NationStates Jolt Archive

King George sat in his study trying to ignore the rabble of commoners that only this morning beset the Golden gates of Buckingham Palace. Roaring crowds, stones and missiles were the least of his problems. Parliament had blamed the crisis on the monarchy, while the King blamed Parliament. Republicans and Imperialists alike took to the streets of London in protest.

“Mass unemployment, strikes, a floundering economy, what on Earth is happening? What did we do wrong?” The king asked himself. “Of course he knew, he knew that the lack of military conflict, was strangling a nation, an Empire built for war, but how could he rectify the situation? Half of Africa was already subjugated. Japan, and India slaves to his will, Canada and Australia were Great Britain in all but name, what else was there to do?

Of course the military had many options, but all had dire political repercussions. An invasion of North America would result in a world war, people would join the Empires banner in support and others would oppose such a move. South America was not an option, it was too far away from any Imperial holdings, and the journey, and inevitable long and drawn out supply lines would only ask for submarine intervention. A campaign against the Southern American states would be like another battle of the Atlantic, not what the people desired, they desired victory, and employment! The horrible reality was, that people were starting to lose faith in the ideals of Empire, and were slowly committing to isolationism, a tact which would only further the economies ruin. Moving to his study window His Majesty viewed to rabble with contempt and disdain. They pressed up against the black fence and Golden gate, screaming and shouting abuse over matters their limited intellects could never hope to comprehend. Held back by the Kevlar armed guards, some, if they got too close would meet the unforgiving point of a sharpened bayonet, there was nothing more than a dead Republican to start a national clamp down on freedom of speech.

Turning from the window, His Majesty faced the long high back couch adjacent to the rear oak wall. Sighing His Majesty looked down at his guest curiously, perhaps this general could have the answers… “Well General, I have kept you waiting long enough. What do you propose that I should do about these current riots? I do hope you have come with a better idea than the rest of my pitiful excuse for a command staff?” Inclining his head General Ippleswaith smiled. His moustache, typical of the English gentry glimmered in the gentle firelight. His pale deathly complexion made him appear almost unnatural; an all to common appearance in the Empire now. Some scientists had theorised that this was due to the onset of Global warming. Recently published research, a mere three weeks old suggested that the phenomenon had almost halved the United Kingdoms yearly amount of cloudless days, reducing it to a frightfully low number. Ignoring the looming environmental crisis, his Majesty only cared for his people, and the survival of his rein.

“Your Majesty, my plan, or advice comes with significant risks, I do not propose a war that we can easily win, or a war that would provide a small boost to the economy. I am proposing a military conflict, which will result in mass conscription and training. I am proposing a war, which, if we win, will result in a great economic boom, not seen since the established monopoly of the East India company. I am proposing a war with a nation equal to our own majesty and might.”

Intrigued, the monarch saw no harm in listening further. “Go on…” He said softly.

“Ever since the humiliating defeat on the Arda continent, the Empire has been desperate for revenge. As everyone is aware in 1889 the Panteran devils vanquished general Velars expeditionary force, resulting in their declaration of independence, my long-term strategy is to subdue these rebels and assert a British presence back on the Ardan continent. Of course” Ippleswaith emphasised. ”We cannot attack Pantera without besetting the rage and anger of Damien Dreadfire, so I propose a full scale pre-emptive strike into the very heart of Freek territory.”

“General please.” His Majesty said dryly. “The Royal navy would not get within a thousand kilometres before the Armed Empire reacted. Pantera, is currently under civil unrest, an attack upon them would only serve to unify the nation due to the “British” threat.”

“If his Majesty would allow me to continue, I am confident I can heal your concerns.” George inclined his head for Ippleswaith to proceed. “Every developed nation on Earth is dependant upon satellite communications and observations for military strategy. Automagfreek and Pantera are no different. I propose we disable their satellites and observation network.

Since the humiliating withdrawal from Phillania, the three armed services have unified their resources to devise a plan to obliterate the two superpowers ability to counteract our military attacks. All of them have depended in removing their ability to spy upon the world and seas around their coastlines. We have.” Ippleswaith announced proudly “Devised a technological Virus which will render their hardware and software inoperable. It has been codenamed Lionheart”

George sat down at his desk, perhaps this was what he was looking for. Perhaps a war, on a scale never before seen was what the Empire needed. In victory or defeat, at least George would insure his name in the history books, either revered, or detested, his place in history would be secure. “I assume that all operational matters have already been planned general?”

Ippleswaith responded enthusiastically. “Yes Sire, from our agents in Automagfreek and Pantera itself, we have been able to determine their military strong points and weaknesses. They are both continental fortresses, but with all fortresses, there is always a weakness.”

“And I assume general that you have located this….this weakness?”

“You assume correctly Majesty.”

“Very well, leave the plans on my desk, I shall review them later, but I must say, I am interested.”

Shaking the generals hand, his Majesty allowed the officer to leave, little did they know, that this small, and quick meeting would change human history forever.

OOC: [TAG], as ICly I do not know about this yet.

“This is interesting….” George mused to himself. “This could very well make or break the Empire, an attack on Automagfreek, who would have thought! The people will celebrate, the armed forces will support it, the economy will revel in it, but if I proceed, will I be sending millions to their doom? Millions into the gatekeepers hands? I am merely a servant of the people, if they demand a war, who am I to stand against in their way, there must be a war that path is now fixed, I am sure the people will support it, and if they get their little throats cut in the process, so be it.

Over the next two months the Empire would begin a phased propaganda campaign, controlling the media, news, and the internet. All information coming into the great nation was vetted by newly conscripted censors, they would be the eyes and ears of the government, if this war was to proceed, the people would have to believe their lives, homes and families were in mortal danger.

First of all the King along with Parliament blamed the economic situation on nameless countries seeking to destabilise the Empire, seeking to destroy Britannic civilisation, and bring darkness upon the world. People would begin to grow wary of foreigners, and their devilry. Midnight arrests would begin, police and armed personnel arriving at homes, shadowed by the pale moonlight, arresting traitors to the state. The warlords would legalise the death of captured insurgents. Mock trials, political tension would begin, resulting in the extermination of almost every political ideal apart from Empire, and those, those very few that thought otherwise, would keep their thoughts secret, lest they too meet the gallows.

Upon the second month of His Majesties political campaign throughout the Empire, posters would rise upon every street corner, signalling the beginning of a vast military build-up.

http://hsc.csu.edu.au/modern_history/core_study/ww1/posters/jbull.gif

Hundreds of thousands would flock to the recruiting stations, Glasgow, London, Birmingham, all were congested from the great hordes of civilians, looking for a future, looking to fight for the country in its time of need.

http://www.llgc.org.uk/ymgyrchu/Heddwch/Recruitment-WW1/HERE08.jpg


His Majesty, broadcasted daily on the situation of the state, reciting speeches from his predecessor King George VI, the current monarch took the nation back in time to world war one and two, pointing out the bravery of British serviceman, and women in the fight against inequality and injustice. The people were riled, Empire was truly back in their hearts.

