NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is a closed RP. The results have been agreed-upon with Tarasovka. This will become a war, and my ass shall be kicked. aMy allies are gracefully asked not to come to my aid.

IC: Ralingo's Hunting Establishment, Aissur, Allanea

"Mr. Ralingo? The President is coming here tomorrow, maybe we should arrange some special beast for him to shoot?"

Alfonso Ralingo considered the idea for a moment, as he looked out of his window, sipping on a small cup of black Hashian coffee. Sometimes, to boost the business of a state, the President would visit it's business establishments on a tour, being seen publicly visiting them, and so forth. The publicity was very often priceless - certainly better than a price of a rare animal or two which the crippled Richard Blix.

He thought for a few more minutes. "Good, then... that is what you wil do."


* * * *

Richard H. Blix, President of the United States of Allanea, lifted his eyes at the colorful sign reading "Ralingo's Hunting Establishment", and said, with a complete lack of emotion in his voice: 'Well, gentlemen, this appear to be it. Let's go in."

As the large off-road vehicle carrying the crippled President moved under the sign, the Presidential procession - not too big, only five or six vehicles and the usual media escort - followed into the hunting farm. Nobody yet knew how important this would turn out.

* * * *

Alfonso examined the animal carefully on his observation screen. The guests were rarely interested in the details, but a high-class surveillance system monitored every single inch of the farm property, allowing Alfonso Ralingo to remain informed of the state of his animals in real-time. Right now, the animal he was interested in was an enormous black wolf. "Beautiful," whispered Alfonso Ralingo, "Beautiful. Say, where do these babies come from, anyhow? I don't think they be of the local variety."

The assitant shrugged. "I don't know, Sir. Some smuggler sold them to us, said he won them in a card game in Port-Allanea. They're pretty rare, that's for sure, I hear that they cost about ten thousand, fifteen thousand bucks these days. We paid eigh, but we got lucky of course, Sir..."

Alfonso cut him off. "I am not interested in those transactions right now. I have aske where this the animal comes from. If you don't know, just say so, don't start pestering me with reports on how much it cost you."

And so it happened.

* * * *

Fox News, Allanea

'Ladies and gentlemen, this is Fox Report Live, from the President's Visit to Aissur! Here we have some live footage of President Blix on a hunting trip, here it goes, Martha, show it to them!'

On the screen appears the image of Richard Blix in his wheelchair. Next to him stood several hunting guides, ready to protect the weak, ill man, from any charging animal or human assasin. Slowly, with trembling hands, Blix lifts his weapon, a BAR hunting rifles (http://www.kimdutoit.com/ee/index.php/ggps/browning_automatic_rifle_bar_308_win/). He slowly steadies it and fire two shot. The camera shifts quickly to demonstrae Blix's dying target:

A Taraskovyan black wolf.

The tea that Count Mai-Maievskiy, Taraskovyan Ambassador to the United States, was drinking got stuck in his throat as he coughed it out at the TV set. He couldn’t believe his eyes as the news crew showed the pictures of a black wolf charging them while blood spilled out of the animal, painting the green grass into red. The beast only managed to cover several meters before collapsing on the ground, breathless, as the Allaneans clapped joyfully to congratulate their leader.

Of course, there were many species of wolves throughout the world. However, Count Mai-Maievskiy only knew of one species that would have the allure the fallen beast had, a species known commonly as the Taraskovyan black wolf, the national emblem and pride of Tarasovka, a beast loved, respected and defended by an entire nation. The killing of the animals was strictly prohibited in Tarasovka and no specimens, except one given to a foreign dignitary as present, were present in foreign lands. If indeed a foreigner had just killed a Taraskovyan black wolf, then it would be a gigantic slap into the face of Tarasovka, something that the proud Taraskovyans would never forgive.

But before jumping to conclusions, he had to make sure it was well a Taraskovyan black wolf and not a representative of some other species. And, as such, he summoned his aides to prepare a letter…

***

Mister President of the United States,

News has come to me that during your visit to Aissur, you might have shot dead a specimen we identified as belonging to the Taraskovyan black wolf species. These animals are sacred to my nation and to my countrymen, hunting them is strictly prohibited and, should it be confirmed that a black wolf was shot by your head, it could have dangerous consequences for relations between the United States and the Federation.

However, before jumping to conclusions, I would request the right to do an investigation into the matter to verify whether the beast you have shot was indeed a Taraskovyan black wolf. For this, I would personally request that the Taraskovyan investigators be allowed to recover the body and the pelt of the beast, as well as have the right to proceed with a full scale investigation into how a black wolf came to be in Allanea, should the beast be indeed identified as a Taraskovyan black wolf.

I am hopeful that you shall understand my fears and will heed to my call.

Faithfully yours,
Count Dmitry Mai-Maievskiy,
Taraskovyan Ambassador to the United States of Allanea

Blix lay down the letter and chuckled. "What does he think I am? A zoologist or something?" - the chuckle soon became a cough of the type that was becoming more and more frequent for the young President. "I don't KNOW what the animal is, I was on tour and shot whatever the owner gave me for god's sake. Oh well. Martha, start typing."

The intern looked up questioningly: "Mr. President, you already know what you're going to write?"

He shrugged: "Martha, it's not that big of an issue, it's just a freaking wolf. Get to it."

Your Highness!

I have no idea what species the beast in question belonged to. Therefore, to aid in it's identification, I will attach photographs made during the hunt. I hope those will help in your quest.

The pictures were your ordinary hunt pics of course - people posing with the corpse of the dead animal, Blix waving his rifle around in a hunter's triumph, his entourage lifting beer mugs over the dead wolf, and so forth. They were attached to the letter - as a CD-rom full off beautiful high-resolution .jpeg images. But they were not the only thing to be sent.

He yawned as he turned towards Martha. She was beautiful today, with long, black hair, her skin a deathly-white due to both nature and make-up, and her lips colored black. Most foreigners - and even Allaneans - would consider her an unattractive geek of the goth variety. President Blix had a different opinion of the issue.

"Martha, did they get the animal stuffed and mounted yet or are they still messing around?"

She shrugged, looking at him with uninhibited lust in her eyes. Some women are attracted to power, regardless of the limited form it presents itself in. Martha was such a woman. "Yes, Rich... I mean, Mr. President. Stuffed, mounted, and ready."

He smiled: "Good. I do not place high value on the thing any way. Let's do our friends the Taraskovyans a favor."

"What do you mean, Mr. President?"

"Keep typing."

Further, Your Highness, we would like to send you the stuffed carcass of the beast, for the purposes of any investigation as well as your personal enjoyment. Please accept it as a sign of friendship from the Allanean people to the Taraskovyans, and of my personal respect for you. I hope the work of the taxidermists will prove satisfactory to Your Highness."

I hope that this will satisfy all your concerns on the matter.

Yours Sincerely,
Richard Blix,
President of the United States of Allanea

Then he swiveled his wheelchair towards Martha. "So what were we talking about, Martha?"

"I was saying," said Martha Llewenns, as she ran a hand up the man's thigh, "That we're lucky that your, umm, medical problem doesn't disturb any of the really important bodily functions."

Blix moaned in agreement.

Excerpt from the Vigvar Daily

Taraskovyan ambassador to Allanea recalled for consultations over ‘Wolf Row’

The Secretariat for Foreign Relations of the Ruling Council has recalled the Taraskovyan ambassador to Allanea for consultations on the latest row provoked by the shooting to death of a Taraskovyan black wolf by the Richard Blix, the President of the United States of Allanea, a week ago. This has sparked outrage among the Taraskovyan public and has forces the authorities to demand that Mr. Blix and all those who were involved in the shooting be brought to Tarasovka for questioning and, possibly, further investigations.

