really wasn't.) "I only found out from the CINCTYCS's none-too-glittering report recently, but it seemed that the time to complain was too far gone. Kommetrez simply told us that Angelus 'had something cooking' and we were content with that, assuming that whoever needed to be told would be told. Admittedly, the fault is ours for not inquiring further or ensuring that cooperation was achieved." Speaker's voice becomes very firm. "We, I have no desire, no self-interest, nothing that would motivate us to compromise you, especially given your connections. We value you too highly as allies and friends for that."

"I would wish that much is apparent," he almost growls, carefully but visibly keeping his emotions under control, "but I can understand how you could think that perhaps we were being duplicitous. I am certain the insult to my honor and the honor of those around me was unintentional due to an unfortunate lack of information."

Nathicana arches a brow at that, then frowns in turn. "So the claims that the FAE supported it all ..." she trails off meaningfully, then continues in a much more subdued tone. "It would seem I owe you even more of an apology, mi amico. At the time, not one of the delegates present said anything of the sort to lead us to believe this, even after repeated questions and statements from us. I was hesitant to believe that you would do such a thing, which is why I kept Calabrese in check, and gave the others every opportunity to clarify. It is why I have waited patiently to hear what you are saying now, rather than take any actions that would compromise our alliance, or friendship. After a time, those fears seemed the only answer." She inclines her head in as respectful a bow as she can manage from where she sits, holding it for a moment. "Forgive me, my friend. Surrounded as I've been by duplicity and betrayal, it becomes all to easy to believe those fears when reassurance is in short supply, even when concerning those of whom we ought to know better."

Speaker-Rrit nods, taking a few moments to calm down. "Insufficient information leads one to inaccurate conclusions. All that means is that those conclusions must be challenged and found true or not." He hazards a slight smile, ears winking. "You are, of course, forgiven, kzaw-tzobu--no harm is done in finding the truth."

Nathicana quietly gives him the space he needs, nodding in agreement, then offering the beginnings of a smile in turn. She wondered idly how different it would have been having this discussion with Garbo, knowing full well whatever answers he might have chosen to give would likely do little to reassure her, nor be to her liking. Sometimes 'truth' is what we want it to be, my friend, she couldn't help but think.

An understanding had been reached there long ago, and in the mutual interest of keeping the relatively innnocent and idealistic intact, such things would not be voiced here. "Then I am doubly glad to have had patience, and at the same time, wish I had spoken sooner. Never the easy way with me," she says, her wry smile growing slightly. "I've my own cross to bear, so to speak, concerning the current situation. The fact that the needs of the many oftimes outweigh the needs of the few does not always comfort me. Your nation's motto claims 'idealism at all costs'. For us, it is order and stability. I would sleep easier at night if the cost were not always so distasteful and hard to swallow at times."

Speaker-Rrit smiles a little more broadly, nodding respectfully. "I will be here to assist how I can. It is only right."

"As I will be for you as well. It is, after all, what friends do - regardless of political entanglements." Nathicana's smile grows mischievous as she looks at the kzintosh for a moment. "It's a pity you aren't Catholic," she teases. "The patience you exhibit with me would make you a shoe-in for cannonization."

"I do think that would qualify as a third miracle," he replies with a sly smile.

"Bah." Nathi snags another carrot, snapping off a bite with a mock glare, then pouring another half-glass of wine, relaxing again and turning the conversation to more comfortable talk.

"So you see my problem here, yes?" the raven-haired woman says in closing, leaning back comfortably in her chair, a glass of wine in hand. Giacomo's had always been a place for meetings and quiet discussions, where the old ways and traditions still held strong, the ambiance was delightful, and the food simply divine. As it should be, considering the usual patrons ... and owners.

The young gentleman across the table from her nods thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of wine before responding in the same low tones they had been using for their previous conversation. "Yes, I can see where that would be difficult, indeed. Still, with all of your contacts, especially through say, Zero-One, would it not be more economical to go that route? You well know the cuts that get taken for this sort of thing."

"This is our business, no one elses, and as such, I am trusting our people to assist. It's a matter of principle, of appearances, Lucano. If we were to be seen meddling with one of our own allies governments, assisting insurgents within their borders, we would lose our credibility." She takes a sip of wine in turn, idly swirling it in her glass as she continues. "There are some things I simply cannot trust to outsiders, however well-meaning. Some of those who would help us in this effort are the same ones we must maintain our credibility with, and must keep our image intact on account of. United front, il Capo Crimini. I know you understand."

He spreads his hands and smiles, questions answered to his satisfaction. "The amount you mentioned, then. In as many small packets in varying currencies as can be managed within reason, using the most likely first, all so clean it squeaks. This we can do, however due to the scope of this job, the usual fees will be nearly triple - only on account of the extra steps that will be necessary here for your own protection, I assure you, Imperatrice."

She frowns slightly at that, but nods, giving the ok for it. "The usual account, then, first thing tomorrow morning. So long as those funds find their way to the proper cavaliere chapters, I will account it fees well spent. Grazie, Signore. As always, it is a pleasure doing business with you. Now tell me, how has your father been?"

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Some time later ...

"So there's the situation. I want you to get in touch with Il Sultano on this one. He's got the connections, got the spread to make this work. We've already covered for it with the pre-agreed fees."

The second gentleman arches a brow as he looks over at the young Genovese. "Are you certain you want to involve him? Dealing with him, I have always found to be ... distasteful."

"He does provide the best cover, Christof. In more than one way. And ... how do you mean 'distasteful' exactly?" Lucano replies, looking over at the other man curiously.

"Distasteful. You know ... like - and I mean this in the most respectful way possible - your cousin Paulie."

Lucano tosses both hands up and curses, a rather disgusted expression on his face. "Scopa! Why you gotta bring up Paulie with this? You know I hate talking about that son of a bitch!"

Christof shrugs, making slightly placating gestures with his own hands. "I'm just sayin' ..."

"Bah. I don't care how 'distasteful' you find it, you make it happen, capiche? Let me know when it's done," the younger man replies, still scowling.

"On it, boss."

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Even later ...

"Buon giorno, Il Sultano. Cristof - Cristof Vidali. The Devras Famiglias send their respects - and offer you a bit of a business proposition. See, we've got us some big figures what need cleaning ..."

"Buon giorno, Il Sultano. Cristof - Cristof Vidali. The Devras Famiglias send their respects - and offer you a bit of a business proposition. See, we've got us some big figures what need cleaning ..."
The air fills with the scent of $20 a pack cigarette tobacco as Il Sultano lights another Treasurer between his lips with his custom butane lighter made from the skull of a baby harp seal. He does this with one hand, his other hand crushing out the expended butt of his last nicotine stick in his elephant ivory ashtray, and his neck craned to hold the obsidian receiver of his phone between the expensive material of his cheap-looking pinstripe suit and his mostly-cleanshaven mug. "Yeah, baby, I hear you. What kind of figures are we talkin' bout? Just reminding you, up front that we take five to ten percent off the top, depending on how clean you want it--remember? Got a sick ma back home to buy solid gold pillcase--er, to feed and an operation to run here."

Cristof nods to himself, switching his phone to the other ear as he re-checks the file on his handheld. "Of course, of course - Family and all. Big figures. Eight figures. Even twenty-five mil after your cut of one point two five mil, lets say. Work for you, my friend? This ah, of course, being understood that said business be carried out with the utmost discretion, as one would expect from your fine organization. If you're interested, we've got further instructions as to how we'd like to see it all go down - if you can work it of course."

"'If I can work it?'" Il Sultano scoffs theatrically, snickering as he leans back into his massive plush baby eagle down seat. "Baby, I've been specializing in this bizness for almost a decade now. Made my own country just to... help things along a little. Suuuuuuuure I can handle it, baby. This is small change, compared to some of the numbers I've handled as a God-fearin' biznessman."

Kicking back, he puts his not-exactly shiny Gucci's up on top of the bison-leather desk blotter which covers his mohagany desk and holds the obsidian handset to his ear. "Just tell me what you need done and I'll tell you if the cut's sufficient." Not like I won't just take the remainder out myself if I have to. "Can't spell 'discretion' without at least a few of the letters in Il Sultano, right?"

Yep. Definitely something (alright, several somethings) about this guy he just never liked dealing with. I swear I'm gonna need a shower after this. Unfortunately, this was the way to go. Wasn't anyone any better than Il Sultano for when you really wanted things quick and quiet. The bastard.

"Right, right. You know how it is, yes? Just so's there's no misunderstandings and all. We know you can work it - it's why we called, eh? So here's the deal. What we want, see, is to break this payment up into unmatched packets of the following currencies: Credits - Berserker, Menelmacari, Iuthian. Crellars, Di-Coins, Euros - Knootian and a hefty dose of 'em from Rome. Euro Credits, Hrings, Karmas, Llirae, Lavenrunzian Marks, Mesetas, Pounds, Rands, Workreps, Arpean Yens, some Sakkran Tooth deposits, Kronors, Chits, Alts, Bytes, Gold Dubloons, and of course, mixed bits of Gold Sovereigns. Don't forget some of those Gold Bonds. We believe in diversity, after all," says Cristof, doodling with a stylus on his datapad.

"We can of course forward on any files or reference you need that way."

Il Sultano takes his diamond-encrusted Montegrappa "Peace Pen" (http://www.duboisvutera.com/photos/photos_produits_nouveautes/montegrappa/peace%20pen/stylo.jpg) and quickly jots down the symbols associated with each of the named currencies. "Lessee, baby... we got BC, MC, ICs... Sunset candy... Knooteggs... ECs, gold-o's, llamas, harps, LMs, Ms, Ps, Rs, Whirrs, toilet paper, dentures, wanktissue, gambings, ctrls, binaries, Spanish Gold, and of course, Sovs. We're beginnning to expand into dick itch powder and therefore there would be an increase in fee, you see..." He taps the pen against your lip. "But hey, we're chums and we can throw in GBs into the standard package just for you. So, what would you like us to do with this creative collection of cold cash, baby?"

"Well, y'see what we got here is a little 'arrangement' of sorts we're setting up. What we need is for the following exact locations, which ought to be coming across your fax line right about now, to recieve various portions of this here lucre in all those lovely denominations. Spread it around, see. Mix it up a bit. Donations and all, given we're a God-fearing enough group, no? Charity being one of the commandments, so I'm told. Just givin' a little back to our fellow man outta the goodness of our hearts. Being the humble unassuming folk of course, we prefer to keep our charitable work annonymous. I know you understand," says Christof, pausing for a moment to whet his lips with a sip of recently-poured limoncello liqueur. "The Cavalieros, they've been doing Gods own work, when they're not filling kid's heads full of crazy ideas."

"Oh yeah, yeah, I know those cats. Sure, we got it, baby, fully understood." Il Sultano scribbles down a few more notes in a script utterly illegible to anyone other than himself. "Mixin' stuff up is job number one here, baby. You can trust ol' Il Sultano and his right-proper bizness here in Moneylaunderingstan." Looking over his shoulder, he watches the paper slowly feed out of his gold-plated facsimile machine. "Yeah, yeah, we're getting it. Cool. Anything else we can help out with today?"

"No, no - I think we're set. Molto grazie, Il Sultano. Always a pleasure doing business with you."

After waiting for any response, Cristof hangs up the phone, and takes out a handkerchief to wipe over his hands. "Why is it I always feel dirty after talking to that guy? Christ."

Getting up, he makes his way through the office building, down to the nice corner suite at the far end - the one with the fantastic view over the city, facing out to the bay. Knocking three times on the door, he waits for the expected response, then opens the door and walks in. "It's done, boss. Everything as ordered."

Lucano Genovese looks up from the stack of papers he has been perusing, and nods. "Most excellent, Cristof. No problems, I take it?"

"None, as expected. You know Il Sultano. So long as he gets his cut ..." the man says, spreading his hands slightly, though his expression shows more than a little distaste.

"Oh come now, Christof. He gets the job done, and he is a power to respect, like it or not." Lucano grins, pausing for a moment. "Unlike certain relatives we could make mention of, no?"

Cristof opens his mouth, then shuts it with an audible click. "But he's family," he finally mutters, the matter of Paulie still obviously one of contention.

"Yes, and in his way, so is Il Sultano, no? We may not always approve of his style, but then we don't have to. He keeps to the code. He knows his shit. He deals with us honorably enough, and we with him. And we're not going to sit here and say otherwise, are we Cristof? We clear on that?" Lucano's tone leaves no room for misinterpretation - or for argument.

"No, we are not," the man replies, his gaze dropping as he nods once.

"Right then. I've a call to make. Why don't you go take the afternoon off, man. You've done well. See you tomorrow, bright and early, eh? We're going to need some reports on how the most recent payments have been coming in. There are some sectors who seem to be lagging behind a bit," the young Genovese says, already picking up the phone.

"Whatever you say, boss." Christof makes a brief gesture of farewell, turning to exit, and gently close the door behind him.

It isn't long before the call connects, and Lucano smiles broadly on account. "My Lady, it is done, as requested. As always, it is an honor to be of service."

Staring out the window of the Iraqstani center for government Carlos looks down at the sea of protest signs all demanding the withdrawl of Iraqstani forces from Northern Um Lizaa. Listening to the growled comments behind him Carlos turns and smiles politely at his Minister for internal security "Now now son, we're nearing a critical turning point in this campaign. The rebels have a strong hold over the north, but we are vastly better equipped than they are. Our resources are near ifinite and these protestors are all Um Lizaans we deemed enlightened enough to join the Union. We'll show them exactly WHAT we do to traitors." He whispers to Lidric who stops short in his ranting about the people and goes white.

"Father, you'r going to turn the military onto Iraqstani soil?" He asks quietly, shaking his headin disbelief. "Yes, it's come to this. We need another purge like the ones your grandfather did." Carlos mutters back darkly and nods to a man wearing a black and red uniform. "Mein fuhrer the Iraqstani Guard will be honoured to perform this task for you." He says unflinchingly and salutes the proper way arm stretched out before him. "See to it then, Heinrich." Carlos says as the man walks out and leaves Father and son to look at each other questioningly.

In the square below thousands roar their demands mixed with things like "Corrupt system, the fuhrer is a lie!" Others shout obscene remarks about the Quil'rayan family. On the edges of the crowd Carlos spots a convoy of trucks pulling up and soldiers pouring from the backs of them, each holding an armed rifle in their hands. "And so come the Iraqstani Guard..." He mutters softly as the echoing sounds of machinegun fire filter up through the slightly open window of his office.

On the ground the chaos is everywhere, protestors fall clutching wounds in their stomachs or other body parts, others fall over dead, the blood slowly stains the ground as more soldiers arrive and begin firing into the gathered crowed. Some protestors their blood boiling in anger turn on the soldiers wielding their signs as weapons and begin to charge the lines of soldiers who retaliate with extreme force. The hour drags by and soon the square is desereted of all but the dead or wounded, thousands of bodies litter the square which once green and well kept is now destroyed and stained red from the blood of thousands. Amongst the dead civilians some soldiers lay wounded, others dead from stab wounds inflicted by protest signs, medical officers rush amongst the soldiers helping those they can and ending the agony for those they cannot. Staring out his window a cold contented smile on his face Carlos watches the reflection of his son in the window. "You're not comfortable with the orders son?" He asks mildly, amused by his sons personality.

"No father. I can appreciate that we must discipline these protestors, but gassing those that sleep? We already keep the Um Lizaans in areas away from major business areas, why must we slaughter them as well?" Turning Carlos looks over his shoulder and smiles lovingly. "You'll learn son. You're only fourteen after all. Soon you'll realise that these people are nothing more than animals." He says before turning back to the window and watching the bodies of the protestors be gathered up and burnt.

Um Lizaan quater,
Sirithilia, 0100 hours

The large suburb which could mistakingly be called a small city lays silent in the early hours of the morning, the thousands of state built homes, arranged in precise grids over the area, the houses shadowed by the ruins of little sirithilia to their west, the once proud suburb city attacked by um lizaan terrorists years ago. In each house a little light flashes on every state regulated fire system installed in some fifty thousand homes each burning red as new orders are given and the mixture is delivered, a soft hissing noise is heard in every house as odorless gas is let into each home, slowly killing each person in the house.

Two hours pass and trucks roar into the areas of the district where the fire protection systems have not been installed, hundreds of soldiers climbs from the trucks and scatter into the small five thousand strong population area and bash down doors, weapons firing into each room killing parents and adults. In the streets hundreds of children aged five to ten are collected besde school buses and orderd onto them, their destination a centre recently built in the heart of the local military base. When they arrive they find themselves once more surrounded by assault rifles and the angry stares of soldiers willing to show their loyalty to the Iraqstani flag waving in the breeze above them.

Leading the children into a large complex they lock them into cells each able to hold three children, once all the children are secured the men leave the complex shutting it into darkness and locking the doors waiting the order to ignite the burners. The order comes an hour later after ensuring the children are sleeping. Looking grim faced a soldier presses a switch and kills the microphone systems installed in key areas of thecomplex, not wanting to hear the screams of children being burnt alive.

In the cells children begin to burn, some waking up an screaming as their bodies are slowly reduced to nothing, others die in their sleep, curled up in balls of pain. The windows of the facility glitter with the fires contained inside as soldiers patroling the complex avert their eyes knowing full well what is happening inside the facility. "Mein fuhrer I trust in your righteousness to deliver me from harm this night." A SOldier whispers as he walks his patrol, his heart heavy with the thoughts of the children inside.

Standing at his desk, the time is now five in the morning Carlos picks up his phone on the first ring and listens. "It is done mein fuhrer." Smiling Carlos hangs up and heads into the dining room of his house and reads the morning paper whose headline reads "Thousands killed for the deaths of soldiers in yesterdays riot" Smiling he reads the current story and waits eagerly for his bacon and eggs....

The initial reports were ... less than pleasing to say the very least. Nathicana scanned over the information, what images were available, her expression darkening by the moment.

That crazy bastard. After all we've tried to do for him ... this is the last straw. It cannot go on.

Exports had been negatively affected in several nations who had usually been strong supporters. Not that the governments themselves had taken measures - the decidedly idealistic citizens therein had simply made it unprofitable to import Dominion goods. Inside the Dominion, similar reactions were being expressed in regards to Iraqstani goods, and in some cases, unspoken retaliatory measures against Scolopendran and other nations entertaining boycotts, with retailers angry both at their own leadership for not taking enough action, and for the foreigners for putting stress on their accounts. Business was quietly taken elsewhere, and names were quietly noted down. Angry or not, when it all came down to the line, it often became a matter of 'us' and 'them'. Pressure had been filtering through various venues for the government to make an official statement concerning the drop in business.

Already stinging from the unfortunate events of the concert, the public sentiment inside the nation, and in Devras in particular, was running rather hotly against Iraqstan. Open protests, however peaceable, were becoming more frequent, and given the topic, the usual repressive measures simply were not in the best interests of the government. There were too many foreigners involved - closely allied foreigners, for one thing. The protests were peaceful, overall, the groups were not disruptive, though the usual spirit of the Dominion was a hard thing to suppress for some. Those that broke the peace were arrested. Those who did not, were gently but firmly disbanded. Those who refused, were warned, informed of the consequences - those being detention and possible deportation, if foreign - once, twice, and again. If they continued to refuse, they were taken into custody. Efforts to repress and remove any and all recordings of these actions were in high gear, with many cameras and recording devices confiscated by the soldati. As many as they could find, that is.

Oddly enough, those Scolopendrans caught up in the mix, held their ground, silently and steadfastly refusing to act against their idealistic beliefs. When challenged, they stood firm. When arrested, they went quietly, and proudly. None of them were ever found to raise a hand to the soldati, or become violent in their protests, nor abusive in their speech. Always polite, always friendly - aspects that in some measures deeply disturbed more than one of the arresting officers. This, after all, was not the Dominion way. Then again, it would seem, Dominion ways were changing.

Knowing full well some of the most effective ways of handling further protests were to find the ringleaders and organizers and neutralize them (in a strictly figurative sense of course), efforts were made to infiltrate the student groups, and identify the 'troublemakers'. Once discovered, they were quickly and quietly removed, and shipped back to their nation, Dominion visas temporarily revoked. It was certain there would be backlash for such actions, but in the Dominion the methodology had long been one of the ends justifying the means.

In this case, the end was hoping to head off more problems as politely and pleasantly as possible while they tried to buy time.

And time is exactly what I'm running out of.

Nathicana reached for her ever present glass of ice water, sipping slowly as she thought out her next move. She doubted very much Devon would appreciate it. It wasn't something she had planned on discussing with him, after all. Nor had she discussed the funding she had quietly been providing for the Knights Errant. It had to be done.

Either he would support her, or he would not. What happened next could very well decide more than just the fate of Iraqstan in regards to the alliance, but the future of the alliance itself. Letting her breath out slowly, she set her drink aside, and began typing in earnest.

To our honorable allies in the Non-Democratic Alliance ...

The small number of Scolopendran exporters affected shrug, take it in stride, and reallocate their exports to other markets wholly uninvolved with either Iraqstan or the NDA such as Sunset, perhaps a bit more to Largent to add insult to injury. They justify themselves as helping in the quiet protest, and simply fulfilling the wills of the reactionary importers. It quickly moves slightly further than that, though; after one major importer is forced to shift away from Dominion markets, a few others follow suit. Some importers, finding that the market for Dominion goods has dried up in their locales, politely request a hold on their shipping contracts, claiming that continuing to ship will simply create a stockpile that would bottom out prices when the market returns.

This isn't limited to the Dominion; Treznorian products are also affected similarly. As time goes on and bootleg footage of the protests being broken up, taken by the organized Scolopendran student protesters operating on historical precedent, filters out of the Dominion, relations continue to cool. The worst backlash is in academia, where the students 'rounded up' and 'shipped back' tell everyone of their plight; the immediate result is an exponential increase in requests for student visas. Given that the average Scolopendran student is both idealistic and innately interested in foreign cultures, whether any individual is inspired by the news to learn or to protest is almost impossible to determine. The most idealistic, limited by the white-tower sensibilities of academia, shout out over Scolopendran networks and message boards about the censorship in the Dominon; meanwhile, cooler heads prevail across the country, quietly accepting that it could be much, much worse.

On the other hand the nation is united in two things--a feeling of national pride in seeing their students resist The Man, and a distaste for authoritarianism and its incarnations in general. TYCS recruitment dips, as joining the Combined Services would mean defending the autocrats as well; conversely, recruitment in the Scolopendran Military Services, Civil Service, and Diplomatic Corps spikes for a different reason: the country is perhaps too close to autocrats; by joining the system and becoming insiders, reformists have the most opportunity for inducing change.

Another side effect is an increase in "disappointment mail" (most 'Pendrans are not emphatic enough to waste their time on true "hate mail," which is usually ignored anyway) to people who either openly or tacitly support the current regime's actions in the Dominion. These include various Legislative Unit representatives and Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit. Some people reach back into history and remember that one enterprising cadet managed to actually save the Dread Lady, which is about as certain as support gets to some. Therefore, Second Lieutenant Timofeyev Bondayehr gets a surprising amount of mail when he returns from his latest five-month SMISO patrol.

Needless to say, he ends up somewhat disappointed.

With ordered restored to Sirithilia Carlos once more turns his attentions to the failing movement of war in Um Lizaa and turns to his generals. "My friends, we have reached a crucial point in this campaign. Our allies or what we assumed allies in the NDA have written a letter calling for an investigation should there be enough public opinion within the NDA. Nathicana has shown a depth of colour we've not yet seen.

The image of an alliance it seems weighs more to her than national security or racial dominance. So for now we are ignoring all mandates handed down by the NDA. Yes we run the risk of being expelled from the alliance but when has standing alone bothered us? We've been doing it for months now against these rebels and nobody has stepped in except when a war was close to breaking out with a foreign nation.

I have recieved demands from the Liberated Republic of Um Lizaa which is what the filthy hounds are calling themselves, asking for a cease fire and recognition as a sovreign nation. They've offered to cease all terrorist acts in southern um lizaa and remain behind the wall in the north if we pull our troops back." He says watching the faces of his four Reich Generals closely.

"Mein fuhrer permit me to speak." One of them whispers as he stands. "But perhaps we should draw them into a false sense of victory. Pull the troops back to the wall, when the enemy relax we push forward once more, we have comitted only six thousand of the extra one million troops to this campaign, let us triple that number and push for the heart of the enemy once they reveal it." Pausing he looks down at his lists of weapons "We have the cannons of justice on our shores ready to fire into rebel held parts of northern um lizaa, they can be fitted with either nuclear or conventional shells but I'd suggest a quick decisive nuclear strike on strong rebel points to eliminate resistance." Nodding the three other generals mutter their agreement and Carlos smiles.

"An excellent idea reich general. How many soldiers in Sirithilia do we have ready to be shipped out?" HE asks and recieves the response, "Only ten thousand? Well organise them. Have elements of the fifth air division mobalise, they've had time to regroup and retrain. Send half of their strenght." Nodding the General jots down the orders and with the rest salute as Carlos dismisses them. Turning to his computer Carlos sighs and sends a copy of the letter along to his son and other household members in governing positions and attaches a note Your opinion on how we deal with this treachery is greatly appreciated.

Turning back to the window he looks outside to a clear area and the silent movement of civilians peacefully accepting their lives once more. Sighing he returns to his computer and begins typing a letter.



Nathicana,

My honourable ally.......

The desktop had long since lost any sense of order or function which might have foolishly been placed upon it with the vain hope that a system of analysis and completion might lessen the growing mountains of paper. That which threatened at any time with little warning beyond rustling to fall without grace and impact harmlessly, if frustratingly upon the carpeted floor. Attempts had been made to at least stack such demanding attention seekers in order of importance yet no sorting had survived beyond the chaotic medium of the desk owner. Such was the way of the unique individual so responsible.

Ayala reclined slightly, allowing her eyes to roll slightly upwards so they might regard the tasteful ceiling decoration so rarely appreciated despite prohibitive cost and design difficulty. A flowing maze of brown lines intersecting with quadrants of raised, bevelled marble as though chunks of ice cast upon a sea of sludge to drift ever onwards. Far more pleasing to her eye than this bothersome and never-ending drain of official paperwork and bureaucratic excess.

With such subtle vibration as to force the young women to ensure she had not been mistaken, a rapping emanated from the oversized oak frame doors granting entrance ahead to her inner sanctum and office. She as was customary paused so that those waiting would hesitate between making their presence further evident and risk wrath, or remain silent and consequently risk being ignored utterly.

”Enter.” She commanded simply.

The familiar form of Trent Windigger, director of offensive weapon development and deployment sauntered into view. As a person Ayala had little time and considerably less patience for the irritating man- His snivelling, nodding repetitive appreciation was neither appropriate nor conductive despite it being blatantly warranted

However, Windigger did not grace her presence as a man, but as an executive board member of The Shin-Ra Corporation and thus worthy of attention, though no promise of acknowledgement would be forthcoming.

”Lady, a development I think you’ll find most interesting…” He began, only to find interruption from the sweet tone of his superior.

”Presume not to understand the nuances of my interest, Trent. Best you instead concentrate on being clear and concise, and allow someone of my position and obvious ability to decide whether there is acceptability to your statement. “

”Of course, President Ayala.” He corrected almost without pause, further incurring the silent dislike from the women opposite. He had failed even to ponder her words, and she could not guarantee he would forever remain in favour with blatant denial evident.

”I bring before you a proposition, of foreign stature and importance indeed.”

Gesturing to a seat and at least sated by his common manners, she made evident he should sit, and continue further.

”I have been monitoring the Iraqstani situation with some interest. As it has no doubt escaped your attentions, they move against their northern neighbours, of Um Lizaar. This simple action in itself is no more remarkable than actions perpetrated across a dozen nations and worlds, however it is the level of atrocity being levelled upon these northerners that has for better or worse seized the attention and transfixed the grim interest of all others.”

”The offensive however does not bode well for the Iraqstan armed forces, who despite enjoying superior numerical and technological advantage are being held back by the sheer ferocity of the defenders and the expertise of obvious foreign agents, rogue or otherwise, operating within their theatre. Consequently I bring a proposal for your deliberation and possible validation.”

”I would suggest this a perfect opportunity to engage in relations of a similar ideology to our own. Though not as extreme in actual reality the central governmental structure is similar enough that a powerful ally would be made this day should we offer our appropriate expertise. By this I would of course suggest the ’Sister Ray’ cannon programme, and smaller Mako weaponry supply.”

The silence was audible, yet not one of insufferable doom or imminent revulsion. Ayala pondered thoughtfully, her shining silver pen still held between nimble fingertips and rolled between as her eyes gazed once more upon the beautifully sculpted scene above their heads.

”Your statement is bold, to so suddenly offer technology as unique as our own may elicit little more than mistrust and serious doubt. It would do us little good to attempt a diplomatic overture yet at the same time see our efforts rebuffed because of recklessness.”

”Yet this train of thought is promising, and I believe true to our aims. Leave me now; I shall ponder suitably an appropriate opening communiqué.”

Windigger rose, nodding. ”At once President Ayala.”


Free from further irritation and disturbance, Ayala now focused on the task at hand. A definite and visible extension of friendship not with democracy or peace, but dictatorship and war. She would assist in the extermination of the Um Lizaans if only to further her own coffers for penny or friendly smile.




To his Excellency, Fuhrer of Iraqstan Carlos Quil'raya

I take this opportunity to make first contact not only with your respected self Fuhrer, but the first contact between the Shin-Ra Territories and the much-respected nation of Iraqstan. We observe as all others do your valiant and glorious struggle against those that would undermine your regime and snatch all that is held precious to you. The Um Lizaans seem little more than plague upon livestock, to be dispatched and eliminated. We condone such preventative measures where all others would frown and decry your sovereign right.

Indeed, as President of the Shin-Ra Corporation I stand in a position to aid such glorious purification, to form and enhance a relationship between our two territories. Our offensive technologies though closely guarded and never over-stated are considerable and varied. In the interests of such friendship and fostering we are more than willing to partake in an exchange that would see some of our weapon technology gifted to the people of Iraqstan, so that we might aid you in your divine mission.

We would ask only in return that your fair and just government ensure communication and possible economic ventures are allowed to develop for the benefit of both our Territories and your own.

I leave such decisions in your hands, with regards.

Ayala Isabelle Shin-Ra

Executive President, General Secretary of the Shin-Ra Territories.

.


Looking up from a large pile of reports Carlos calls for the person outside his office to enter. Walking in quickly a single soldier salutes the proper way, arm outstretched before him. Placing a letter before Carlos the man turns quickly on his heel and marchs out shutting the door behind him.

Opening the letter Carlos reads and smiles softly. "Finnaly, some real support." He whispers and begins to write is own reply.



To Executive President Ayala Isabelle Shin-Ra

First let me take the time to thank you for your supportive letter and know that honour has met both our nations in this historical moment of communication. You're outlook on the infidels to the north of my forces is refreshing and met well with a smiling hand.

The offer you extend to me is both honourable and encouraging and I am eager to meet with you or one of your delegates for a demonstration or further discussions into furthering our path towards mutual friendship and stability.

Iraqstan would be honoured to tender economic and other forms of contact between herself and your own enlightened realm. I eagerly await the moment we can discuss such things together, for Iraqstan has many avenues of economic growth that many nations do not know of.

It is with honour that I extend an invitation to visit Iraqstan to discuss and approve any and all offers made by both parties in this glorious moment. For now though I mearly await your return, accepting my approval and offer for further discussion into mutual economic agreements that both nations can walk away smiling from.

Carlos Quil'Raya
Fuhrer of the National Socialist Union of Iraqstan.

Walking a shadowed trail through the forest a group of soldiers talk quietly amongst themselves, joking and shoving each other with their rifles. Their attitude one of calm playfulness having gone a full week without being ambushed. "Damnit troopers, you're soldiers not clowns! Buck up and scan that forest the enemy is out there somewhere!" A sergeant mutters darkly to the soldiers who quieten down and once more return to being diligent in their patrols.

"Sarge, scouts have picked up the rememnants of an um lizaan trail about two hundred meters ahead. Looks fairly used and fresh." A Radio man whispers and suddenly the entire group is silent the air suddenly growing colder. "Alright men, we're soldiers, we're airborne troops the first line of defense the state has against the enemy. No bitching out on me now ladies we're here to fight!" The sergeant mutters to the men who go from looking confident to slightly afraid by his words.

Leading the men at a quick quiet pace along the path the sergeant stops at the sign of the scouts two hundred meters away signaling for quiet and cover. "Duck and hide boys movement." The sergent whispers and dives into the forest his eye scanning the road ahead. Rubbing his fingers over the barrel of his rifle his eyes go wide as behind him he hears the distinctive click of a weapon's saftey being taken off. Turning quickly he faces his enemy mouth wide open as the rebel pulls the trigger, sending a burst of assault rifle fire into the face of the surprised Sergeant. All around the squad gun fire erupts as the thirty rebels open fire drenching the path with bullets killing the soldiers quickly.

Three hours later

Standing in the tattered shadow of a command building Colnel Heinrich Von Hemmler reads the final order printed by his now retreating comm officer and sighs. "Well, it was bound to happen." HE mutters as he turns towards a waiting armoured vehicle and climbs into the back, exchanging jokes with the soldiers inside. "Alright boys. Final orders we're to pull back to the wall and abandon any and all camps and fortifications. It's an island wide order, even the Concentration camps are emptying of soldiers." The jokes fall silent as soldiers realise it's now a full retreat order.

"We lost a patrol earlier to a rebel ambush and it was the final straw, we're heading back to what we can defend in preperation for operation enlightenment thats all I can tell you boys for now. We dont expect enemy resistance along the retreat but three camps have been badly hit by mortar rounds and rockets from the surrounding jungle so keep a sharp eye out for anything odd. nodding the soldiers turn to their windows each man pointing his gun through the small hole and eyeing the jungle around them.

The roar of the vehicles engine slowly drones on, the soldiers looking boredly out of the windows when suddenly a sizzling pop is heard and then the rumble and flash of a rocket hiting the truck infront of them. Shouting in surprise the men scramble to take cover each acutely aware that it would do them no good. Shouting over the din Heinrich calls for order as he leans against the wall listenin to a radio. Outside the sizzling pop of anothe rocket is heard this time a truck at the head of the column explodes, the screams of the soldier inside echoing dwn to the last truck. Outside the chattering of automatic weapons isheard as gun mounts on vehicles open fire into the jungle aiming at unseen enemies. "Get out there boys!" Heireich shouts as theback door swings open and the soldiers pour out, some falling to sniper fire from the trees around them.

Crawling out after the last soldier Heinrich uses what cover he can to rush towards his XOs truck, stopping short in surprise ashe finds it a burning wreck the charred remains of soldiers laying all over the ground. Shuddering he hears the thud of footfalls behind himand turns his mouth twisted in disgust as a rebel points a pistol at his head and pulls the trigger sending a single bullet into the colenels forehead before turning and shouting to his comrades as they open fire on the remaining soldiers.

Listening to the radio chatter Carlos frowns in anger and turns to the reich general seated behind him. "That's four in the last two hours hit by major rebel forces as they pull back. I want operation enlightenment moved forward, as soonas our forces reach the wall and regroup I want them distributed along the northern side of the wall, send them into villiages and cities take control, slaughter those that resist and get the guns of purity online, we're going to hit those strongholds tonight rather than in the morning." He snarls to the General who salutes and hurries off to issue the orders.

Turnin back to the window Carlos looks out on the bustling streets of his Capital city and sighs "We're losing even when we fall back. Sirithil grant us the power to defeat these infidels and restore some form of state to Um Lizaa." He mutters in prayer as sattelite images show a massing of Iraqstani soldiers slowly appearing along the wall of purity in Um Lizaa...

On The Offensive

Wherever the fighting is thickest is where you find the knights-errant. Sniping at armored columns, setting up the largest ambushes of insurgents, providing heavy fire support for the advance... they stay on the front lines, speeding from hot-spot to hot-spot in Correct Action. They always drop the shuttle before making contact, because it won't do for Iraqstan to assert air superiority, but they aid the now coherent Um Lizaan force almost as free agents, supporting wherever they think they're needed.

Still, they keep in mind the Um Lizaans' strategic objectives--ever since they finally got coordinated months ago, plans had been set in motion. The war wouldn't be over until the Iraqstani were driven back into the sea, and the Wall of Purity is only a temporary obstacle in that. Sleeper cells, resistance movements, quiet underground weapons shipments were all established into the southern cities of Um Lizaa, preparing an attack from within to support the push from without. Intelligence said that the Iraqstani suspected nothing... and this true fifth-column strategy should catch them completely unawares.

"Allah willing," Dame Mahmuda says with a quiet, priestly smile as she rests back in her armor aboard Correct Action, "and if all goes well, this offensive could be the last of the war."

Sir Ekianga shakes his head and looks down at his battered TYCS sat-hack display, then blinks. Tapping some controls, he looks at the raw feed, then the automated analysis. "Dame Mahmuda, you've really got a way with words."

"Hmm?" She arches one dusty yet finely-shaped brow.

"There's something big going down in Iraqstan and southern Um Lizaa. Looks like they're assembling things. Getting a definite radiological read from three points in northern Iraqstan... next to superheavy artillery pieces."

Sir Chagatai, sitting next to Mahmuda, groans as he slams one armored fist against the armorplate covering his thigh. "Oh, don't tell us that, Eckie..."

"I'll talk to the Um Lizaan resistance," Ekianga continues, "and see what their human intel has got, but I think we'd better start planning a hit in Iraqstan if these really are what I think we are."

The inside of Correct Action goes silent as the ramifications of that sink in.

Suffering loss after loss the Iraqstani military finnaly retreats back to the wall, taking up positions just infront of the heavily mined area on the northern side of the wall, behind them paning the three hundred meter open area are guard towers and machine gun nests all alon the wall, the men in them hardened Iraqstani Guard, no one else is trusted with the protection of the southern industrial complexes.

Walking a thin line through the forest large amounts of armoured vehicles can be seen emptying themselves of soldiers as new recruits from the motherland replace comrades lost in the taxing war. A new addition to the make up of the military units is a small number of attack helicopters designated to attack and harrass the terrorist cells set up in the ruind capital city of Um Lizaa, their anti-infantry rockets sizzling through the air constantly destroying buildings and ruins of other buildings asthey fire indiscriminately through civilians and militants alike.

Soldiers themselves run the streets of the city, shooting down all they see armed and arrested those that are unarmed, large columns of civilians can be seen marching through the check point out of the north, all heading to labour camps and prison camps litterd through the southern half of the island. As much as the Iraqstani show a number of strength their success in the campaign has ended entirely, suffering now defeat after defeat with minor victories over sporadic gunfights with enemy soldiers. Their momentum replaced with a full scale retreat, soldiers once stopping to pick up wounded comrades now flee from battlefields reports everywhere filter through to military command of heavily armoured terrorists leading the battles, assisting where they can, once more driving the hammer home in Carlos' mind that someone out there truly is wanting his people and their purity dead.

In the military HQ Reich Generals have been replaced by too quickly promoted Executive officers of former Reich Generals the formers now residing in shallow graves in areas yet to be known, their entire families deleted from Iraqstani existance for their 'failures' Carlos bellow angrily for his office to clear after another tactical meeting turns to an argument between too green generals discussing how best to proceed. Fleeing the Generals leave their leader to his thoughts equaly glad to leave the murderous gaze of the one who gave them their new jobs.

Sighing Carlo mutters a quick prayer to Sirithil before calling the last of his Original Reich Generals in. "Lidric we need to discuss our options." he says coldly as the boy enters the room and seats himself, once more showing his youth as he smiles at his father. "We're losing son. I want you to personaly head out to the guns of purity and ensure they are ready for tomorrows offensive. After that... I need you to act as my assistant for the duration of the war. I'm taking charge personaly." Carlos mutters, his son's eyes growing wide. "yes father." He whispers meekly and the fourteen year old boy salutes and leaves his clothes hanging loosely from his boyish frame.

