NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is a semi-open RP. If you are interested in joining one side or the other, post here or send one of us a TG. You know the rules of this forum, so follow them. ;)

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IC:

At the top of the Saketh Tower is a room which few know about, and fewer have visited. It looks out over the city, Czarna, whose nearly three million inhabitants go about their lives ignorant of what lies on the one hundred and first story of the Saketh. The room is at its most dazzling and spectacular in the afternoon and twilight, when the rays of the setting sun burst forth in radiance around the central column, along which a wheelchair, much like a throne of kings, is placed. In that wheelchair sits The Czar.

Few have met the Czar, and all of those few are important. Like his namesakes hundreds of years ago in Russia, he rules an empire: an empire of tangled networks of espionage, diplomacy, and loyalty, an empire where betrayal occurs at a moment's notice, often unpremeditated. An empire encompassing, but not fully ruling, thirteen countries and countless spies and those who hire them. Over this the Czar rules supreme.

His name has been forgotten in favor of the title. The common people of Czardas once spoke of him as a legend, a half-mythical figure. No-one knows if he is even alive any more. But he is, if only half so. The wheelchair has accompanied his every movement for twenty years or more. Now it stands still as he listens.

Violet Astoria, the Minister of Defense, is saying, "We have tried all dipomatic alternatives."

Her assistant Davis adds, "But they seem bent on demonizing us. Their media portrays us as rabid human rights violators. They take quotes from our politicians out-of-context. They make every attempt to show their citizens that our democracy is a cover for rampant corruption, apathy, and actual tyranny of the majority."

Astoria nods. "Yet we are ranked high on our regional human index and census. Why do they wish to portray us as monsters?"

The Czar speaks for the first time. He has a hoarse, rasping voice that is not easily forgotten. "There is only one possible reason for this: they want Czardas."

"You mean, our land and resources?" says Astoria. "Imperialism is generally frowned upon by the international community. How can they hope to succeed?"

"If they gain control of veritable media," says The Czar, "they can spread their message of malice and slander to other nations. They are a large and internationally respected nation; we are not. Who is the international community more likely to believe?"

Davis adds, "We have our allies, but if they too believe we have a long list of human rights violations to our name, we will lose their support too."

Astoria says worriedly, "So what are we to do?"

The Czar advises them, the paraplegic bearing more strength than the two government officers. "Tell the President that there are two alternatives: we can try to influence mainstream media in our favor, which is against all our principles of free media."

Astoria and Davis express their assent in murmurs.

"Therefore, we are left to the second alternative: institute a military recruitment program, stockpile on nuclear weapons, and begin updating our weaponry in preparation for war."

"You can't mean war, surely?" gasps Astoria.

"We have not fought a war for decades," answers The Czar. "But we may need to. If only to preserve our reputation...and our lives."

But even so, the Minister of Defense and her assistant are worried. Defensive wars always gain more sympathy from the international community, but if that community had already been convinced of the defenders' vileness... indeed, their enemy had a diabolical plan. Wherever Czardas turned, it seemed to be caught in a slowly descending net of doom...

*The camera jumps to a view of The Commonwealth of Imperial Galactica, panning slowly. The shot moves to a large council room. Though the large oak table at the center of the room could easily seat fifty people, today only a few sit at it. Maps and folders are arranged haphazardly around the table in front of the few occupants.*

Executor Urza Ender Thrawn, Imperial Galactica's leader, lowers the porfolio and rubs his bleary, tired eyes.

Executor Urza Ender Thrawn: What does this 'Czar' think he's doing? *scans the paper again for a moment* Seven villages destroyed, with plenty of evidence left behind that points to his nation. But why would this...*spits out the world venomously*...nation...seek to attack us? There's little chance they could beat us in combat. I just don't understand...thoughts?

Grand General Belgarion, head of Imperial Galactica's land armies, leans forward in his chair and speaks: He might be intending to draw our Commonwealth into a conflict that would seem as if we're simply attempting to smash a smaller nation. But, by current intelligence analyses, Czardas' various armies, even acting together jointly, have no hope of defeating Imperial Galactica. Our economic and industrial bases are simply too powerful. *Leans backwards and temples his fingers.* Either Czardas has some sort of all-encompassing plan that we know nothing about, or he's merely an idiot.

Master Strategist Zhuge Liang, clad in his white robes as usual, speaks reservedly, and the table quiets to listen to him. The Master Strategist's voice portrays one who is used to command.

Zhuge Liang: I assume that we have exhausted all diplomatic possibilities?

Abruptly, Supreme Admiral Bastila Hattori , leader of Imperial Galactica's navy, stands from her chair and slams her fist upon the table.

Bastila Hattori: It is too late for mere words! Czardas has attacked our territory! My vote goes for conquering Czardas immediately. The foreign world must be sent the message that Imperial Galactica CANNOT be raided with no consequences! I call for an immediate assignment of all troops stationed near Czardas to full battle alert! We have ourselves an opportunity to show the world the power of our armed forces and we MUST NOT YIELD! Let us stand strong together and defeat this so-called 'sovereign' nation! The proper response to difficulty is not to retreat, but to prevail!

rza Ender Thrawn interrupts her quickly, standing as well.

Urza Ender Thrawn: Bastila, calm yourself! We must not react rashly. We've all seen the news and horrific scenes, there is no need to repeat propaganda back to us. I agree that this rebel Czardaian group must be eliminated posthaste. Bring our alert status from level 2 to 4, and begin military maneuvers on our Czardaian border. Meeting adjourned.

The staff officers all stand and filter out of the room slowly. Urza Ender Thrawn sighs, then stands and looks out the window.

Urza Ender Thrawn: Yes...we'll have to wait and see...Czardas, why do you do this?

A sibilant voice emerges from the shadows of the room. The speaker, a man known only as Phoenix Grey, heads Imperial Galactica's shadowy Department of Politburo and Information.

Phoenix Grey: Do not forgot the obvious. My men can in position within a few days. Kill the head of an animal, and the body soon follows. These insignificant nations have highly penetrable security, and I'm sure Czardas is no exception. I await your command.

Urza Ender Thrawn grimaces, then speaks: Get a team into place. Do not act without my verbal order to do so. Simply insert them into place.

Urza Ender Thrawn turns, and it is obvious that Phoenix Grey is dismissed.

*The camera zooms to a shot of the grandiose hallway. Phoenix Grey exits the council room and turns to a marble column, where a few seconds ago Bastila Hattori had been skulking. Bastila Hattori moves into the open floor and waits.*

Phoenix Grey speaks to Bastila Hattori: The Executor has ordered Czardas to be assassinated.

Bastila Hattori: Yes! *Bastila Hattori pumps her fist in the air.* I knew that our glorious leader would make the right decision.

Bastila Hattori turns and stalks away quickly.

Phoenix Grey laughs once, more of a hiss than a chuckle. He shakes his head once at Hattori's gullibility, then opens a satellite phone and speaks a single, chilling word.

Phoenix Grey: Go.

The Secretary-General's voice bears outrage. "They did what?"

By contrast, Defense Minister Astoria's is calm, albeit cold. "It seems they raided their own village without the knowledge of their national leader, then pinned the crime on us."

"Us? We can't have done it," says Jan Delatoire, pushing his hair back in a characteristic gesture. "Their nation is four hours away by plane, and no planes have been going to Imperial Galactica since the breaking-off of diplomatic relations."

"Yes, I know that," says Violet Astoria irritably. "All defense forces were reported present. No-one has gone in that direction. Nothing has been detected on radar. It's simply the next stage in their plan."

"But you said their national leader has no knowledge of this...subversiveness." Jan Delatoire's voice bore heavy irony.

This time it is Airya Wong, Vice-Director of the National Intelligence Department (NID), who speaks in her low but always audible tones. "He does not. According to our spies, the plan may have been orchestrated by an official named Grey?..." She looks at a card. "Phoenix Grey, their counterpart to our Czar.

"Apparently this Grey is under the mistaken belief that Czardas, like so many of the other defenseless nations he is used to invading, contains an unreliable security network and has a weak military. He seems to believe in 'quantity, not quality'." Wong smiles slightly.

Delatoire shrugs. "We will let them believe that. They do not know already how much of their espionage network is already controlled by the Czar."

"I suspect that this leader selects his men well and knows everything about them," interjects Astoria. "If one of our spies insinuated himself into their ranks, would he not know all about his betrayal?"

"Oh, our spies are not only people," says Wong mysteriously. She turns to go into conference with an aide. Delatoire watches her, then smiles and turns back to Astoria.

"She's right, you know."

The team leader moved quietly, quickly. This was the type of mission that he and his men had been trained to do without flaw since childhood. He and his 3-man team had infiltrated the outer perimeter wall of the Czar's tower easily, and were now making their way to the dizzying height at which the Czar was rumored to never leave. Thus far, there had been little complication. The team had had to leave their rappelling gear behind in order to move more silently, but the team leader felt that it was a worthy sacrifice. A quick half hour more, and they'd be on their way back out, with their mission accomplished successfully and large credit bonuses awaiting them at home in Imperial Galactica.

"Edrico, Sam, cover the stairs. There's far too much traffic for such a late night. We'll have to chance taking one of the elevators." The man exhaled quietly, then slipped over and summoned one of the elevators.

The team's electronics man, Algon, slipped up next to the team leader.

Algon: I recall making jokes about their spying capacity as a child, Decius.

Decius, the team leader, laughed, his eyes never moving from the elevator's doors.

Decius: Everyone's got a few Czardaian jokes.

Algon: I wonder, who do the Czardaians make jokes about?\

Decius: The Czardaians, of course. They simply don't know they're jokes.

The two men laugh. The elevator soon arrives and the team clambers onto it. They press the button for the hundreth floor and wait impatiently.

Suddenly, the elevator stops at the eightieth floor with a screech, and the men are thrown off their feet momentarily. They all begin to realize what a grave error they had made.

Decius: Quick, through the roof!

Algon plants a shaped charge and blows a man-sized hole in the top of the Czardaian elevator. All four men quickly pile out, silenced pistols held at the ready.

Edrico, whispering: I see nothing, even on the infrared...

The men wait another minute, and a noticeable drain of tension happens.

Decius: It figures. The Czardaian elevator has the gall to die on us.

The four men laugh.

Decius: Okay, to the grapplers.

The team leader wished he hadn't made the decision to leave the rappelling gear behind. The men grab their short range grapplers and begin to make their way up the shaft.

Suddenly, a floodlight illuminated the shaft. The four men looked about the shaft in sheer terror. All four men spot the men holding assault weapons waiting near the roof of the shaft on rappellers.

The assault team looked at each other in fear, then begin to drop as the men near the roof open fire.

Decius: Go, go! If we can make it to ground level we've got a chance!

Decius cuts his rappellers, and he hears his team do the same. Even in this moment of crisis, he cannot but feel pride in his well-trained team.

Decius soon reaches the floor of the shaft and is soon joined by Sam and Algon. They begin to run, knowing that they can't wait. However, not all the team members are as fortunate as themselves. They hear Edrico's body hit the ground behind them as they run. The three men race through the ground level of the tower, not stopping. It doesn't occur to them to wonder why no security or armed forced were present.

Decius opens his comlink and calls for immediate pickup.

"The mission is blown, we need immediate evac!" he yells into the comlink's pickup.

A helicopter soon flies in and retrieves the team, guarded by several of Imperial Galactica's armed squadrons. Since there has been no formal declaration of war, none of the Czardaian anti-aircraft batteries were fully operational yet. If they were, the helicopter would only have hit ground once - upon being destroyed.

All around the helicopter, turrets were powering up to destroy the failed assassins.

The helicopter banks right hard to avoid a first - and last - missile aimed at them. The men, unprepared, fall heavily to the side. Decius watches both his comrades fall out the still-open side door, and, heaving with exhaustion, moves to close the door. He blacks out and falls to the floor.

Decius awakens to find that he's lying upon a hilltop, with the helicopter nowhere in sight. A man wearing a full suit of body armor is turned away from him, watching Imperial Galactica's main city by the night lights. Decius recognizes this armor. Pitch black - not the glossy black of a beetle, nor the black of midnight - the pitch black of the bottom of a mine, the blackness that sucks in all light and hope. The man in the armor turns to Decius, and Decius cannot help but scream - it's the lord of Imperial Galactica's politburo, Phoenix Grey himself.

Decius: My lord...*his voice quavers*...we were ambushed...we had no chance...they got Edrico upon exit of an elevator shaft...Sam and Algon upon firing at our aircraft...sir...I'm...*his voice breaks off into a whisper*...sorry.

Phoenix Grey: Apologies, Decius. You offer me your apologies.

Rage and scorn mar the Lord's words.

Decius: Lord, my life is yours...you know that well...I'll serve you until death...*Decius' voice is full of fear and he grasps at straws*...

Phoenix Grey: Yes. You are right.

Decius never felt the bullet that entered his skull from Phoenix Grey's pistol.

"Yes. They made an assassination attempt, just as we thought they would."

Captain Alma Finlay of the 14th Special Operative Division smiles as she reports to the flat screen in Czardas's high-security military compound, on which the face of her commander, General Henrik Ogden, is visible.

Ogden's voice comes across muted. "And did your plan go off?"