The Allanean side has responded in a way that left no doubt as to their refusal: “The Allanean Department of State thanks you for providing us with a much needed moment of levity. It is much appreciated in those challenging times.” In response, the Chief Secretary for Foreign Relations, Count Kumysov, has ordered the Taraskovyan ambassador to return to Vigvar for “consultations in relation to the current dispute with the United States of Allanea”. There are already rumors that the Federation might severe its diplomatic ties with the United States if the Taraskovyan demands were not respected, but the Ruling Council has yet to issue a statement on the issue. The Taraskovyan government has given no information as to when the Taraskovyan Ambassador will be able to return to Allanea.

Continued on page 2.

"Fools!" - laughed Richard Blix - "Don't they understand this is not, and I repeat, not a Taraskovyan fief? They may think Svarog is their dominion. They might be right. But one thing I am deadly sure of - The United States of Allanea has not, and never has, caved in to the demands of such foolish men. They expect me to hand out Allanean citizens to a court system which does not even have trial by jury? They expect me to tag along? Andm uch more, not over attack or harm to a human being - over a bloody wolf! Who do they think we are? Martha!!! Get to the typing!

We in the United States of Allanea do not bow down or submit to such empty posturing - especially when the Allanean government does not even have the legal power to do what you requested, had it even wanted to. Luckily, it has no desire to do so. There is a reason that extradition treaties exist - and an even better reason why Allanea never sign any. If the Taraskvoyan government is not yet aware of those things, we recommend that they immediately retake International Law 101 or similar courses, so as to enable them to better serve the interest of the people of the Federation, whom the people of the United States of Allanea continue to respect - even as we continue to pray that the Lord may, in his graces, grant their rulers a basic education. We would like to note that there are quite a few insitutions in Allanea that may provide one.

P.S. We also do not understand why what basically is nothing more than a big black untrained dog is a reason to insult the principle of international law in such a manner.

Yours sincerely,
Richard H. Blix, Jr.
President of the United States of Allanea

OOC: If Allanea looses this war, what will be the consequences? I have plenty of investments there. I will graciously agree not to come to your aide...but thats a hard request to make of me.

OOC: Allanea will be asked to reduce it's military, and it will happen. This will trigger a shift of power in Allanean society, and Allaneans will become a more peaceful nation.

[OOC: Subject to getting amended and stuff.]

Offices of the Ruling Council,
Capital City of Vigvar,
Federal Sisgardian Fiefdoms,
Sisgardia.

The soft spring winds ran through the streets of the Capital City as the last remnants of winter retreated in front of the coming summer. Flowers and trees bloomed all over the city, half the surface of which consisted of only them, filling the air with sweet aroma. And as Taraskovyans enjoyed the warmth of the sun, the Ruling Council and several highest ranked officers of the High Command of the Taraskovyan National Defence Forces were holding an emergency meeting, a meeting that would very soon seal the fate of a nation.

“The have baffled our honour, they have insulted our pride, they have offended not only our leaders, but also the very symbol of our nation! This past week has only been humiliation upon humiliation for Tarasovka. It is time to react, Sir!” A general spoke passionately as the two Ruling Councilors listened, plunged into their thoughts. Ustinov was quite eager to jump into battle, but there had to be assurances that the Taraskovyans would have all the chances on their side. Voevodov, for his part, was more keen on a simple rupture of diplomatic, economic and any other ties that existed between the Federation and the United States. The TNDF was, obviously, quite eager to show off its strength and to rehabilitate its image in front of the Taraskovyan population by crushing a foreign country.

“How extensive is our knowledge of the Allanean defensive infrastructure?” Ustinov asked, his eyes falling upon a Kaskad colonel.

“The Allanean side had, for some reason or the other, supplied us with quite extensive information on their defences, locations of the main defensive facilities, locations of that shield generators of theirs. We have verified most of the information and it came out to be true.”

The two Ruling Councilors arched their brows, Voevodov taking the opportunity to clear something out. “I hope we have not committed the same mistake?”

“No, Sir. We have respected the PIVO, the Program of Identification of Enemies and Threats, to its jurisdiction.”

“Why did they go further then?”

“These are Allaneans, Sir. Despite the fact of them having a very sizeable Russian community, their mentality and logic remains a mystery to our analysts.”

A light laughter went through the room as Ustinov furrowed his brows, looking over his officers with a reproachful gaze. After all, they were convened to discuss matters of great importance, not to laugh over some quickly thought up jokes.

“Good. Now, let us elaborate a plan of attack. Gentlemen?” Ustinov smiled as he looked over at his officers who already had made the preliminary plans for an invasion.

“What I offer is a quick surprise strike by the Space Fleet to eliminate the Allanean space assets and to impose the Taraskovyan domination above Allanea. We shall have to pick a moment when the Allanean space navy shall have only a minor presence in Earth Orbit to strike. Several Battlegroups shall suffice to eliminate the enemy ships and to immediately begin a campaign of orbital bombardment.” A man in the uniform of a TSF Admiral spoke as the Kaskad Colonel nodded.

“The main targets, if you allow me to intervene, Sir,” the Colonel said as the Admiral nodded approvingly, “would have to be their shield generators and anti-space weapons. Your ships shall have all of the coordinates. That shield takes about thirty minutes to power up, but then it will decrease the efficiency of any orbital bombardment dramatically.”

“This is no problem, the TSF can handle several tasks at a time, be it elimination of their space ships or an orbital bombardment of key infrastructures.”

“Obviously. You should also concentrate on their anti-space defences, to leave them completely exposed to your firepower.”

The officers nodded as they wrote something down before the Admiral took over from the Kaskad Colonel. “Indeed. We shall immediately deploy a field of anti-FTL mines to prevent the rest of their fleet in the Solar System to engage our ships, leaving several Battlegroups in reserve ready to intercept the Allanean space navy should it attempt to approach Earth.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to intercept all of their ships as they patrol in the Solar System?” A General asked, the Admiral pondering his words.

“We do know that the Allaneans have only a third of their fleet in the Solar System. We could intercept and annihilate all of their ships if they are dispersed. After all, the quasi-entirety of the TSF is in the Solar System, which gives us a clear numerical advantage over them. Not to mention that our dreadnaughts would be able to finish off any of their ships in no time.”

The two Ruling Councilors sat silent as the High Command debated the strategy and tactics of the first strike. And as the talks neared their end, a more or less definitive general plan for not only the beginning of hostilities, but also for the ground invasion was put up. In several days, once the needed assets were mobilized, the Federation would go to war…

***

High Orbit above Allanea.

Several Days Later.

The time was chosen perfectly well as the Allanean navy had only a meager two dozen ships above their homeland. The strike was scheduled at five in the morning, when the slumber is the deepest for those who sleep and tiredness is the greatest for those who are awake. The Allanean sensors showed nothing in particular until, all of a sudden, at least sixty vessels that the computers automatically marked as Taraskovyan, the vectors of the ships upon appearence indicating that they came from somewhere else than Earth orbit. Mere seconds later, the hulls of the Allanean ships in orbit were already being ripped apart by the might of particle beams as missiles filled the area, exploding at and near their targets, bringing death and pain, ripping through steel and flesh alike.