The Study

“Ahhh general come in come in, I trust you managed to get past the crowd well enough?” George looked out the study window, instead of a roaring mob, there was now a fanatic crowd, proud of the Empire and their monarch, screaming for the emperor to make an appearance, even be it a brief one.

“Yes Sire, it appears this crowd is a lot less, how do I put it, violent than that of two and a half months ago.” Taking a seat the General awaited some refreshment. Over the past few months the King would listen to the armed forces progress report, interested, and hopeful of the future, the monarch would usually provide a Brandy to soften the General throat.

“So General, how goes the build up? I trust that naval construction is on schedule?” His Majesty asked inquisitively.

Ippleswaith smiled, as a man unaccustomed to failure often did. “With all the jobs the new shipyards are creating, we are in fact ahead of schedule Majesty, the Clyde shipyards are operating above their expected level. Manchester, the Thames, and Birmingham are also well on the way to meeting their targets. In seven months the new recruits will be sufficiently trained for war, but they are not to be apart of the military offensive. We will use our highly trained personnel for that instead. The Dark troopers, and their support should make great headway into Freek lands once the conflict begins, we have also, I am proud to report the finished completion of Hera, the device will be ready for the campaign in eight months time.”

George moved to an oak clad drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Brandy, filling two glasses he handed one to his General. “And the Armed Empire, do they suspect anything?”

“Unknown sire. Due to the nature of their military it is very hard to recruit agents, all we can report is that there is no discernable military build up which would be expected if they knew of our planned campaign.”

Obviously relived the monarch continued to ask the General on the nations progress….

OOC: Tag. Shoulda done your research Bob-Bob. The blood pact isnt just Pantera and Automagfreek. There is now a third member sworn to fight alongside the Reavers and Setinels,...prepare to meet the Templars.

This is a closed, OOCly agreed upon RP, you should have done YOUR research.

OOC: Wanna hit me up on AIM or MSN, Bob? Thanks bud.

With the Warhound floating around the North Sea, AMF high command thought it quite...opportunistic that the British had begun to drastically increase their numbers. It has thought that they might try to mobilize against Pantera and attempt to drive the Hound out of the North Sea. Marv had been watching the situation as best he could, and after a few hours of study he reported to Lord Dreadfire.

Damien, sir. Bob-Bob and the whole of the British Empire have begun to increase their numbers at least two fold. We think they will move against either the Hound of Pantera itself in a few days time.

Damien bit his lower lip and nodded his head briefly. Very good Marv, but the Reavers can more than handle anything the Brits throw at them. I would say....keep an eye on this situation, but make it low priority. I doubt this will have anything to do with AMF, but keep me informed nonetheless. Like I said, low importance.

Although Damien did not have a good feeling about what was unfolding, he was confident that his land and his people would be safe, as an attack upon Automagfreek would accomplish little. Besides... He thought to himself. There have never been any prior hostilities between our two Empires, it would be a waste of time to worry over such things.

Marv left the Great Hall several minutes later and returned to his desk at the AMF Defense Department. He began watching the situation whenever he had a spare minute, but like Damien said it was of low importance.

OOC: Tag. This oughta be interesting...

Admiralty

Admiral Hanes stood on the observation level monitoring the positioning of all Royal Naval assets in the North Sea. His Majesty had been placing the entire military, more than eighteen million men repeatedly on alert over the past few months, it was called by the BBC, “reaction training”, with much of it being filmed and used as propaganda material in theatres and on the television itself.

Hanes like most top ranking British officers was located in the Bulldog complex situated just outside Fort William, the area was perfect for a military base, naturally surrounded by tall peaks, limiting all forms of bombardment. A loch with access to the Atlantic ocean for submarines, and three kilometres thick of granite with which to dig into, creating one of the worlds most secure, and long lasting facilities. The West Highlands could have been a worse station, green hills, great fields of heather, small or next to no traffic, prefect for a retiring couple, but he, like most men his age only wanted civilisation and life, not pacifist dullness.

The Royal Navy was conducting live fire exercises in the centre of the now British dominated sea, with Panteran Naval forces just to the south of them almost directly between Denmark and England. Hanes wondered why the Panterans remained, the Guffingford threat was long gone, but the king did like to keep his enemies close, and his friends closer, whatever the reason, it was far above his pay grade.

Five months since the declaration of conscription and the axis of undeclared foreign threats the Empire began clamping down upon unallied foreigners. Credonians, Americans, French, Spannish, and thousands more from other nationalities were arrested in the now infamous midnight arrests. Each month, when the moon became full the police would begin their hunts in an all to predictable fashion, and by morning, homes and in some cases entire villages were emptied, the people taken to the Orkney detention camps, far removed from the spying view of local and innocent citizens.

Road blocks were now formed everywhere, with identification cards rolled out in their billions, penalty for not carrying one was three weeks on the railways, improving the transport system, that the military now heavily relied upon.

The North Sea itself was slowly becoming an oceanic fortress. Oil rigs, that the United Kingdom depended upon for most of its crude oil supply were now retrofitted into individual island fortresses. Missiles, troops, defence cannons, and anti air blimps now covered the platforms, creating an Eastern ring of radar stations and missile defences throughout the North Sea, but this was only from Hanes experience, the Empire had changed within these recent months, and personally, he believed it to be for the worst.

The Study

“Well General, what news do you bring me today?” His Majesty asked. The meetings had now grown very informal, with General Ippleswaith, and his Majesty, now ignoring status symbols such as bows, and nods, with the only formal protocol remaining such as titles, which His Majesty preferred anyway. Personally he thought that George was an atrocious name.

Ippleswaith as usual looked up from his traditional seat and like the many meetings before he citied favourable reports. “Everything is going to plan Majesty, absolutely everything. The fleets in the Pacific and Asia are already massing for the invasion of the armed Empire, while the air force is preparing to deliver a crippling blow to the hounds forces in the North Sea. All commands have been preparing for this but currently, only you, I and five others know of the specifics.”

“And my son?” George wondered.

“Sadly sire, we all know his objections about military conflict, he would only object and possibly betray us to the demons, I suggest he remains in the dark until your announcement in six days time, just when the North Sea exercises are scheduled to finish. The armies in Mongolia have approached the Russian border, hopefully the Panterans will think our arms race is an attempt to take the Red Empire, everyone knows of your disdain for communists.”

“Yes.” George paused. “I do hate them, even more than the Islamic states.”

“Well, if this goes according to plan Majesty they won’t be a problem for much longer, however I do have to request a direct order from you. Upon the invasion of the armed Empire, are civilians innocent, or are we to take more authoritarian approaches?”

George paused for a mere moment. “The military, upon the invasion of Freek territory, is to exterminate every living thing they find. They Freeks would, and have done the same to many millions before now… it is only fitting that they too experience the sharp pain of death.”

Ippleswaith nodded his head in compliance. “Till Sunday Majesty.”

“Until Sunday General, until Sunday……..”

