NationStates Jolt Archive

[{OOC: This is a civil war thread for the Witzgallian Empire in Earth III. If you are a nearby nation in Earth III, you may somehow wish to become involved. Keep in mind that I control Austria, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and France on Earth III.}]

After the war with Euroslavia in Spain, Portugal, and Andorra, Witzgall was thrown into economic distress. With all of the war factories not needed to run at full production, many extra materials were discovered and put into inventory. France was in political and militaristic distress, after being bombarded with missiles and bombs from Euroslavic forces in said war. The Witzgallian Empire’s Fuhrer, Fritz Viechal, had announced his planned resignation, which saddened many citizens of the Empire.

However, in France, the civilians were relieved. They called upon their motherland to save them from further oppression from the new Fuhrer, who would undoubtedly relive the horrors of this war and start another conflict, which would also end up in the massive slaughter of French citizens.

French officials were forced to make a drastic decision: subject themselves and the innocent citizens to another decade of oppression and death, or oppose the new empire and start anew.

----------------------OVER THE AUSTRIAN/SWISS BORDER----------------------

The Eleventh Elite Air Patrol Squad flew through the local airspace of Austria. They were equipped with top level technologies, including countermeasures, stealth, and armaments. The ten planes flew in a loose formation, looking through the air and ground for any hostilities.

Split into two five-plane “groups”, the planes began to split up and head east and west.

“Lion Two, this is Tiger Four. Begin direction heads.” a pilot said. The planes were given code names; there were five ‘Lions’ and five ‘Tigers’. Each ‘number one’ was the group’s leader, and the ranks went down from there. Four and five were basic wingmen.

“Roger that, Tiger Four. No E.A.‘s.” the pilot responded.
“Copy. Remember to jump.”
“Roger that.”

The planes began to go at full bore, and were still watching both the sky and the land for any enemies.

“Lion One, this is Lion Three. I got some E.A.’s on the ‘dar.” the pilot said, preparing to lock and fire.
“UFO, you are in a controlled air space. ID yourself.” Lion One said, widening his radio band.
“This is Star Two, French fighter.”
“Roger. Proceed.”

Witzgall may have control over Germany, Italy, France, Austria, and Switzerland, but each country still had its own airforce. They just worked together during operations.

“Copy that. Over.” the French pilot said. The F-22 fighter flew past the Numen V’s. No more than ten seconds later, Lion Four was shot down.

“What the hell? Engage all crafts!” shouted Lion One. “Tigers, Tigers. Lion group is under engagement. The French are attacking! Engage!”

Tiger group spun around and was now in Germany, heading towards Austria. They were going to help out their squad.

The French F-22 fired another AMRAAM at the Lion group, but Lion One immediately anchored the craft and banked to the right, and the missile flew into the clouds.

“Star Two, you are engaging Austrian crafts. Acknowledge!” Tiger One said, as his group approached the allies in his squad.
“France will not fall victim to oppression! Surrender!” the F-22’s pilot commanded, firing off another A-120C AMRAAM.

The missile hit Tiger Five, causing the plane to rapidly lose 10,000ft of altitude.

“Engines down! Left jet is off!” Tiger Five shouted into his radio, signaling he had just lost all control of the left engine. Only moments later, his jet pounded into an Austrian family’s residence.

“IC, IC. Interceptor Command. Do you copy?” Tiger One began to make emergency calls.
“This is IC. Identify.”
“Tiger One of the Eleventh Elite Air Patrol Squad. We have French fighters assaulting our group.”
“Copy that. Initializing Code Four.”
“Rog.”

More and more French F-22’s flew into the Austrian airspace, engaging the small squad mercilessly. Some German and Italian crafts, mainly F-22’s, flew into the battle and began to pound the French planes with missiles, showing them who they were dealing with.
“Immediately acknowledge. Stand down, French.” a German pilot said.
“FOR FRANCE!” a fighter said, launching two AIM-7s.

Two German planes were quickly shot out of the sky, but one managed to make an emergency landing on a Switzerland air strip.

Two hours later, the skies were cleared. The French had lost the battle, but they had just started a new one. Two French tank divisions rolled across Germany’s border, unseen and unstopped. They were spotted in the dead of night by a Numen V on patrol.

“IC, IC. This is Horse One. We have a French Abrams. Do you copy?” the pilot said, staring at a small infared image (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v212/Witzgall/Centurion%20Initiative/asi.jpg)in his helmet’s HUD display.
“Roger that. Permission, engage. Go green.”

The plane launched a small modified Harpoon missile at the tank, and the tank exploded into a fireball of death on land.

“Hostile down.” the pilot recorded, and banked to the east to search for more.

----------------------FREIBURG, GERMANY----------------------
The Second and Eighth French Armored Divisions rolled into Freiburg in Southern Germany. The Abrams tanks showed severe lack of mercy, as they fired their shells into civilian and corporate buildings, shattering the city.

“German Civilians. Surrender to us now, and your lives and souls will be spared. The Lord has commanded us to take out the Atheist Empire, and we follow his words. Surrender to us, surrender or meet Satan!” a French commander shouted out of his tank.

A German translator stood in a jeep, and began to speak over the microphone he held in his hand. Most of the French soldiers did not know what he was saying, but they were confident in his control of the German language.

“Deutsche Zivilisten. Übergeben Sie uns jetzt und Ihre Leben und Seelen werden erspart. Der Lord hat uns befohlen, das atheistische Reich herauszunehmen, und wir folgen seinen Wörtern. Übergeben Sie uns, übergeben Sie oder treffen Sie Satan!” the translator shouted, and handed the microphone to a nearby radio operator.

German civilians walked out of their houses, and were shocked to see French tanks and soldiers striding through their town.

All along A5, French tanks, soldiers, and other armored vehicles sat in wait. They had stormed southern Germany with pure force, and had taken Freiburg without the slightest of resistance being seen. Freiburg was a good place to hold, as it was near France, Switzerland, and the Danube river.

French jets landed in the Freiburg airport, and the workers were handcuffed and arrested for Treason against God. Many were loaded aboard nearby civilian jets, with French armed soldiers and the pilot was forced to either get up and let a French pilot takeover, or be executed on the spot. Needless to say, only two pilots were killed.

The jets took off from the airport and headed towards France. Those who weren’t so lucky to get a trip to France were either shot in the back of the neck by a nearby soldier for Treason, or were handcuffed and beaten. Some were even placed on steel crufixes, and left there for “God to oversea punishment.”

The French Government, only forty minutes after the takeover of Freiburg, announced its recession from the Witzgallian Empire, and its new instated fundamentalist Christian government and laws. Those who did not abide by the new government were to come forward in open protest.

Over eight thousand citizens of France came forward into Paris, protesting the religious persecution the government was instating. Those citizens were greeted by armed military soldiers, who handcuffed and shot most of the protestors. The others were handcuffed and shackled, tossed into a train, and were to be sent to either Orleans or Rennes for “physical rehabilitation and oppression”, otherwise known as torture.

France was taking itself to a historic point in the world…

The Sixth French Armored Division rolled into Freiburg, but continued to push through Germany. Along the way to their destined area, which was Stuttgart, the Sixth Division was engaged by the Eighteenth Gepanzert.

The Eighteenth Gepanzer was responsible for crushing Andorra during the Euroslavia-Witzgall conflict, and they were fierce by numerous standards.

"There are the French! FIRE!" shouted a German tank commander from his command jeep. Two ST-21 tanks fired off at a French Abrams, which took the hits without a tremor.

The Abrams' gun was stunned, as were its occupants. The fire control system went haywire, but within ten seconds it was back. The crew fired off a shot at an ST-21. A modern day tank war was something unexpected. It was an even match.

Another ST-21 pulled up to the rear of the Abrams and fired off a shot, killing the tank. The crew was ordered out by gunpoint, and only the commander was let to stay alive. He was put into the command jeep and the Germans continued an advance.

The Sixth French division was being fully engaged by the 18th Gepanzert.

"For the Empire!" shouted the German commander.

Another Abrams rolled out of a nearby forest, and two soldiers fired off a Dragoon at an ST-21. The ST-21's side exploded outwards, and the commander jumped out of the tank. He began to fire a few rounds from his sidearm, an MP5K.

He managed to kill one of the Dragoon soldiers, but the other began to return fire with a G3A3. "FOR THE ALMIGHTY LORD!" shouted the soldier as the Abrams fired a round at the already demolished ST-21.

The German 18th Gepanzert was trying with all of its might to disrupt the French advance, but so far they were having no luck at all.

Green Sun is delivering thirteen G-04 jets to Germany for Witzgall's use against the French rebels and Euroslavia from Risbanian Tunisia.

~Classified Communique to Green Sun~
We thank our prestigious allies. However, the war with Euroslavia has ended, and your planes may be destined to be shot down by French anti-air cruisers in the Mediterranean. If you are shipping them aboard a carrier, try to be careful. If by air, warn your pilots.

I cannot stress the fact that France has broken off from the Empire and has gone rogue. Warn every nation, every alliance. They will not stop.

They are being transported with our best fleet on Earth. I'm sure these French pussies won't last evry long at all.

----------------------MEDITERRANEAN SEA----------------------
The Second French Fleet, a massive array of ships armed to the teeth with diverse weapons of all kinds, sailed around the Mediterranean with glee. The fleet readied itself, as intelligence in Euroslavic Morocco had "tipped" them off to a Green Sun shipment of some planes to Italy.

"Those bastards will not help the Atheist Empire! For the Lord's Strength, we shall prevail against them! The Lord will strike them down from Heaven, and they shall meet their doom in Hell! Behold, the Lord Almighty! King of the Land!" the French Admiral aboard the Destroyer Olympus said over the microphone system.

"AYE!" shouted the ship's crew, preparing their weapons and switching the auto loading 10 inch guns to maximum firepower. The crew manned the nonautomatic weapons, and let the computers take control of the automatic systems.

The fleet continued to sail the Mediterranean, looking for the Green Sun ships and the targeted cargo. Defying the Lord was not going to be taken lightly...

"Those asshole want these planes, they'll get a fight instead," mumbled Captian Gerald Fhutz, "Ready all the missiles! Get the Lasers warmed up! This just might get hot!"

----------------------MEDITERRANEAN SEA----------------------

The Admiral grabbed a glass of Absinthe. It was told that absinthe was the "antidote for troubles", and the Admiral believed that with all of his heart. The absinthe faery (http://static.zed.cbc.ca/users/d/DirtyWett/files/absinthe.jpg) had helped him in the past during combat, and surely he would prevail with both the faery and the Lord on his hands.

"Men...prepare yourselves. Today, we show the world our might." the Admiral said, sipping his absinthe. Oddly, the man did not conform to using a sugarcube and a spoon to dill the bitter licorice taste of the drink. He drank it pure, he drank it swift.

The Admiral spotted a couple ships dead ahead. He grabbed the radio to make another announcement. He paused, thinking of what to say. Screw it. he thought.

"FIRE AT ENGAGEMENTS!" the Admiral shouted, not even using the radio. An operator grabbed the radio and spoke the same words over the loudspeaker. The Admiral's voice was a boom, but not everyone had heard him.

Ten inchers and five inch guns fired off of the Olympus, as well as other ships who fired their guns and missiles. Torpedoes were launched, as well as modified Sea Sparrows modified so they could engage land and sea targets.

The shells flew at the Green Sun ships, but were deflected by Plasma Shields, doing no damage to the ship itself, but killing 15 sailors and wounding twenty more.
"Fire Laser Cannons!" the Captian shouted. Red bolts flew towards the French ships.

[{OOC: Plasma shields? What....this is Modern Tech....I'll let it go, though.}]

The Admiral watched as the guns were deflected by some odd system on the enemy.

"What the hell? Repeat fire!" the Admiral said over the radio. The guns were fired again, and not two seconds after a missile fired off the Destroyer was rocked side to side by an odd tremor.

The ship began to sink, nose first. The Admiral took another drink of absinthe, and stared at the enemy ships.

"France will prevail. Repeat firing." the Admiral said. The three officer operators stared at the Admiral, and thought he was joking.
"Shouldn't we abandon the vessel, sir?" asked one operator. The Admiral glared at the officer, and revealed a small smirk.

"You may ditch your land if you want. But I have confidence. The Lord will not let us die. And if we do, we shall meet him face to face. He will answer my questions with truth, unlike the world's deciet. So, choose your faith."

The three officers rushed out of the command center and down to the deck, where they prepared small life rafts.