And as the lights of explosions filled the darkened skies above Allanea, the stars suddenly began to fall upon the ground as burning traces of objects entering the atmosphere lit up in the relative darkness. And as the sun pondered whether to rise or not, the stars hit the ground in numerous spots throughout the country, causing severe destruction. The Taraskovyans knew their job perfectly well as they hit targets from orbit with astonishing precision, blowing up generators, cannons, defensive infrastructure such as army bases and airfields. And as above the Allanean crews were taken up by surprise, those on the ground were awakened by the thundering explosions, many waking up just in time to see the last second of their life pass in front of them.

Up above, the battle was ruthless, all of the Taraskovyan ships pounding the Allanean vessels with full firepower. Some ships remained in retreat as they dropped some sort of mines into orbit, the little things immediately bursting with their thrusters to stabilize themselves. Obviously, once the fuel would run out, the mines would drift happily away only to be blown up by the magic buttons activated by the Taraskovyan crews.

Office of the United States President,
Port Allanea,
United States of Allanea,
Haven

Richard Blix looked at the report in amazement. "They did what?" - he asked in surprise, though the paper stated it clearly. "They attacked us over that stupid animal corpse?". The clerk shrugged. "It seems so, Mr. President. Look at the photographs." They showed the usual things you see in case of war - burning ships, their wreckage dropping towards earth. The Quin Izumi spaceport spun hopelessly in orbit, ignited by the cannon of the very Taraskovyans that once built it.

"Holy mother of God," whispered Blix, "They are insane... Is there any help coming?". He knew, somehow, by a sixth sense, that there wouldn't be - couldn't be any help - he did not yet know why it was so, but he knew that much. And the clerk re-affirmed his fears: "No, Sir. We don't know how they did it, but they have some weird kind of FTL inhibitor that makes our ships blow up as they come out of FTL. Aside from the eighteenships that they just shot down, we had an entire battlegroup go up like a bunch of bloody fireworks as they came in from out-of Sol. That brings our total losses to thirty-eight spacecraft, Mr. President." The crippled man paled only slightly, and asked a question which had no logical connection to what was going on: "How where those photographs taken?" The clerk sighed sadly: "Those are a transmission from the Gene Roddenberry Space Station, Sir." Robert Blix lifted his eyebrows: "So it's still holding it together, Nigel?"

Nigel shrugged: "It is, Mr. President, and so are two Porcupine-class craft we have in orbit, but they can't last much longer. When they go down, we will lose all defense from space attacks."

"OK. Alert all our air and naval forces, then." - commanded the President - "It's not much, but at least we may be able to stand and fight on the ground. Get words to the Allanean forces outside the mainland - New-Missouri, Hash, Mgweni, North America, all of it! All of it!" - a strange tinge of madness appeared in te President's voice. For a moment, Nigel worried - what if the man's sanity was indeed giving way under the stress of the disaster? Cold shivers went down his spine at that thought, but he forced it out of his mind.

"Yes, Mr. President. " - he replied. "What else can we do? Do you think that maybe we can get more aid from our Sol forces?"

"Nothing... well, you can order them to get there by STL, but it won't help much. In fact, order that - even though it will all be order by the time the nearest ship gets here."

"Yes, Sir!" - said Nigel and stormed out of the room.

* * * * *

Jefferson Military Airport, Mgweni, Allanea

"Go! Go! Go!" - the Hashi soldiers rushed towards the enormous cargo planes. They did not know what was going on, but they knew they had to hurry - or something terrible indeed would happen. "Go!" - they packed their gear hastily and rushed into the aircraft. They were ready to fight enemies and defend their homeland - but they were not ready for what was going to happen next.

As the first An-225 cargo craft began to speed up along the flight path, a loud snapping noise was heard as one of it's wheels broke lose. It was never found out, later, what caused the malfunction, but one thing was known - when the oversized craft lost control and spun on it's belly on the tarmac, swiping off assisstant personnel like bowling pins, Taraskovyan military firepower had utterly and absolutely nothing to do with the event. Neither did they have anything to do with the way it eventually slammed into another aircraft and caught fire, killing most of the men on board.

When it was all over, two of the runways were paralyzed.

Humans, Dohwar, Valaquine rushed to and fro helplessly not knowing what to do - and then someone noticed that the main damage of the disaster was even more horrific - the electricity to the airport was cut. That meant no RADAR, no radio, no refuelling - no airport, until it could be fixed. And by that time, the entire war would probably already be over.

Aboard the USS John Bolton, North-Allanean Sea

The ortillery projectile hit the carrier in it's left side, and it began to tilt slowly leftwards. Crew rushed towards the lifeboats, but it was obvious they wouldn't get enough time to lower them, but they tried, anyway. The aircraft on board slid to the left, first slowly, then accelerating, wiping crewemembers off the deck as they fell. Then, the 400-meter bulk tilted fully and began to sink, leaving only a few survivors on the surface, clinging to bits of wreckage. As they looked around, they could see several more major Allanean vessels suffer a similar fate.


* * * * *

High Orbit Above Allanea,

Aboard the USS Kentucky

"Captain, we're outnumbered, we're outgunned, and our resupply station is currently burning up in re-entry. May I suggest that the situation is completely hopeless, Sir?" - breathed out the terrified young Lieutenant as he looked on his commander.

The Captain - Pqueerr Rand, a powerfully built, intimidating, looking Valaquine (well, all Valaquine look intimidating, at a certain age) - examined the human, bringing his forejaws within inches of the Lieutenant's face. "Sooooo, Martin..." he hissed - "What do you s-s-suggessst we sh-should do, here? Got any bright ideas?"

"Well, Sir..." began the Lieutenant, now even more terrified by the Captain himself as he was previously by the Taraskovyan navy. "I was thinking, maybe we should surr... " he stuttered, "surr..."

The attack jaws shot outwards, breaking through the man's forehead, and then ripping out his brain on their way out. "This," said the Captain, spitting out the Lieutenant's brain, "Is a Navy ship. Surrender is not an option." Nobody dared contradict him.

"Begin Firing!" The sailors ran through the narrow corridors of the USS Kentucku, sometimes stumbling into each other. It was hot - the heat of the many reactors that were needed to power all the 1,027 weapons of the USS Kentucky was not cooled down completely, as the life support systems were reduced to a bare minimum when constructing the ship - to allow for more weapons and more gunners. And so, when all the reactors needed to be put into action for firing, the ship became hell itself - not just for the people outside it, but inside it as well. It was conisdered to be a part of the national character of Allaneans that they were capable of giving up life support systems to put up guns - and the Porcupine Mk. II class was a perfect example.

To an observer, it would be an amazing sight - the two last survivors of the Allanean navy battlegroup in the area, the Kentucky and the Alabama got all their weapons to work, bringing them to bear at the Taraskovyans. Given that it was only 5AM at Port-Allanea, the crews were not completely awakened yet - nurses rushed throughout the ships, giving out methamphetamine pills and caffeing to gunners - but it didn't prevent them from at least trying. The ships looked as brillian stars of pure fire as all of their on-board cannon kicked into action all at once. On board, the simultaneous noise of many chemical-fired cannnon [the Allaneans never relied exlusively on energy weapons] and the main 300mm automatic cannon would render the crew near deaf. For the outsider, it would be a silent symphony of destruction.