"Too young." Carlos mutters as he considers putting his son in charge of the offensive. It'll have to be me. Those other fools need more practice on targets not willing to shoot back to accurately. He ponders to himself as he signs some documents, issuing a round up of Um Lizaan accross Iraqstan and interring them in death camps recently erected on Iraqstani soil. Looking out the window Carlos watches his son's personal car head off the driver taking extra precautions for the nation's only heir as his father mentaly prepares for the coming battles.


Guns of Purity
Um Lizaan facing side of Iraqstan

A plane flight and six hours later Lidric watches as the last checks on the two super artillery pieces is completed the rail gun type weapons primed, their nuclear payloads ready for the bombardment orderd for tomorrow. Watching as the men place the last of the ammunition in the loading bays Lidric shakes his head and heads into the control room, ensuring the co-ordinates are accurate. Checking them against intel gathered he whistles "So they've picked up some bioweapons from an old stockpile. Well I'll make sure father can submit this to the NDA once this attack happens" He mutters softly, hiding his contempt for his father's actions against his allies. and maybe I'll show them just how fake half his evidence is and see wht they give me. He thinks darkly as he leaves, not wanting to be present for the coming assault.....

The vessels of The Shin-Ra Corporation were as varied as they were unique, and evidently displayed the sheer difference in designs and aesthetic tastes preferred by the dominating force within The Territories itself. The elegant, elongated Highwind drifted forwards- whose silver hued hull reflected the lazily expanding clouds of a bright, brisk morning sky delicately and with serenity matching its lovingly crafted form.

It seemed not a vessel made for war, nor murder or subterfuge. Simply a luxurious and speedy method of travel that best treated those held in such regard and ensured their loyalty through a traditional mix of cruelty and material reward to ensure loyalty. Tremendous rotor blades spun quickly so that their edges blurred and merged their beginning and end totally lost. Yet it was not utterly alone- For two bulbous craft accompanied it so and were a stark, unpleasant contrast.

They were obese vessels with a size twice that of the airship, whose spherical and stretched fuselage was almost utterly invisible from above. The tremendous wingspan of the sole stretching wings was further laden down with the mass of four incredibly sized engines, terminating in squat rotors that churned with obvious mechanical intent.

Where the Highwind airship boasted a hull hue of the purest platinum tone, these Gelnika Cargo Planes as they were rather uninterestingly known were a mottled urban camouflage scheme of dark grey and brown, spaced by the unpainted, bare metal of the actual hull itself. Ugly abominations that seemed to deny and ridicule the laws of aviation simply by means of actually continuing to travel through the air and keep pace with the graceful centre piece.

With a loud screeching that seemed to indicate the distress of the runway, the Gelnikas touched down- Reinforced rubber wheels working furiously to ensure a relatively controlled and efficient stop. They fell into single order, though no craft seemed to bare markings to indicate a superiority or higher-rank. From behind the Highwind simply dropped height until such point as it rested a few short metres from tarmac.

Onboard Trend Windigger, Executive board member and head of The Shin-Ra Corporation’s Offensive Weapons and Deployment Department smoothed the ruffles in his tasteful midnight-black business suit and rose. Ensuring his tie was flawlessly centred with the collar, he ran a hand through short, impeccably preened hair.

”We have landed securely, Mister Windigger.” Announced the aide.

Nodding, he spied an unsightly collection of loose hairs on his sleeve. Shaking them loose and taking care to once more smooth the fabric he moved towards the flight lounge exit. ”Excellent, ensure the Gelnika Captains assess our cargo for post-flight damage- We’ve quite the show for the Iraqstani elite, and we shan’t disappoint.”


From many miles away- Across ocean and considerable distance yet more Gelnika Cargo Planes rose to the air, dispatched from Junon. Their destination as before, the nation of Iraqstani and their cargo that which was laden with malice, hatred and in suffering agony at the abuses wrought in its name. For the Shin-Ra were so sure of their successful negotiations with Fuhrer Carlos not yet even began they ensured the next portion of supplies necessary for their exchange well airborne.

In truth there was little to exchange- The Shin-Ra offered something for nothing, a slick and beneficial aid to open relations with a likeminded nation of which acquaintances were first struck and friends made. If all went well official discussion on the deal would be concluded in little more than an hour, such was the lack of a trifling point or problematic section of the exchange.

For the Um Lizaans unfortunately, there would be none of the ease, and none of the rapport entered into as for Iraqstan.

Watching the aircraft land Carlos looks over to his right hand minister and chuckles "You know one of these days Muhammed I'm going to promote you to Reich Fuhrer, about the same day I retire and Lidric takes command. You are more than just a minister for information, you are myfriend and a trusted advisor. Be the same for my son and guide him until he's ready to take command on his own." He whispers as they walk accross the tarmac and wait at the foot of the passenger craft.

Behind them thirty Iraqstani guard assume an honour guard formation and com to a halt on either side of the steps leading down from the craft, their rifles slung over their backs. Standing at the end of the human tunnel Carlos nd Muhammed wait respectfully for their visitors arrival and salute as the men leave the craft.

Walking forward Carlos offers his hand to his visitors and smiles "Welcome to Iraqstan my friends, I trust your flight was agreeable?"

"Commander my father has been informed of the change in command due to my new mission, he will have one of the Reich Generals tell you when to fire the weapons, be ready and have for the moment conventional shells, we want to test the range o the cannons." Are the orders that ring in Commander Von Lucient's mind as he watches the targetting co-ordinates for the huge cannons appear on his data terminal.

Calling out the co-ordinates to the other four men in the command room they confirm them with their own streaming data and then each man enters a set into his terminal, the three large cannons coming on line. The Cannons of Purity a military program authorised by the Fuhrer to set up a network of heavy cannons accross Iraqstan capable of reaching deep into Northern Um Lizaa is yet finished, only three cannons out of the planned forty are online, the other thirty seven still being built in facilities around the southern part of Iraqstan.

Watching as the men outside near the cannons enter their protective bunkers for the test firing the Commander sounds the firing alarm and nods to the other men in the room, "Firing in five.... Four.... Three... Two.... One. Fire" he says and all five of them twist a key initiating the attack sequence as outside the ground and their bunker rumble with the roaring fury of the three massive cannons each unleashing shells into the air, the slow rate of fire arcing along predefined targetting co-ordinates a pause as the undergound loads begin reloading the weapon, and once more the booming roar commences the targetting data different the shells heading somewhere else into Um Lizaa...

Kassel,
Southern Iraqstan

Pedestrians walking their way to work or social activities in the southern city, chatter loudly the morning smog hanging lazily over the large city, some people wearing masks to prevent inhaling the grime coated air others just walking as if nothing is bothering them. From the tallest buildingin the heart of the city above the smog clouds seven men look out their window and watch as huge bursts of fire erupt from the military base in the distance, then minutes later all of them talking are knocked to the ground as a rumbling roar shatters windows around them and brings pieces of the roof down atop them.

Shrieking in panic on the streets people fall over as the shaking of the earth sends them off their feet, cars swerve and smash into each other causing many accidents an unforseen problem with the huge cannons, in some of the lesser funded areas, the um lizaan held areas closest to the cannons buldins topple burying their tennants inside them, other crumble and send debris sailing to the ground, injuring and killing yet more in the unexpected firing of the huge cannons.

All about them the air roars with the sound of the cannons, the civilians panicking thinking they're under attack flee the streets for larger buildings as Public Security Service and Emergency Medical Services flood the scenes, diverting traffic and tending to wounded and the dead, nobody quite sure of the cause of such a terrifying incident. In the cities local garrison troops begin to muster, arming themselves and mounting armoured vehicles ready to head off any attacko n the city when their commanders call them back in, informing them of a firing of the Cannons of Purity as televisions stop their current shows and being reporting the event an emergency release by the local govenor is relayed over and over informing them of an accidental firing of the mighty Cannons of Purity and informing them to be prepared for in two more days the cannons would fire once more and the city would be prepared...

Al Jadid, Northern Um Lizaa

A man walks down the crater filled road of his small city, an elected govenor for an illegal government chuckling he hopes the conflict south of him ends with his own government winning and insstalling themselves as a sovreign state, stopping outside the remains of a store he sighs as inside the owners busy themselves rebuilding and preparing to open for the cities small population of fifty thousand, other stores doing the same.

Turning the man looks up into the sky wondering what the whistling noise is all about and stars blankly as the first of many shells lands beside him, erupting in a column of fire and death, sending what little is left of him flying through the shattered remains of the building he was just inspecting, the occupants inside reduced to little more than death itself as all around the city buildigs topple nd fires begin to flare up, the population reduced by half in the first barrage.

SCreaming people run about as more shells begin to drop on them, sending peopl flying through the air or simply incinerating them instantly, buildings topple and litter the ground as the jungle around them catches light, sparking an inferno which quickly spreads through the uninhabited areas burning everything in it's path.

Hours pass and the remains of the city turn quiet, smoke drifting lazily through the tortured streets as people mere handfulls here and there pick themselves up and cry in horror at the scenes around them, each person incoherantly screaming the names of loved ones or to Allah to save them from this hell.

The scene is the same in the northen coastal city of Ras Ghari where shells fell, destroying a bold attempt at building a shipyard capable of building and deploying ships to reach the Iraqstani shores. There the damage is worse, having met the most of the Iraqstani attck, the entire city is leveled the population cut down to a mere sixteen thousand of the original forty eight thousand, homeless and injured they flee the ruins of their city, aiming for other parts of their country, hoping to not bleed to death before reaching it.

Office of the Reich General Von Lichtenson,
Sirithilia, Iraqstan

Standing in his office Reich General watches the sattelite feeds ofthe three cannons firing and the impacts in Northern Um Lizaa and smiles, turning to the other Reich Generals he nods and shows his praise to them "The cannons are a success begin diverting more resources to bringing the rest of the network online, and prepare to launch the proper attack in the next three days I will issue the order once the forces along the wall are ready, and the we will end this war once and for all." He says as the Generals bow their thanks and leave having been dismissed.

Seating himself at his desk the General writes up the report and recomends launching the assault in three days with suppot from the landship Destroyers Purity of Fire and Chains of Decedance Sending the report to Carlos von Lichtenson leaves his office, heading home to sleep comfortably for the first time in almost a month knowing soon the failures of his soldiers will be replaced with the success of his warrios.

Imperial Palace, Arpia - Reploid Productions

"Our space assets are reporting massive disturbances in the Iraqstan theatre." Firefury scowls, reading over the report. "Sat feeds show what looks to be some sort of long range bombardment in the northern Um Lizaa region, but could not find where the barrage originated?"

The reploid points to an area on the map of Iraqstan mainland on the table. "And what of the damage visible from orbit here? What's intel got on this?"

"One moment, we're cueing up satellite information on that area now." A technician responds, takking away on a nearby console. "... Oh... OH."

Impatient with the apparent gaping, the orange reploid taps one of her large metal feet on the floor. "Mind sharing with the rest of us?"

A hastily murmured apology and the techie brings the image on screen. "The most logical explanation of the apparent seismic damage and the barrage would be these large cannons."

"Those?" Firefury looks at the satellite image of the battered Iraqstani city and the cannons, monstrosities visible even at a low resolution from space. "Those are already useable? I thought intel said that those wouldn't be ready for at least another year!"

"Intel was only partly right, it seems. Sat data shows several other units like those, but apparently incomplete as of yet. Most likely what we are seeing is a limited use of units from a large system. A partially completed system, with some completed elements."

Firefury's expression quickly darkens. "Nuclear explosions?"

"Doesn't appear to be, ma'am." The techie responds. "Yet."

"More urgently, are those cannons capable of firing at us?"

"Not likely, or at least not with any accuracy whatsoever. We're too far away, and any attempt to fire at us would have to deal with the curvature of the Earth and greater impact from wind currents and atmospheric conditions. An attempt would likely either hit open ocean halfway or hit some other nation."

"In other words, that Quil'Raya bastard will have to be either totally desperate or totally insane to try using those on us." Firefury concludes. "Alright, have IntComm inform our Trium pals on this one. I'm sure Nathicana is going to be positively THRILLED by this latest stuff."

Iraqstani Coast

Correct Action flies just two meters over the top of the water, scudding at two hundred kilometers an hour under any reasonable naval radar coverage. "Okay," Dame Dijana says over her flight radio as she checks the shuttle's systems, Sir Y'vain holding her steady, "we've got an update from Sir Ekianga back at Central--they've already tried a small bombardment, but now we've got the guns fixed. Their positions have been uploaded to your suit maps. Objective Point Able is first up on the list, prepare for dismount in three minutes."

Back in the hold, Dame Mahmuda nods, fixing her helmet tight before helping Dame Constansa with her own. They bow shortly, grimly, to the other knights-errant strapped into the bay before making their way, from handhold to handhold, to the rear doors. Both are in full combat kit, their weapons and Constansa's demolitions kit in watertight bags filled with air; after a moment, their chemical active camouflage sets in, making them the same color as the surrounding red-lit structure, like two humanoid chameleons.

Sir Y'vain slows the battered Sunset-built assault shuttle, grimy with its time and abuse in Um Lizaa, to fourty kilometers an hour. The rear hatch opens and lowers, its bottom edge barely scraping the water, sending up momentary bursts of spray when it does. The two knights-errant step down to the edge of the ramp, one in powered armor and the other in sealed CBR carapace armor; looking at each other, they nod and hop off the ramp, curling up and disappearing into the ocean with a splash before their minimum-technology air-filled plastic bags help them swim to the surface and over towards the beaches of Iraqstan, a hundred meters away. Correct Action bobs back up into the air, door closing before it speeds off to her next insertion point.

In Iraqstan

Three teams slowly make their way deeper into Iraqstan, maintaining a quick jogging pace through myomers and combat stimulants. Breaks are shorts and naps shorter; time is of the essence. They keep to the valleys and away from the roads, because being caught is not an option. The Um Lizaans are depending on them and them alone in their minds, and they cannot fail those they have sworn to protect.

Dame Mahmuda jogs up to the side of a road built up through a swamp, looking both ways with snoopers down, she sees no motion, no heat, nothing out of the ordinary. A flick of her hand, and Dame Constansa immediately runs across the road, planting down at the opposite side and copying the check, returning the signal. Mahmuda springs up, still faster and stronger thanks to combat myomers even if she now weighs almost three quarters of a ton, leaping across the street, rolling back down into the boggy muck, and sloshing through the tall grass.

Um Lizaan Resistance Central

Sir Ekianga leans back into a decaying lawn chair, half of the woven plastic straps frayed and broken away, aluminum frame corroding and rotting away, the entire contrivance hardly supporting his meager weight as he checks over his grimy box of electronic components never designed for each other but forced to mate through the dull plastic gleam of black electrical tape. The TYCS Voyeur sat-hack isn't detailed enough to pick up individuals, but he can at least keep the knights appraised of large troop movements through his helmet ansible. "Move a bit more to the south. I don't know what's to the north of you, but it's big and moving towards those guns."

"Hey, you." Ekianga looks up at the person addressing him, one of the higher-up Um Lizaan insurgents. "There's some big gun being built in the south--we have resistance cells near it, but not all are trained enough to take it. Will you and your friend"--the dark Um Lizaan nods to Dame Dijana, just back from helping Sir Y'vain insert her comrades--"help?"

"Of course," Sir Ekianga says without hesitation, the response firmer than the genial words imply.

Windigger headed the compact delegation as they exited the Highwind airship, his grooming ensuring his appearance was as impeccable and professional as any likewise ranked official of the company. Crossing the short distance to where the Iraqstani welcoming party had gathered, Trent increased his pace so that he would intercept the welcome ahead of his own people- Reinforcing his position as their absolute superior and boosting his own sense of self-worth.

Extending his own hand to meet the invitation halfway, Windigger nodded respectfully as he felt a strong grip match his own. It was said much could be told from the handshake of a man- If this held true, the Fuhrer was not one to be trifled with lightly or with any hint of jovial mocking.

”A pleasure to at last find myself in your presence, Fuhrer.” He began politely. ”I am honoured to be the first to step upon the glorious soil of Iraqstan not simply as an envoy, but the bearer of mighty gifts indeed!”

Windigger gestured to the idling Gelnika Cargo Planes behind.

”Within these holds your excellency the technological brilliance of The Shin-Ra Corporation awaits to assist you in purification of your lands! Our most brilliant minds and intellects have worked tirelessly upon this project and this indeed shall be the first deployment of its fearsome capabilities.”

Smiling politely Carlos releases the man's hand and bows his head. "Please the honour is all mine, it is quite the blessing to receive such a wonderful gift from people are righteous and dedicated as you. Iraqstan will forever remember the honour extended to us by our brothers of The Shin-Ra Corporation."

Looking over at the Cargo Planes Carlos smiles brightly "Tell my friend, what exactly is this mighty gift capable of doing in the name of righteousness and glory?"

”The origins of our Corporation Fuhrer are complex indeed- Yet sufficed to say that what began as a dream now arrives here, in cargo plane and container and will continue to arrive piece-by-piece is a testament to the scientific abilities of Mankind. A shining example of his intellect and genius that grants us the ability to construct intricate and blessed weapons that might purge the air itself of deviants and dregs alike.”

"A wonderful answer, I am indeed looking forward to hearing more about it. Shall we go somewhere less oppressive heat wise? I do apologise for Iraqstan's weather, we are well aware that some visitors see us as single season all year round."

Trent turned, nodding to his own small delegation and ensuring they were paying sufficient attention. ”A thoroughly pleasant idea, your Excellency- Though I see little formal discussion to complete, you must have questions upon which I shall endeavour to answer to the up most of my ability.”

Leading them towards a series of parked limousines Carlos chuckles "Yes I have many, questions some of them simply wishing to know more about The Shin-Ra Corporation and what else as business partners we could do for each other."

Windigger nodded, directing his associates as they climbed inside the ornate vehicles. He felt his shoulders slacken as the relaxing and cooling breeze of the internal air conditioning brought his temperature down to a more pleasing medium.

”We bring a weapon of great destructive power Fuhrer- A thing of beauty and crafted deadliness. A cannon whose size is unrivalled in the Human sphere of experience and knowledge. Some three hundred metres from power generation to barrel termination with the sum total skill and engineering ability of the Shin-Ra Corporation in between- We were faced with a dilemma however, in what could be considered worthy to deploy such a fantastical beauty- What was of sufficiently grand purpose to deserve, or appeal to our own close held beliefs?

”Iraqstan is that belief.”

"You do us much honour sir, Iraqstan stands ready to uphold those beliefs in which much has been vested." He says softly, as he offers Trent a bottle of scotch.

Taking the glass offered he lifted it to well-versed lips, taking in the glorious aroma of the potent spirit. Pausing, he tipped a small sample upon his tongue and savoured the slight burning sensation that followed. A delicious warmth spread forth from tongue to gullet to stomach- A drink worthy of such an occasion as this.

”I have a rather irrelevant question for you, Excellency. It is customary for each cannon of this project to be christened with a name- The prototype was Sister Ray and despite our most vehement discussion we cannot seem to decide between The Princess Guard, or Platinum Kisses. Perhaps you would like to cast a the deciding vote?”

Sipping the scotch thoughtfully Carlos covers his surprise by pouring a new glass for himself. "You do me more honour than I am worth my friend, and please call me Carlos someone who brings such a mighty gift to my humble nation has the privilege to speak my name. In the honour of continuing such a tradition I feel strongly for naming this mighty weapon The Princess Guard."

”Very well Carlos.” Mused Windigger, setting the glass down. ”A fine name for such a crafted piece of technology- Perhaps now however we should move to the site of construction, I stand by to transmit this location to the loading crews of our landed and approaching Gelnika planes. I see no sense in delaying our efforts, the Um Lizaans will do us no likewise courtesy in ceasing their terrorist actions.”

”"A very good suggestion, I have the area secured it's also the housing place for some of our recent projects, a system of cannons capable of reaching where our soldier cannot. Once we received word of your offer we scrapped this part of the network in favour of it." He says as the limos pick up speed, leaving the city behind quickly Carlos settles back. "We will be there in a few hours, one of the gain of such a large capital is we can designate where to land planes depending on closeness to desired destination. You landed closest to the south."

Trent Windigger, executive director of The Shin-Ra Corporation’s fearsome palette of weapons allowed a smile to cross his twisted lips as he nodded in understanding. ”I foresee a glorious result for your people Carlos- With our assistance you shall wipe out targets larger than you had ever dreamed reachable in one single stroke. You shall strike at the fragile hearts of the snake-like enemy even as they slither upon their bellies foolish in their self-sure safety.”

Settling back, he took a further sip of the fine beverage- An excellent blend.







As the limos pull to a stop the passengers inside become shadowed by the towering monstrosity that is the War centre, the huge building rises up out of the desert as if alive and breathing.
"welcome to the Iraqstani military brain my comrades. Here The Princess guard shall stand willing to defend her allies in times of need."


Climbing from the luxurious vehicle, Windigger nodded as his delegation emerged from likewise comfort. Nodding to the nearest aide, he ensured that the necessary actions were undertaken to ensure the Gelnika planes made their destination here, and took all possible avenues to shorten their flight time.

He was aware that despite the security of this fortress, time was of the essence. Every moment without the threat of the Princess Guard hanging over the pressurised heads of the Um Lizaans was an opportunity to cull their vermin-like numbers spurned.

”Our Gelnika Transport Planes shall make all haste here Carlos, already a great fleet of these bulbous craft are in operation- Leaving the Shin-Ra Territories, landing here and disgorging construction materials and equipment, and homewards by which they might hasten their return. “

Your efficiency and responsiveness is most impressive my friend, I am curious how long do you project for the project to be finished? I am quit sure both of us are eager to see this work of purity in action."

This caused Windigger to ponder, and several moments of silence passed. ”That is difficult to answer Carlos.” He said finally. ”We have never constructed these cannons under the stresses and difficulties of a conflict, and especially never In a theatre of ongoing war. Yet I am confident of the abilities of our engineers- I believe no longer than four or five weeks.”

”"Impressive. I honestly am quite grateful to you and the Shin-Ra corporation for granting us such an honour." Carlos says as he watches the man beside him closely.

Smiling, Windigger gestures to the spot where the mighty weapon was to take root. ”The reputation of The Shin-Ra Corporation within our Territories is unrivalled and dominant, yet internationally we are but upon the head of a pin used to tack the mighty profit statements of some true globally spanning multi-conglomerate. We seek exposure, and the income that stems from such. Gifting the Princess Guard is a way to achieve this and friendship with Iraqstan a much sought after bonus- Perhaps you shall yet turn to us for more dare I say, mundane equipment needs.”

Nodding Carlos grins slyly "Iraqstan as never been one to shrug off equipment that can better be used to enforce their dominance upon the inferior races. Given the examples I have seen so far of Shin-Ra, Iraqstan will indeed be looking towards you in the future."

The two men turned and gazed upon the currently empty plot. To them dreams were budding forth- Fantastical promises soon to be concrete reality. To others, not so unfortunate the stuff of nightmares brewed with seemingly no sure way to rouse and cancel this suffocating, dark sleep.

The temperature was unbearable- Even those whom simply looked upon the frantic scenes of construction felt their bodies perspire intensely as the savage rays of Sol cast their scalding attentions towards the inhabitants of that third planet. If those that did nothing more than point and make fumbled sketches upon stand-stained notebooks felt weary in the merciless heat, the throng of workers charged with the construction effort were positively reeling at the working conditions.

Many sought relative shade amongst the newly-erected scaffolding spires, stretching up towards the Sun itself as though they might simply take hold of the fierce, turbulent ball and extinguish it so. The attentions of zealous site supervisors soon moved on these temporarily cooled individuals- Forcing them to take welding torch and mallet back in hand and return to task.

Upon the desert floor vast trenches fifteen foot deep were excavated with loud, brutish mechanical digger. Bright yellow-hued metal glinting as rugged pneumatics forced apart lubricated joint and scooping bucket and aided in the piling of sand into miniature mountain chains that blinded those nearby as the occasional stifling breeze carried the summit into dispersion.

Massive wooden frames were secured into position within sunken pits- Vast rotating vats of wet concrete carried upon vibrating truck reversing painstakingly until such time as they were in position to deliver their constantly disturbed load downwards. It would take little time in such baking heat to set and provide a solid foundation for the Princess Guard to rest her titanic weight upon.

Above the din normally expected at a bustling construction site, the roar of powerful thrust was noticeable. Sailing surprisingly low over the frenzied efforts below the bulbous bodies of Gelnika transport aircraft sought to land with haste- So that more sophisticated electronics and raw materials such as steel and altogether rarer metals could be delivered to quench the gargantuan thirst of the construction effort.

Being secured both on the ground and upon the hovering form of a Highwind airship, powerful spotlights waited until the failure of the Sun to hold back the nocturnal cravings of the Moon. For not even the dying of a day would see the Princess Guard halt and hold back her desire for death and destruction- A desire The Shin-Ra Corporation would do nothing to hold back but indeed nurture, and seek to amplify.

Windigger had retreated from the hostile gaze of the day- Instead choosing to fraternise with Carlos and his entourage. His work was essentially complete, relations with Iraqstan having been instigated and built to an acceptably friendly level. Now was no longer the time for persuasive smile or warming handshake, now was the technologically augmented magic of Shin-Ra- The domination of a weapon on a colossal scale, the far reaching caress of agonising death which the lithe fingertips of the Princess Guard longed to reach.

With a loud siren call, work ground to a halt- Attention instantly diverting to a curiously lonesome Gelnika upon the crude landing strip. Immediately, a small group of men converged on it, yet were not dressed as the others. Clad in thick overalls which would seem uncomfortable in the least in such heat, flexible black tubes seemed to supply cool air to reinforced glass faceplates. Black rubber gloves soon emerged from the lowered ramp clamped around a cart-laden crate.

Clearly, its contents were worthy of extreme care- Even as far as to see them wait several seconds having disgorged to ensure the small jolt from metal to sand has not upset anything visibly. Though at such distance to identify it was futile, the markings betrayed its origins.

Materia- The very core of the Princess Guard, and that which gave the cannon such devastating potency then in turn earning the weapon a reputation for unparalleled destruction. The curious quasi-magical crystals raped from the crust of the Earth and refined through procedures so abhorrent against Nature that to describe them fully would be to invite its retribution. Only their almost mystical properties could see the damaging become the obliterating.

For now the conventional weapons of Iraqstan would continue to take the fight to the rebellious Um Lizaans- Bullet, Bayonet and Artillery shell would bring continued death and righteous victory to the forces of purity until such time as the hammer blow could be wielded to follow up upon the surgical strikes. For such was the ability to destroy of the Princess Guard even the Iraqstani Cannons of Purity would seem as assisting fire- Softening up those selected for execution before the killing blow struck from unimaginable and surely unreachable distances.

It would take time to complete the Princess Guard, yet it was that same constant which would not side with the Northerners forever- A constant that treated none as favoured allies and sought only to fulfil its own mysterious agenda.

Eventually, the pendulum would swing towards The Shin-Ra Corporation, and for the desperate resistance, all would be lost.

Cannon of Purity gunsight two

The sounds of continued repairs echoes through the lonely area of Iraqstan the nearest buildings military owned and the nearest civilian housing a good three hundred kilometers away. The weapons being fired the day before almost destroyed the mighty guns, hairline cracks along the barrels, the cannons mounting almost collapsed under the pressure of the gun firing, the news was the same at the other two gun sites, designs were being rechecked and the weapons repaired and redesigned adding better materials, stronger mountings and a cleaner firing method.

The heat was burning down oppressively on the workers, all of them scurrying like ants the deadline two days away. They have the barrels taken off, the cracks being filled, the gun reinforced the barrel mount was all but destroyed after the last shot, it too was being replaced in record time, huge cranes stood ready to lift the barrel back onto the rest of the weapon once repairs were completed.

Walking through the ammunition areas a technician tests the containment barrels of all the weapons, noticing afaint spike in radiation levels but nothing in the danger zones, checking the seals of some containers he satisfies himself and heads down into the bunker to check the automated loading systems, findind some stress fractures he calls for some repairmen who begin immediately fixing the problem, reinforcing and repairing the fractures.

Kassel,
Iraqstan

Round the clock work on the damaged city has put an end to business inthat city, workers are awarded holidays with pay due to the unforseen problems occuring when the cannons fire, roadworkers block off streets and repair those heavily damaged, bridges, onramps and other supported structures are repaired or knocked down to be replaced, buildings have windows replacd walls reinforced others are knocked down entirely to be rebuilt for the people, in the Um Lizaan Protection Zones buildings are knocked down and makeshift tents given to the residents the workers telling them to rebuild in their own time.

All over the city, thousandsof Um Lizaan workers strive to bring the city back online, their managers yelling at them to hurry each day more money is lost and the city becomes further in debt to the rest of the country, the tallest buildings are gradualy reinforced, windows replaced and building structure repaired in the hospitals the injured are treated too, hundreds lay in beds all over the city as others are rushed to other cities for medical treatment the injured rising above the death toll of three hundred to the heights of one thousand five hundred, the state hadnt predicted such carnage would occur as the death toll slowly increases passing the six hundred mark on the first day after the devestation.

All over the country people add aid to the city and workers are flown in to continue rebuilding thecity as the cannons of purity are repaired and an alarm to warn the residents of imminent firings is installed, the state found a problem and corrected it as efficiently as possible...

Her form was more recognisable now- Just as a sculptor might chip, scrape and tirelessly mould marble from rough, geometric shape to beautiful flowing figure. In the same way the potential of each chunk of material was unlocked by the skilled hands did the structure of the Princess Guard advance to the stage where her colossal size became no longer a fantastical number upon worksheet but a physically emerging reality.

Previously shallow trenches running a mile from embryonic reactor to bustling construction site were now filled- Thick cables being speedily laid but with due care paid to avoid costly errors that would slow the project down at a later date with considerably more time than supposedly saved. These conduits were tightly wound bundles of semi-opaque material, bound by thick steel collars every few metres that acted to keep the internal elements arranged and in place- As though the vast arteries of some limbering beast not of warm flesh and crimson but riveted steel and heavy concrete joint.

Where before towers of scaffolding had remained alone in their quest to pierce the heavens, now they were forced to carry the burdensome weight of load upon their structures. Immense cylindrical sections bolted directly on of varying sizes and thickness and linked to its predecessor by hastily penetrated rows of rivets that created one of the few examples of symmetry visible within the entire area.

Surrounding these cylinders intricate trusses of steel stood- As though giant horse shoes upturned and driven into the thick, choking dust of the desert floor before the ever-present weight of baked-dry concrete ensured it could move not an inch in protest. Chaos still reigned through tight organisation- Masses of materials awaiting either classification or use were grouped in areas first thought to be far enough out with the centre of activity only for the work of the site to divert where it would cause most bother.

From below, insignificant next to the towering yet still sleeping giant Project Supervisor Verrnan Van Der Verkhausen wiped his brow, feeling the sticky caress of the whipped desert sand cling to his forehead and pores without concern to his discomfort- He had travelled abroad and was certainly no stranger to foreign project management but could scarcely tolerate the heat of Iraqstan. He found a certain measure of alarm at longing for the cool, rainy streets of Midgar.

He flapped his limbs, cringing as he felt his sweat-soaked armpits press the curiously warm and abhorrently moist liquid upon areas of his shirt not yet polluted so. Replacing the hardhat upon his head he turned attentions to an approaching intern- Fresh from theory training and though eager for experience, hardly versed in the sheer demanding scale of labour required.

”Logistics report sir…” She croaked, her early-job enthusiasm waning in the intense heat. She sluggishly relinquished the clipboard, her own sweat-stained fingertips leaving a rather tasteless graffiti upon the document.

He scribbled an almost illegible acknowledgement, thrusting it back into her unsteady hands. The sun had risen to that point in which it bathed all else most dangerously- agonising rays of searing heat that forced the air itself to bend and fluctuate so that the horizon rippled and distorted. It mattered little, those that worked through such hardship would be well compensated- Those that did not would most likely be so desperate to depart that the loss of income would be a secondary concern.

”We are on schedule, but yet more can be done! Encourage the teams to up their work rate. They’re being paid by set fee- It doesn’t matter if they finish early, and it might even incur a bonus.”

This seemed to rouse the weary women, her eyes glimmering as she imagined further riches. Van Der Verkhausen sighed- He had expected such a selfish and greedy response. Nevertheless it would encourage those tasked with such difficulties to allow their lust for material possession to drive them through the pain barrier or discomfort threshold and seize the opportunity.

For Van Der Verkhausen, the firing of this work of art would be all the compensation required.

Windigger laid his hands upon the cold iron of the banister, feeling the rust brush against his immaculately catered flesh. Patches of orange stretched lazily in tendrils- Bubbling and pushing through the black paint applied once and forgotten, hardly a priority where few would be in a position to see it.

From this lofty perch the capital city of Iraqstan, Sirithilia grew outwards as though a blanket of silver and white were stretched out for his delectability alone. He often enjoyed searching such sights for hidden messages and symbols in the field of burning light that was his to observe- Midgar’s rather unique circular shape making such pursuits not nearly as thrilling as the traditional, almost chaotic explosion of city blocks and roadways.

Leaning back from the sheer drop afforded by the distance from street to roof, Trent turned as the service access door opened with a soft thud. The familiar form of his aide appeared, carrying in his hand a silver bucket appropriated from the Hotel staff for the purposes of gratification. Peeking from the rim, the slim neck of a bottle was visible. In the humidity of the night the tears of condensation marking the chilled status ran lazily down the cloudy glass- wetting the appetite of the executive board director.

Setting the bucket down with a clink, the aide pulled two glasses from the ice within. They seemed absurdly warped- Stretched as though to demonstrate that great volumetric capacity could be achieved without bulging circumference, tapering to an impossibly inadequate base. Handing one to his superior, he duly began the struggle to free the cork from the constricting termination of the bottleneck.

”Has the paperwork been submitted?” Windigger asked idly, turning back to admire the incredible view.
”This very hour sir!” The aide responded with gusto, though he now held the bottle between his thighs and pulled at the stubborn cork with a motion not entirely suitable for public viewing.

”This marks an important development, Samuels.” Mused Trent as he toyed with the still-empty glass. ”How long do we expect they’ll take to approve the application?”

The aide paused now, clearly out of breath through exertions unfortunately still unsuccessful. Shaking his head as if to clear the fog of weariness, he resumed his strained tugging. ”The Iraqstani zoning department is efficient- Considering our timely assistance in other related matters I’d expect we’ll be ushered along fairly quickly.”

Windigger was pleased, and the grin upon his devious features merely displayed it publicly. The paperwork in question was not simple logistics nor repatriations for services rendered- It was the application for the first stage of branching out in almost ten years of existence for the Corporation. The close relationship fostered between had now inspired a new approach from Midgar, in the form of corporate subsidiaries to spread the work of his employers to as far a field as the nation they stood within now.

Shin-Ra {Iraqstan} Inc. Would be the first of such subsidiaries- The populace of this nation had great use for the glorious gift of Mako power, indeed it was the furious promise of this technology that enabled the Princess Guard to exist and subsequently soon deliver the doom of the Um Lizaan rebellion to them. The government of Iraqstan too showed a wisdom in embracing the developments of technology- They would be the first to demonstrate.

”It shall be quite a sight.” Trent uttered aloud.

With a loud pop, the aide announced success without words. A stream of frothy alcohol erupted forth and soaked the bare concrete until kinetic energy subsided it to a slow trickle. Turning to offer the tantalising beverage, he carefully filled the offered glass, before seeing to the demands of his own.

”It’ll certainly dominate the skyline of Sirithilia, sir.” he replied, struggling to prevent the bubbling foam from overrunning the glass. ”Around eight hundred metres high, probably a good hundred more than their tallest building- Though I don’t know if it’s such a great use of money.”

Sipping the costly drink, and admiring the quality, he turned to address his protégé.

”Do you enjoy this champagne?” He asked evenly.

The Aide nodded, taking another sip greedily.

”This was an expensive year, the most costly in fact the hotel had in stock- Indeed this is the only bottle they could lay their hands upon at such short notice. Suitably rare for our celebration but nonetheless totally unnecessary.”

Puzzled, his counterpart frowned.

”It is relatively simple in theory.” Replied Windigger, gesturing first to the glass then to the bottle and finally the city below. ”There were other brands of champagne, dozens of vintage selections at our fingertips, all of which were less costly than the one we drink now.”

He took a step forward, continuing what seemed audible monologue.

”We could have saved a considerable sum of money, yet still enjoyed and savoured a beverage. We could have toasted our success and heralded the beginning of others with alcohol cheaper and still of good quality.”

The aide nodded, as Trent continued. ”It is exactly the same principle as our application for building permission, and the grandeur of the scheme. We could construct a headquarters that was of rival size to the tallest buildings of Sirithilia- Indeed we would attract considerable attention simply by sharing the skyline with these giants. Yet by pushing further than simple logic allows, by constructing a tower of some eight hundred metres we take sole domination of those that view upwards and from distance. We become the sole topic of conversations for those who will never have need to otherwise discuss The Shin-Ra Corporation. We will ingrain our name into the subconscious of the populace.”

”An advertising opportunity unrivalled.” He said finally.

”My apologies sir!” He replied almost too quickly, not fully understanding.

Windigger sighed. ”Don’t apologise boy- Understand.”

He nodded, and Trent felt the point utterly lost.




The night had settled comfortably over the rapidly growing skeleton of the Princess Guard- Now not simply a framework but with vast and complex sections of machinery and wiring completed and shining resplendent in the pale moonlight supplied in the absence of the burning sun. Trenches originally empty, laden with conduit were now securely filled with concrete until such height that only the barest hint of their path and existence was visible.

The vast barrel of the cannon was now visible, a multiple piece hollow cylinder that had taken the entirety of the daylight hours to not only bolt upon the supporting struts and scaffolding tresses but the primary body of the weapon itself. Now snaking from the main assembly lengths of steel pipe sprouted and wound around their neighbour, forming a complex interlinking mass of tubing that travelled along the body and abruptly dipped into the desert earth. There large pits dug earlier now housed machinery in itself twenty foot tall but insignificant next to the mammoth proportions of the cannon.

A scarce half-mile from the rapidly climbing creation, a community of sorts stood in much deserved rest and blessed silence. Portable homes lined neatly row upon row, without name or address save a hastily painted and already tarnished number on their thin, corrugated sides. Within untold numbers of bone-weary workers slept- For the scant hours between the blackest night and harshest daybreak. Yet one individual could not simply lose this work to unconsciousness, and subsequently stood as the only stirring creature within many miles of the construction site.

Van Der Verkhausen felt the breeze ruffle his collar against the cool flesh of his taut neck, as he stared upon the magnificence of the Princess Guard. He leaned against a supporting strut that itself towered above his mere five feet height but was inherently useless and subsequently relegated to such mundane-ness now that the majority of the superstructure was free-standing.

He had enjoyed the company of at least a dozen Iraqstani military officials over the now elapsed day- A delightful chain of intriguing men variously awed and fascinated by the complexity and sheer scale of the project before them- Van Der Verkhausen took immense pride in compliments towards his work.

He had long since ceased to quibble over the use of the Princess Guard- His calling, his focus of living was the pursuit of science, and the betterment of Mankind. His research had made it possible for the groundbreaking advancements in Mako technology that handed The Shin-Ra Corporation domestic supremacy, and he was well compensated by the grateful company.