"Almost all of it," says Finlay, brushing back a strand of dark hair. "We shut down our security network and let them into the country. They entered the building without attracting attention, because I had instructed the security forces downstairs to only be on the alert for people coming out of the elevator shaft. I recorded their conversation, too. They wondered what Czardaians made jokes about."

"Aha. Under the impression that we had a faulty security system?" Ogden smiles.

"Obviously. I then took the roof with five or ten armed soldiers -- that's all we need anyhow -- and stopped the elevator at the eightieth floor. They would attribute it to faulty elevators. They came out, we shot at them, and killed one; three escaped. The only error we made was in not starting up the anti-aircraft batteries. By the time we fired our first missile, their escape helicopter was already leaving. Two fell out; the last one made his way back home. Probably with an inside knowledge of our security compound."

"The two that fell out...did they survive?" asks Ogden unexpectedly.

"One of them had his skull crushed in when he fell, and died instantly. The other one landed in a net prepared by our security forces and suffered critical injuries, but is conscious and alive. He is refusing to eat or say anything. We have withheld his water and placed him over the furnace until he ends his strike."

"Ah, I see. We do not need him to gain inside knowledge of Imperial Galactica's security anyway."

Finlay nods. "The latest report from FLD-X1291 is back. Care to see it, General? I'll fax it."

"All right. Communication over." Ogden shuts off his screen and Finlay hers. Then she steps into the elevator nearby, presses a button. The doors shut and after a minute re-open on a very warm passageway, all of a shining tan metal. She walks to a cell nearby, presses a sequence of buttons known only to a few, and a huge steel door opens. She looks in with a mocking smile at the miserable, emaciated man sitting on the cot in the right corner.

"You wondered what the Czardaians make jokes about? Well, from now on, they'll make jokes about Imperial Galactica."

The man starts up in protest as Finlay laughs aloud and the door slides shut.

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The international television cameras show the façade of the magnificent Congress Hall in Czarna, closing in on a window on the second floor. In a magnificent shot of editing, the camera seems to break through the window and focus on the rugged, moustached face of President Dimovilà of Czardas. Dimovilà stands behind his desk, cluttered with papers; behind him is a huge map of the world. His aides and ministers sit in chairs around him. The camera closes in on Dimovilà as he begins speaking.

"My fellow men and women," he begins, "today is a sad day for me and for all Czardaians. A team from the nation of Imperial Galactica entered our high-security compound with the intention of assassinating our Director of National Intelligence. This nation has also been spreading the vile slander via media that we are a nation of bloodthirsty, corrupt totalitarians, oppressing our citizens mindlessly. I ask all Czardaians, are we indeed so oppressive as they claim?"

An unanimous cry of "No!" is heard.

Dimovilà goes on, pacing the room. "We do not wish to open hostilities with this nation; however, it seems as if Imperial Galactica is begging us to declare war, believing it can win due to its superior manpower. Therefore, we have decided to raise our security alert to 'High', break off all current and future diplomatic relations with Imperial Galactica, and declare Czardas in a state of preparing for war. Further aggression on the part of Imperial Galactica will lead to an official declaration of war.

"Our armies will be mobilized and all military equipment readied for battle. We will be conscripting an army from our reserves. The citizens of Czardas stand with me on this. Imperial Galactica must learn that, unlike the old jokes, Czardas is not a defenseless, powerless, helpless nation.

"Have a nice day."

Dimovilà sits down amid applause. The cameras slowly black out.

The camera centers again on the war council of Imperial Galactica, with one minor modification. Crassus, Imperial Galactica's Minister of Finance, is seated. Crassus is a large, overweight man, with balding hair and beady eyes. Those eyes keep shooting all over the room nervously as the meeting begins.

Urza Ender Thrawn, quietly: I assume we all saw the Czardaian's latest speech.

All along the table, heads nod uneasily.

Urza Ender Thrawn: Well then. Phoenix Grey, is this true? Have they apprehended one of our strike teams?

Phoenix Grey's voice comes again from the shadows of the room.

Phoenix Grey: Yes, Executor. We sent a small team into their complex disguised as janitors to get into place. Obviously, they saw through our ruse. I call for an immediate delaration of war.

Supreme Admiral Bastila Hattori jumps on these last words, as Phoenix Grey had known she would.

Bastila Hattori: I agree wholeheartedly! A quick tactical strike on their capital shows them the folly of wiping out one of our teams!

Master Strategist Zhuge Liang speaks, calmly and quietly as usual.

Zhuge Liang: But the question is...how? How did they manage to find one of our teams? Perhaps an attack of Imperial troops would not be the best maneuver.

Grand General Belgarion: My men are ready. Give the order, Executor, and we'll force-march their capital in a day. They've committed an act of war by firing at our helicopter.

Urza Ender Thrawn replies tersely: Yes, but keep in mind that that helicopter was removing a team of our spies. They were ordered only to infiltrate, I presume, Phoenix Grey.

Phoenix Grey: Of course, my lord.

Urza Ender Thrawn: Bring our status from level 4 to 5. Belgarion, keep your troops on maneuvers for the moment. Bastila, I want you to immediately mobilize all naval elements in the Caspian Gulf. Keep them on standby near the Czardaian border. Let's heat things up, ladies and gentlemen. The Czardaians cannot hold out like this for much longer.

He ponders for a few moments, then adds: They've cut all diplomatic ties. Let's take that a step farther. Set a full trade sanction against the Czardaians. They're a smaller nation, they'll feel the burn far before Imperial Galactica will.

Phoenix Grey: I suggest calling for foreign aid, my lord. Though we may or may not need it, it's always a boon, and helps the ties between our allies and ourselves.

Urza Ender Thrawn: Suggestion noted, Phoenix Grey. Zhuge, handle that one. Anything else?

The collected heads and ministers shake their heads.

Urza Ender Thrawn: Crassus, you're sure the bank can handle this?

Crassus twitches a little, his eyes still moving nervously: Yes, Executor, Sir, Lord...I mean, Executor...yes, we can.

Urza Ender Thrawn watches Crassus intently and speaks: Good. Council dismissed.

The staff file out of the room again.

Urza Ender Thrawn stands and walks to the single window in the council room. He stands tall with a military bearing and looks down upon his vast realm.

Urza Ender Thrawn sighs, and speaks almost in a whisper: Czardas, what have you done...?

A council of war is also being held in Congress Hall. President Dimovila and his many advisers sit around a long table, while in an amphitheatre-like circle around them sit the members of the Council of 400, Czardas's legislative body. Farther up, as many citizens of Czardas as possible are crammed into the room, sitting, standing, lying down. The room echoes with the sounds of many voices. Finally the President calls for silence and speaks to his advisors.

"Imperial Galactica is calling for a trade sanction on Czardas."

"We have heard, Mr. President," says the always-formal Foreign Minister, Kari Alhoun.

The President stands and begins to pace the floor. "Sanctions can only hurt us. However, let us not forget that we survived seventy years without foreign aid after the Dokhara treaty. Now, of course, we have opened trade relations with several of our allies, none of whom has a strong military. If we are prevented from trading, our economy may suffer, but we can subsist on our own resources for several years before entering the type of economic depression that pursued us through the second half of the 20th century. We have plenty of food, oil, metal, wood, and other...perhaps not so well known...resources."

Minister of War Astoria objects, "But Mr. President, suppose they burn our crops or contaminate our groundwater. Without food and water, we will have to surrender. And I have known enemies to engage in such tactics."

The President sets his lips together grimly, "They will not, because if they dare set foot on our territory, they will be blasted into little pieces and scattered over the sea."

There is a brief silence.

Secretary General Delatoire says, "Naturally, we cannot defeat this enemy on our own. Therefore, it would seem to be a good idea to call for international aid."

"Aid?" The President asks.

"Yes. We have aided nations in the past. Perhaps they will return the favor. We may not even need their help, but if other nations rally to our cause, it may convince Imperial Galactica that it is not worth attacking us."

The Minister of Finance stirred. "As of now we are pouring very little money into national defense. I propose that we shift some money from the education and welfare budgets, our largest so far, into defense."

Dimovila smiles slightly. "I will let you handle the budget details," he says. "Just make sure our military is ready, our equipment working, and our soldiers well paid."

"Yes, Mr. President." The Minister of Finance retires.

The President turns to Airya Wong. "Airya, can you and the Czar handle the intelligence work?"

Wong shrugs. "We have been doing it for twenty-two years. I see no reason why it will suddenly become more difficult now."

The younger members of the intelligence staff break into spontaneous applause, and the President smiles. "Touché," he murmurs.

"Does the Council have any questions?" asks the President.

There is silence.

"Thank you, and dismissed," says the President. The assembled people file out, one by one. The President's advisers leave, too. A crowd fills Democracy Plaza, outside Congress Hall, moving, active, murmuring among themselves, looking much like ants to one a hundred stories above.

One who looks down, as the afternoon sun streams past his wheelchair into a small room with the elevator shaft directly behind him. One who is paralyzed from the neck down. One whose eyes slowly move upwards from the crowds below, towards the distant border, melting away into haze far to the north, and sighs.

"Czardas, what have you done?"

*The camera opens to a shot of a televised Executor Address. The Executor, seated in his suit behind an oak desk, has his hands clasped in front of himself. The Imperial flag hangs limply behind him. The Executor looks troubled in this time of distress for his people.*


Executor Urza Ender Thrawn: "People of Imperial Galactica, I come to you today with grave news. Another two cities on our border with Czardas have been razed. On this day of our most extreme suffering, let it be said that it shall never happen again. On this day, two hundred thousand of our people lie dead without graves. We, as the people of Imperial Galactica, cannot allow it to happen again. Never again."

"Czardas has seen fit time and time again to attempt to destroy our morale, to hurt our resolve and will. Never again."

"On this day, I call out to the people of Imperial Galactica - do not falter! The proper response to difficulty is not to retreat, but to prevail. The next step that Imperial Galactica must take is a necessary one."

"On this day, the Commonwealth of Imperial Galactica declares war upon Czardas." Here the Executor paused for a moment, sorrow showing in his face. He continued to speak, though now softly, in almost a whisper. "Czardas shall not hurt any more of our people. Never again. Pray for our nation, and may God protect you." The address ends.

Across the nation, the orchestrated call leads the vast armies of Imperial Galactica to mobilize. The armies situated at the border of Czardas begin their march of destruction.

The Executor turns away from the dead cameras, and covers his face with his hands.

"What has happened to us?...How many of Imperial Galactica's sons will die?"

He looks up, this time with a little hope.

"Perhaps the war will end quickly - that is all we can hope for."

The Executor had no idea just how quickly the war would be over.

And then the war ended as the Holy Republic of Islamic daingean marched triumphantly into town...holding some plutonium - a factor in their crushing victory.

That and the fact the leaders are intellectually superior

OOC: We're not dead yet! :D

IC:
There is high tension along the Czardaian borders. Hearing the news of a massive army marching towards their northern borders, Supreme Commander Sethani has ordered the mobilization of Czardas's none too massive army. Even the simple citizens are up in arms, the true lawmakers of the nation, wielding whatever comes to hand. Fire -- a simple weapon, but an effective one -- was their weapon of choice. President Dimovila had stood before his desk, watching Executor Thrawn's declaration of war, and spoken his in a voice still strong with anger.

"My address today to the peoples of Czardas and the world will be a brief one. Executor Thrawn of Imperial Galactica makes a vile accusation against us, of killing thousands of his civillians, and uses this as grounds for war. I now condemn his unjust declaration. We never attacked his cities. If civilians lie dead, it is him, or his countrymen, who have caused their deaths.

"Imperial Galactica, I, on behalf of the Concordance, declare war on you. You and any of your allies are our enemies now. And this time, we will not spare any who resist us. Our army will begin troop maneuvers immediately. Prepare to be attacked within four hours.

"Have a nice day."

The President shut off the cameras.

------------------

General Ogden watches the tanks and planes and military equipment rumble along a field and turns to the uniformed young woman beside him.

"Alma," he says gravely, "what have you done?"

"It wasn't my idea, General," insists Captain Alma Finlay, 14th Special Operative Division. "We were simply going to blow up one of their military bases. It might stall the declaration of war. Civillians is just propaganda and is designed just to inflame the people."

General Ogden stares. "You blew up a whole military base? By yourself?"

"No, no," says Alma. "There were fourteen or fifteen of us, in three planes. We approached. They fired at us. We dropped three missiles and fled for our lives."

The General stares even harder. "Where did you drop the missiles?"

"One on the anti-aircraft. One on the central headquarters, to get the generals. One to scare them, in the middle of the courtyard. All CX-123s."

"And how many were killed?"

"None."

"I mean of theirs."

"How should I know? I was twenty thousand feet off the ground." Alma smiles.

"That was extremely dangerous. You acted without orders. No-one knew where you were."

"The 14th," says Alma staring straight into Ogden's eyes with cold mocking fury, "works on its own." She turns to go.

"But don't you realize that you could have caused us utter destruction? You were the cause of this declaration of war?" Ogden is as furious as she.

Alma gives him one of her mocking smiles. "I caused it and I'll very well end it or die in the process. You, General, can stay out of it." The elevator doors slide open and she is gone. Ogden starts up, but he is too late. The doors clang shut.