"I take my life in dignity." the Admiral said.

((Sorry>< I don't plan to stay in this one very long, just get you those planes and maybe bomb the hell outta some French towns.))
Over a loudspeaker, the Captain shouted,
"Cease and desist with your offensive actions. The Empire of Witzgall will recieve these planes, no matter what. We'll let you live if you turn away now. Otherwise you'll be destroyed."

The French fleet was in shock and awe at the sheer sight of the technology being used by the Tunisian naval vessels. Surely a few planes would do no harm.

"We shall let you pass and return, but this is your final warning." said an Admiral aboard a naval carrier nearby.

The French fleet shut down all arms and stared as they watched the Tunisian fleet ship off to Italy.

"We're soooo scared. Thanks, and I'd watch out for our subs, tehy don't know what's going on here on the surface yet," the captain replied. He shut off the loudspeaker and attended to the ship, getting the wounded healed and the dead ready for a proper burial.

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

The 18th Gepanzert was in full retreat. The M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tanks of the French were a perfect match against the ST-21s. There was no hope in a tank battle for either side.

In Stuttgart, the German military nearby was mobilizing to full effect. Thirty four thousand troops mobilized out of nearby Fort Riecheneins. All armed with AR-42 "Lockes", except for a few with Anti-Tank rockets, marched towards the French advances.

The thirteen some odd thousand of the French were equally in arms, and a fierce land battle raged. It was like Stalingrad all over.

Six F-35s flew overhead, and launched AGMs at nearby buildings in the city. A towering building with roughly fifty stories collapsed from an explosion, and toppled onto the ground. The surrounding area was soon covered in grey and brown smoke.

All of the German soldiers pulled out gas masks, as did the French. While doing this, tanks were firing off rounds into the clouds of dust and smoke. A fire outbroke from a HEAT round colliding with the pavement, and the fire raged into nearby buildings.

Civilians rushed out of their workplaces in the fear of death. The French began to employ flanking techniques. Six Abrams split into two groups, and surrounded two ST-21s in the foggy battlefield. Firing off 120mm guns, the Abrams swiftly demolished the two opposing tanks.

Mortars began to rain fire upon the city, devestating the soldiers and civilians alike. Two soldiers were quickly pinned down behind a nearby coffee shop by heavy machine gun fire from the M1A2 and their 7.62mm and 12.7mm guns. The bullets pounded their position.

"SHIT! WE'RE FUCKED!" shouted out one of the soldiers as he leaned around the corner. He fired off six rounds, and returned to his little hiding spot.

Three Crusader 155mm Artillery Systems rolled up behind the French advance. A Field Marshal stepped out of the howitzer, and walked over to the Colonel in the command jeep.

"It appears we shall conquer Stuttgart by night." said the Field Marshal, reassuring the Colonel's doubts.

"So it seems. Fire all of what we have. The Germans want a fight, and that they shall have."

The Field Marshal grabbed a small red hankerchief out of his front pocket, and waved it in the air. A field officer inside the howitzer nodded, and two of the artillery systems fired off their massive rounds.

The coffee shop exploded into flames. The howitzers were using incidenary rounds, most likely. The two soldiers were crushed by rubble and fire from the explosions.

Abrams and soldiers continued their march into Stuttgart, eliminating the opposition piece by piece.

Suddenly, a small tank column consisting of twelve Abrams was destroyed. Hellish rain of EFOGMs (Enhanced Fiber Optic Guided Missiles) rained upon the column. Over twenty four missiles pounded the column, disrupting and halting its advances into the city.

"YOU SHALL NOT COME ANY FURTHER!" shouted a German soldier from a rooftop. He ducked down, and a large 81mm mortar round fired out of the rooftop. It collided with the command jeep, which bursted into flames and charred the Colonel's flesh. He jumped from his seat, screaming in sheer terror.

Two more 81mm mortar rounds were fired from the building. One hit a Crusader, barely damaging its heavy armor, and another hit the tank column's lead tank.

"Surrender to us now, and God may spare your soul!" shouted the Field Marshal, exiting his artillery system.

Another mortar round was fired. It hit the tank column, but instead of destroying the tank or damaging it, the round exploded into yellow gas.

"CHEMICALS!" shouted the Field Marshal, who was still wearing his gas mask. The city was now full of rubble and smoke, and nobody could see ten feet ahead of them. The French soldiers ran for cover as more and more German resistance came out of buildings and began to fire heavy suppressive fire upon the tank column and nearby units.

The Federal Republic of Vas Pokhoronim has reportedly mobilized and deployed at least six full divisions of the Sovereign People’s Defence Forces to the Swiss-Italian borders in the last week, along with another four along the FRVP’s frontier with Hrstrovokia.
Moreover, new activity and massive construction seem to be taking place at the comparatively-new SPDF airbases at Trento, Verona, and Udine.
FRVP Premier Kijrl Istvadnijc, currently visting Beograd for talks with Hrstrovokian dictator Jan Mateusz, issued the following statement yesterday in connection with the recent activity:

The Sovereign People do not customarily meddle in the affairs of foreign powers. Nevertheless we regard the events currently transpiring in the Witzgallen dominion of Frankreich with great concern and no small degree of alarm. It is one thing if Americans or Arabs wish to ruin their otherwise fine civilizations with injections of religious primitivism, but I should have expected that we Europeans had outgrown such idiocies. These questions were settled by the religious wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and by the crypto-religious pseudo-ethnic race wars of the twentieth. These radical Chauvinistes or whatever they are simply can not be permitted to establish some kind of witch-hunting Antinomian theocracy in the very heart of our common civilization.
To this end, in consultation with the Ministry of Defence and the SPDF Supreme Command, the Federal Republic will make up to eight Urban Warfare and two Alpine divisions available to the legitimate government of the Witzgallenreich, should that goverment consent to receive them—er, I must confess I’m not exactly sure at the moment just who’s in charge over there right now—and as soon as they can be mobilized.
It goes without saying that the Sovereign People do not desire war. We hope that this conflict will be resolved quickly and without further bloodshed.
No questions.

President Mateusz of Hrstrovokia remained uncharacteristically silent on the French situation, dismissing it as an internal matter concerning Witzgall. Since the crackdown on pro-democracy demonstrators in Beograd last month, there have been persistent but unconfirmed rumors of continuing strife within the Hrstrovokian Union.

-SvoPres, the Indepedent News Network of Vas Pokhoronim

An F-16 flew overhead, coming from France. It released a large capsule with an attached parachute. The Field Marshal threw his hankerchief in the air, and the nearby soldiers who were fortunate enough to see it ran into any building. Sixty German soldiers began to fire M60s and AR-42s at the running French.

"Where the hell are they going?" asked one German soldier, releasing his M60's trigger. His comrade looked at him with an amusing smile.
"Perhaps they fear us." the soldier replied, reloading his AR-42. He began to fire three round bursts into the clouds of smoke.

The capsule got lower and lower. It was still at at least 25,000ft in the sky. It was dropping slowly, and none of the German soldiers had noticed it. They continued to fire upon the seemingly retreating enemy.

Suddenly, green and yellow smoke filled the atmosphere. The Germans still had their gas masks on, and they brushed off the chemicals with ease. However, a small AGM hit a nearby building, causing a massive fire. The chemicals burst into flames, causing a Fuel Air Burst.

Hundreds of soldiers rushed away, but they were still caught in the hell like firy death.

Sixteen AS 565 Panther Light Helicopters flew across the French-German border undetected. They flew towards Munich, flying alongside of the Danube river to keep a low profile. They flew the flag of Italy, giving way to the suspicion that perhaps they were Italian ambassadors to send aid to Germany's troops or something diplomatic like such.

The sixteen helicopters slowed down when the reached the outer limits of Munich. The copilot of each helicopter gave a prearranged speech, which their commanding officer had prepared to be read by each.

"Men and women. Today, and for the rest of your lives, you will have a place in history. In French history, in world history. Thou shalt not be forgotten. Keep in mind the oppression and devestation these atheist bastards have put the French peoples into. Do not forget your ancestors. Do not forget the Lord. They are all on our side. Good hunting, and God bless." the copilots said.

The soldiers nodded. The helicopters came to a hover in a field, and they landed softly on the grassy plane. Ten soldiers exited each helicopter, wieling all sorts of weaponry from mortars to sniper rifles to anti tank rifles and claymore mines. They were about to ambush the enemy while they slept.

The commandos exited their respective transports, and the helicopters left and flew into the dead of night, continuing along the Danube river. Through binoculars, the soldiers could see Munich. The cover of night had given them the secrecy needed to be successful.

The soldiers marched onwards, towards the destined city of Munich. It's destiny was simple, yet to some very complex.

"History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." said one soldier, quoting Sir Winston Churchill and loading a magazine into his assault rifle and placing it on his back. Everybody marched in unison, staying at a pace and far enough apart to not look like a massive troop regiment and to stay low profile.

The night allowed the commandos to move swiftly and with much stealth.

((OOC: I never said they were undetected. I said, since they were stealth planes, it was extremely hard to spot them. You can shoot it down, I don't care either way. It just had one payload.))

[{OOC: I'm not going to get into a debate, but you basically already had them drop their payload and return to the Strait of Gibraltar. That wouldn't allow for any losses on your part.}]

((OOC: I can modify my posts. Ignore the bombing, then. I'll do something else.))
Five hours after the Green Sun fleet dropped off the planes, it halted at the port of Marsailles. They aimed their cannons and fired on the port. The barrage lasted no more than twenty minutes. As the ships left, they had their SONAR and Radar activated to watch for airstrikes and naval attacks.

The Austrian Prime Minister, in charge of overseeing Austrian diplomacy with foreign nations, stepped up to a podium. His face appeared on televisions worldwide.

"Today, I mark Austria's place in history in pure stone. Today, I announce my decision to put Austria's full militaristic, diplomatic, and economic support behind the French. I have chosen to make a decision, and I have done so. The Austrian State of Soveriegnty hereby backs its French ally in the destruction of the German, Italian, and Swiss oppression. They shall not lay hands on another Austrian for as long as I see day and night. That is all, no questions." the Minister said.

He stepped away from the podium, and the television screen faded to the news were the reporters began to debate whether or not he was right in supporting the French.

The Fuhrer grabbed his remote, and turned the volume up. He grabbed a cigarette, and took a small puff.

"Bastards. How dare they defy me." the Fuhrer said. He stood from his chair. Although he may have resigned, to this date he was still in power. Not until that fateful day would he leave his office.

The ocean city of Marseilles slept in the darkness. Being the closest fort was in Perpignan, no attack was expected. Suddenly, two docks carrying a destroyer each were fired upon by nearby targets.

Alarms sounded, and sailors rushed to their ships. However, the docked vessels were already sinking to the water's floor.

"Damnit! Satan has besieged us!" shouted one sailor, looking at the smoke coming out of the fiery port.

The air forces were too slowly mobilized, being all efforts were concentrated on the offensive.

"Sir, they've launched their aircraft."
"Man the turrets and go full speed to the Strait. If they fly into Spanish airspace, hopefully they'll be shot down. I just hope that we don't get shot at for going through their waters."

The jets flew towards the ships, until they were called back by the General of the Air Force himself.

"MEN! Get your asses back to France! We've already pissed off the Euroslav's with our last conflict, don't annoy 'em any more!" the General shouted into his radio.

The planes began to turn around. One was engaged by a RIM missile off of an Italian Destroyer, sending the plane to the watery depths.

Emperor Robinson Antares Scorpius ordered a direct line be opened with the Fuhrer and, after some waiting, finally got through.
"I am very disheartened to hear of the events taking place in Witzgall," he began. "The Imperial First Fleet is currently in the Mediterranean, doing some war games in Tunisia's territorial waters. I can have them sail up to aid you. And, the 200,000 soldiers I had waiting to aid you in the previous war are ready to set sail from Ireland if you require them. I can place the soldiers under your command."

One ship fired its Anti-Aircraft guns at one of the engaging planes, but to no avail. It looked like a warning through Green Sun's eyes.
Suddenly, the radio spoke up.
"This is GS U-B 137. We're running a bit low on fuel. Can you guys get us some more, over?"
"We'll call in to our Airbase in Tunisia for more fuel. How much longer do you think you can manage, over?"
"If we surface now we can make it past the Strait, over."
"Let's stop here. We're in International waters, so they can't do anything right now to us. If they do, we'll shoot 'em down, over."
"Roger. Over and out."

