NationStates Jolt Archive

Port-Allanea, Heston Square

The crowd, - about ten thousand people, maybe more – filled the entire square, pushing at the narrow chain of Mirkaian troops blocking the street leading to the Congress building. Sometimes, a rock or a fruit was thrown and a Mirkaian ducked or dodged gracefully. One surprised the crowd by taking a swift motion with his wings to jolt a few meters into the air, letting the projectile pass harmlessly under his feet. Another replied to a swear words mounted at him by a woman in the crowd by a long eagle-like shriek.

Maybe even more than the issue at hand – the declaration of war with Edolia that the protestors were rooting for – the mercenaries infuriated the crowd. Foreign mercenaries policing Allaneans – that was something you read about in books. Something King George would do. And when those mercenaries were a race of man-eaters as well – even if those particular beings refrained from the pracitce – it was just as much as an Allanean would take.

Of course, the inevitable happened. Eventually, a woman in the crowd reached out to hit a Mirkaian with her clenched fist. It was not later known why he did it. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was anger. But suddenly, his head jolted forward in a single predatory fluid motion, hitting the woman with his beak.

Within seconds, the whisper went through the crowd. A cannibal! A cannibal! He took a bite from her! The Mirkaians stepped a few steps back – but it was too late. Before the woman could even rise from the ground, someone in the crowd threw something, again. A Mirkaian ducked reflexively to dodge the ‘rock’. It was no rock.

The explosion threw the avian forward into the crowd, it’s wings breaking against the tarmac as the explosion dragged him along the ground.. Reflexively, one of his comrades shrieked as he fired his sonic rifle at where he thought the grenade-thrower stood.

Then, all hell broke loose. Someone extended a hand towards the Mirkaians, firing round after round from a Teen Dream automatic pistol. Someone drew a sawed-off shotgun or shouldered a CAR-15. Everybody in the crowd was armed, and with this kind of provocation, they were all ‘ready to use it’.

A Mirkaian ducked behind a police cruiser, mowing the crowd down with automatic fire. The ground was covered with the bodies of protestors, but the old rule stood – no matter how big your gun is, a crowd of angry Allaneans outguns you. Within minutes, the thin line was no longer. The broken bodies of feathered mercenaries and the Allanean police were everwhere, mingled with the bodies of protestors turned rioters and pogrommers. And the crowd yet wanted blood.

Duchess Saleh was worried about the riots in Port Allanea, mainly because she was a diplomat and the Director of the Foreign Service at that. But, there was also the fact that the Allaneans brough self-armament to an almost religiously fanatical level and weren't the most level-headed people in the world. It wouldn't have meritted anything other than glancing interest and concern in any other country, but Allanea was practically next door and to ignore such things was to invite all kinds of unforeseen and unwanted trouble. With a sigh she brought up the holoscreen on her phone and dialed a number, "Aunt Asiya, what can I do for you on this fine morning."

Asiya mock glared and said, "Cheeky brat, just because you're a morning person doesn't mean you have to inflict your cheery disposition on those of us who require some form of caffiene to deliver us from the land of the semi-comatose," she smiled fondly before continuing, "Seriously, Highness, the situation in Allanea is becoming out of control, we can't..."

"I know," Empress Lien responded, "what are your recommendations?"

Duchess Saleh took a breath before answering, "Send a communique to the Allaneans asking if they require assistance. If they answer in the negetive or don't answer at all, we need to think about sending an expeditionary force anyway, but that can be nothing other than a last resort."

"Fine, you have my leave," a finger wave later the screen went blank.


TO: Government of Allanea
FR: Duchess Asiya Saleh, Director of the Foreign Service
SUB: Riots

The Imperium is most concerned with the events in Port Allanea to date and
notices the deaths of several citizens of our ally Mirkai. Noting that, the
Imperium hereby offers any help necessary is suppressing the riots and
restoring order from the chaos. Further communications should be directed to
my office until such time as this becomes a matter for another service.

Sincerely,
Asiya Saleh,
Duchess Alexandria

Alexander Kazansky glared at his aide with anger: “Wait, so you mean the Mayor ordered Mirkanian mercenaries to be used to police rioters? And this started this…” - he pointed at the screen, where hundreds of people swept throught the city center, looting shops, burning cars, and beating up passers-by, sometimes at random. Most people were hiding away in their appartments and office buildings – and sometimes a shot rang out from a window, when some business owner or just a ‘concerned citizen’ drew the beads on a looter. Sometimes, the shot was answered. “Basically, random looting and violence, am I correct?”