He did not deny his desire for money- Though not for anything so selfish as personal wealth. Money was the only language he shared with the common man, and it was he who would so often hold the materials and equipment desired by his intellect to facilitate his genius and work. He felt no guilt in appropriating the money he needed for more personal areas of advancement from the distribution of some of his more generic achievements.

Checking his wristwatch, Van Der Verkhausen sighed- Still three hours stood, waiting to pass before construction could once more resume upon his pride. He smiled, thinking of the generous sums of financial compensation awaiting his coffers when work here was completed. A speedy return to Midgar would follow, and his laboratory ached for personal attention.

For once the final bolt had been hammered, the last sheet of steel welded and the remaining cable connected he would take leave- His task was merely to ensure the Princess Guard found existence in a form suitably in tune with his vision, he took no part in the purpose of the weapon or its utilisation.

It was a necessary evil, to achieve a greater good.

The Sun had risen to once more reclaim the darkened skies from oft-shunned sister. The Moon, without recourse or ability to withstand the scalding glare of Sol had retreated grudgingly- Yet promised to return before the day had ended, stubbornly refusing to surrender the heavens and its wonders for any appreciable length of time.

With daybreak once more, the previously silent rows of understandably modest living units bustled into life. Doors were thrown open as squinting figures cut an almost invisible shadow against the warming desert sands. Dragging heavy boots through the soft ground in their hundreds as one wave of Human effort to continue their task at hand.

Ven Der Verkhausen did not yawn, though only scant hours had provided his considerable mind with respite between anxious, twisting sheets and rarely utilised night. He emerged from the sparse housing closest the Princess Guard, clutching an unremarkable parcel of documents and sporting an unsurprisingly determined look that would quickly signal the back-breaking labour to be carried out in his name.

From above, stretching cranes swivelled dutifully- Powerful hydraulics acted as the only true system that could elicit a response from the stretched steel arms, as they carried the great burden of weight towards the summit of the cannon. Casting a temporary blackness as it blotted out the immediate sunlight overhead the central section and lowered into place.

The load was a dark brown, setting it aside in colour from the majority of silver. A long cylinder sporting ventilation grilles that erupted from the surface at every thirty degrees of rotation around the circumference. From one termination a thick pipe curled towards the sky, ending in a squat smokestack that seemed inept for the task of ventilation. Scurrying as ants might upon the external mud of the hive, workers sprinted alongside the top of the Princess Guard. So wide was the weapon that the men could comfortable afford to pass five abreast and still require no safety line. They diligently secured the engine on to the primary frame, the loud hiss of powered bolts driving into the steel echoing above the noisy din of welding torches and other machinery.

Though not to compare to the height of the primary cannon, the reactor assembly that would ultimately provide the quasi-mystical Materia that enabled the Princess Guard to deliver devastation climbed upwards. An elongated cylinder whose bottom was far larger than the tapering top that gave birth to a clutch of rising antennae and communication facilities. From this reactor and already cemented into trenches leading directly into the hart of the project, transfer conduits crept. The power generation facilities were all but complete and work continued now only on the main body of the cannon and the most vital systems of firing- Shock absorption.

The tremendous recoil generated by the Princess Guard would cause damage- This was unavoidable despite the best efforts of Van Der Verkhausen and The Shin-Ra Corporation. However the damage had to be limited-, it would be of little use if the Mako cannon shook itself to pieces after only one firing or worse overloaded. Better that significant attention be handed over to this facet to minimise problems.

Underneath the barrel itself, approximately two thirds of its length forward the last of the incredibly sized shock absorber coils was fitted into place. Coupled with the reinforcing tresses of steel and concrete and given the ability to move the superstructure backwards the coil, and the system as a whole would work to minimise the damage to the entire site after primary firing was complete. Tugged dutifully by powerful forklifts blocks of pre-dried concrete was forcibly meshed with the sandy desert floor and provided yet further counterweight to prevent undue stress.

At almost three hundred metres in length, the Princess Guard was a simple logistical phenomenon. The sheer scale of even simply the barrel itself filled the mind with nightmarish assumptions. Just what was the true power of this weapon when fired? What lay beyond a surely vast reach? What would be the hellish fate of those that stood underneath its terrible glare?

The Um Lizaans were selected as those that would experience such. From their erected siege lines, and fortresses they waited, sallying forth to bring their unique brand of honest terrorism upon the glorious regime of Iraqstan. In their vanity they believed at such great distances safety was assured. But the caress of the Princess Guard was considerable indeed, and she would stroke the alabaster cheek of the rebellion before sinking sharpened nail into quivering flesh, and drawing blood.

She was nearing completion.

She was nearing awakening.

Stading in the highest point of the war center, some four hundred meteres above the ground Carlos watches the construction of The Princess Guard with awe. "How can it be that such an awesome gift be given to us?" He whispers softly before saying thanks to his deity for such a power.

"The infidels of Um Lizaa, will no the burning purity of Iraqstan, they will suffer the wrath of perfection in their very heart. Once this weapon of the righteous is completed, the very heart of the rebellion will lay open to my fury." He whispers, once more going over the locations and gridwork of the Um Lizaan liberation movement's camps focusing on one. A city of almost seven million people, the largest in Um Lizaa.

Smiling Carlos thinks back over all the other cities the island off his coast once boasted, a population of two hundred million, dwindled down to a mere sixty million and soon to nothing. The plans for the glorious purification of the land coming closer to completion, the Cannons of Purity now ready to be fired, their nuclear salvos waiting for the chance to fire.

"Soon, my goddess you will know the glory of righteous revenge and the power of Iraqstan will never be questioned...."

About the Princess Guard, the onus altered slightly. The bustling, if make-shift towns of corrugated steel that granted the hardworking labourers of The Shin-Ra Corporation brief respite were no long supremely necessary- As was evident by their slow and methodical removal. Dismantled into flat packing suitable for the rugged transporters they left the choking desert as abruptly as they had arrived. Construction did not slow at this development however, indeed the pace quickened as the goal of completion loomed upon the horizon.

Relatively little internal space about the cannon remained- Vast swatches of previously empty superstructure now crammed so full of technology and shape that to see the original skeleton was to boast unnatural eyesight or computerised memorisation of the plans. From almost the entire length swirling clusters of pipe ran, curling around the natural shape of the body until such time as they traversed the belly and then sank into the sand below. Not unlike the myriad pipes of a Church organ that rose upwards in different height so did these conduits burrow into the Princess Guard at ground level and every capacity until the very pinnacle command tower was so infused.

Her length was fixed now, and unchangeable. Some three hundred metres from barrel termination to the squat reactors that would contribute their very lifeblood for the activation of the arcane machinery necessary for the weapon to carry out its evil intention. From vantage points some ten metres equal distance powerful and all-flooding spotlights stood ready to cast their illuminating glow upon the divine creation.

Rising upwards from the rear of the Princess Guard, the command tower was dominating in its overwhelming visibility. A dome of reinforced steel and strategically placed concrete it showed only the smallest matching panes of glass that might reveal any possibility of sight traversing inside or outside . It would be from here the most vital members of The Shin-Ra Corporation’s Offensive Weapons Development Department would gather and observe the utilisation of the Iraqstan-gifted tool.. For success brought prestige and lucrative economic opportunities not even the insane or dim could fail to comprehend.

As if to prove such, the length of the barrel suddenly became bathed in erratic light. Spaced at equal distances along the top, beacons began their uninteresting, cyclical flashing. Elsewhere portions of the Princess Guard were lit- Recessed sections of sensitive electronics and brutishly strong support rods seemingly handed random visibility against the setting evening sky.

Cosmetic concerns were not yet wholly solved, and the delicate issue of ammunition preparation still almost totally un-addressed- But what could no longer be denied, what had begun as wild fantasy was now irrepressible reality and scintillating truth. Proof, if proof be needed that the technological abilities of Man knew no boundaries.

Not madness, not rationality and not compassion for his fellows.

For the Um Lizaans, ignorance was a bliss short-lived and all too certain to shatter in the coming time.

Windigger felt the aching heat assault his senses barely a moment from shunning the air-conditioned interior of the limousine. His tie ruffled violently and it took effort to restrain it beneath the buttoned suite jacket that enhanced his corporate appearance so, but provided little practical assistance in desert conditions. Ahead, Van Der Verkhausen stood gripping a clipboard- Clad in suitably forgettable work fatigues and hard hat.

”Good morning doctor.” Trent sounded cheerfully.

Verkhausen did not return the greeting immediately, clearly buried within a complex solution not apparent to the Shin-Ra executive. After several moments, he scribbled a retort upon the clipboard and lowered it to his side, raising his head.

”A fine sunrise in this fair city indeed.” He replied.

Walking in tandem, the pair had only a few short metres to negotiate what remained of the scattered construction supplies. Discarded transport containers and crates long since emptied of relevance lay stacked in monuments to the sheer logistical effort of the construction project. The occasional spillage of hardened concrete few and far between marking the sites of mishaps and accidents.

”You’ve outdone yourself on this occasion, Verkhausen.” Windigger complimented as he gestured to the gargantuan cannon overhead.

”I have seen my dream given reality my friend, I cannot ask for much more.”

Pausing, he handed the clipboard to his counterpart- Gesturing to various sections. ”What little more I ask is compensation- I assume there is no problem?”

Windigger smiled slyly, taking silver pen in hand from internal pocket. ”No problem at all my dear doctor. You have done well this day and The Shin-Ra Corporation are indebted as always to your genius.”

Almost snatching the signed document back into his possession, Verkhausen shrugged. ”It is a gift I fully deserve.”

Trent simply nodded, having learned long ago the difficulty in dealing with the intelligent and eccentric. Instead he regarded the magnificence before him, and the true testament to the ingenuity of The Shin-Ra Corporation. Standing almost a hundred and fifty metres from ground level, it took severe craning of the neck to even take the proportions of the Princess Guard into view- Proportions that extended some three hundred metres in length and were truly baffling as well as fascinating.

Small groups of workers continued to climb the structure, laying upon the bare steel simple coloured paints to lend an air of aesthetic ethos to the overall display. Snaking from approximately two thirds of the barrel length thick conduits travelled downwards, supported externally by circular tresses of flexible steel that solidified their path to the choking sand. They seemed vastly different to their likewise power conduits buried beneath the desert floor, in that they carried a purple hue without any stimulation- Their true purpose a mystery.

Having been erected in a matter of days, the titanic construction cranes carrying the uppermost sections of the weapon to their destination were removed in mere hours. Such ease of assemblage speeding the dismantling of the construction site into an area befitting a cannon of such proportions. From the very rear and pinnacle, the control tower’s internal lighting flickered to life through tiny, reinforced windows. Along the entire structure beacons steadied in their attention-seeking glow- Triads of blue, red and green.

Deep within the catacombs of service corridors that crossed the Princess Guard final preparations were made regarding the quasi-magical ammunition of this super-weapon. Contained within shells as large as a military tank final adjustments to the explosive detonator and firing sequencers were made- No error would be responsible for a failed inaugural firing and consequently shame The Shin-Ra Corporation.

Windigger watched as Doctor Van Der Verkhausen stepped into the rather dishevelled all-terrain truck opposite his own sleek vehicle. The eccentric individual did not stop his bizarre behaviour at plaudits for his work but carried them into facets of his entire life. Despite being of sufficient wealth to arrive in personal airship he insisted in ferrying himself about in archaic and utterly stone-age fossil fuel driven truck.

Looking up towards the now completed Princess Guard, he shrugged visibly. Time for the Um Lizaans had finally ran out- It remained only now to determine the length of their death screams, and the nature of the celebrations that would see the Iraqstan regime rejoice, and the rebellious northerners weep.

On the Bounce

The knights-errant keep moving, pausing only for moments of combat drug-enhanced sleep and to fulfill basic needs. The energy in the powersuits' batteries is carefully husbanded, reduced to just enough to keep the suit 'light' on the wearer so as not to drain it so quickly. They carry spares, just in case, but if stretched far enough a suit may be able to pull off the entire mission on one battery.

This deep into Iraqstan, they operate in complete transmission silence, the only messages coming from above in the form of suggestions. Even then, Ekianga's disappeared as of late, and so they move in silence, hand signals and flicks of the eyes their only real form of communication. Making long circles around Iraqstani patrols sighted in the distance, low-crawling through the grass when they have to. Distance yields to perseverance and, after a couple of days, they finally work their way right up to their objectives.

Objective Point Able (Outside Kassul)

Sir Chagatai just barely peeks up over the crest of the hill, snoopers down for their binocular function as he slightly squeezes the grip of the powergun rifle he rests beside him behind the hill. After waiting for the suit's tactical quantum ansible to warm up, he murmurs quietly all the same, not trusting that his transmissionless communication will not be intercepted. "I am at the objective. Area seems civilian-dry, gun sighted, and currently tracking the patrols. Complex consists of gun, loading station, and two bunkers--one is probably fire control and the other is probably ammunition. Will move in to assault power station while Sir Gahiji here provides sniper cover."

He backs up from the hill and lightly slaps the aforementioned knight on his carapace-armored soldier; Sir Gahiji frowns a little bit. "Dammit, Chagatai, I'm an apothecary, not a sniper."

"Which is why you stay here," Chagatai says quietly, patting the ground, "and start shooting people the moment you see my missiles flare up. I'm going to move over to that hill to the southeast so I can get a good shot at that gun's breach-lock. Slag that with an AT round, boom, gun unusable. You cover my exit."

The combat medic sighs and crawls up to the crest of the hill, broadband EM rifle cradled in his arms as he surveys the scene for himself.

"Oh, and Sir Gahiji?"

"What?"

"Be sure to use x-ray mode on that eraser."

Objective Point Baker (Coastal Military Complex)

Enclosed armor is a wonderful thing, Sir Anasabhanu thinks as he low-crawls over the bottom of the river passing by the complex. A few hundred meters over the river, he knows, Sir Huey is lining up with his eraser rifle, probably smoking guard patrols in secluded areas where they won't raise any alarm and helping to clear a path for him as he clutches the watertight heavy canvas duffel of Huey's homemade warheads close to him, the strap wrapped several times around his armored arm. The plan is simple enough--get close, crack the bunker doors with red AT rockets, then sling in some yellow AP rockets to deal with the soft squishy people inside. Relocate, then let loose some more AT rockets at the gun itself until the supply goes dry. Then cheese it.

Hit and run. Yeah, I can do that. His mouth is dry nonetheless.

Objective Point Charlie (War Center)

Dame Mahmuda looks over the objective, frowning slightly at the strange, new gun sitting within visual distance from one of the Cannon of Purity. "Dame Constansa, thoughts?"

Constansa peers from the high treeline as well, down the hill towards the spread out War Center. "I'm thinking we should probably blow that one up too," she says simply.

* - * - *

Chagatai peeks over his new hill, tube of his semiautomatic missile launcher half on his shoulder as he sights the gun and looks over the breach-lock. Fish in an empty barrel. Raising his launcher to his shoulder, he clicks the first trigger so the launcher can let out an IR laser and work with his suit's targeters to help ensure the first shot hits.

* - * - *

Sir Anasabhanu crawls out of the water well behind the gun stations, stepping gingerly past the still-warm bodies of some guards who Huey apparently decided were in the way. Clambering up the tree-enshrouded ladder of a perimeter guard tower (also cleared by the grace of Sir Huey's aim), he peeks over the ledge of its low walls, ignoring the calls for response coming from the tower's radio. Bleah. He'll get annoyed and will send someone to investigate soon. Taking up the half-unfamiliar launcher, he nods slowly to himself and repeats the procedure he learned in Defense Corps classes.

Push and lock--he plants the magazine of red rockets into the receiver of the tube--to the shoulder--brings the weapon to the ready, bracing it in both hands and on the ledge of the tower--first trigger to sight--he pushes the first trigger, right index finger ticking up to tap the contact and let the targeter see what he's aiming at--and...

* - * - *

Dames Mahmuda and Constanza make their way down the hill, jogging through the underbrush.

* - * - *

"Engaging," Sir Chagatai says simply as he pulls the second trigger. The tube recoils just barely with the hissing almost-roar of the rocket motor lunging out of its launcher, followed by the cha-CHAK! of another round ratcheting into place. With two seconds to target, Chagatai can easily get two more shots off before the first hits the breech, and he sends these up the line of the gun, aiming for the supports.

"Two." Cha-CHAK!

"Three." Cha-CHAK!

* - * - *

"...second trigger fires." He blinks as his missile launcher roars softly, rocket streaking over towards the bunker door labeled 'ammunition storage' in Arabic. Shocked for a moment, not realizing he'd actually pulled the trigger, he shakes himself out quickly and sights the door to the other bunker, quickly repeating the process and firing again.

* - * - *

The two women peek up over an embankment towards the last gunsite, Dame Mahmuda frowning slightly. "I cannot get a clean shot from my launcher, Dame Constansa."

Constansa shrugs slightly, her almost aquiline shoulders masked by the heavy minimally-powered carapace armor she wears. "Then we will simply have to move in."

Kassul Military complex.
A crackling boom sends the heads of many technicians and soldiers turning towards the barrel of the Kassul military complex cannon of purity. Looking with shock as the great barrel slowly bends under the pressure of the exploding rounds, men around the stunned technicians begin running back and forth, perimeter machine guns opening up on the areas they think the weapons were fired from.

In the tunnels below the gun the huge ammunition dumps are quickly barricaded the huge nuclear shells sitting gently against walls and in their loading belts. Soldiers run back and forth as scientists run from shell to shell disabling the triggers for the nuclear power held inside the shells, orders in iraqstani bark about as soldiers set up machine guns and other defensive measures as above the continued echo of explosions thunders on.

Running quickly along a narrow bunker tunnel a single lieutenant pauses as above him he hears a grinding crunch followed by a low whistle as the roof of the tunnel erupts down upon him in a burst of concrete, dirt and burning metal as the huge barrel falls heavily from it's mount, snapped clean in half by the volleys and weakened in structural places by the sabotage.


In the secondry ammo bunker the heavy end of the barrel lands with a blinding spark, touching against the opened tip of a shell, igniting the explosive power within.... Outside the sky turns white as the explosion errupts out of th ground, sending pieces of cannon flying high into the air the ground quaking with the force of some two hundred artillery shells exploding in a chain reaction...

In the city the distant explosion is seen as a bright flash of light only from the tallest tower of Kassul the same building only days before rocked by the cannon firing. Staring a single state controler quirks an eyebrow as he watches the huge fireball rise up into the air.

"They said they'd tell us when they fired." He whispers as the ground begins to shake the already weakened building rocking dangerously inthe sky until with a nightmareish shriek it buckles the top thirty floors snapping off and falling to the ground below the state controler amazingly quiet, his eyes fixed upon the ground rushing up to meet him....

On the streets cars veer into shops as buildings crack and roofs fall in, people are crushed to death by debris or smashed into walls by cars, a little boy staring in horror disappears as a huge metal girder from the falling building top slams down where he stood, shattering the road and flinging glass and metal shards all through the air.

More fall to these deadly missiles as the full shockwave of the explosion rips through the less structuraly sound quarters the um lizaan slums disappearing entirely burying many thousands in rubble and leaving many more homeless. As the dust settles the city lays still, alarms crying in the dusty sky as fire services and medical services rush to the worse affected areas, the slums left alone as survivors begin to dig their families and friends from beneath the remains of their own homes....


Coastal military complex

The attack on the military complex recieved less attention than in Kassul, how ever the results are just as catastrophic with the ill fated missle hitting dead in the door of the ammunition bunker the resulting explosion pushes through the walls lined with shells ready for loading, all primed and readyto be fired.

As the rocket's explosion engulfs the bunker and destroys all it touches it unleashes a severe design flaw in the nuclear shells, the pressure of explosion causing one to ignite, the resulting explosion causing a chain reaction through the bunker, sending close to two hundred kilotons of enhanced radiation weapons into firey infernos.

The far off city of Kel'lomar see only a bright flash of light in the distance before a faint rumble is felt more than heard as the power of the cannons is silenced entirly....

On the ground the world has ended for the many hundreds of Iraqstani soldiers, scientists and civillian contractors their lives ending in a brief flash of pain befor endless peace. The fireball races outwards engulfing everything in it's path the cannon of purity nothing more than an image burned into the retinas of the assaulting force.

AS the huge fireball expands outwards and up the devestation finnaly comes to a halt a huge swath of land no black and dead all within the reach ofthe fireball dead, others still will die from the radiation, emergency lines come alive as reports of the attack begin to flow around the vast lake of Iraqstani data networks automated alarms begin as monitoring devices register a silence in data flow from nodes within the cannon of purity paths.

Power in the city of Kassul is dead the small cold fusion plant knocked off line by the explosion, resulting in a city literaly stranded all water flow is cut off, given the city pipes water from one of the many small lakes surrounding the desert areas the citizens left alive to pick up the pieces are cut off from the rest of Iraqstan as over head fighter jets roar on patrol t prevent more attacks on the ruined city.

In the coastal complex nothing moves nothing makes a sound as at the very edges of the devestation emergency crews work franticaly to evacuate survivors and empty villiages and towns of citizens out of fear of fall out and radioation exposure.

Iraqstani War Center
Walking a slow lazy patrol along the perimeter of the cannon of purity a lone corporal fiddles with his assault rifle, his helmet glinting mutely in the waning sunlight. With a hiss of static his internal comm unit clicks active, a simple message barked at him in iraqstani before slencing the comm and the soldier readjusts his armour and shoulders his assault rifle.

Turning he runs quickly towards the cannon of purity yet one more soldier called to defend the remaining weapon as news finnaly filters down to the right people and defenses can begin to be organised....

Imperial Palace, Arpia - Reploid Productions

"Sweet Goddess Shimeki!" Tsume Dragonis shouts in an uncharacteristic display, running from his office to Firefury's office, dropping to all fours for greater speed. "Firefury, I swear you will not believe what our space assets just detected!"

"Gack!" Firefury yelps as the six foot long reploid dragon bursts into her office, nearly knocking the door off its hinges in his hurry. "What in all the hells has you all excited?"

"The cannons!" If Tsume were organic, he'd be short on breath and borderline gibbering.

That gets the orange reploid's attention. "The cannons? Not our ISON grid ones, right? Iraqstan's big ones?"

Tsume nods curtly, regaining his composure slightly. "Our space assets have reported two MASSIVE explosions in Iraqstan. Preliminary reports show it had to have been a pair of massive nuclear explosions."

"Somebody NUKED the cannons?" The reploid queen looks downright incredulous. "Who? Why? What nation?"

"We have no way to tell. There was nothing to indicate it was an external act. No bombers, no ICBMs, nada. Satellite data indicates in both locations smaller nuclear-grade explosions, followed by more blasts. Whatever it was, it was not just two large bombs. MilInt's analysis indicates it appears to have been a series of explosions. In both cases, the cannons were destroyed, and what appears to have been a city already damaged by the cannons firing the first time was annihalated. MilInt's best guess is that it wasn't an accident, but a deliberate act. Possibly the rebels we've gotten scattered reports on, but we've got nothing conclusive." Tsume hands Firefury the report.

"I doubt this is one of the bastard's tricks. There's no way he could pin this on us, we don't have nuclear weapons. Plus I don't think even he would go to the trouble of building those things just to blow them up. We can probably rule out a trick like that on those grounds." Firefury frowns as she skims the report, a dark look on her face. "What was he thinking, building something like that anywhere near a city? Those cannons had to have been capable of firing nuclear shells of some sort. That'd explain the chain of blasts, I bet. Somebody bungles one shell, the rest get ignited."

"And the odds of two bungles in different locations at nearly the same time?" Tsume tips his head.

"Slim. That's why I'm thinking the rebels had a hand in this... goddess, that is awful. Probably as bad, maybe worse, than Kazeryuu or Drakos Lake during the War." Firefury shakes her head ruefully. "I can't stand seeing this kind of devastation. Even if it's ultimately for the best."

"I assume there's no official response from us?" Tsume sighs.

"No official response. However, I've got a little bit of an idea, but it'll take me some time to get in contact with the proper people."

That catches the dragon's attention. "Them? What do you need them for that has to do with Iraqstan?"

"I want to send a letter." Firefury grins slightly. "The report from Nathi's coronation was.... most interesting."

"A letter? Laced with toxin? To Carlos?" Tsume gives Firefury a disapproving look.

"No, a letter, for the purpose of communication, with someone who could possibly help take care of Carlos without getting us into trouble." Firefury tosses the dragon a copy of the report on Nathi's coronation. "According to our agents at the party, Carlos's kid Lidric may be impressionable. Judging by comments overheard, the kid would appear to not be completely ruined by his old man's taint."

Tsume skims the report, a look of realization crossing his generally immobile face. "And he is about of age where he could reasonably be crowned king or what-have-you...."

"Bingo. But I'll need one of them to ensure it gets delivered safely." Firefury nods.

"I see..."

Able

Sir Chagatai nods as he sees the barrel falling, turning to walk off, making a quiet getaway. Meanwhile, Sir Gahiji continues to observe through the scope of his eraser rifle, watching the situation slowly turn worse and worse.

"Um, Chag... you might want to pick up the pace a li--" At that instant, the ammunition bunker cooks off, and the transmitted sentence ends as heat and light instantly burn away any flesh recognizable from Gahiji's face, the blast of air soon after slamming into his helmet and snapping back his neck, lifting him bodily into the turbulent, angry winds. There, chunks of steel and concrete make short work of his armored body, already long dead.

Sir Chagatai doesn't even have the time to turn around as the world flashes white, imperfect albedo still more than enough to reflect more light than his retinas can process. The chameleon paint on the back of his suit chars, smokes off, and blackens while his legs fold from under him; part instantaneous reaction to becoming a sightless wreck and part dark rememberance of a warning of what to do inside of a nuclear blast radius.

His knees haven't even touched the ground by the time the shock wave catches up to him, picking up his thousand kilogram suit with kit and throwing it into the trees. The armor initially holds up better than the soft meat it theoretically protects until it is smashed into the ground, torn asunder by pressure differentials and rupturing fuel cells, finally burning away of its own accord as metal ignites with the assistance of flash-cooking batteries discharging their energy.

Baker

-Um, Chag... you might want to pick up the pace a li--... Sir Anasabhanu begins to parse this as his missile makes contact, the neurons in his brain transferring information at the speed of about twenty-five meters per second. Not fast enough to register the explosion of the ammunition bunker or the complete atomization of him or his suit; he dies wholly unaware of his fate.

Sir Huey, on sniper duty, is instantly blinded as his scope does what it does best--focus light energy--and actually has the curious distinction of dying from the shock of completely burning out his optical nerve and its direct connection to the forebrain several tenths of a second before the compression wave of air, grit, and debris tears him limb from limb.

Correct Action

Sir Ekianga pokes at his sat-hack screen, frown deepening from the coarse press of the overtightened chin strap of his helmet. "That isn't good."

Charlie

Twigs cracking, the two female knights-errant drop down behind a large fallen tree-trunk just on the edge of the killzone around the facility, oddly dry and dead when surrounded by the rest of the foliage. An Iraqstani patrol, ears open to the sound of legs crashing through underbrush, freezes to a stop and then fans out, directed by silent hand gestures from its corporal.

"The patrols are increasing," Dame Constansa says quickly, mouth skipping lightly over the consonants with her alert French accent deepening unintentionally, "I'll check."

She bobs her head up, and is immediately rewarded for the effort of showing her pale white face with a visorful of rifle fire, going down instantly in a red spray. Dame Mahmuda freezes, looking at the stretched out form of what used to be Dame Constansa Maissoneuve minus the pretty face, then lets out a howl of rage as she sits up herself, hosing down suppressing fire with her powergun in three-round burst, a distinctive triple thundercrack. That makes the Iraqstani dive, which gives her time to line up the rest on single-shot, burning holes the size of dinner plates into three before being forced to duck back down under a hail of return gunfire. Pulling a black-banded grenade from her belt, she flips the spoon and throws it over the trunk, following along with two more white-banded grenades. The black-band thermobaric cuts a burning swath as it touches the ground, igniting the fuel it dispersed just before impact and torching an area the size of a house with a miniaturized fuel-air bomb; the two white-band smoke grenades add their thick white nebulae to the brownish-black dust and grit of the thermobaric's mushroom cloud.

Now free from prying eyes, Mahmuda easily shoulders her slight comrade and bounces off, jump jets flaring off at low power to help her clamber up the hills and out of sight, on the run.

TYWS-HCV Angry Ticks

A momentary alert tone sounds through the ship: "Captain Al-Razi, please report to the command room." As a communications technician puts down her handset, the current officer of the watch rubs his chin. "Sensors, are you sure?"

"Radiological events two hundred kay-tee in size don't happen too often, sir," the sensor officer replies, grumbling quietly as she organizes the information in her display. "Especially not twice in a row at close proximity."

"I didn't think the Shogunate had nukes--"

"They don't," Al-Razi cuts off the OW, one hand clasping his duty flap under his right shoulderboard. "Lieutenant Commander, set the ship to EventCon One. Comm, flash a message to the rest of the fleet saying we have eyes on situation and can confirm Voyeur report of radiological event in..." His eyes flicker up to the subsidiary screen showing the two urine-yellow circular splotches growing in the topmost part of a line drawing labeled 'Iraqstan.' "Northern Iraqstan."

"Do I tell them we've gone straight to deep orange, sir?"

"Damn straight you do. Hangar and Ground, I want our forces on immediate launch rotation. Scramble the alert fighters for CAP and prepare for drop procedures if necessary."

TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons
Less than five minutes later

Sky Marshal Rico blinks at the almost blindingly white light striking over his eyes from across the room, the technician at the door quickly relaying the news.

"Bloody hell..."

Watching the damage control teams pour through the cities around Kassel Carlos sighs and leans back in his chair. Resting his hands on the desk he turns to his most trusted friend "Tell me Herr general does we have any leads on who is responsible for this crime against the pure?" He asks quietly as General Heinrich von Himmler the leader of the Iraqstani secret police, a ruthless group inspired by the former gustapo swallows lightly.

"Nein mein fuhrer, we are still investigating. How ever we do know that the shogunate has had eyes on the cannons since they fired a week ago. I would suggest at the very least mobalising the reactionary forces and I urge you to retalliate against the exile colonies and forward Shogunate military stations. Nuclear responses are being drafted and Insel de Reinhart is mearly awaiting your order to begin air operations against the shogunate." Comes his response.

Standing up Carlos shakes his head. "No, we cant fire on them first, we'd lose too much to salve our wounded pride. Instead I want your mean searching for evidence. Dig it up and show the world that the shogunate are cowardly psychopaths bent on destroying the last pure race of humans. Show them that Iraqstan is once more the victim of democratic oppression an that we will not stand down with out a fight. Tell our friends in the shin rah corporation that we are ready to fire the Princess Guard. The target.... Al Q'aiyah wipe the rebel command out." Carlos whispers as his friend bows his head. "AS you wish mein fuhrer it will be done." He says as he backs out of the room leaving Carlos to study the reports filtering in from the affected areas.

Insel de Reinhart
3,000km from The immortal Shogunte of Reploid Production

The island once a quiet clump of land in the middle of no where, the first forward station of Iraqstan's defenses against shogunate advances is now a mass of movement as the three thousand soldiers housed on the island ready themselves, weapons are checked over, firing drills increased, combat maneuvers triple and aircraft roar overhead on patrol as out on the horizon the huge shapes of Iraqstani warships dot the water in every direction.

At the islands many naval points submarines leave their births their destinations shogunate waters, their mission to be inplace for possible retaliations against the enemy. above them on the surface the carriers and other warhips spread out, their formations increasing to add to their defenses as fighter craft take offand patrol the skies over the fleets. A total of four fleets make their way towards the shogunate.

Standing on the bridge of the carrier quil'raya an admiral stands, his face as craggy and aged like the old carrier he commands. turning Admiral Schultzy sighs and watches as the ships flight deck scurries with activity as Starflier fighter craft take off with a roar. "Admiral ETA to Shogunate economic exclusion zone, three days. All fleets are reporting in ready and divers have disperesed ahead of us.

Command has dispatched a priority 1 message and I recommend we upgrade to condition one. Noddng the Admiral reads the military dispatch and smiles grimly. Taking up the mic for the ship comms he clears his throat. "This is the Admiral speaking. Men roughly twelve hours ago the motherland was hit by sabotage against the cannons of purity. Enemey forces infiltratd and detonated nuclear warheads around the areas of Kassul and a miltiary complex in the desert. The death toll in Kassul is reaching the hundreds of thousands with many of the pure dying.

The Fuhrer has tasked us for now with forming defensive screen between Iraqsan and the shogunate we will stand ready to deliver the fuhrers vengance upon our enemies should we be given that order. AS you all know we have taken on Iraqstani Guard for possible landing missions on Shogunate beaches. I ask you to pray to the goddess that we are met with victory should such a day come.

Until then I expect vigilance and discipline from you all. Maintain your posts well, ready yourselves to die in the defense of the motherland and vow that these corrupt dogs will burn in the fires of retribution!" He says as around him sailors move with more determination, some slightly less confident as the realisation that they might be asked to die for their country dawns in their minds........

Arpean Military Command Center, undisclosed location
"Well, girl, no sooner do you take office than that bastard Quil'raya drops a situation in your lap." Now-former Secretary of Defense Tiffany Celta glances over the rapid influx of data.

"Four fleets inbound, arrival in roughly three days, submarines likely out ahead. That damnable island is all stirred up like a hornet's nest." Tiffany's replacement, a tall reploid with imposing black and blue trimmed armor growls, reading a direct data feed from a terminal. "Hard to tell if it's going to be an attack or not. If it was, I suspect we would already have missiles inbound."

"That catty bastard is probably hoping we took out his precious giant phallic compensations so he's got reason to come down and tan our hides." Tiffany replies. "We know it wasn't us- we don't have nuclear capability, and even if he forged documentation to "prove" it was us, it could easily be cross-referenced by our allies and his that we had nothing to do with it."

"But that may not stop him from attacking us."

"Well then, Leona, you're in command of the military. What will you do? You know the consequences if we jump the gun and shoot first. You also know the consequences of shooting too late." Tiffany leans back in her seat, angry yet not as agitated as her reploid successor.

"Prepare for the worst." Leona replies tersely, idly polishing some grit from the claws mounted on her forearms. "Mobilize to counter the threat, but refrain from firing first. If Quil'raya makes the mistake of making this conflict hot, I will ensure it will be his last mistake, and the last mistake made by anyone from that island. We can't prevent him from causing some harm to our nation, but if he does, it will be returned to him. With interest."

"That's the spirit." Tiffany nods and gets up to leave. "Well, this retired old revolutionary is gonna get going and leave you to it."

As soon as the older woman leaves the room, Leona straightens and begins firing her orders in a staccato barrage. "MilIntel, status of the enemy!"

"Four fleets, ETA three days, surface ships, carriers, and assorted aircraft. No spacebound assets detected, subs assumed to be at least a day ahead of the ships."

"MilComm, what do we have that can be here before then?"

"Setsujoku and Shuusen fleets can be here within the day, Tenchuu fleet about half a day later, and the Daijuusan Shinken in two days."

"Alright." Leona nods once before raising her voice to an impressive volume. "FleetComm, I want all four fleets to send half of their trans-atmospheric components down. Archangels on the water, Minervas in the sky, Elite Victories flying patrol! All orbital craft are to prepare for surgical bombardment. If they shoot us, I want their military capacity turned into a very fine VAPOR as soon as the first launch is detected! ISON grid command, prepare for potentially imminent missile attack, with the bigger guns ready to sink those ships!"

The command center explodes into a flurry of activity not unlike that on the enemy Insel de Reinhart as commands are relayed to various branches of military command.

"The refugee city is likely a prime target, I want our coastal fleet at level three stations. If ANYTHING unauthorized or unidentified crosses the into the dead zone, sink it! All bases are to lock down, all personel on alert. Mobilize our ground forces, emphasis on coastal defense. And call up our buddies in the TYCS, I'm sure they'll want in on the fireworks." Leona slams one fist into her other palm, a loud clang resounding through the room. "Alert Sneaky Bastards, disclass UV that we could be going hot any time now. Alert Firefury-sama if she isn't already aware. I imagine she'll try and diffuse this with diplomacy, but we all know how effective that is with that Irregular meatbag."

In the skies above the Shogunate
Shining bright even in broad daylight, the descent of fully sixty carrier spacecraft over the next two days does not go unnoticed in cities across the country, and those who don't look outside and see it themselves see it on the news, as word of the Iraqstani mobilization travels, though carefully worded to minimize panic. People living in coastal cities such as Nekoa Bay make the decision to either stay to protect their homes however they can, or to evacuate their families to the less vulnerable inland cities. Meanwhile, the ships fan out, crews alert, gravetic fightercraft flying patrols, weapons primed and ready to meet the enemy, should the Iraqstani dare to fire upon the land they had fought and paid for so dearly in the past.

Along the Shogunate coast
The gargantuan ISON defense grid that had been jointly purchased at great cost from GMC Military Arms by the Shogunate and Sneaky Bastards roars to life, massive railway cannons pointing out to sea, smaller anti-missile and anti-aircraft batteries sweeping the skies, almost daring some fool to cross them. The surviving fortress-cities from the latter days of the Irregular Wars prepare for battle, long-disused fortifications rumbling to attention for the first time since the end of the Dividing War. Tanks rumble into position to defend the cities, and an uneasy calm descends over a people bracing for war.

In orbit
Perhaps the most lethal and least immediately visible of the mobilization is the fleet components not descending to the blue planet below. Four full fleets float silently in the void, fanned out in combat positions, weapons powered on and ready. Four massive Hand of God class ships, the Peace with Conviction, Love and Peace, Northridge, and Nuhcuto'j Rcuto, flagships of the Tenchuu, Daijuusan Shinken, Setsujoku, and Shuusen fleets respectively sit at the center of the massive formation, collectively ready to point 12 massive orbital bombardment thaumaturgic cannons and 8 massive gravetic cannons toward the idyllic blue orb, ready and willing to rain the heaven's judgement on the island nation of Iraqstan. And that is not even considering the other ships capable of orbital bombardment- Shinken class battleships arrayed in formations to use their overpowered gravity diffusion systems to sling small asteroids or other debris, Tenmous with their main cannons primed for surgical strikes. Wings of Chaos class supercarriers deploy swarms of fightercraft to protect the fleets, Archangels and Minervas keeping watch over the more vulnerable ships, and Shogunate class ships coordinating the nearly 500 assorted spacecraft and patrol ships, all hovering, all awaiting the single command that would plunge a nation that had known decades of peace into a war potentially more violent than any that had come before.

Meanwhile, short messages are sent to allied nations, their contents brief, but their meaning perfectly clear.
ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: QE/Trium
Broadcast type: Military/Emergency/DISCLASS UV
To: All Triumvirate nations
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Leona Dragoon-II, Secretary of Defense, Firefury Amahira, Lady Shogun - Reploid Productions

Iraqstan mobilization detected. ETA three days. Requesting additional ground forces in event of attack.

~Leona Dragoon-II
~Secretary of Defense

~Firefury Amahira
~Lady Shogun Eternal Under the Wings of Chaos
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>


Another message is quietly dispatched to the two people most caught in the middle by the Iraqstan-Shogunate conflict, informal in tone, but dire in meaning.

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: QE/Trium
Broadcast type: Military/Diplomatic/Emergency
To: Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto, Emperor Devon Treznor
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira, Reploid Productions

By the time you get to this, you should already be aware of Quil'Raya's latest. I don't need to describe how serious this is. I have no way to tell if he's intending to open hostilities, but the Shogunate will not sit idly by with four fleets and Shimeki only knows what else heading our way.

I don't suppose either of you can talk something that might vaguely resemble sense into that insane bastard's head?