The Fuhrer sat on the phone, his television muted and a cigarette wasting away in the glass ashtray next to a manilla folder. He flipped the folder open, and looked at the images that lay inside. Pictures from overhead, apparently of the battlefield in Stuttgart.

Most of it was unclear through the large amounts of smoke, but he did recognize the chassis of a demolished ST-21.

"Sir. Let me make this absolutely clear. The people of Witzgall, while greatly thankful for the generous support and offer, must....I must say no to your offer. I cannot answer why, but to me and millions of civilians inside our Empire, this is an internal affair. The French and Austrians have crossed the line, and I feel it is necessary for me to deal with them as I see fit. And, although your offer intices me to say yes, as those words yearn for release, I cannot bring myself to do so. As Socrates once said, "The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing." I shall leave you with those words, comrade."

The Fuhrer sat with the phone still in his hand, awaiting something from the Risban who he was speaking with. Although his name slipped his mind, Viechal was still intrigued at how he had gotten the line's secure number code...

The Commonwealth of Taiwanese Islands has warily watched developments within the Witzgallian Empire. The eruption of conflict close to its European position came as a complete shock, and the Defense Intellegence Agency suffered severe criticisms for its perceived clumsiness, and Congress soon resolved to dismantle it.

In reality, DIA has been, for several years now, a huge but inefficient mess that soaks up 15 times more funds than the National Security Agency, while employing only twice as much personnell and engaging half as many research and development works. Several attemps by DIA to unlawfully spy on Commonwealth citizens has all but cost it support from the Senate. This recent mishap was only an excuse.

With that settled, Taiwanese Islands turned her attention towards the conflict itself. Inside the Capitol building, at the top floor, the Privy Council - the ultimate strategy makers of the Commonwealth - assembled.

Emperor Uesugi was the first to speak.

"The Witzgallian Empire is on the legitimate side of this conflict. Perhaps we would have supported France had this happened peacefully, but the oppression of the French people by their Government and their aggressive assault on Germany convinced me that we must pledge support for the Witzgallian Empire."

"But the Witzgallian Empire is a cruel dictatorship," argued President Lee. "The new French Government may not be perfect, but it seems to me that if they gained independence successfully, they will eventually be much better to their people. Let us not forget the principle of Self-Determination - the French people has chose to create their own independent nation. Their cause is the just one."

"I don't think so," Queen Elizabeth said. "The Witzgallian Empire is a formidable power in Europe. We cannot afford to create an enemy out of them. Taiwanese Islands will do well to forge a closer relationship with them through this opportunity.

Govenor-General Cartwright shook her head. "Yes, it is true that the Witzgallian Empire is a powerful player in European affairs. Perhaps too formidable, even. Which is why we cannot allow them to continue down its path. The loss of France would be huge blow to Witzgall, and the weaker our neighbours are, the stronger the Commonwealth will be."

"People, people," President Roh exclaimed. "Why take the risk with Witzgall? The reality is that the Commonwealth must accumulate more power before attempting anything big. With the attention of the world is drawn towards the Witzgallian Civil War, Taiwanese Islands should exploit this opportunity to expand our positions in Europe."

Debate raged for hours but nothing was decided upon. In the end, the Council issued orders for the Commonwealth Forces to mobilize in the Netherlands. The 4th Marine Division is airlifted into Amersterdam, and 2 Carrier Battle Groups begin to make their way towards the European Continent.

Meanwhile, world events have exposed the limitations of only having such a small force as 5 divisions, and the National Security Agency started reviewing plans for expansion of Commonwealth Land Forces.

The Emperor of Risban paused slightly. There appeared to be some commotion on the other line. Finally, he returned.
"Very well, my friend. I understand. Should you require it, however, our fleet is going to remain in the Mediterranean for another week. Our Intelligence Agency is also here should you ever require it. Good luck, Fuhrer Viechal."

Robinson Scorpius hung up, turning to his Foreign Affairs Minister, Alexander Perkins, and intelligence head, who was commonly refered to as Tim.
"He said no.... But I want you to keep an eye on things; for me. Primarily Italy. You can move Shadow Forces in to help monitor things," said the Emperor to his intelligence minister, who nodded and walked off.

The Fuel plains landed on the carrier. The gas was quickly taken from the planes and equally administered to all the ships, although the Subs got a bit more. They sped on, through the strait, ignoring any rules Euroslavia may have set up for the strait and headed to Western Greenland to ready for their takeover of Vermont and New Hampshire.

[{OOC: Risban- Shadow Forces? During a time of war, you'd be lucky if civilians could enter my empire...}]

The Fuhrer hung up the phone with haste, and looked at his watch. Precisely 23.00 hours. Eleven PM. He stared at his watch for a few seconds, and the hands spun at their exact points.

He stood from his seat, and grabbed a matchbook. He slipped it into his pants pocket, and walked over to the door. He put on his coat quickly, and left his office abandoned.

Slowly, the Fuhrer walked down the halls of his headquarters building. Passing armed guards and an ambassador or two, the Fuhrer began to rub his hands together to keep warm. In Germany, all was silent except for the gunfire from the training camps and the occasional tank on patrol. The National Protectorate Service would not let any enemy troops, vehicles, or anything else enter their border without a fight.

----------------------OUTSIDE OF MUNICH----------------------

The soldiers marched onwards, keeping their distance from one another. They were now nearing the city's edge. Now roughly 15 miles outside of the city limits, they began to use binoculars to scout enemy patrols. A nearby dirt road was perfect for an ambush against the German patrols.

In the distance, an ST-21 was easily spotted by a French commando.

"We have a Vehicular Tango, turret." said the soldier, looking through his nightvision binoculars.
"Roger. Keep your distance. Set up the present." replied another, referring to the ambush they would soon prepare.

Two men pulled out claymores from a sack tied around their waste. Holding two each, the men began to go on opposite sides of the dirt road and place their claymores in the ditches on either side. A perfect death trap.

Next, a sniper hid in a nearby bush area, almost perfectly camoflauged except for the barrel peeking its head outside of the bush. The other soldiers attached suppressors to their rifles, and prepared for morning.

The ST-21 stopped at the city limits, and the tank commander peeked his head out. He scanned the area with nightvision binoculars and imaging equipment. Nothing was seen. All was clear through his eyes...

----------------------IN STUTTGART----------------------

Nightfall fell onto the city. The soldiers fired their guns like wildfire, trying to penetrate the still-dense fog of smoke and rubble. Blocks of concrete and shattered buildings laid still in the city streets, with blood and bodies all around them.

The Germans continued to hold their ground and defend the city, against all odds and the fear of death had long left each soldiers' worn body.

Civilians stayed indoors, abandoned cars sat in the middle of streets, puddles of blood and lost organs sat in the seeping filth that was upon the city of Stuttgart.

Hundreds dead on each side. No obvious winner. The battle rages on...

"STUPID FRENCHIES!" shouted a German soldier, firing an AT-4 into the clouds of dust. A loud explosion was heard. Possibly a hit on an enemy Abrams.

Suddenly, flames began to spew out of the dust. Still nobody could see the opposition, but the pure heat the flame was giving off was a tell tale sign to the Germans: The French were using flamethrowers. In urban warfare, almost nothing compared to the terror stricken into your heart when you felt the sweat drip off of your forehead.

A flame burned into the armor of four German soldiers nearby, hiding behind a large piece of rubble. The flame hit the rubble, and some of the lit gas came around its sides. The fire was intense, especially in these conditions.

Two more F-16s flew overhead. One dropped two dumb bombs on the city, causing a large hole in the middle of a road. Another was shot down by a German Stinger operater. The plane's left wing disintegrated from the hit, and it collided with a nearby corporation headquarters. The building collapsed sideways, crushing a small apartment complex. The complex was now a large tower of rubble and fire.

Fire and smoke filled the streets for miles. Nobody could see anything. Well, not clearly anyways.

The French Abrams began to fire at buildings, hoping to cause a more dense smoke cloud to further obstruct the Germans from being effective in their defense. The Germans continued their barrage of mortar fire and anti tank missile weaponry, as well as heavy assault rifle fire. They tried to hold off as much as possible.

The French Sixth Light Group rolled into place sixteen miles outside of Stuttgart. They laid in the thinly wooded forest, with their mortars and towed howitzers in place. The 6th LG was a very small force, but it was their long range indirect land warfare skills that were perfect for the mission.

The operators and soldiers loaded the artillery shells and assorted rounds into their respective guns and prepared for precise firing. They would unleash a hell-like barrage of indirect devestating fire upon the city, rooting all resistance out of the city and put the Germans positioned in Stuttgart into full retreat. Or at least thats what was planned...

Four M270 MLRS systems rolled into the forests. Each carrying MGM-140 ATACMS, these bitches would add to the rainy death that would soon fall upon Stuttgart. Equipped with bomblet warheads, these missiles would demolish the city and have it fall to pieces within a few minutes.

Also in place were eight Caesar 155mm howitzers, also using bomblet ammunition. Capable of taking out an area of 300 acres from roughly thirty kilometers, these howitzers would surely help destroy the city.

If the French couldn't take Stuttgart, they would destroy it...

----------------------IN STUTTGART----------------------

The Germans remained to rain down bullet after bullet of fire upon the French advancement. They were trusted to protect Stuttgart and all of Germany, and they would do so.

A German soldier's AR-42 jammed. He tried to clear the jam, thinking it was a simple cartridge stuck in the ejection system. After popping the breech open, he discovered different. Oddly enough, there was no cartridge. He tried to fire again. Click click.

"What the fuck?!" exclaimed the soldier. He laid behind a large chunk of steel and dirt, protecting him from enemy fire as he tried to fix his gun. The soldier took off his helmet and wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

As he did this, more and more men and women died. Bullets and explosions shook the city in horror. Each man and woman fought for their life, as well as their country's.

Frustrated, the soldier threw his rifle to the ground and pulled out his secondary: a H&K SOCOM. He fired off four rounds into the smoke, and ducked back down behind the rubble.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed. The building across the street to his left, a book store, suddenly exploded after he said this. Shit...artillery. the soldier thought to himself. He peeked his head out to the side of the rubble.

He couldn't see anything that was more than fifty feet ahead of him. The smoke was clearing, but it was doing so very, very slowly. He fired off two more rounds from his pistol, hoping for a lucky shot or possibly the edge to scare off a soldier or two.

His comrades continued to fire into the smoke, enter buildings, and throw grenades. They tried everything humanly possible to kill the French opposition.

The soldier ejected the magazine and quickly counted the rounds. Six left. he thought to himself. He ran across the street to get cover behind the now-demolished book store. Firing three rounds as he ran, he reached the bookstore quickly.

He peeked his head around the corner. Still no sign of a Frenchman...he checked his pulse quickly. Very high. Dangerously high. He was panting from the running and the pure adrenaline his heart was pumped with. It was as if he was on a steroid rush, but it was natural.

He peeked around the corner again, seeing if anything had changed. Nothing...odd, he thought.

A large burst of an explosion shook the street. To his left, just two blocks down, a large artillery strike had just bombarded the street. Now all that was there were six of his dead comrades and a giant hole.

"Mother fuckers..." the soldier said. He peeked around the corner. The smoke obscured his vision so much it was if his eyes were useless. Looking to his left again, he saw the first sign of life. Although happy somebody was alive, his happiness and joy were quickly disrupted and dissolved when he noticed it was a French Abrams and four French soldiers.

"Awww shit." the soldier said. He rushed around the corner, trying to hide himself from the French. Looking around him, all he saw was rubble and dead bodies. He muttered some curses to himself, and discarded his three round magazine and replaced it with another box of twelve.

Then the shine of his comrade's rifle caught his eye. It may have been on a dead body of a former friend, but he needed to worry about his ass right now. He rushed over to the body and grabbed the AR-42. He also grabbed a few pistol magazines and a HE grenade.

"Fuckin' Frenchies." the soldier said, grabbing the rifle and rushed back to the corner. He peeked around, and still the enemy tank and soldiers were there. The soldier didn't have a rocket launcher.

He brushed some smoke off of his cheeks and chin before he looked again. He was filthy, but such was a price you pay to save your life. War was not a clean sport.

He looked around the corner. The tank had turned around, and was now facing opposite of him. He took this as a signal to strike.

He quickly tied two HE grenades together, and pulled the pin out of one. Not yet releasing the safety, he waited for all four soldiers to not be facing him. He looked once more. Perfect. Nobody was looking in his direction.