Aboard the Gene Roddenberry Space Station

The Station was dying, spinning out of control towards Earth. The crew knew they couldn't do anything about it. Some prayed. Some screamed in hysterics. One forced the barrel of his handgun against his nostrils and pulled the trigger in desperation. And finally, Admiral Petr Ivanovich Zheglov took control of them all. "Men! We're dying. We always knew we will die - nobody lives forever. And if we do not want to die like sheep - if we want to die like a free Allanean should, we must remain calm." For some reason, they listened. Silence fell on the station, so thick it seemed you could cut it with a knife. "Good. You're listening. Give me control of the bridge! Turn all the communications to broadcast mode on both our and the Taraskovyans frequencies! Let them hear us sing! Let them know we are brave enough to sing in the face of death - and let them wonder if they can be as brave." - he walked up towards the controls and pushed several buttons. A song could be now heard, and those Allaneans who knew the words sang along with it. The voices - both of the original singer and the Allanean sailors - were carried on all the radio and subspace wave frequencies possible, and the Taraskovyians could hear it as well.

В предсмертных мученьях трепещут тела…
Гром пушек, и дым, и стенанья…
И судно охвачено морем огня…
Настала минута прощанья.

Прощайте, товарищи! С Богом, ура!
Кипящее море под нами!
Не думали мы ещё с вами вчера,
Что нынче умрём под волнами.

Flagship Plamya,
Above Allanea.

The bridge of the dreadnaught was a hive of activity as various officers catered for their tasks. Gunnery teams coordinated the weapons systems to deliver the maximum firepower against the enemy to ensure the quick success of the onslaught; tactical officers were busy laying out the plans for the coming minutes, their minds vigilant for the slightest details and calculating myriads of ways the events could go, aided in their task by numerous artificial and bio-synthetic intellects, all that while the communication crews were making the actions of the fleet coordinated and timely, ensuring that orders were relayed immediately to the concerned ships, for each second was precious.

The battle was going as planned, the Taraskovyan side suffering acceptable damages to its ships without losing any to a state beyond all repairs. The stain of battle could be seen on the dark silhouettes of the vessels as holes and dents covered their hulls, damages caused both by enemy fire and by impacts from debris that filled the area. Yet, the first Taraskovyan ship was lost when two surviving Allanean ships opened fire, attempting a desperate last stand against an overwhelming enemy force. The KTN class frigate, which was leading its fighting in the avant-garde of the Taraskovyan formation, merely had enough time to open fire at the two Porcupines before being turned into dust by the overwhelming might of the two ships. Several other Taraskovyan ships were badly damaged by the outburst of fire, with Allanean projectiles hitting ship and debris alike, most of then lost finishing off the inert hulls of the previously destroyed US space ships.

However, even if outnumbered, the two Porcupines did pose a threat to the Taraskovyan fleet in the area and, as such, were mercilessly slaughtered as dozens of ships unleashed their full firepower upon the Allanean survivors. And whilst the battle in space neared its end, the one on the ground continued on as more and more ammunition hammered into the ground, bringing death and destruction upon the Allanean defenses and military personnel. The Taraskovyan ships were given a strict order to not fire upon civilian settlements and, thus, it were the soldiers on the ground who were suffering the from the full scale onslaught.

The Admiral in command of the operation surveyed the reports with satisfaction as the operation went on as planned. The entire campaign was entering its second hour already and the damage dealt to the United States was already tremendous. He could already picture himself a red sun rising upon the ruins of various defensive installations.

“Status update.” He said to nobody in particular as, within mere seconds, a soft female voice of the ship’s BSI began the report.

“We have confirmed the loss of one ship. Three more are reported to be in a state beyond repairs, the crews have been evacuated pending recovery of the carcasses for recycling.”

“What about the bombardment?”

“It is going on as planned. I can affirm with eighty five percent certainty that we have destroyed all of their ground based anti-space defenses during the first moments of the bombardment.”

“Enemy mobilization?”

“Kaskad reports that Allanean forces throughout the world have been mobilised. The TSF is expecting the Allanean vessels in the Solar System to fall back to Earth. Preparations are being made to greet them accordingly.”

The Admiral did not respond as his gaze fixed somewhere in the emptiness in front of him as he sighed and shook his head, the last song sang by the Allaneans on the dying station hammering into his mind as his mind played the view of the station entering the atmosphere again and again. It was truly a pity that many had to die because of the arrogance and stupidity of some. But then again, as was the problem with democracies, the many that died had elected the arrogant few in the first place and, as such, were only assuming the consequences of their acts.

And even if the battle in space ended, it did not mean that the fleet became inert. While the main ships were busy unleashing judgment day upon the surface, recovery ships darted forth and from, recovering bodies and survivors in safety suits that drifted around, both Taraskovyan and Allanean alike, the latter being rescued not out of altruistic ideals, but for the sake of gathering information or simply using them as hostages.

[OOC: The last bit assuming Allanean sailors do have protective suits and stuff. If not, then forget all about my folks bothering to rescue the dead bodies of your folks, hehe =P ]

USS Kim du Toit,
Port Allanea

Captain Cameron blinked in pure horror as he saw the situation reports flow in. Whole divisions slaughtered from the air. Burning space fighters dead on take-off. Whole city blocks on fire where a cargo plane crashed into Port-Allanea's residential block. Hundreds buried alive as missile silos were subdued by Taraskovyan ortillery fire. Radiation leaking from shield generators wiping out small villages. Above him, Captain Cameron could see, for a fraction of a second, the National Defense Shield come to life, deflecting a minute portion of the damage. Then it collapsed, the remaining reactors not being able to handle the power needed to protect mainland Allanea. Then, the back-up shield system flickered and died, too. Something had to be done. But what?

Captain Cameron rushed for the upper deck of the Kim du Toit, looking intently at the Port-Allanea skyline. The city was burning - in some places, due the crashes of military craft shot down by Taraskovyan fire, in some, where the hulks of falling Allanean and Taraskovyan craft have hit the city. The war was being lost. Lost utterly, irreparably, without being fought. The Taraskovyans had the Allaneans cut off from any space assets that where capable of helping them, and the ships merely detonated like firecrackers when trying to arrive for help. As of now, sattelites have detected the fiery destruction of forty more spacecraft as they came in from out-of-Sol, by the mere act of trying to come for help. Only one Porcupine was still fighting, the other already a ball of fiery death falling into athmosphere. Yes, surely, something had to be done. But there was nothing he could do. He could only fight, and he didn't have the proper weapons. There was only one person that was able to save Allanea now.

"Captain Cameron! We have a State of the Union Address from President Blix!" - shouted an assistant, carrying a small portable computer. On it's screen, one could already see Richard Blix begin to talk.

Friends! Citizens! Allaneans! The Tarasovkan dogs are attacking us, wrecking our homes, lives and families with their vile weapons - yet I promise you, they will never, ever take our freedom! I will promise you this - I will never, ever give up. I will never surrender the freedom of Allanea to extremist terrorists who are ready to murder your children over what is essentially an oversized, obese, black dog. Would you really want me to surrender because of this foolishness? Or do you want me to fight on without fear or faltering? Would you like..." - Cameron drew his duty 1911 pistol and shot the screen twice.

'Damned fool! What does he expect to do? Throw rocks at the Taraskovyan spacecraft? Why doesn't he get it? It's the lives of millions of people on the balance, here! Does the dumb c*cksucker want everybody in Allanea to die because he wanted to screeam insults at the sky? He's the damned dog here, not the Taraskovyan wolves or whatever! Dammit. Sailors! I need you all to get your parade uniforms and rifles, we're all going down to town. We need to talk to the Commander in Chief, in person.' - Some sailors already nodded in agreement.

