NationStates Jolt Archive

Protectorate of Rewot
01 September
1300 Hours

"We can afford to fly them?"

"That's what the president says, sir."

High Commander Bennet stepped out of his jeep onto the concrete pad, arching his neck to see the F-15s overhead.

"Not the most impressive air force I've seen, Commander Samson." He counted a dozen of the F-15s flying west towards the coast.

"There are...three more, back at Denba, sir." Denba was the capital city, and currently the only city worth getting excited about. The President expected that one of the agricultural cities would be growing soon, and that one of the fishing towns would be big enough for a real shipyard, but neither Bennet nor Samson shared the President's enthusiasm.

"Heh." Bennet brushed some flakes of snow off the shoulder of his uniform. There were parts of Rewot that could be called temperate, yes, but those were easily identifiable by the omnipresent farms cramming as much agriculture as possible into what fertile land was available. The rest of the Protectorate...tundra, snow plains, and boreal forests. Even near the coast, it was snowing in early September. "Fifteen fighters? That's the mighty Rewot air force? Puts even the glamorous Rewot navy to shame." The Rewot navy currently consisted of four dozen PT boats and their crews.

"Sir, President Corgan has identified defense as a priority, and it isn't as if we're hurting for manpower. But with our budget...."

"Yes, yes, of course, there are other priorities, even in defense. And what am I complaining about? It's all my turf." Bennet waved his hand vaguely east. "I've got 300 T-90 tanks and their crews in training on that icy patch of nothing the politicians call 'District 96'."

District 96 was a common target of jokes and derision. Because each Senatorial district was mandated by the Charter to contain a minimum of 90,000 and a maximum of 100,000 voting-age citizens, the sizes and shapes of Senatorial districts could vary considerably. Given the population density of the particularly harsh tundra, District 96 covered about fifty thousand square miles. Their Senator, certainly the most qualified man in the district, had been mayor for a village of two thousand.

"Not to mention, sir--" Samson waved his hand south, in the same vague manner as Bennet.

"Naturally! Ninety thousand 18-to-23-year-olds slogging AK-47s and bare-bones survival kits through that icy forest down by the coast, hoping they don't get chewed out by their drill sergeants or freeze to death, in that order. God, I love the draft!"

Samson shivered. It was the kind of situation where one might think it had nothing to do with the cold, but it in fact was precisely because of the cold.

Winter in the northern half of Rewot was an all-year-long sort of thing, but the really bad part of winter was coming early this year.

"Alright, sir, the operation is a go. We've just recieved word that High Commander Bennet's forces are in place, and they're ready to commence the war games," Private Frys shouted through the noise of Arch Duke Victor Cornellius' private tank.
"Thank you, private. Radio High Commander Bennet and inform him that the armed forces of the Protectorate of Zipheria are prepared to begin the exercises," The Arch Duke responded, his hands folded in the center of his white uniform.
The Arch Duke was a strange choice for the people of Zipheria. For the past thirty years, none but the most conservative and isolationist leaders had been elected to the position of president. Moreover, none of the title-only nobility of Zipheria, hold outs from a darker time, had ever been elected to such a postion of power. The Arch Duke preached a doctrine of growth and expansion, and not just in economic terms.
"Mr. President, Bennet has responded, and the war games have commenced. Shall I order the air force in for the preliminary strikes?" Private Frys queried, staring into the various radios and monitors that the Arch Duke would use to command his forces in time of war.
"Radio Captain Peters, tell him to commence his attack," the Arch Duke agreed, a slight smile coming to his face. It had been years since any Zipherian military had seen any action, even in a simulated war game. For that matter, it had been years since Zipheria had any allies to speak of.
"Our air force has engaged Rewot's navy... and their being opposed by Rewot's own air force..." Private Frys exclaimed a few minutes later, just as the Arch Duke was considering dispatching the armor to its forward attack positions.
"Damage reports, Mr. Frys," the Arch Duke said, calmly, as one without fear.
"It seems that Rewot's air force has the upper hand, we've already lost three fighters, and their heading back to the capitol as we speak. We managed to take out five of their PT's and one of their fighters, though," Frys responded, aware that the battle wasn't going anywhere near as well as the Arch Duke had hoped.
"Recall the air force, tell them to retreat towards our anti-aircraft batteries, perhaps that'll scare off Rewot's squadron. While that's happening, send the armor forward, and have them bombard Rewot's forward infantry positions," the Arch Duke purred, smiling though he was losing the war game so far.
For a moment, he reflected. The last war Zipheria had been involved in was against pirates, and that had been fought with muzzle loaders and caravels. Today's wars would be much more deadly, especially considering Zipheria's total lack of nuclear armament. But the Arch Duke, and the people of Zipheria, were no longer consent to be a second class nation. There would be changes, and this war game was only the beginning.
"Mr. Frys, dispatch the infantry, tell them to engage. We've got a war game to win," Arch Duke Victor Cornellius proclaimed.
"Yes, sir," answered Private Frys.