With a precise lob, the soldier threw the grenade right next to the tank's treads. Two of the soldiers looked down at it.

"GRENADE!" shouted one, rushing away from the tank and next to a building. The grenade exploded, and it set off the second one. The explosive charge of both grenades combined blew off part of the Abram's track, disabling the tank. It also incapacitated two of the soldiers and killed one.

The soldier switched his rifle to fully automatic, and began to fire at the running soldiers. Killing one of the incapacitated and the fully capable soldiers, he only had one "limper" on his hands. He rushed down the street, careful to be aware of any other soldiers.

The German soldier aimed his rifle at the limping soldier. Suddenly, a large amount of blood squirted out of his head. The German collapsed on the floor with a rifle round hole in his head. The limping soldier looked behind him to notice the fearless enemy now dead, in a puddle of blood and flesh.

----------------------IN STUTTGART----------------------

The dust and smoke had cleared. Now, surrounding the once-beautiful city, were dead bodies, blood, concrete, disgarded rifles and pistols, ammunition, demolished tanks, and much more devestation and blood curdling sights.

Woman laid in the streets. They died protecting their children, their city, their culture. For what? Nobody knows.

With the smoke gone, the battlefield was a total shock. Buildings that stood over fifty stories high were now just six feet of concrete and deformed steel. The remains of civilian cars were totally lost in the piles of ash and settled dust. Steel beams and blocks of metal and concrete blocked the streets.

The Germans had been defeated once more. Although they showed their nationalism to its fullest extent, they had been massacred in this city. The French infantrymen began to claim the patches of the dead, taking them as tokens of victory.

The German soldiers were stripped of identity. Those who survived, which the numbers are under one hundred, were captured by the invasion force and most were executed. However, some were spared and sent back to either Orleans or Rennes with the other captives from Freiburg. There they would go through untold pain...

Stuttgart had fallen. France and Austria, now calling their "aliance" the "Federation of Greater Europe", had a strongpoint in Southern Germany.

----------------------PARIS, FRANCE----------------------

The Prime Minister, Howard Taufels, sat in his office. He smoked a cigarette, and looked at the French Ambassador to Germany. The man, dressed in a suit and tie with a small briefcase next to his seat, refused all offers of a smoke.

"So...Mister Taufels, your High Minister, what shall I do?" asked the Ambassador.
"Mister....ugh, what is your name again? Excuse my mind, it plays horrible tricks upon me." the Minister said, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray.
"It is fine. Mister Mason. Robert Mason."
"Ah. Alright."

The Prime Minister looked to his right, and stared out of the window. Although his view did not include the Eiffel Tower, it was still a beautiful sight of the city of Paris. The Prime Minister looked at Mason, and smiled.

"Order Operation Chocolate Latte. Send the orders now, tell them to warrant a twenty six hour delay." the Minister said, searching for another cigarette.

Although he wasn't addicted to his cigarettes, the war had put so much stress upon his aging body, being that he was fifty years old, that he needed to retake the habit. After becoming victorious in his search, he pocketed the new pack and escorted the ambassador out of his chambers.

The Ambassador left his office, and Taufels lit his cigarette and peered outside of the left window. He enjoyed his scenic view quite well. It calmed him, but he still found it necessary to enjoy a smoke.

----------------------BERLIN, GERMANY----------------------

Fuhrer Viechal sat in his office, awaiting one of his Generals to burst in shortly with recent news of the war's fronts. However, it had been thirty minutes of waiting without a single result. He was getting anxious. He yearned to hear news of the French getting slaughtered in Stuttgart, yet no news had come.

He sat, desolate and in total silence. No phone rang, no wind was heard from outside. Not even the heating unit made a noise. It was if he was going through sensory deprivation, and it was causing him to stir inside with thoughts of mental illness.

He looked out of his window, staring into the slow and steady fall of snow upon the German city. He watched as his guards stood in full attention, saluting passerbys and waving on the occasional car or jeep. Security was at its highest level, and nobody without permission was allowed into the compound of what had become known as "The Graveyard".

Only those who work for the Fuhrer or were of some sort of importance in the military were allowed in. Those who weren't were either told to leave, or were imprisoned in one of the older barracks buildings and awaited interrogation by a staff officer.

Viechal sat there, staring into the window and subliminally counting the snowflakes as they fell. He did not realize what he was doing until his eyes became so unfocused he saw only black and a small white haze. He jerked his head back, and began to concentrate once more.

The crosshairs came to a rest on his forehead. The man, wearing a black balaclava and using a high power scope, watched as the Fuhrer turned around and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. You bastard... the man thought, focusing his scope.

He carried an old rifle, a M1903A4. It was equipped with the standard M84 scope. Even if it was considered vintage, the rifle was quite accurate and extremely beautiful.

The man monitored the Fuhrer through his scope. On a nearby table laid a cellular phone, a digital camera, and an electronic rangefinder. Also laying on the table was the newspaper, detailing the French Minister's speech and declaration of war. It was an old issue, even if by just two weeks or so. He did not care for the mindless shit the media spewed about, the newspaper was for pure reference and was most likely purchased out of boredom.

The man focused the scope's telescopic lense with a slight adjustment. Perfect... he thought.

The sharpshooter watched as his target walked back to his desk, slowly leaving the scope's line of sight. The sharpshooter kept his patience, and waited another five minutes without a target before pulling his rifle and bipod off of the windowsill and placing it on the floor. He walked back to the small apartment's kitchen table, and sat down. He looked up at the cieling, and then decided to make something to eat.

His target would be claimed, soon enough. Those were his words almost every day as he talked to himself about his "mission": Soon enough....soon enough I will get him....

[{OOC: Risban- Shadow Forces? During a time of war, you'd be lucky if civilians could enter my empire...}]

((OOC: Well, they may have been there already. Risban did have refugees in your empire and people delivering supplies during the Euroslavia war. :p They don't do anything; just watch and report))



Dublin Castle, Ireland
Emperor Robinson Antares Scorpius paced back and forth in his office, hands folded behind his back as he did. He had plenty of reasons to be happy at the moment; he had just bought Algeria and the resistance had shrunk from 130,000 to 30,000 there. But Europe was in shatters, and that scared the young Emperor of Risban.
With revolutions triggering a civil war in Witzgall, ideas may spread to other's. Radicals may think that, if people can do it to Witzgall, people can do it to Risban. However, Witzgall was quite larger... But, the threat was still there.
Scorpius also did not know how these new governments rising in Witzgall's remains would be in their foreign policies. France was quite close to Ireland, and the Emperor didn't want any trouble in the capital of his empire.
Troubled times indeed.

----------------------BERLIN, GERMANY----------------------

The guards patrolled, each carrying the standard Neo-Gestapo issued rifle, the MSG90. A very formidable opponent on the battlefield, it was a perfect rifle for issue to the forces whose sole purpose was to protect the Fuhrer.

The sharpshooter sat at the windowsill, peeking through binoculars and monitoring the guards' movements. Apparently, they swapped roles between gatesmen and front patrol every hour, on the hour. A minimum of two men were assigned to each position, and there were (to his knowledge) six positions of guard.

Two positions were that of sharpshooters and spotsmen, one group of the two in each watchtower. They were the exception to the routine: they rotated out roughly every two hours. The other four positions consisted of the front gate, the front door guard to the headquarters building, the compound patrol, and outside perimeter guard. On occasion, some soldiers would exit the headquarters building and patrol the compound, but this occured every three to four hours.

The sharpshooter watched the guards switch out of their roles, some entering the building while others just changing positions from gatesmen to perimeter and so on. At precisely six thirty five PM, or eighteen thirty five military standard time, there were only four guards outside of the building. This only lasted for exactly four minutes every day, however, as after those four minutes the other guards from inside exited and maintained the daily routine.

The sharpshooter scribbled some notes, such as the equipment of the guards and the vehicles in the compound. He knew that once he fired the shot, he would have the entire nation searching for him. He had to know what he was up against if he wanted to survive the onslaught and door to door search...

----------------------MUNICH, GERMANY----------------------

The patrol was unleashed outside of the city. The French commandos watched as two ST-21s approached them, surrounded by maybe twenty four soldiers. The commandos watched as the soldiers and tanks swept the road, looking for any signs of the enemy.

"On four." said one commando, referring to the claymores being detonated. He counted softly, down from five. On the approach of one, just as the word rolled off of his tongue, his comrade clicked.

The four claymores exploded, sending hundreds of steel ball bearings into the air in a cloud of fierce pain around the soldiers. Four were instantly killed as the balls ripped through their facial flesh and penetrated the skull. Another was left without the use of his left arm.

The rest of them who could fight did. A firefight began to outbreak, with hudnreds of rounds being spewed against each other.

"AMBUSH! COVER YOURSELF!" shouted a German soldier, firing his AR-42 at the French commandos, who were still semi-hidden in the thick grass. The French stayed low, occasionally firing upon the tanks and soldiers with their rifles. The Germans were greatly confused by the different angles of fire.

A German threw a smoke grenade at his foot, to cover his comrades and himself. The smoke spilled out of the canister and into the atmosphere.

"Lost visual!" shouted a French soldier. The ST-21s began to fire into the grass, hitting targets roughly 150m out. Eight French soldiers were quickly annihilated by a tank round hitting them whole prone.

The other French, noting that they had clearly screwed up in this operation, surrendered. The Germans executed each one by a shot to the back of the neck, leaving their dead bodies roadside as a warning.

----------------------KARLSRUHE, GERMANY----------------------

German ST-21s and soldiers began to positions themselves to expect an assault coming from the "Federation." An assault coming from newly taken Stuttgart was expected by possibly nightfall, or early in the morning.

Armed soldiers patrolled the streets, sharpshooters sat inside buildings and other concealed locations, and tanks rolled down streets and parked behind some buildings to conceal themselves. Heavy machine guns, such as M2HBs, were placed behind sandbag barriers to provide heavy covering fire. Anti tank weapons, such as Predators and Javelins, were also placed behind the sandbags and also on the roofs, near the snipers and scouts.

Mortars were in strategic locations, and LAVs and TOW equipped Hummers patrolled the streets. Such was the case, not only in Karlsruhe, but as well as in Munich, Passau, Ausburg, and numerous others. Austria was expected to possibly assault Passau, or try to invade Munich with a larger force than that used by the French.

The "Federation" was becoming a feared enemy of the Empire, and they needed to silence its fundamentalist views before more died in the hellish battles that were occuring.

----------------------KARLSRUHE, GERMANY----------------------

10:34, AM
The forces within the city were called upon to act on Operation "Redemption." The plan was to force a retreat of the Federation by counter invading strategic cities in Germany that had fallen to their control, starting with Stuttgart. The tanks, soldiers, and other vehicles mobilized out of the city.

11:56, AM
The city was empty. Only a small group of soldiers and two ST-21s remained inside the city of Karlsruhe. In Hellbronn, the scene was almost identical. All of the forces had rolled out and headed towards Stuttgart to plague the French with death and devestation.

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

12:38, PM
The French soldiers had lay waste upon Stuttgart. Some had begun to scavenge the city for rifles, money, and tokens of the German's defeat. Ha, was hell going to get them...

1:12, PM
"SIR! WE HAVE A SIGHTING!" shouted a spotter from atop a rooftop of a building. He was sitting in the attic of a building, apparently an apartment, and had a perfect view of the horizon from his concealed spot.

"What is it, soldier?" exclaimed a nearby Seargent, calling to his comrade from the street below. The French soldiers had set up M60s and M249s all throughout the city at intersections to stop any invasion of the city. The streets were a deathtrap...

"GERMANS, SIR!" shouted the spotter, grabbing his Tango 51 sniper rifle from its resting place and walking to a large opening in the wall to speak with the Seargent.

"Germans, eh? What the hell are they doing?!" shouted the Seargent, loading a fresh magazine into his Colt Commando. He looked at his fellow soldiers in the streets near him as they rushed to their machine gun posts and aimed at the street corners, waiting for that first German to come into view.

"MEN! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!" shouted the Seargent, switching his Commando to full automatic firing. He grabbed a radio and called for location spots.

A loud "BANG" cracked through the air. In the distance, the German soldiers scattered as the a Master Seargent in his jeep transport fell out of the doorway with a bullet in his head.

"FIRST SHOT RECORDED! HALT!" shouted the Seargent, commanding his officers to stop their fire until they could accurately kill the enemy. They waited. Snipers positioned the heads of the enemy in their telescopic sights.