New-McHenry Military base, New-Alabama, Mars

"What is happening in Allanea, anyway?" - asked the Division commander, fingering the buttons on his work uniform uneasily. He know that there was no way to get his troops past the FTL inhibition screen without everybody dying - but if the Battlegroup Commander ordered him to, he'd have to load them all up into those ships and send them to Allanea, to die.

"It doesn't matter." - replied Battlegroup Commander Adams. The ground forces officer blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"My ships are elsewhere in Sol, at the moment. There's nothing we can do for help, and if we could, it would be too late by the time the ships picked up your troops. Nor that I would try past that FTLi anyway."

So he knew about it, too. The other officer sighed in relief.

Port-Allanea, Allanea,
Several hours later

The sailors marched ahead, their parade dress attracting no attention in a world turned upside down. They marched towards the Presidential office, ten men abreast, ignoring the moans of the wounded and the screams of the dying. They stepped over the scorched corpses of Allanean troops and over the little bundles that used to be living babies, over the wounded mothers of those babies as they extended their hands, begging for help, trying to grasp at the boots of the mariners to slow them down and convince them to please help. But the sailors knew they had a much more important task - and if they didn't fulfil that on time, thousands more would be sprawled accross the ground like that, some seeking their help, some forever beyond any help.

And so they marched on, towards the place where Richard Blix was still ranting on the verge of complete insanity, past the suffering of their people, past the destruction of their homeland - and knowing, that while others where expected to put an end to this madness, those who were expected to do it, wouldn't and couldn't. Not the might Stellar Navy with its dreadnaughts - separated from them by an impervious FTLi field - nor the National Defense Shielf operators - mostly already cooking alive near their reactor sets, not their mighty president, who was obviously either stupid or terminally insane, or possibly both.
Only the four hundred sailors in parade clothing, wearing no armor and carrying only basic weapons, could save Allanea. And they would. They had to.

TSV Kinjal
Above Allanea

Red bulbs near the ceiling of the room were blinking annoyingly in the armoury of the module destined to the SODAT battalion that was proudly occupying the ship. Hopefully, at least there was no annoying female voice repeating every second that the personnel of that and this SODAT unit was to prepare for orbital drop, for it would have been very hard for the soldiers to abstain from shooting the loudspeakers. Indeed, they had the means to do so, with their heavy and light weaponry, enough to allow a single soldier to wage a local war by himself. Rocket launchers with miniature nuclear warheads, machine guns powerful enough to shred armoured vehicles and a full range of various other weapons. Unfortunately, on this mission, the nuclear warheads were left in the armoury, the SODATs filling up on conventional missiles instead, for the Command did not want its troops to turn a city into a radioactive zone. After all, the armed intervention into Allanea was not for conquest, not for complete annihilation of the enemy, but one to show those who wished to disgrace Taraskovyan honour.

Once the preparations were done, armours on, main armament and shields attached to the forearms, the soldiers exited into the launch bays from which they would be catapulted. The commanding officer, in the rank of captain, faced his men, the moment of the drop nearing with each second. Nobody was really nervous, after all, it was their job and should some not return from the mission, then they would die as warriors on the battlefield. It is just that nobody wanted to get shot by an Allanean grandma in her own T-55, the thought of such a fate forcing a cold sweat on their spines.

“You have already been briefed, however I shall do a one last check up on the orders.” The commander’s voice was calm, as if the vicinity of battle did not really concern him. “Our unit must, benefiting from the chaos that is reigning in Port-Allanea, we are to attack the White House and capture Richard Blix. I shall not reiterate the fact that the Ruling Council wants him alive.” The officer looked his men over. “Any questions?”

“No questions, Pan Kapitan!” Replied the soldiers in unison as a female voice resonated in the bay, calling for the combat personnel of this and that unit to proceed to launch pads. And so the troopers put their helms on, the familiar sound of automatic shutting of the safety locks somehow reassuring. At least nobody would suffocate while up in the skies, which was a good start, the rest being not getting killed by some crazy Allanean kid riding around in a D9.

And so the SODAT troops boarded their personal capsules, awaiting patiently the moment when the commanders send them off to the surface, to war and to death. The last minute before the launch was always the most difficult moment of all. Indeed, you had already grown to the idea that there would be combat and that you might die and you want to go down there and fight and kill, but instead of being in the action, you are lying peacefully while the superior officers decide on the exact moment of the drop. At least, they put some nice, thrilling music on, the latest Taraskovyan hit.

Молчит полумесяц,
И снова с Востока таинственный ветер подул.
Молчит полумесяц,
И снова идут на войну Петербург и Стамбул!

The capsules began moving towards the hull of the ship as they begun to be expulsed by volleys of five, both capsules with SODAT soldiers and empty decoy ones.

Висит старый месяц,
Не хочет, проклятый, никак превращаться луну.
Он слушает песни,
Печальные песни про тех, кто томится в плену.

The already fiery sky above Allanea lit up with several more fires as the capsules hit into the atmosphere.

Жизнь висела на волоске!
Шах, и дело на скользкой доске!
Сталь хотела крови глоток,
Сталь хрипела: «Идем на Восток!»

The capsules began breaking up, the music vanishing as the soldiers discovered the nearing planet surface beneath them. Deep below, the city was ablaze in several areas, the red tongues of the flames illuminating the otherwise dark buildings. “Watch AA fire, boys.” The commander’s voice was still calm as the ground grew dangerously near with each second, the troops firing their jetpacks to land swiftly on the roofs of some buildings.

“Proceed by roofs, try to avoid ground level.”

And so the soldiers, having regrouped into their squads, progressed towards the White House, eliminating any hostiles they encountered.

Port-Allanea,
Just outside the White House

The sailors advanced towards the White House lawn, getting their AA-FAL rifles ready. A Secret Service patrolman blinked in terror as suddenly the fence and gate where swarmed by dozens of people in Navy parade uniforms. He brought his Thompson to bear on them and unleashed a short burst, dropping three. He would have done more, but a sailor centred the sights of a .308 rifle on the guard’s chin and pulled the trigger - fast, but careful - and the jacketed hollowpoint bullet blasted the base of his head apart like an expensive china bowl full off blood.

Fast and silent, the sailors advanced into the White House with no sound made except when a guard met with a sailor. Then, he died, by bayonet, stock, or rifle shot. Sometimes, a sailor died, instead. It did not matter. They knew well that in the bunker under the White house, a raving nutcase still, technically, controlled the country, driving it towards ruin. Every minute they delayed, every second they stalled mean dozens, maybe hundreds, of dead Allaneans, and their loved ones might be among them. There was no time for delay or quarter. And so, when the 64-year old Polina Ivanovna Blumberg, a clerk at the White House, whipped out her pistol at the strange men who burst into her office, one of them simply beat the old woman across the head with his buttstock and she collapsed on the floor like a sack of flour. She had 56 days left to retirement.

Somewhere else in the White House

Vice President Vincente Lamma blinked at the screen of his television, where Richard Blix continued to rant, even though already over an hour has elapsed . Already, a small trickle of spittle was visible on the crippled man’s chin. Visibly, he was losing the last traces of his sanity - and obviously, nobody dared stop him. He was still, technically, the President of the United States of Allanea. Someone had to put an end to it, thought Lamma. Someone had to.