George surveyed the plans, everything was set out, everything was ready, all he had to do was finally authorise the British policy. Sombrely peering down into his glass of Brandy, George watched as the thick liquid swirled, creating a pale brown glow on his frail aged hands. Turning from his desk, His Majesty moved out of the study, of which he seemed to be spending more and more of days in, signing endless amounts of decrees and military orders. This day alone he had singed over three hundred documents, many were the final authorisation orders on the war….Parliament would not be told, instead they would be dissolved. In a war like this, George could not afford political wrangling, it would cost lives, and possibly the outcome of the conflict.

North Sea HMS Hood

The Prince of Wales was currently seated on the Home fleet flagship the HMS Hood, it was rather odd, one minute he was in the ballroom at Buckingham Palace, and the next he was ordered to assume command of the Home fleet, a direct order from his all too busy father. That and the fact that the King now spent almost night and day in his study convinced George that there was more plotting than usual going on in Whitehall and the Palace, shaking the thoughts out of his head, the prince dreaded to think what his father was concocting.

Cracking his neck in frustration the Prince was bored. The live fire exercises had been completed with optimal results, and now, now he and the fleet were ordered to hold position, in the middle of nowhere. Why on earth have I been ordered into the middle of the North Sea? At that very moment his answer arrived, a telex streamed in from London on the secure frequencies. Accepting the message from the decoder, who only sat mere feet away the Prince looked down, rubbing his eyes to be sure he read it correctly, he still couldn’t believe what his father was doing…..

Priority Message

Panteran Nation declared national threat.
Immediate execution required.
Implement order batch 343 Immediately.

Stunned the Prince took a few moments to focus, “Communications! Signal the fleet to access order batch 343 immediately.”

“SAR, YES SAR.” Came the British reply. Moving to the order safe himself George, along with his executive officer opened them. Lifting out the envelope labelled 343 the Prince pulled out the orders and read them like thousands more commanders all over the globe.

“I see.” The Prince said sullenly. “Very well, BATTLESTATIONS alert combat control that orders 343 are a go, they are to initiate bombing runs on the Panteran forces as soon as possible.” Falling back on his chair the future monarch sighed as Claxons sounded around him…..


Fort William

General Ippleswaith stood in the Empires primary control room. On the far wall sat a world map and upon it thousands of blips were lighting up, each one indicating a division an air regiment, each one indicating an element of His Majesties armed forces. In Europe, many were converging upon the Panteran fleet, hundreds, moving from the United Kingdom itself, in precision order, merging with other blips emanating from the North Sea Naval forces, all converging upon the enemies battlefleet, each plane armed with weapons of war, some of which were going to be tested for the first time.

“Well.” The General smiled. “Glad I’m not them.” Ordering the focus away from Europe hundreds of blips could be seen passing the coast of Japan, each one heading towards Automagfreek and its ally Pantera who awaited unsuspectingly in the Pacific. Most would expect the British strike to fall upon the hated enemy of centuries past Pantera, but none would be more surprised than Lord Damien himself of the British forces swarmed into Freek territory uninvited.


OOC: Too tired to continue. But I’ll post the second part later, this should allow you guys to post something now though.

Mr. Bonesplitter sir, looks like your suspicions were correct. Satellite intel reports several pockets of British ships have begun making advances to the Hound's position in the North Sea.

Marv ran a hand across his chin as he surveying the recording from the satellite feed. Indeed he had proven himself correct in this instance, and he wasted no time in prompting Lord Dreadfire of the situation. Private, I want you to relay this information to Damien himself. Although I have total confidence in our Panteran allies and their ability to fend off any attack, we must also make ready in case the fight spills into our territory. Until Lord Dreadfire receives word from The Evenstar we are to remain out of this fight. While the Blood Pact may be unbreakable, we would not dare deprive the Lord Reaver of his...prey. For now we will watch, and wait.

Several minutes later the private relayed Marv's words to the Warlord, and Damien glanced over the report with little concern. Automagfreek was an impenetrable fortress of an island, and in 5,000 years no foreign army had survived on its soil. Pantera was indeed the heart of the Dying Grounds, and those who ventured to their cursed shores would meet a fate worse than death.

Damien tapped into the satellite feed and watched as the British fleets began to surround the Warhound. He was also made aware of the several battle units moving towards Gholgoth, but he took little precaution other than moving his fleets out of the inevitable path of destruction. It was decided right then and there that AMF would remain out of the fight until the Lord Reaver requested his aid (however unlikely), or if the fight spilled over into his territory. With Zander beginning his attack on The Burnsian Desert and with his other forces building up for a possible war with Greater Valia, Damien remained confident in the Reavers and their ability to fend off this....British meneace.

However, he would be a fool not to be prepared for the inevitable. The mammoth underground shore cannons were readied as well as AMF's vast network of anti-air defense. Several Sentinel legions were put on stand-by, but other than that it was business as usual in the Empire.

The plan was rather simple really, the invasion force would move out from Asia, while the primary strike craft would remove the threat of the Panteran Hound from the British mainland’s coast. Thousands of fighters, bombers and naval vessels would converge upon the enemy in a primary combined strike. Above London the sky’s would darken, sunlight blocked from the great tide of aircraft leaving for the North Sea. Every fighter and bomber able to fly and bare arms were launched, every pilot forced into the air, and every missile armed with their warheads primed for destruction.

In Asia, the fleets would move out from India, Japan and Australia, each one on a course for Pantera. The force would stop for one day at Phillania, which should by now be safe to traverse upon. The fifty first offensive division would take the island after a prolonged bombardment. Then the fleet would turn towards Automagfreek after the virus was uploaded to the enemies satellite network, rendering the Pacific fleet hidden, almost resembling a Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour.

Phillania would be levelled and makeshift runways created. After the combined strike upon the Panteran fleet in Europe all fighters will refuel and move to India before once again departing to Phillania, where they will refuel and begin operational strikes upon Automagfreek and Panteran soil itself.

The plan hinged upon the destruction of the Hounds offensive capabilities, where after then, the Home fleets could mop up the battleships in prolonged engagements with small scale air assistance from the mainland.

But Plans can go wrong……

HMS Hood

Prince George was now in the operational centre of the fleet. The room was in the very centre of the HMS Hood, behind him lay a few hundred meters of deck and armour, due to which the prince considered himself safe from an all but crippling hit. “Very well gentleman, report please?”

“The first operational stanzas of operation 343 are being put into effect. Most fighters were armed and fuelled, we can thank ourselves lucky for those war games, without them we would never have been able to respond in time.” Admiral Benitz voiced.

Is this man an idiot? Does he not realise that this has all been one great plan by my father, the betrayer of pacts. I gave my word that there would never again be war between the Empire and Pantera, and now, what do we have… “General…” George began. “This has obviously been planned from the very beginning, my father has never had a great love for Pantera, I am still a little nervous about committing our forces to this task, we could be leading the Empire into destruction.”