"FIRE!" shouted another soldier nearby, unleashing several rounds out of his M249 at the close Germans. The German forces were now just outside of Stuttgart, possibly a third of a mile away from the first building within the city.

"WE DO NOT STOP UNTIL ALL OF THEM ARE DEAD! DO NOT RETREAT, OR I WILL SHOOT YOU MYSELF!" shouted a Marshal, screaming at the top of his lungs at his fellow German soldiers. All of the Germans replied with a simple "aye" towards themselves, and began to rush towards the city.

The Fuel plains landed on the carrier. The gas was quickly taken from the planes and equally administered to all the ships, although the Subs got a bit more. They sped on, through the strait, ignoring any rules Euroslavia may have set up for the strait and headed to Western Greenland to ready for their takeover of Vermont and New Hampshire.


OOC: I hope you do realize that you would never make it through the strait without my permission.


IC: Euroslavia, though previously in conflict with the Witzgallian Empire, has made the decision of supporting the current government, and has reserved its right to once again, invade France, to stop this civil war before it tears Witzgall to shreds. We cannot allow this to be happening in the country of our neighbors, and wish to help Witzgall re-build from the previous war, as well as help them sweep up the French and Austrian forces.

Green Sun sends this message to Euroslavia:
We apologize for hastily sending our fleet through your waters. If we can make it up to you, we will respond with your demands.

For now, we will allow Green Sun ships to pass by, however, let it be known that if we catch you doing anything that would hurt our nation, our nations' allies, or the Witzgallian Empires' current government, it will be immediately closed off to you.

We assure you we would never dream of hurting Euroslavia or Witzgall unless it was extreme conditions.

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

A grenade flies through the air. Bang, it explodes and sends metal shards throughout the air. One catches a Frenchman straight in the neck. He goes to the ground, in a heaping convulsion as his jugular vein capsizes from the metal shard.

"SHIT!" shouts a nearby soldier, rushing over to his wounded comrade and begins firing sporadic bursts from his M16A4. "MAN THOSE GUNS!!" he shouts, stopping his firing for a second to throw a grenade at the Germans who are now into the city.

A grenade explodes nearby the injured soldier and his comrade, and the man's gun shakes loose out of his hand and the soldier goes deaf. Only a loud ring is heard in his brain. He sees his companions shouting orders to others and possibly himself, but he cannot understand them. He feels his right ear.

A liquid is pooring down, presumably blood. He pulls his hand from his ear. Red. Blood. Fuck.

A bullet flies by his head, followed by another. Across the street and to his left, a large steel pillar begins to shake. Oh shit...not now, not now...please God not now...

The steel begins to bend. The man crawls behind the sandbags in front of him, and lies next to his fallen comrade. He tries to fire off the M249, but its belt is empty. Damn....talk about shitty luck....

He grabs his fallen friend's M16A4 and launches a 40mm grenade at two German soldiers who have taken "base" behind a small apartment. The grenade hits one of the soldier's feet, blowing it straight to hell and back.

He can't even hear the screams of pain. He's oblivious to the world. The other German fires his AR-42 at him, but the rounds just barely miss. He takes on in the shoulder, but he can take the pain. Adrenaline makes up for it.

A seargent rushes up to him and taps him on the back. He looks at his comrade, who is shouting empty words at him. The seargent looks at his comrade, and the words "Oh shit, you're deaf." are clearly mouthed.

A bullet hits the seargent straight in the neck. Fuck! Snipers! The most feared enemy alive on the battlefield, the war sharpshooter. The seargent falls to the ground, now lying in perhaps the largest lake of blood there is.

He looks around with panic, trying to locate the shooter. A round hits dead on into the sandbag, almost piercing straight through. He sees the sand burst upwards and out of the bag at the point of impact. He begins to fire, full automatic, the M16 at the opposing Germans.

A German fires an entire magazine at the man, hitting him once in the helmet and once in the hand. The Frenchman stops his firing, and quickly rolls over. His back is covered in the blood of his comrades.

It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it....it is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it... The words of MacArthur pierce into his brain, killing all knowledge of pain and fear. He grabs the M16A4 and stands up from the pool of blood.

Pain screams in his nerves from his fingers and hand as the blood trickles down the magazine of his rifle. He fires off six single rounds, killing one German.

BANG. All is lost. Darkness. No more sunlight for this man. A .338 Lapua has just hit him straight in the heart. His rifle hits the ground, bouncing once and coming to a rest. His body falls like a dead weight, hitting the ground hard and fast.

More and more gunfire rains through the city as an intense firefight continues. The death toll is large and saddening right now, with unknown numbers...most likely in the thousands by now, possibly even past the one hundred thousand mark.

[{OOC: Euro, please don't attack France until...well, you'll see in a few days. Just be ready...}]

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

The sharpshooter sits in the field, just two hundred meters from the city. He killed that pesky German before he could kill another one of his comrades. He's doing his job, and doing it well.

The sharpshooter, Sniper Specialist Steven Acceturro, looks through his rifle's scope. Ten times telescopic lense? No. This man packs a twelve.

He slides the bolt forward and down, chambering a perfect tool of death. He looks at the crosshair from his eye's position of three inches behind the scope. His .338 inch Lapua Magnum M-52 rifle (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=389453) rests in his hand, an instrument of death behind man's unfaithful hands.

He's concentrating so hard, not thinking of the fact that he's about to take a human life as his sight rests upon another Frenchman. He sees this man as the enemy, nothing more nothing less. Just another prick who wants to kill one of his friends. Survival of the fittest.

"Don't stop for nothing its full speed or nothing
I am taking down you know whatever is in my way
Getting your kicks as you are shooting the line
Sending the shivers up and down your spine..."

BANG. Another round fires down the barrel as the bolt strikes it, and down goes another French soldier. Acceturro keeps his eye on the scope as the French soldier falls to the ground, a bullet in his chest.

He slides the bolt upward and back, ejecting the empty casing. He then slides it forward and down again, loading the next fresh tool of his trade.

He aims through his sights, trying to locate the next target. War is personal when you're a sniper. It's not a matter of protecting your country, it's a matter of protecting your friends.

Acceturro adjusts his scope, rendering it to its full magnification. He guesses at the range of his next victim, another seargent who has grips on a M60A3. The man is firing chaotically, and Acceturro just watched two of his friends die because of him. Fucker... he whispers, aiming straight at the seargent's head.

BANG. The round hits the building behind the seargent. A flyer, the kind of thing a sniper prays not to happen.

He ejects the casing and a new round is slid in by the magazine. He looks for the enemy, the seargent who is destined to die.

"Those people who tell you not to take chances
They are all missing on what life is about
You only live once so take hold of the chance
Don't end up like others the same song and dance."

BANG. This time the seargent tried to run, but the Magnum nailed him straight in his lower spine. The Frenchman falls to the ground, dying slowly from the snapping of his spinal chord.

"Living and dying laughing and crying
Once you have seen it you will never be the same
Life in the fast lane is just how it seems
Hard and it is heavy dirty and mean."

The magazine is empty. Acceturro releases from his cheek rest, and loads a new ten round box into his rifle. He looks down the scope again, looking for a new target...

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

Two French Abrams M1A2 roll into the city. One, with a small "battering bumper" made in Austrian factories, nails into a small apartment building and knocks down half of the front wall.

Four soldiers rush in after the tank pulls out of the wall, scrambling over the shattered brick and rushing up the stairs. A grenade bounces off of the wall, and blows the wooden stairs into pieces before the French even step foot on the first step.

Two of the French leap over the gap in the stairs and continue to rush upstairs. One, who rushes around the corner, is greeted by a shotgun blast to the chest from around the wall. He flies backwards, up against the wall, with blood spattered all over.

A large explosion ripples as a 88mm mortar round nails the building's roof, and the roof collapses in on the two Germans who were taking position inside. The French soldiers also die, as the whole building capsizes. Even the tank is forced to be abandoned as brick and shale nail it.

An AT-4 launcher is fired at the other Abrams, but its ERA armor deflects the shot. The German anti-tank team is gunned down by the 7.62 and 12.7mm guns on the tank, and the French continue to rain hell on the city.

"SHOW NO FEAR!" shouts a German soldier, firing his AR-42 at the enemy troops. Explosions shake the ground, and he falls as his ankle breaks by tremendous force being pushed on it.

He cries out in pain, and he dies quickly as two rounds pierce his neck and chest. Kevlar isn't fairing so well in this battle...

----------------------BERLIN, GERMANY----------------------

The sniper peeks out his window, but still no sight of the Fuhrer. It has been three days, and the Fuhrer has yet to return to his office. Where the hell could he be?

A sharpshooter is taught to be one of the most patient beings on the surface of our world, but his training is soon to go out the window...

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

BANG. The repetition of the loud noise is continous. Acceturro watches as victim after victim, the French make their graves. Each time one crosses the street or peeks out from cover, he is watched. He is shot. He is dead.

There is no escaping this man, this man who his fellow soldiers have nicknamed him "Murder Incorporated." He is used to the name, as it shows a sign of respect and fear.

Each victim adds a new number. Calling on number 62, you're order's ready. Another round leaves the barrel, and Acceturro swiftly reloads the bolt and chamber. He checks his windage drum for any sign of movement, but all is well. The crosshairs are steady inside his scope.

A infantrymen of Austria looks out from behind a building. The Austrian, definetly a sharpshooter, wields Steyr-Mannlicher SSG-PII, most likely in the .243 inch round. The Austrian fires a round and kills a German, forcing the .243 round straight through the man's neck.

Son of a bitch.... Acceturro thinks to himself, looking for a shot on the well covered Austrian.

"Time for lust, time for lie
time to kiss your life goodbye."

The words of the song hit into Acceturro's mind as he feels sweat on his forehead. His fingers rest on the trigger, waiting for the shot. Without warning, the Austrian tries to rush down the street towards a sandbag and M60A3.

Acceturro gives him lead. BANG. The round misses his chest, but hits him straight in the side. The Austrian's legs give out, and he falls to his feet. His rifle is tossed ahead of him. Acceturro wastes no time, quickly rechambering and ejecting the round.

He fires again. A flyer. Son of a bitch. The Austrian scrambles behind a building, clenching onto his rifle. He grabs hold of his leg, which bleeds out. The Austrian very slowly peeks his head out from behind the building. He slides back, and grabs his rifle in preparation. Infared is engaged.

He looks out from his position, and tries to spot Acceturro. Acceturro watches as his enemy, the Austrian bastard, scouts the field for his position. The red glow of the infared is easily seen by Acceturro, who fires and sends a round into the Austrian's head, just above the scope.

Deep down amongst the waters of the mediterranean, something was stirring. Dark shapes split the water, and a slight hum resonated. There was something wrong, this was not normal.

The dark shapes begin to get clearer, less blurry, and they take on the shape of giant steel tubes, with a bulge emanating from the top of each. Eighteen can be counted now, as the steel whales swim closer.

Details appear on the figures, bolts and outcroppings, and on top, hatches. These are submarines, these are the underwater kings. As the submarines pass majestically, a small emblem can be seen, a white cross on a black background, with an Iron Cross at the centre. These vessels belong to The Empire of Intelligent Neighbors.

The mysterious shapes drift away behind you, and the humming softens.

~~

Off the south coast of North Italy, the mediterranean lies peacefully, gentle waves breaking the surface. Suddenly, dark humps break the surface, water sliding off their gleaming surfaces. The submarines have surfaced.

As the water drains from on top of them, hatches slide open with a metallic clink. The sound of grinding cogs is heard, and slowly platforms rise from the hatch openings.

Sitting on each platform is a Nemesis F-201 ZFighter, and in each sits a pilot, checking his cockpit instruments. The cogs stop, and seconds later jet engines start up, screaming their fury into the night air.

Thirty-six planes lift into the air, and vectoring their engine nozzles they speed inland, flying over allied territory, for now.

~~

Dawn is hours away, and the Nemesis planes are rapidly homing in on their target, a major railway convoy heading down the main railway to Stuttgart. The leader of the flight, Kino Jagdt, flicked on his radio and broadcast a quick message to his teamates.

"We are approaching enemy territory, keep low, and let our stealth systems do the job."

The planes dove, and sped along at Mach 1.2 toward the strike zone. They passed the frontline quickly, flashing past the surprised French soldiers, who could see nothing in the dark, or get any info from their radar. Further inland, a small AA battery opened up, spewing flak and tracers into the night sky. The Nemesis ignored the minor threat, and carried on toward their target.