He glanced sadly at his handgun, a silenced, compensated Glock 17 clone made by some company in North Carolina. That is it, he thought. He did not yet know what himself mean by that. But when he heard gunfire erupt somewhere within the building, where sailors from the Kim Du Toit, his own thought became crystal clear to him. The entrance to the bunker was code locked, and those sailors would be unable to open it. Right now, the only person with both the will and ability to get to the President was Vincent Lamma himself.

He racked the slide of the handgun and walked out into the corridor.

Yes, someone has to put an end to it. And that someone is me.

Port Allanea, elsewhere.

And, coming closer and closer to the White House, jumping across the red, slanted roof of the suburban buildings, mowing down the rare resistance with heavy man-portables - and sometimes with a simple kick to the head - came the SODAT units, the living wrath of Tarasovka. In this time of the day, many Allaneans were still sleeping, not even knowing the disaster that befell their homeland. Others fired at the SODATs, only to find that regular lead-core ammunition was only good for subjecting its firer to enemy gunfire. Yet others - few of them - were able to fire an armor piercing round, or even reach for an RPG - after the One Day
War, there were some who still thought it prudent to keep such a weapon. They were few. They were brave. And they were heroes. But most of them didn’t survive.

Port-Allanea

The threat indicator in the helmet’s visor blinked indicating the vector of an incoming RPG round. The soldier immediately gave a mental order to his suit to avoid the menace, the jet packs firing in a way to make the SODAT trooper slide in his jump, the RPG round passing close to him and slamming against a wall further on its path.

An other soldier, that had his feet on a roof immediately opened fire with his machine gun at the emplacement of the Allanean shooter, an other SODAT dispatching a missile against the enemy position.

“Watch that missile fire, do not waste payload uselessly!” The commander was quick to react, even if he was out of visual range from that particular squad, masked by buildings. But after all, that is why he was the commander, he had to know everything that was happening to his men.

And whilst the Allanean RPG shooter left to places where there were no gun laws and people smoked marijuana relentlessly, the SODAT trooper, having avoided the fate of getting his armour damaged, did not avoid slamming against the wall of a building. Indeed, he first aimed for the roof, but unfortunately the emergency jet burst destabilized the trajectory of his jump. The massive combat suit slammed through the wall, leaving a generous hole in it.

The trooper immediately rose to his feet, surveying his surroundings. He found himself out in a bedroom where a young man and a young girl, surely convinced that the end of the world had come (judging by the amount of empty beer bottles around the bed, it was quite a plausible assumption),decided to profit from the last moments of their lives the best way they could.

“Пардоньте.” The soldier said as the two stared at him wide eyed, his voice escaping his helmet through loudspeakers, turning it into something between an organic and mechanical sound. Before the couple had any time to react, the Taraskovyan trooper was already gone, his feet soon reaching ground level before his jet packs gave a powerful burst again, sending him high into the air until he landed on the roof where one of his colleagues was awaiting, covering the unit from behind.

It was not long before the entire unit reached the White House, spreading through the area for an assault against the security, finding out that they clearly weren’t the only ones who had the brilliant idea of attacking the compound. Corpses of security guards mixed with those of sailors in parade uniforms could mean only one thing – mutiny. As such, the Taraskovyans had to hurry before the Allaneans killed Blix, for the Federation wanted the man alive…

And as the SODATs progressed cautiously through the gardens towards the building, one of the troops in the front spotted figures on his thermal screen, figures sitting defensively holding weapons, but not firing.

“Hold fire.” The commander’s voice was heard in the helmet of every soldier, the captain having sighted a person waving something that looked like a white flag. In fact, as the Taraskovyan SODAT that was sent to clear the situation out discovered, it was an Allanean sailor waving his shirt attached to the barrel of his rifle.

“They say they don’t want to fight us, but will defend themselves if necessary.” The trooper’s voice said as the commander gave the order for his men to move closer to the buildings.

“Tell them to raise their weapons into the air.”

“Yes, Pan Kapitan.”

And as the Taraskovyans got nearer to the building, the SODAT captain ended up by facing an Allanean navy officer. The two men looked at each other for a second before the Taraskovyan spoke, his metallic voice escaping the loudspeakers of the helmet.

“Whatever you are here to do, we want Blix alive.”

The Allanean just nodded as he invited the SODATs to follow him into the building.

Port-Allanea, at the White House

Lieutenant Raynor nodded grimly and entered the White House, the SODATs following. He did not feel at all at ease with what he was doing. Yes, he knew he was doing the right thing. Surely. Blix has gone obviously and patently mad. Yes, the President has caused a war to be started over little more than a single dog. And yes, it was being lost and the only way to save at least some lives was to surrender - but right now, he was leading enemy force towards the location of the Commander-in-Chief. And that is never something a good soldier feels at ease.

A Secret Service agent rushed out from behind a corner, trying to fire a gun at him. Raynor snapped the rifle to his shoulder, firing a long burst at the opponent. He smiled with a perverted sense of content as he saw the hollow-point rounds tear the agent’s flesh, with, throwing him back against a wall. As the dead - or dying, he didn’t care which - agent slid down to the ground, Raynor stepped over the mutilated body, switching magazines in complete silence. Inwardly, he hoped that this little incident would prove to them he was not an enemy - he had fought on their side, after all. He was not sure it would be that way, though.

They heard the rifle fire of the sailors move down, story after story. When they finally reached the security elevator reaching towards entrance of Bunker Alpha they saw no guards. Maybe they ran off to aid some friend who was facing an offensive but never returned. Lieutenant Raynor calmly stepped into the elevator, motioning the SODATs to follow.

* * * *

Vice President Lamma came to that very elevator only a few minutes before them. He, too, found the guards absent. But he knew that the two guards at the bunker entrance would be much more disciplined - the two people were trained to obey the President personally. If Blix ordered them to keep him out, they would, whatever his title. That was why, as he entered the elevator, he already had his gun ready. He wished momentarily that he had bought a good laser designator. Argh. And I remember seeing the damn things on discount.

His thoughts were interrupted by the elevator doors opened. The guards - he never got to find out what Blix had told them - perhaps that Tarasovka was preparing an army of clones? - reached for their Thompsons, but he already had his gun in position. He fired once. The shot of a silenced centerfire handgun is still heard - but it is reduced to such a level it does not hurt one’s hearing to fire the gun in a small room. But here, with a thick steel door separating Blix and the guards, he would not hear it, and neither would anybody on other levels - the Bunker was separated from other levels by 30 meters of soil. So for all intents and purposes, when the 9mm round smashed the jaw of a guard like so much crockery, nobody heard him die - except the other guard, who was still fumbling with the safety on his gun when another bullet hit him in the throat. Then, Lamma went on to the large steel door.

It was to be opened with a hydraulic automated mechanism - and could open if you typed in the correct password on the small keyboard/screen on its outer side. If one killed the lock by some method, the door, weighting over a ton, would be inoperable -only its automated machinery allowed it to pen. But Lamma didn’t worry. He knew the password. He reached out and typed:

Goldwater

The door slid to the side with a loud clanking noise. Lamma shuddered at what he saw.

There were no reporters on the site, not any aids. Only automated cameras, and an insane man preaching his cause to the world without witnesses. Right now, Blix was still screaming - for the 5th or 6th hour in a row - the same stuff:

We will not be surrendering! We can’t be defeated. We won’t yield!

Lamma didn’t bother with the gun. He simply tipped the wheelchair to the side, tossing Blix out of it.
"Come," said Lamma, "It’s over."