“But we are only servicemen.” The tall skinny Admiral reminded the Prince. “Politics is a matter for Whitehall, if we follow our orders and do our duty we shall survive.”

“That reminds me of Nazi Germany Admiral, which was crushed between the hammer and the anvil. Where did their honour of duty get them?”

The room hushed as combat operations began, the Prince and the Admiral bowed their heads in shame, how could they discuss politics while thousands of men were putting their lives in danger.

As 343 dictated radio silence was maintained by all fighter air craft, however an undetectable tightbeam transmission was being streamed from Alpha one. The pilots muffled voice providing a welcome commentary to the video feed. “Attack wave proceeding as planned, so far no hostiles, I repeat no hostiles. Outer Marker reached. Arming missile banks. Camera droids are ready for deployment. Releasing payload now!” the officer boomed. From his aircraft three missiles erupted towards the Panteran fleet, while in the forth bank a cluster bag was jettisoned. From it two remote helicopter droids moved into the atmosphere watching the battle as it unfolded.

A great wave of missiles would follow Alpha ones first barrage, continuing to head towards the Panteran forces, while from the North, the naval groups fighter air craft would move in and begin air to air combat with the Panteran fighters which were fast enough to make it off the runway.

"Goin' hot!" Came the cry of the young Reaver radarman, his voice cracking in his excitement, though noone noticed in the explosion of activity that followed. Men tumbled from bunks, mess hall and showers to man their stations, a few half-naked, a few more in only boots and weapons. A comical sight, to be sure, but the grim faces showed no signs of humor as they prepared for the coming storm.

The least amused of all was the grizzled old Warhound. In his conference room aboard his Seabitch, the officers and Lordlings who attended him nattered and hurriedly tried to piece together a plan. The attack was meant to be a total suprise, to be sure, but the movement of that many men and planes had not gone unnoticed in the hours and minutes leading up to the encroachment, and already the Hound had been brooding over the British.

The story of the two nations hatred was an old one. Three centuries before the Reaver's voyages of raiding and pillage had made the nation fabulously wealthy. Gold, jewels, silks and slaves from across the earth had flowed into Pantera, and the tribes had flourished under the hand of the Lord Reavers of old. This wealth had been far greater than that of, say, the 'Jewel of the Empire'', India. Of course the British coveted this wealth, and one summer they landed a large force of battle-hardened, red-coated Regulars on the shores of Pantera.

Now, the Reavers were a force to be reckoned with, to be sure. Their wild charges, sudden ambushes, and the eight month war of attrition had gone hard on the British, but their way of warfare was not suited to the rigid tactics of the British, and foolishly the ancestor of the Evenstar, the Boy-Lord, Vayne the Mad, had led his Reavers out to face the British Army. From that day forward the Battle of the Stone Fields would forever remain the one truly humiliating defeat that the Panteran nation ever suffered.

This battle began a century of British occupation. A long, nightmarish century it was, for the British knew of the ferocity of the tribes, and thus ground them beneath the heel of opression. The Evenstar's predecessors of House Vayne took to exile, and for a long time it seemed as if the glory of the old Reavers was gone forever. But opressed peoples will always revolt, and this is magnified tenfold by a people such as the Reavers. One summer tribesmen from across the nation rose up and slaughtered their British opressors. Fifty thousand British soldiers died in the fighting that first terrible summer of the rebellion, and many Panteran tribesmen as well.

The surrender of the capitol of Toke came at a high price. The Reaver's erected a forest of pikes around the city, and every redcoated soldier killed was immediately decapitated and the head mounted on a pike. Soon the forest grew so large it stretched into the distance. When the garrison of ten-thousand men finally surrendered and marched from the city they were set upon by the wild, teeming mass of tribesmen. None survived.

That century of brutality had set the tone for the next two hundred years of relations between the two nations. When the debacle of Britain's Phillanian invasion had renewed hostilities, many in both nations thought it would lead to a bloody war. Instead, it had lead to an accord. Peace was assured by the Black Prince, and he had shaken Dayne's hand and pledged his oath, even going so far as to request Panteran presence in the North Sea as a deterrant to the Germans who were once again stirring on the continent. For almost a year the Hound, and his fleet, had sat in Britain, doing nothing.

And now, when the attack finally came, it was not the German's who brought the flame. No, this attack came from the silken-gloved hand of a supposed friend. Treachery. It galled the old Reaver and he slammed a fist down onto his desk, breaking his reverie and ending the bickering that went on around him. He could hear aircraft lifting off all about him, and he knew that meant trouble.

"Enough. Enemies will arrive in minutes and you all natter like old women. Now is the time for action, not words. I will speak, you will listen." He rose from his desk and strode out to walk among them,"Now, there is no time for delay. I will be blunt. Our failure today could mean the very collapse of the Panteran nation."

A few angry murmers responded, but he pushed on,"It is true. With so much of the Evenstar's fleets tied up here, his strength will be seriously comprimised should we be destroyed or taken. Such weakness would surely see enemies pouncing from every direction, and Pantera, our very way of life, would end in smoke and flame.'

"These bastard's seem to have us pinched. They're throwing -everything- they have at us, it seems. Mostly airfcraft, from the reports, but we should be seeing some naval presence before long. Their trap might have worked... on lesser men. But we are not that, are we? No. We are Reavers, and these fools will pay the Blood-Price for their treachery.'

"We must survive this day. They will think us to run for the open sea. That is fool's play, for they doubtless have something waiting for us in the Atlantic. No, our path lies east. Crimmond is our destination. The Brits'll think twice before risking the wrath of another Gholgothan nation. Crimmond it is..."

His eyes swept the faces of his men and he spoke, his rasping voice filled with emotion,"You know the cost of failure this day... Lord Glasser is already preparing his ships. They will form our rearguard and attempt to fend off the assault while we make good our escape. Those of you who would stay with him to cover our retreat have my blessing. They will soon be upon us, Reavers. Let's get about it, then."

As if on cue the first concussions of the Panteran AA network came alive, and beyond them, still faint, was the growing hum of the British aerial swarm. Moving out onto the bridge of his Seabitch, the Hound could see his twenty-strong vanguard of the mighty Plunder class warships already steaming eastward. Within seconds of the AA gun's firing the air around the fleet became saturated with the now-famous Panteran 'Fog o' Flak'. The bursts would hinder the British, but the Hound knew that many, if not all, of his Reavers would never see the beautiful shores their home again.

The first of the torpedos detonated and the Hound winced. The sounds of explosions became louder and louder as he watched, and here and there, across the fleet, fires were flaring aboard ships. A tanker went up in a fiery gout, it's hull ripped apart and literally throw into the walls of nearby ships. The initial destruction was appalling, and the Hound wished for someone to hurt, to kill and to make them pay for the horrible deaths of the Reavers all around him.

And yet, he knew, somehow, that the Evenstar would see it through and would make good his vengeance. He had promised, on shaking the Black Prince's hand, that should the accord ever be betrayed, that he would take the man's hand back, for keeps. That thought alone brought the Hound a surge of battle lust, and he shouted a simple phrase into the fleet-wide channel, no more was needed,"Reavers! Blood and Fire!"