Protectorate of Zipheria
03 September

"Fire control!"

"Break left! We're not falling for that trap."

The rest of the squadron of F-15s broke away from the air defense network, lured there by the fleeing enemy squadron. One of the pilots was heard to cuss over the radio as he didn't break hard enough and got his aircraft decisively "painted" by the training system.


"The Arch Duke is being unusually aggressive." High Commander Bennet steepled his hands as the reports came in and the display updated responsively.

"Sir, he's going to battle in his own personal tank."

Bennet considered this a long moment. "That is pretty much everything you need to say, isn't it?"

"I'd think so, sir."

"Get the tank commanders to try and catch their armor in an echelon. Take the pressure off our infantry, and see if we can bust up their armor assets while we're at it. Any idea which tank belongs to the Arch Duke?"

"None yet, sir."


After the bombardment had come in, large sections of the infantry had scattered into squad-sized units to continue the advance.

Sergeant Bingham trudged through the snow ahead of his squad. The infantry division commander was in the same squad, more by accident of the scattering than deliberate choice.

"Right, sir, I believe we lost about three thousand in that barrage. Effective dispersal of our troops has greatly reduced further losses. Only tank bombardment, I understand, not proper artillery."

Bingham let the commander keep talking. His orders were much simpler. He raised binoculars up to his head and peered through the less-dense forest. He paused for a moment, and then turned to interrupt the commander.

"Hold on, sir. What is it, Bingham?" After some discussion, the commander looked through the binoculars in turn. "Right, then." He got back on the radio. "Sir, we're either as lost as hell, or we're a lot further into Zipherian territory than I thought we were. Can someone tell me what this city in front of me is?"

Protectorate of Zipheria
03 September

"Sir, Rewot's F-15 squadron has peeled off," Private Frys yelled over the sound of Arch Duke Cornellius' tank as it trudged forward through the plains of his country.

"What sort of casualites did our own squadron take from the manuever?" the Arch Duke asked his comms officer.

"Seems we've lost two additional planes, Mr. President," Frys answered, reading quickly from a screen.

"Order our own F-15's to reengage their navy and send our own boats forward, we need to crush that navy if we hope to make it to Rewot," the Arch Duke spoke clearly and softly, even over the sound of the tank's motor.

"Mr. President, our tanks don't seem to be having much success against their infantry anymore," Frys continued, reading three screens at once.

"Send the armor forward in search and destroy, root out their infantry," the Arch Duke responded, steepling his fingers.

Seconds passed without incident as Zipheria's troops enjoyed a momentary advantage against the forces of Rewot. But advantages are short lived in warfare, especially against such an equal power.

"Sir, we've located Rewot's armored divisions..." Frys shouted, starting to turn slightly pale.

"Where are they, Private?" the Arch Duke queried, slightly annoyed by his communications officer's lack of communication.

"They're surrounded our position, Sir," Frys responded, embarassed by his momentary lapse in procedure.

"Order all armored divisions to engage the enemy, tell them to fight to the last man," the Arch Duke answered, "This could get very interesting very quickly, Private. Let Captain Sibbs know we'll be taking a stationary position at the next adequate firing location.

"As ordered, sir," Frys answered.

05 September
Protectorate of Rewot

"Commander Samson, send a message to the Zipherian Commander. Commend his performance against our navy. His armored divisions held up admirably, but he must take care not to fall prey to overaggression--the tactical advantage on our behalf was strong, and while we don't have any exact figures in, I don't believe we lost more than forty of our armor for what surely were far greater gains."

"What--we're calling off the war games, sir?"

"We are suspending them, Commander." Bennet walked over to the multiple TV screens displaying updated political, economic, and military news. "One, I am thoroughly disgusted with the performance of our infantry. They scatter a bit after some light bombardment, and they get lost."

"Sir, some of them--"

"Fifty thousand infantry found their way back into our territory, and wandered into a couple of sleepy agricultural towns for a little R&R. We're going to be cleaning up the damage on that for a long time. By the way, I want the commander responsible doing safety inspections on North Coast fishing boats by tomorrow morning."

Commander Samson bit his lip. The High Commander was positively seething. Against his better judgement, he spoke--"Surely, sir, we can continue war games with the remainder--"

"Have you been watching the news, Samson? Of course you haven't. You're a career military, not a political appointee. President Corgan's hold on power is waning. His recent decisions have raised quite a stink, and he's completely lost the support of Commerce without making any reasonable gains with Labor. He'll be out of power within the week, mark my words. He'll be just plain Senator Corgan, and we'll have someone new in power. Whether that someone plans on appropriating a military budget or not...well, we just can't tell right now. I'm not going to waste any more resources when I don't know if I'll have a job in two weeks."

"Recall all remaining units?"

"Recall the units, and inform our opposition that we're declaring a...heh...unilateral cease fire. Like I said, congratulate him on the anti-naval capacity of his air force, and warn him about the armor tactics. As for the rest...bah, we'll worry about that when the new administration comes into power."