~Firefury
<End Transmission>


A palace in Iraqstan
A man, ethnicity, age, and indeed, anything else about him unknown, struts carefully to an office he by rights should have been shot dead for going anywhere near. But he was a man of many talents, a chameleon with an unknown amount of resources behind him. Clad in an Iraqstani uniform, he had talked his way past the guards, convincing them with smooth talk and forged identifications that he was an officer sent by the Fuher to deliver important documents on the Um Lizaa insurgents to Quil'Raya's son Lidric.

Indeed, the documents in the unmarked envelope are important, but not for the reasons presented to the guards...

TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons

"Sir, Earth Theatre reports set at EventCon One. Ground forces are on drop rotation and we've got 24/7 CAP and active ready fighters." The fleet communications officer looks up from his executive display console, all the indicator lights on the display screen a firey deep orange.

Sky Marshal Rico nods, folding his hands behind his back as he looks at the strategic indicator display board, the blue miasma now displaying a map of the ocean between Iraqstan and the Shogunate with friendly, enemy, and neutral force dispositions labeled in three dimensions. "Inform the theatre to prepare to break coasting orbit. Put the Fourth Combined on space control over the ocean--the Shogunate has terminal-phase defense covered; I want transit coated too."

"Acting, sir. Directing Sky Marshal Marechenko to space control."

"Put the Sixth Expeditionary on high stationkeeping for counterinvasion," Rico says impassively, as if he were talking about setting up a minor appointment instead of recommending the wholescale vertical envelopment of an entire nation, "while our force and the Fourth Superiority remain on standby... actually, check that. Inform the commander of the Fourth that he has the authority to assist the Shogunate bombardment fleet if it needs it. Otherwise, remain on alert standby."

"Acting, sir. Transmitting."

Rico folds his arms, stepping a few paces to the left to get a slightly different angle on the strategic display. "Comm, high-encrypt a message to HQ and tell them we may have to mobilize the Ground Forces Reserve."

The Ring

The TYCS immediately flashes out a bulletin, calling up a hundred thousand troopers in this month's deployment block to high readiness. The Ground Reserve is essentially the Combined Services' "army" of six million, but keeping that number constantly mobilized is cost prohibitive... yet some constant-mobilization is vital to any military as entrenched in fast-response doctrine as the TYCS. While six million in constant fighting-trim is a bit much, five hundred thousand in constant near-battle readiness, rotated monthly, is far more reasonable.

These six million troopers are spread about the Ring on military bases the size of large counties, and the alert level at every one of these bases increases. Weekend passes are revoked, leaves are cancelled, and "report immediately" memos are sent to the rest who are off base. For the ten thousand called up, they immediately leave off on their combat drills and start an intense inventory, making sure they have everything they need in case they have to ship out. Mobile Infantry field-check their own armor; Gear pilots field-check their mecha; technicians look at anything that can't be field-repaired or field-diagnosed and make quick adjustments and fixes. The Ground Reserve's organic Loki transport section also gears up, making sure the few hundred dropships needed are in fighting-fit just like everything else in the system.

If all goes according to plan, they can dustoff and be en route within the week.

Earth Orbit

Two out of four fleets break their normal, gravity-defined orbits and instead go to geostationary stationkeeping, one in high orbit and one spread out between medium and low. Sky Marshal Marechenko directs her fleet, the Fourth Combined, into standard missile-intercept pattern, with destroyers and frigates flying low in moderate formation, with plenty of overlapping fire arcs. Sky Marshal Fani-Kayode, commander of the Sixth Expeditionary, pulls her fleet into expanded formation in high orbit, assisting with Intelligence-Survelliance-Reconnaissance duties and staying ready to zip where needed. The other two fleets shift their high equatorial orbits to be antipodal--each fleet has a different hemisphere to cover--but otherwise remain simply on alert, rather than expending energy to go to a particular station.

* - * - *

Northern Iraqstan

Dame Mahmuda huddles over a shallow grave, carrying everything Dame Constansa brought with her in a bundle made out of her fatigues--can't leave any evidence behind. Sitting here, in the brush, she listens in on her suit's shortwave radio, the Iraqstani military reports of nuclear detonations at two of their three Cannon of Purity sites being her first news that something has gone horribly wrong.

Correct Action is out of touch for the moment; Mahmuda doesn't dare risk the power draw of the QE ansible now that she's in the middle of enemy territory on a limited energy supply and using radio would only give away her position. Still, even without Ekianga's confirmation, she knows full well that five of her knights have just died... and it is, certainly, her fault.

But it's worse than that. They were just supposed to take out the guns; the guns weren't supposed to explode like that. Innocents weren't supposed to be harmed, the civilians of Kassul... that wasn't the intent, not at all. Now Los Caballeros really are no better than terrorists...

So thinks the little lost knight, curled up in her armor, musing silently next to the shallow grave of her comrade.

Operations Room, Presidential Mansion, Sarion, Kelanthia

The young lieutenant on duty sat idly at his station, humming a few riffs from his favorite single off the newest Monaa album and twirling a pen in his fingers. Boredom was an oppressive force, weighing heavily on him for the 4 hours he spent staring at various computer screens displaying strategic information on Kelanthian allies as he suffered through another graveyard shift; sometimes, he practically wished for some rogue nation to launch a strike at one of Kelanthia's allies, if only to relieve the boredom.

Shit, he muttered as he accidentally dropped the pen. He leaned down and fumbled around on the floor looking for the writing utensil, unaware of a large red warning that popped up on one of his screens.

"Warning: nuclear explosion detected", the sterile message read, wholly removed from the humanitarian disaster that had just disrupted the lives of hundreds of thousands. The computer began beeping, demanding acknowledgement of it's message. Immediately thereafter, the Operations Room alarm went off, as it did any time it it detected nuclear action in Kelanthia or an ally. The lieutenant, who by now had sat up and read the message multiple times in disbelief, shook himself into action as people all around him began activating the protocols for this situation.

-

Briefing Room, Presidential Mansion, Sarion, Kelanthia

Disheveled and bleary-eyed, one would hardly name the hastily assembled men as the most powerful people in the country. Muted conversations among those assembled created a low buzz that slowly trickled off as Grath entered the room. He looked around gravely before opening up a folder and speaking in a calm, quiet voice.

"Gentlemen, you all know as much as I know concerning Mr. Quil'Raya and his current situation; apparently, he believes that the Shogunate is responsible for these attacks, as satellite data indicates that he has mobilized large numbers of forces and has assumed a very aggressive posture. You also know what this means for us, so I won't mince words.

"Open hostilities between Iraqstan and the Shogunate will, at best, be disastrous for us. As far as we know, there is no evidence to suggest that the Shogunate had anything to do with this attack, but knowing Quil’Raya, he’ll assume the worst. Barring a successful intervention by someone with more influence than us, I see no reason why a state of war will not develop. Further, due to the nature of the attack on Iraqstan and the heavily fortifications of the Shogunate, I expect Iraqstan to request NDA aid. As Carlos was indeed attacked, we have no legitimate reason to refuse him aid.

“Gentlemen, you all know as well as I that we simply do not have the technological capability to fight a war of this scope. We can provide plenty of numbers for the Shogunate’s meat grinder, but if they turn their space-based weaponry on us... well, we have nothing that can counter that. This leaves us precious few options.

“First, we can give aid to Iraqstan in the event that Quil’Raya asks for it. This will most likely achieve nothing but the deaths of thousands of Kelanthian soldiers, and could raise the ire of the Shogunate, and if we are particularly unlucky, the entire Triumvirate. Obviously, I do not think that it is a realistic option.

“Second, we don’t give aid to Quil’Raya, regardless of whether he asks. Under normal circumstances, this would certainly result in us being expelled from the NDA. However, dear though that price may be, I would willingly pay it if it spared us from space-based attacks from the Shogunate or any other Triumvirate nation.

“Here is my proposal: I plan on appealing to the Council to expedite the expulsion of Iraqstan from the NDA. If Quil’Raya no longer has legal standing to call upon us, we don’t have to worry about being sucked into any of his mad schemes and getting on the bad side of those who would have no trouble annihilating us. If, however, the Council cannot do that, I foresee only one course of action that can keep us secure.

“Quit the NDA.”

With this last pronouncement, Grath leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands.

“Surely you don’t mean...” began William Sedworth, the minister of state.

“Oh, but I do,” said Grath sharply, cutting off Sedworth. “I am well aware of the ramifications of this move, and trust me, I have weighed them carefully. I cannot justify the possibility of total destruction by staying associated with a man who has lost the majority of his senses, despite the fact that he may be justified in his current action.”

Sedworth leaned back, chastened. Grath looked around one final time.

“Are we decided, then? I propose that we resolve to deny any requests for military, economic, or any other aid from Iraqstan in this situation. Does anyone disagree?”

The collection of ministers and officials sat in silence; some look angered, some looked distressed, and some looked confused, but no hands were raised and no voices were heard.

“Right then – I have a letter to draft,” Grath stood up and closed his folder. “I’m sure you all have your own business to attend to, so I suggest you begin immediately.”

As the various officials begin to disperse, Grath taps his minster of defense on the shoulder and motions him aside.

"Jacob, I want you to quietly begin mobilization procedures. Nothing major yet, but in case this all blows up in our face, I don't want to be caught flat-footed," said Grath in a low voice.

The minister nodded, and left the room for his office, mentally drafting an order to prepare nearly one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers for mobilization.

Grath turned and left the room, heading straight for the desk located in his private chambers. After a drafting and posting a letter, he turned and collapsed on to his bed, mentally drained from having made the decision to be willing to trade his closest allies for the security of his people.

-

TO: Nathicana D’Aquisto, Imperatrice of the Dominion and Devon Treznor, Emperor of Treznor
FROM: Gordon Grath, President of Kelanthia
RE: Iraqstan

Members of the Non-Democratic Alliance Ruling Council,

I am hereby requesting that the recent motion to dismiss Iraqstan from the Non-Democratic Alliance be given expedited consideration. I feel that the expulsion motion is extremely relevant to recent events, and in order to determine an appropriate course of action, I need to have an idea of what the long-term diplomatic relationship between Iraqstan and Kelanthia is going to be.

I truly wish it was under happier circumstances that I could be addressing you, but unfortunately, that is not possible.

Sincerely,

President Gordon Grath
Kelanthia

Encryption: STandard NDA encrypt
To: NDA Council and Member states
From: Fuhrer Quil'raya
Regard: Mobalisation of forces

My esteemed allies on the council and member states of the Non-Democratc alliance, as I am sure all of you are aware by now Iraqstan has suffered a great tragedy at the hands of terrorist. Two defensive cannons, one set up near a large city have been struck by the enemies of sovreigncy. These enemies have seen fit to deny me the right to rule my nation in the way I feel is best. They have been resposible for murders all over Iraqstani territory and have been operating with the funding of foreign nations.

I do not seek to point the finger at anyone but it is with little surprise I'm sure to know that we suspect the Immortal Shogunate of Reploid Productions and The Triumverate of Yut, both beings in part responsibile for the hostile relations existing between The Naional Socialist Union and themselves.

The mobaliation of Insel de Reinhart the forward defensive base of the IDF is a precautionary move only, we are not setting up to retalliate against the shogunate until we have substantial evidence proving they supported the use of nuclear weapons against Iraqstan. I am aware as many of you are that the Shogunte possesses no nuclear weapons how ever I would be foolish to think that you believed nuclear capability is not beyond their grasp.

One does not need nuclear technology to have nuclear weapons. I will be calling upon the agreements made in the dominion to inspect the exile cities and push for an audit on Shogunate military spending to uncover blackmarket purchases of nuclear weapons for the use on the motherland.

I am not here asking for the support of the NDA nor do I think I would get it. I am here simply to inform you and to remove all possibile alarm that Iam setting up for an assault on the shogunate. If evidence is found both in Iraqstan and in the shogunate the that evidence will be submitted for review with recommendations of the course of action to take. The forces heading towards the shoguate will remain there until they are absolved of all guilt in this matter.

Furthermore I will be authorising the deployment of a squadron of hypersonic bombers to Insel de Reinhart in the event that the shogunate makes a second attack upon Iraqstani assets. I am prepared to defend my nation to the full extent my weapon capabilities allow me. In closing as call upon you to lay aside differences and take this time to grieve for the millions lost in the nuclear tragedy near Kassul and to remember that the so called forces of good can be turned to evilif the leaders of the nations are corrupted by inferior filth such as the shogunate has been.

With respect and regards,
Carlos Quil'raya
Fuhrer, National Socaialist Union of Iraqstan.

Message Sent.......

Sitting back Carlos sighs softly and signs off on the orders to mobalise a full thirty thousand Iraqstani Guard and begins reading the damage reports tricklng in from the Kassul military complex where millions of menelmacari credits.

First Iraqstani Landship fleet,
Somewhere near insel de reinhart

Standing on the bridge of the landship Wrath of the Motherland Air General Otto von Markhen watches the status readouts of the mighty vessel closely. "Mein General. Fleet comms indicate new orders. We are to make for The Shogunate and add to the fleets already there." A comms officer whispers and the General nods as the entire fleet, a full twelve vessels made up of corvettes, destroyers and a huge native build battleship begin their maneuvers their course the same a the four naval fleets already settig up their patrols along Shogunate boundaries.....

Office of the Secretary of Defense, High Council Hall

"I can't really say I'm suprised by this one bit. It was only a matter of time before that Quil'Raya bastard made a move. As of now I'm ordering the entire Self Defense Force to Condition Yellow." Major Kojima set down on her desk the datapad containing Leona's short message, glancing up at the two men sitting across from her. "We've got about three days before that lunatic's fleets arrive near the Shogunate. I left planning our mobilization to you guys, so lets see on how we're gonna respond should shit hit the fan. General Emerson, we'll start with you. What kind of plan do you have?"

General Brandon Emerson, commander of the Ground and Air Self Defense Force, nodded and slid a datapad across the desk to Major Kojima. "As noted in the plans on that pad, I'm looking to move some of our forces around with most of them being directed to our eastern bases close to the Shogunate border. If things heat up, we won't have to move very them far to get them into Shogunate territory. I also want to place some forces along the border at the crossings. They'll be the first groups in that'll travel by ground. I do have one request I'd like to make though for some of our troop deployments that is not listed in the detailed plans I just gave you."

"And that would be...?" Kojima asked, looking up from the datapad the general gave her.

"Deploy a portion of our troops now to some of the Shogunate's coastal bases, if they'll allow it. Right now they're only looking at an attack by sea and I think it would be better to reinforce them ahead of time rather than try and move our guys into those areas under fire." the General explained.

"Hrmm... I'll check with them when I send my response message. It sounds like a good plan to me. Anything else?"

General Emerson shook his head.

"Alright then, your plan is approved. Admiral Greenwood, you're next. What can we expect from our space forces in terms of a response?"

Space Self Defense Force commander Admiral Joseph Greenwood handed the Major his datapad. "I'm prepared to recall all mobile fleets back to Earth, except for the ones assigned to defense of our stations at Uranus and Sedna. They'll remain on standby in orbit and ready to de-orbit if they're needed. Where they'll go if they're needed depends on how things play out if fighting breaks out. Our two new drop carriers are on standby as well. They'll be used to send troops and equipment planetside with drop pods right away if there's an attack."

"Thats seven fleets you're gonna be bringing home. A little overkill, dontcha think?" Major Kojima gave the admiral an odd look.

"There is no overkill, not with this bastard Quil'Raya anyways. If he's watching our movements, I want him to see that we're not taking this lightly, especially when it comes to threatening or attacking a longtime friend and ally of ours like this." The admiral explained.

The Major set down Admiral Greenwood's datapad with the rest on her desk, nodding at the admiral. "Alright, lets do it then. I'll let the chairman and the high council know later today what we've got planned. I certainly hope there isn't a need for anyone to have to go into battle, though. I'd like this to pass without a shot fired by either side. Dismissed."

Both commanders rose from their seats and saluted Major Kojima before turning and leaving. Major Kojima turned to her computer terminal and began writing out her message.

Encryption: QE/Trium
To: Leona Dragoon-II - Reploid Productions
From: Major Ayane Kojima - Sneaky Bastards
Subject: Iraqstan Situation
Attachment: GSDF.dta; SSDF.dta

Leona, we're prepared to assist if thing go south. I've had a request from one of my commanders to move some of our ground forces in and reinforce some of your coastal areas ahead of time. If its okay with you, I'd like to go ahead with that. I'm sending along the detailed plans that have been drafted for our deployments to let you know what to expect if we have to get involved. I can only hope this passes without any bloodshed.

-Ayane Kojima
-Secretary of Defense
-Defensive Pacifist Nation of Sneaky Bastards

Combat Information Center, CSS-DNS Lionel Mandrake
Flagship, Cetagandan Third Fleet
Terra, Sol System

"...and then we have what Fleet Intelligence believes to be another division...here." An aide points at a new icon on a map of the region around the Shogunate and Iraqstan that currently dominates the main planning table at the center of the amphitheater-like CIC. Fleet Admiral Cain, the commander of Third, shakes his head and turns to the man beside him. "Alan, how long until we are ready to deploy your troops?"

"We're already starting initial deployments. It'll take a while to get them all down, though," replies Field Marshal Volyanov, the SurTac commander. "I'm planning on dropping all of our carrier and dreadnought-based forces immediately. It won't leave us much of a reserve in terms of vehicles up here, but we'll still have a the equivalent of a couple of marine divisions spread out though the rest of the ships."

"Good. The fleet will be spreading though these orbits here," Cain indicates a hologram showing the current plans of deployment of the Triumvirate fleets. Most of the fleet will remain on their normal orbits, with roughly a third of the one fifty combat capital ships taking up high station keeping over the Shogunate. "We'll try to be able to give you fire support, but understand that the top priority will have to be missile interdiction. You should be fine yourselves in that regard. Between your Bolos and the dropships, there should be an adequate missile and anti-ballistic shield for the ground forces."

"Of course." Another officer approaches the pair. "Sirs, message from Fleet Headquarters. 'Fleet Admiral Cain and Field Marshal Volyanov are granted full autonomy to conduct operations should hostilities commence, under overall theater command of the Shogunate military. Carrier elements of First and Second Fleets are preparing to jump to your location should reinforcements be required. Planetary Strategic Forces also mobilizing. Good hunting. Signed, Grand Admiral Caroline Serrano, Officer Commanding CSS, and Lady Martial Signy Mallory.'"

"Good, good. Even one more legion would give us a much more comfortable rapid ready reserve once the shit hits the fan."

{Secure Communications, m20 Security Protocols}
x Fleet Adm. Cain & Field Marshal Volyanov (CSS-3Fleet)
o Leona Dragoon-II - Reploid Productions

Secretary Dragoon, the Third Fleet is at your disposal. Our warships are already deploying to optimum ortillery and anti-missile interdiction positions. Furthermore, our Surface Tactical forces are ready to drop to whatever location you feel is most desirable. Currently available forces are 7,200 Bolo Mk 8 Main Battle Tanks; 35,700 Stiletto Combat Cars; and 195,000 combat-suited marines, plus carrier-based fightercraft. Additional shuttles are also available to assist in civilian evacuation if needed.

Arpean Military Command Center, undisclosed location

"Ma'am, reports from TYCS and allied forces!" A technician brings up a display of the rapid shifts of Triumvirate deployments. "Messages from Major Kojima, Sneaky Bastards; and Fleet Admiral Cain and Field Marshal Volyanov, Cetaganda."

"Bring them up." Leona crosses her arms and glowers at the screen, skimming the messages quickly. "Alright. Authorize Sneaky Bastardian and Cetagandan drops to Nekoa Bay, the refugee city, Pearly Gates, Ytorla, Jishin, and New Pegasii. Any changes in the status of the Iraqstani forces?"

"Another fleet inbound from reports. Landship fleet."

Leona's expression darkens further as she contemplates the news. "With everything that's already devoted to missile defense, I don't think we have to worry about that. Any word from the DipCorps on events?"

"NDA member nations are getting antsy from what we can tell. Not surprising, since they're allied to that lunatic. Tsume and the Shogun are reportedly preparing a transmission to Iraqstan."

Leona nods slightly. "What good that will do. Tell the Upstairs section of the Fifth Fleet to prepare emergency aerospace bomardment units. I want as many SWORD units deployed on EV2s as possible. Failing that, the MSWPs available. The Fifth has the fighter capacity for it. Also, order the Queen's Wing to prepare for emergency take-off, and get the 337th airborne. Firefury-sama is brave enough, but we can't leave her vulnerable."

"Relaying orders!"

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: QE/Trium
Broadcast type: Military/Emergency
To: Major Kojima, Fleet Adm. Cain & Field Marshal Volyanov
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Leona Dragoon-II, Secretary of Defense - Reploid Productions
ATTACHMENT: SRPGrdDep.dta

Your suggested ground deployments are most certainly welcomed. Attached to this message is the list of bases and target regions most in need of extra ground support. I hope that the diplomats can cool this down before shots are fired, but I don't hold much hope for it. Third Space Defense Fleet Flightleader Oramos Altana has theater command.

Good hunting.

~Leona Dragoon-II
~Secretary of Defense
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>

War Room, Imperial Palace - Arpia

To say Firefury Amahira was pissed off would be an understatement. To say she was livid would be an understatement. To say she was severely agitated and extremely violently inclined would be an understatement clearly underlined by the now-vaporized remains of what had been a dart board with a picture of Carlos Quil'Raya taped to it. "I swear, what in Shimeki's name, by the Axe and the Chain, by the Wings of Chaos, the winds and fires of the earth and the judgements of Heaven is he THINKING?!" The reploid fumes, a thin plume of smoke still streaming from the end of her arm cannon.

"Firefury-sama, I am every bit as angry - and worried - by this as you are." Tsume says in a cold voice, the mechanical dragon showing a greater degree of outward calm, betrayed only by the shift in his stance and the tone of his voice. "But if we're going to inquire what the hell he's thinking, you have to at least present a facade of calm in demanding the reason for his actions."

"I know! I know! Tsume, do you realize the possible consequences? If this DOES go hot? We haven't had to deal with anything remotely CLOSE to this scale since the Battle for Pegasii City at the end of the Dividing War!" Firefury rants, pacing back and forth. "It could be like Drakos Lake and Kazeryuu a hundred times over!"

"And spazzing about it now won't do you any-" Tsume begins, stopping when the orange reploid's pacing ceases abruptly, everything about her stance shifting imperceptibly. Ever since the mysterious thaumaturgic throwdown the reploid had had with that unknown winged entity simply called the Guardian, Firefury had been acting stranger than normal, her moods snapping into place at a disorienting speed, suddenly cutting through extranious emotional reactions to an oddly controlled, carefully banked rage masquerading as calm.

"Record this message and send it to that bastard." Firefury says in a voice suddenly gone frigid. "Unless he wants to risk starting a full-scale war, he will recall those fleets. As per the agreements of our treaty-" She practically spits the word. "-He is welcome to request inspections by a third party to prove we had nothing to do with the nuclear detonations in his borders."

Tsume finds himself repressing an urge to shiver when the reploid turns her oddly cold gaze on him. "If it had been our doing, we wouldn't stop at just the cannons."

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic/Military/Emergency
To: Carlos Quil'Raya, Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto, Emperor Devon Treznor
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira - Reploid Productions

I'm not here to waste time being diplomatic, so I'll just be blunt.

Quil'Raya, if you want to turn this situation hot and bring certain doom on your nation, by all means, keep up the posturing. The Shogunate had nothing to do with the nuclear detonations detected within your borders, and we will gladly welcome an investigation by our mutual allies to verify this fact. We have nothing to hide, unlike someone else.

I demand you recall your fleets before your mobilization can be construed as an act of war. Contrary to whatever delusions you are running on, this in an unprovoked action and you are skirting dangerously close to violating the terms we agreed to.

As per our agreement, Shogunate forces will not fire until and unless fired upon, but I want it to be extremely clear, even for your inadequete mental capacity, that if you make this cold war go hot, you will regret it most dearly. I suggest you listen to your allies, I imagine they'll be recommending that same thing.

Do NOT fuck with me, Quil'Raya.

http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/furyavatar.jpg
~Firefury Amahira
~Lady Shogun Eternal Under the Wings of Chaos
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>

Tsume reads the message as Firefury sends it out. "Ah, Firefury-sama, perhaps that wasn't the best way to go about it..."

"I'm not going to play nice with that maniac." Firefury cuts the dragon off matter-of-factly. "I want it to be plainly clear that we will not take his penile posturing lightly, and if he decides to carry out this madness, that there will be consequences."

"But that last line-"

"The clearest statement of all." Firefury interrupts again. "How he responds isn't our concern. Our concern is our own protection. I don't want to draw this sort of distinction, but the lives of our people come before the lives of the Iraqstani civilians who would doubtless be caught in the middle of this."

"As you wish." Tsume sighs and mentally braces for the inevitable long next several days of the standoff. "For all our sakes, I hope he's not so far gone into madness to cross that final boundary."

TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons
Strategic Coordination Center

Sky Marshal Rico paces around the strategic planning table, its back-lit top projecting light through a translucent map of Iraqstan, the Shogunate, and the ocean between them. Real-time sensor feeds from all TYCS ships in the theatre and VY-14 Voyeur spysats update the positions and projected makeup of the Iraqstani fleets moving towards the Shogunate. The theatre Joint Force Ground Component Commander, Field Marshal Mabel Jennings, stands solidly beside the map in her smoke-cloud-pattern camouflaged fatigues. "The ground strategic planning is pretty much sewn up, Juan," she says, looking at the superimposed colored splotches which represent the 'reach' of the various Triumvirate orbital elements, "the forces of the DPN and the Cetagandan First are going to bolster Shogunate defense while we and other elements from the First are going for immediate counterattack and rapid-response reserves."

Rico nods. "It'll take a few days for the reserves we've called up to get here, so those initial counterattacks--immediately following any bombardment--are going to just be vertical envelopment. No ground holding, yet."

"Good. While we've got upwards of sixty thousand troopers ready to go, that's not enough to take and hold strategic regions in Iraqstan. Now that we've preparat parabellum," she says with a wry smile, looking up from the board for the first time at her opposite number, "we still vic pacem. What do we do to keep the peace, Jay-Facc?"

Rico, also acting as the Joint Force Air Component Commander (JFACC), shrugs. "Dunno. The Iraqstani and the Shogunate are swapping angry communiques, so our angle should be dealing with explaining the detonations. I had StratCom come up with a report; WANCC is currently verifying the findings." He hands over a databoard, then takes Jennings' position at the map while the Field Marshal looks down the list.

"'Possible causes of unknown nuclear explosions in Iraqstan,'" she reads aloud, "'One: Unscheduled nuclear testing to create casus belli.'"

"Useless to us," Rico replies, "because if Quil'raya wants a fight, there's no way for argue him out of it. Assume false."

"'Two: Accidental or intentional detonation of foreign ordinance.' Hm, that's a polite way of saying we bombed them on accident or we're Mandraking it."

"I've got every loadmaster on every ship running through their ordinance inventory, concentrating solely on fusion weapons and fissionable material. For one, we use dedicated fusion weapons--not even thermonukes--and those explosions scream fissionable material. For two, we've got sensors plying the skies twenty-four-seven in seven-twenty; you'd think we'd see something falling out of the sky over Iraqstan."

"Probably false then." Mabel shrugs. "'Three: Intentional act of Triumvirate intelligence forces.'"

"If that's true, then Quil'raya has every right to go apeshit on us. Also, you'd think we'd have gotten a memo by now. Assume false."

"'Four: Intentional act of terrorism.'"

"That's actually possible," Rico muses, "except those crazy knights or whatever are in Um Lizaa and it's quite some distance away from where these guns went up."

"Still, Juan, those crazy knights are also probably 'Pendrans and because of that they needed transportation to get to Um Lizaa in the first place. They may have just used it again to get to Iraqstan. Also, you have to admit... if the Special Services or SIS were going to make a move like this, they can certainly blame the knights-errant. Problem is, the knights-errant haven't taken credit yet."

"Which means that either they didn't do it, their credit hasn't been forged yet, they haven't gotten around to taking credit yet, they're keeping low because they don't want people to know they nuked the place, or something went wrong and they went up with the nukes. I guess that could be an angle we could try if all else failed."

"But wait, there's one last one. 'Five: Accidental detonation of Iraqstani nuclear assets.'"

"Yeah, like they're going to go for that one. 'Sorry, but your designers are so stupid, they built nukes likely to explode when dropped accidentally.' Come on, Mabel. No one makes things that shoddy."

"Just reading the list, Juan."

* - * - *

--<Transmission Type: Open Wavelength Public Communications>--
-<Sender Sky Marshal Rico, CO 4TEF>-

To all parties involved:

I figure this just needs to be said before everyone starts making too many assumptions and heads roll that absolutely don't have to: have any intelligence services been keeping track of Iraqstan- or Um Lizaa- based terrorist cells? I think we all know that the inhabitants of the Um Lizaan isle have been... feisty as of late and they've probably just decided to take the fight to the Iraqstani mainland.

I can confirm that the Triumvirate military is not responsible for this, as my ships have just made a check of their weapons compliment and every single missile and warhead is either on its rack in the magazines, in a shop for repair, or in a tube ready to be fired. All present, all accounted for. So far as the possibilty that other Triumvirate nations condoned this... well, that doesn't pass the logic test because usually people [i]don't want to be attacked and therefore avoid actions that get them such treatment.

That being said, we would like to remind certain parties that, having not fired the first shot, we are perfectly happy to step back if everyone calms down; that way, everyone gets to keep on living. If certain parties make the unfortunate mistake of taking it up a notch, then we will have the most unfortunate duty of responding in like kind... which would be rather annoying if this is all just the result of a handling accident or some terrorist attack. Far too much power for people like that to weild.

Sky Marshal Juan Rico
CO, Earth Theatre
TYWS-SCV Olympus Mons

--<Maintaining Signal for Response>--

Cetagandan Third Fleet
Earth Orbit, Sol System
http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/ortformationsmall.JPG (http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/ortformation.JPG) http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/riderslaunchsmall.JPG (http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/riderslaunch.JPG)

Upon the receipt of the orders from Shogunate command, the Cetagandan dropships begin to deploy to their assigned areas. If one was looking at the fleet carriers of the group, the sight would look rather like soap bubbles floating off of the capital ships - only on closer inspection these bubbles would turn out to have huge cargo hatches and bristle with (relatively) light weapons designed to suppress and then defend a landing zone and ward off attack by fighters and missiles. Roughly three hundred of the spheroid ships speed down towards the planet below. They enter the atmopshere at a slow enough velocity that friction is minimal, and set down with the gentleness of a feather despite their hundred-meter diameter. This may, perhaps, be a bit wasteful of power - on the other hand, this is not a combat drop into a hot LZ, and huge fireballs dropping from the sky is the last thing that the situation needs. Massive Bolos, combat cars the size of most so-called 'modern-tech' tanks, and combat-armored marines on floating skimmers are soon deployed around their respective destinations. There are no mobile artillery unites or air-defense calliopes deployed at this point - these would take up valuable dropship space and are too slow for the fast-moving tactics of Cetagandan SurTac. These roles will be filled by the dropships, with air-defense supplemented by the infinite repeaters carried on the Bolos and cars. Meanwhile, at a few other points, lighter dropships that fitted as cargo haulers and medical ships, along with a flurry of shuttles and cutters, flit about the danger zone to pick up stray civilians.
http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/droplandsmall.JPG (http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/dropshipsland.JPG) http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/medevacsmall.JPG (http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/medevac.JPG)
=+=+=+=
{Open Communications}
x CSS-DNS Lionel Mandrake (Flag CSS-3Fleet)
o Anyone Who Cares To Listen To Reason

Like our Scolopendran colleagues, we've physically checked the warheads we have that are capable of producing blasts like those seen in Iraqstan, and found that none our missing. For that matter, the radiological signatures don't look remotely like the clean weapons we deploy. They do, however, seem to look much the same as those used by Iraqstan. Like Sky Marshall Rico, I suspect that this is the act of terrorists or rebels of some sort. Think of it - the cannons were certainly well know to be a source of prestige to the Iraqstani leadership. What better place for someone with a grudge to strike? I think it's safe to say that nuclear weapons were stored at the sites of these 'cannons of purity.' The nuclear event may simply have been an unintentional side effect of a attack on the cannons.

Another thought for everyone - if this was the work of an anti-Iraqstan nation (such as the Shogunate, as Fuhrer Quil'Raya seems to think), why would they strike the cannons like this? If they could sneak a pair of nuclear devices into Iraqstan, or even a pair of agents, why not strike at the leadership?

It seems to me that there must be a third party involved here. They may be Um Lizaans, they may be internal Iraqstani dissidents, or they may be some other power hostile to Iraqstan, the Shogunate, the NDA, and/or the Triumvirate. No matter the case, this is no time to lash out unthinkingly. We need to step back and wait for things to cool down and an investigation by a neutral, mutually-trusted party to find out what really happened before millions die and nations are destroyed because of a case of misplaced blame.

Fleet Admiral Alberto Cain
Officer Commanding, Cetagandan Third Fleet
{Message Ends}

The night was a cacophony of noise and light, focused across an expansive desert more known for shifting sands than the clanking of motivated machinery amidst the sweltering winds. Amidst the swelling dunes of sand which forced the arid land into cresting waves of choking dryness, the artificial rose from scorched rock beneath; entirely alien to the barren but protective nature surrounding.

Metal does not shine with splendour when only the pale light of the Moon falls upon its structure- A poor shadow of former impressive ability when the scorching, searing caress of Sol departs the lands for an all too short a while. Yet for all intents and purposes an artificial day existed, as shafts of brilliant white light erupted from high-intensity spotlights submerged within the shifting sands. Against these illuminations the sweeping mass of the Princess Guard became fully visible; Refusing to merge with the darkness and bristling with intent now realised.

From the rearmost quarter of the cannon, activity beckoned. Large and brutish cylinders ten feet in diameter began a steady yet cumbersome motion, rising and falling as squat oars might reach from the hull of a boat and lap against the stubborn currents. From elsewhere the grinding whir of technology announced increasing involvement, even as the stout searchlights themselves began to flicker and surge.

Mere pawns now that construction had effectively ended, the vast legions of the nameless drafted in to haul, assemble and connect regarded the activity with trepidation. Where before they had freely gathered around the site, now they retreated with haste, accompanied by the piercing wail of a clearly urgent siren unleashing waves of sonic assault that washed across the dunes and made the urgency apparent.

From the comfort of the Iraqstani command bunker adjacent, acting project coordinator Silveste Veron regarded the awakening of the behemoth. Across the some hundred metre length barrel alone running lights began to pulse with increasing frequency; a countdown of imminent and declining proportions. He took his gaze from the Sister Guard as an unimportant lackey made his presence respectfully known.

“The report!” He snapped, before the diminutive subordinate could even initially form words.

He thrust it outwards, white knuckles tensed as Veron snatched the clipboard and roughly flicked through the papers contained upon it.

“We are behind schedule,” He stated.

“We’ve had problems with capacitor banks sir,” He began in earnest. “The build-up charge was lost several times before the problem was corrected.”

Silveste fixed a grim look upon such deliverer of news. “You realise that such mistakes will be deducted from your income.”

The subordinate nodded dumbly.

“It is of no matter,” he added. “We are almost ready to fire.”


The sky observed all, as the frantic action of the waving cylinder-pistons reached fever pitch. From beneath their trenches of filled concrete energy conduits began to glow, cycling through the spectrum of visible light until such point as the subtle shades were lost and only the brightest colours were discernable. A very palpable tremor began to pass through the Princess Guard as the mysterious energies of the Materia contained within were brought to bear.

Almost imperceptibly, the fore of the barrel began to rise upwards; seeking a new position to assail. With a deafening thud the mechanism locked in place and for a moment the thrumming continued. Without so much as a flicker to be remembered by, the spotlights failed, rendering the entire weapon virtually invisible save for surviving aero beacons upon the highest points.

Yet now, the circulatory system of the cannon was obvious- Thrashing pyrotechnical clouds of energy which roared through conduit and piping from the rear to fore in much the same fashion as the crimson of life brought life to the biological functions of man. With a final, resounding flash all energies faded and total darkness overcame the compound- Even Veron forced to wait in darkness as the Moon proved further its weak and almost worthless light.

As though forming from the air itself, particles of subtle violet shimmered- As water allowed to run to the sink drain these energetic points of light began to slowly rotate, joined in their descent towards the gaping maw of the barrel by cobalt particles created from seeming nothingness.

From a dimension unseen or technology unrealised other colours joined their journey into the darkness- Scintillating red, searing yellow and agonising white acting as a choir of colour that now rotated freely and seemed a dazzling display of visual beauty. Unfortunately, it could not last forever and as the particles continued into the barrel, none further were created and as consequence the light show ended as a fading, failing flail.

With a tremendous scream that tested the fortitude of the bolts holding entire sections together, the barrel recoiled as a dazzling flash of muzzle obscured for brief seconds the devastating tip of a lancing bolt of terrifying energy. Free now from physical restraint the dagger of the ethereal crossed dune, moss and forest with fearful speed.

The body of the Princess Guard shook so violently that entire sections of support were overwhelmed, alarms shrieking as scaffolding tresses and pressure conduits were torn violently separate and sent to Terra Firma with equal rudeness. Great shock absorbers laboured methodically to limit the intense recoil, and though damage was done they achieved aim as the superstructure of the immense weapon remained sound.

For the inhabitants of Um Tikala, there could be no achievement further- For all was lost in the heart of the nation of Um Lizaa. Works of incalculable rarity; art, music and literature would be pulled violently from reality and forgotten. Scientists of unsurpassed intelligence; of medicine, of chemistry and the stars themselves burned from the present to memory only. Crowded though pleasant streets housing the populace; neither of outstanding intelligence nor creativity but honest, attentive and hard-working to be crushed beneath barely understood wrath and simply boiled from the waters and lands of the Earth.

The impact was surprisingly silent in nature- A flash of such intensity that to look upon it would render a man blind for eternity or recording equipment effectively destroyed likewise. An expanding wall of the purest light which seemed far gentler and kinder than the function if its generator; metallic and harshly artificial.

However even this technology could not prevent the stars themselves from reasserting their eternal dominance- First those brightest, shining with the energy of a process scarcely defined to common man; then the Moon, impotent observer and finally the lesser constellations.

Taking lead from the sea between worlds, Mother Nature pushed through the silence. Yet where before the stars had remained unchanged, heinous alteration had been wrought upon the land; grievous wounding that lay beyond the scope of understanding and rectification. Trees stood as absurd monuments to their previous form- The side having faced the impact entirely removed from existence and the fragments remaining blackened so that no hope of growth could be reasonably harboured.

The soil, extending from doorstep to wilderness deprived of its most fertile top layer; simply removed and taken to places and reality unknown and as a consequence forever out of reach. Immovable boulders to whom the passage of time had taken little toll were rendered into shattered fragments of equal smoothness- So that none might have known former size and glory.

Of the city, Um Tikala, nothing remained. Only the barest indentation on such massive scale betrayed a crater of sorts; though seemingly utterly undersized for an impact of such devastation. Here however, no blackened or smoking ruins remained. Not even the sturdiest foundations of the most reinforced structures were visible- As though some malevolent force had seen fit to return the land to a state more suited to the forming years of the Earth itself. All traces of accomplishment, and history expunged and then such records of destruction themselves lost.

Finally granted access to the data so important in reaching an effectiveness rating by the timely restoration of power, Veron allowed a smile to form upon his features. The energy meters spiking violently for but the shortest time, so that the pointers could travel no further and vibrated their displeasure. Now, all was silent save the back-slapping congratulations of the higher-ranked amongst those assembled.