And he could hear the riotous report. Whatever happened today, these Brits would pay a high price for every Panteran life lost.

“This is the BBC, and now a broadcast by His Majesty the King”

"My loyal subjects, once again we are forced to fight for truth, justice and liberty. We have now realised that our great Empire is surrounded by enemies, entangled in international affairs that the Empire has no will to deal with, but despite my best efforts, we are once again called upon to bare arms.

Yesterday morning, our enemy in the dark revealed itself to us, sadly it is the Reavers of Pantera, our supposed friend and ally. They have attacked British servicemen, killed innocents, murdered our people in a cowardly dawn raid in the Philippines. Men, woman and even children killed and slaughtered under the name of ruthless warlords.

But what can we expect from those of lower stations and classes. The Panterans are colonials, rebels without a cause or honour. We created a peace treaty, an alliance of which we declared our greatest hopes for world and national security, but our pleas for peace continue to go ignored. The tribesman of the plains only know war, the savages of the mountains know nothing of civilisation and peace, all the care for is death and destruction of civilisations greater than there own.

The Panterans sought to invade us from the North Sea, their fleets encroaching towards British soil. As a result, the Empire struck back, in a fashion that would bring the great Churchill to heel if he were still alive.

Our entire home air force has been striking the Panteran forces in the North Sea, in a combined defensive overseen by my son the Prince of Wales.

We are winning, and we can only thank God for his mercy, and love, for he is truly on our side, the side of justice, liberty, and truth.

Parliament has given powers of government over to me and my advisors for the lasting of this crisis, in such a time of great peril and need, we must not allow ourselves to become distracted with political entanglements. We must be Unified, we must be a United Kingdom."

North Sea

“Why may I ask are those ships still alive?" Prince George asked perplexed.

“Well, Majesty, the Panterans are working on a defence comparable to that of Japans in world war two. The are using Kamikaze planes.”

“The Princes face twisted. “How can they take out our planes in arial combat? Are our pilots stupid?!”

“No Majesty, just vulnerable to mortal means. The Panteran pilots are flying into our formations and detonating themselves, this is causing our pilots a few dilemmas. Most of the suicide attacks are not enough to destroy the fighters however it seriously damages them, resulting in them leaving the field for repairs.”

“What is our combat numbers right now?”

“We are at eighty percent of our original forces Admiral.” George gripped his hands, this was bad new but the battle was going well, but unfortunately not well enough for his liking.

HMSS Valiant

The control tower was bathed in red light, officers were all at their stations, combat operations prepared. Lurking beneath the turbulent waters of the North Sea twelve of the Hunter submarines lay in wait for the Panteran fleet, now steaming directly towards them, mindlessly encroaching upon their torpedo tubes.

The Hunters are the quietest submarines in the world, these vessels would rival active sonar, and internal noise, absorbing it, insuring the vessels secrecy. Each submarine had been ordered to load the newly distributed Shock Torpedoes, a weapon devised by the Admiralty for rendering an enemy vessel immobile and unable to defend itself, all they had to do, was attach onto a ships hull, and the result would be quite literally shocking.

“Tubes one through six armed!”

“All decks have sealed water tight doors.”

“Fire crews report ready sir.”

“Enemy vessels in range in ten seconds.”

“Torpedo rooms, prepare for reload.”

“Five, four three, two, one.”

“Fire Tubes one through three.” The Captain ordered.

Each crewman held onto a secure breech as the Submarine rocked slightly. Slithering through the shallow reaches of the sea, a deathly white trail flew behind the topedoes. Moving towards the great iron giants of the Panterans the torpedoes continued on their path, impacting into the hull with an unholy thud. Stuck to the keel, mere meters away from the engineering sectors the torpedoes suddenly discharged releasing thousands of volts throughout the superstructure. Computers would overload, targeting systems would be disabled, crewman would die, from this unseen threat, as these new weapons of war fulfilled their purpose.

The submarines continued to fire, as many ships as possible were to be disabled. The Admiralty yearned for new battleships…….

Fort William

“Ahh, Excellent.” Ippleswaith smiled. “It does appear the Panterans have run into the submarine net, rather foolish of them to steam ahead without consideration. Dear boy, what is the estimated time before the Panterans reach Crimmond territorial waters?”


Admiral Hanes looked up, that damn General was referring to him. “Sir.” Hanes spitted. “It will be at least six hours before the Panterans reach safe harbour, we have until that time to remove as much of their naval presence as possible, we already estimate with their current Kamikaze tactics that they will be out of planes within the next two possibly three hours.”

“Do we have an loss estimate yet?”

Hanes turned rather sheepishly. “These Kamikaze tactics were not anticipated, and our men have not been trained on how to evade them. Our losses are going to be at least twenty percent over what we anticipated.”

“I see. Very well, order the fleet to engage. Our ships are faster than theirs, we can catch up with them.”

“Yes Sir.”

The Hound watched the incoming fist of British aircraft. His ship's AA batteries had already come alive when another, solitary plane had screamed down out of the sky. His gun's firing wide-open, the Reaver pilot sliced his craft down into the fist of Britsh. A few checked their descent to fire at the newcome enemy, but no sooner had they fired than his own armaments detonated, disintigrating himself in their midst. The incredible velocity of the plane at the moment of descruction was kept up by the flying, white-hot shrapnel that was left over, and this, too, peppered the British aircraft.

The death-flights of his pilots only came after their craft had been seriously damaged. Before, though, they were easily as dangerous. Lurking in the upper reaches of the atmosphere, the pilots would single out aircraft and, though outnumbered, would streak down and open up. Their tactics had kept the British on their toes, and fearful, but there were simply not enough of them.

Yes, his Reaver pilots were exacting a terrible price on the enemy, but it could not last forever. British losses had been frightening, to be sure, but with sheer weight of numbers, and proximity to friendly bases, was beginning to tear at the Reaver fleet.

The strange torpedos of the British subs had unsettled him for awhile. With the shipboard computers disabled by the electrical pulses, a number of his ships had been dead in the water, with no chance of executing an automated hull-breach. Instead of allowing their vessels to be taken, a number of them detonated shells inside their own hulls. These Reavers were no fools, and they knew that should one of these ships fall into British hands, it would be turned against the Evenstar and their homelands.

A score of warships had been sunk, and another dozen were aflame and listing. After the example of the courageous Reavers, he ordered the seamen of the disabled vessels to abandon ship and to breach their own hulls. A Panteran warship in the hands of the enemy would never do, much less a dozen so. Even as he watched he saw another ships hull explode from within. The concussion screamed across the water, and the old man grunted.

The carnage had continued for hours now, and with Crimmond seas a stone's throw away, he was desperate for more speed. A few of his faster vessels had slipped ahead, only to be smashed, piecemeal, by the British wolves that lurked beyond.