A little later, the planes approached the area where the strike was scheduled, and sure enough Agent Maloki had done his job, a beacon only detectable to the Nemesis planes guided them to their target.

The planes quickly banked, and flew east, to come up behind the train. This they did, and soon they saw the dim lights of the train in the distance. They slowed, and gradually drew up behind the train.

"Lock n' Load gentlemen, the strike is GO." Kino called out across the radio. His fellow pilots acknowledged him, and began to drift into an attacking formation.

Out of nowhere, a streak of light struck upwards from the plane, flying toward the Nemesis planes.

"INCOMING!" Kino called, and slammed his plane to the left, not taking any chances with the planes auto-evasion. His teamates did the same, rolling away to the sides, and the missile plunged through them, it's targeting systems unable to track the manoevrable Nemesis planes.

Tracer fire suddenly burst from the train, illuminating it with orange light. The fire was random, trying to hit a plane with a lucky burst.

"Damn" thought Kino, and then he flipped up his missile selection switch and guided his virtual cursor over the target. With two presses, two Thumbtack air to surface missiles detached from his wings with a glitter, and slammed into the front carriage of the enemy train, turning it into a huge fireball as they hit. The carriage span onto it's side, and scraped along the track, adding yet more sparks to the inferno. The train crumpled, and carriages were thrown off onto the sides of the track.

The other pilots began to blast the huge convoy, their Thumbtack missiles and cannon fire blazing into the fray. Explosions rocked the air, and shards of metal were thrown high into the air, as the Nemesis planes relentlessly poured their fury into the enemy.

Tanks, being transported to the front, were thrown by the explosions, many being hit by missiles and turning into firy wreaks. Others landed upside down, and the Nemesis pilots skillfully blasted their cannon's lead into the underbelly, shredding the inside with ease.

Fires illuminated the scene, and hot smoke was visible in the sky. Kino called out to his teamates over the radio: "Search for the target, and designate it for destruction."

The Nemesis planes began to slowly fly over the massive wreakage of the train, searching for the target they had come to destroy. Over the radio came the voice of a pilot, saying that Target A had been found. A beacon appeared on the Deity systems of the planes, and Kino turned towards the area, climbing as he did so. The others cleared the area, and Kino carefully lined up the laser guided bomb he carried, in exchange for less missiles.

"Bombs away, time to go home boys."

The planes turned and sped back the way they had come, behind them, Target A erupted in a huge fireball, as the bomb did it's work.

~~

The pilots were feeling elated as they neared the border into friendly territory again, they had been sucessful, and no-one was hurt...

Blips began to appear on the radar, rapidly approaching from behind. "Shit", muttered Kino, "enemy aviation". The pilots tensed, and watched their backs, urging their planes to go faster. They had no air to air missiles installed, as they hoped to be clear of the enemy before they were needed. Evidently not.

The enemy caught up rapidly, obviously their planes were far faster. All the Nemesis pilots could do was to cross their fingers and hope. The Nemesis planes systems suddenly began to sound warnings, 'Missile Inbound, Take Evasive Action." The pilots dived and weaved, hoping to use their agility to the maximum effect, but still the missiles closed. Countermeasures sprung from the back of the aircraft, detonating some of the missiles prematurely. There were too many though...

The missiles hit. All around Kino planes sprung into fire, wings being torn off, tails blasted away. Screams rent the radio, and parachutes opened. Suddenly Kino was flung forward in his seat, and he was aware of wounds to his back. He looked around, and saw that his plane had no tail, and was going down. He punched the ejector button, and was blasted out of the plane, parachute opening above him. "Shit" he thought.

Twenty-two planes made it back to the submarines, who quickly dived and slunk away. Six more crash landed in friendly territory, with one pilot dying as a result. Four planes were completely destroyed by missiles, killing the pilots instantly, and the remaining four were all shot down over enemy territory, with the pilots ejecting at the last moment. One pilot drifted down to the ground dead, cut to shreds by shrapnel.

The three survivors behind enemy lines included Kino, and they began to hide in the area, using the natural terrian as cover. Come daybreak, they would be hunted men.

The wreckage of the massive "Mammoth Four" traingun was left in the wreckage. Burning still, and it continued through nighttime. Come daybreak, F16s and A-10 Warthogs, as well as assorted MBTs, LAVs, and Helicopters began to search for the downed crafts and pilots.

Two F-16s spotted a burning plane, and immediatly identified it as an F-201 Nemesis. Witzgall had manufactured these and sold off the rights to Intelligent Neighbors. Tiny, but pests on the field.

A helicopter was called in, and the five man crew searched the area for survivors. One man was found, and instead of taking him into prison, the soldiers immediatly field-executed him. Attacks against the Holy French/Austrian Empire would not be permitted, and there were no excuses.

Construction on the "Mammoth Five" traingun was immediatly put onto the drawing table for the French/Austrian Empire, as they needed heavy artillery to take down the Swiss, Germans, and soon even the Italians.

OOC: Im on Earth III and Im a good distance away. I know this post is a bit of a non entity but I wish to express my opinions on this.

IC: Kirsty was watching more reports and videos of the fighting, it war brutal and loked like it would be a little drawn out even if it was just due to the size of the nations involved. She turned her chair away from the East wall and returned to facing her desk, her back to the open South window. It was mid afternoon outside, and the city in full motion.

Witzgall was a not a nation approved of by Notquiteaplace, it was run by a dictator, and was somewhat warlike, however a fundamentalist state that had been known to be so self righteous already was little better.

She turned to her aide. "The government and parliament see this as a non event for us. The press however, are looking for story are they not?"
"Why, yes maam" he replied. "Well, the Daily Gold and the NQP Disc are",
"Those papers have always been against our government, just issue them a statement. We do not wish to support either side as we disagree with them both. Tell them we would support a democratic movement, but do not wish to interfere unless such a movement were to occur and gather much support."

She chuckled.

"Don't tell them I laughed though".
"Of course not"

The aide walked silently accross the carpet of the large office, by the time he crossed it she was already reading something else. He closed the huge door without making a sound and crept off down the corridoor to do his job.

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

Three AS 555 Fennec light helicopter flies overhead of the battlefield that was once a calm and peaceful city. Now, reduced to rubble and ash, it looks as if it was straight from a page in the history book during World War II. Fire, ash, bodies...anything living had a gun in its hand. Anything dead just lay there, almost as if it had found peace.

One Fennec fired two 68mm rockets at a German ST-21. The tank shrugged off the first hit, but the second hit it straight in the tracks. Fire erupted on the tank, incinerating the crew fast.

A Dragoon was fired at another Fennec, causing the tail rotor to give out.

"ABANDON!" shouted the pilot, kicking open the side door and leaping onto a roof that was six feet away. The helicopter hit the ground in a sudden nose dive, killing the co-pilot and badly injuring two commandos inside.

"FIRE!" shouted a German soldier, firing off automatic rounds of 7.62mm ammunition from his MSG-90 rifle. Bullets began to pierce the plexiglass shield, as well as hitting the rotors. The two trapped commandos tried to grab hold of their rifles.

One managed to grab an MP5K from the safety emergency bag onboard, and began to fire single shots into the distance and crowds of German soldiers. It's 9mm rounds were useless.

Two 7.62mm rounds hit him in his chest, one causing his lung to collapse inside of his body. He couldn't breath. His life slowly began to tick away...

The other commando's eyes begin to dialate from the fumes of gasoline emmitting from the helicopter's tank.

~~~~~~~~~

Acceturro lines up the shot. Through his scopes he watches as the two remaining AS 555s try to land.

BANG. He launches a .338 Magnum round straight into the first helicopter's pilot's head. The pilot falls onto the floor, with a round straight in his skull. Acceturro quickly reloads.

BANG. The Ghillie suit turns red. Killed by an enemy on the field, twas destined so. Acceturro, another faceless death in this war.

~~~~~~~~~
The AS 555 crashes to the ground, going through a building's roof and coming to a deadly halt. The entire crew is killed instantly as the rotors spin off and menace the helicopters confined space, which then erupts into a volcano-like fireball.

The third Fennec is quickly downed by gunfire from M60A3s and M249s, and the crew is killed by two grenades which ignite the fuel tank.

"SHIT!" shouts the trapped commando, whose comrade's dead body rests on his fractured leg. A bullet his him in the arm, causing further pain.

Heavy machine gun fire persues. Suddenly, the dangerous noise of a small "clink" is heard. The commando fusses around. He sees what has become of his life...a grenade, standard infantry, has just been tossed into the small space where he lays.

BOOM. The Fennec explodes, and massive amounts of smoke erupts from its now mishapen body of mechanized equipment.

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

The heart in every soldier beats tremendously loud, almost deafening the surroundings. Thump, thump. For some this continues. But for others it stops short, ending their life in an instant.

"MAN THOSE GUNS!" shouts a French soldier, diving behind a piece of steel rubble. Bullets ricochet off of the steel beam, making symbolizing sounds of whining. The rounds fly by the heads of the soldiers, showing how close death is.

Men fall from the intense pain of the battle as bullets and shrapnel hit them, limb by limb, until they fall to its threat and give up. Life has just begun, but it is already ending.

The second battle for Stuttgart has raged on for three weeks, unlike the first which lasted a miniscule five days. Death tolls are in the tens of thousands as tanks and armored vehicles roll through the streets, parading an uncertain sense of victory.

Helicopters, both military and news, fly overhead, regardless of what may soon become of them. Germany has become a battlefield of massive proportions.

In Karlruhe, as well as other cities, trenches have begun to be digged in massive lines all throughout the city streets and outside roads. Landmines dwell in the roads, waiting to claim their victim's life.

"FUCKIN' SON OF A BITCH!" shouts a French soldier, showing his hate for the lifestyle he has chosen for himself. He aims out from behind a pile of ash and dead bodies and fires off a few rounds from his rifle, and then leans back for cover.

Machine gun nests, made of only sandbags and an M60 or such, are blown apart. Sandbags and steel protective plates lay in the middle of streets, their origin unknown.

Blood has become a river in the city, and death is not an uncommon sight. Snipers, from both sides, lurk in the mists of buildings and other resting spots. The deadly sharpshooters are hidden amongst the rubble and devestation. One Austrian lays his rifle atop a dead German soldier in a small nook inside a building, waiting for a target.

All humanitarian instincts have left the soldiers' bodies. All they think of is Darwinism, pure survival of the fittest. Survival of the elite. Only those deserving shall live through this hell.

The Austrian spots a German Private, trying to hide behind the corner of a destroyed office building. He peeks out every five seconds or so, firing off a three round burst each time. The Austrian lines up his shot through his Mil Dot telescopic sight.

Fifteen left...possibly six up? The Austrian thinks to himself, trying to calculate the wind speed and drift he will experience when he fires. He begins to count the dots inside of his scope, each indicating a way to calculate the range.

I'd say four. the Austrian thinks as he places his finger on the trigger. He watches and waits for the German to peek out again to fire off his little burst of gunfire.

And so the routine happens. The German, unknown of his certain death, peeks out from behind his cover. The Austrian watches as the German clicks his trigger back to fire off the burst. Almost at the same exact moment, the sharpshooter fires.

BANG. The round hits the air like a bat out of hell. The round spins towards its target, and hits the German staight in the mouth. It goes through his mouth and severs the spinal cord. Instant death. The shot a sniper prays for...

Hell resumes as fire from all sides engulfs the city. Austrian MLRS systems sit out of range of the German resistance, waiting for the strike code. They needed to eliminate the city at all costs.

After loosing the train gun, the war's tide had turned into favor of the Germans. The train gun was necessary to siege the northern area of Germany, as more and more military forces lay there.

The Italians and Swiss had begun to mobilize their troops towards France. War would be fought all throughout Europe, no matter the cost to the World. Lives were at stake...at a global value...

----------------------OUTSIDE OF STUTTGART----------------------

The MLRS truck systems sit in their spots, waiting for the supply trucks. Not twenty minutes later, eight large trucks pull up next to the six truck based rocket systems.

Two men exit each supply truck, wearing full on HAZMAT suits and gasmasks. They all wield AN-94s, old but effective rifles. They walk towards the back of their trucks, all simultaneously.

The drivers of the MLRS systems exit their trucks and stand outside of them. The HAZMAT technicians each come back from their trucks, with one canister in each hand.