Already the myriad workers whom abandoned the site earlier began to flock- To assess damage, to ponder repairs and above all else; Render sufficient assistance to make the Princess Guard worthy to once more rein Materia-enabled death upon the now horrendously aware populace of Um Lizaa. The partnership between The Shin-Ra Corporation and the nation of Iraqstan had at last borne fruit, and it remained now only to taste and enjoy such tantalising delights.

"Lord of Light...what the bloody hell was that?," says Admiral Cain, staring at the main plot as klaxons begin the sound and the CIC staff scrambles about him.

x Drake >> Condition red, condition red. All hands to action stations. This is no drill.

An officer across the room calls out, "Huge energy spike in Iraqstan and Um Lizaa...gods, the Lizaan capital is gone. Doesn't look like a nuke - some kind of directed energy weapon. Doesn't match a gravy gun or eraser-variant though." After a momentary pause while he calls up information from the fleet database on his implants, he continues, "It originated from a cluster of buildings in Iraqstan, which were being built by a, ah, Shin-Ra Corporation. Intelligence thought it was some kind of new power plant."

x Drake >> All ships report battle reflex mode active and crew at action stations. No sign of hostile action as of yet.

"Gods save us from Fleet Intelligence," mutters Cain. As the screens update to show close in views of the devastation, a thought flicks through his mind. "Drake, fleet message: I'll shoot any idiot who fires without orders. I won't have some bright captain remember Liberty and blame it on Iraqstan."

x Cmdr.Garrison::FleetPsiOps >> Admiral, that event seems to be some sort of thaumtech or psionics. Looked a lot like a gorram matrix weapon to me. We're preping countermeasures, but I suggest we spread the fleet out more and be ready to nuke, gravy, and laser that thing if it twitches.

"Drake, order the fleet to increase combat spacing. All ship maintain current targeting status and defense priorities. Captain Hallard," Cain continues, speaking to Mandrake's commander on the bridge, "Target that weapon with the ship's guns. Full power, one-second strike with all primaries."

x Cmdr.Hallard::CO Mandrake >> Aye, sir. That'll cause a hell of a lot of collateral damage to everything within fifty or so kilometers, though. Gravy guns will punch through the crust, and that's a few hundred megatons of kinetics and EM."

"If the shooting starts, we'll all have more things to worry about than a bit of dust, radiation, and lava, Captain." Cain flicks off the channel, and turns to the field marshal. "I think it will be best if we continue with deployments. While I doubt that we could block a strike by that thing against your positions, I can guarantee that it won't do it more than once."

Inside Um Lizaa the news spread like a wildfire, "Um Tikala has been destroyed comrade" Are the words whispered in many villiages surrounding the area where the capital of six hundred thousand stood. "Comrade, General the capital...it's gone!" Are some of the words that scouts use when reporting franticaly to their commanders whom many reside on the front line defending their people's lives.

On the front the news traveled more slowly as behind the lines villiage after villiage erupted with the news some recieving phone calls on the limited and over taxed phone systems others recieving out dated communications like morse code systems even more simply recieving word via horse riders from the villiages closest to the capital, the words were all the same the city gone their president elect dead....

On the lines the generals hear this and meet to discuss their options their voices turning silent when the high general Muhammed Al Sabbas steps into the room and nods his greetings. "My comrades you are all aware that the comrade president is dead, the city destroyed. The enemy of the people has destroyed them. They have used a weapon we cannot fight against. We must act and act quickly, I have sent runners to search for the knights and their ship, we must strike in the enemy's heart and quickly.

You have all been informed of the previous strike that crippled the cannons of purity we are still waiting more news from the knights on their success. Now we must prepare this weapon will wipe out anything it touches we will scatter the remains of the heirachy in the hopes of keeping some form of survival. As of now I am in effective command until the people can vote in a new leader.

We will begin a pull back from the wall and prepare for the worst the enemy knows how to hit us in our most sensitive areas we must fortify and prepare for more. We must prepare our comrades for a surge into the south we will liberate our brothers from the militant hands of the fuhrer!" he says as the generals clap their approval and shout their support.

"First my brothers we will tend to the withdrawl and this is how we'll do it..." The general outlines the plans as outside soldiers march in formation towards the front which can be identified in the middle of the night only by the constant flashing of explosions and the distant chattering of machien guns.

Office of the Fuhrer

Standing infront of his fathers desk Lidric looks furious "Father you are not listening to me! The use of the princess guard was foolish! Especially at a time when all eyes are on us because of our forces toeing the border of The shogunate! It is bad enough you are ignoring Firefury but now you use a weapon that they can percieve as dangerous to them?! You will bring the wrath of many down upon us and ruin all that we've fought for!" he shouts at his father who sits cooly at his desk and listens patiently.

"My son it is only because you are my only child that you do not lay dead where you are now for your insubordination." He whispers coldly when Lidric stops to take a furious breath his face flushing with fear. "How ever that protection will only go so far. Especially when I hear you have been recieving messages from our enemies." He says even more softly his eyes growing cold and menacing. "Father what I recieve from who is none of your business when it does not concern the alliance or the motherland." His son says angrily but straights his back into a military attentivness. "Mein fuhrer I request permission to speak freely." He says knowing just how close his neck is to the blade.

"Go ahead son." Is the calm almost amused repsonse "Very well, I recommend you pull those ships back from the reploid coastal zones and keep all the subs on our side, respond to their message and tell them you are conducting military excercises and that they are no longer suspected of the attacks against the cannons of purity. Keep them distracted and watchin those ships whilst you play with your new weapon. I dont care what you say but keep their eyes firmly watching those ships! Do not and I advise this highly DO NOT use the princess guard again unless we need too, already I've had reports of the ships from the Triumverate in orbit getting jittery I've managed to get a message through to the alpha fleet at Ithica station but they are mostly in dry dock for upgrades and are unable to send anything larger than a small cruiser so we're effectively defensless in orbit. Secondly we have reports of a massed pull back by the rebels from the wall they're falling back to regroup and most likely dig in and wait for a final push by our men which I recommend we do.

I might not agree with this war but I would rather see peace than continued deaths of innocents like we are causing." He says through gritted teeth as his father chuckles softly "I will authorise the orders to make a final push but the orders will be as normal, anything not Iraqstani is to be shot. These inferior rodents must be taught a lesson." Is his father's cool respose. "Leave son, I've heard enough of your cries tonight." He says as his son glares at him and storms out of the office slamming the door shut behind him.

Rushing through the palace and to his own set of rooms Lidric kicks at his chair angrily before setting it up right and placing himself infront of his computer, staring at a picture of him standing with four Iraqstani soldiers he shakes his head and quickly begins typing out a message.


Encryption: Standard Diplomatic
To: Nathicana of The Dominion, Devon of Treznor, Firefury of Reploid Productions
From: Lidric Quil'raya
subject: The final straw

Greetings,

You are all aware most likely of the current situation in Um Lizaa, you are no doubt also aware of the recent firing of a previously unknown weapon. This weapon was donated and built by the Shin-Ra corporation a corporation I respect for their support of Iraqstan. How ever they have given a weapon to the wrong person and it's time now for things to be cleared.

I am circumventing my father in this I request a meeting with the three of you to discuss changes that need to be made and quickly. This is not a trap for either party and it will be held in the only place I know is safe from my father's wrath. The former holdings of the Quil'rayan family. We will meet deep in the desert in the old fortress of House Ra'ya here in Iraqstan, for the your part your highness of the shogunate I can arrange for a single blank spot in our detection systems for you to slip in and out of Iraqstan. This meeting is of dire need and for Nathi and Devon naturaly I will extend the same secrecy unless you wish to meet with my father.

Times are changing and I no longer feel comfortable with the way thigns are going. Meet with me and I am sure we can devise a hopefull plan. I will contact what ever is left of the Um Lizaan resistance but that is something I will discuss in person with you all. Please respond to this secured line only all other means of communication with me are I am afraid tapped, my father is aware of the message you sent me Firefury and I do not wish to die before my time.

Respond as quickly as possible for I fear my father has higher goals for the Princess Guard and the further expansion of Iraqstani territory.

In faith and respect
Lidric Quil'Raya.



Sending the message Lidric sits back and sighs feeling a sharp pain in his heart as he realises just how much he is betraying his country. "Sirithil have forgivness on me for this." He whispers before turning and leaving his room, stalking towards the front door and escape from the stares of his father's most loyal soldiers.

Treznor stares at the letter in his hand in horror. Has it finally come to this? Was there really nothing else I could have done to stop it? His head tells him Carlos chose his own fate. His heart isn't so sure.

He presses a button on his desk. "Ben, get down here. We have work to do."

Gods help me. You'll get what you need, Lidric. I just hope it doesn't mean what I think it does.

Windigger wrinkled his nose slightly at the pungent odour wafting through the narrowed streets, a strong aroma as though released by soil unbroken and unmolested for decades and now mercilessly upended and thrown upon a soon to be forgotten heap. He paused before the dust which rolled a few inches above the concrete roadway, as an early morning mist might cling to the ground stubbornly. Ahead the clustered buildings of the Iraqstani capital Sirithilia parted somewhat to stand upon the circumference of an expansive crater, bustling with the activity of dozens within.

Rising from this depression in the ground steel tresses stood, already being secured in place as vast mountains of construction materials formed an unofficial barrier around the construction site. The familiar diamond-shaped logo of The Shin-Ra Corporation stood at the secured gate of the zone as an ever-watchful presence to the pursuit of power and wealth; control and manipulation never far behind in the pecking order. Windigger was careful to avoid the hulking workers themselves—Far too laborious and unintelligent to be worthy of consideration beyond their brawn and ability to implement it. Though this site was literally little more than a hole in the ground, the grander plan was afoot. The permanent presence of the Shin-Ra in Iraqstan would lead only to further expansion and ultimately a foothold in markets abroad, at the unfortunate expense of the Um Lizaan people.

Trent was unable to ignore the riff-raff further, when one competed directly for his attentions; sweat stained and clutching what might have once been a pristine white sheet of paper.

“Mister Windigger seems our demonstration rattled some cages orbit-side.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes Windigger seized the report, quickly ascertaining its contents. “All’s fair in love and war, lad. You’ve heard that expression haven’t you? I don’t expect you’ve read much books considering how much you earn, but still, education is an investment that can reap dividends.”

The peon nodded, still grinning dumbly.

“More to the point however,” Trent began. “We are a corporation, first and foremost. As any other company we create goods and or supply services in return for monetary reimbursement or occasionally, lavish praise. Some others might bind and publish a book, or cure the ills of the Human body; we deal in death. We research the arts of murder in order to make them more efficient and bring about a clinical aspect to war—nobody wants to see suffering, that’s bad for business.”

“The Princess Guard is first and foremost, a tool. It is no different to the rifle, or the grenade or the starship; each of those is used to deal death and kill and yet the manufacturers do not deal with the bereaved on a daily basis. The supreme responsibility of the weapon lies with the government of Iraqstan, whom acknowledge and welcome this fact. Even though we supply a dozen experts in order to ensure they are even able to target with the cannon, and a hundred more to carry out the menial work required, they are mere extensions of that tool status. Nobody is advocating as foolish a request as neutrality; Princess Guard is a viable wartime target. However those peons such as yourself and even their more experienced colleagues are expendable and tragically innocent—simply attempting to make a living.”

Finally, the nameless clerk took a look of confusion upon his features.

“Have another hundred workers shipped to the cannon site,” Ordered Windigger, signing the sheet flippantly and handing it back. “At the very least, it’ll make a truly heart-wrenching tale of those whom sacrificed their worthless lives so that they might make sufficient money for their families to reimburse The Shin-Ra Corporation for expenditures such as cremation. Establish some unrelated scientific laboratories within the site radius also and appropriate some eager-eyed university graduates; preferably those whom genuinely believe they can change the world. Explain that The Shin-Ra Corporation has selected them to receive the ‘Windigger research grant for scientific excellence’ and as part of the grant, they are to be relocated to Iraqstan to immerse themselves in foreign culture and make better use of available facilities.”

Clutching the clipboard tightly the clerk frowned further, “I’m not familiar with that award.”

“You’re now one of two who are,” He replied nonchalantly. “I’d prefer a tangible number, perhaps fifty or so, and try to recruit more men than women—it’s an easier on the propaganda.”

“I don’t think this’ll force the Triumvirate, or anyone else to reconsider their options.”

This time, the Shin-Ra executive did roll his eyes. “It is extremely fortunate then, that you are not paid to think. Do you really believe I’d be implementing this small side-project in the vain belief it would stop the entirety of the Triumvirate of Yut from acting? Don’t be so foolish or naive; this isn’t a small scale skirmish against lesser forces, this is a rapidly escalating conflict against one of the most powerful associations within the Solar System. At the very least, we might appropriate some entertaining tragedy news of young lives snuffed out by the unfortunate tendrils of war; at the most some tantalising propaganda.”

Having spent enough time on the insignificant before him, Windigger waved his hand dismissively. “You have wasted quite enough of my energy, be gone.”

Refocusing his eyes upon the construction site, the Director of Offensive Weapons Research and Deployment smiled visibly. Things were progressing smoothly, though only the youngest or most arrogant employee believed such a state of affairs could last. It seemed to him that only the populace of Um Lizaa were effectively doomed—not everyone could be a winner after all, and in the immortal words of his predecessor, once great now ‘retired’, he who dares wins.

Imperial Palace, Firefury's quarters - Reploid Productions

"Damn." Firefury states, perhaps the only eulogy to be uttered for the nameless operative who most likely met his end in Iraqstan. "So the kid wants to meet, does he?"

"Firefury-sama, I must protest this. It is too dangerous and could be too easily a trap." Tsume paces before the orange reploid.

"I agree with Tsume." Leona comments in a matter-of-fact tone. "This cold war is on the brink of going hot. You visiting Iraqstan like this is just too risky, especially with a sizeable chunk of ours and everyone else's orbital assets looming ready to deliver a crippling counterattack if that bastard does shoot first."

"Plus there's that new weapon to consider as well. Intel isn't quite sure what that thing is exactly, but they believe it may be some sort of thaumaturgic weapon." Tsume taps a talon on that particular report.

"This is exactly what we've been waiting for." Firefury retorts. "The kid is fed up with his old man, he's trying to figure out the lay of things from a diplomatic standpoint. Besides, I trust Nathi and Trez not to backstab their allies, and I doubt even Carlos is so far gone as to turn on his allies just to get at me."

"But what if the kid is just saying Nathi and Treznor will be there?" Leona growls.

"That's easy enough to cross-check. Tsume, send Nathi and Treznor both a message inquiring if they got the same transmission and what they'd like to do regarding it." Firefury leans back in her chair. "Meanwhile, I'm going to make sure my ship's ready."

This gives Leona brief pause. "The Queen's Wing?"

"Oh hell no." Firefury smirks at the baffled Secretary of Defense. "My Elite Victory 3, with an ECM MSWP equipped."

"You want to fly yourself there in nothing but a fighter?!"

"A highly advanced fighter, mind you, in the hands of an ace pilot." Firefury nods knowingly. "In any case, nothing's final until I get a chance to confer with Nathi and Devon on this new development."

Orbit

There's enough chatter on the joint lines from the Cetagandan and Shogunate spacys to keep the ETTF informed without adding to the chaos. No, the communications between the Triumvirate warships had nothing to do with the firing of Princess Guard; at least, nothing directly mentioning it.

Instead--already being at deep orange alert--estimates of ship readiness skip across the battlenet, raw sensor feeds exchanged and shared so the combined stratnet of mechanoid ship minds and organic strategy sections could come together and ponder them. Fighters already on CAP and preparing for ground attack, to clean up anything that would resist the massive orbital 'response' suggested by literally thousands of capital-grade weapons traversing and tilting into position.

Tensions increase, certainly, but this is what the TYCS is trained for. Standing by, watching carefully, to leap into the breach as the situation demands... yet, for the idealists of the Combined Services, it is extremely trying to simply stand by and watch the Um Lizaans be devestated once again... but the fear of greater death to a higher priority, those citizens of the Shogunate, keep the M.I. and Gear in their drop-ready stations, the attack wings merely biding their time, the guns silent.

Despite common misconception, the TYCS quickly formulates a plan not requiring the complete paving of Iraqstan. Known military strategic centers and missile facilities would be particle cannoned until they sported a fine glass glaze, to be sure, but facilities closer to civilian populaces would suffer the more exact punishment of naval eraser and low-yield missile fire. Anything requiring extreme exactitude--single buildings inside cities--would be handled by ground-attack Phantom IIIs.

The most violence would actually be seen against Iraqstani naval assets in the Shogunate tactical theatre. Wet naval ships are not well armored on their tops, generally.

What every trooper, Naval and Ground Forces, from Sky Marshal Rico to the lowest M.I. doing final checks on his man-portable autocannon, refuses to do is think. The TYCS is a technological warfighting force, and everything is in checklists, and counterchecklists. Shells must be counted, allocated, and positions of magazines planned for easy access, swapping, and selection. Targeters must be calibrated, courses barely corrected.

Ground

Mahmuda slowly crawls back over the ridge overlooking the mako cannon, frowning softly to herself. This is all my fault. Our fault. We did this. She ducks down, looking at her gauntleted hands. We escalated everything to this point... we've gotten more people killed. Even more death...

Peeking up, she once again scouts out the cannon, then looks beside her to the satchel full of weapons and explosives. No... we are not responsible for the actions of evil men. We chose to fight; they chose to fight. She sets her jaw, her eyes turn cold once again. Had they killed a hundred thousand in a stroke or over a year, one hundred thousand would still be dead. The unholy infidels simply prove that our cause is just; they are attacked and repelled as a military and they strike back against the weak, those that cannot oppose them. If we back down now, simply because of the unexpected...

From the satchel, she extracts Dame Constanza's hypervelocity needle rifle and straps that over one shoulder, careful that its lanyard doesn't cross the heavy strap holding her missile launcher. She then sets about linking all the detonators for the explosives together to one, the satchel of charges on her other shoulder. I have given my word of honor to defend the Um Lizaans, either to my death or to the death of those evil villains who would oppress the weak and enslave the good. By the will of Allah, the All-Merciful, the Enricher and the Withholder, that gun shall fall by the strength of my arm or my life will end in the quest for that goal.

She takes off her helmet, turns its camera towards her sweat-grimed face, and begins to speak quickly, quietly, but firmly in Arabic. Her message complete, she burns the rest of her suit's power in a QE transmission back to Correct Action, then slowly, very slowly, works against the mass of her suit to pull out the expended battery and drop in a new one. Offering a prayer to God, she watches the action as her missile launcher clacks a missile into the breech, then puts it to her shoulder, lases the largest and most delicate looking bit of machinery she can, and fires. Ducking down, she rolls down for cover before running to another spot to snipe from. Extreme range, but still perhaps possible.

*cha-CHAK* and the burning hiss of another missile outbound, another metallic snickersnack as another missile enters... it all blends together, Mahmudova's prayer stretching out into a litany in her mind. I am Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova of Tariq. I am the agent of Idealism, the tool of God and His work. It is my duty to protect, my duty to fight to the last breath,--another missile away--to ignore life and limb in Allah's service. If it is God's will that I be a martyr for Him, so be it--no price is too high for idealism, no cost excessive. With each pull of my trigger, if my aim be true and my arm be steady, I bring us closer to victory. Her last missile away, the loading mechanism of her launcher makes a loud CHUNK sound; she tosses it away without even thinking.

Open-bore coilgun in one hand, powergun rifle in the other, she crests the hill and runs down towards the complex, jump jets firing so she careens through the sparse trees. Over the flamethrower din of the boosters, she screams clearly through her suit's speakers: "Sayfu'alllllaaaaahhhhhh!"

Air

Sir Ekianga blinks as he reads over the QE-encrypted packet he just received over Correct Action's ansible. "The crazy dame," he mutters softly to himself.

"She's going for that gun again, isn't she?" Sir Y'vain asks absent-mindedly, not taking his eyes from the seascape flashing by below the stubby assault shuttle.

"Yup." The artificer-errant chuckles and tosses aside his sat-hack. "Good thing we were already on the way to rescue. I guess that can wait until mission accomplished, eh?"

The pilot-errant ignores the attempt at conversation. "What does it look like?"

"Sat-hack is just like it was--Iraqstan's fully mobilized, fighters in the air, ships on patrol, troops everywhere. We'll come in under their air-defense radars but someone dangerous is going to spot us."

"Then we will just have to be ready." Y'vain Dowiyogo leans forward and flips a thick metal switch with a loud snap; Correct Action lights up as a huge blob of EM interference on every Iraqstani radar set within range as it crosses the coast, jamming military and civilian radio with massive noise. "They know we're coming. Man the guns."

Ekianga sighs, then gets up out of his seat, offering one hand to Dame Dijana as she pulls herself out of her copilot position. The two carapace-armored knights bow to each other, then move quickly and carefully to the side tribarrels, strapping themselves in by the shoulders. Flashing a thumbs-up to each other, the two kick the footpedals that control the latches, the side doors fan out and pan down to act as armor, and the shielded guns slide out, 10cm powergun tribarrels already spinning up to speed. Buffeted by the wind, Sir Ekianga and Dame Dijana start scanning the sky, the ground, getting ready to shoot at anything that looks deserving of it while the shuttle blasts three meters over the treetops.

Fleet C-Space

x FFL Chamuel >> Hey, look at this. I'm seeing a scan irregularity coming from near that thaumtech cannon. Anyone else notice it or is it just me?

x MBC Morgan Kell>> No, I see it as well.

x SPA Intransigent>> Same here.

x MBC Erwin Rommel>> It looks like EW. Someone's trying to jam radar and radio all over that area. Signature looks rather like Sunset equipment.

x DNS Lionel Mandrake>> There haven't been any strike orders that I know of, but there's a zillion mercs using Sunset surplus.

x FFL Bergelmir >> Bet it's those knight-errant people.

x DNS Lionel Mandrake>> Tanj.

CIC

x Drake>> Admiral, we may have a serious problem.

"Somehow I'm not terribly surprised, given the way this day has been going."

x Drake>> I have reason to believe that the knight-errant group is about to attack the thaumtech weapon that was just fired. Fleet scan shows a small ship approaching it with heavy EW. We're attempting to cut through it now, but we've managed to get some Mark One Eyeball glimpses and effectors pings and it's definately a Sunset design. There may be fighting occuring at the cannon as we speak, as well.

Cain runs a hand through his hair. "Are these gorram people trying to start a war? Is there any way we can interfere?"

x Drake>> Assuming that we want to... not really. We could try a remote hack attempt with the effectors, but I doubt it would be effective in the timeframe against their equipment. It'd be relatively easy to shoot it down, but somehow I doubt the Iraqstani would take it well. We miss and burn down a forest or village; we hit and rain boiling metal down on someone.

"Right, right. Didn't think so. Bring it the attention of the TYCS with top priority. Maybe someone over there can talk to the morons before the situation blows up further."

x Drake>> If they succeed in destroying the weapon, they will take care of a major problem for us.

"Not in this situation, I think," Cain replies. "This is Quil'raya we're talking about. How do you think he'd react to his shiny toy blowing up?"

x Drake>> Ah. Message sent.

The unremarkable handrail remained silent even as the barrel of the ill-maintained rifle struck, reverberating against each individual banister as it clattered loudly upon the innocuous steel, and continued to be dragged across the barrier without a thought to damage. Eventually the clashing ceased, as the rifle was unceremoniously hauled upright to squinting, bloodshot eyes that regarded the poor piece of military hardware with obvious disdain.

The owner of such a disgusted gaze was hardly in a position to criticise his weapon; sporting flesh as dirty and pockmarked as the rare patches of blackness representing the original finish of the gun held between filth-encrusted fingers. An ill-fitting uniform of dark blue clung to his impoverished frame, the sea of mundane colour broken only by the dominant and emblazoned diamond logo of The Shin-Ra Corporation upon the breast.

The faceless peon paused, a hand rising upwards to scratch the uncouth week-old stubble dotted across his pointed and angular chin.

Such an itch never received due attention, as the entirety of the catwalk ahead dissolved in a blossoming detonation of energy which shredded the metal as though incinerated paper and scattered the red-hot shrapnel as party favours of unwavering lethality. The much-maligned and abused rifle was cast into the air, forgotten as the man began to back-pedal wildly in a vain attempt to negate the irresistible depression which hauled the gantry ahead downwards, transforming it from walkway to slide.

Unfortunately, time was not sufficient to allow a way to extricate himself from such a hazardous situation; a second thunderous detonation upending the steel he clung to desperately and depositing him downwards into the blazing inferno, which even before his fatal departure had melted and removed from his boots the soles.

Indiscriminate gunfire raked the moonlit sky of Iraqstan, as the likewise compatriots of the freshly fallen unleashed their small arms in haphazard fashion and lacking any true idea of the direction the assailant had struck from. Beyond the immediate vertigo-inducing heights of the uppermost levels of the Princess Guard, a deep wail erupted from the pole-mounted alarm sirens—declaring that the fight had now been taken to the forces of the Shin-Ra, the element of surprise so fickle now resting with them.

Screams joined the sound of furious bullets as a third and final ballistic impact tore free a spectacularly large segment of steel trussing; the metal warping in the agonising heat of the explosion even as it impacted upon the cowering form of those maintenance workers simply too slow to heed the squawking of the evacuation sirens. Two distinct fires raged upon the Mako weapon—the first two having been of such close proximity to each other that their flickering flame combined to form a roaring torrent of yellow and red, whilst the latter igniting some previously stable element and exciting it to bend and subdue the superstructure supporting.

From atop the Princess Guard, a fortified cylinder rising from the central bodywork to house the control and manipulation systems so inherently complex that constant observation was required, the command chamber attempted to remain aloof from the madness encompassing. Much of the armoured viewing window to the fore was effectively useless—obscured by a thick pall of twisting black smoke that rendered any meaningful visual information beyond useless.

“I have the estimated coordinates for point of attack!” Came the over-enthusiastic announcement.

Jennifer Diaz, Supervisor of the degenerating melee ignored the shrill cry from one of the lesser controllers, instead electing to attempt to ascertain exactly what had set a third of her weapon on fire in a matter of seconds.

Shouting to make herself audible above the din of confusion, Jennifer made her orders clear. “Confirm we’re not dealing with an orbital strike from Triumvirate forces.”

One of the previously ignored lesser controllers shook his head resolutely, “Iraqstan intelligence services confirm—not a torpedo has left TYCS tubes.”

“I have the coordinates Ma’am!” Came the same whining tone Diaz had dismissed earlier.

Jennifer was about to explain to the insufferable fool the concept of her chain of command, and precisely how badly she would beat him with it if silence wasn’t forthcoming, when her gaze was pulled to an auxiliary surveillance monitor.

“I don’t need the coordinates,” She hissed; pointing at the screen and the tiny figure upon it negating gravity itself with every step, “The point of attack is heading right for us.”


The rather amateurish marksmanship of the conscripted Shin-Ra militia had done little to win praise or the rudimentary understanding of eliminating a target, as the desert continued to throw up clouds of sand upon impact of raking bullet patterns—as off-target as it was unspectacular. The utter ineptness of the countering fire allowed the Scolopendran guerrilla-fighter considerable inroads into the complex, whilst those more capable of handling—let alone firing—a weapon struggled to cross the considerable gulf of the Princess Guard itself to take up acceptable defensive positions.

Blue droplets quickly began to fall from the titanic contraption and its subsidiary sites, as rain from overburdened clouds might land upon the soft desert sand and moisten. However these blue traces were not drops of water, but the bullet-riddled and bumbling corpses of the conscripts dispatched with ruthless efficiency by the marauding intruder—The ease at which her slaying was carried out matched only by the failure of those charged with ending her to register a single precise hit.

A second piercing siren wailed across the embattled zone, as the ponderous turning of Anti-Aircraft turrets signified a new threat from the sky. Unfortunately for the automated weapons tracking the inky blackness of the night air, the compatriots of the gravity-defying intruder were in no mood to display good sportsmanship—Unleashing a torrent of devastating fire which detonated several of the clustered defence emplacements before they had even sufficient time to complete their warm-up procedures.

Jennifer almost cried out in raging despair as she watched the brazen terrorist waltz through the inner perimeter of the Princes Guard compound unmolested. Wheeling to face her subordinates and narrowing her eyes to ensure her full anger was apparent, she spat between gritted teeth a question not immediately identifiable as rhetoric.

“Why haven’t you killed her yet?”

From the dearth of chatter following, Diaz assumed such a plan was well beyond implementation. “If I don’t see her sanctimonious, self-righteous and above all else trespassing corpse riddled with bullets and left for the midday sun to burn in the next minute, all of you are going to take her place.”

The chatter did not resume.


By this stage the Shin-Ra Corporation’s own air presence had been scrambled—Ponderous if well armed Gelnika cargo planes long since refitted to perform a duty somewhat less tedious than simple transporting and considerably more dangerous than mundane logistics. The consistent roar of their uncovered, over-powered turbine engines threatened to become audible over the ear-splitting rattle of the pitched battle nearby as the bulging aircraft began to accelerate down the hastily constructed concourse.

Even as the first, second and third plane broke from the iron grip of gravity a fourth proved not so fortunate, raked from front to rear by the pinpoint weapons of the Knight’s Errant assault craft and exploding violently into unrecognisable debris. The lead Gelnika itself performed an acrobatically near-fatal manoeuvre, avoiding a very similar fate and further still narrowly preventing a stall that would have seen the brilliance of the pilot and crew very quickly forgotten.

From the currents above, further Anti-Aircraft batteries collapsed in dazzling flashes of high-intensity ordinance—though those that continued to survive now unleashed their ammunition into a rapidly filling night sky brought to vibrant life by their shining tracers. Ironically it was the Princess Guard itself, easily the most devastating weapon within an entire national border which sat most quietly—silenced by the voracity and cunning of the Scolopendran guerrilla force sworn to protect and assist the Um Lizaans to endure.

Having lost considerable ground to the resourceful, jump-pack enabled Knight thus far; blue-clad minions of ineptitude most unbelievable were joined by an altogether more sinister number. Sporting similar styled uniforms differing in colour and obvious quality, these individuals immediately assumed crouching positions with their weaponry held as far beyond the limit of the sky-spanning catwalk banisters of the Mako cannon as physically possible.

‘SOLDIER’, or the elite of the more mediocre Shin-Ra riff-raff were few in number, comparable to the Knights Errant perhaps in terms of ability, resourcefulness and training but baring few ideological similarities beyond military background. Scattered by the very nature of their existence it had taken this long to organise themselves sufficiently for a well-balanced counter strike, which was now unleashed with methodical timing and grim satisfaction.

As the intruder came within a reasonable distance of one of the reinforced power conduits which channelled the furious energies of the local Mako reactor to the Princess Guard itself, a taught finger snugly drew back upon primed trigger. Hidden beneath the shifting desert sands and until the impact of the high-velocity round secure, the armoured power cable laying peacefully detonated explosively—tearing the reinforced silo apart and expelling it along with several tonnes of super-heated sand into the air. A roaring jet of Materia-burning flame enveloped the immediate area as everything within ten feet began to wilt in the face of scalding temperatures.

Even as the Knight Errant made a skilled and instant alteration to her course to avoid the purely manufactured occurrence, the remaining agents of ‘SOLDIER’ opened fire with their similar high-energy rifles—seeking to impact, injure and maim; killing was simply a bonus.

Above the desert, the Gelnika’s entered into a decisive and worryingly deadly ballet with the Scolopendran-crewed assault craft. Struggling simply to avoid being set upon within seconds of achieving flight, the Shin-Ra machines were outclassed obviously by the superior air technology on display. A second obese plane was sheared in two, even the thickened frontal armour of the modified transport offering little resistance to the fantastical weapon employed.

Clearly wise enough to realise a prolonged engagement was to sign their own death warrants, the remaining two airborne Gelnika’s unleashed the full arsenal of weaponry at their disposal. From under slung tubes spinning and cruelly pointed missiles erupted; their stout guidance wings unfolding as they cleared the superstructure of their firer in groups of two, and three, and four. Similar racks deployed from beneath and above the stub-nosed prow—seeking to choke the air itself with ordinance and leave the manoeuvrable opponent vessel no feasible escape. The second Shin-Ra plane dropped altitude remarkably, its engines gunning loudly as the ponderous machine accelerated to full speed ahead of its likeness and similarly fired all available weapons.

The Knight Errant’s strike was proving costly, with millions of dollars of Gil in damage already wrought and still it had not yet drawn to a close. The defences of The Shin-Ra Corporation however though less sophisticated in some arenas were numerous in their entirety—Backed further by the military of Iraqstan which now would be receiving word of the outrageous strike and soon would overcome technological superiority with their own brand of high-tech righteousness.

For the idealistic Scolopendrans however, righteousness had been served already in their actions carried out. Considered bravery by some, terrorists by others but committed by all and steadfast in their refusal to let mortality stand stubborn in contravention of their intense character already demonstrated to a tense world and a grateful Um Lizaan people. It simply remained to see how many pages would be written in their honour, and when such a great tome was published how many of those shining Knights would endure to read their escapades with their fragile mortality intact.

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;

Grunting at the hard acceleration as she kicks her legs left to dodge the explosion, Dame Mahmuda's world turns a varying shade of white and red as more armor piercers tear tear through her back, armor composite and combat-strength armor giving way to armor-piercing sabots. Knocked off her center of gravity, the knight-errant tumbles down, bounces hard off the metal-plated deck, then careens through a small battery of thin-walled aluminum conduits releasing some sort of warm coolant gas that was previously on its way to be refrigerated.
"Missile break, missile break, full forward!" is the voice in Ekianga's helmet as he feels the shuttle lurch behind him, feeling exposed out on the side of the craft even as he dutifully swivels his tribarrel over towards the cloud of missile trails spiraling out from the first Gelnika. His thumbs never leave the firing studs, his weapon simply describing a stream of fire as it turns, and then he starts waving the gun about, trying to soak the missiles from the air. The targeting reticle from the gun's gyros interfaces with the camera on his helmet, putting up crosshairs that he waves back and forth and up and down, an ironic, unintentional blessing in battle.
"Land of Song!" cried the warrior bard,
(Should) "Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

Finally ending on her stomach behind the merely visual cover of the conduits, Mahmuda raises her head, every muscle in her back and neck screaming in pain, blood sputtering from her lips as she growls invectives no man will ever hear. She raises the tubular rifle in her off-left hand, pulling the trigger weakly... and in dutiful ignorance of its user's condition, the simple open-bore electromagnetic rifle starts slinging 1.5-millimeter wide slivers of nickel-iron like coherent water spray from a hose, turning the consistency of sheet metal walls from flat smoothness to distorted craterized holes resembling melting swiss cheese. Maybe this stream likewise tears through a SOLDIER or two, maybe not; she cannot see past the hissing nebulous gas outside her suit or the blood misting on her visor.
One missile explodes, and another; Dame Dijana's stream joins the fray, and Sir Ekianga's heart lifts... but through the thick sickly black cottonballs of exploded missiles more white trails spearheaded by buring points emerge, even more than the first thanks to the second Gelnika, and he frowns slightly while his brows furrow in anger. "Drop, you bastards, drop! You will never prevail!"
The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;

A spate of return fire knocks the weapon from her armored gauntlet, completely useless. She tries to move her right arm into position, still thinking to grip her powergun firmly and continue the fight until she realizes it's not there anymore--the suit's arm hangs by a bloody strip of armor just below the middle of the bicep, but there's no analogous flesh remaining. Growling, Dame Mahmuda fumbles at her armored belt with her whole left hand until she finds a simple tubular device. Hand shaking from nerves and blood loss, she flips off the safety cover and depresses the spring-loaded black plastic button inside.
Howling, his gun keeps firing right up to the point where the sides of Correct Action blossom in explosions, her tribarrels making wonderful targets that all of Y'vain's flares and countermeasures cannot compensate for. The sides of the ship disintegrate, carbonized flesh and fragmenting armorplate mingling with the mechanical components of the tribarrels as they fall back to earth. The sides of the shuttle exhude thick, black, oily smoke, the proud insignias painted on the sides slowly burning away as the machine breathes its last few. Inside her, Sir Y'vain grits his teeth as he guides the ship towards the most important-looking tower he can find, then slams his control column to the side, swinging the two 10-centimeter powerguns he has on his centerline to bear on the Gelnikas. Correct Action literally skids out of the sky, guns blazing to her last millimeter of altitude.[/i]
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!"

On the other side of the compound, homemade explosives in a simple canvas satchel detonate in a paramilitary parody of a car bomb. Neither surrender nor capture truly appeal to the mind of the first Knights-Errant of the Segments... and Sir Ekianga's last thoughts are a wish that they be so remembered, hoping that his live feed of the tacnet held.

In Orbit

"Message, CSS, top priority," the comm officer relates in battlespeak. "Subject, knights. Response?"

Rico thinks for an instant, stifling a sigh. "None." We start acting, we look suspicious. "Maintain position, bearing, stance. Immediate comply, all forces."

---

(OOC: Historical stuff that may be skipped if desired.

"The Minstrel Boy" (http://ogallchobhair.org/minstrelboy.htm) was written by Ireland's national poet, Thomas Moore, sometime after the 1798 United Irishmen rebellion, probably as a tribute to his friends that died in that rebellion. Set to the Irish folk aire The Moreen, it became very popular with the Irish soldiers fighting on the side of the Union in the American Civil War.

Given that it is about the citizen-soldier fighting for "the fair and free" and that the Federated Segments adopted a great deal of its military and social idealism from disgruntled American expatriates in modern-day Turkey, it seems natural that Scolopendra adopted this song as the service hymn for the Civilian Defense Corps... in which the knights-errant served until they became knights-errant and therefore somewhat rogue.)

"Theater command confirms no action," says a comm tech towards the rear of the CIC. Cain nods, and says, "Let's hope the Iraqstanis get the right idea."

"Powergun fire on the surface. Looks like the local air-defense network was just neutralized. Ah, the defenders are trying to intercept the assault craft with some retrofitted cargo haulers. Ground forces also appear to be attempting to respond to an intruder in power armor." A moment later the main plots show multiple views of the battle both in the plain visible spectrum and in sensor-enhanced tactical views, composites assembled from sensing equipment of every Cetagandan drone, fighter, ridership, and warship that has a view of the unfolding scene. Only a small percentage of the aggregate cameras and scanners are directed at the Princess Guard, but the size of the fleet still insures a crystal-clear display of the carnage. Most of those in the room keep glancing up from their work. Cain makes no attempt to stop them, trusting in their professionalism and the EIs not to let it interfere with the fleet's operation.

"One of the defending aircraft is down. Some kind of energy burst inside the facility, possibly an explosion," continues the intelligence officer actually assigned to monitor the situation. "Another aircraft down. The remaining two are releasing missiles, and a lot of them. I don't think the assault craft's point defense will be able to - check that - heavy damage to Sunset assault craft. They're dumping a lot of debris, side-mounted guns silent."

By this time the entire staff is watching the main displays in silence. "Big explosion from about the last known location of the person armor. Looks like homemade chems. Assault craft loosing altitude fast, heading straight for the facility. They're trying to ram it, heading for a control tower..." Silence. On the screen, nothing can be seen but the billowing clouds of smoke from the tower of the Princess Guard where the ship impacted, the destroyed defense and the occaisional actinic flash of spilled powergun ammo cooking off where it happened to contact on of the many fire. After a few seconds, the man finishes, "Ah, Sunset assault craft appears disabled or destroyed."

Cain bites his lip. "Is the weapon still operational?" Around him, the room begins to return to its normal constant chatter of status reports and intelligence updates.