Now, he kept his fleet together, though not so close as to be taken all to once. The 'Fog o' Flak' kept most of the aircraft at bay, as did the Seawall turret defenses of his perimiter ships. For the situation, they were doing well, if such staggering losses could ever be considered 'well'.

He looked out over the tattered remnants of his once mighty fleet, the Warhound knew he was in serious trouble. Over half his ships had been destroyed or breached by his own men, and of those remaining afloat, only a handful remained undamaged. Soon they would come in a wave, and the fleet would be swamped by fire. It was an utter defeat, and the old man felt a wave of shame sweep over him.

-No.- He had to do something. Crimmond was only an hours sail, possibly less. In minutes Varchak could have aircraft up. While he would probably not be pleased with the prospect of war with Britain, nor would Britain relish another Gholgothan nation at it's throat. Their King was smarter than that, and would order his fleet off... Or so the Hound hoped.

Urgent: Crimmond Armed Forces

Panteran vessels in the North Sea have near been annihilated. Commander of the Panteran Fleet, Caval the Warhound, requests the Crimmond nation's detterring presence. These British have enough on their plates, and would doubtless turn back at the prospect of fresh hostilities from yet another nation. International waters be damned, get these dogs off of us. I would never beg another man's help unless there was no choice. The Panteran nation needs our ally.

Your brief assistance will be very handsomely rewarded. That is my vow.

-Warhound

Satellite communications were unreliable at best in the past hours, so the Hound simply radiod the message to Crimmond. The coding was one known to Crimmond, and would take at least a few hours for the British to decipher. By then, the British Command would have called their craft and fleets home, and the Hound would be in Crimmond waters, safe to lick his wounds and count the dead.

Another violent concussion rocked the Hound's ship, and he prayed the fools in Crimmond would not dawdle. If they did, there would be no ships, nor men, to be saved.

"Sir?" came a voice behind General Marco. He turned to find a non-com standing there, looking out of breath.

"What is it, Corporal?" he asked, coming around the desk with a look of concern. It wasn't often his men came to face him like this...

"The Panterans are coming." He held out a paper, detailing the events.

"Deploy the Shadow Packs," he said, scowling. "Open the ports. We're going to be busy." The man ran out as the General walked into the hallway and shouted at an aide on the far end. "World wide broadcast! Five minutes!"

---------

The northern shores of Crimmond were what was once Poland, Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. There were many large ports on it's banks, but the largest, Gdansk, was still being rebuilt after the horrific bombardment by Damien's fleet, which nearly leveled the city and killed over 80% of the inhabitants. It opened though, Marines running down the cracked and pot-holed docks.

Others, all intact, opened as well. Dock space was freed up by the deployment of the Shadow Packs, made up of two hundred Supremacy Class Submarines. The nearly indetectable craft began to leave port, sliding away from shore into the Baltic, fifty at a time, vanishing beneath the waves.

Behind the ports sat the airfields of the Empire. Pilots ran for all they were worth to the hot aircraft waiting, while others ran to the ones in hangers, franticlly trying to get as much airborne as possible. That included attack helicopters, which resembled North America's Comanche, which were taking off in waves, skimming mere yards off the surface of the sea towards the Warhound and his wounded fleet.

It may have seemed like Crimmond was prepared for war. It was... the forces of Crowngaurd had backed down mere weeks before and the Empire took its own sweet time in shipping soldiers back to their hme bases after the threat of massive invasions.

----------

General Marco looked furious. Standing in front of the camera, he had to visably control himself from shouting, pausing several times.

"Nations of the world, I am General Benjamin Marco, Defense Minister of The Reforming Empire of Crimmond.

Today, as fortune would have it, is the only day Friday the 13th comes and with it, war comes. As I speak, a Panteran fleet is heading towards the Baltic and the shores of teh Empire. Behind the Reavers is the British Empire, who dishonorably sneak attacked the Reavers and Gholgoth. I need not consult the Overlord or the Prime Minister in this matter, as I allready know what they will say...

I hereby ORDER the British Fleets to stand down and return to port BEFORE you enter the Baltic. If you sail past Denmark, none of you will ever see the North Sea again.

I have only one thing to say to the Reaver fleets and my own fleets that are listening, if the fools flying the Union Jack fail to heed my warning... Drag the Waters and let not one survive."

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/Marco.jpg
General Benjamin Marco
Minister of Defense

The curt address of the Evenstar came without fanfare or announcements. In it, his voice was all but emotionless, but the import of his words was all the more terrible for it:

The lies of the British King are obviously the hollow words of a power-mad fool who is, even now, living on borrowed time. My ancestors drove these fools from the shores of Pantera so long ago. With fire and sword they purged the British from Pantera. Now, I am forced to once again take up my sword to chastize such fools.

To those British citizens who are not completely lost to honor, I say this: Rise up. Overthrow your opressors and kneel before me, because if I am forced to drive you to your knees you will never rise again.

Such treachery will not stand. Under the facade of friendship the British lured the Warhound and his men into a neat trap. Already thousands of fine Reavers lie dead. A tragedy, to be sure. However, there is no cause for tears. No, do not weep and mourn for them. Weep instead for the British, for their nightmare begins now.

Bump, seeing as at this point there's not much else for me to do.

*hints at Bob-Bob*

Sorry guys, exams were being held over this small period, I'll be able to post the morrow.

The command centre was hushed, apparently the dogs of Crimmond were attempting to throw their weight behind their Reaver allies. A most unacceptable situation for the Empire, a third front was not in the time table, and would herald a military blunder not seen since the disastrous operation Barbarossa. Ippleswaith was definitely not going to make the same mistake Hitler did.

Clasping his hands the general contemplated the situation. Crimmond would protect what remained of the Panteran fleet. This would create a small but significant thorn in the Empires side. The remains of the hounds force was no longer a threat as such, their air power now all but gone, the only threat they rendered was one to Atlantic and North Sea shipping, but most vessels could be steered out of their way thanks to satellite intelligence, a commodity the Reavers would soon lose.

The current campaign would have to be altered slightly, Ippleswaith would have to contemplate the situation further before His Majesty grew too restless.

Deep in thought the general forgot the control room now restless with silence. Every officer waited upon his order. Should the Empire continue the attack? Should the Navy plough straight into a quickly mustered and disorganised force? Should the Might of the His Majesties Empire enter into another European war? “No” Ippleswaith sounded. “Order all forces to break off, the fleet is to retreat, but keep a hunter group station in the North Sea, if the Panterans make for open ocean….obliterate them!” It was done, His Majesty would not be pleased……

Pacific Fleet Three Hundred Miles from Phillania

Admiral Matthew Clark was in command of the second strike group, the great naval armada consisted of hundreds of ships, and thousands of men. The initial strikes in an invasion force destined for glory, be it through the ultimate sacrifice or conquest, each man in the fleet would surely gain honour in the coming year.

Phillania had become a desolate isle, deserted of life since the second outbreak of hostilities between the Empire and the Reavers. The war had lasted a mere two weeks, but in that time hundreds had died and an entire isle laid to waste. The once lush pine forests were now devoid of green, all dead from the great cloud of radioactive material thrust upon it by order from His Majesty.