-------------------

Kaar is one of those flying. He shows off his expertise, turning loops in his small glittering plane. Small but deadly. Its guns are automatic and can fire very fast rounds. It can also extend a needle to dive-bomb a much larger plane or even a ground building. Kaar smiles and looks out the cockpit, down at the Czardaian army marching for the border. He then looks out to see, very distantly, a much larger army approaching them. The Czardaian army looks pitiful in comparison. He shrugs. He had chosen to be a soldier, and if he had to die as one, well...

Orders sound in his radio. "All planes, diving formation. Full speed."

Kaar presses a button and watches a dial slide to maximum. Behind him the other planes have also picked up speed. The Imperial Galactican planes are larger and a little bit slower. This will be fun, he thinks, as the order comes over on his transmitter, "Dive!"

He dives. His plane takes an Imperial Galactican right through the cockpit, skewering the pilot and disabling the plane. He hears firing at him and the other planes, but none of the guns can reach high enough. The plane below him spirals down in a blaze of smoke and fire. Around him, he sees that his companions were not so lucky. Their plans had been anticipated by some of the others, who turned aside, letting the Czardaians dive down until they are within range of the ordinary guns and tanks of the soldiers. Planes fire at him. He ducks, weaves, and fires back. Needle still extended, he flies up and takes a higher plane through the belly, withdrawing before the plane could drag him down. Looking down, he sees that the Imperial Galactican soldiers have ceased their marching, moving back to avoid being struck by a falling plane.

Far below, the Czardaians too have halted, letting the planes do the work. Czardas does not have very many planes, which in this case is an advantage. They can spread out and attack from different angles. An Imperial Galactican plane in front of Kaar is now flying full speed at him, trying to hit him and knock him out of the air. He turns down and descends. The plane zooms over his head; he turns and fires at it, trying to bring it down. Czardaian anti-aircraft powers up to fire missiles at the plane. Kaar does not see what happens to it.

His attention is next seized by another smaller plane. Kaar's is blue; the other is much like his, but is pitch black. As the plane approaches, Kaar dives towards the ground. He wonders where the Imperial Galactican anti-aircraft guns are. The other plane has also dived with him, trying to get at him. They go parallel to each other towards the ground, side by side. Then Kaar abruptly pulls out of the dive, letting the other plane fall. He hears the huge crash as it hits the ground and feels the heat of the explosion.

Around him the Imperial Galactican planes have banded together in small groups, each targeting a single Czardaian plane. Kaar has taken care of two already. The three that are left now fly in circles, attempting to surround him. He hears the sound of a Czardaian plane exploding, and fires three CX-123 missiles at the planes flying towards him. One of them misses and curves towards the ground, exploding in the front ranks of the Imperial Galactican soldiers. The others hit...

But Kaar is hit now. Every single "planer" has been hit once or twice in this battle. Even his blue armor has not blocked the plane fires. But he will not be hit by non-anti-aircraft ground ammunition. He thinks quickly, fires at a few other planes. Then he descends sharply towards the ground and the Imperial Galactican soldiers. Men fire at him in desperation. Planes from above hold their fire, fearful of hitting their own troops. He opens a hatch at the bottom and drops a bomb onto the soldiers below him, closing it quickly to avoid being fired into. Then he holds his finger to the firing button and descends to about six feet above the ground. He heads around the tanks, hitting individual soldiers and jeeps with his fire. The tank nearest him fires. A hole is blasted in his armor, but he keeps going just above the ground, smashing holes in the ranks of soldiers. A Czardaian plane drops a missile near him, causing a massive explosion that throws him sideways. He crashes head-on into a tank.

The resulting fireball is something General Ogden will always remember....

-----------------

The doors clang shut behind Alma Finlay as she steps into the common room where all of the 14th Special Operative Division gathers to eat and talk. A television is replaying the Executor's speech. She watches it emotionlessly. After that her trusted Lieutenant Dorakov speaks.

"We didn't destroy a city, did we?" he queries.

"No," says Alma grimly.

"Executor Thrawn only seems to agree with us on one thing -- we both want the war to be over quickly."

"Well, if all goes according to our plans, the war will be over quickly," says Alma, smiling. "For him."

Urza Ender Thrawn stands at an enormous mural of Imperial Galactica's past. He gazes upon it, apparently caught up in memories long faded and people long dead.

Zhuge Liang approaches Urza Ender Thrawn from behind silently, and glides up to stand beside him.

Zhuge Liang, quietly: "Drawing inspiration from those past, Urza?"

Urza smiles wearily. "Good friend, what are we to do now? He cannot hold off our armies forever. Is it right to destroy what they know in order to protect our land?"

Urza turns to Zhuge, obviously troubled.

Zhuge ponders this question for a moment, then replies.

"Urza, you were appointed to the Executorship to protect your people. The nation of Czardas brought this upon themselves. It is your duty. Regrettable, perhaps...but necessary."

Urza looks pained, and whispers to his companion of countless years.

"Zhuge, is this the only answer...to devastate the enemy, to crush their will...it was not all of the Czardaian realm that wronged our people, merely the upper crust!"

Urza trails off, having no answer.

Zhuge fails to respond, having no answer as well.

The two stare at the painting of Imperial Galactica's past in solitude and with an easy companionship.

___________________________________________________________

Across the nation, two more men look upon a stylized mural of Imperial Galactica's past in another tower. Crassus and Phoenix Grey have come to discuss the war. Crassus appears nervous and twitches, while Phoenix Grey remains calm and unruffable, composed as always.

Crassus wipes his sweating brow with an ornate handkerchief drawn from a pocket.

"Phoenix, is this the only way? Must we really continue this deception?"

Phoenix turns and eyes his reluctant ally. He crosses his hands across his chest.

"Crassus, we've discussed this already. The Executor is weak. He is unwilling to take steps to regain Imperial Galactica's past glory. The Czardaian realm will fall soon, and with it the Executor. My men have been in position for some time. When the last dregs of the army have gone from the capital, we'll eliminate the Executor and his followers.

We need now only hope that the Czardaians can hold off the army as long as possible. For every second they hold their line, for every Imperial troop they kill, more are shuttled from the capital city as reinforcements."

Crassus's chest is heaving in the humid air.

Phoenix Grey continues: "Crassus, hold firm. The Treasury need continue for only a little while. Soon, the Commonwealth shall be immense and unstoppable. All too soon..."

Crassus manages to squeak out a reply.

"Lord...I hope you are correct, for all our sakes..."

The two men turn to look at the portrait of Imperial Galactica's past.

__________________________________________________________

And through all this, the vast armies of Imperial Galactica continue their inexorable march toward the Czardaian realm.

Congress Hall, Czarna, Czardas. 0655 hours

The second council of war is held that day. President Dimovilà and his advisers sit around the long table. General Ogden is there too, standing, a report in his hand to be read. It is held in the Council Room, and the seats that usually hold the Council of 400 are empty and silent. The various military commanders are watching from the sides.

"General, your report please." Dimovilà is president, but in this case he serves as commander-in-chief as well. His voice is curt and military.

"We have lost the greater part of our air force," says the General emotionlessly. "Only six hundred Czardaians were killed in the battle, but the few light aircraft we have left are damaged. The Czardaian armies have retreated to the town of Tyriandor in northern Czardas, where they have been joined by many civilians, untrained and poorly equipped but at least determined. The Imperial Galactican armies are approaching the Tyrion River in the north, near the town of Seïron. There have been reports of civilians who tried to resist being slaughtered, their possessions taken, their homes used for quarters and burned.

"A small part of our army—consisting of about fifty thousand soldiers—is approaching Seïron to defend it, but against such a massive army it seems unlikely that they will succeed. Therefore, we have ordered a full-scale evacuation of Seïron. The Imperial Galacticans will soon be marching beside the mountains in unfamilliar terrain; this will allow our soldiers to strike quickly and retreat before being followed. After Seïron, they appear to be taking a path that would lead through Senazkerkia straight to Czarna. However..."

General Ogden begins detailing plans for defending the capital city. Ancient walls had been built around it, from the Czardaians' civilization of thousands of years ago; he recommended fortifying them with new stones and adding more defense equipment around the city. In addition, the soldiers stationed at Tyriandor were to wait for further orders from him.

But none of this will be necessary if all goes according to plan, thinks the commander of the Czardaian 14th Special Operative Division, remembering hearing a pledge of victory from one of his most trusted operatives....

---------------------------------------------

Imperial Galactica, 0738 hours

The small mail plane lands in the main airport of Imperial Galactica. As it touches the ground soldiers and security staff run towards it to search it and check up on the crew. The pilot, a dark-haired young woman, seems amused by the whole proceedings; nothing of note is discovered on board, and everything is in order.

The chief security officer explains politely, "You see, Ma'am, we're now in a time of war, and security is at maximum."

"I understand." She nods.

"Just a little background information on you, please, Ma'am. Nationality?"

"Mauvasian." She names a country not far to the east of Czardas.

"Age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Name?"

"Silvercraft, Mary."

"Have you worked long for this company?"

"No, I'm fairly new. This is my first shipment."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Any family?"

"None living."

"What time do you leave with the return shipment?"

"Noon."

"We'll just take a moment to review your papers." The young woman hands over a bundle, and the officer glances through them. They seem to be all in order. He smiles.

"We'll just take a moment to check up on your crewmates, Ma'am; then you're free to go."

"Okay, I'll wait," says Mary Silvercraft, looking slightly amused. Not long after, her two "crewmen" joined her. The three of them, bounded by security, enter the airport. From there they are free to go where they please. Mary gives a few orders and then goes off her own way.

First she makes the routine stop at the post office. After doing what she needs to do, she speaks to the mail clerk, requesting a package reserved for her under 006319. The mail clerk asks for a name, and she gives him the correct one. He finds the package in the back and brings it to her. It has not been scanned and opened because it has been left there by someone who they do not dare not to trust.

She smiles.

Then she takes the subway to a very unusual place. Stepping out, she walks in past the revolving doors. A security guard sits at the desk, but she enters with such self-confidence that he cannot doubt but believe that she has been here many times in the past. ((OOC: This is a real phenomenon in human nature. I've tried it.)) She turns a corner, passing several security personnel, and goes into a particular section. Here there is a gate, and another security guard stands there, waiting. He looks down at her. This time she will not get past so easily. The door shuts and locks behind her.

"Do you have an I.D. card, ma'am?"

"No. But I have an urgent message to bring to the Executor."

"Well, ma'am, he's very busy right now, but you can give it to me and I'll see that it gets to him."

"No, I demand to see him personally. Alone." She is buying time while she tries to figure out how to use the gadget disguised as a wristwatch. She presses a button and the security cameras discreety stop whirring.

"Ma'am, do you have an appointment?"

"No. But my name is Thackeray. I am a mail-carrier for the Mauvasian Postal Service, and an urgent message from Mauvasia for him has fallen into my hands. It concerns...the war." "Mary Silvercraft", if that was really her name, smiles mysteriously.

"Ah, in that case..." He turns to the call-buttons on the side wall, and she presses another button on her watch. It is a very handy gadget in this day of wireless communication: it could simply turn off all devices in a certain wavelength....

"Executor Thrawn?" says the security man. "A woman is here to see you."

Executor Thrawn's reply cannot be distinguished.

"Yes, sir, but she insists. She says she has an urgent message for you. And she wants to see you alone."

Executor Thrawn asks a question.

"Thackeray, she claims."

This time the Executor's reply can be heard. "Send her in."

The security man closes the intercom, and the young woman, who we must now start calling by her real name of Alma Finlay, withdrew a knife from the package at her side. Before he could turn she inserted it cleanly between his shoulder blades and withdrew it before it could gather enough blood to be noticeable. The security man does not have time to cry out. He has a look of faint surprise on his face as he falls slowly and hits the ground with a dull thud.

By that time, Alma Finlay has entered the elevator behind him. She takes it up to a high floor. The doors slide open and she gets off, as a precaution turning off all the security devices with her watch deactivator. It seems deserted. As though no-one has been here in centuries. There is even no security personnel. She wonders why. Have they been expecting her all this time, and have gone into hiding? Then she realizes why this floor is empty when she walks to a railing.

Looking down from this high balcony, she sees, far below, the council room of the Imperial Galactican government. Empty now, except for the Executor and thirty of his security men, awaiting "her" arrival by the elevator doors.

She staggers back to a wall. But she is not defeated. It will take them some time before they realize she is not coming. She takes out the GPS and presses the button, automatically notifying her lieutenant. It will not be long before he arrives. In the meantime, with no fear of discovery, she can wait here and listen to what goes on below.

She reads the floor map beside the elevator. This floor consists solely of the balcony. It is also not accessible from the floor below. This gives her some hope. And as to whether anyone will come by the elevator...that she has already taken care of. This elevator has been stalled here, on the top floor. And her device is silent. When Dorakov wants her, she will unstall the elevator and allow him to join her. She is safe. For now.

She waits.

Urza sat at the council room, awaiting the news from Mauvasia. None of his Cabinet are with him - Bastila, Belgarion, and Zhuge are all out planning strategy and tactics for the upcoming war. Nobody could find Phoenix Grey, but it was unusual for him to be absent at such an important time.

Urza snorts, thinking of Bastila. That one was so eager for the glory of war. Her units weren't even involved yet, but she was drawing up contingency plans nonetheless!