The insane man simply kept screaming:

I will never surrender! - Blix reached into his jacket - Never yield! Never! Never! Never! Never! - he began withdrawing a handgun from a shoulder holster, while reaching with his other hand for a chair or table, to grasp it and get up. Lamma kicked him in the palm, the gun being thrown a foot or two away. He kicked the man in the ribs, listening to the wonderful sound of breaking bone. "Give up, cripple." - said Lamma, not caring that the camera was still broadcasting.

That word, coupled with the pain, shook down some internal dam in Blix mind. The memories of the taunts and misfortune he suffered because of his illness, the loneliness, the highschool suffering of the weird man - all combining into a tsunami wave, rising above Blix sanity like a tsunami rises above the roofs of a fishermen’s village, and swallowing it. He began to rave even more insanely while struggling to get on his feet or at least in the wheelchair.

[I]I am no cripple!! I am normal! Normal I say! You’ll see! I am normal! Linda WILL date me, I am telling you! I am not a cripple! No ! No! - tears and drool appearing on his face, the final image of insanity. Lamma looked at him, petrified at seeing the remnants of the man’s mind fall like a house of cards in second.

He was still staring in fear when the SODATS and Allaneans walked in. He turned to them, dropping his gun, then lifting his hands in submission.er. "I am Vice President of Allanea and, due to the illness of president Blix, I am currently in charge. I surrender."

The SODAT Captain nodded to Lamma as, inside of his helm, his visor was already blinking with a small picture of the Allanean Vice President, with a couple lines of text running, meaning that there were more chances that the man was who he claimed to be than of him being an imposter. The officer gave a look at Blix, as one of his soldiers, a medic, kneeled next to the man.

“Status?”

“Several broken ribs. And he is most clearly out of his mind. I shall apply sedatives.”

“Do so.”

For the Allaneans, the scene was a silent one as the communications between the SODATs did not escape the sanctuary of their helmets. And while the medic did what he had to do with the madman, the Captain looked up at Lamma, his voice escaping his shut helmet this time as he pointed at the cameras.

“Broadcast the official order of unconditional surrender.”

Lamma shrugged. “Perhaps you do not understand. This broadcast is live…Everybody knows already…” He shrugs, turning to the camera.

Friends, citizens, Allaneans!

There’s not much to say. Simply, Mr. Blix has gone mad. He had probably been ill for a long mind - mentally, I mean. This - in part - caused this war, this loss of life. Other things were at fault too - it is not now the time to discuss. The point is, I have no choice at this moment, as the pro tempore commander in chief of the United States Armed Forces, to announce our unconditional surrender.

He than pressed some button turning the cameras off and turned towards the Taraskovyan. “So, what now, gospodin oficer?”

The Captain nodded to Lamma, clearly satisfied with the cooperation of the Allanean pro tempore head of state and commander in chief. In mere seconds, the ships of the Taraskovyan Space Fleet in orbit would cease their campaign of bombardment, now that the official surrender has been confirmed.

“Now, pan prezident, you shall coordinate the timely capitulation of your forces and make sure that, once ours arrive, there will not be any incidents.”

He watched as several SODAT soldiers took Blix away, carrying the sleeping madman with care. He was yet to be trialed by Taraskovyan judges on several accounts. But for the time being, he could enjoy a moment of relaxation after one busy hour he caused for an entire nation.

“I shall deploy my men around this location. For your own security, of course.” Due to the altering of the commander’s voice, it was impossible to see whether he said the last words with irony or not. “The official Taraskovyan delegation shall arrive once we are fully in control of Port-Allanea.”

Port-Allanea, a few hours later

The sun has already risen over the city, the sea in the harbour glittering like molten silver under its biting rays. It was going to be a very hot day. Through the city streets walked people, still in shock about what happened last night. Some where still looking for their relatives. But in a city of over a hundred million, the death of several thousands is not a big impact - especially if there are people alive who knew worse -and that was exactly what they were talking about…

So, do you think it’s going to be the same old crap again, Father? - asked Corinna. She was dressed in the usual black leather outfit you associate with an Allanean from the Goth neighborhoods of the town. - Will we need to haul the ammo out of the basement and all?.

The older man shrugged. He has fought against the Sentient Peoples occupation in his time - and remembered how it was. Now, he hoped, it would be different. You see, honeybars, this is all different. Those are Tarasovkans…

Taraskovyans, Father - she interrupted softly.

Whatever. My point is, they’ve been friends with us even before the Fourth Edolian war. Unlike them damn Feds, they like Allaneans. And they know it’s all the fault of that Blix asshole. That’s who they want. The Feds wanted to kill our very culture and people. But the Tarasovkans… err , Taraskovyans, they be different. They’ll leave if we gave them this Blix fellow I told you you shouldn’t have voted for him, but did you listen to me? Does anybody listen to old Dave anymore, these days?

I see, Father - smiled the younger woman. You’re right, it’s all my fault

They both laughed. She didn’t bother to tell her father she had voted Libertarian in the last elections

Similar discussions where often heard in Allanea at the time.

It remained to be seen if the optimists where right.

Port-Allanea

Taraskovyan Occupancy
Day 1

As the dropship got nearer to the surface with each passing moment, the lieutenant in charge of the unit within the craft addressed his soldiers for a last time, to set things straight.

“Remember that if you provoke Allaneans, they will shoot at you. If they provoke you, you shoot them. Understood?”

“Understood, pan poruchik!”

“You shall not be doing any law enforcement activities, concentrate on your tasks of controlling the strategic points around the city. Do not meddle into anything that is not of your concern and you shall avoid headaches.”

“Yes, pan poruchik!”

“Good then.”

The dropship landed finally and the hatches opened, letting the soldiers walk out into the street. Their task was to secure a government building, somewhere in the far several other dropships landed near other strategic buildings and locations. The Taraskovyan ‘occupancy’ had begun under the curious stares of Allanean passers by.

As infantry troops began deploying themselves and securing their positions, heavier dropships began strolling in, carrying in armoured vehicles as combat aircraft patrolled above the city.

***

Heinlein Airbase,
Outskirts of Port-Allanea

Taraskovyan Occupancy
Day 1

The Heinlein Airbase, the largest installation of such type next to Port-Allanea, was chosen by the Taraskovyan forces to set up their field command and operations center, logistics, as well as an impressive amount of specialists to cater for the various reparations the United States would soon be made to pay.

The Airbase did suffer greatly during the bombardment, and so, before anything was set up, the Taraskovyan contingent had the happy task of clearing everything away. Which they of course did, by getting some help from the local Allanean soldiers. Obviously, nobody was forced. The Taraskovyan military personnel had no hostility towards Allaneans and, clearly, wanted to settle the entire business as soon as possible.

Taraskovyan Occupation, Day Seven,
Port-Allanea

Taraskovyan troops passed through the streets of Port-Allanea, looking curiously at the locals. Everywhere they looked was strangeness and insanity - sixteen-year old boys carrying handguns coloured bright blue, bank clerks with their hair coloured orange and arranged in mohawks, nudists strolling the street with weapons, shoes, and fanny packs their only clothing, marijuana sold in the open, strange music erupting from the upper stories of corporate buildings, clean-looking prostitutes chatting up elderly businessmen and Satan-worshippers mingling in with Branch Davidians.

"How do they keep sanity here?" - gasped a Taraskovyan soldier in surprise as he saw a Gaz-469A with mounted anti-tank weapons, painted royal red, thunder through an intersections

"They don’t." - answered his friend - "Don’t you know? You need to be a special kind of crazy to be come a citizen. They have a special test for it."