And once again the Empire returns to this fated isle, where once again the Empire moves for war.

Admiral Clark had designated the HMS Trident as his flagship for the initial combat of the campaign. For the past four weeks intelligence had been sweeping the island form orbit, scanning for signs of life or garrisons, and still no one was sure. The basalt isle was now safe to walk upon, radioactivity levels low enough for survival, but intelligence had still to ascertain if any defenders were present, but there was one way to be sure……Invasion

Clark had ordered an immediate air strike, the bombers of the fleet were to rise into the atmosphere guarded by their fighter escorts for an immediate pacification of the island. Each bomber would carry fuel air bombs, which would serve two purposes. First of all, they would clear the island of all the dead vegetation allowing the air base to be set up quickly and efficiently, and secondly, almost all of the defenders still remaining, would die….

OOC: I can post again! Sorry about this one guys, but I have plenty of time now, so we can get the thread moving again. It’s 3am so I can’t manage anything more tonight….(

The reports scattered across the Evenstar's desk were of the Sliver, Phillania, and the British movements to retake the isle. There would be no Panteran move to block their attempts, he had already decided. With the Hound's forces all but gone, Dayne himself was left in a precarious position. Should he force the British hand and attempt to deny them the isle, it would end badly.

Though his might afoot far exceeded that of the British, his fleets had been depleted, and now Panteran might on the waves hovered at just over half of their former strength. Such a situation had never been planned for. Panteran naval strength was Panteran strength. It had always been so, and almost all of their contingency plans for repelling an invasion of the Panteran mainland relied heavily on the roving terror of the Reaver fleets.

In allowing the British to esablish themselves on the Sliver, Dayne would limit their movements. They would be forced to concentrate their forces to defend their base of supplies, and in doing so would allow his fleets still afloat to harry supply lines. A free, roaming British presence in Gholgothan waters wold be nasty for all concerned, but an anchored British presence would open opportunities for the outnumbered Reaver fleets. It would be a hard thing, but with luck he would make life so miserable for the British forces, by starvation and attrition, that any invasion of mainland Pantera would be done by half-hearted soldiers, charging against a wall of ferocious Reavers.

Yes, the defense of Pantera would be no small thing, but it would be done. And in the meantime, the Evenstar ordered a massive increase in the construction of vessels in Panteran shipyards. In addition, Dayne himself would be in contact with a number of private builders abroad, discussing the purchase of a large number of new, foreign-built warships.

Crimmond had saved the Hound and his remnant, and already Dayne was pondering rewards for the nation. Nothing small would suffice, for they had saved the old Reaver from total defeat, and would allow him to exact his revenge on the British. No small matter, that was.

He had heard nothing of rebellion or turmoil inside Britain itself, but that was no large matter. He had already decided to place rewards on acts of rebellion against the British Monarchy. He hurriedly dispatched orders to that effect, and soon word was going out to those that, while not particularly friendly to Pantera, were even less friendly with the British. Eventually word would spread and the right people would hear of his call. All knew of the Lord Reaver's fabulous wealth, and, despite the British propoganda to the contrary, that he was a man of his word and would pay what was promised.

Surely some Scotch, African, or, most likely of all, Irish rebels would leap at the chance to sabotage the British in return for large rewards, and eventually a Free Ireland, once Dayne himself made good his vengeance on their opressor King.

After World War One the world neglected the air ship, using it only for advertising and other menial tasks, but the Empire, the Empire thought better. These Titans of the sky were slow, cumbersome, but greatly useful.

Creeping through the overcast skies of Phillania the British force slowly arrived, the great bombers having dropped their payloads the dawn before rendered the landscape like the moon. Desolate, grey and lifeless. Next the His Majesties airships would move advance each hundreds of meters in size, clustered with weapons of war, missiles, anti missiles, cannons, and troops. These airships were expendable, only meant to protect areas of importance from air attack. Slowly the void of anti–air the airships created encompassed Phillania.

In the distance the grey silhouettes of mighty warships hovered on the horizon, beneath their heavy guns swarmed small ants, each one with a white wash in its wake. The war had truly begun. Landing craft once again smashed against the shore, their side ramps lowering allowing the concealed troops access. The vanguard of the British army would only find destruction, nothing had survived the overnight bombardment, craters and ash was all that was left for the Empire to claim, a mere trifle compared the colonies abroad.

The operation would have to be quick, already fighter air craft were on their way from Japan and India. Bombers, and transports each carrying their necessary cargo would have to land, meaning the army had less than six hours to build the runways, a tight time frame but it was possible thanks to the intense bombardment.

Within the first hour, craters were filled and a makeshift control tower constructed, with the army using the extensive underground cave networks the Panterans had so readily abandoned. Five hours later the prefabricated runways had been built and the first bombers were landing, taxiing into their positions, within a day Phillania resembled a military installation that had been present for years.

London

“I see.” His Majesty uttered. “What about the Boers are they in check?”

“Currently most of the hardliner rebels are still hiding, we could begin mass arrests though that would likely stir up greater discontent, I would recommend an alteration in the law so that we can hold anyone suspected of terrorism and mutiny.”

“And India?”

“I assure you Majesty, there will not be another Indian mutiny, we are quite certain of that. The City governors recently installed will make sure of it. They live like Kings and would dread to lose their small degree of power you have so generously allotted to them.”

“I still want them dead after this war, they may become difficult to handle! I am concerned with this Panteran offer to the rebellion, we must make an example to all those who even think of treason. The first city that even hints of rebellion I want it destroyed, I want it to make the shelling of Dublin look like a sparkler.”

“Of course Majesty, but I assure you, we will prevent that from even occurring……”

“I will hold you to that M, thank you for the briefing, show General Ippleswaith in on your way out please.”

The Intelligence chief rose form his chair, bowing he left his Majesty in the study, contemplating whatever monarchs contemplated.

The skinny figure of Ippleswaith entered. “You requested my presence Majesty?”

“Yes I did, General, I want the operation to be accelerated, the Panteran fleet in Crimmond does not comfort me.”

“But Majesty it will be months before they are capable of doing anything I assure you they are no threat.”

“Yes, you also assured me they would make for the Atlantic.”

“I merely pointed out that there was a high probability of them heading towards the Atlantic Majesty.”

“Regardless, the operation is to be put ahead, I want the attack upon the Armed Empire to go ahead as soon as possible.”

“But the air raids!”

“They will have to go ahead while the land war is progressing.”

“But Majesty!”

“That is all General, inform me of the accelerated timetable when you have it completed.”

“Yes Sire.” Ippleswaith shuddered. The Kings decision could cost lives, but the accelerated time table could only be good for the front. As soon as the hit the two Empires the better. Looking at his watch Ippleswaith realised that there was only three days to the hours to go until the main offensive.