However, a large number of security guards are in the room, and with Urza are a number of military officials of less prestigious rank, who could make the trip as quickly as the new information had come.

Urza drums his fingers on the desk. What was keeping that messenger?

Urza touches the intercom.

"Merthul, where's that messenger? I told you to send her up almost five minutes ago!"

Silence is heard on the other side of the intercom as Urza's security desk does not respond.

Urza releases the intercom and pounds his hand on the desk.

"Damn it, this hellspawned intercom isn't working right again!"

The assorted military officers shuffle nervously, but none make comment.

Urza leans back in his chair and ponders the situation for a moment.

"Dishner, take a few men down to the security desk and see what's happening. Percy, you take a dozen men and find out where that blasted messenger got to."

As one, the two highest-ranking security officers in the room salute and run off to their respective duties.

Much sooner than anticipated, Percy coms his Executor.

"Executor, we've got problems. The elevator isn't respond to our call. What are your orders?"

Urza laughs exasperatedly.

"Always the elevator, eh. First Czardas...then...here...*he trails off into thought*"

He briefly pauses to again consider the situation.

"Percy, search the floor. We may have an intruder on our hands."

The officers in the room all look uneasily at each other, while the security men stiffen, as if to show their mettle.

Urza points to two men.

"You two, stay with me. The rest of you *Urza sweeps his hand to encompass the lot of security officers* get over to Percy to coordinate the search.

Urza leans back again in his chair, wondering just what had happened to his 'inpenetrable' security at his seat of power as the men filter out of the room. The two security men stand stiffly at attention behind their Executor, weapons held at the ready.

Lieutenant Dorakov enters the Executor's high-security compound. To his surprise the place, which seems teeming with security guards most of the time, seems almost deserted. He enters the room where the security guard sat to announce visitors; looking over the top of the desk, he sees the guard sprawled out on the ground with a faint look of astonishment on his face.

"Alma..."

He presses the button on the GPS and then the button on the elevator. Within a few minutes it arrives, and he steps in, pressing the button for the highest floor. But as it approaches, he realizes that it is going to stop at the floor just below: the Executor's council hall.

He presses the appropriate button on his wristwatch gadget. Then, taking a knife and a vial of acid from his package—all of the 14th Special Operative Division had them—he cut a square hole in the elevator wall and climbed out. Taking out his short-range grappling hook—he has had the foresight to purchase one of the same quality as those of the Imperial Galactican security—he begins to climb up the shaft. At the highest door he slips the acid-encrusted knife between the doors, forcing them open as quietly as he could.

There, on that balcony, he finds Alma. They exchange a conversation on a notecard for a few brief minutes. Then, on the backside, Alma outlines to him her plan. Dorakov agreed. Near the doors on either end of the room, they began to descend, silently, using their hooks. They reached the ground gently, behind the Executor and his two security. Dorakov locks and bolts the door; Alma walks forward, holding both her knife and Dorakov's, and reaches the two men, slipping the knives neatly under their shoulder blades before they notice her. Without cries, as always, they topple backwards. Before the Executor can rise, Alma holds the two knives across his throat and whispers, "No, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Dorakov steps over and picks up the two submachine guns.

Urza Ender Thrawn gulped, his Adam's apple nicking the edge of the blade. He noticed that they were indeed very sharp blades...but the ball was in his court, and he had to return it.

Urza: "Do with me what you will. I will not compromise with terrorists. If you kill me, my armed forces will kill you before you leave the country. You have no chance."

As he spoke, he calmly pressed a Panic button under the council room. Soon enough, every Imperial Galactica security room between here and Czardas would be blazing red screens of warning.

He glanced over his shoulder at the two terrorists, hoping they had not seen his action. If they had, his life would surely be forfeit.

Urza stayed upright in his chair, attempting to project an unshakable aura, waiting for a response from the terrorists.

The Executor hoped his troops would be here soon.

“We’re not here to kill you,” says Alma. “We’re simply delivering the message we promised we would, back at the downstairs security desk.”

She continues in a very calm voice: “We want you to make an announcement withdrawing all of your troops from Czardas. You must tell your soldiers to retreat at once, no questions asked. And you must let us walk free from this building. It does not matter if we are killed before we can leave. We will have done our duty.

“If you do not comply with our reasonable demands, we will have to kill you, as well as blow up this building. I believe it contains a good number of your closest advisors at this moment, as well as irreplaceable maps, plans, and blueprints. And you wouldn’t want Imperial Galactica to lose that, would you.” She grins mockingly.

"You may call us terrorists. We are simply soldiers doing our duty to our country."

The Executor is silent, the blades pressing tightly against his throat.

“Well, Executor Thrawn? What is your decision?”

OOC: For the purpose of this post, I've referred to Finley by name.

Urza Ender Thrawn swallowed once, thinking quickly. He obviously could not withdraw the troops from Czardas prematurely. That'd be the equivalent political suicide. Not to mention the logistics problems, trying to get everything withdrawn...no, that certainly wasn't the answer. He was fairly certain that his advisors could easily continue the war without him.

Urza quickly arrived at a decision. He couldn't allow this to happen, not under his reign. He resolved to end the Czardaian Conflict - by all force necessary. However, he'd have to keep these terrorists busy until his forces arrived.

He tried a delaying tactic: "Who are you? Why have you disrupted our peaceful life with terror?"

Finley responds: "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, for oppression is in the eye of the beholder. No more time. What is your decision, Executor?" She spits out the word as if it were poisonous.

Suddenly, Percy bursts in with several of his men. Urza had forgotten that they were still combing the hallways to find the intruders. Percy halts, shocked, and quickly brings his assault rifle up to fire. The other men with Percy are only a hair behind, noted Urza with some pride.

However, the male terrorist, whom seemed content to let Finley do the talking, reacted quicker. He brought his customized snubnose up and fired in quick succession. Percy, hit in the shoulder, spun away, his own shots going wide. The men with Percy caught the full blast of the male terrorist's gun, however. Two dropped, their faces a mess of flesh and blood, and the third slowly crumpled to the ground, his gun forgotten, hands clasped to his stomach, face a pasty white. Percy managed to grab his gun in his off hand and threw a volley of slugs in the male terrorist's direction. Finley ducked to avoid the slew of death, and the male terrorist dived to one side, taking cover behind a table displaying a 3D map of Imperial Galactica.

Urza chose this moment to act. He rapidly slammed his seat backwards into Finley and, while she was distracted, quickly ducked under the table. He rolled out the other end of the table as a dagger flew past him. Percy, ensconced behind the rail, fired another volley to no effect. The male terrorist ducked up and fired again, hitting the wall above Percy.

Urza risked a glance at the male terrorist. He seemed to be more preoccupied with Percy than with the Executor. A good thing, Urza decided. He sprinted over to the rail and vaulted it, taking refuge next to Percy.

Percy's face was ashen, yet he somehow had enough strength to hold his assault rifle.

Percy: "Sir...get to..." here Percy winced as another shudder of pain ran through him. "Get to..safety...the rest of the men...in the corridors..."

Urza gently interrupted. "No, Percy. If you fight here, so do I. Too long have I fought from behind a desk. We'll make a stand together."

Percy winced again, then attempted a weak smile.

"Like the...old days, my liege?" He inquired weakly.

"Yes, Percy. As with the glorious old days, when honor and skill on the battlefield mattered more than words. Let us fight this last time, together."

Urza grabbed Percy's pistol from a belt holster. Together, the two would repel the two terrorists...or die trying...

They grimly waited for the terrorists to make a move.

[ooc:] I locked the doors....how did you get in?

[ic:]

Finlay and Dorakov are in a tight spot. How the four men had got in, they cannot tell. But they are determined to get out with their lives, or blow up the building. Finlay fingers the tiny emergency bomb in her pocket. She smiles bitterly and glances at Dorakov, then at Thrawn.

"Two against two now, is it?"

The room is silent. Everyone waits tensely. A different sound is now heard: shouting and hammering on the locked doors. Soon the soldiers will be inside. There is not much time left.

Finlay draws her own long gun and sheathes the remaining knife. She fires a volley of shots in the direction of the two, and then ducks under the table again. A single shot returns—from a pistol. The man beside Executor Thrawn appears to be grievously injured already, shot once in the shoulder. Another well-placed shot will finish him. Finlay brings her gun up long enough to fire off a volley. The majority of the shots go wide; however, one of them hits the guard as he raises his rifle to fire. He moves to avoid Dorakov's fire. Finlay is certain he will not be too hard to get rid of once and for all.

"I'll take the Executor!" says Finlay to her companion in an undertone. "You guard the door."

Dorakov gives Finlay one of his two guns. The Executor appears distracted by his companion, who appears to be dying. Finlay has her chance. She is not a merciful fighter in battle.

She starts up a continuous volley, firing dozens of shots in quick succession towards the pair. Some of them have to hit home, after all....

In the meantime, the noise from outside is growing louder, and Dorakov fears that soon the soldiers will try to break down the door. Instead, he unlocks it and steps outside, carrying his gun, with a military bearing, shutting the door securely behind him. In front are about twenty soldiers. No matter, he has dealt with this kind of thing before.

"There's been a terrorist attack," he explains before anyone can speak. "It's under control, but the Executor wants you to be on guard for anyone helping him. So you lads, go up to the roof and be on guard for a helicopter to escort them out; tell the rest of the building security to go downstairs and make sure they're not coming from there."

"Wait, I don't recognize you..." says one of the commanding officers. "Who are you?"

"Commander McAlpin, Special Forces Division," says Dorakov confidently. He has an advantage here: Imperial Galactica's military is so large that no-one will bother to check if there really is a Commander McAlpin, because they'll just assume he's part of a completely different division or squadron.

"Ah, I didn't recognize you, Commander," says the officer. "We'll let the others know of your orders." They march off. Dorakov smiles and reopens the door.

Inside, it had grown into a one-on-one battle. Thrawn had taken the rifle, and the two exchanged volleys before diving back into hiding. Finlay had been grazed on the arm, and Thrawn had not taken any shots.

"This Executor appears to have spent quite some time in the military," complains Finlay.

"So it would appear," says Dorakov.

They sit there and wait for the Executor's next move. Finlay suddenly jerks upright; a shot whistles over her head. "I've got it!" she says to Dorakov. "Wait here."

Dorakov fires a volley at Thrawn to cover for Finlay as she runs from the unlocked door.

--------------------

[OOC break] I'm assuming there's a secret entryway to the council room which Dorakov neglected to lock... [/OOC break]

--------------------

Finlay runs down the empty passageways. She is certain she will meet no resistance on her journey. She turns a corner, gun in hand. Then she carefully removes the grille covering a vent, makes sure no-one is watching, and climbs in. She clambers along the vent for a ways. At every grille, she looks into the room. Down below are the advisors. Finally she comes to an empty room, at the back of which is a huge map of Imperial Galactica and all the surrounding area, including the plan of attack for Czardas. She removes the grille there, climbs down, and takes a moment to scan the map on a pocket scanner and transmit it via internet to Czardas. Then she looks around: this is definitely the right office.

She picks up an intercom and speaks into it articulately.

"This is a message from Executor Thrawn to all Imperial Galactican troops in Czardas... Withdraw at once, I repeat, withdraw at once. We are cutting all supplies to Czardas. Withraw at once." All Finlay could hear on the other end was a buzzing sound. "Crap, why isn't this thing working?" She knelt to look in, then repeated, "Withdraw at once. This is a message from Executor Thrawn. I repeat, withdraw at once. Over."

As she speaks the door to the Executor's office bursts open. Finlay brings up her gun and whirls to face the newcomers.

[Last ooc comment:] This is rather a sticky RPing situation, we'll need to agree on what happens by TG.

OOC: I had assumed that there was some sort of service entrance. One that the soldiers, having lived in the complex for some time, would both know and use for special reports; while the Czardas man would/might not have been familiar.

The Executor glanced over the rail, holding the rifle steady. He knew that the man was still in the room, but he had no idea where the woman had disappeared to. He looked around suspiciously, for the conference room could hide many potential adversaries.

He glanced down at Percy. The man was near dead. The arm hit, well...one could survive from that...but that bullet that had grazed Percy's skull and the one that had fractured his wrist added to the man's pain. He didn't think Percy would make it, though if they could get a medic in, who knew. He was a commander, not a doctor.

He shot another salvo of bullets over the rail in the general direction of the terrorist, and had the gratification of seeing him duck. If he could hold out, he knew his troops would rescue him. Probably. The lack of any pounding boots in the vicinity bothered him. He swore that he had heard pounding on the door earlier, but that was most likely just his imagination.

"Executor Thrawn, there has been a ter-" The commanding officer of the squadron stops short when he sees that the figure inside is not the Executor. He automatically brings up his gun to fire at the intruder, but Alma Finlay is quicker. She fires a volley of shots in the direction of the soldiers, then turns to run. Two slump to the ground, never to rise again; the remainder pursue her, firing salvo after salvo towards her. She runs into the next office. A started advisor looks up; she brings the end of her gun around onto his head, knocking him off his chair. The soldiers behind her stop for a moment; she runs into the next office, the last one before the door to the elevator passageway. Looking through the glass top of the soundproofed door, she sees a well-armed soldier standing guard.