And the two continued on their way - towards one of the biggest brothels in Haven.

* * * *

In the Senate Hall

Lamma looked at the 62 Senators in front of him one last time. He needed a few more votes and he could proceed.

"Senators!" - his speech was almost over - "Think of the long term benefits of diverting all that military money to your states for 20 years! Think of your constituents!"

Then he collapsed. He was talking for three hours straight, and only slept for six hours for the entire week.

Only after he woke up he found that the treaty was accepted - 35-25, and two abstainees.

Heston Square,
Port-Allanea

Taraskovyan Occupancy,
Day 8

The pedestal of the monument to Charlton Heston was transformed into a tribune on which stood a number of Taraskovyan officers, under the authority of Admiral Slovensky, the commander of the military operation that brought Allanea to reason. The immediate vicinity of the monument was sealed off by rows of Taraskovyan troops that kept the crow of Allaneans away from the dignitaries. And in front of the tribune stood two rows of Taraskovyan soldiers in parade uniforms holding the captured banners of the Allanean armed forces, pointing the flagstaffs towards the ground. The two rows formed a corridor by which anyone wishing to join the tribune would have to pass.

And as the Allanean delegation arrived, headed by Vice-president Lamma, to sign the documents which would restore sovereignty to Allanea, the Taraskovyan soldiers dropped the banners on the floor in front of the walking Allaneans. Once the locals reached the tribune, Admiral Slovensky invited Vice-president Lamma to sit down by a table on which lay the original of the treaty that would end the Taraskovyan occupancy and restore the independence of the United States, under some limitations, of course.

Admiral Slovensky imposed his signature and handed the document to Lamma. The signing was a formality, everybody knew that the Allanean Senate had approved the treaty beforehand. And the Taraskovyan Federation had no need for any further approvals on its side.

Treaty on the
Restoration of Sovereignty
of the
United States of Allanea

Preamble

The Taraskovyan Federation, respecting the ancestral right of all peoples to govern their homeland and to forge their own destiny, desirous to prevent any future enmity between the freedom loving peoples of Tarasovka and Allanea and to ensure peace and stability in Haven, shall hereby restore the full sovereignty of the United States of Allanea under limitations imposed by the present treaty.

Chapter I – General Provisions

Article I – Neutrality
1. The United States of Allanea shall assume neutrality in the dealings of its foreign policy.
2. The United States of Allanea shall be allowed to remain within the organizations for collective security it was part of before Operation “Infinite Justice”, with limitations brought by Article II of the present treaty.

Article II – Purpose of the Armed Forces
The United States Armed Forces shall assume defensive functions only and are barred from participation in conflicts outside the United States.

Article III – Limitation of Arms
1. The United States Armed Forces shall at all times comprise a maximum of 1’000’000 (one million) personnel. State Militias in any forms shall be prohibited.
2. The United States Navy shall be forbidden from operating any ship of class above that of cruiser, except for the USS Kim du Toit.
3. The United States Stellar Navy shall be forbidden from operating any ship above the length of 1(one) kilometre, including the length of mounted weapons. For the purposes of the present treaty, an armed vessel shall be considered as “ship” if it is above 30 (thirty) meters in length, barring the length of mounted weapons. The United States Stellar Navy shall be prohibited from operating more than 30 (thirty) ships at any time.
4. The United States Stellar Navy shall be allowed to continue operating the USS Miriel nos Feanor.
5. The United States Air force shall be forbidden from operating any aircraft falling under the category of strategic bomber.
6. The United States of Allanea shall be forbidden from possessing any strategic nuclear weaponry with a yield superior to 15 kilotons.
7. The United States of Allanea shall, with no delays, proceed to the elimination of all excessive weaponry. The ways of eliminating the armaments are prerogative of the United States of Allanea upon consultation with the Taraskovyan Federation.

Article IV – Inspections for Compliance
1. The Office of the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance shall be installed in the United States. The organisation shall have for purpose the ensuring of Allanean compliance with the present treaty.
2. The Taraskovyan Federation reserves the right to conduct unscheduled inspections of any Allanean installations or assets suspected of violating the present treaty.


Chapter II – Reparations

Article V – Monetary Reparations
1. The United States of Allanea shall contribute an amount of 10’000’000 (ten million) Taraskovyan Franks to the families of the Taraskovyan servicemen and women fallen in combat and a reparation ranging from 5’000’000 to 10’000’000 (five to ten million) Taraskovyan Franks to the Taraskovyan servicemen and women that suffered injuries during Operation “Infinite Justice”.
2. The United States of Allanea shall contribute an amount ranging from 1’000’000 to 5’000’000 (one to five million) Taraskovyan Franks to every Taraskovyan serviceman and woman, barring those falling under conditions of paragraph 1 of the present article, that was involved in Operation “Infinite Justice”. The scale of contributions per serviceman or woman shall be compiled by the Taraskovyan Federation.
3. The United States of Allanea shall finance in full the costs of repairing or replacing the damaged ships of the Taraskovyan Space Fleet.

Article VI – Surrender of Banners
The banners of all units of the United States Armed Forces with exception of the United States Marine Corps, the Charlton Heston Air Armada, and the Special Forces, shall be surrendered to the Taraskovyan Federation.

Article VII – Surrender of Territory
1. As defined by Additional Protocol I to the present treaty, the United States of Allanea shall fully surrender the stated territories in mainland Allanea, on the Atlantic Island and in Hestonia to the Taraskovyan Federation for perpetuity.
2. The United States of Allanea shall renounce any claims to sovereignty over the stated territories.

Article VIII – Surrender of Suspects
1. The United States of Allanea shall unconditionally surrender all those accused by the Taraskovyan judicial authorities to have participated in the shooting of the Taraskovyan black wolf on 2 March 1148 A.S.
2. The United States of Allanea shall not hinder any investigations led by the Taraskovyan judicial authorities with relation to that case.


Chapter III – Provisions on Allanean Leadership

Article IX – Presidential Elections
The United States of Allanea shall hold early presidential elections within five months following the signing of the present treaty.


Article X – Independence of the Allanean Leadership
The Taraskovyan Federation shall not impose any authority over the leadership of the United States of Allanea, except for cases and situations relevant to the present treaty, in which case it shall act through the Office of the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance.


Article XI – Provisions on the Office of the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance
1. The High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance shall be appointed by the Taraskovyan Federation. Such an appointment shall not require an approval by the United States of Allanea.
2. The Office of the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance shall be under jurisdiction of the Taraskovyan Federation.
3. Senior officers of the Office of the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance shall benefit from diplomatic immunity.
4. The United States of Allanea shall comply with the requests and decisions of the Office of the High Commissioner for Treaty Compliance.


Chapter IV – Final Provisions

Article XII – End of Occupancy
Taraskovyan military units currently operating in Allanean administered territory shall retire within three months following the signing of the present treaty.

Article XIII – Ratification
The present treaty shall be binding upon its signing by the Plenipotentiary Representatives of the Taraskovyan Federation and of the United States of Allanea and shall not require any additional ratification.

Article XIV – Expiration
The legal validity of the present treaty shall expire after 20 (twenty) years following its entry into force.


Signed in Port-Allanea on 25 March 1148 After Strife,

For the United States of Allanea,
Vice-president Vincente Lamma

Plenipotentiary of the Taraskovyan Federation,
Admiral Radomil Slovensky