The aide shrugged. “Basically, yes, Mr. President. What you see here is the scum of the city. Marx would call it the lumpen-proletariat. The lowest of the low. Although one thing is non-random… they seem to be directing a lot of anger towards the Mirkanian auxiliary.”

* * * * *

“Shit.” – spat out Mark Toric, as he saw the window of a gun store on the other side of the street cave in. From inside a long burst of automatic fire erupted, and one of the rioters fell face first, impaling himself on shards of broken glass. Another leveled an Uzi – thr weapon of choice of the slums – into the store and pulled the trigger. The shooting stopped momentarily as dozens of drunken looters tore the shop apart, ‘fishing’ in it for weapons worth a lot more than their monthly salary. “That sucks.” The Mirkanian looked sideways at the six friends who shared the indside of the police armored car with him – a dubious protection at best. He saw that the only human among them took out a revolver. “What are you doing, George?”

The Allanean smiled sadly as he pointed to his PAPD badge. “Protect and Serve’, remember?”. Toric nodded. He didn’t care much about the rules and principles of Allaneans. He did care about George Renox. He was his friend, after all. “Okay,” he said, “but I am coming with you.” He loaded his sonic rifle. In the corner of his eye, he saw his squad doing the same. “Let’s roll.”

* * * * *

“This is not a rebellion,” repeated Kazansky, “this is not a revolution. This is a riot. What we are dealing with here is a destruction-thirsty mob.. I want to be dealt with on that basis. Call up the militia, the army, any firepower you can muster. I want the streets to flow with the blood of those assholes today.”

“Yes, Mr. President!”

“And pull out the Mirkanians. They ignite the anger of the crowds… no need to put them in harm’s way.”

“Mr. President, I don’t think there’s a way to do that right now… there’s no way to contact them.”

* * * * *

One of the attacker stretched his hand out forward, pointing a Teen Dream pistol at the mercenaries, firing wildly. Oh God, thought Toric, What kind of idiot do you have to be not to know to shoot straight in a country where they teach that in high school?. He had no way of knowing the man in front of him – and indeed the majority of the rioters - did not graduate.

One of Toric’s comrades dropped to one knee momentarily, bringing the sonic rifle to his shoulder for a fraction of a second – enough to pulverize the innards of the man with a burst of focused sound. He jerked backwards, the blue plastic-hulled pistol dropping to the ground before he did. Another man threw something – Toric flinched, expecting another grenade.

For one of the mercenaries, the empty beer bottle proved to be equally deadly. It crushed through the fragile bones comprising the avian’s skull. The eaglemorph stumbled momentarily and fell, his wings spreading out on the ground. Another Mirkanian pressed the looter who threw it to the ground, drivng home several blows with the rifle butt – and died too as one of the louts fired a Lorcin handgun into his ‘ear’ at near point-blank range – and fell, his T-shirt coloured red and black where the shots from George’s revolver had caught it.

Then, all of a sudden, all stopped, looters around the store window being nearly literally ripped of their feet by a hail of hot, spinning lead. For a second, Toric allowed himself to turn to look at the source of this unexpected aid. On the other side of the street, on a fourth-floor fire escape, stood a girl of about seventeen. She screamed something as she mowed the crowd of would-be pogrommers down with a true-to-life copy of a 1921 Thompson.

Before Toric could quite end marvelling at this sight, something heavy crushed into his head and he lost consciousness.

* * * *

“Mr. President? We have an offer from the Scandavians offering us support…”

“Accept it. We need firepower here. Those rioters nearly all got guns, you know, and they are shooting at the cops. And if the Scandavians are offering us firepower we can get on the scene, and fast, then we must accept.”

As Asiya read the reply from the Allaneans she couldn't help but think, it is interesting that when one requires help that help usually sounds like both a plead and a command. The speed of the reply had her worrying that perhaps things were a bit more desperate than she had believed. Sighing for what had to have been the hundredth time that day, she once again brought up her phone's holoscreen and dialed her niece's direct line.