Behind her the soldiers enter, firing constantly. Finlay turns and returns their fire, sending three volleys of automatic fire in their direction and sweeping the papers and blueprints off a table. A shot completely splinters a wireless router connected next to a computer. The returning fire from the soldiers shatters a mug and the glass on top of the door behind her, which swings open; she jerks the gun backwards, taking the soldier behind her in the jaw. She stands in the open doorway, firing a number of shots at the soldiers. She cannot tell how many have fallen. One is hit in the forehead and slides to the ground. She slams the door behind her and runs towards the elevator. The passageway turns a corner, and she can hear the boots of soldiers behind her. She ducks into a stairwell, shutting the door securely, and hears the sounds of the soldiers charging by. She smiles slightly.

Then she begins to descend. After five floors, she encounters an important-looking man in black armor on a landing; she salutes immediately, not realizing who he is. He turns towards her slowly. His voice is chilling, further reinforcing Finlay's suspicions.

"Why are you not on duty?"

Good. He has mistaken me for a soldier. Finlay says, "Well, sir, there being a terrorist attack going on, I was deployed to the ground floor."

"What's your division?"

"14th, sir." It's the truth. He just didn't ask what army.

"And who, may I ask, is sending you?"

Finlay stalls for time. She does not know the name of the 14th Imperial Galactican division's commander.

"It was an aide of the Executor himself who asked that he not be named, sir."

"Obviously, since it was beyond his station," muses the man. "Very well, get on with you, but report back to your own commanding officer when you're done."

"Yes, sir." Alma Finlay hurries down the remainder of the stairs, to the ground floor. Then, remembering the orders she had given, she descends further, to the basement, and then farther down, to six floors below the building, where the members of Imperial Galactica park their vehicles. The man she was looking for waves cheerily from beside the car of the Supreme Admiral.

"She's an admiral, anyway, so shouldn't she be using a boat?" he inquired rhetorically.

"Okay, Hijacker-in-Chief. Shall we be off?"

Lieutenant Thomas Irian, known due to his spying and theft abilities as "Hijacker-in-Chief", grins. "You didn't bring me the keys?"

"Whoops! I must have forgotten them! I guess between fighting 500 soldiers, I completely neglected to get them for you!" Finlay is well known among the 14th for sarcasm.

"That's all right, I brought my old kit." Irian displays a collection of picks, tools, and a fair number of other items usable in sabotage and theft. Of the three commanding officers of the 14th Division, he is also the least experienced in battle; Dorakov is said to be the best fighter in the whole group and quite possibly the whole Czardaian army.

"Great." Finlay gets into the car beside him; he is driving, of course. The windows are tinted, which will throw off prospective enemies. As the car starts, he says, "So how did everything go according to our well-laid plans?"

Alma Finlay explains to him what happened; he nods. "Tough luck on Dorakov. There wasn't a one like him in the whole army," he says sympathetically. "Although I suppose being shot in wartime is the best death for a soldier like him."

"I told him to plant a time bomb, and I'm fairly sure he'll do it," says Finlay. "The small red ones that came with our kits, I mean. But if the Executor notices it, you can bet he's out of there in no time flat."

"Well...we can have some hope, after all. Dorakov may survive. He might even escape, we never know."

The car came to a security checkpoint, and Irian rolled down the window a little bit and handed over an I.D. card belonging to the Admiral's chauffeur.

"Any passengers?"

"One." Irian rolled up the window immediately and drove past the checkpoint. The security men looked startled but for the moment did not connect it with the terrorist attack going on above. Not until later, when they received the word to keep on the lookout for the black car, would they put two and two together.

Within a few minutes, the car was heading towards the Czardaian border, a good two and a half hours away.

---------------------------------

And through all this, despite a confusing message that had been relayed to the top Imperial Galactican generals in Czardas, the march went on....

Phoenix Grey watched the woman wander off, amused. The 14th Special Division? God, that woman could at least have some creativity. The 14th Special Operations Division was under HIS command, as were all the black ops divisions. He distinctly remembered that the 14th was assisting the nation of Soldata Romana against insurgency groups at the moment. He pondered her assignment briefly. Well, perhaps if she had said she was from the eighteenth...but no matter. He obviously wasn't about to turn her in - he just hoped that she'd done his job for him and eliminated the Executor. Imperial soldiers burst into the room behind him, and, surprised at his presence, salute. The commanding officer steps up.

"Grey, where'd that woman go? I know she ran in here. Why didn't you stop her, sir?"

Grey responded offhandedly, pointing the opposite way the woman had gone.

"She went that way, soldier. Don't question my motives - she's necessary."

The soldier swallowed hard and turned away.

"Come on, you lot! After the woman!" The soldiers noisily run down the indicated hallway.

Phoenix Grey sighed. What a bunch of buffoons. He'd best go see how the Executor was doing. He leisurely started down the corridor towards the elevator.
_________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, in the office, Dorakov was getting edgy. The Executor had yet to go down, though Dorakov believed he'd wounded the Executor with a well-placed ricochet. He knew the troops would soon be coming back. The Executor was quite some warrior; he'd obviously had the best of training and extensive time in actual combat. Dorakov knew that, given time, he could take him down, but he knew he had a job to do. He grabbed the incediary time bomb from his belt. This thing had quite some bang. Nearly a nuclear blast, all wrapped up in one small, easy to carry package. He quickly set the timer for eight minutes, then hunkered down again. Should he attempt to escape? He knew that he could probably catch up with Finlay. What a woman, he couldn't help but think.

Dorakov figured he might as well. The Executor couldn't make it away from the tower that quickly, and the bomb was high tech Czardaian, guaranteed to last at least ten minutes against the best technicians. And since he had set the timer for eight minutes, well...

He turned and sprinted for the door. He recalled which route Finlay had likely taken, since the two had memorized the same evacuation plans. He turned the corridor, and skidded to a stop. A man in black armor had just stalked from an elevator. There was no way he could avoid being seen. He went for his gun, just as the man pulled a wicked looking pistol from his belt. Pistol, hell...the thing was an accursed hand cannon. Dorakov doubted there'd be much left of his body if THAT thing hit him.

Dorakov heard a noise behind him, and turned quickly.
____________________________________________________

Urza hobbled out of the door to the council room, and as Dorakov did, skidded to a stop. He held his assault rifle at the ready. Between himself and Phoenix Grey, Urza figured the terrorist would go down easily. Maybe even a surrender. What an intelligence coup THAT would be.

____________________________________________________

Phoenix Grey sighed. This was just his luck. His chance to eliminate the Executor, yet this cursed terrorist was in the way. His eyes flicked to the Executor and assessed his condition. Wounded in the upper thigh area, it appeared, but otherwise unharmed. You couldn't even trust these Czardaians to do a decent job of assassination.

The three stood at a standstill, with Dorakov aiming his gun at Urza, the higher priority of the two. Phoenix wondered idly what it'd take to get the man to fire. He should have already.

____________________________________________________

Dorakov grimaced. He knew he couldn't take both of them out, not like this. Both of these men were highly trained. After a moment of confusion, he had recognized the man in black armor as Phoenix Grey, Imperial Galactica's head of Politburo and most likely the most dangerous man in Imperial Galactica. It was doubtful his gun would even hurt the man with that type of heavy-duty armor on. His thoughts raced. There had to be SOME way out of here. He thought briefly of surrender. Surrender was betrayal. But if he surrendered to Executor Urza, well...after the previous firefight, he had great respect for the man. He thought Urza would probably trade him back to his nation respectably soon.

He slowly lowered his gun and began to raise his hands.
_____________________________________________________

Urza's eyes widened. The man was surrendering! One of Czardas' best operatives...surrendering...the possibilities were nearly endless!

Urza's weapon dropped a little as well and he began to move forward to secure the hostage.
_____________________________________________________

Phoenix Grey almost burst out laughing. This was crazy! His worst nightmare! And then he thought...well, the woman HAD escaped.

And it only took one to deliver a message, didn't it?

He had no choice. He raised his gun and squeezed off three shots into the surrendering soldier's head. The back of the man's head just...disintegrated, as if it had never existed.

He knew he'd have to think quickly. The Executor had known the man was surrendering. He looked at Urza. The man was looking at him with a mixture of shock and outrage as the body crumpled to the floor.

"Executor, the man was going to kill you in hand to hand combat," the special operations lord stated, "and I was merely protecting you. Imperial Galactica cannot afford to lose it's head. I respect you far too much to ever allow..." Here Phoenix Grey smiled. "I respect you far too much to ever allow a terrorist to kill you."

Urza glared at his Politburo chief, then called out to him.

"Phoenix, I need your help. There's a bomb set to go off in the council room, and your little mishap has set us back time. You're one of the best explosives men we've got in Imperial Galactica. Can you defuse it in time?"

Phoenix swore. He hadn't counted on this, that the dead Czardaian man would plant a bomb. He hadn't intended to go down with this ship - he had wanted to raise a new, better ship. And with the Executor watching...without actually killing the man, he'd have to defuse that bomb.

Phoenix sprinted past Urza into the room to the bomb. He assessed the bomb, attempting to discern a model or particular build. He recognized it as one of Czardas' better bomb, and glanced at the timer. Two minutes left. Curses.

He opened the tiny service panel and began moving wires aside.
_________________________________________________________

Urza watched Phoenix worriedly. What had Grey been thinking, to kill the terrorist? Perhaps it was Phoenix acting a little over the top, but Urza hadn't known Grey to do so - ever. Urza resolved that Czardas would pay for sending these...criminals. That is, he resolved to do so assuming Phoenix could disarm the bomb. He continued to watch Grey, hoping he'd find some way.
__________________________________________________________

Phoenix worked fast. He was down to a scant minute. He'd isolated most of the variables...now he just had to actually DISARM the thing...
__________________________________________________________

Later that day, an Imperial Galactica pronouncement was made. Urza appeared on television and radio all throughout the country.

"Ladies and gentlemen...citizens of Imperial Galactica...a terrorist attack, sponsored by Czardas, was made on the capital today. They raided ruthlessly with the intent to kill both myself and our officers. The body count continues to rise, at the current total of at least one dozen Imperial dead.
Czardas, the self-acclaimed hero of his people, is now its destroyer. To all the servicemen and women of Imperial Galactica's armed forces - stand firm. We shall never deal with terror, nor with propaganda, nor with criminals. We shall eliminate this blight from the face of this Earth. To the people of Imperial Galactica, support our men and women of the military. They need it in our time of resolve."

The announcement fades to a shot of Imperial Galactica's flag, fluttering in the breeze.
__________________________________________________________

Bastila Hattori was outraged. That wasn't an unusual state for her, but this time she was justified. They had stolen her ship! HER ship! She was sick of this. She knew her orders from the Executor, and they were to attack. She'd gladly wipe out every Czardaian military unit she saw, and her glorious fleet certainly would. She smiled, able to fight at last. She gave the command, and her fleet began to move towards the Czardaian border.
___________________________________________________________

Urza watched from his complex as the reinforcements filed out of the city. He knew he was drawing the line a bit thin, with only a skeletal defense at home, but he knew he had to end this war as soon as possible. To protect his people.

And into the silence, he whispered only one thing.

"For I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, for you tread upon my dreams."

"First he says withdraw, then he tells us to march on!" The Imperial Galactican general has ordered his troops to halt, faced with two conflicting orders from the Executor's office: first to retreat, then to continue marching. He attempts to contact Thrawn through the intercom a few times, but without success; finally, he turns on the radio to hear the news from Imperial Galactica.

"Two terror fighters, believed to have been from Czardas, penetrated Imperial Galactica's highest-security compound today, killing over eighteen soldiers and leaving many more wounded. One terrorist was killed; the other, however, escaped and is currently at large, location unknown. They planted an incendiary bomb; Politburo chief Phoenix Grey attempted to disarm it, but did not fully succeed. He was injured by a blast from the bomb, which also injured seven security men and blew a hole in the roof and sides. Grey was protected by his signature armor, which sustained much of the blast; part of it was destroyed and is currently under repair...."

General Ogden listens to this with an amused smile. The head of Czardas's military says to himself, "Killing Dorakov was the least intelligent move ever made by Mr. Grey there. He could have had an inside knowledge of our security system and anything else he wanted. Oh well..."

-----------------------

The village of Kaniona, along the Holsi river

Virthas looks around approvingly. His force, small as it is, appears determined and ready to fight other armies, no matter how large. Virthas likes the sound of their responses to his commands. He says, "Are we ready?"

"Yes!" returns the resounding cry.

Virthas is the village blacksmith and self-appointed commander of the Czardas Defense Army (CDA). He is dark-bearded, with amused brown eyes and darker skin. He appears to be in his mid-40s. Virthas served as a colonel in the military before retiring to build implements for the farmers of the area. In wartime he has taken up building weapons from his craft, no matter how ancient. He has shown the villagers how to build catapults and cannons. In past raids they have taken much of Imperial Galactica's advanced weaponry as well as supplies.

"Not far from here an Imperial Galactican advance corps is approaching us. We will attack it and take their weapons and whatever supplies they have."

"Yes, sir."

"Migol, you take a hundred fifty and go around to the other side of the cliffs."