They place the canisters on the floor next to the MLRS trucks' backs. Then, together, the teams of two walk back to the truck and grab a large box. Dragging it back to the truck, the drivers realize it is a rocket.

"Havin' fun?" asks one driver, being totally sarcastic and trying to be funny. The HAZMAT technician looks up from the ground where he is, and unlocks the large box, unveiling two large rocket bodies.

The two technicians from each supply truck load the canisters into the body of the rocket, and then screw on a sharp, razor-like tip to the rocket with a mechanical screw driver. Cheap, yet effective.

"So....what're we packin'?" asks one of the drivers. The HAZMAT technicians for his truck look at him, and then through their muffled voice the drivers clearly hear the two worst words ever: Mustard Gas.

"Shit...you boys serious?" asks one of the drivers, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket. The HAZMAT technician taps his forehead and walks back to the supply truck to grab more canisters and more cases of rocket bodies and tips.

This continues for two hours. Meanwhile, the battle in Stuttgart is growing even more fiercesome. Dead bodies fill the streets, crowding the city with more than were there alive before the war.

After all of the MLRS trucks are loaded, four of the HAZMAT technicians fire off red flares into the dark sky. This signals to the French and Austrian soldiers that the gas was going to be launched shortly...

----------------------OUTSIDE OF STUTTGART----------------------

The rockets were loaded. The HAZMAT technicians treated themselves to a quick cigarette as they waited for the launch of the gas. And, without the full hour passing, a flare was shot up from the battlefield.

"Okay boys! Launch these sons of bitches!" shouts one of the driver, flipping a switch and stepping into the driver seat.

The technicians all went through the same procedure as taught on how to launch the rockets. Five minutes later, the systems were all ready to fire upon Stuttgart.

BANG. BANG. Pheeeewwwwww. The rockets shot out of their holdings and flew towards the city, lighting up the sky. BOOM. The first shell exploded, spreading the hazardous and deadly gas throughout the streets.

Germans ran for cover and tried to grab their gasmasks with haste, while the French and Austrians had been prepared one hour before hand. The French continued to rain down heavy machine gun fire upon the Germans, who were trying to pitifully place their masks upon their heads.

The small battle had expanded into full blown chemical warfare.

<Priority 1 Transmission>
It is with the utmost regret that the Khudrozi peoples have learned of the recent military strife within the Witzgallian Empire. While our nation is committed to the peaceful coexistence of all humans, we also recognize the need to contribute to the swift resolution of this conflict. Thus we have gathered the resolve to adopt Resolution J352-Z, an agreement to share recent Khudrozi military advances with the greater Witzgal.
As of 05:32 this morning, schematics for the construction of a subterranean weapons grade P-wave generator were transmitted to German Intelligence via Kwarazmian Encryption. The necessary decryption codes have been attached to this communique.

It is hoped that this technology will expediate the withdrawal of French occupation forces from German territories and aid in the reintegration of the French province. The Khudrozi Imperium otherwise maintains an official international stance of neutrality. It is our hope that this technology will not be compromised or misused in any way.
<Khudrozi Ministry of the Interior>


"The communique has been sent" said the Prime Corporal.
"It has been sent" echoed Number 3.
Usurper Iy Ukhnem, head of the Khudrozi Intelligence Faction, leaned back in his seat. "And what of the countermeasure system?"
After a quick check, the Corporal responded "French Intelligence has been contacted and given the appropriate P-wave countermeasure technology. We anticipate its use should a successful attack be conducted."
"Yes, they have been notified" echoed Number 3.
"Excellent!" said Ukhnem, a wicked grin easing across his face. "Make sure we weren't traced. I want all protocol followed to the dime."

It was the perfect opportunity, one whose equal he had not seen in all his years as Intelligence Czar. A civil war in a distant land that threatened to drag on inexorably. One where suspicion and secrecy would shroud foreign influence. A perfect military test site.

The Khudrozi Science and Military factions had jointly approached Ukhnem a week earlier, complaining of the lack of defense research funds due to overly zealous environmentalist measures. He had assured them of an immediate solution to their problems, and then gotten to work scheming and planning. It had taken much effort, but he had finally crafted a masterpeice.

Now there was nothing left to do but sit back and wait. He would use live subjects to test this earthquake-generating technology. There would be no expensive testing grants and no environmental impacts within the Khudrozi Imperium. The Witzgallians would do Khudrozi scientists' dirty work for them, while harmless intelligence instruments dutifully recorded the results. With any luck, further military experimentation would soon follow.

One way or another, Ukhnem would ensure that the Blue Star of Khudros left its mark...

[{OOC: I'm going to ignore that whole post. It isn't recognized by me, so you might as well delete it.}]

In the waters of the Mediterranean, the eighteen submarines recieved word of the devastating gas attack on the Germans in Stuttgart. It was unfair, and the commanders back at home had decided to order another air strike on French forces. This time, the targets were numerous, and the pilots had more of a free reign.

The submarines had been on their way back to port, to replace the aircraft, but now they stopped, surfaced and opened their hatches. The aircraft waited patiently as they were raised to the ready position.

"Here we go again boys!" Kino called over the radio to the 22 Nemesis planes. "This time we fly over Stuttgart, so keep high and fast." The planes ignited their engines and raced away towards the shore.

As the planes flew toward the shore, in tight formation, Kino glanced at his map, showing target positions. Many positions were in and around Stuttgart, where German forces had called for close air support. One target in particular had been highlighted, a spot just outside Stuttgart. Kino guessed that was where the MLRS systems that had gassed the city where last known to be.

Dawn was breaking, and in the distance and far below them the city of Stuttgart sparkled in the sun. Kino called out over the radio.

"You have your targets, dive on them and destroy them utterly. Watch for AA fire and fighters. When out of ammo, get the hell outta here. Now lets go!"

"For the Empire!" The Pilots called out in unison, and then they dived at near vertical straight at their targets.

As Kino accelerated his plane straight down, towards his target, he noticed the awesome amount of destruction in the city. Fires burnt all over and crumbling buildings were a normality.

AA Fire suddenly began to stream from the French side, and ack-ack burst all around the diving planes. One plane on Kino's left must have suffered a direct hit, as it burst into flames and exploded. Missiles screamed from the ruins, smoke tracing their path. The Nemesis planes rolled as best they could, and deployed countermeasures. Their speed saved many, and the missiles only claimed four hits, with one plane surviving the impact and trailing away to the German lines.

Kino concentrated on his target, ignoring the fire all around him. As he screamed closer, he pulled his stick up, and released his bombs, watching them drop toward the ground. He wrenched the stick around and turned his aircraft, slowing down as he did so. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bombs explode in a flash of fire and smoke. A moment later he heard the bang over the roar of his engines, and he turned away, heading into the city to support the troops.

The other pilots were adopting similar methods, blasting the enemy with intent. One pilot kept his plane way up high, and called for an exact location from the ground troops. They gave him it, and he dived down, like a streaking bullet towards the target, a defensive 'fortress'. Bullets whistled around him, cutting holes in his wings and fuselage. He kept on, heading straight into the firestorm. As he neared the fortress he called out over the radio, broadcasting to all radios in range:

"For the Emperor and the Fuhrer!"

And he plunged straight into the building, travelling at nearly Mach 2 and carrying two large bombs and various missiles. The explosion threw stone and shrapnel into the air, and the fire tore through the heart of the building, eradicating the worthless enemy.

"Onto target set 2!" Kino called out over the radio, nearly choking with pride from the death of his faithful pilot. The Nemesis planes turned and flew further into French lands, blasting train tracks and stations and strafing enemy formations.

OOC: Witzgall, I have left this open for you to attack my planes with your own. But this time I have air-to-air missiles...

The anti-air defense "net" was already set up to shoot down any German fighters in the area. But an attack from Intelligent Neighbors was unexpected.

"FIRE! CONTINUE THE SUPPRESSION! BLANKET THEM OUT!" shouted a Field Marshal as the guns fired into the sky. The sky was black with flak and explosions, and the planes were trying their best to destroy the enemy fighters.

"QUICKLY! CALL THE QUARTERS AND ORDER A COUNTER FORCE!" shouted the Field Marshal, ordering his radio operators to call in for fighter support.

Crotale NG anti-air missile systems began to fire at the fighters that flew overhead, trying to kill anything that passed through the sky.

"SIR! FIGHTERS ARE UNAVAILABLE! SOMETHING ABOUT THE SWISS!" shouted the operator.

The Field Marshal mumbled a curse and continued to direct his soldiers to suppress the fighters from Witzgall's ally, trying to save the lives of his men in any way possible.

----------------------BERLIN, GERMANY----------------------

The sharpshooter flips the bolt up on his rifle and loads in a live round. He has been given the code to fire upon sight, and so he shall. He grabs a titanium swiveling bipod off of the kitchen table, and screws it into the windowsil to provide maximum support.

He attaches the M1903-A4 to the bipod, and looks through his old scope. He awaits the arrival of his target, the Fuhrer of the Empire. His cell phone rings, vibrating on the kitchen table next to his Beretta M9. Leaving his rifle in position, he grabs his phone.

"Hello?" he answers. The person on the other side of the telephone pauses, hesitating to respond.
"Alea Iacta Est." the person says, speaking Latin to the sharpshooter.
"Loud and clear, Sir." the sharpshooter responds, and hangs up his phone.

The words spoken...meaning "The Die is Cast." Another code phrase for the "green light" of the assasination of the Fuhrer. The sharpshooter looks back through his scope just quick enough to see the Fuhrer's armoured limosine pull into the lot of the headquarters.

The driver exits the car, along with a soldier from the passenger seat. The driver opens the door for the Fuhrer while the soldier grabs the front hall's door to the inside of the building.

The sharpshooter waits....and waits....and waits....

He watches as his target is saluted by two soldiers inside of the hall, and then disappears into the building. Damnit. He says to himself.

The Fuhrer appears inside the office, as usual, and looks back out the window. BANG. The .30-06 rifle bullet of the M1903-A4 flies into his forehead, severing the skull and shattering it into fragments.

The loud, ear rupturing bang of the bullet as it cracks through the air is heard by the surrounding guards.

"SNIPER!" shouts one of them, as if to point out the obvious to his now-deceased leader. The Fuhrer slowly falls back into his office, his body disappearing from the scope of the sharpshooter.

The soldiers on the ground below begin to load up their rifles and rush out into the area, searching for the assassin. The sharpshooter grabs his M9 and puts it into his mouth, and quickly pulls the trigger without the slightest bit of hesitance. He is fearless, thoughtless...the perfect soldier to some. He has taken the life of his once leader and his own life without thought. Death has become his lifestyle...

OOC: Sorry bud, but I don't delete good fiction. This of course is your thread, so ignoring the post is your prerogative.

----------------------STUTTGART, GERMANY----------------------

The city looked as if it was a scene taken from the famed movie Full Metal Jacket. Smoke billowed out of windows of ruined buildings, crushed under the heavy fire of machine guns and tanks. Night had stricken once again, but this hardly silenced the loud battle of rockets, grenades, and bullets.

Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone.

Snipers took home behind broken windows and abandoned apartment buildings, waiting for their next target to peek his head out. Nobody would leave Stuttgart with their head on their shoulders, or their heart in their chest.

The men of the 17th German Infantry Platoon marched down the streets of Stuttgart, holding their rifles and poised to fire on any French or Austrian bastard who crossed their path.

Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.

Each carrying an AR-42, except for the few snipers of the platoon, were wide awake, despite it being past midnight and dark as a cave.

"LADIES! PREPARE FOR AN AMBUSH! ANY SECOND NOW THOSE FRENCH PANSIES WILL HIT US AND HIT US HARD!" shouted the commander of the platoon, who was codenamed Jesterhead. His real name was Chris Barches, a gunnery seargent who was given command after the other leader was killed by a landmine six weeks earlier in the first strike on Stuttgart.

Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.

A loud gunshot was heard. One of the infantrymen was hit in the leg, and he collapsed onto the ground, screaming in pain and discomfort. The kneecap had shattered, and he was unable to move his leg. His leg was disconfigured, and bone marrow was slowly oozing out of his open and gushing wound. A large caliber rifle, no doubt about it.

"COBRA'S DOWN! SNIPER FIRE! STAY LOYAL LADIES!" shouted Jesterhead, firing off his AR-42 into the illuminated buildings that shone green from his nightvision.