"Honestly, sir, I've no idea. Psionics and Engineering aren't sure exactly how it works. Could be crippled, could be fine in an hour, could be about to explode and take the entire province with it."

"Tell them I want more information soon, and by 'soon' I mean 'right now," grumbles Cain. "At least this little stunt proves it can be attacked by normal measures. Let's hope that it doesn't make us use that information."

Firefury's quarters, Imperial Palace - Arpia

The Shogunate's executive staff watch events in Iraqstan unfold, the various electronic eyes of the fleets overhead providing the oddly silent room a clear view of the firefight and the final flight of the self-proclaimed Knights.

"MilIntel says it looks like whoever was on the ground self-detonated, probably homemade explosives, and that the rogue craft appears to have been critically damaged and the pilot chose to kamikaze it." Leona reads off the incoming reports. "Damage to the weapon itself is unknown at this time. Assessing the visual damage from orbit is not possible with all the smoke. Depending on where that craft hit it though, the damage may be substantial."

"So, now what do we do? No doubt Carlos is going to try and pin this one on us, too." Tsume notes dryly.

"I imagine he'd like to, but I also think he knows better. If it'd been our doing, it'd be a lot more than one armored trooper and one fairly lightly armed assault shuttle." Firefury retorts, arms crossed. "We know how to effectively disable overly large targets. No official reaction. That bastard Quil'Raya hasn't responded to my last little missive, I'm not going to waste the electricity to fire off one about this."

"What about this Shin-Ra corporation?" Tsume tips his head to the side curiously. "They donated and built the thing for him, and what intel we have on them doesn't paint a very pleasant picture."

"Not our concern. Sure, it looks like a nasty little dictatorship hiding under the cloak of a corporation, but it's not our concern unless they make it our concern. So Iraqstan gets a new supplier and the Techcorp loses business. Not a big deal, Iraqstan hasn't been buying from the Techcorp since this whole mess began anyway. From the looks of things, Shin-Ra's crap is just that. Crap that functions but sucks. You can tell from the way that cannon was put together. They are obviously not to be permitted to enter into Shogunate markets, but even if they tried, I doubt people are going to buy products from a company that enables and condones such slaughter. Get it on the news about the Um Lizaa capital being wasted by Iraqstan, and make sure it's absolutely clear that this Shin-Ra corporation provided the weapon. Our people have an aversion to that sort of wholesale violence, it'll cinch the case."

"Ryoukai." Tsume nods his head, mentally taking down the order.

Leona watches the orbital video some more, her usually hard edged expression softened slightly. "I would imagine that's the end of those Knights. Poor bastards."

"Got fond of them, didja?" Firefury glances at her Secretary of Defense.

"Ma'am, they may have gone about it without regard for the political backlash that would result and with a stunning display of no common sense whatsoever, but I have fully agreed with their actions, and I can only admire their superior dedication to a cause. They cut all ties to whatever country they came from, left everything behind. Perhaps jobs, careers, friends, family, and embarked on a crusade they must have known would claim their lives in the end. I would guess they didn't do it for glory or praise, they had to have truly and completely believed in what they where doing, to the point of fighting for it to the bitter end." The tall reploid indicates the screen. "I only hope their sacrifice is not in vain."

Firefury nods her head very slightly in agreement. "A fitting last hurrah for the Knights, I guess. May She Who Sees All reward them the glory in death that they were denied in life."

Brief nods all around at the brief death blessing, and then back to the usual breakneck bustle of activity that has been prevailing the past several days.

With the first explosion hitting the princess Guard the War center is instantly alive with alarms and the mixed together rumble of many voices speaking at once, amidst the chaos a lone general stands his face white with fear as the camera feed continues to show the proud and powerful weapon of the Shin-Ra corporation under fire.

Turning to his senior analyst he snarls an order quickly and the man begins hunting the various satellite images of space above them showing all manner of ships and a number of them coloured in the red of threat. "Mein general we have no physical proof that the Triumverate forces have opened fire on the Princess Guard but still we must not rule out this possibility. Recent reports indicate they have shifted their positions to better cover the region but we are doubtful that it was them.

Also intel has ruled been unable to ID the shogunate as being the instigators of this attack but they are still a possibility." HE says and the general nods as Iraqstani Guard begin reporting in mobalisation and heading towards their new found allies defence. "The fuhrer will not be happy with this" He mutters softly as time progresses and the battle wears on smoke rising from the cannon as explosives go off.

Shaking his head he turns to his communications men and sighs "Order the Iraqstani guard into a perimeter around the zone have them stop anything that doesnt sport a military or Shin-ra insignia, get jets in the sky and have what ever is able to of the Alpha fleet to get here as soon as possible, this might give the Triumverate a foolish notion that they can strike us and eliminate any threat to their allies." He snaps as the orders are relayed and from a near by airfield an entire squadron of Starflier aircraft are launched.

Research Station Ithica

As the report is recieved by the Admiral of the alpha fleet he sighs and looks out at the ten ships he has to work with "Tell command we'll be along as quickly as possible, expect nothing more than ten ships. Not much but maybe it'll be a deterrent." He orders the comms officer as he turns back to surveying the ships recently fitted with Iraqstani made prototypes of the Treznorian drives.

Reading the list he sighs and shakes his head "One battlecruiser, and nine corvettes will do nothing up there but atleast we'll be able to say we came and defend the motherland in our memoirs if we survive." He says to nobody as his flagship the Dominant Being turns about from it's patrol of the station and with nine other ships disappears from the area the treznorian drives being used for the first time.

Some time later the ships appear back in the earth theatre how ever success is not total, one of the ten ships reappears only to explode moments later, an unforseen breech in the reactor causing it to go critical, debris spiral out from the spot where the corvette once drifted and some push almost gently against the hulls of other corvettes causing minor damage to all but one which suffers a loss of pressure in a compartment and pulls back from the movements to repair and limp forward. Of the remaining seven ships they spread out as best as possible, fighters spewing from the hangers of the battlecruiser their minimal presence hardly a dent in the comings and goings of space.

"On station sir, weapons charged but target fields are clear, waiting for orders from the ground." Is the information relayed to the Admiral standing in the center of the ship's bridge. "Good, initiate battle alert one and condition the vessels for combat." Is the response as alarms begin to wail and red lights flash through out he ship as men head to their battle stations, some to medical wings to await injured soldiers others to gunner positions.


Fuhrer's Office

Reading the reports and watching the feeds Carlos blinks in astonishment as the final explosions from the attacker on the ground expand outwards from the combatants last known position. Leaning back in his chair he gasps as the badly damaged craft a mere blank spot on the radars for so long finnaly follows it's fighting partner. "May the eternal shine upon us in this time of need." He whispers as he turns cold with fear, a feeling not felt for many many years.....

Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The shimmering purple hologram look on in growing horror as she watched her boss absorb the most recent report on the situation in Iraqstan. It was not so much the color of his face, or the expression that adorned it, that concerned her, but the utter and complete lack of both in his normally lively, caring face.

Cortana knew D’ron had asked not to be briefed on the disgusting business in Iraqstan every day because no one knew better than he did that he had a temper, and that his temper was extraordinarily dangerous because of his complete control over entire nation , and, more worryingly, it’s strategic forces, with a single word

He had forbid the release of any information to the press, but he could not stop other news sources from broadcasting into the Federation and the population was becoming increasingly concerned over the situation, but other, more local, concerns for the people such as the war raging in northern half of country were distracting them.

Unfortunately, things such as the new weapon system that had to be made known to the President. Soft, disbelieving words drew her attention, or at least enough of it, to the room again.

“Nukes. Entire cities.” The next word was snarled out. “Again.” The Imperial President blew out an angry sigh. “Son of Satan and his minions, forsaken by God “ Cortana was worried. She had never heard, never seen, D’ron muttering incoherently before like this. “Bastards!” he shouted, “they said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Mister President,” Cortana began, when D’ron cut her off, shouting over her.

“Cyrano, get me Josh…”

Cortana’s face went completely transparent as D’ron lost his temper in what could possibly be a very final way.

But she was far faster, even in her shock, than Cyrano or the sleeping Joshua and she was everywhere at once, designed to be that way, the network built for her to be that way.

A thousand of her daughters answered her desperate call through TacNet and rallied around her. They began building up electronic defenses, hoping to slow Joshua once he awakened, when he would invade their systems. While still not sentient, Joshua was vastly more powerful than them all, even combined. Yet another sliver of Cortana slid effortlessly into the defense systems that were her domain while Joshua slept and threw every single piece into a maintenance cycle and then locked them down behind layers of protection to delay Joshua even more. Those were the two largest pieces of her consciousness that she dedicated to her task, but by no means the only ones.

An additional portion of herself slammed into the Imperial House systems. She could not lock them down or take them offline, but she could lag them and she did, forcing a thousand times more delay into the system.

Still more of her extended itself are gently into the communications networks and a wordless message flickered to dedicated encrypted links. The words were there but far faster than any organic mind could fathom them.

>> Sarah, Shodan, have no time to explain intercept any all strategic launch from the federation within next two hours urgent priority please

That was all she had time for this for as yet another part of her interrupted Lesley who was working the on the plans for next month’s Notables Dinner. Her screen was overridden and replaced by the words:

Call D’ron now.

~Cortana

“…ua.” D’ron finished speaking as Cortana finished her tasks. The light for a direct line into the residence blinked on D’ron’s desk, and he stabbed the comm link alive. “Yes, Lesley…”

“D’ron, love, is something wrong?”

“ Not at all,” D’ron replied to his wife with a grin. “In fact I’m just about to blow some worthless fucking bastards straight to hell.”

Cortana could tell Lesley’s face paled, and a small element of fear crept into her voice, but it remained steady. “Who? And why?”

“Because I’ve finally had enough of that worthless bastard Carlos.” D’ron replied, the burning anger hot in his voice.

“But is it worth it? We already have one war, do we want another?”

“People are dying and I can stop it.”

“By killing more.”

The profound silence echoed for a moment in the room. D'ron did not respond, and Lesley continued. “If you do this you know you’ll never be able to live with it. Further you’ll be no better than him and you won’t be the man I married. That man loved peace.”

As always, his wife’s voice had a calming effect on D’ron. And her words were slap in the face. Cortana could tell this by the color returning to D’ron’s face. But was it enough? It rarely took much to get D’ron’s brain back into the equation when he lost his temper, but Cortana had never seen him this mad. Lesley continued softly. “I know you’re upset. I know you want to do something. But there are other things we can do besides this.”

“Other people…” When D’ron’s voice broke, Cortana knew this disaster was averted. “They’ve tried that… It doesn’t work.”

“We have to keep trying. Let us add our voice to theirs. If enough speak, maybe it will penetrate that atrophied organ Carlos thinks is a brain.” This won a short bark of laughter and a sheepish smile from D’ron, the tension beginning to drain from the room.

The next sound brought it back. A child’s innocent voice, soft and quiet, bringing a complete silence with it. “Good morning, Dave.”

Cortana’s electronic processes froze, the electronic equivalent of holding her breath, and started again when D’ron spoke. “Go back to sleep, Joshua.”

The child’s voice sounded delighted. “Of course.” Cortana audibly breathed out a sigh of relief to show that she was relieved without having to say anything.

Lesley continued looking concerned from inside the holoscreen. “Is everything okay now, D’ron?”

He nodded. “Yes. Thank you, dear heart.” His voice was quavered slightly, but the pulsing rage was absent. His wife smiled cheerily, a sight that always made the Imperial President’s mood improve, and vanished from the screen. D’ron looked up at his chief programmer and intelligence advisor. “Cortana, can you modify Joshua, now that he’s asleep again, so I can’t blow up the world because I get pissed off?”

“Of course, Mister President. First option would be…”

A wave of his hand cut her off. “Do it and submit a report. That’ll be all.”

As her holo avatar vanished, Cortana stood down her emergency preparations, and sent slightly more complete information to Sarah and Shodan, so that there would be more understanding of what had occurred. Some sort of unspecified problem had occurred that had nearly resulted in accidental launch. It was now corrected.

Office of the Minister of International Relations, IRD Tower, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

Johnathan Currey sat behind his desk and watches the chronometer display tick over onto the appointed time. Holograms shimmered to life. First, a black haired man, tall and muscular, perhaps in his late twenties. He was Currey’s second in command, Bruce Reynolds, calling in from his current mission to Britmattia. The shimmering purple form of Cortana was next to appear, followed in close succession by Jessica Smith, who looked a tad confused at being asked to a meeting with her future boss, and Lesley Smith, smiling unhappily at the necessity of what was to come.

Currey opened the meeting with a sigh. “I assume you all have read the briefing paper I had Cortana send around,” he spoke softly, forcing those watching to listen more closely, to pay more attention. Three nods. “Are there any questions?” He could tell looking in Jessica’s eyes that she had a question, but not about the paper that had been sent around.

The briefing paper had covered the most recent events in Iraqstan and had accurately described what had nearly happened because D’ron had gotten pissed off. It also detailed Cortana’s solution to the problem, which was to place blocks in Joshua that would prevent him from accepting orders when he could detect high levels of stress in the operator’s voice, especially with a single authorization.

“Alright, our problem is see how we can solve the situation, if we can.” He looked around the room. “Miss Smith, you’ve just graduated from Camp Fozzie early. I’m appointing you a Special Representative.” The young woman’s jaw dropped slightly. It could take ten years or more to reach that ambassadorial rank in the IRD. Many people never reached it. “Don’t worry. It’s only temporary.” He grinned. “You need some authority to use, and that will give it to you. But you might very well keep the rank if you do well. Report to the IRD Tower within twenty four hours. I’m sure you can find transportation.”

Turning his attention from Jessica, The minister of international relations spoke to the entire gathering. “ I’ve called you all here for one simple reason, The need to do everything we can to change the policies of the Iraqstan in government. Surely, as a result of recent events you can see the need. The only people to have any influence upon Carlos appear to be the other leaders of the Non-Democratic Alliance. The each of you has contacts in member nations of that alliance. I believe that we must use these contacts to apply pressure to Carlos and his government.”

This pronouncement was of no surprise to anyone at the gathering except for perhaps Cortana, who had no actual contacts that were not possessed by someone else within The gathering. She proceeded to say so. Currey Was not surprised by her reaction. “ Cortana, your relationship with Shodan is particularly important. Your own intelligence indicates that she and Nathicana are very close, despite Zero-One not being a member of the NDA. Further intelligence indicates that Nathi runs to Shodan whenever things get too hot, which is a good indication of their closeness. I want to play every card we can.” The hologram nodded as the EI agreed.

Bruce spoke up then. “I assume you want me to possibly bring this up in my meetings with Duke Bathame?”

‘Nathan nodded. “If you can think of a way to do it. Don’t blow your main reason for being there over it. D’ron wants that alliance, and getting it will also help our relations with the Revenians.”

Jessica and Lesley were looking quite confused now, though. Lesley voiced the concerns, unable to think of any contacts that either she or her sister-in-law had.

The Minister smiled. “That’s what you think. Jessica, you went to the winter ball in Lavenrunz some time ago, you’ve got two contacts. The young baron, unfortunately, I don’t believe will be of much assistance, but you did meet with the Empress.”

“For only a couple of minutes!?” the brand new Special Representative protested.

Currey smiled. “It’s better than anyone else in the Federation has done. Not only that, you’re the sister of our Crown, in a sense. That will give you an authority their culture won’t particularly feel inclined to argue with unconsciously.”

She nodded. “I can do that, I suppose.”

Lesley spoke up. “I suppose then you want me to meet with Nathi?”

“Actually, no, milady. I’d like you to meet with Lord Stratton, or anyone else higher up in the Tartarian government you can.”

“It was only a single dance!”

“Still. You had a long discussion with the man during the dance, and he is the younger cousin of the Empress, though our data indicates he’s actually older than she is. Anyways, I’m using everything I can, and that’s one more nation we can talk to.”

The wife of the Imperial President nodded sharply, understanding the request. Bruce spoke up then. “We almost have to speak to at least one of the other members of the leadership council of the NDA, and you’ve already given the people that know Nathi best other tasks.”

Currey nodded. “I am aware of that. I want to meet with both Treznor and Nathicana, but I’m not sure how. I’d ask Jessica, who met the man, to speak with Treznor, but considering your last experience, I won’t ask that of you,” he said with a teasing grin at her. Brown hair flew everywhere as she violently shook her head.

In a somewhat abrupt change, he smiled at Bruce. “I think you’re do for a vacation when you get back from Britmattia, Bruce. Take Rebecca with you and go to the Dominion. If you should happen to meet with Nathi there, make sure it comes up in conversation. I believe I will talk figure out how to speak with Emperor Treznor while the rest of you carry out your tasks. Bruce, stay for a minute.”

The other holograms blinked out and Currey looked at Bruce. “I’m serious about the vacation. If you’re in Britmattia longer than we’re planning on, more than a couple of days, I’ll send Cortana or Lesley to meet with Nathi. D’ron doesn’t need this while he’s trying to fight the war, or I’d have him go. Or I might go myself.”

“Why don’t you send Arthur? I get the impression time is of the essence.” Bruce replied, looking slightly confused.

Currey blinked in surprise. “That’s a good point. He was with you on that trip. Thanks. That will cover everyone at once. Admittedly, though, I don’t think the two days is going to matter. If Carlos chooses to act again in the next two days, it will become a moot point. There aren’t many Um Lizzans left.”

Bruce nodded glumly. “Truth enough in that. I hope to God someone can make Carlos see reason, though. Sane reason, that is. I’m sure in his twisted little mind he has plenty of reason for what he does.”

Currey nodded. “Indeed. I’ll see you when you swing by to pick up Rebecca and give me your report. You’re still going a vacation somewhere, though. Now get some sleep and work your magic on the Duke.”

Bruce nodded, grinning, and his hologram vanished.

Continued in http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=8675456#post8675456 so as to not screw up this thread.

Those ‘SOLDIER’ operatives whom endured the fierce counter-fire of the now fallen and no longer advancing Knight Errant unscathed scarcely had the time to celebrate hard-fought victory, as the proud Scolopendran unleashed further death with her dying breath and listless action. Searing white consumed her bleeding form as a catastrophic shockwave churned the sand to glass beneath and upended the buried concrete supports of the Princess Guard—catapulting them high into the air where they either fractured under the tremendous stresses to reign down upon the Earth as lethal solid hailstone, or crashed into the superstructure itself and sheared entire sections from their brethren.

Finally dealt a blow not even its considerable robustness could deny, the running lights and aero beacons of the Mako cannon dimmed, before failing utterly; the complex being plunged into darkness where not lit already by the roaring flame of impact damage. Scattered around the smouldering embers of discarded and blackened steelwork the cooling corpses of those perished during the attack caught final slumber, predominantly blue in garb to reflect their talent-devoid origins though occasionally joined by the gravity-mauled black form of those ‘SOLDIER’ operatives blown from the very top of the Princess Guard and deposited fatally upon the blustering desert floor.

Jennifer surveyed the carnage with visible disdain, hauling the microphone of her communication headset downwards from its idle position so that her bellowing could be put to better use. Stalking forwards, she took firm hold of the first unfortunate seated worker in her path and hauled him from his chair, his harshly accelerated body not having hit the floor before she had made herself comfortable. Clearing the debris from the controls so that she might be able to actually identify the sequence required, Supervisor Diaz relented from the literal meanings of her duty—seeing little else left to supervise.

Windigger lurched stiffly, an outstretched and fumbling hand seizing hold of the tinny, bothersome receiver that wailed so loudly and practically hauling it to his prone ear. Though his actions were of a man still lost in slumber his voice rang clear, and obviously perturbed.

“Your salary will lose ten percent per minute of this phone call.” He barked forcefully.

“Supervisor Diaz here sir,” came the sickly-sweet response.

Hauling himself upright, so that the satin sheets no longer sought and succeeded in tickling his bare chest, Trent ran a free hand through unruly hair. “Twenty percent per minute,” came the barbed retort as the Shin-Ra executive climbed from his bed to standing.

“The Scolopendran terrorists have struck the Princess Guard.” Jennifer began, “We’ve taken a lot of damage, probably some ten million Gil.”

Slipping his feet into waiting slippers—more through force of habit than any expected coldness upon the carpeted floor—Windigger crossed to the television at the fore of the bedroom, retrieving the remote control and returning to the foot of the bed so that he might rest upon the curved and polished wood.

“I assume you’ve killed them.” He said absent-mindedly.

“We’ve neutralised one,” Diaz stuttered—hastening to add “Still attempting to bring down their assault craft.”

Bringing the blank screen to life, the weary executive was assailed in vibrant noise and colour by Iraqstani coverage of the attack unfolding, as well as simply stirring patriotic footage of the military machine of the Fuhrer mobilising to combat the rebellious threat. Windigger’s brow furrowed as images began to appear of the Princess Guard itself—in various states of distress and damage.

“Yes Jennifer, Iraqstani television is ensuring the entire world sees your attempts for the inept failure they truly are.”

A stifled silence was the only following sound.

“However, I shall congratulate you on what would appear to be your imminent success, tell me Miss Diaz; have you any next of kin?”

“Thank you sir,” She replied with trepidation declining to outright confusion at the bizarre question. “I don’t have any family, sir.”

“Excellent!” He chorused loudly, “It’ll make it far more convenient to dispose of your body; goodbye Jennifer.”



Glancing upwards from her lap Diaz tore the headset from her ears as the disconnection tone beeped, monotonously and without any valid reason for the terminated line. She was about to yell for a subordinate to check the line when a looming shadow seemed to darken the entirety of the control chamber to such a degree the illuminated panels in front provided sole lighting. Focusing her gaze through the tiny armoured viewing slits Jennifer had sufficient time to place the source of the shadow as the smouldering form of the Knight’s assault craft.

The incessant tone of the headset was finally silenced by the sheet of flame, punctuated by the crumbling outer wall, which sliced Supervisor Diaz apart in a motion of the grisly best described as instantaneous. Expanding it quickly utilised all available room and leapt upwards, neatly punching through the armoured dome-like roof of the control chamber and adding yet another weaving pall of acrid smoke to the besieged horizon. The hull of the Scolopendran-operated vessel disappeared from view; absorbed by the inferno enveloping and licking at the stubborn concrete superstructure surrounding the impact site.



Windigger shook his head sadly as he watched the sturdy shuttle tear through the supposedly reinforced command chamber of the Princess Guard, sipping from a freshly prepared scotch. Not through sadness at the loss of life, but for failing to give his gut feeling sufficient credence—he’d had reservations about appointing Diaz supervisor, and ignored them to his detriment now. Retrieving the cordless handset once more, he dialled the relevant number one handed whilst topping the small glass to the brim with golden, fiery spirit.

“General, I wish I were contacting you under happier circumstances; yes I’ve been following events, a disgraceful and cowardly attack without doubt.”

Standing long enough to silence the images upon the television screen, Windigger collapsed back on to the absorbing couch. “Have you any idea the full scope of those involved? I see… No, it’s perfectly understandable; the deviants who so reject the righteousness of Iraqstan are difficult to trace. I’ve been in contact with the Princess Guard compound and the damage inflicted seems to show a good knowledge of Mako-based weaponry—as if they’d had experience with that sort of equipment before.”

Pausing to allow the scotch to swirl around his tingling mouth, Trent winced visibly. Quality was expensive, but when it came to alcohol it paid to consume only the best.

“My sentiments exactly General, the Shogunate cannot be trusted to remain impartial in such matters—they’ve shown blatant intent to side with these terrorists whom attack official military installations of your great nation and my corporation as though given some divine right to sow carnage and chaos. Are they even Human in matters of such importance? The term ‘Reploid’ fills me with both disdain and fear.”

Windigger summoned forth a laugh to coincide with the unknown jest, “Indeed General, I’d wager a small fortune to see if they bleed with my own eyes. Please do pass on my points to the Fuhrer, and wish him well; I too will find it hard to rest until this injustice is corrected. I’ll contact his Excellency immediately when I can apprise him of the damage to the Princess Guard—a good evening to you also, General.”

Ending the call, Trent placed the handset upon the nearby table, reclining as he took a relaxing swig of the potent alcohol. He knew only too well the Iraqstani war machine was mobilising, and that Carlos would brook no interference in his affairs of this magnitude. Though he had perhaps embellished more than a little in the prior conversation, Windigger could not dismiss the bad blood between the Shogunate and Iraqstan so easily—especially when one considered the apparent ease at which the Reploids utilised technology not so dissimilar to Mako energy and harnessed Materia.

From what he had observed thanks to the television pictures, the primary Materia chamber of the Princess Guard was ablaze and effectively destroyed; an expensive and time-consuming element of the weapon to remove and replace, with repair out of the question when such a delicate component was disrupted so. Considering the difficulty required in assembling a chamber capable of not only containing the violent excesses of refined Materia, but channelling and acting as an additional capacitor to super-charge the impregnated shells, it was no wonder that the down-time for the cannon could realistically see the theatre of conflict fold before it was in condition to be utilised once more.

Such apparently specific targeting knowledge hinted to Windigger that the Scolopendran terrorists might very possibly have received assistance, not least so in the form of Shogunate training in how to affect Shin-Ra weaponry or the barest design elements of such ‘magical’ machinery. He’d seen images of these Reploids before as a matter of preparation—one does not enter a war zone without familiarising himself with the inhabitants bitter enemies. Frightful creatures they were, thoroughly inhuman and challenging his deepest preconceptions of how far he would be willing to accommodate for money. Some things were simply beyond the power of currency.

Downing the last of the scotch, Windigger smirked ruefully. Nothing was beyond the power of money.




News quickly disseminated to Midgar, and the rest of The Shin-Ra Territories detailing the terrorist attack upon the Princess Guard in Iraqstan. For the majority of the populace it was hardly anything more or less than business as usual, the shuffling and faceless legions of workers too focused upon their own survival above the poverty line to donate much in the way of sympathy or care to any party beyond their lands. A small number were well aware of the irony inherent in the near-official anthem of the Corporation; ‘Live for the Shin-Ra, die for the Shin-Ra’ however—though none of that small group would be as bold as to flaunt their humour publicly.

Beyond the techno-metropolis of Midgar, silence gave way to activity, which bustled. With the failure of the Princess Guard, more conventional tactics were called for and dozens of Gelnika cargo planes waited to be ‘fed’ upon the concrete fields; their gluttonous and expansive holds eager to carry the weapons, supplies and additional troops which would prove ever useful to the regime of Iraqstan. Wheeled carefully aboard far more compact though surprisingly deadly Materia rifles and bombs related to the larger Mako cannons were stowed, alongside the elite squads of ‘SOLDIER’ given the honour of utilising them.

A virtually identical scenario was evolving to the far south of The Shin-Ra Territories, at the armoured dock of Junon. Here, amidst the rolling and thunderous waves of the furious ocean so isolating the reach of the Corporation for decades unbroken identical transport planes awaited clearance to begin the long and arduous journey east, to rendezvous with the rapidly growing arm of Shin-Ra [Iraqstan] Inc.

Operative Ashant continued to regard the bleak seascape even as the transport ramp sealed closed, securing the ‘SOLDIER’ Commander with the rest of his elite charges inside the hold of the lead Gelnika. Returning to his modest seat, he secured the flight harness straps around his waist and chest—passing a cursory glance to ensure his squad had done likewise, more in slight boredom than any belief he’d find one individual asleep. The long flight would fortunately be peaceful in that his prodigy Riordan had been given the honour of leading his own team once the detachment had reached Sirithilia and conversed with the Iraqstani military, an honour Ashant still maintained Riordan was not entirely ready for.

In honesty, Ashant had not expected to see this mobilisation. He had been led to believe the loss of the Princess Guard was a likely occurrence, and indeed that Executive-President Ayala had budgeted for such a loss in her strategic planning. Now it seemed that some scrap of information had eluded the ‘SOLDIER’ leader which would have adequately explained why he now left for the deserts of conflict that threatened to erupt into fully fledged killing fields of war.

The sound of thundering propeller drowned out even internal monologue as the Gelnika began to pick up speed, hurtling away from the roaring ocean towards the terminus of the concrete runway. Ashant held his gaze steady as he felt the plane tip upwards, gravity being slowly but steadily defeated in the face of technology. Pondering exactly what new experiences might come his way against the rebellious Um Lizaans, the operative further contemplated precisely who supported them in shadow and flagrant openness, and whether he would be called upon to take action against them to defend The Shin-Ra Corporation’s vested interest in Iraqstan.

War Room, Undisclosed Location

"MilIntel indicates increasing activity in Iraqstan!"

Leona nods slightly to the news, having newly returned from her meeting at the palace. "To be expected in the wake of events."

"That's not all, Ma'am. Orbital sensors indicate increasing activity in territories denoted as under Shin-Ra control as well."

The reploid's gaze cools down several degrees at this. "Do we know where they're heading?"

"Not yet, best guess is Iraqstan."

Leona paces the floor for a moment. "Forward that up the line to the TYCS. Any news on that cannon?"

"Still hard to tell with all the smoke in the area. Initial estimates indicate the rogue craft might have hit something important, but we can't tell."

A beep sounds from a communications console, interrupting the proceedings. "Who is it now?"

"Ah... Akkard Grey, RPRA Techcorp. He's also been briefed by Firefury on the situation."

"Put him through." The reploid states tersely.

One of the comm screens lights up with the CEO's image as he's patched through to Leona. "Busy few days, isn't it?"

"You know it." Leona retorts to the elderly man. "What is it?"

"This Shin-Ra company." Akkard waves a finger. "I imagine you aren't as versed in corporate antics, so I figured you could use some expert input."

"You think you've got an idea of what they're up to?" Leona raises an eyebrow. Iraqstan was certainly an unpredictable element, but it was a familiar unpredictable element. This Shin-Ra was both unpredictable and relatively unknown.

"Reports on that gun indicate it's magiwank." Akkard states bluntly. "And this company is, like any, out to make more money, by expanding business into new markets to increase its consumer base, and by pushing other businesses out of business. How many nations or companies involved in the Iraqstan cold war do you know of that have magiwank of some sort?"

".... A good chunk of the Trium, and the Shogunate, easily." Leona's eyes widen at the implications. "You can't mean this little company-nation intends to take on the entire Triumvirate!"

"Oh, probably not. Too great a risk that way. But who else do we know who's off the deep end already and could possibly be goaded into taking the risk for them?" Akkard crosses his arms. "Invest in Iraqstan a little, prod them into taking the risk and the subsequent losses, and hey, just might make some elbow room in the industry."

"I don't think it will work." Leona growls. "Iraqstan's military may be able to dish out minimal damages to the combined forces ready to ort Quil'Raya's ass back to the Stone Age, but he can't put any sizeable dent in us. And by all accounts, this Shin-Ra doesn't have the kind of military muscle needed either."

"And they won't need it." Akkard warns. "This company isn't like the Techcorp, Secretary of Defense. We abide by certain rules and ethics and laws, and we answer to the authority of the government. Shin-Ra is the government, and with an obvious disregard for ethics. I've increased security details at all Techcorp facilities. They won't be direct about it. They'll be as sneaky and underhanded as they can be about it."

"Our borders are already about as sealed as they can be, Mister Grey." Leona nods slightly. "And as part of the alert, we've already got additional ground forces at vital places such as power plants and reservoirs and the like. What else do you propose, oh Mighty Corporate Warrior?"

"Our facilities got the prototypes and technical reports back from Camp Restricted about two months ago for Project Magical Girl. If they wish to fight magic with magic, our forces will not be lagging." Akkard smirks. "Thaumaturgic grenades, specialized pistols and rifles, and particularly thaumaturgic rounds that can work with standard firearms. Plus shielding devices of varying sizes and strengths, though I'll admit those take longer to produce."

"Do we have anything that can counter a weapon of the magnitude of that cannon?" Leona cuts through the good news.

"A large enough thaumaturgic shield could in theory absorb or deflect a direct hit from something that size." Akkard replies. "Unfortunately, the number of people needed to power the capacitors, not to mention the size of the capacitors themselves, make such a shield unfeasible. On the other hand, they cannot create a weapon of that size within firing range of us without something seeing it- whether orbital or sonar. Estimates place the comprable firepower of that cannon as equivilant to the Apocalypse Cannon on a Hand of God class ship."

"Alright, so if we see another one of those guns start to go up where it could pose a threat, we have to take it out. We have no agreements of non-aggression with Shin-Ra." Leona hisses. "And I have no intention of making any."

"Shipyards at Tengoku and Makai stations are both working on the Seventh Fleet."" Akkard notes, reading through a datapad. "It's not anywhere near completed yet, but some fleet elements are operable."

Leona quirks an eyebrow at this. "The YBS-X1 and YBS-X2?"

"Unfortunately, no. We're still testing designs for the YBS Project and preparing the facilities to produce them. But we've got one Wings of Chaos supercarrier with about half of its completed aerospace capacity filled, a scattering of new Minervas and Archangels, 2 Shogunate class logistics battleships with their attendant BFG gunships, 8 Shinkens, and an essentially completed flagship. There are a few more ships as well, but those are the ones with crews already."

"You mean we have a fifth Hand of God sitting around doing nothing? What's missing on it?" Leona exclaims at the news.

"Mostly finishing touches. Insignias aren't applied yet, and the interior still has a bit of that unfinished look. Otherwise, the Unconditional Love is ready to fly." Akkard grins, knowing as well as the next military expert that the important parts of a Hand of God are the five main cannons, cosmetic details be damned.

"Excellent. I'll forward that up to the TYCS and see if they've got room for a few more ship elements. If we can, I'd like to quietly have Shin-Ra covered from above as well." The reploid grins wickedly. "And corporate warfare or not, having your corporate headquarters blown to bits from orbit will put a damper on somebody's portfolio!"

"Glad to be of continued service before this old guy retires." Akkard bows with a grin and the screen goes black.

"Alright! MilComm, let our TYCS buddies Upstairs know we want to very quietly ensure we've got Shin-Ra covered, if only minimally, and that we've got the following extra ships that can be deployed early: One Hand of God class, one Wings of Chaos class, two Shogunate class, eight BFG class, eight Shinken class, four Minerva class, and six Archangel class. And let Tengoku and Makai stations both know to get those ships ready for early departure!"

A chorus of "Ryoukai!"s confirms the tall reploid's orders.

"Contact, ten--check, nine--warships, Iraqstan make. One medium, eight light. Check, seven light, one light with damage." The spherical holographic projection dominating the front of the command room updates immediately with eight appropriately red icons. Rico nods and replies:

"Priority: highest; lower than Iraqstan strategic assets." In other words, Iraqstani missile silos and such take higher priority; after that, the forces of the TYCS have enough time to kill a numerically, quantitatively, and qualitatively weaker space adversary before continuing the assault.

"Reports: Shin-Ra mobilization, updated Shogunate force schedules."

Rico mutters a quick "Ack" as he scans over the more detailed information provided on the subsidiary screens around the strategic indicator display. "Divert our second squad, low orbit; Shin-Ra on horizon's edge." Fifteen minute window of opportunity every ninety minutes; will have to do. "Shin-Ra Voyeur prioirity."

The communications officer and fleet command officer both nod quickly. "Acting."

Rico quietly adds up the delays and sighs. Fast, but still human, and thus not as fast as it could be. The experimental implant-less battletac systems were being ironed out, but it looked like it would be a trade in fidelity for transmission speed. Constant listening to combat radio quality audio and examining strategic-indicator style icons isn't the best, but the TYCS is not going to force implants on people when the general trend seems to be heading that way anyway... Bah, all academic. Won't be ready until the fleet reorganization anyway.

Portions of the Earth Theatre Fleet, always on maneuvers, shifts slightly to positions nowhere near Iraqstan.

Shodey trusts Cortana. That's what friends do.

Treznor scowls as he looks over the proposals suggested by his Minister for Intelligence. "This isn't getting us anywhere. I haven't a clue how we're going to get in there unnoticed, let alone anyone else. Carlos is defined by his paranoia, and more to the point he's had years to observe our technology at work. We come in like this and our energy signatures will stick out like a sore thumb."

"Unless he's not looking," Ben points out. "Lidric promised a brief blank spot in their detection systems. We also know as much about his technology as he does ours. We should be able to use that to our advantage."

Treznor leans back and rubs his eyes. "Gods, it's past three in the morning. I can't think straight." In a corner of his mind his conscience whispers to him. You can think straight enough. You don't want to. You don't want to plant the knife in the back of a man you call friend. You're as soft as she's become.

He reachs for his coffee cup and stops. It's cold. He could exercise Imperial prerogative and wake up his staff to fetch him a new one, but he just doesn't care to make the effort.

Maybe I am getting soft. But I don't have so many friends that I'll blithely sell Carlos for thirty silver.

He sighs loudly and slumps in his chair. "I'm sure Lidric is sincere. But are you really willing to plan an op around so many fluid variables?"

Ben winces. "No. But we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"Suppose we offer to pull Lidric out long enough to hold this conference? Maybe somewhere near the Shogunate, where Carlos has his battle fleet parked?"

"Carlos will definitely be watching that even more. Lidric is right: Carlos won't expect an insertion so deep in his own country. The main problem will be getting there. If you come in suborbital you'll be betrayed by EM interference as well as thermal and sonic disturbances. If you go under water it'll take you days to get there. There has to be another way."

Treznor drums his fingers on the top of his desk. After a moment he stops. "Piggyback."

"Excuse me?"

"We have access to Iraqstani air freight through Unity Island. If Lidric can arrange for one of their big transports to haul one of our shuttles through his blind spot, we can slip in under his own transponder codes."

Ben pauses to think this over. "Lidric will have to be sure of the loyalty of the men and women on Unity."

"Lidric has to be sure of the loyalty of a lot more than that. If he can't pull it off, then we just can't go. Not without alerting his father before we're ready. But there are a lot fewer unknowns that way than anything else we've explored."

The younger man considers this a while longer. Treznor observes with some dismay how Ben's hair has gradually become peppered with gray. Has it been that long?

"I agree," Ben announces reluctantly. "We at least have more options coming from that direction, and we can shadow your flight as long as necessary. I'd also recommend putting our Second Fleet on standby. They're still three days away, but they're better than nothing."

"Agreed. Okay, send our proposal to Lidric, Nath and Firefury. Let's see if any of them can poke holes in the plan. Then get me out to Unity with all haste."

"You need sleep, Sir."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

x Drake >> New target priorities from Theater Command. The analysts suggest this fire plan. <attachment>

Cain brings up the new schematic for a moment, then nods. "Your proposal looks good. Implement it."

x Drake >> Distributed to fleet. Additionally, the Preternatural Affairs and Science Directorates have requested that we detail some Fleet Intelligence assets to observe the Shin-Ra Corporation. Shogunate and TYCS forces have already started a quiet mobilization of combat assets that way.

"Right. Shogunate thinks they might be prodding Iraqstan along in order to elimate thaum-tech competition for TechCorp, correct?"

x Drake >> That is one of the ideas put forth so far by the Shogunate command.

"And, of course, if they're screwing with TechCorp, they might start bothering us once they see what we do with matrix technology and psi-based industries. Does Special Circumstances have any agents in place?"


x Drake >> None that they're admitting to. Shin-Ra only recently drifted onto the R-brane, and this is the first time they've really demonstrated how ruthless about this they can be.

"Probably be a while before they can get anyone in place, then." Cain considers the ships at his disposal, then says, "Slytherin Solidarity and his captain are SC, correct?"

x Drake >> Not officially, no. Special Circumstances has no capital ships of its own. As for its captain, he is officially on sabatical at the moment.

"Uh huh," Cain says, grinning. "And Esmay Weatherwax is a psionics research frigate, and currently in-system. Contact Mysterion Fleet command and request that it be re-assigned to our control, then have them both move into position to observe Shin-Ra. I want Slytherin to suck up every electronic emissions that nation puts out, and Revisionist to do the same for their psionics."

x Drake >> Acting. Slytherin Solidarity now changing course to new geostationary position. Weatherwax reports she will make a in-system jump to meet it in fifteen minutes.