"Yes, Commander Virthas." Migol takes command of a smaller group of villagers and leads them along a footpath to the left that goes up into the mountains; Virthas leads his contingent over the bridge across the river, and up into the woods on the right. They ascend until the two groups are hundreds of feet above the gentle river below.

Below, the commanding officer of the corps leads his men along the road. "This way is the village of Kaniona," he explains. "It is a market town with about six thousand inhabitants. The nearest military outpost is within 175 miles."

"Meaning, we're perfectly safe?" asks a soldier.

"Obviously," retorts his commander. As if to disprove him, firing breaks out on their left.

"We're being attacked!" Soldiers turn towards the left and begin firing among the trees, but they cannot see anyone. More firing is heard from behind them, on the right. Soldiers fall into the river, churning over rapids. The white water turns pinkish. Some turn around to shoot at the other side, confused; others fire at their own comrades in error.

Now the soldiers do not know which way to turn. Because of the rugged terrain of the Holsï gorge, they cannot use their three tanks. Soldiers begin climbing the cliffs on both sides of the river, but they are pushed off or impaled on sharpened sticks. A catapult, hidden among the trees, fires a huge boulder into the middle of the soldiers below; next, wielding classical crossbows, villagers pick off the remainder one by one. Soldiers are dropping their weapons and fleeing. Finally, believing himself surrounded, the commander and his remaining men surrender.

Virthas speaks, "If you wish to surrender, leave your weapons on the ground. All of them: guns, bombs, grenades."

Reluctantly the soldiers comply.

"Now run back to camp. As fast as you can go. Else we'll slay you to a man."

Without a backwards glance men begin running. Those who are tardy are shot from above. Soon the clearing in the Holsï gorge is devoid of soldiers.

Virthas and his villagers descend and pick up the weapons. They climb into the abandoned tanks, which they drive back to Kaniona. Virthas smiles.

"Yet another victory for the CDA, pulled off with only sixteen casualties."

"That's a first," says Migol.

"Let's hope it won't be a last," replies Virthas grimly.

----------------------------

The 14th Special Operative Division is in mourning. It has lost one of its finest members. But instead it has gained three new recruits who show promise. With the bad always comes the good. So it may be with the war.

The 14th is a small division. It contains no fewer than fifty-six soldiers, each of whom is worth ten regular division fighters. Nevertheless, even if all the Special Operative Divisions were as skilled, they could not defeat the Imperial Galactican armies. Czardas needed one thing: allies. Or a foolproof strategy.

Alma Finlay stays up late that night. She is thinking. Part of her mind is still on Dorakov, but her rational mind is concentrating on strategy. She knew, by now, that the person she really should have assassinated is Phoenix Grey. Grey seems to have started the whole war idea. Grey would have to finish it. With Grey out of the way, Thrawn would be easier to convince.

The army could be recalled, but the navy would be harder. Czardas had a small navy with no major battleships, which could not hold its own in a battle against any major navy. Its strong point seemed to be its air force....

"That's it!" cried Finlay suddenly, standing. She spent the rest of the night calling the appropriate people, partly in conference with General Ogden, the only person she ever took any direct orders from (and rarely even then). Plans were being set in motion. New planes, just finished, were equipped with all they needed.

-------------------------

Also that night, Councilman Mahogany Grant introduced a proposal at "peak hour" (17:49) on Czardas's national online forum. Throughout the night, and the rest of the next day, people saw it, and responded. And fairly soon the proposal had passed by a significant majority and was being implemented as a law. Soon the 7.5 million eligible young men and women would be preparing to serve their nation in whatever way they could. Conscription was not, unfortunately, a very agreeable thing, but almost everyone agreed that it was occasionally quite necessary.

"Get me that air cover!" Bastila cried. "We'll hit that blockade in just under -" She checks her watch. "Just under twenty minutes!"

Her flagship, the Death's Head, cruised towards the Czardaian lines in the midst of Bastila's fleet. She had taken most of the available Imperial firepower to reinforce her fleet, and figured she'd quickly crush the token resistance.

Imperial Galactica's air force leader, Admiral Grensky, had promised her nine full wings of assorted fighters and bombers to protect her vast fleet. Grensky had informed her that the fighters would be coming from reserve bases, as he'd just ordered Imperial Galactica's flying firepower into the air to support the land armies. Now THAT was one campaign she wasn't eager to see. Bastila knew Grand General Belgarion would have it rough - not from opposition, but from the grueling guerrilla warfare that was bound to happen. She had reluctantly agreed with Grensky that Belgarion's portion of the war most needed the planes.

The captain of the Death's Head got on the comm and soon reached the commander of the air wing. He crisply saluted Bastila and delivered the verdict.

"The commander states that they had some last-minute flight problems - something about faulty fuel lines. They'll be here in ten minutes."

Bastila analyzed the situation. She figured she could continue ahead, since the Czardaian blockade was twenty minutes away at full power.

"Reduce power to 3/4 engines, " Bastila yelled to the crewman. He relayed the order and the thrumming deck quieted a little.

She fumed. Grensky should have had those planes to her a half hour ago as he had promised. Bastila relaxed in her admiral's chair for a second. No matter. The Czardaians would quickly be crushed. She'd take the closest ports and offload her marines to help Belgarion win the land campaign decisively.

Perhaps Grey would have some assassination planned to keep her interested, she thought idly.

Bastila scowled and leaned back, awaiting the coming battle.
_____________________________________________________

Grand General Belgarion grimaced at the new reports coming in from the land campaign. Another convoy lost with all hands. He had told these officers time and time again to beware enemy ambushes and to move slowly. He couldn't blame them, really - his Imperial troops didn't know the terrain, even with the advanced recon he had available. There was simply no substitute for living in an area your entire life, as these militias had.

He turned his thoughts to these troublesome militias. They didn't cause many problems, not to an army of his size, but they bothered him nonetheless. They attacked and melted back into the trees before serious opposition could be mounted. He knew that he could simply burn the trees down - but that would require some serious incediary, which he had, and serious time, which he didn't.

"Crazy rebel farmers," he muttered.

He called in the adjutant advisor. "Double the convoy protection. Move half as slow through the wilderness areas."

He hated to do it, but it had to be done. Some of the good men who would be killed might be saved. It'd set his timetable back horribly, but he'd manage. He always did.
_______________________________________________________

Admiral Grensky of the Imperial Aerospace Service paced back and forth. He simply didn't have enough planes. He'd been telling the Executor this for years, he just DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH. Grensky had plenty of pilots, but limited actual hardware. As it was, the nine wings he had promised Bastila were pushing his supply capabilities to the limit. He hoped Grand General Belgarion could end this land war quickly.

Grensky wondered what had happened to the Czardaian air force. He knew he couldn't have destroyed THAT many planes - the Czardaians were near legendary with their air force. Grensky's planes had a slight technological edge and better pilot training, but those blasted Czardaian planes certainly had the maneuverability.

Grensky sat down again to continue organizing the logistics of this war.
__________________________________________________

Phoenix Grey wasn't happy. Not at all. Not only had the Czardaians failed to assassinate the Executor, the bomb had gone off, mangling his armor. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that, because the blast had hit his armor, the Executor had gotten through untouched!

Grey grimaced. Those Czardaians...he knew he'd have to do something about them soon. He didn't think there was much of a chance they'd actually win the war, but who knew these days?

He palmed his comlink. "Get Teams One through Eight to Briefing Room Three immediately."

The unseen man on the other end of the link answered immediately.

"Yes, Lord."

Phoenix Grey hurried to the briefing room and surveyed it. Most of the men were there already. As he watched, a few trailing men trickled in.

Grey thought it time to announce himself.

"Attention." The black clad elite Special Operations soldiers stood to attention, surprised that they had been called on so abruptly.

Phoenix Grey smiled mirthlessly. "You have all been called here to protect your homeland - to protect Imperial Galactica. You'll parachute behind Czardaian lines and do your best to disrupt all military and economic activity. This is what you've been trained for. I'll leave the details up to your squad leaders - remember, effectiveness. Remain covert, we don't want those Czardaians to know how many there are behind their lines."

He paced for a moment, then added a sentence.

"And eliminate those troublesome militias. Dismissed."

The men as one saluted with a brisk "Yes, Sir." and departed to prepare.

Phoenix Grey, watching the men file out, couldn't help but fear for the Czardaians' sake...

Grey smiled again, with true mirth this time.

The generic-looking blonde woman speaks in her traditional emotionless voice. Behind her are seen the screens of CBN, the Czardas Broadcasting Network. She is the emergency announcer, although she appears as dull and vapid as if there is an emergency every day. She says:

"Today the citizens of Czardas passed the Conscription Act by eight million votes. All eligible young people are being drafted into the military. Although the government of Czardas regrets these actions, it notes that during a time of war conscription is necessary. Czardas's current military contains a number estimated at one-and-a-half million soldiers. All young citizens between the ages of 18 and 25 are required to sign up at your nearest military recruitment office."

The screen goes blank.

--------------------------

Lac-Montané Military Base, northeastern Czardas

Commander Karlsen of the Czardaian air force surveys the workroom. Everywhere hundreds of Czardas's celebrated fighters are preparing for battle. Karlsen speaks in a tense military voice.

"Now, listen here everybody."

The soldiers, preparing to mount their crafts, perk up their ears to listen.

"Imperial Galactica has a much larger army and navy than we do. Their military contains five times our population in total. Our only strength is our air force—you brave lads.

"In the last battle not our full force had yet been deployed, and thirty-six of our planes were destroyed. We managed to wipe out the advance of Imperial Galactica's air force and part of their army, but they kept marching anyway.

"Small armies are attacking the supply trains and attempting to cut off supplies to the vanguard before the rest of the land army can invade. A guerilla village defense network has succeeded in destroying a few advance corps. However, its numbers are yet pitiful.

"It is with us that the destiny of Czardas lies. We alone can prevent our nation from becoming a colony of Imperial Galactica."

With this stirring speech the Commander leaves the balcony. Roused by his words, the fighters begin to take off from the landing. High over the mountains they soar, whirling. The vanguard of blue fighters forms an arrowhead formation. Cruising high over the mountains, they see the valleys gouged into the sides by rivers descending towards the sea, and know that soon they will be directly over the Imperial Galactican army.

It is a brilliant sunny summer day. The sky is almost cloudless. Far below him, the lead pilot sees the Imperial Galactican planes, guarding the army below, marching on. The order crackles across his radio and he extends the needle and turns downwards. The planes behind him do likewise and begin firing down. The air fills with the sound of explosions as they descend amid fire and clouds to ram the Imperial Galactican convoy head-on.

-----------------------------------

Saketh Tower, Czarna

In the room at the top of the Saketh Tower, the one who sits and waits eternally is multitasking. From his wheelchair he watches on the screen the battle in the air; he holds in his hand a small wireless screen displaying intelligence gathered on Imperial Galactica. As usual, it was of the highest quality. The Czar had always had the best-protected intelligence networks: friends in high places...

"Phoenix Grey intends to send parachuters behind Czardaian lines to wreak havoc, with the specific intent of destroying the guerilla militias. Details are sketchy, but it is believed there may be as many as eight teams to be operating within Czardas. Many of the details have been left up to the squadron leaders, unfortunately, but our...er....operatives in Imperial Galactica will attempt to obtain all plans before they depart."

Airya Wong's voice shuts off with an abrput click. The Czar nods in approval and then rotates in his wheelchair to stare out the window looking northwards. With his lips he forms words, distantly, as though reciting from a speech.

"Hopeless. It was always hopeless. We have been caught in a net of Fate. We have no hope of victory. And yet...we fight on. Why?"

------------------------------

The subterranean security complex outside of Czarna

The leaders of Czardas's military branches are meeting together for what may be the last time.

General Ogden speaks first, head of the army. "After the draft we may have as many as four million available for active duty. Of those, the army would require the greatest portion, because of our surplus of unused military equipment."

Admiral Louis Bendragon of the Navy says, "Our navy has more than enough competent sailors, but a lack of equipment. We are working on building more ships, and quickly."

Commander Karlsen of the Air Force says, "We have just sent out 1/3 of our air force for a special mission: destruction of the Imperial Galactican air force and, as near as possible, their anti-aircraft missiles. This is a considerable number of planes, all high-quality and—thanks to titanium and articifial diamond technology—virtually invincible except to prolonged anti-aircraft fire. Another 1/3 will be used against the navy, joining whatever planes survive the current encounter."

"So it appears our air force will have no problems," says Violet Astoria. "The navy needs more ships and the army needs more men. Very well, it'll be done." She jots this down on a pad of paper and leaves the council room, while the three military leaders too leave one by one via different doors.

-----------------

Somewhere in the Czardaian mountains

The cave is high on a precipice overlooking the Czardaian plains far below. A footpath from its entrance leads down to the gorge of a small stream entering the valley below the precipice. The Imperial Galactican army, expecting a convoy, waits at the foot of this precipice, their planes hovering overhead to guard them, a scant hundred meters from the edge of the cliffs. But the convoy they expected will never come...

"Another convoy successfully annihilated," reports Migol, saluting. "This one appeared to be bearing top military technology from the backup armies, which are now entering Czardas, to the vanguard." His men behind him display a good number of high-powered rifles and other assorted weapons, as well as GPS trackers and incendiary bombs.

"Excellent, Migol. We are doing better every day." Virthas smiles happily. "On the home front, seven hundred more have joined the C.D.A., many already possessing registered weapons."