Gunfire burst out from the platoon, covering all sides. They tried to scare the sniper out, or perhaps get him to fire a flyer so the muzzle flash could be located by a 17th Platoon sharpshooter.

hear the horses' thunder down in the valley blow,
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow.

Two more gunshots rang out from the distance. The sniper missed both shots, most likely due to the rubble and heat mirage that was caused by the massive fires and smoke.

Another shot came out, loud and fast. The crack of the round was heard instantly, but came too late. The bullet had hit another soldier in the chest, killing him instantly. The hole in the man's chest was massive. The round had penetrated his thick kevlar and thin titanium vest he had worn, and blood has spurted into the eyes of his companions.

"SON OF A BITCH! GET DOWN, GET LOW! COVER YOUR ASSES!" shouted Jesterhead, throwing a smoke grenade a few feet ahead of him. White and black smoke, heated to 98 degrees to mask the body's heat from infared, spewed out of the grenade and the soldiers took a certain liking to the heat. It was better than the cold you felt when you died, in their opinions.

The apples of the valley hold, The seeds of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care, Repay, do not forget, no, no

"MEN! FIRE AT ENGAGEMENTS!" shouted Jesterhead, firing off three-round bursts at surrounding buildings and abandoned vehicles. A loud pop was heard, as a bullet hit a steel car door and ignited the gasoline nearby. The fire ignited the gas tank, causing the small sedan to burst into flames and almost fly upwards in the air.

The men of the 17th Infantry Platoon were pinned down by sniper fire. Two men had been injured. So far, the medical members of the platoon were attending to their injuries.

"WHATS THE CAL, NURSE?!" shouted Jesterhead, not even making eye contact with the doctor who was attending to his wounded comrade.

"FIFTY! BIG SHIT, JESTER!" shouted the doctor, slinging his AR-42 over his shoulder with a small strap.

"MOTHER FUCKER! ANTI-MATERIAL RIFLE! KEEP YOUR NUTS CLOSE, LADIES!" shouted Jesterhead, firing off another two bursts. His soldiers knodded their heads. The smoke began to clear, which panicked the men even more.

ance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light.
The apples turn to brown and black, The tyrant's face is red.

Another shot came from afar. It hit the ground, sending massive amounts of dirt and gravel into the air. Jesterhead grabbed a small radio from his waist, and called in through to the headquarters in Karlsruhe.

"PATCH ME THROUGH TO GREEN LANTERN! THIS IS JESTERHEAD OF THE SEVENTEENTH INFANTRY!" shouted Jester into his "high tech walkie-talkie".
"Roger Jesterhead. Communique is a go." replied the operator.
"Jesterhead, report situation and location."
"SIR! THIS IS JESTER! WE GOT TWO MEN INJURED! ANTI-MATERIAL SNIPER!" shouted Jester. "REQUESTING CHOPPER FLUSHOUT!"
"Negative. Stuttgart is a no fly. Cannot send helo, over."
"SHIT!"

The communique was cut. The helicopter assistance was needed to get rid of the sniper, but it had been a negative requisition.

Oh the war is common cry, Pick up you swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know.

"MEN! MOVE NORTH!" shouted Jester, grabbing his AR-42 from the ground and standing to march onwards, trying to stay low enough to be covered by the large steel beam nearby.

The 17th Infantry Platoon's men were all nervous, but they were trained that if they did not follow their commander's orders they would be held as a traitor and shot dead instantly. So, either way they would die. They decided to follow their superior, letting him lead.

Another shot rang out, just missing Jesterhead's foot and almost making him piss his pants in sudden fear and almost a heart attack.

h, well, the night is long the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.

"CONTINUE!" shouted Jesterhead, pulling his testicles back out of his stomach. He cocked the bolt of his rifle and continued to stay low and move forward.

The sharpshooter had paused to reload for the time being. The bad thing about his fifty caliber rifle was that it only could carry a five round magazine. But that was an advantage to the German platoon, who were trying to save their own asses.

The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ring wraiths ride in black, Ride on.

The men began to fire at buildings all around, and also threw smoke and tear gas grenades into the open, trying to protect themselves from the sniper. The tear gas would further the mirage caused by the heat, making it difficult for an accurate shot to be made.

Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold.

A loud bang rang into the men's ears. But it wasn't that of the fifty cal, it was from a Platoon sharpshooter. He fired off his 7.62mm rifle round into a building window six hundred yards away.

"SIR! I DON'T THINK THAT BASTARD WILL BE BOTHERING US ANYTIME SOON!" the Platoon sniper said, smirking at the marvelous shot he had just accomplished.

Oh dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The magic runes are writ in gold to bring the balance back. Bring it back.

The sun began to rise. It was seven in the morning, 0700 hours. The men of the 17th German Infantry had survived another gruesome night in the city of Stuttgart. The fire-engulfed buildings were once again a distant picture, as the fire and smoke reminded them of the weeks that had already passed while they wasted their lives in this hellhole of a city.

At last the sun is shining, The clouds of blue roll by,
With flames from the dragon of darkness, the sunlight blinds his eyes...

OOC: Sorry bud, but I don't delete good fiction. This of course is your thread, so ignoring the post is your prerogative.

[{OOC: Explain me the technology in a telegram...I'm not sure what it is, so I can't RP with it.}]

[{OOC: Just for those of you who don't know, I have sped up the date in this RP. It is now February 16th, 2005 in this RP.}]

----------------------BERLIN, GERMANY----------------------

The New Fuhrer, who was destined to be signed in on January 20th but the civil war had postponed the signing, for it was suspected that he would be assasinated. But now, with Viechal dead and most likely burning in his hell, Joseph Pimmlot had to be signed into office.

And so it was done. On February 16th, 2005, Joseph Pimmlot took power over the Witzgallian Empire. His "Empirate Speech" went off spendidly, especially for the conflict in the Empire.

----------------------BERLIN, GERMANY----------------------

Dark is the light,
The man you fight,
With all your prayers, incantations,
Running away, a trivial day,
Of judgment and deliverance.

John Pimmlot, the new Fuhrer of the Empire, walks into his office. Two men, expected guests, are in his office. One is at the bookshelf, shuffling through the old Fuhrer's choice in literature. The other is at the desk, sitting opposite of the Fuhrer's chair.

Pimmlot walks over to his chair and sits. The two men look at him with curious glances.

"Men. Do you know why you are here?" Pimmlot asked, sitting down in the red leather chair that was now his throne of possession and power.

"No, Sir. We don't." replied the man at the bookshelf. The other sat in the chair, playing with a small combat knife. He was stroking the blade as if a threat, but it was not taken as such.

"I have....I have a mission for the Initiative." said Pimmlot, leaning on the desk with both hands, cupping his hands over his chin in all seriousness. His position seemed foolish, but he was far from being joking and chuckling with these men. He was serious to the degree that one would think he was sarcastic.

"And what mission is that? The Initiative is very eager to help the new Fuhrer, being that is yourself, in any way possible. Us Centurions are only here because of Viechal, and that bastard who shot him is lucky he killed himself. Otherwise I would have a rifle in his throat..." the man sitting said, jamming his blade into the desk. He grabbed it out, realizing what his rage had caused him to do.

"Men. You are here because you are needed. Please, have a seat." Pimmlot said, speaking to the man at the bookshelf.

"He doesn't speak. He leaves that to me." replied the sitting man. The man placed his blade back into its sheath and began to tap his leg quickly with his fingers.

"Right. Well, I need Taufel, the French Prime Minister, captured and brought into my custody. I leave Germany in two days, and I will be flying to Italy. I need him into my control. You have until March second to get him to me in Italy." said Pimmlot, leaning back from the desk and into his chair. He observed the man at the bookshelf and what he was reading. Sun Tzu: The Art of War. A fine book.

"Taufel? So shall it be written, so shall it be done. We will have him by the Second. Expect a delivery." said the sitting man, rising from his chair and scratching his chair.

"No. I want him alive." said Pimmlot, standing from his chair and walking over to the bookshelf. He stood next to the man, who continued to read The Art of War regardless.

"Alive? Such will not be easy, but it will be done." said the man walking over to the door. "Come, we leave your presence now. With honor I say goodbye." said the man, and the other placed Sun Tzu into the Fuhrer's hands and joined his comrade in exiting.

----------------------MUNICH, GERMANY----------------------

Three Austrian Armor Divisions rolled towards the city through fields of grass and urban areas, killing all resistance and handcuffing any German civilians who showed even the slightest amount of protest.

Field Marshal Rupert Kumelion looked through his rangefinder, trying to locate the city. He watches as six ST-21s of German origin rolled into positions in the city, and German soldiers rushed to their spots on rooftops and behind buildings, setting up ambush points.

"Two kliks, Northeast! We hit 'em hard, we hit 'em fast! Leave no man behind! Kill the Germans, for the New Europe shall be ours!" shouted Kumelion to his troops. He was trying to boost their moral.

As warbred as Spartans, the New Austrian Military was so brute and fierce it was feared by the Italians and Germans alike, much more then the French's military. The Italians had tanks poised on the borders to Austria and France, stoicly waiting for the New European Federation to strike within Italian borders.

"HAR! FOR THE FEDERATION!" shouted the masses of Austrian soldiers, readying their weapons and bodies for the fight for Munich. Artillery barrages flew overhead, round by round, causing massive fireballs within the city.

"The artillery has begun. Prepare yourselves, my men! WE STRIKE!" Kumelion exclaimed, raising his pistol into the air.

----------------------SAARBRUCKEN, GERMANY----------------------

The city was silent. Even with Saarbrucken being so close to the French-German border, the Germans had overlooked it. The French military would not let such a city be abandoned and not feel its wrath.

The Forteenth and Twenty Second Armoured Divisions, along with the Second Infantry Division, rushed towards the city. The city was quickly overrun with forces, and barricades were swiftly set up as the German civilians were arrested for National Treason and shipped to the "rehabilitation" centers in the French Fatherland.

Already the New European Federation was assaulting swiftly and fiercely against the German enemy, and the Swiss and Italians prepared themselves to be next.

Dublin, Ireland

Emperor Robinson Antares Scorpius paced back and forth in the Command Centre of Dublin Castle, staring at the screens on all the walls. They showed maps of Europe, as well as brief scenes of fighting in what remained of the Empire of Witzgall.
It's engulfing most of Europe....
Viechal was dead, and he was the only high official that the Emperor of Risban had ever spoken to in Witzgall. His Minister of Foreign Affairs was having a field day....
The Emperor stood, facing his Advisory Counsellate. "Lady and Gentlemen, the Wiztgallian Empire is in shreds and in danger of being completely eradicated by this federation. Fuhrer Viechal is dead. The new Fuhrer, Pimmlot, we have never spoken with. We have lost connection with most Shadows; they have either had to flee what remains of the Empire of Witzgall or were killed in the fighting," said Emperor Scorpius, gazing at the faces around a table. "Algeria and Tunisia are secure; the terrorists have been taken care of. It is time to take a more active position in this civil war. Germany, Switzerland, Austria, France, and Italy have all been engufled by this war and chaos is everywhere. In hopes of stopping a potential communist uprising and/or a potential spread of this revolution across all European countries, we shall use our military power rather than our economic power. The Imperial War Machine will Fuhrer Pimmlot and give him extra men in Italy. The Imperial Navy will also intervene, with the First Fleet blockading the areas between France and Ireland. T-"
"Will that not alarm Kimaria?" inquired Lucius Thrantir, the High Minister of Trade.
"Kimaria will not bother us if we do not bother them," returned the Emperor. "Now, as I was saying... The First Fleet will make sure that France has to go through great lengths to get past the British and Irish Isles. Then, the second and third fleets will remain in the Mediterranean and be used to help Pimmlot, bringing several hundred thousand soldiers with them."
"And if Witzgall loses...?" came a question from Colonel Marcus Biggs of the Imperial High Guard.
"Well, that's when our economic power might be handy," said Scorpius, grinning slightly. "If Witzgall loses, we apologize sincerely to whoever the victors may be, allow money and items to be exchanged, and then offer to invest in buying part of Italy. Now, Minister Perkins is already on his way to Italy to meet with the Fuhrer, where we wi...."


RIS Prometheus, Imperial Second Fleet, the Mediterranean Sea
Telegram to Italy
Fuhrer Pimmlot,
The Empire of Risban wishes to aid Witzgall in any way it can. Emperor Scorpius has sent me to speak with you so that we may arrange things. You will have two Imperial fleets and a large army at your disposal.
-Alexander Perkins, Imperial High Minister of Foreign Affairs