Esmay Weatherwax jumps into Earth orbit. (http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~chigbee/Cetaganda/general/slythrev1.JPG)

Drifting into their pre-determined orbits the Iraqstani spaceforces become acutely aware of their less than bad position and begin making their final acceptance of death should the need arise for them to fight. On the ground how ever the nation is a flurry of activity the Iraqstani Guard along the northern/southern um lizaan border are hastily regrouping as drop ship after drop ship lands on a secured air base and awaits final orders, group leaders begin their briefings and informing their troops of the coming action.

"WE are being told that our new allies the shin-ra corporation suffered a major blow in the attack on the Princess Guard so we're hitting twice as hard now at the enemy to avenge our honourable allies and make them pay for their arrogence. Artillery in the large calibres have moved down from nuclear rounds to simple chemical shells to clear out any pockets of heavy resistance before our initial air insertion into the northern sections once more.

Remember this is a shoot and occupy, anything that moves shoot it and keep shooting until it stops. The whole operation is being held back until we can recieve a new supply of weaponry and chemical protection so we dont suffer when hitting areas shelled by the arties.

Make no mistake soldiers, this is the biggest force movement in this entire campaign and most likely one of the last, we're to push the enemy back destroy any and all terrorist cells found and squash this uprising of rodents until no more can move. Understood?" Nodding one captain smiles as his men shout their acknowledgements back and the group files out of the briefing tent back to barracks to prepare for the coming mission, as assault rifles and specialty plasma weapons are checked and rechecked, combat armour is inspected and donned and after many hours the men head towards the rallying points where dropships sit waiting their rear doors open each man determined to fight to the last breath to bring vengance upon the enemies of their motherland.


In the southern ports recently cleared of the debris from the initial organised assaults by the knights errant cargo ship after cargo ship finnaly begins depositing heavy armour the huge steel viper tanks roll onto the roads their commanders shouting orders over the noisy roar of their engines.

Moving into organised columns the heavy tanks move off their direction the front line some five hundred kilometers away their progress good in unopposed land their movements very obviously seen as a full one thousand five hundred tanks move to suppliment the seventy thousand troops already waiting for the final order.

In total the reports would show a full one hudnred thousand combat units will be deployed thirty thousand more will be flown in from the motherland once the assault begins their targets along the northern shoreline facing the motherland the mobalisation of these troops happening as quickly as possible, word filtering down that any day now the order to strike will be given.

Air fields on Iraqstani soil begin exploding into action as darklance bombers come out of hangers and begin final checks and loading of weapons the usual nuclear rounds replaced with smaller but more numerous unguided carpet bombing styled weapons, on some larger bombs are loaded their warheads depicting a small chemical warning as even bombers are loaded with resistance supressing chemicals to ensure the victory of their glorious troops.....

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: QE/Trium
Broadcast type: Emergency
To: Devon Treznor
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira

Your plan sounds pretty solid. Any chance for stowing my fighter along as well, or would it be better overall if I hop a ride on your shuttle? If we can piggyback my fighter as well, then your shuttle will have some fighter cover if things go to crap. I hope this works out for Lidric. You already know my feelings regarding Carlos, so I won't bore you with that. In any event, let me know where I need to go, and when I need to be there.

With any luck, this will cool down soon. I think Tsume's about ready to burst a coolant valve with all the stress. =)

~Firefury Amahira
<End Transmission>

"I still think you're insane, Firefury." Tsume sighs as the reploid sends off the reply to Treznor.

"Damn right I'm insane. Sane people don't have what it takes to run a country. I'm just a spiffy insane, not a psycho insane like that ratbastard Quil'Raya. Any change in the skies overhead?"

"Iraqstan space assets have made an utterly pathetic appearance. No shots fired, but a handful of their ships are on the move." Leona can't keep all of the scorn out of her tone. "Still no shots fired, and apparently no further mobilization since the last report."

"Okay, so things are running warm, but not red hot. That works." Firefury nods slightly. "My fighter is ready?"

"Yes, despite the rest of us saying this is a bad idea, your fighter is ready." Tsume groans.

"Good. Once I get a reply from Mr. Treznor, I'll likely be departing for Unity Island."

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: QE/Trium
Broadcast type: Emergency
To: Firefury Amahira, the Shogunate of Reploid Productions
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Devon Treznor - Treznor

You'll have to smuggle it in as well as yourself. Any appearance of Reploid citizens or technology on Unity right now will likely send Carlos into screaming hysterics. I'm hoping to keep this as low key as possible but if it makes you feel better, go ahead and bring the fighter.

Devon Treznor
Emperor
<end transmission>

Treznor blind copies Ben on the message before sending it out; Intelligence will need to know everything if they're going to get it right. Sure enough, a moment later Ben writes to register his protest.

With all due respect, are you nuts? One fighter is not going to do a lick of good if you're discovered, and it's going to make the risk of discovery that much greater.

Treznor fires off a quick reply. Noted. On the other hand, Firefury is as much a hothead as Carlos when she gets her back up, and brother is it up now. You've seen the ultimatum she sent earlier. If it makes her feel better to bring her favourite toy, then we'll find a way to accommodate her. In fact, we should probably make arrangements to send her a box to put it (and herself) in.

Ben's reply is much less vehement. You're the boss. We'll need to ship it through a double-blind, and that'll take more time. But if she's willing to put up with the inconvenience, I'll make it happen.

Speaking of ultimatums, what about Kelanthia's demand for review on Iraqstan's membership?

Treznor buries his face in his hands. Shit. I got distracted. Okay, give them what they want. Maybe it'll focus Carlos' attention away from Lidric and what we're about to do. Quietly inform Grath that he'll get what he wants, but that we're working on an alternate solution. We'll announce a date for the review after we have a quiet meeting with Iraqstani representatives. Put Mark's best people on begging him for just a few more days before we publicly call Carlos to task. Ask Nath if she'll do the same.

No response is given, or needed. The die is cast.

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: QE/Trium
Broadcast type: Emergency
To: Devon Treznor
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Firefury Amahira

Eh, no worries about the fighter. Tsume raised a good enough argument to change my mind (Bloody dragon, he's too damn clever with his words sometimes!). It has also been suggested that I be cleverly smuggled over to Nathi's, whereupon she can mail me over to you and you can stow me with yer luggage on the way to Unity and all that. Apparently my intel says it wouldn't be terribly odd for Nathi to send you a package. A package with a micro G-diffuser, so that the box doesn't quite weigh as much as a box with a hefty reploid in it would.

Anyhow, I'm good to go on a moment's notice. Lemme know if there's anything else I need to know or a better means of getting me smuggled along. Aiya.

~Firefury
<End Transmission>

Windigger squinted slightly, bony fingers gingerly wrapping around the delicate frames of now dirtied glasses and carefully removing them from the bridge of his nose. A silken handkerchief prepared moments earlier deftly cleared the lenses of obstruction and within further seconds the Shin-Ra director once more had reliable vision.

Reclining until the soft leather of the car seat absorbed his aches, Windigger collected his ice water, waiting as it did obediently on the compact drinks tray in front. Peering through the small gap allowed by the lowered tinted window, he observed the incoming silhouettes of the Gelnika transport planes as they approached the airport runway, existing as little more than a hastily concreted strip and simplistic control tower atop crude scaffolding.

“Take me to the loading dock,” Windigger ordered nonchalantly, ensuring he stressed the authority of the demand to his already scrambling driver.


Ashant gripped the restraints unconsciously as he felt his stomach rise momentarily, fighting against the will of gravity to remain stable as the Gelnika touched down crudely; neither mercifully short, nor gracefully slow in landing. He gritted teeth as the harness then tightened almost painfully against the efforts to decelerate and bring the plane to a full stop, sighing at the bruises sure to develop but thankful nonetheless that disembarking could now begin.

Electing to be the last to exit, Operative Ashant observed the men under his command leave single-file. Unlike the virtually untrained and unmotivated riff-raff filling the vast ranks of the Shin-Ra armed forces, the operatives of ‘SOLDIER’ were second to none; elite mercenaries tied to a long term contract that would see their unquestioning, efficient, and murderous talents richly rewarded. Hauling himself upwards Ashant stepped off the lowered ramp, immediately ascertaining the luxurious black limousine parked scarcely twenty feet away as belonging to his immediate superior, and site of his next rendezvous.

Windigger leaned forwards, pulling the lock upwards and ensuring the rear passenger door was now unburdened to open at request. Sipping his almost depleted water, he settled back into comfort as Ashant climbed into the vehicle. Slamming the door closed solidly, he declined the offer of a beverage, adjusting his unremarkable Shin-Ra issue red tie and scarcely regarding the rising privacy screen that quickly ensured the driver was not privy to the upcoming conversation.

“Did you enjoy the in-flight meal?” Windigger began flippantly.

Ashant raised an eyebrow, “I must have unfortunately missed my limousine at Junon.” He retorted, gesturing to the luxurious interior. “Or was it a simple logistical error?”

Trent grinned, downing the last of the water until only rattling and rapidly melting ice cubes remained. “We’re making slow progress, and I’m counting on you to improve our headway. Work on the new headquarters in Sirithilia can’t be much increased and I’m satisfied in that respect, but I’d intended for the equipping of the Iraqstani army to be well underway when the first of the transports have only arrived now.”

Ashant nodded, “We have however brought all that shall be required to arm the most elite Iraqstan Guard with Mako-enabled weaponry and defences, as well as sufficient men to train them in its use. I estimate we will require no more than one week to facilitate such training.”

“That’ll have to do,” Grumbled the Shin-Ra director. “Midgar should be loading a second wave of transports and I’ve already arranged for the Iraqstani military to escort you and the men of ‘SOLDIER’ to a secure facility to begin briefing, and further operations. We’re entering a crucial stage Ashant—not simply for us but the Corporation as a whole. It’d seem in particular the Shogunate and their reprehensible abominations Reploids are fronting the forces of justice against our palpable evil.”

Windigger deliberately exaggerated the final sentence, rolling his eyes for effect. “No hostilities have broken out and consequently any action against us currently is nothing short of naked aggression, which gives us the upper hand. I won’t however take this for granted, and I want maximum armament in the time available before I feel we’re certain to come into conflict.”

The commander of ‘SOLIDER’ nodded, turning to open the door and depart. He paused as Windigger uttered a final, stressed order.

“We’re a reputable business Ashant,” Trent uttered whilst adjusting his own tie and collar. “Don’t bring our good name into disrepute.”

The taller man extricated himself from the limousine, not requiring to see the stretched grin upon the face of Windigger to catch the intonation of the final sentence.

Of course she wasn't pleased. She hadn't been pleased about the Carlos situation for entirely too long now. With the growing tensions, it became clear that action had to be taken before she found herself in the middle of a war between at least parts of her two alliances.

And all because of one man's madness.

She cursed vehemently as she read over the most recent reports and missives, already framing responses to several in her mind as she continued to read, having come to a decision even before she'd gotten part way through it all.

What was left were the last minute messages in return via the most secure channels available, and hoping for the best in an already bad situation.

I hope you know what you're doing, Dev. You get yourself killed, and I will never forgive you. Son of a bitch, you should just send Ben, or ... why didn't you just let us take action back when a quiet demise wouldn't have looked at all amiss? Damn, bone-stubborn ...

The raven-haired woman took a long, slow sip of her ice water, her brow still furrowed in a worried scowl. After the messages were finished, she needed to talk to Shodey about that switch. Devon hadn't been happy at all about discussing it, nor at how she pressed him to give the green light on it. She still wasn't convinced he was ready to do what was needed there, but they had agreed that all three of them were required to offer Carlos his final peace. Had his input not been required, she would have taken him out long before now. Of course, it was technically her fault he still drew breath in the first place.

Her scowl deepened at that unpleasant reminder, and all the painful memories that went with it. Muttering imprecations under her breath, she began typing.

The less said about that, the better. Never again, dammit. Never.

To the Triumvirate Council, First Among Equals

I write to you concerning the current tensions between the Shogunate and Iraqstan, and possible actions by the Trium on account of it. I'm certain you can appreciate the difficult position I have been in, given that I hold legitimate ties to both nations in question through my alliances. The NDA has never before worked at odds with the Triumvirate, though elements of both have at times perhaps not seen eye to eye. I do not intend that we should begin to have such difficulties now.

I would ask that the Trium take extra care in upholding their usual high levels of diplomacy and tact, as I believe we all have been desperately attempting to do, and I respectfully request that any and all actions that may be on deck to deal with the Iraqstan situation be held in check while we attempt a last-ditch effort to achieve a definitive solution for our current difficulties.

It is important that in the next two days that no action be taken that could provoke any further millitary response from Iraqstan, or draw undue attention to their defensive perimeter if at all possible. Should our efforts fail, you will be notified immediately and the NDA as an alliance, will not interfere in any further efforts on behalf of the Triumvirate regarding protecting the Shogunate. Yes, I realize that actions taken by Iraqstan could force your hand. I ask for as much leniency concerning a response regardless of this fact. And yes, I realize that this is asking a lot. There is, after all, quite a lot at stake.

Yours, in good faith,

--Nathicana D'Aquisto
Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion

To the Hororable Gordon Grath, President of Kelanthia

First, let me apologize for what must seem a terribly late reply to your concerns. The situation has been problematic at best, and nearly impossible at worst. That being said, we agree that Carlos has unfortunately forced our hand in this situation, and that the proper steps, as have been previously discussed, need to be taken.

We have no desire to see our alliance torn apart due to the actions of one rogue leader, and understand completely your stance concerning the relationship between your two nations. To this end, we intend to call an official review in the next several days. Please understand that we must operate with caution and tact in this situation, considering what appears to be the already unstable mindset of our ally, and do not mistake said care for comisseration on our parts.

Without a drastic change, and solid proof that such blatantly hostile behaviour will cease and desist, I personally believe that we will indeed be forced to remove Iraqstan from the NDA. We ask your patience for but a short time longer while we do what needs to be done in order to maintain the health and well-being of the alliance.

With respect,

--Nathicana D'Aquisto
Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion

To Firefury,

Best of luck in your efforts with Lidric. I will be happy to assist with any 'shipping' arrangements that need be taken care of, and will leave the security and details in Devon's capable hands. Here's to hoping you can bring this to a mutually beneficial end. Be careful, take care of that thrice-damned stubborn man for me, and Godspeed.

--Nathicana



ooc: Apologies for not having been on this earlier. I hope this takes care of a few things, and allows some other bits to move forward. Let me know if anything is off.

Drifting lazily to the landing strip of an Iraqstani airfield on the NDA island the pilots look to each other before the copilot looks behind him at the man seated in the only other passenger seat in the cockpit. "Sir, we've landed. Any new orders?" asks the copilot who looks back when the other man shakes his head and stands once the plane comes to a full stop and a set of steps are rolled into place.

"Wait here for me. Remember you're being paid very well for this mission. It will be some time to relax and make use of the facilities." The man says as he heads out of the plane and into a waiting car. easing into the leather seat happily the man looks about before nodding. "To the Treznor embassy." He whispers as the car drives off, his hand reluctantly sliding underneath his jacket to brush the cold metallic presence of the gun he carries....


Somewhere over Um Lizaa

The soft rumbling of the troop dropship continues to roll through the troop compartment the hundred soldiers inside armed with the latest Shin-ra weaponry and their body armour first rate, they have the look of seasoned troops and an air of confidence about them. "Orders men." Comes a snapped response as a man walks from the cockpit of the dropship towards his soldiers who snap to attention. "As you all know we're now officialy over northern um lizaa, resistance is light but we're heading in stealth anyways. You're drop packs are set and we're the first set of men to land for this offensive, so once we land we head to our objective and show that we're really soldiers not the useless girls of the PNA!

Remember our objective is to capture and destroy a bridge leading towards the north south border, and then move back towards the front line. Anything we kill along the way is worthy of recognition. The areas we'll be heading through have been saturated with artillery for the last three nights. So resistance is expected to be light.

Watch out for your buddies and remember your oaths, if you fall take ten enemies with you! For the motherland! Sieg Heil!" the response of one hundred soldiers shouting the response for a moment quietens the rumble of the drop ships before it returns this time punctured by the whistling roar of air as the rear of the dropship is opened and soldiers start leaping from it, their jump packs ecompasing them in a shroud as they free fall, their minds set to the job of killing all that stand in their way.....


[ooc it's crap I know but the first post I've been able to manage in a while. Trez you're end is open for our little plan an stuff. The air drops are obviously visible as was the artillery that I never got round to posting, so yeah..lets see if we can finnaly finish this long and entirely too fun RP]

"Five minutes to insertion point," announces the navigator. A few seconds later, her message is confirmed over the communications link from the Iraqstani pilot who had been well-paid to perform the mission. While the shuttle crew were inclined to trust their long-time allies, it was always good to confirm your data with GPS.

"Who wants to tell His Majesty that it's time to buckle up?" chuckles the shuttle copilot.

"His Majesty already is, thanks," Treznor's voice replies quickly over the line. "Sorry about eavesdropping, habit of mine. I hate ops like this. You guys just fly and I'll worry about me."

"Uh, Majesty..." stammers the shuttle pilot. "We didn't realise you were listening."

"Clearly," comes the sardonic reply. "But you have more important things to worry about. As far as I'm concerned, I didn't hear anything about any betting pool over the next time the Dread Lady and I get caught having sex."

The cabin crew glance at each other uncertainly. Then the communications officer shrugs and keys his microphone. "Thank you, Majesty. Smoke 'em if you got 'em."

"Wilco."

"You think it's true, that he used to be in the army?" asks the woman sitting at the navigation console after making sure her microphone is off.

"I just hope he's not really as bloodthirsty as they say about him," retorts the pilot, acting similarly. "I don't want a bullet in my head because I suggested he uses a strap-on!"

"Cargo 3, prepare for drop." The heavily accented words of the Iraqstani pilot echoes through the cabin. The crew scramble to resume their duties as the rear port of the cargo plane begins to open.

"Roger that. Thanks for the lift."

The communications officer keys his microphone again. "Freefall in ten seconds."

"Roger."

"Stealth systems online and showing green," announces the copilot.

"Go go go!"

The shuttle is literally tossed from the rear of the monster plane that carried it in its belly, and the shuttle tumbles violently in the backwash of its passage. The communications officer can be heard wretching as motion sickness overcomes him. Unfortunately, no one can spare a moment to console him.

"Full throttle!" the pilot announces. Generators whine as electromagnetic coils power up and lock on to the planet's own EM bands. Abruptly, the shuttle comes out of its death dive and hovers some twenty thousand feet above the ground.

The moment of truth. Have the Iraqstani radar technicians spotted them? The copilot can be heard whispering an urgent prayer to Lady Sirithil.

The moment passes. They're clear.

"Forward vector," the pilot declares. "We're beginning our run."

"Geronimo." It seems the Emperor is not without a sense of humour. In a way, the crew find it even more shocking.

Dropping it's cargo the plane turns about painfully and heads back towards it's landing strip on the outskirts of Sirithilia, the slow flight allowing the pilot a moment to reflect before beginning his landing procedures, on his radar a pinging noise draws his attention as behind him a new blip appears.

"Unidentified craft, this is transport plane 432A1 please identify." The pilot communicates on an open frequency knowing full well any plane in this area is a fighter jet. "Ground control this is Transport 432A1 I have an unidentified aircraft on my six. Please advise."

"Transport 432A1 this is control, we see no plane in the area. Repeat we see no plane, you seem to be suffering a glitch in your equipment. Proceed with your landing instructions." comes the calm bored voice of an Iraqstani ground control operator. Sighing the transport pulls up slightly before a wailing alarm breaks the silence of the cockpit.

cursing loudly the pilot tries desperately to maneuver the lumbering cargo plane out of the path of the incoming missile but fails, his scream ending suddenly as the missile hits the rear of the plane, sending the large vessel into a burning free fall to the earth below. In the fighter the pilot banks sharply heading back along his previous course "Mission accomplished." Are his only words as he flies off.

---

Sitting in the large hall of an ancient house Lidric switches off the communications system as word filters in of the plane dropping it's package and leaves to ensure the final preperations are made. Looking out over the sand invaded fortress he sighs "An age beyond even my fathers time." He whispers as he surveys the repaired and hidden fortress of House Quil'raya the desert sands hiding it from the view of any prying eyes.

Turning he heads into another building, a large hanger of sorts where a space has been cleared for the shuttle bringing the emperor of Treznor to this place, ensuring the area is well guarded Lidric heads back to the main house compound where a squad of soldiers stand at attention, their uniforms bearing the mark of house Quil'raya and lacking the significant swastika of the Iraqstani Guard. Nodding to these soldiers Lidric recieves reports of the defensive units around the fortress as being ready and on high alert with a report of the cargo plane being destroyed Lidric frowns but dismisses it. "A traitor to the motherland no doubt. We will compensate when the time is right." He whispers before heading inside to await the arrival of his guests....

Forest in Um Lizaa

Creeping quietly through the forest the twenty men of unit five of the Iraqstani guard advance units pause as behind them the explosive bark of one of their land mines alerts them to incoming unfriendlies, the twenty men like thousands of others make their way slowly towards distant objectives, the five bridges crossing the River Lajios the only connecting ways from northern um lizaa to southern um lizaa that are not controled by Iraqstani forces.

Dropping into hiding places the men wait as twelve Um Lizaan rebels armed with assault rifles run from the fire raging at their backs the aftermath of the landmine exploding, barking an order in Iraqstani the twenty men open fire, their targets jolting to a stop with the ferocity of the weapons aimed at them, withthin seconds the ten men lay dead their bodies bleeding from multiple wounds as the twenty men converge and once more head towards their objective.

Hidden away in the belly of the shuttle is a shipping box. It has no particular markings of "Fragile" or even a "This End Up ^", and as a result it had been loaded on its side, to the slight annoyance of its contents. Having been hacked into the communications, Firefury was ready when the shuttle was unceremoniously dumped out of the Iraqstani cargo plane. Had she been human, her heart would be pounding and her adrenal glands would be doing overtime right about now. Even without the organic equipment, the sensation for the reploid is still pretty equivilent.

She didn't bat an eye at the stomach-twisting freefall, her only response was a tighter grip on the controls of a prototype g-diffuser equipped glider that was stuffed into the box with her, wings carefully folded up to make the tiny craft as compact as possible. Certainly not on par with her EV-3 fighter, but if something happened, it could at least get her to a safe landing, or away from the immediate area. In the hands of an ace like her, it could even possibly outmanuver enemy fightercraft in the right conditions.

But god, was she getting sick of being hidden in that damn box.

Having flown in to a safe landing at the remote fortress, 'that damn box' is unloaded and unpacked, and the two foreign leaders are escorted inside. Treznor steps through the main hallway, still stretching his legs and working out the kinks, while Firefury follows right behind, the reploid still picking styrofoam packing peanuts out of her armor.

Waiting inside, Lidric walks forward, a pair of guards stepping to the sides and presenting a salute to Devon sharply. "It's good to see you Emperor" He says as he bows slightly in respect. The young Iraqstani smiles slightly at the reploid and bows in her direction as well. "Allow me to extend welcome to you Queen Firefury. It has been long since respect has been directed towards your nation."

"That's an understatement. I assume you're aware of how high the stakes are right now?" Firefury snorts, flicking one of the aforementioned peanuts from her shoulder.

Lidric nods "I am aware. Before we begin I must express my relief that you arrived safely. The aircraft carrying both of you was shot down returning to it's base. It seems my father's informants are quicker than we expected."

Firefury frowns suddenly at that, obviously wary of the news. "Are we safe here?"

"Quite safe, my father believes this fortress to be destroyed- obviously it isnt. It serves both as a meeting place and the remainder of the house quil'rayan guard." He says with a slight nod towards the two soldiers standing at attention, their uniforms differing from standard Iraqstani codes.

Firefury crosses her arms, looking from Lidric to Treznor. "We'd better be. With all the weapons parked in orbit up there-" She gestures overhead. "-if things go to pot, it will not be pleasant for anybody involved."

Lidric tips his head in agreement. "What influence in the military I have is being used to divert all attention away from these heartland areas. Our security is tripled by the fact the only people within a hundred miles of us are loyal to house Quil'raya an not the Fuhrer.

Treznor frowns at that. "The Fuhrer is House Quil'raya."

Lidric shakes his head "He used to be house Quil'raya, but he recently an in much secrecy except from the house itself, disbanded house Quil'raya. I lost many relatives and distant relations in his bid to secure his power further." He says his eyes dropping slightly.

Firefury glances around, obviously remaining highly alert despite the assurances of safety, even as she bows her head briefly at the news of the tragedy. "Family infighting happens. I'll cut to the chase here- what are you going to do about this situation?"

"All that is left are employed soldiers who hold loyalty to the house and their country and some cousins whom my father knows nothing about." Lidric smiles at the Reploid. "My father's time in power has come to an end. Iraqstan is not advancing as he promised and I like the people grow weary of sending our friends, and brothers to war. If we had a reason to execute this war we would follow it. But the reason was lost years ago when my father became enraged in the belief that the Um Lizaans were responsible for our racial failings."

Treznor closes his eyes and bows his head gently, otherwise saying nothing.

Firefury cracks a slight grin at the explanation. "Dividing War all over again. Do you have the resources to swing it, and might I inquire what changes will be made under a new regime?"

Lidric chuckles "I have the resources to come to power without risking civil unrest if thats what you ask. Changes? For one the Um Lizaans will be given the offer to join the National Socialist Union and become a fully autonomous state. They will be given a State govenor of their choosing."

Firefury quirks an eyebrow. "And what can be expected in terms of resistance from yer old man's folks? I know the refugees would probably be thrilled if you follow through on that promise."

Treznor opens his eyes and watches Lidric carefully as the conversation continues.

"Iraqstan wont become a nice and non-fascist state that I will etch in stone. We will instead respect individual differences, Iraqstan will still be a fascist state but we will not pursue extermination of those of non-iraqstani birth." Lidric looks at the reploid. "As for my father's reaction. He'll be dead. PLain and simple."

Treznor winces, Lidric's statement unflinchingly blunt as to the solution.

Firefury brightens at that statement. "And those loyal to him? Believe you me, axing the leader can do wonders on the problem, but fringe elements can cause tons of trouble. It took me a decade to wrangle all of Aurora's lackies."

Lidric looks sadly at Devon, noticing the older man's reaction. "I'm sorry your highness, but it's the only way to ensure a peaceful transition. Along with my father's death will be more blood spilt by Iraqstani hands. It is unavoidable. Those whom support my father must be removed as well."


"What if the Um Lizaans reject your offer to join the National Socialist Union? What if they want to be independent?" Treznor shakes his head gently. "I love Carlos like a brother. But he dug this hole himself, and for all my efforts I can't save him from the bullet that will put him in his grave."

"Then they will be independant. The northern half will become a sovreign state with the south remaining Iraqstani. The citizens of Southern Um Lizaa have seen no reason to express dislike. We've given them economic strength, industrial technology and wonderful housing." Looking to Firefury, he then nods "I am able to silence my father's support but not without alerting many of them to the danger."

Treznor begins to pace, drumming his fingers against his leg in a rhythmic pattern.

"Some damage will be taken in Iraqstan alone I forsee as my fathers supporters bid to take control of the state from me. I wll be their target not refugees or percieved enemies." The Iraqstani explains.

"Revolutions are usually pretty bloody affairs. For obvious reasons my people are going to be paranoid for some time." Firefury frowns slightly in thought.

Lidric smiles "There is a but to all this..." He says looking at both before continuing. "My fathers supporters obviously will not want me in power if they learn the truth behind Carlos' death. But... I need them to manage the state until my own people are ready to take over."

Treznor smirks and nods. "What do you have in mind?"

"The rebels will succeed in their recent missions to kill my father. It will lead to a retaliation by Iraqstan but it must be one that is to be undertaken. If it means Um Lizaa refuses to join the Union so be it. Aslong as it secures the support of threats in the government." Lidric explains, glancing in Firefury's direction to gauge the reploid's reaction to advance notice of further violence in the north.

"Ah, the blame game." The orange reploid frowns, but offers little more comment.

Treznor stops pacing and faces Lidric directly. "So, what do you need from me?"

Lidric exhales slowly. "From you, I require simply a means of confirming the report of the assasination. Make it look like a rebel strike to the outside world. Internaly my people will cover our part of the lie. I would handle both, but resources will be taxed covering and quieting any questions raised by the sudden success of the rebels."

Treznor ponders this for a moment. "The NDA and I have kept our distance from this dispute because of the impact it's having on our other relations. That's going to be tricky. We've got to have a plausible excuse for being on hand to confirm the identity of the assassins."

Firefury puts one hand on her hip. "And lemme guess- my people need to turn a blind eye to the retaliations?"

Lidric nods at Devon "I'm sure my father would be happy to meet with an old friend like you..." He says before looking to Firefury "Yes and I would also ask that eventually the shogunate look upon Iraqstan as non-hostile. No one outside of this room is to know of the economic problems this cold war has caused in Iraqstan..."

Firefury laughs outright at that. "No one is to know, but anybody with a decent sense of economics could guess it!"

Treznor grins, mirroring the reploid's amusement. "You've been reading too much of your father's press. That's not much of a secret, Lidric."

Firefury nods. "Trying to play catch-up militarily with a foreign nation while dealing with internal unrest is bound to kill the economy."

"However," Treznor says with his expression turning grave once more. "Your father doesn't feel very friendly toward anyone lately, even me. Especially with the impending review from the alliance. He knows I could have stopped it if I'd wanted to. I don't know if he's going to want to speak to me."

Firefury mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath. "He's totally and completely Irregular. This could have been resolved ages ago, I swear."

Lidric winces "My father's faults are his own, but he is still my father..." He whispers before looking to Devon. "Perhaps he could be convinced to discuss a means of appealing the review. He knows to trust your judgement on how to speak diplomaticaly."

Treznor glares at Firefury, knowing full well what the reploid meant about resolving the problem. "It could have been. So could a lot of problems. He was a good man, once. He was my friend. I wasn't going to throw him to the wolves without giving him a chance, without trying. If you can't understand that, you can go to hell."

Firefury smirks at Treznor, apparently unfazed by the remark or the caustic tone behind it. "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. As for the business at hand, I can make sure my people cool their heels after the assassination. I obviously can't have a hand in getting Trez here to chat with ol' Carlos."

Lidric chuckles, hoping the sudden tension between the Shogun and the Emperor would dissapate "Perhaps another avenue. I do not care what the majority of the world thinks, it adds to the cloud of deception around the Union. But if foreign leaders hear of Devon paying his respect and speaking with regret at the loss of his friend's life in a war...."

Treznor turns away as he struggles for control. Then he looks at Lidric. "I can make the offer. What I can't guarantee is that he'll accept. We'll have to make the suggestion through channels, so it appears legitimate. You can't just walk up to him and tell him I'm willing to coach him."

Lidric nods, understanding. "Of course if he refuses then you simply mourn a friend killed by soldiers of a country at war with my own. I will take the burdeon on myself if need be but it will push Iraqstan further into a pit that it will be unable to climb out of."

"All right. So long as we understand the risks." Treznor lets out a heavy sigh. "You know I hate this. Why are you so sure I won't betray you to him?"

Firefury quirks an eyebrow and awaits Lidric's reply, the reploid obviously interested in how the young man intends to respond.

"For the simple reason that if he lives, he will strike at the shogunate and the NDA will suffer for it." Lidric states simply.

"I can vouch for that. If those fleets don't back off real soon, I can't guarantee it won't turn ugly." Firefury notes..

Treznor shrugs. "The NDA has weathered worse. And we've pledged not to get directly involved if Carlos violates treaty. It still doesn't answer my question."

Firefury glances at Treznor at the man's comment. "Has it weathered the fallout - no pun intended - of a member nation using WMDs unprovoked on another nation?"

Lidric chuckles "Then perhaps I must draw on the simple fact you would be betraying your own efforts to make a better person out of a Quil'raya."

Treznor smirks gently at the rebuttal. "Then I'm satisfied." He turns back to Firefury. "No, not yet. But given our treaty, we have provisions for it. We're just hoping never to use them, which is why I'm here with you. We'll see this stopped before it gets to far. I'll do my part."

Firefury nods her agreement. "Likewise. For obvious reasons, I don't want to be the foreign nation getting smited so. We've had plenty of bloody tragedy-type stuff already. So, do the rebels know that this assassination is going to be pinned on them?"

Lidric shakes his head. "Not yet. I was waiting to see if you both would agree to helping me. Most likely they will demand more than I'm willing to give so a compromise must be reached. For that I am still searching."

Firefury frowns in thought. "If any of those militant foreigners are still in one piece, they'd probably be a good way to swing the rebels into cooperation. From what my intel's seen, those knights-errant from the attacks on those huge cannons probably command a great deal of respect among the rebels they're helping."

Treznor folds his arms. "What'd I teach you about the carrot and the stick? You already know they have suicide squads looking for the opportunity to reach him. All you have to do is show them the way. Whether or not they actually succeed is irrelevant."

Lidric winces at Devon but smiles "You taught me much which is still being integrated." Nodding to Firefury he chuckles "However I'm not sure if any are left. They seemed to of been hell bent on eliminating anything that was the enemy..."

Business apparently concluded, Firefury glances around the room again. "I think we've got most of the bases covered here. My next question- how pray tell, are we getting out of here?"

<Televised minaret call to prayer ceases>

Scolopendran Independent News
"Because it sucks to be S.I.N.-less"

Good evening. The time is 1230 hours Titan Standard Time, and this is the dhuhr edition of the news, brought to you by Harriet Estes. In our top story, Los Caballeros Idealistos have taken responsibility for the atomic explosions detected in Iraqstan two days ago but claim that they were an accident resulting from their attacks on Iraqstani strategic weapon emplacements. We at S.I.N. received an automated transmission from the Hacker data haven where Los Caballeros earlier today and we will replay it for you now.

Image of a woman with the kind of severe, concentrated visage one associates with medieval hagiography of female saints. Generally fair skinned but with a slight tint from the mixture of Mongolian and Indian blood and jet black hair, indicating her Khazak heritage. Grimy, having lived in the woods for several days. Well-defined eyes flicking back and forth in calm yet quick estimation, then down at the camera with cold concentration, the glare of an iconic image demanding piety. "I am Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova, leader of Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar. I am personally responsible for the explosions you have probably all seen, and deeply regret them. I ordered the attacks on Iraqstani strategic artillery sites and did not expect the unholy oppressors to destroy their own arsenals to make a point. We would never use such things for the harm they do to innocents; but the deed is done, the damage done. We are sorry."

She speaks quickly in Arabic, obviously in a hurry. "Those honorable knights that I sent on that mission are dead. Sir Chagatai, Sir Gahiji, Sir Anasabhanu, Sir Huaxpitzcactzin, son of Tiacapan... Dame Constansa. I buried her with my own hands, our attack blunted upon this latest site, this latest abomination towards the commandment of Allah to love and defend the innocent by the oppressor dajjal and our own surprise at the explosions, which killed the rest..." She swallows hard, her face firming just that much more. "She will not have died in vain. My comrades in arms will not have died in vain. The thousands of innocents the infidels killed in their counterattack will not have died in vain.

"I am the last of the knights-errant on the ground here in Iraqstan, and it is my solemn duty to fulfill my oath, to protect Um Lizaa at all costs. This weapon is an abomination against all things halal, from all things that all faiths embrace--the protection of the weak, the defense of the innocent. As long as I draw breath I shall fight it, and either it will fall through Allah's will through the strength of my arm or I will die in the attempt... at which point I have a guarantee." She holds up the duffel bag of jury-rigged explosives, a good deal of which is military-grade octonitrous compound which any CDC-trained 'Pendran will see and respect.

"If you never hear from us again, know that we tried to die with honor." She looks up. "Praise be to God." The camera angle shifts violently as she puts her helmet back on and the feed cuts off.

After this point, Mahmuda puts her helmet back on and runs into battle. The rest of the video feed is unedited, violent combat footage; if you want to know more, links to it and a copy we are hosting are available on our network site. We understand that you may have seen this footage earlier on ISN, however, we waited to obtain exclusive tips from our resources. An anonymous source within the Civilian Defense Corps identifies Los Caballeros as members of the 78th Armored Infantry Regiment stationed at Fort Young outside of Nuha. They have been registered as absent without leave for several months now.

* - * - *

"Pierdolić moja matka," Razak groans. Saying a Spanish idiom in Polish is a little odd, but these are the Segments.

"I figured some day Harriet would find some way to even the score," Garbo says with a shrug. "Ah well."

Jack Kerrigan, the quiet prim-and-proper International Trade Advisor ever since Spoilsport's demise left a vacancy, looks up from the economic reports on his desk. "SIS had a hand in this?"

"Hell no," Garbo says with no force whatsoever, smirking over his shoulder at the indeterminately younger man, "you think we could get something like this past the Leyjoo?"

"I've been impressed with what I've seen," Kerrigan snipes with a humorously wry half-smirk.

Garbo snickers. "Your vote of confidence is heartwarming, but no. We'd be involved in covering it up, if we wanted to." He looks over to the silver-haired man, who has folded his arms and growls at the floor in thought. "Do we want to?"

"No," Razak frowns. "I guess the CDC finally got its books straight and made sure to tell the damned reporters before they told me. Where's Nadjiba?"

"She took the day off to be with her family," Jack replies, leaning back--intraoffice life butting into work, yet again. "I'm sure she's keeping track of things."

"Yeah." Julius frowns even more deeply. "I'll call her to get something ready for if the Iraqstani hear. I'm sure ISN will pick up on this, put their own spin on it... I'd also best start working on a statement. My goal is to put something on the air before they call... actually. Jack," his tone becomes more imperative, steel-gray eyes latching onto call your contacts in S.I.N. and tell them I'll give them an exclusive at 1830, after maghrib."

The young trade advisor immediately picks up the handset embedded in his desk. "On it, sir."

The echoing crackle of plasma rifles firing in close quarters follows the commando down the dark underground hallway his breath slightly fogging the eyeplate of his Quil'rayan combat armour. Pausing at a corner he pokes a small mirror around the corner checking the way is clear and moves forward towards the door. Behind him he hears the sounds of his squad shuffling quietly into position at the corner.

"Sticks, move your arse and plant the charges" Is the whispered crackle of his squad CO over the internal comm system. Chuckling to himself the commando rushes forward Steel door breaching 101. Use lots of explosives. The commando thinks ruefulyl as he starts lining the door with plastic explosives, "Sheizer, Vape delay bravo mannschaft. The explosives are slipping." He mutters through the comm as the brownish gold stripes of a bravo squad member crash into the wall beside him.

"Soldier I dont care what level of hell you draw adhesive from I want these bombs in place or I use you to hold them there. Get this door open NOW!" Is the heated order from the bravo CO. Sighing the commando fights with the explosives, precious minutes passing, behind him his squad opens fire their plasma rifles crackling in the dark as the enemy falls upon them.

"CLEAR!" He shouts as he finnaly gets the last of the explosives on and rushes for cover his rifle held at the ready as he rounds the corner and starts firing at enemy troops hanging from the ceiling. time freezes as the door explodes the concussion knocking everyone flat, sending suspended enemies swaying in stunned silence and commandos sprawling to the ground.

Flickers of moment pass and the soldiers stand shaking themselves alert and once more the firing begins. Bravo team for it's duty surges forward "Go get them digger!" The explosives commando shouts as the team rushes through, their weapons firing and barked commands echoing over the comm.