When Lien answered she looked quite harried but nevertheless smiled slightly at seeing a friendly face, "What is it now, Aunt 'Siya? Do you have any good news or is my day about to get worse?"

"It's good to see you too, child. As for your question, it concerns the Allaneans and their answer, whether your day is going to become better depends on what you want to hear," Duchess Saleh replied.

"Right, get it overwith," Asiya was already anticipating the worst case scenario.

"Well, the Allaneans have all but begged us to send troops and from their message I get the feeling that they're of a mind that the sooner, the better. This means that things are either worse than we believed or that they just want this over as quickly as possible," in Asiya's mind that was a totally reasonable analysis.

The former Fleet Admiral and current Empress nodded her head, "Very well. I'd really feel better if we sent in the same forces as we did with Hogsweat, but my Guards took the brunt of the initial urban fighting and probably aren't up to another city brawl involving civilians. I Corp came out smelling pretty rosey, but II Corp was diving into the muck more often than it should have. So, I think the Helsinki Guards and I Corp, plus a Kraft Opklaring regiment. But, I want your opinion before I take it to my military heads."

Asiya thought for a second, "Overall the force isn't heavy enough to be a real threat to Allanea as a whole, although there isn't any doubt that it could take and hold Port Allanea if you were of a mind to order it. I can't see anything wrong with your suggested disposition, although I have no doubt that somebody is going to be asking for another eight Marine divisions just on the theory that anything sent is never enough. However, if I were you, I'd nip that at the bud, we can't risk making this look like an invasion."

"Alright, I'll accept that and have my secretary write something up. In the meantime let the Allaneans know they'll have their help ASAP," the command wasn't very sharp in tone, but it was still a royal command.


TO: Government of Allanea
FR: Duchess Asiya Saleh, Director of the Foreign Service
SUB: RE: RE: Riots

At this time we would like to notify you that the Empress has granted
permission for elements of the Imperial Armed Force to be deployed to Port
Allanea post haste. Deployment orders are being issued to the Helsinki
Guards, I Corp of the Imperial Marines, and the 97th Kraft Opklaring Regiment.
No doubt the rioters will be aware the history of these units relative to your
nation and direct their anger towards our own forces while your police officers
regroup, at least that's our hope.

“It’s crazy, sir.” Arfansi Meronit, Acting Intelligence Minister, tapped the satellite photos on the table. “And we thought our country was unstable.” The tall, slim Yasmarean looked almost pleased to see the carnage in Port Allanea.
“Allaneans.” Albert von Tusk spat. “They can’t run their own country, yet they insist on sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“They are looking to be our allies in this fight against Ilek Vaad, sir,” reminded a young woman, sitting to von Tusk’s left. Erwala von Defrin was the youngest member of the Acting People’s Council and the liaison to Alawan Turosi. “I would suggest that we take a diplomatic tone.”
“No doubt,” replied von Tusk. “There is no point in straining Edolian-Allanean relations any more than they are already. He laughed. “After all, this protest broke out because their parliament voted not to declare war on us.”
“There’s also the complicating factor that the Scandavians are getting involved, sending troops to help put down the protests,” supplied Meronit. “They are most certainly our allies.” Von Tusk nodded and turned to the Council Secretary, Merinsa von Wentz. “Send a memo to Parliament, asking them to pass a resolution, condemning violence, or something along those lines. Also, have the Foreign Ministry write up a nice letter of condolence to the families of those dead.” He paused. “What about Edolians within Allanea?”
“We’ve had a longstanding policy of warning against travel to the United States, and so far, there aren’t any reports of dead Edolians,” said Meronit. “I’ve already asked the Foreign Ministry to advise all Edolians within the country to leave immediately. They would be targets.” He continued. “We don’t have an embassy in Allanea, so we don’t have to worry about that, thank Heavens. However, there are a few Edolian assets in the form of investment that could be targeted. I’ll get the FM to say something about those too.”
“Excellent work,” von Tusk said.

OOC: Scandavian asked me some questions about Port-Allanean geography. Basically Heston Square is a city block from the sea-shore promenade, and the airport is rather deep inland.

IC: Kazansky squinted uncomfortably as he looked out of the window. Something in the city center burned, thick, black smoke spreading through the horizon, and from afar, the long bursts of light automatic cannon came. Jefferson Avenue, the street leading from Heston-Square to Congress, was blocked by troops of the Mirkanian Auxiliary and civilian volunteers, the nearby Mulligan Bank volunteering it’s transport van – actually, a Bradley IFV – for the mission. It was, apparently, the source of the cannon fire.