"For hunting? Sir, hunting and military guns are different—"

"Both can fire, right? Both can kill a man, right? The only difference is the brand name."

"Yes, Sir." Migol salutes again. Virthas stands inside the lantern-lit cave which has become a temporary base for the militia.

At that moment the sounds of firing are heard. Villagers look up to see planes firing and diving in the air.

"The Air Force!" shouts a man.

"Now's our chance!" adds a woman near him.

In the Imperial Galactican army, the soldiers hasten to set up anti-aircraft batteries as both Czardaian and Imperial planes battle it out in the air. Migol and another villager named Kristof wheel out the catapult, and Kristof gently loads an incendiary bomb into the mechanism, then fires it in the direction of the anti-aircraft batteries. There is a massive explosion that seems to shake the cliffs to their bases.

"Target hit," reports Migol. Where the anti-aircraft batteries had been is now just an empty crater devoid of life. The Imperial Galactican bombs are surprisingly powerful. Troops on the plains, far away, set up long-range guns aimed towards the precipice and begin firing. Occasional blasts hit the top of the cliff, but it is easier to fire down from the top than up from the base. Setting up machine guns on top of the cliff, the more experienced fighters begin firing towards the soldiers. Kristof loads another bomb and fires it. This time it blasts a gaping hole in the ranks which is quickly filled by more soldiers. The third bomb, out of eight recovered, is loaded towards the backup anti-aircraft; a well-aimed catapult shot and a smoking hole is all that is left. Now in confusion, the Imperial troops begin to retreat; others fire towards the cliffs. But the battle on the ground is nothing compared to the battle in the air.

High up, among clouds and fire, the smaller and nimbler Czardaian planes skewer their enemies, firing with deadly accuracy. The Czardaian air force's reputation is not unfounded. The first wave of fighters leaves a sizeable dent in Imperial Galactica's air force; the second is too much. Planes spiral to the ground in plumes of smoke; explosions are everywhere. In confusion, the Imperial pilots break formation completely: some of them flee, others continue to fight, others land to be destroyed by fire from above. The Czardaian air force does not linger long, however; it turns northwards to defend the borders from the Imperial fleet. Later it is joined by still more planes.

Virthas and his men disappear within their cave. By radio, he contacts other militia units: The battle is over. We have won. We have stopped them for once. Over.

Grand General Belgarion slammed his fist into the desk. Even with the extra precautions, the Czardaians had taken out one of his major task forces. With his own military equipment. It wasn't about the troops, or even the damnable guns. He had plenty of both. Imperial Galactica's vast industrial complex turned out weapons at an astonishing rate, and Imperial Galactica's huge populace ensured almost unlimited trained troops. He was just sick of those uppity Czardaians, pretending they could defeat his army.

He decided to look at it another way. Yeah, his task force was obliterated - but that was only one. He'd gained plenty of ground elsewhere; in several places he had gotten ahead of schedule. Those planes from Grensky had helped a little, though not as much as he had hoped. The pilots were good, but the planes, while powerful, were as maneuverable as a rock. The Czardaians took great glee in shooting at them, it seemed.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a man in black walked in. Belgarion wasn't overly worried. He knew the man had clearance or the guards wouldn't have let him in.

The man stood silently, waiting to be addressed.

Belgarion looked up, exasperated. "Yes, what is it?"

The man came to attention. "Sir, this is Commander Prokoth of the 3rd Imperial Special Forces Division. We've been ordered to assist your campaign, and our division commander decided the best way to do so was to wipe out the rebels that had attacked your task force."

Belgarion allowed a grin to spread across his features. Finally, good news. This had to be one of Phoenix Grey's operations - it had his fingerprints all over it.

"So, Grey's come through for us, eh?" The man did not reply. "Well, they seem to be hiding in the catacombs, led by some sort of local ex-regular forces man. We don't know any specifics, just that they're a nuisance."

Belgarion turned away to fill a coffee cup, and when he turned around, the man was gone, as if he had vanished. He sighed. Grey always HAD liked those theatrics.

As Belgarion went back to planning the landside campaign, a dozen men dropped into the catacombs to search for the rebels and eliminate their leader...
_________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, on the seaside fight, Bastila was ecstatic. Her battle force had blooded well. The pitiful Czardaian fleet was almost too quaint to destroy. The planes, however...Bastila grimaced. What a GREAT help those planes had been, Bastila thought to herself sarcastically. Sure, they could bomb a slow moving boat, but against those fast little dagger planes...

Most of Bastila's ships were firing indiscriminately at the Czardaian air force cover. Anti-air missiles from her ships flew after many of them, yet seemed to bring few down. At least, that's what Bastila thought. The crew chief certainly seemed proud of his missiles. Every so often, he'd yell that he got another one, but the number of enemy planes never seemed to go down...

She wondered how long it would take.
_________________________________________________________

Phoenix Grey also wondered how long it would take, but he was referring to something else. The troops seemed to pour out of Imperial Galactica, yet there were always more reserves. Grey fumed. He hadn't counted on the enthusiasm of the populace for this war and the charisma of the Executor.

His teams had better finish this godforsaken war quickly.
_________________________________________________________

Crassus, in contrast to his fellows, was quite happy. War was always profitable for Imperial Galactica's central bank, and money flowed his way as the government opened its coffers. He wondered what Grey was doing with that harebrained scheme of his. Something about overthrowing the government or somesuch nonsense. He'd tried to explain to Grey that that was simply not done, that others had tried and failed; Grey seemed to dismiss his warnings out of hand.

Though, Crassus thought to himself, that man certainly was powerful.

He suddenly hoped that the government wouldn't be overthrown. That was ALWAYS bad for business.

Commander Lokken of the Hontan Imperial Ship (OOC: From henceforth a H.I.S.) 8th Fang, a Ohio-class SSGN-726 and flagship of the Test Squardron #1, listened intently at the comm station.

"The Air For..." "...ing fire" "Eject Ja...." and random garbage was being broadcast from the non-to distant state of Czardas.

"And so it seems the Imperial Galactica is involved with Czardas" He mused.

"Sir?" came a weak voice of a midshipman at the sonar station.

"Change of course, setting 239 degrees"

"Setting 239 degrees"

Commander Lokken released a radio buoy and contacted Hontikga.

OOC: Okay if I join?

OOC: Of course it's okay. I couldn't figure out from your post, though - do you intend to be neutral, antagonistic towards both sides, or on one side or the other?

Bastila eyed the comm readout. She was concerned about these new ships showing up. Some Hontah nation. She'd wired back to Imperial Galactica for more information.

She shrugged. Little point to worry about it now, while her ships were still fighting the blockade.

Or rather, she thought wryly, the planes, not the blockade.
________________________________________________________
Executor Urza Ender Thrawn read the report from Grensky unhappily.

"What...nearly...HOW MANY CASUALTIES!" He stopped in shock as he read the line.

".9% loss of total personnel, 30% loss of equipment!" He shook his head.

He called in a subordinate.

"Get more materials and money to Grensky - he's in big trouble. Tell him to begin upgrading the lighter planes from previous designs. Tell him he's got..."

The Executor searched for a respectable percentage.

"Tell him he's got 25% of Imperial Galactica's manufacturing plants at his command."

The aide-de-camp saluted and left to convey the Executor's orders.

Well, with supplies taking up the majority of the complex...the weapons and equipment for the army...Urza didn't think it'd stretch his capabilities.

He mused further upon the seeming ineffectiveness of his Admiral Grensky.

OOC: I Didn't wannt you to know, see I didn't even know at first.

IC: Commander Lokken had transmition wires strung beneath the four subs. His flagship the 8th Fang in the front of a diamond formation. At this point the other commanders came in on the wire's.

"Commander West of the Los Angeles class Mirror"

"Commander Shapre of the Concrete Class Sand Shark"

"Commander Miller of the Seawolf Class Marc Anthony"

"Commander Lokken of the flagship 8th Fang" He said bordly at the protocol opening message.

"Our orders sir?" Asked Commander Sharpe.

Silence on the band for seconds.

Lokken's voice came quickly with orders. "The Mirror will circle at 10 miles out..." "Aye, Aye" "And the Sand Shark will lay out at 3 miles the line to coordinates Alpha." "Roger" "The Marc will follow me to coordinates previously stated." "Aye, Aye" "Were the 8th will let loose her 77 of 154 BMG-112 Seahawks at the Imperial Galactica's fleet." "Snap Wires and Radio Silence from now on."

Commander Sharpe sat back in his command chair. He was going to follow orders until one point when his CO had said Radio Silence. He was going to go to 3 miles, and wait until the Seahawks came, but first he was going to radio to his true commander, Bastila.

[ooc:] Ah, your nation is on my side, but your ship is on IG’s. That’s a nice balance. ;)

By the way, this will be my last post for a while, so I’ll try to make it thorough.

[ic:]

Over Tyrion Bay

The little planes are succeeding brilliantly. Dropping their assorted weaponry, they are managing to take out more ships and planes than expected. The planes have spread themselves out to avoid being hit, and so far only nine have been downed. Nine men, out of what might become seven million….

They are surprisingly well-organized. Three planes dive-bomb the Death’s Head, needles extended. Although anti-aircraft fire destroys all three planes before they hit, one explodes almost on top of the ship, taking out all of the front guns. The Czardaian air force is well-deserving of its reputation. “Another ship hit!” screams an AF officer into the radio as one well-aimed missile turns an Imperial ship into a giant fireball.

The commander radios to home base, “There’s trouble ahead. A fresh wing of Imperial planes is approaching us.”

“Keep at it, boys,” says the encouraging voice of Commander Karlsen on the other end. A plane needle-bombs the lead three of the Imperial squadron, before exploding in a spectacular fireworks display. The radar of the commander’s plane shows a fleet of foreign ships approaching. He doesn’t think too much of it, except that they are warships. He radios out a message. “Whose side are you on?”

He waits as explosions rack the air around him.

--------------------

Kristof leads the way through Barik’s Catacombs, said to be where the legendary ruler Barik I the Bold of Adarion is buried. Along with him are sixteen villagers wielding assorted weapons, to be guided to the next camp along. At this point the path through the Catacombs splits: the left fork descends into the unlit bowels of the earth, while the right fork, lit by electric lights, continues towards the next base, in a vast hidden cavern.

Suddenly there is a report and the air fills with smoke. Kristof hits the ground hard, a bullet in his heart. The villagers behind him react quickly: they bring up their guns and fire. The sound of a heavy body hitting the rocks is heard, and then running feet. The villagers pursue the members of Phoenix Grey’s team down the left-hand path into the deep chambers, lit only by the phosphorescent walls which somehow provide enough luminosity for visibility.

Farther and farther down they go, while Kristof attempts to sit up, chokes. A bubble of blood bursts in his throat. He shudders convulsively. Within moments he is dead. His body is waiting, so it seems. Awaiting burial…

-------------------

It is nearing nightfall when the Czardaian armies set out from a distant military base to counter the land army. There are a lot of them—more than expected. They march silently with little ceremony. No-one must know they are there. Approaching stealthily, with a cover of stealth planes, they make their way towards the camp where Imperial troops lie asleep, waiting for sunrise….

-------------------

Alma Finlay is tired. She keeps working nonetheless. Plans must be finished, and fast. She works at it while planes battle over the sea and men march across land. She works at logistics while men work at burial and chase others of their kind with the intent to kill them. She works at war while, all across the land, men kill each other in a grandiose and ultimately pointless conflict, waged by men who have never met, fought by men who have never hated, for commanders they have never loved. She works and waits. Waiting….for dawn.

--------------------

All throughout the land, people are waiting. They all await one thing: sunrise. But what, in truth, will it bring them? Triumph or tragedy? Freedom or slavery? Happiness or sadness? Love or hate? Life or death? Or perhaps all of those at once?

It all lies in the hands of Fate. And Fate, it seems, is a cruel master.

Bastila swore heatedly. Another hit on her ship. And another. Luckily, her Death's Head was the best of the fleet - else, it wouldn't have been her flagship. The fleet was doing well versus the maniacs of Czardas' air force. Well, objectively doing well. Many Imperial ships had gone down, but the Czardaians were losing a lot of planes. With Grensky's planes inbound, well...she smiled viciously. She couldn't wait to get her hands on whomever commanded these accursed planes.

The foreign fleet was still an unknown quantity. She recognized one of the ships as being commanded by an old friend of hers; she wondered just what he was up to.

The sailor on radar turned around.

"Grand Admiral, we've got missiles inbound! Looks like...at least fifty...from one of the Hondah ships."

He trailed off.

Bastila slammed her fist against her chair. This wouldn't be good. Her navy still contained a good number of ships, luckily. She attempted some rapid calculations and turned to the anti-air battery men.

"Target those missiles. I want them down NOW."

She waved off their objections.

"Yes, I know that those planes are still out there and we've lost our forward guns. Those missiles are more dangerous than the planes at the moment. The planes will have to refuel and land SOMETIME; the missiles certainly won't."

Soon the armada begins to fire upon the incoming missiles. The Czardaian planes, glad for the momentary respite, take the opportunity to circle and recommence their formations.

Grensky's planes do their best to hold off the Czardaians, to varying degrees of success.