It had now been a week since the commencement of hostilities against Pantera. The British Empire had struck without warning, thousands dead, the casualties on both sides high, but in the end, shock, surprise and numerical advantage saw the destruction of the Reavers northern forces……

The subsequent defeat saw the Panterans issue hundreds of maritime contracts for vessels of any kind, they were desperate for ships, but the Empire could not, and would not allow them to rebuild their navy……

General Ippleswaith and his command staff were in the usual war briefing held at seven in the morning every morning since the commencement of hostilities. Today the war was to escalate, a pre-emptive attack on the Armed Empire would be necessary to secure His Majesties forces victory in the Pacific. In most tactical circumstances this new front would be declared madness, and references to Hitlers failed invasion of Russia would spring up everywhere, but this was not Russia, nor was the Empire Germany….. The stern reality was that the Empire had to invade, or at least cripple Damien the destroyer or he would attack the vulnerable supply lines and backs of the Empires supply lines, which would become more vulnerable as the army moved deeper into Panteran territory. The new virus specially created for the impending attack would be uploaded into the global satellite network rendering satellite communications across the globe useless, apart from His Majesties, which of course would remain very intact.

The British fleet, under the shroud of darkness would strike at the Armed Empires shores and mount an invasion such as the world had never seen before!

Fort William

“I assume we are all agreed then?” Ippleswaith offered. His command staff were less than happy with the new timetable that his Majesty had forced upon them but, as usual, Ippleswaith would find a way around it.

“I do not believe we have any other choice general, the new timetable will have to suffice, but if his Majesty wishes to make any further changes, please, let him know that we shall all resign…. He is a politician not a general, alterations of plans placed months in advance will only lose us the war.” All around the table nodded in agreement, His Majesty was certainly very unpopular with the staff.

“Of course.” Ippleswaith agreed, he would have to backstab the officer behind closed doors to the king later. “But perhaps you should tell him yourself when he arrives?” Ippleswaith watched with a slight amount of pleasure as the mans expression turned from anger to fear. “And he is most unsatisfied with your apparent lack of progress.”

“His Majesty will not be disappointed, the attack upon the Armed Empire is mere hours away from implementation…..”

“I hope so, for your sake general, another set back would be……most unfortunate.” The other ten staff nodded in agreement, like puppets at a show. “I declare this briefing adjourned, records are to be stored pending internal review.” The clerk lifted the papers and proceeded to the archive. It had been decided by some unknown administrator not to store transcripts on disc, as they were too easily smuggled out of the building, a stern reminder of the valuable information stored in the Fort.

Pacific Fleet [Secondary Task Force Admiral Hopkins]

HMS Peacekeeper

All in the bridge were watching Freek satellite television, not for entertainment, as most would agree there was little entertaining about it. No, the bridge crew were monitoring the enemies satellite capabilities in the simplest of fashions. For a day now the naval task force had been sailing towards Pantera, but in under an hour a course change would be implemented taking them towards Freek territory and relentless conflict. The Panterans were an honourable foe, an army to respect, a force to show field-honour to, but the Freeks were to be exterminated on every level. They were and would always be Freaks to the Empire, if possible every single one would be exterminated……

His Majesty had ordered the British Naval forces to rescue as many Reavers from the Icy waters of the North Sea as possible, some hundreds survived, now imprisoned on the Orkney isles, far away from anywhere, beyond rescue and salvation on the barren rocks, where all the had to do was count gulls and waves.

On the box there was a most disturbing romantic comedy, starring a man who looked more like a horse, and a woman, well Hopkins really couldn’t tell if it was a woman? Shaking his head the Admiral really thought the Freaks could use the BBC, perhaps it could make them slightly less violent, after all he would like to smash someone after watching a few more hours of this…

Unexpectedly the picture suddenly cut out, the quality decreasing almost instantly until all that was displayed was simple static. Everyone on the bridge looked around, it was time. “HELM!” Hopkins announced. “Set course for our secondary destination. Communications signal the fleet to open their order packs 22/A and please emphasise the matter that they are to be followed to the letter.”

“Yes Admiral.” The communications were sent through the fleet, now moving through waters silently, quietly and sneakily.

The Panterans and Freeks would expect the British fleet to arrive a few days later on the Northern Panteran coast, but they would be gravely mistaken….

[OOC: To get the next phase started and to boost the thread. And yes... Pantera okayed this.]

All was not quiet in the Baltic. Crimm drydocks were busy repairing damaged Reaver ships and long unused shipyards had suddenly sprung to life. Materials were being shipped in from Myer, Reaver shipbuilding experts were arriving and as the first of the Reaver ships was put back into the Baltic, the keels of new ships were being laid.

In a private communication to Dayne, General Marco informed the Lord Reaver that the Empire was honored and proud to be the builder of the fleet that would crush the British dogs. There was also complex timetables, reports on repairs of the current armada and statistics on ammunition replacement. The short of it ws that it would take about four-six months longer to build a ship in Crimmond than it would take to build the same ship in Pantera, due to the length of time the Empire went without surface ships and due to the disrepair of some of the shipyards.

----

Submarines still prowled the waters of the Atlantic and Baltic, ferrying important peoples and some cargo in and out of the Empire, while the Vladmir carrier group continued it's normal cruise, heading towards the southern tip of Africa. It was probably going away from conflict to put the British more at ease, which was a false sense of security, really. But any ploy helped.

News of the British movements seemed to have little to no effect on the Freeks, or more importantly Lord Damien himself. As the days passed and as the Brits moved onward towards Gholgothian waters, no AMF fleet presented itself either in Freek waters or international waters. Little movement could be seen on the shores and on the visable coastal defenses, even with the British warships closing in.

Little activity was also recorded at the Great Hall. In fact.....things seemed eerily out of place. Hours passed and turned into days, but still no AMF naval presence could be seen. The choppy waters remained undisturbed in an almost mocking manner....as if openly challenging the Brits to a test of might. Lord Dreadfire refused to give any specific comment on the crisis in the North Sea, or the conflict that had erupted between Pantera and the Brits, which was all the more suspicious. Word began to spread about a possible war with England, and that a shadow was beginning to form in the east.

Lord Dreadfire began putting on his combat armor one piece at a time as reports from the coast continued to flood in. M'Lord, we have several Warchiefs standing by for a possible attack on our mainland, and your forces have been replenished per your orders. Mr. Bonesplitter paused briefly to assist Damien in putting on his chest plate, only to he waved off by Dreadfire's dismissive right hand.

Our defenses and garrisons are more than adequate. If the British make the mistake of crossing into Freek waters, they will see first hand what the Seventh level of Hell looks like. But for now we will watch and wait. I will slip out of the Great Hall under cover of darkness from the secret underground passages and make for the front line.

Marv turned around as Damien passed him and headed towards the door. And Sir, what if the British do make that mistake? The Destroyer stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head slowly, an evil and sadistic look upon his face. I'm counting on it.


+++++++++++++


OOC: Sorry for my sudden departure, my computer was broken for about a month. But it's fixed now, so we can continue this RP.