The riot still continued. It seemed as if all the scum of the city were on the streets, senselessly exploiting the opportunity to loot, pillage, and rape. Still, there were some good news.

“Mr. President, the Scandavians are sending help.” – said one of the clerks surrounding Kazansky. He nodded.

“It is good. They are sending one of the divisions we fought in the Fourh Edolian War, right?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Good… whichever way this turns out.”


* * * * *

The mercenaries stood still, like living statues of some ancient gods of war, sonic rifles at the ready, protecting the peace of the city against the mob. Again and again the rioters beat uselessly against the row of avian warriors and receded as the tide recedes uselesly against a rocky cliff. On the roofs and balconies of the city stood people – storeowners, programmers, housewifes – raining a hail of fire, lead, and steel at the raging human mass. Sometimes, a Mirkanian fell, his wings flailing painfully in the air as he stumbled. Then, someone would fill his place – sometimes another mercenary, sometimes a human with a police badge, sometimes a volunteer with a Thompson.

And then, something happened. A singe round, fired from some heavy weapon stolen by a rioter arced out high, high above the heads of the defenders and towards the simple, white building of Congress. A moment, and the flat roof of the building was catching fire…

It was not a hard thing, loading entire divisions, it had become an artform for the Imperial Armed Forces, at least those services that were concerned with landing troops. So within a couple of days the assault ships were loaded and underway, moving with engines at 90%.

Fleet Admiral Juhani Kaskeala was in his Flag Bridge with his exec plus every general and their execs, "So, ladies and gentlemen, how do you propose we conduct this operation?"

General Anastasia Kerensky, daughter of the (in)famous Commandant of the Imperial Marines, spoke up, "My Marines will land first, probably just a division at first to establish a primary beach head. Once that's accomplished my other three divisions will begin landing and we'll begin spreading out in a dome, our primary objective is to have Heston Square as the rough middle of our area of operations. Once that's accomplished the Guards can begin landing, preferably combat units first and then the support divisions. When we're finally established we can begin pacification."

Admiral Kaskeala nodded, "ROE?"

Kerensky winced, "Allaneans have rather lax gun laws, even by Imperial standards. Except for WMD they can carry whatever they want, wherever they want, and whenever they want. None of us wants to step on their toes and thus make our jobs harder, so we're going to let them continue with that. At first we're going to give them a little leeway and not engage them so long as they don't shoot, but eventually we're going to be passing out flyers that give instructions on how to approach Imperial soldiers and marines."

"Hearts and minds?" asked Kaskeala.

Anastasia shook her head, "No, just not making more enemies."

A nod, "Very well, I'll sign off on this and inform the Empress of our plans."

The riots, despite the efforts of the police, the Mirkaians, and the volunteers, were incresing in force as more and more of the same – the homeless, the ex-cons, the louts of the city – swarmed towards it’s center in a torrent of bodies, exalted by the idea that they will be now able to commit violence and pillage unpunished. From the windows overhead, sometimes a muzzle flash would be seem, and a rag-clad body would tumble. Most of those below were not even able to earn themselves a decent firearm, and so the response, if it came, would be a Molotov cocktail, a brick, or a shot from a cheap .25 hangun.

Congress adjourned, the building now enveloped in flames, the representatives fighting their way through the streets, boduguards clearing way through the crowds in a constant stream of roaring, hot, spinning lead. Some of them couldn’t cope with the onslaught, and some were in fact even killed.

The Mirkanians fought bravely, trying to keep the roaring mob inside Heston-Square, and army units were already under way – the John Bolton Airborne, the Ronald Reagan Marine Brigade, the Kilpatrick Cavalry brigade – but it was not certain they would be there on time. The Scandavians were needed sorely to quell the flare-up.

Ten Hours Later

The 1st Regimental Combat Team of the 1st Marine Division were the first to leave their ships. Normally when landing in a friendly harbor the marines would take advantage of the Masada class' RO/RO capability, but the rioters were in close proximity to the harbor and it was decided the risk was too great. Instead the thrust jets simply carried them out of the deck well, onto the water, and towards the riots.