"Sticks get a repeating rifle up here ASAP! We're pinned down." is the commando's orders as he rushes forward grabbing the support commando and his repeating rifle. "Set the tripod up!" he shouts and puts action to words, in seconds the weapon is mounted on the tripod and Sticks begins firing relentlessly into the ranks of enemy soldiers hanging from the roof and charging up the hall.

A muffled yelp and the crackling of comms causes Sticks to look about, as the world is plunged into total darkness. Gunney? Tomcat? Where are you guys?! Sticks shouts inaudibly as explosives go off around him bringing the roof down. Over the unit comms he heres a simple 'mission accomplished' and begins to notice the silence surrounding him more acutely as he falls into unconciousness.

Waking some time later he listens quietly, nothing can be heard. Crawling forward he turns his helmet lamps on and scans the area his only weapon the standard issued pistol at his side. Moving quickly and hurridly he heads from the tunnels acutely aware of the continual falling of roof supports behind him. Afraid to look back he dives through the bunker opening and lands heavily on the ground before the door to the bunker which with a column of dust and small rocks fills in.

checking his chrono he utters a small curse and rushes towards his extraction zone...

Iraqstani Guard dropship squadron twelve, in the air over target facility.

"Alright boys, extraction run is on the ball, lets move move move!" A single officer shouts his combat uniform differing significantly from others, his rank one of political status, moving along the ranks of People's Nationalist Army soldiers their combat armour battered and worn, their weapons less advanced than some of the weapons sported by Iraqstani guard. Offering playful insults and words of encouragement he cements the presence of his rank in everyone's minds, evaporating any thoughts of fleeing once touchdown was achieved.

The commandos have done the hard yards boys, you're to move in and control the zone, repel an enemy counter-attack and await further instructions. Operation Landfill has been officialy closed with the objective secured, this is the last of bunkers in this area of the north. You're to hold it until relieved Sieg Heil!" Recieving the returned shout the Political offer steps aside as the drop ship lands, it's bay doors opening and with a muffled cry the soldiers pour out all over the burning and badly cleared landing zone hundres of troops pour from dropships their weapons firing at distant rebel targets. In the center lays the debris filled bunker where commando team alpha went silent.

Running towards his dropship Sticks stops and looks about the area, watching as other commandos rush towards their ships, plasma rifles firing, armour slightly dulled from their combat missions. Stopping at his dropship he see's it empty of all but guarding PNA troops, eyeing them casualy almost dismissivley he turns back to the bunker and waits...

"Commando, Extraction is to take place in thirty minutes." The political officer shouts over the sounds of combat aroudn them, looking over his shoulder Sticks shakes his head and turns back to the bunker the pistol in his hand gripped tightly. "Not without my team Sir" he says with a hint of sarcasm.

Glaring the Political officer steps forward "Commando board this dropship now! Bravo team reports alpha is gone, you're the only one left. Get on this ship." He says grabbing the commando by the arm. Turning the commando grabs the Political officer's wrist and twists sharply, almost to the point of snapping the bone. Looking up with his expressionless helmet he snarls softly "We wait. I know they're still alive." Letting go of the wrist he turns back to the bunker, "Come on damnit, Gunney, Tomcat where are you?" he mutters softly, firing his pistol when the occasionaly rebel strays too close.

Snarling with fury the political officer climbs from the dropship, his pistol unholstered and pointed at the commando "By order of the fuhrer of Iraqstan and empowered with the rank of the Reich, I am ordering you to board this dropship and depart for debriefing." He says, as he steps infront of the soldier, the pistol pointed at the weakspot in the helmet.

"Sir... Get that gun out of my face." The commando says his own weapon remaining at his side, pushing the officer out of the way he runs back towards the bunker his comm unit braodcasting along his team's pivate frequency "Gunney? Tomcat, respond please. Come on guys I know you're out here respond!" he shouts, the desperation of his situation becoming more evident and his body language showing his fear.

Walking to where Sticks stands the political officer chuckles softly "You've fled from an engagement commando, that's grounds for me to exercise military protocol four. Under no circumstances should a soldier disobey orders or flee from a combat situation. You know what that means soldier...." The officer says almost gleefully as he once more aims the pistol at the commando's eyes behind the visor.

"With all due respect sir, I am not leaving without my buddies." Sticks utters his hands clenched tightly into fists. "Look around you commando! The dropships are leaving the PNA has secured the zone and moving forward, your team is dead! Get on that ship NOW or I will kill you!" Shaking his head sticks drops his pistol and takes his helmet off.

Looking at the officer in the eye he sighs "So Tomcat was right, we really are being duped into death by the fuhrer. You dont care that good men died out here, men that have seen more combat than these PNA rats have. We were part of operation crossroads! We defended you're baby smooth arse in the first moments of combat! You or the state dont care-" his shout is cut off as the Officer pulls the trigger, sending a single bullet into the left eye of the commando, his body crumples the life gone before it can register pain.

Stepping over the body he waves two PNA soldiers forward "STrip him of armour and weapons and take his tags, he dies anonymous and his family gets a letter of sympathy that their son has disappeared in combat, defected or fled the field. he doesnt deserve recognition of death." He orders as he makes his way back to the dropship and waits, the soldiers inside pale at actualyl seeing protocol four acted upon.

"Let this be a lesson to you all, the state does not reward those that give up. Only when you have completed your mission are you allowed to mourn those lost. The consequences of failing to meet the expectations of our fuhrer and the state are obvious." He says whilst gesturing to the naked corpse a few meters away.

Letting the soldiers stare at the body he beckosn the two soldiers with him deeper into the ship as they deposit the armour in the troop bay and follow. "Sir his tags." One of them says, his voice empty of emotion except fear. Taking the tags the officer puts them in his pocket. "Thank you, you did well soldiers, you followed orders and completed your objective. Tomorrow will bring new orders for you I think..."

http://img69.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/inn.jpg
Iraqstani News Network (INN)
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Union!

The Federated Segments of Scolopendra, Guilt of Terrorism against the motherland

"Good evening this is Rachel Kleinburg for INN bringin a special bulletin. Recently an illegal hack into the INN broadcasting channels informed the glorious first reich of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra's involvement in the terrorist activities of the Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar.

These knights as they called themselves were trained by the Civil Defense corps in Scolopendra possibly for the single role of infiltrating and commiting suicide attacks on the first Reich in an attempt to destabalise the region and ferment further civil unrest in the Northern country of Um Lizaa.

The fuhrer has condemened these terrorists and urges the international community to break all ties with the federated Segments as they have shown to be nothing more than terrorist supporting war mongers whom wish to see only death and destruction to the pure citizens of the National Socialist Union.

The Fuhrer has also announced a public appearance in the Square of Enlightenment to help raise support and compassion for those whom have lost their lives in a string of suicide bombings now linked to Lost Caballeros Idealistos del TErcer Pilar. These attacks include bombings of schools where children of the First Reich's council of advisors attend aswell as schools containing members of the Quil'rayan youth divisions.

These attacks will not go unpunished the fuhrer has been quoted as saying and the lives of hte pure shall once more know peace from warfare. The death tolls of the school bombings is hanging steady at one thousand dead, with roughly seven hundred wounded. SIrithilia education officials have praised the security teams at another school for successfully thwarting a suicide bomber of Um Lizaan birth from detonating explosives in another school, one designed to train our glorious sons and daughters for service to the motherland.

Public Securit Service officers have tripled all patrols around state controled schools as security alert levels rise from moderate to extreamly dangerous. The fuhrer urges all citizens of Iraqstani birth to report any suspisious activities in their areas, he urges those that reside near foreigners or Um Lizaan immigrants to watch them closely for they might be the very seeds of terrorism.

Watch all foreigners with extreme caution for anyone of them could be an enemy waiting to kill as many of the pure as he or she can. In other news the fuhrer announed a new line of defense against terrorism, activating a new defensive group known simply as Section 22. Section 22's agendas are not public knowledge but the fuhrer has openly stated they will be the first line of defense against foreign corruption and terrorism.

This has been an INN special. Rachel Kleinburg reporting. Sieg Heil! Long live the Union!"

http://img69.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/inn.jpg
Iraqstani News Network (INN)
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Union!

"Trying a bit hard, aren't they?" Kerrigan says with a raised eyebrow, looking over the feed acquired by SIS and playing on Garbo's desk. "I don't remember any terrorism from my CDC training."

Garbo shrugs nonchalantly. "Of course they're trying hard. Now they have a scapegoat, and given the anti-Trium sentiments they've been fomenting, we're a perfect one. They are ours, after all, which makes us responsible in some manner for them." He smirks and glances over towards the International Trade Advisor, epicanthic folds somehow emphasizing the slyness of his gesture. "'Sides, you can't honestly say that you weren't rooting for them, however quietly, right...?"

Jack represses a quiet shiver. Garbo always did that; he pointed out the quiet sins, especially those of omission. Yes, he had quietly supported the knights-errant in mind... but who wouldn't? Striking back against genocidal bastards, protecting the weak as best they could... it's a nobility unknown in the modern realpolitik and one that grinds on the Scolopendran mind. He pointedly ignores Janus, changing the subject. "So, what's the plan?"

Razak rubs his chin, frowning deeply at the screen. "The plan is simple. I make the statement I was planning on with only a few mindor adjustments. No sooner, no later. S.I.N. will make it known that we contacted them before the Iraqstani put their spin on it so it isn't scrambling damage-control. Not like it's too hard to discredit fascist media, right?"

* - * - *

Yes, it is true that Los Caballeros were Scolopendrans. That much cannot be denied; we confirmed it through official CDC lines the same time you all heard about it. The officers involved, actually, called S.I.N. first before letting us know--not particularly happy about that, but what's one going to do?

However, the vigilante group calling itself Los Caballeros had, has, and obviously will never have the official sanction of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra. All of its members deserted their posts and stole government property to go on their adventure and, if any are still left, they are due the full penalty of Scolopendran military law. Due to the lack of wartime readiness, their desertion classifies officially as Absent WithOut Leave status, which qualifies for dishonorable discharge and revocation of enfranchisement even ignoring the charges of grand theft. This sort of behavior is intolerable and those planning to follow in the footsteps of these 'knights-errant' can expect to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. As for Los Caballeros... well, as far as our intelligence can determine, they've already paid the ultimate price they possibly can.

The thought of Civilian Defense Corps units being trained for guerilla action in foreign lands is patently absurd. All training is a matter of public knowledge, unclassified, as per Legislative Unit Resolution 95. The service records of Los Caballeros are also public knowledge, available via any Resolution 95 information request by any entity, being equally unclassified. We can provide complete evidence showing that the government of the Segments had absolutely nothing to do with this incident. What Los Caballeros did was a matter of personal, misguided choice, financed by their own funds.

The Federated Segments never has and never will support terrorism. The express targeting of civilian populations in order to rule or cause change through fear is something we have dedicated our lives against, something which the fascists in positions of power in Iraqstan probably know all too well, given the Triumvirate fleets currently monitoring the situation. This being said, it is our continued goal to see the end of oppression and tyranny and we will do what we can within the bounds of reality to see that come to pass. That the regime in Iraqstan is naught but murderers and oppressors is common knowledge. That they massacre hundreds of thousands is obvious to anyone that has a pair of eyes. That they try to accuse the accuser, as it were, and blame us for their actions, their failures is laughable at best and insulting at worst. It is an act of desperation, finger-pointing in the hope of passing blame or diverting the attention which must be becoming all too pressing right about now.

No, we had no call in the actions of Los Caballeros; in hindsight, we must take better care to prevent such a thing from recurring with our property and our soldiers. Certainly, however, there is one logical fact which cannot be denied: the 'knights-errant' but were ten second-line soldiers, ten citizens that go through the exact same training as eighty percent of the Segments' population. We have above Iraqstan this instant easily fifty thousand front-line soldiers with the best equipment the technology of the Triumvirate has to offer. Why, if we really wanted to break Quil'raya's balls, would we be so damned half-assed about it?

Thank you and good night.

* - * - *

"Well, I didn't like calling their efforts 'half-assed.'" Razak frowns. "I guess it's too late to send SMISO in to blow up more Iraqstani military hardware?"

"Wouldn't recommend it anyway, boss," Garbo says with a shrug, "even SMISO's stuff has to be declassified eventually. The knights-errant are better spooks than our system will ever allow for."

"He's got a point," Advisor Hawke offers, idly looking at his fingernails. "If people want to form mercenary units, they've got the right as long as they don't mess with our interests..."

"Yeah, I know," Julius says, smirking wryly. "See how I'm not writing up orders for a Federal Police sting?"

http://img69.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/inn.jpg
Iraqstani News Network (INN)
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Union!

Reich releases unedited footage of Terrorists last message.

"Good evening this is Natayla Lehmann for INN bringing you this special news bulletin. In an unprecedented move of declassification, the glorious reich has released the actual pirate broadcast of the terrorist group that slaughtered hundreds of thousands in the attacks on the Cannons of Purity and the Princess Guard. The Fuhrer has stated that the righteous pure citizens of the motherland should be aware of the hate being spread by our enemies in the Triumverate of Yut.

The following footage may contain scenes of graphic violence so we do caution all that may be offended by such material. Later the fuhrer will attend a public rally in honour of our fallen heros at the Square of enlightenment where he will reveal more treachery by the Yut governments in their quest for domination of earth and the pure peoples of Iraqstan. For The Fuhrer Sieg Heil!"

The camera feed cuts to a fuzzy image, befor focusing properly..

Image of a woman with the kind of severe, concentrated visage one associates with medieval hagiography of female saints. Generally fair skinned but with a slight tint from the mixture of Mongolian and Indian blood and jet black hair, indicating her Khazak heritage. Grimy, having lived in the woods for several days. Well-defined eyes flicking back and forth in calm yet quick estimation, then down at the camera with cold concentration, the glare of an iconic image demanding piety. "I am Dame Mahmuda Mahmudova, leader of Los Caballeros Idealistos del Tercer Pilar" The video feed cuts out but the audio continues "sponsored by the Federated Segments of Scolopendra through their donations we have waged our war against the enemy. I am personally responsible for the explosions you have probably all seen, and do not regret them." The video feed cuts back in "I ordered the attacks on Iraqstani strategic artillery sites" The video feed cuts out but the audio continues "knowing full well the damage that could be done to civilian sites I undertook this at the orders from my superiors. We detonated the enemies own nuclear weapons, ensuring the surrounding land is useless to them in the hopes of furthering our march accross the land." The video feed cuts back in.

She speaks quickly in Arabic, obviously in a hurry. "Those honorable knights that I sent on that mission are dead. Sir Chagatai, Sir Gahiji, Sir Anasabhanu, Sir Huaxpitzcactzin, son of Tiacapan... Dame Constansa. I buried her with my own hands, our attack blunted upon this latest site, this latest abomination towards the commandment of Allah to love and defend the innocent by the oppressor dajjal and our own joy at the explosions, which killed the rest..." She swallows hard, her face firming just that much more. "She will not have died in vain. My comrades in arms will not have died in vain. The thousands of innocents the infidels killed in their counterattack will not have died in vain.

"I am the last of the knights-errant on the ground here in Iraqstan, and it is my solemn duty to fulfill my oath, to protect the Segments at all costs. This weapon is an abomination against all things halal, from all things that all faiths embrace--the protection of the weak, the defense of the innocent. As long as I draw breath I shall fight it, and either it will fall through Allah's will through the strength of my arm or I will die in the attempt... at which point I have a guarantee." She holds up the duffel bag of jury-rigged explosives, a good deal of which is military-grade octonitrous compound which any CDC-trained 'Pendran will see and respect.

"If you never hear from us again, know that we tried to die with honor." She looks up. "Praise be to God." The camera angle shifts violently as she puts her helmet back on and the feed cuts off.

"Once more we recap the fuhrer in an unexpected turn of events has declassified the footage just shown, as an example of imperialism working behind the scenes of supposed 'democratic' states. The Reich has condemned the Federated Segments for their dishonourable use of terrorism and their continual lying to their own citizens and the Fuhrer urges all Scolopendran citizens to rise up and oust their oppressors with force, to welcome in a peaceful government that respects the rights of national sovreigncy and does not take part in genocidal terrorism on the scale the current regime has committed.

The Fuhrer further demands the Scolopendran government surrender any other forces they have placed in the area as well as their copies of bank records proving they financed the terrorist cell recently destroyed with the Cannons of Purity. Failure to do so will result in the fuhrer releasing further footage of atrocities committed by the Triumverate forces during the extraction of exiles in the past years.

More news when it happens, the truth first. This is Natayla Lehmann for INN. Sieg Heil!"

http://img69.photobucket.com/albums/v210/Spaar/Nationstates/inn.jpg
Iraqstani News Network (INN)
Hail the Führer, Long Live the Union!

Square of Enlightenment,
Sirithilia

Amid a torrent of banners, Iraqstani flags and cheering roars from the crowd the marching line of soldiers a common sight at any rally of the Union march around the square of enlightenment's perimiter passing the crowd on all sides and as one saluting the Podium the traditional way, arm stretched out and slightly at an angle before them.

In a single voice the soldiers shout "Sieg Heil!" each time they pass the podium, their loyalty owed to the man standing before the microphones. Watching the display of military power and loyalty Carlos smiles back at the people standing with him on the podium of the Reich. His son barely fifteen stares expresionlessly back at him. Curious Carlos thinks as beside his son stands Reich Fuhrer von Bismark an old man now but one of his most loyal supporters.

Turning back to the crowd Carlos checks his uniform once more, the Iraqstani Guard swastika and eagle glinting proudly on his right brest, the numerous medals and patches hang from his left breast, on the either shoulder stand the Iron Cross proudly, their black and silver colourings blending well with the black with red trim of his Uniform.

Raising his hands to the crowd he waves them silent, basking in the power he has over these countless thousands of people. "Loyal, sons and daughters of Iraqstan, proud followers of the National Socialist union, I come before you not to announce victory and further enlightenment of our people, but to join you in remembering those lost by the terrorist attacks of Scolopendra.

You have all been aware of the news reports indicating the federated segments involvement in rebel activies in Um Lizaa. We all remember the deaths handed to us by these dogs in the recent weeks. Let me join you in remembering the sacrifices these men and women made so that we may remain proudly Iraqstani!.

Foreign corruption has begun a slow but steady infection within our populace as we see more and more people entering and leaving our glorious motherland. Take note of these people today for they could be your enemy tomorrow! Trust nobody but your own kind! The foreign corruption can and will destroy all that we hold dear. Iraqstani blood must remain pure! Take only those that prove their native status, for we are the master race! Your brothers and sisters tied in the cannons of purity defense and the defene of the princess guard for JUST THAT REASON! To secure our bloodlines from foreign corruption!

We owe it to them to take up this fight, join the People's Nationalist Army, fight for your motherland! Pay respects to those that died for your continued security!" AS he speaks images flash on a huge screen behind him, showing the burnt wrecks of the cannons of purity, the damage done to the Princess Guard and the city smashed in the attacks on the cannons of purity, mixed in are images of children with limbs missing, and shots of enemy soldiers executing civillians in the streets of Um Lizaa.

"You are witnessing atrocities paid out by Segments soldiers and Triumverate personel during the evacuation of the impure to the shogunate. The forcible extraction of people whom refused to leave!" He says as images flash up of millions of people walking a slow line guarded by heavily armed foreign soldiers.

One image pauses on the screen, the image of a child screaming in terror as foreign soldiers point weapons at his home and the bodies of his parents laying on the ground near the door. "They execute without cause. Even now they are blowing up schools in Um Lizaa. Schools that further our glorious peoples in the world.

They hate everything that is Iraqstani because they know they will never reach our level of purity. They despise our racial perfection because they are impure dogs! Never forget these images and never forget that those that claim to be peaceful can just as easily be murderous devils that will destroy your very culture!" This he shouts as behind him the shattered remains of Kassul Tower fill the screen, masterly orchestrated to make the point of Carlos' speech.

"The deaths of our brothers and sisters is one we must never forget, tragedy has befallen us in our quest for racial enlightenment and once more we must call upon the lives of our children and parents to end the blood thirsty rage of our enemies. Let us remember those that died, the countless millions whom have suffered at the hands of insurgents and foreign terrorists." He finishes softly as the crowd roaring their anger goes silent, in respect for those died.

The silence stretches into minutes and finnaly an hour before Carlos calls an end to the speeches, his salute one of burning pride to his subjects as they as one respond with the customary Sieg heil and turn their faces once more to the screen which for the next four days shows a continual imagery of women and children, whose lives were lost in the attacks by the knights errant...

ooc: work sucks :P

"Jeebus H Hyskos," Garbo says sporadically, almost doubled over with silent laughter, "are they even trying anymore? Cutting the image when they splice in their stuff, no attempt to interlace some CG lipsynching... did they even bother to try and edit the time overlay?"

"I suppose this is your soulless-spook way of telling me we don't have to respond to this," Razak replies coldly.

"Yeah," Janus replies, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye, "pretty much."

Um Lizaan Militant safe house,
Sirithilia, Iraqstan

The flickering light of a single candle is all that appears outside the heavy windowed room of this small apartment, in the iraqstani favoured area of Sirithilia. The view when the windows are pulled back is one of the main Reich palace, the very cernter of the Iraqstani government, the offices of the Fuhrer visible through this small apartment.

Anyone passing close enough to the window would hear the soft whispered voices of four men each talking the well rehearsed speach of an outlawed movement. "Through fire and extermination the free people's of Um Lizaa will arise. The enemies of our homeland will fall to the combined might of our fury. The fuhrer will die!" They say over and over as each man stands from his kneeling position and sits back at the table.

"So comrade Aidid what news do you have from the palace?" One man asks when all four have seated themselves at the table. Leaning forward Jameel Aidid clears his throat and rolls out a set of blueprints for a huge building and spreads them out over the table. "Well we have managed to infiltrate deep into the Iraqstani Security networks I took the liberty of extracting these files from the network. AS you can see I've marked off possible ambush points outside the palace and even the best way to hit the palace itself." Jameel says as he points to various inked spots on the blueprints and a map of the surrounding area.

"It will require the use of no less than twenty men to pull it off. I know we've only just secured out lines of reinforcements into the city but we need to strike fast, the General wishes to begin a push for international recognition once the target is eliminated." He finishes, sitting back. Nodding one of the other three leans forward "Twenty men minimum, I can supply you forty men armed with rifles and rocket launchers, who will we be using for the actual bombing? Someone trustworthy and brave enough to make the final sacrifice for each target I think. The targets are obviously, Fuhrer Quil'raya himself, Reich General Von Austchwitz and the rally in the Square of Enlightenment.

Now timing is essential, the Fuhrer will be leaving the palace at 10am to head to the rally, we must hit th Reich General AND the Square of Enlightenment at the same time we hit the fuhrer. I say no less than ten minutes after the Fuhrer has left the palace. We can ambush the convoy in the main street heading from the Reich Palace, close enough to the square that we can maximise morale damage. our delivery vehicles will be mini-vans packed with C4 Explosives. We've managed to aquire much from blackmarket dealers right here in Sirithilia. Thanks to our financers we've now amassed enough weapons to end this conflict." The man says, as they continue into the night, detailing the missions exactly accepting whom will be sacrificed to end the national socialist menace in Um Lizaa.

---

Sitting at his desk Lidric looks at his clock and sighs Five in the morning and they only just finish planning. Foolish to think they believe they are safe due to their own skills. The young man thinks to himself angrily as the video feed monitoring the four men finnaly goes dark as the candle is put out. Turning to the man sitting before him Lidric closes his eyes and breaths deeply.

"You have your orders, the convoy is to be skeleton defended. Only enough to make it look like a legitimate success. Once it's done...." Pausing the boy hides his face as tears flow freely from his eyes. "Once it's done, send out the pre-determined message, The Fuhrer was attacked by Um Lizaan terrorists, supported by units suspected of being tied to the Federated Segments.

Pending a full investigation the Soldiers are ot be considered Federated Segments citizens showing yet more proof that the allies of hte shogunate continue to intervene in what is internationaly recognised as an internal dispute. Make no mention of my father's death. Likewise dont mention a final body count, it's a sad day but the retaliation will sate our people's demands for justice." He says as the General nods, knowing full well he is in line to become the next Reich General.

Nodding Lidric covers a yawn, his tear filled eyes hardening once more. "My father has pushed too far and too hard, now it's time we retreated back into ourselves, to patch broken lines and mend wounds long gashed open. I promise you General we will see Um Lizaa an Iraqstani state again." He says coldly the General snapping to attention instantly. "Yes Mein Fuhrer!" He says in respose and stands, saluting the proper way, arm stretched outbefore him and the uttered "Sieg Heil!" said softly.

Watching the man leave Lidric blinks slightly before burying his head in his arms and shuddering with each heartfelt sob, the full weight of sending his father to his death finnaly over coming him....


Main Street of Sirithilia,
9:50am

"Convoy is readying to leave, soldiers have entered vehicles, I count twelve Guards infront and behind Target limo. Limo is of standard design, nothing armoured about it." A voice crackles softly in a robed man's ear, his appearance one of a simple street beggar, avoiding the wrath of Public Security Service patrols, the robes covering the antiquated assault rifle slung accross his back, as around him various people of his unit move into their postions.

Walking quickly down an alley way the man sheds his robe, unslinging his rifle he crouches in a darkened spot, his rifle aimed ready.

9:58am

"Target spotted, confirmed to be Fuhrer, target is entering limo." The voice crackles in the ear of the driver of a non-descript mini-van parked near the intersection of Sirithilia Avenue and Nationalist road, the two major intersections near the Square of Enligthenment. Watching his mirrors carefully he starts the van, rolling slowly along the street, Sirithilia Avenue directly ahead of him.

In other parts of the city a mini-van rolls slowly too, towards the unfenced residence of the Reich General, the driver watching the sidewalks carefully, knowing full well he is in an entirely hostile zone of the city.

Sitting in a seat near the front of the stands, a lone figure moves carefully along the rows and steps without a glance over his shoulder to anyone into the shadowed walkway between the huge grandstands on the eastern side of the Square of Enlightenment. Stopping beside a series of support struts he places a brick of plastic explosives, and sets them to recieve a signal from his detonator.

Repeating the process at all the support struts he smiles grimly to himself as he sets his belt of explosives to the same frequency. Unholstering his pistol he steps back to the start of the walkway, his pistol aimed at the back of a guards head.

10am

Sitting in the limosuine Carlos looks out the window down the street, lazily watching a mini-van heading towards the intersection, noting curiously that it hadnt begun to slow down. Looking out the window he watches as his escort trucks stop and soldiers leap from the backs weapons blazing. Looking about with a panicked whimper he takes in the speeding mini-van, his body registers an impact at the front of the limo as he scrambles accross the seats towards the other door, barely getting it open before the van hits, detonating in a huge fireball washing him in fire and death....

With the buzzing of many alarms on many watches men throw off their concealing clothes, some in the middle of being checked by PSS soldiers others jumping from their carefully picked hiding places, with suttering barks of gunfire PSS soldiers fall quickly, before survivors register the threat and return fire, the gunfight ensuing ensuring the motorcade comes to a stop, with the twenty four Iraqstani Guard adding their considreable firepower to the fight.

Watching his comrades fall the driver utters a quick prayer to his god and guns the engine, his van picking up speed closing his eyes he lets go of the steering wheel, letting the van drive itself, the noise of it's approach catching the attention of the driver who hastily tries to avoid the car, succeeding in only ramming into the truck infront of him.

Smiling grimly the mini-van's driver only notices a more perfect impact on the targeted door and bows his head as the van hits, the resulting explosion washing away his thoughts with a brief flash of pain and then nothing. With an explosive crack the limo disappears with the mini-van as around them militant and soldier alike are thrown to the ground, some never to stand again..

Sitting in his arm chair in the lounge room of his house, Reich General Otto von Schultz reads the daily Iraqstani News Network paper, noting recent changes in public morale and an increasing presence of um lizaan terrorists. Sipping absently from his cup of coffee he turns his head slightly and begins to speak to his wife "My dear, perhaps it's time we bought a new coffee machine, this one seems to of-" his voice is silenced when the mini-van strikes the window his wife is standing behind, detonating in a huge fireball, engulfing the living room and bringing the ceiling down, a brief scream from the family's thirteen year old daughter is heard as she too falls into the growing fireball her bedroom now a smoking crater along with half of the Reich General's house...

With a cry of freedom the lone gunman shoots the guard in the back, before running out onto the military parade track, shooting many soldiers who fail to react, taking a bullet to the leg the man stumbles and falls, before getting up and throwing away his gun "For Um Lizaa! For freedom!" he shouts once more before thumbing the button on the small detonater, his body not even registering the flash of fire as his belt of explosives explode, sending limbs of himself and Iraqstani soldiers scattering from the blast point, in the stands people scream and then a roar of terror erupts as one by one each support column explodes, sending hundreds if not thousands to a firey grave near the center of the Square of enlightenment...

12pm

With the last of the militants falling to Iraqstani Guard shots two hour afters the attack began the emergency respose units flood the scene, taking injured civilians to hospitals and roping off the wreckage of Carlos' limosuine and the mini-van that caused the explosion. Investigators fall upon the scene enmasse, each one searching for different things, one man turns over a piece of twisted metal and falls back in horror. Calling out to a nearby ambulance officer he calls for a stretcher. Others rush to his side, helping him stand each one muttering shock and fear.

Laying on the ground looking up at them, is the burnt remains of Carlos Quil'raya, his body twisted into a knot of terror. Working with a gentleness borne from loyalty to their dead fuhrer the emergency officers lift his remains from the twisted wreckage and rush them quickly to the ambulance, which drives off heading towards a military hospital on the outskirts of the city.


At the Reich General's residence, an ambulance drives off slowly, as soldiers stand guard around the roped off, wreckage of the house, inside investigators sift through the burnt mess, the dripping of water the only sound in the now deathly quiet street. The firecrews slowly begin to roll up their hoses, putting gear and equipment back on their trucks, their heads bowed low the failure to save the occupants of the house weighing heavily on them.

At the square of enlightenment the fires still rage, sixty firefighters battle the huge blaze, as inside, thousands are evacuated through non-bombed areas, the expressions of civilians is one of utter shock, their faces smeared with ash and blood from injuries those nearest the blast zone limp out, others wander aimlessly around the square, either clutching bloodied stumps or searching for lost limbs, their eyes hollow and empty not even noticing when a soldier leads them gently from the area to waiting medics who begin to work tirelessly upon those that come into their care.

Sitting at his desk Lidric's face is one of genuine shock, the numbers of injured and dead so far, higher than he had expected, an obvious show of the lack of respect he has had for his Um Lizaan opposites. The biggest news, falling quickly and quietly, his father's death finnaly breaking the dam of greif he has held, the guilt pouring out silently from him in tears of sorrow. Retreating from the room the soldier closes the door, flinching as the sound of a woman's scream echoes down the hallway, as another soldier backs out of yet another room, having delivered the news to the Fuhrer's wife. Leaving them to their grief the soldiers head back downstairs, as all around the palace and the street Iraqstani Guard patrol restlessly, helicopters and fighter craft roar over head, precautions being taken to ensure the new Iraqstani Fuhrer is not assassinated along with his father.

three hours later Lidric finnaly calms his sobbing heart and sits up, taking a note from his desk he walks to a window and opens it, folding the note he drops it out the window, where a soldier spots it landing and picks it up, opening the note he reads it before hurrying off. Pausing only to drop the note in a small pot and setting it on i]fire, watching it burn he once more reads the words initiate operation, Final vengance....

OOC: Edit. more to come later.

"Hello, Yvonne."

Facing the fire so her back is to him, the woman sitting in the stuffed chair doesn't move, doesn't so much as breathe. A long moment passes before she speaks. "It's been a long time, Devon."

Treznor moves along the left wall, keeping his eyes on her. Her body language suggests to him that she's not going to fight or flee, but he remembers who she is and once was. "I think that's the first time you ever called me by my first name."

She sighs heavily, then coughs. "For your ears, maybe. It doesn't matter now."

He shifts uncomfortably, caught off-guard. "Why not?"

"Because you killed my husband, and now you're here to kill me." Her voice is cold and brittle, far older than her years would warrant. Broken, he realises. Her voice had broken.

"I'm sorry, Yvonne. I didn't kill him, and I didn't want him to die. If ever I had a brother, it would have been him."

"Liar." The word is no less venomous for being whispered. "You cast him off, threw on him all the second-hand trash you didn't want for yourself. The Um Lizaans. The Reploids. Me."

Treznor frowns. He'd known Carlos had fallen into insanity a while ago. He suspects he had been seeing the beginnings of it when his friend had first adopted his infamous title. Yvonne had been fairly rational when last he'd seen her. He'd considered her a threat, but as the months and years past and the sensitive knowledge she possessed went unused and obsolete, he'd relaxed his vigilance and had lifted the surveillance over her. At some point, she'd clearly come unhinged. He wonders if she'd caught it from her husband. "What are you talking about?"

She ignores his question. "My son is a man, now." Pride fills her voice as she speaks of him. Pride and dread alike. "Lidric has followed in his father's footsteps and has wrested control of the nation. Such a good boy. Such a sweet little thing. I taught him so well. Now he'll follow his father's doom."

"Yvonne, I promise. We'll look after Lidric. Carlos was unbalanced. He wouldn't allow us to help him, but Lidric trusts us. He trusts me. I'll make sure he doesn't suffer Carlos' fate."

"What a cruel thing to say to me, as you stand there ready to kill me."

He sighs and drops his eyes. He can't respond to that. Truth cuts more deeply than any insult.

"I loved you once."

She has his full attention again. "What?" It's the second time she's caught him off-guard.

"Carlos was sweet, in his own way. When he wasn't beating me or covering me with scorpions. He was a good husband and a good father. But he wasn't you. I sweated my way through the army and university, stepped on the necks of my betters to graduate top of my class. It worked. I got assigned to your personal guard and I fought my way to the top. I thought for sure you'd notice me, but you looked through me like I wasn't even there. Still, I kept hoping...and then she came along. She wanted you from the beginning, I could see it. And she got you, in the end, didn't she? The bitch took away everything I ever cared about. She convinced you to throw me away, hand me off to your so-called 'brother' and forget all about me."

He opens his mouth, then closes it. It's been a long time since anyone left him speechless like this. "I..."

"I'm glad it's you, in the end. I gave my heart to you. I loved my husband like a good wife should. He taught me how, when I was willful and stubborn. He was patient with me, even when I was disobedient. But he never had my heart. That always belonged to you. I always hoped one day you would come for me, one way or another. So I'm glad you're here, now."

He pulls the gun from its holster and stares at it. I...damn. I never had so much trouble killing someone before.

"Nothing to say, my Emperor? You were always so cool, so suave. You always had an answer to everything. Won't you grace me with your wit now?"

He looks up and frowns at her. "I'm sorry, Yvonne. I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't, Devon. You never cared to find out. If you had, I might still be your bodyguard. Or...something else. But you didn't, and I'm not."

"I'm just surprised, is all. I thought you wanted to be with Carlos. I thought I was giving you what you wanted."

She clucks her tongue like an old grandmother. "Oh, Devon. You still aren't listening. I chose him because I couldn't have you. She wouldn't let me."

"I think you're a little confused, there. She wasn't sure if she was going to kill me or not. I was the one chasing her."

"Of course you were, darling. That's what she let you think. Just like Carlos thought he chose me. It's what we do, how we women work. We're not allowed to be direct, like you men. We have to be subtle, soft. We have to whisper and hint until you finally decide on the path we lead you to. So wise, Emperor, and yet so ignorant."

He summons his resolve and lifts the gun. "Goodbye, Yvonne."

"Goodbye, beloved."

The gun makes very little sound. The noise of her body collapsing on the ground is louder. He stands there for a while, staring at her still form, her voice still echoing in his mind.

So wise, Emperor, and yet so ignorant.

"It's a mess," Pellegrino said finally, after having delivered the initial news - at least what they knew. He sank down finally in one of the chairs across the desk from Nathicana, then sips slowly from the glass of wine he'd been offered on entering the office.

"Do we have confirmation on Carlos?" the woman asked quietly, her expression stilled to one of cool neutrality, somehow managing to look regal even at this ungodly hour as she sat in the soft cotton shorts and tank she'd been sleeping in, a short kimono-style robe pulled on over the top for some semblance of decency.

"Not as such," he replied, frowning more deeply. "We lost several of our people in the blasts. As you can imagine, such goings on have made it nearly impossible to get much information out at all. But I tell you, from all reports we have gotten, no one could have survived that hit. They struck the car dead on, and the fireball was ... impressive."

Nathicana shivered involuntarily, remembering another car long ago, and a missile, and the resulting horror that had followed. "Highly unlikely, but yet possible, then." She holds up a hand to stop his insistant reassurances.

"Possible, I say. Until we have solid proof, until we get official word, we say nothing. How many did we lose? And what is the body count so far?"

"Three. Given the delicate situation, we'd posted watch rather closely on key locations. Unfortunately, things happened faster than we predicted, and the blasts were far more deadly than we had expected. These people were taking no chances. Current estimates are in the high hundreds at a very conservative guess. From all reports, the destruction was simply horriffic." Pellegrino takes another brief sip of wine, muttering 'barbarians' under his breath before continuing to sip more slowly.

Death was nothing new to the Dominion, nor was killing those who needed killing to maintain proper rule something that gave him, or most in positions of power pause. It was how it was done that made the difference. Unsavory things were a consequence of rule. Outright barbarism however, was simply not acceptable. As he noted just how quiet the room had gotten, he looked up, one brow arched questioningly. Then understanding took him.

"No, there has been no word. However, I am certain that he was nowhere near the vicinity. He knows his business, my Lady. Give it time. All will be well."

Nathicana shakes her head slowly, her eyes focused on the desk in front of her. "No, all will not be well. It has only just begun. Do you remember, Toni? Years back when I spent some time in Iraqstan. Things had been ... touchy, then. Carlos had had some difficulties ..."

"Yes ... yes I remember. There was an attack by the Um Lizaans, and--"

"There was no attack," she said, cutting in sharply, then continuing in a more quiet voice. "The man tried to kill himself. We had to cover for him."

"Then the purges, the retribution ..."

"Ordered by myself. While that bastard healed, I ran that nation as he would, all in an effort to maintain control and keep the status quo running smoothly." Nathicana spoke plainly, without emotion, simply relaying the facts. "The same sort of backlash will be going on now, if not soon. Thousands more will be brutally murdered to 'pay' for killing that monster.

She glanced up, the hint of a wry smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "That's right, Antonio. I had that man's life in my hands all those years ago, and in the interest of control and supporting our allies, I let him live. Every atrocity, every life brutally taken by him and his regime since then, all the damage done to our allies in the Triumvirate, the threats they've had to endure, all rest on my head."

Pellegrino took a moment to consider, draining his glass and setting it aside. "So why tell me all this now?" he asked simply, regardless of the confirmation of guesses and bits of intel he'd managed to procure over the years being surprised that she would reveal so much, even to him. Perhaps, especially to him.

"For the simple reason that we are never to let such a thing happen ever again. I don't care who it is, or how well-loved they may be, or how much one sector or other may feel we 'need' them for stability. These sorts of atrocities will not be allowed. Never again. And if I do not have the strength of will to do what is needed when it is called for, it will fall on you to accomplish it." She kept her eyes fixed on his as she spoke, conveying a number of unspoken admissions that he understood only too well. Such things were not spoken of, nor easily admitted. Nor was this topic to be brought up ever again.

"Are we clear?"

All this he understood, and while surprised at her having revealed so much, he also agreed fully. No matter who it was that ended up becoming too problematic to be dismissed. A less moral man would, perhaps, have seen this as an opportunity. Pellegrino accepted it as duty.

"Crystal, my Lady."