As the lead tank crossed over the waterline the commander of the tank shouted over the turbine, "Load anti-personel shot and set see-wiz to active."

"Loading buckshot," there was a running joke among tankers that if a tanker ever went hunting with his vehicle and used the ball bearing shot, there wouldn't be much deer left to eat.

"Roger, setting defenses to active and targetting rioters," intoned the gunner.

"Very well, wait for the Colonel's signal," replied the tank commander.

The signal, or rather the order to broadcast the surrender order, was dependant on the RCT surrounding the crowd. Tanks were slipping around the crowd and where other tanks were already set to engage if the crowd became uncontrollable battlearmoured infantry spilled out of IFVs. Stealthy attack and transport helos swarmed overhead, ready to supress any fire coming from buildings or the crowd. IFVs trained their 30mm Gatling guns upon the crowd as well, as if daring them to react violently. As soon as everything was in place a signal went over the entire command channel to begin issuing the order. The commander of the lead tank pressed a button on the touch-screen and the Colonel's voice blared out from the speakers of every armoured vehicle in the regiment, "Attention rioters, by order of the Congress of Allanea and President Kazansky you presence here has been declared in violation of the laws of Allanea. You are hereby ordered to place your weapons upon the ground and to surrender for arrest and processing. Failure to comply will result in the use of lethal force."

There was a certain pause as the meaning of the phrases sunk in, and the dazzled rioters started in astonishment on the calm row of Scandavians on one side, and the Allanean soldiers that, finaly, began flowing in from the other. The tension was so thick that it seemed you could cut it.

Then, the silence was broken.

A man at the front of the crowd loosened his grip on an Ingram submachinegun, letting it fall on the ground, the sound of it’s fall audible clearly to the people next to him. Then, he began walking away, silently. Then another man jolted out of the crowd and ran, bolting out between two Allanean troops just as they took position. Then a couple of rioters dropped on their knees, their hands held firmly behind their heads.

And then everything changed.

“Those are Scandavians!” – an old man screamed – “Scandavians! They fought us in the War! Kill them! Kill the mall!”

The tension broken in a paroxysm of rage and hatread, the thousands of people that were filling up the Square jerked forward like a single, multi-headed monster, forcing it entire weight on the Scandavian line.

The first to respond were the 64 tanks of the regiment; their main guns, coaxial and remote operated machine guns, and point defense weapons ripping into the crowd. At almost the same time the IFVs opened fire with their turreted gatlings, firing in short 50-round bursts that scythed the crowd. The soldiers did not immediately open fire; instead they fixed bayonets, calmly pushed their selectors from safe to single, and just as emotionlessly began firing into the crowd. Blended metal ammo had long been standard issue in the Imperial Armed Forces for one simple reason, fired against an unarmoured and lightly armoured human a single shot was almost guaranteed to create such a wound as to be untreatable when it wasn't instantly lethal.

The standard joke for a situation such as that came over the open channel, "Join the Imperial Marines," fire. "See the world," fire. "Meet interesting people," fire. "Kill them, kill them all," fire.

"McDonald, that's morbid," replied a fresh recruit.

"That's why it's called dark humor, newblood," answered the Corporal.

"Clear channel," ended any futher banter and the fire continued without commentary.

The flechettes ripped through the crowds, leaving large, bright-red swaths where the mutilated bodies of the rebels lay. Still, the rear rows were not yet aware of the full scale of the massacre, as they still pushed forwards, pushing their own comrades who were trying to flee down and trampling them unwillingly underfoot. Sometimes, someone would get forward into the front rows to hurl a grenade, or fire a gun into the row of marines, but mostly, the riots sunk into a chaos of ineptness and death, as the Allanean soldiers and the people in the neighboring homes opened fire as well, showering the crowd in a merciless hail of lead.

Hundreds of people died every minute, some trying to climb the statue of Heston as a last resort, shot down by sniper and designated marksman fire, some braving the Scandavian line, and others escaping into the streets, where they – mostly – could survive. If they were not shot by an especially irate homeowner of course.

Soon, it was settled. The riot was over, becoming a senseless bloodbath as some of the last rioters – a disheveled, blood-soaked bunch only a fifth from the original size – braved the Scandavians for one last time…

925 infantrymen against an angry mob of roughly three thousand was better odds than it seemed at first and the marines were experienced enough to know that. Almost all of the soldiers slid their selectors to two-round burst and began firing, just as methodically as before, into the crowd. "Sound 'em as you drop 'em," came across the open channel.

Soon enough the channel was filled with calls of, "kill" and the like, until there was only a small crowd. The marines, as if on telepathic command, stopped firing and the tanks began tracking the small remaining group. The end came when 64 tank guns fired another volley of canister shot.

The mob crashed against the row of soldiers as a sea-tide crashing against the shore. The crowd faded away, like a snowman under the sun, under the withering Scandavian and Allanean fire. A raging mob. Then a crowd. Then a very small crowd. Then, finally, a few isolated groups of people, who, half-crazed with fear, still tried to attack. A final roar of 64 canister round – and the riots were over.

But the damage was already done. Throughout the city, firefighters struggled to respond to calls from numerous fires started by the rioters. The roof of the Congress building collapsed, and a pillar of fire rose momentarily where it stood. For many parts of the city, electricity supply was dead. The rioters were dead, too – but what they had done today would be still hurting the city – and Allanea – for days to come. The capital has been hit many times by foes – it was the first time it was hit so hard by Allaneans.

The riot was over. Throughout the city, fires were still burning, and the Allanean soldiers were busy putting them out – they were late to stop the riots, but they did their level best to save those lives that could be saved. As the roof of the Congress building crumbled away in the blaze, a man in a torn business suit walked up to the Scandavian lines.

“Good day, Sir.” – he spoke to a man that seemed to him like an officer – “I am Benjamin Greeley, Mayor pro tempore of Port-Allanea.”. Despite the bloodied bandage on his head, the soot on his shirt and hands, he was as calm as he would be in an office. “First of all, and obviously, we would like you to help us with the fires – mostly evacuating the wounded and such. Second, would it be possible that you, or your superiors, stay around for a few days after this is over? You know, some hotel vacation or such on behalf of the city. I think we owe you at least that.”

If the Scandavian troops thought it acceptable to stay in the city after the riot, they would find themselves, as witnesses, in front of an investigative committee. The committee - known as the Limerro-Truman Comission - was not interested in the details of how the rioters were shot - it was already accepted that the troops were acting legitimately in that regard. Rather, the commission was fishing for every possible clue on the composition and cause of the riot. Why did it happen? The issue of Edolian relations was divisive, true, but not enough to any previous estimate, to cause people to kill their own countrymen - and the only other conclusion, the idea that some people only seek a feeble excuse for looting and pillaging, was, to the Congressmen, just a cop-out. And on the ruins of the Congressional building, another important thing needed to be done...

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The long row of Mirkaian mercenaries stood in front of the stand from which President Kazansky was speaking.

What is an Allanean? Is it a race? A molecule in your blood stream? A color of skin? No. You don't need to look like me to be an Allanean. Allanea - like America before it - is first and moremost an idea. As long as somewhere, sometime, in the bowels of Blatterschpitt or in the cold depths of interstellar space, a boy opens an old book and reads in wonder and admiration the old words - All men 'are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness' - for that moment he *is* an Allanean. No matter who you are, if you love liberty, you are an Allanean. You are my friend and my brother.

You fought valiantly to protect the people of the city of Port-Allanea from thugs and murderers. Some of you died. Today, I cannot make you Allaneans. I cannot make you freemen. Because you already are."

He took a deep breath.

Today, at the order of the United States Congress and using the authority vested in me by the People as President of the United States, I declare you citizens of Allanea. Now, repeat after me:

"I pledge allegiance..."

And a thousand of soldiers repeated, after Kazansky:

"I pledge allegiance..."

There was a strange glint in his eye as he continued:

"to this flag and the republic for which it stands..."

And the troops stood involuntarily to attention as the flag flew, bright and clean as on the first day of the Republic, to a pole in front of the where the charred ruins of the Congressional building once were.

"to this flag and the republic for which it stands..."

Assistants passed through the ranks, handing the Mirkaians their rifles. Formerly, they carried arms as the badge of the soldier, the government enforcer. Today, they would walk out of here as citizens and freemen."

And Kazansky continue:

"one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

The soldiers moved for one last time as a single military unit, moving their rifles to port-arms, repeating the phrase.

"You are now Honorary Citizens of the United States of Allanea. Few are awarded with this honor."