Bastila hoped this foreign fleet wasn't as hostile as it seemed to be. She might be in serious trouble, with the Czardaians still in the air and an unknown quantity of enemy warships encircling her.

She radioed the new information back to Imperial Galactica. The Executor needed to hear of this new threat immediately.
_______________________________________________________

Commander Triad of the 3rd Imperial Special Forces Division also was not happy. These mountains were much larger than their scans had previously indicated. While he knew that they could retrace their steps to get OUT, finding more than token rebel resistance might well be difficult. These militia members following his team was no problem at all - they were horrible shots. They were simply leading the militia, attepting to find a decent area to circle back and wipe them out.

God, he thought. I hate caves.
_______________________________________________________

Back at Imperial Galactica, Executor Urza wasn't in a much better mood. The report had come in from Belgarion about the loss of the task force. He had sent word to Belgarion, attempting to reconcile him to the loss of his good men, but the Grand General had seemed...distant. As if worried about something. No, the Executor mused, worried wasn't the word. Deeply distressed.

He sat down in the conference room, the same one that had been partially destroyed several days prior. He templed his fingers and questioned what he should do.
______________________________________________________

Grand General Belgarion was indeed deeply distressed. He'd heard reports from outriders and recon patrols about some type of huge force massing - right before their links were lost. He hoped they were still alive, though he suspected otherwise.

He sounded the alarms. Discretion was the better part of valor, he had heard, but if an enemy army was approaching, he'd be damned if he was caught with his pants down again.

All around him, he heard the sounds of men stirring for war. Thousands upon thousands of men, checking weapons, donning armor, grabbing pennants and flags, and suiting up in their uniforms.

He was proud of his men. He knew they'd do their job. If there really was such an enormous force headed towards him, they'd acquit themselves well.

After all, surrender is betrayal, no?

He offhandedly wondered how long it'd take Grey's men to eliminate the militias, and suppressed a shudder.

Commander Sharpe had a radio buoy sent up to the surface of the flat calm ocean.

"Bastila, do you read me this is your servant, Sharpe" he said in a private room.

Sounds of battle waged through the intercom speakers.

"I read you, what do you want."

"I'm part of an advanced Submarine task force and my CO is threatning you with 154 Seahawk missiles."

"Your too LATE Sharpe, we have over 50 missiles impound from a Hontan ship."

"But he had a timetable it shouldn't have fired for another hour." His voice pleaded.

"Does this seem to be an hour later." Her voice cool and mechanical.

"I'm s-s-sorry."

"Your to report to Death's Head as soon as possible, do you copy that."

"Yes Bastila." Static swiped through the channel

"You ominous trator Sharpe, I'll sink your puny ship and have your head on a stake, rotting above my ship."

"Commander WEST?"

"F***you. Out" And the transmission was cut from West and Bastila.

A midshipman burst into the cabin. "Sir, the Mirror is coming inbound sir, she pinged us about 5 minutes ago but I couldn't find you."

"How far away is she?"

"1200 yards and closing sir."

"Empty all ballast tanks and drop to 1100 ft."

"Aye Aye Sir," he sayed sckepticly.

"You have been recruited to fight the cause for the Imperial Galactica have you not?"

"Nay Sir." Sharpe brought out his Ruger SuperRedhawk revolver and put 3 bullets into the young midshipman's heart and lungs. Sharpe cooly walked to the bridge and reported his orders and intentions.

"And ANYONE, who dissaproves of such action will be killed." he concluded.

The Bridge fell silent.
----------------------------
Commander Lokken got the report from West soon after firing the missiles.

"Return to firing depth" He ordered. the ship's tanks filled with water and rose to 10 ft below waterline. "Fire 20 more missiles at the flagship."

"Sir," Stated the first mate, "20 is alot of missiles that could be used on other morale boosting objectives."

"Fire." 20 missiles came out of VLS Tubes rapidly propelled by compressed gas. They rose 15 ft into the air and then their main rocket booster kicked in.
Up yours He thought merrily

The planes take advantage of the momentary lull to begin another full-blown airstrike. Sixteen Czardaian planes have been removed permanently. Another seven have been forced to land nearer Tyrion. But the vast majority are still there, and due to the thinning numbers are preparing a new strategy.

"CX-31s," explains the commander simply via radio. "Compact, small, tremendously powerful. The best type of airborne missile available on the Czardaian markets."

The planes lower their missiles and prepare to fire them.

An AF man contacts the commander. "There are missiles incoming, towards Imperial Galactica, from Hontah."

"Good. They're on our side." The commander speaks his orders into radio.

"Position... and away!"

The missiles drop, one by one, towards the Imperial ships. Far below, the guns are trying to rotate fast enough to block the missiles. But they are not prepared quickly enough. Ships cannot fire at two sets of missiles at the same time....

The explosions are deafening.

------------------

Virthas explains to the man opposite him, "We have a total of seventeen
thousand men now, mostly inexperienced and untrained. However, many are former members of the Czardaian army, or other armies, for that matter. We have also secured tanks and other Imperial Galactican equipment by seizing their task forces and convoys; thus, they have taken to sending supplies by plane."

Lt. Irian of the 14th Special Operative Division, on a special mission with two comrades from Finlay, nods knowingly. "That's all understood."

"Now, we pose a more serious threat to the Imperial army than they wish to acknowledge. They cannot seem to believe that they have been repeatedly defeated by an untrained militia. Our constant raids on their armies are causing their men to lose morale. Soon they may decide to give up completely. Imperial Galactica's reserves are sending forth fewer eager soldiers."

"Yes?"

"We hope to discourage them before they can reach the Novak River twenty-two miles south of here, for the next major river south of the Novak is the Zaïr, and we all know what will happen if they reach that."

"You're right there."

The conversation is interrupted by the sounds of firing, yells, and running feet.

"Ambush," mutters Virthas, arming himself.

Irian and the pair behind him all draw their two custom-made submachine guns, and the three men follow Virthas along a stairwell leading down to the lower passage.

The four men drop onto their feet and open fire on the black-clad men directly in front of them. They skid to a halt and try to turn aside, but too late for three of them. Irian fires again, and the badge on his uniform seems to mock the black-clad operatives: Czardas 14th Special Operative Division. The men turn to run the other way amid fire from the four behind them, and run straight into the villagers, who have taken to using their guns as clubs. And, of course, the four military men behind them will soon have caught up with heavy fire.

------------------

General Adrian Longleaf is in conference in his tent. The face of his commander General Ogden is visible on the screen. General Ogden is speaking.

"They have detected your presence and are arming themselves. You have two choices. If they leave their camp to look for you, get in behind them and burn it to the ground, taking any and all supplies and killing all guards. If they do not leave, wait until the small hours of the morning, when they are tired, and then attack. Try to make your force seem larger than it is. They may be under the impression that we have a vast army; it is, in comparison with theirs, fairly small. Oh, and trust the C.D.A. to distract them; our friend in the 14th has sent three Special Operatives to give them orders."

Longleaf smiles to himself, remembering "our friend in the 14th" Alma Finlay. She seems to be arranging everything these days. He wouldn't be surprised if one of these days, she'd become the supreme commander of Czardas's army. He returns Ogden's orders with a salute.

"Yes, Sir."

"Oh—and I'm leaving most of the details up to you. You can use whatever movement you think best for the circumstances. On the cliffs you have the advantage. And the planes are our best bombers, and will help you."

"Yes, Sir."

"Over."

General Longleaf shuts off his screen and sits there thinking for a time, waiting for reports of the army below.

---------------

The Czar smiled. Czardas was doing surprisingly well in war. It had won several major battles so far. But his smile was as the smile of an old man amused by the folly of children, trying their hardest to prove something impossible. Imperial Galactica was using not much more than half its entire resources, while Czardas's were stretched almost to the limit. In fact, there were very few soldiers left to guard the capital, just a lot of equpiment for a siege. And with the planes, siege was usually unnecessary....unless the Czardaian air force could eliminate enough of the Imperial Galactican air force that it would be too weak to go on.

The Czar thought of many things that long night. Far away planes were battling and men waited tensely to attack. He thought of his operative in Imperial Galactica and that he might not be loyal. He thought of Czardas, a colony of Imperial Galactica, and shuddered. Independence must be protected. He thought of Thomas Irian and the intelligence he had collected, and how useful it might be. And more than ever, he thought of the C.D.A.

A vision—of triumph and glory, of the brave fighters of the Czardaian army rewarded at last, Virthas standing tall amid his men, waving—

No, it was gone again.

But what, in truth, is the real value of dreams?

Bastila swore heavily. This really wasn't good. Those accursed Czardaian planes were hounding her ships, and those Hondan ships were bothersome. She'd lost a couple of her ships when a concentrated barrage from the Czardaian planes overwhelmed her ships' anti-air batteries. Her own ship was still crippled fore, which meant her aft guns had to work twice as heavily.

Her old friend had indeed capitulated to her, but she wasn't sure of how much use he'd be against the vast number of enemies.

"Aft batteries, nice work. Keep firing. Launch full salvos of missiles. I don't want to save them any longer. We need to save as many ships as we can. Order the rest of the fleet to launch full spreads as well."

Bastila sighed. She'd hoped to save her missiles for use against Czardaian ports and targets of opportunity.

She got on the comm to call up her remaining reserves as her ship loaded the first of many missiles.
________________________________________________________

Grand General Belgarion spoke to his troops from a dais, his voice carried by speakers throughout the camp.

"Men...this is the day we've been waiting for. The Czardaians have marshalled their forces to oppose us in one final push. We've all heard the reports of vast, countless numbers of militia. Each and every one of you know why we're here - to safeguard the lives of every Imperial man and woman. To protect our freedom and our government from aggressors. We're all here because we believe in that.

Here he paused to regain his composure.

"Men, whatever comes at us, we have to take them down. When you fire your gun at an enemy, remember that he's not a person. He's an inhuman monster who decided to attack YOU. If you fall, he'll continue on into Imperial Galactica itself. You're not just protecting yourself - you're protecting your fellow squadmates, and most of all, your families. Every time you fire that weapon, think of a wife, or a son or daughter. Every time you fire that weapon, you're helping to protect them.

To the troops of Imperial Galactica: God save you and protect you from whatever the coming day brings."

He stepped off the podium to a resounding cheer from his men.
______________________________________________________

Overseer Yenken was a busy man. A very busy man. Heavyset with thinning hair, Yenken was the supervisor for one of Imperial Galactica's largest industrial factory complexes. He scratched his hair under his helmet. This newest order from HQ was nuts. He figured he'd have to turn most every man on his shifts onto this new order.

A thousand of the new planes...and with these specs...

He pushed up his glasses and squinted at the design specifications.

Jesus, he thought. This type of detail would take near forever.

Resigned, he turned back to his work, to try to figure out where to draw men from.

Over the sea the battle goes on.

It is now well past nightfall. Commander Karlsen sits in his desk reading the reports transmitted from Tyriandor. The main portion of the Czardaian navy had arrived in time to back up the planes, and a fierce battle had ensued, lasting for four hours. The planes had finally retreated to land, and the Imperial navy, weakened and tired, had rested. What had become of the Hontah ships, no-one knew, except possibly the ships themselves.

Now, again during the night, small rafts of Czardaians – containing members of the 10th and 11th Special Operative Divisions – had sailed quietly across to the Imperial ships with the intent to sink or board them. It is nearly impossible to attempt to sink a battleship as well-guarded as an Imperial Galactican one, but the Czardaian Special Operatives are legendary for their abilities. It is said that few nations, if any, can match these special forces. Tales tell of the six men who unobtrusively entered their enemy’s country, tricked their way into the capitol, and took prisoner all the leaders in a council of war, forcing them to surrender… but there we digress. What I called “rafts” are really no more than glorified wreckage. The men and women upon them appear drowned. Only their hidden tiny bombs and pistols remain dry.

Commander Karlsen hopes greatly. He knows that wreckage and drowned people is always common after a battle. He hopes that the Imperial commanders will take no note of the wreckage, until it is too late. He also knows that the soldiers will be able to swim to the sides of the ships to attach the bombs they need to. But as yet there is no report of their return.

Beside him, General Ogden motions to a screen. The face of General Longleaf is visible. Karlsen turns towards it.

“General, our spies have just returned.”

“Good. What have they learned?”

“The Imperial Galacticans want to defend.”

Ogden smiles. “So they won’t attack us, eh? That makes things slightly more difficult. We’ll have to drive them out.”

Ogden speaks in his commanding voice to Longleaf. “Have your men fire bombs into their camp, but not our ordinary ones – the gas bombs.”

Karlsen shuddered. The gas bombs spread poisonous gas for several hundred meters around the point of impact, making wherever they landed uninhabitable by humans. Exposure would kill a man almost instantly. The Imperial troops would have very little time to get their gas masks and equipment ready. In the darkness the gas would be practically invisible, and the type used in total warfare was odorless.

Longleaf saluted. “Yes, Sir! Any further orders?”

“Yes,” said Ogden. “They will then most likely leave the camp. When that happens, send out a small portion of your men. Not to meet them – to split around them and harrow their sides, or better, surround them. The rest of the army can stay back at the temporary camp. And of course use planes to spread as much havoc as possible.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Over.” Ogden pressed a button and the screen went blank.

Admiral Bastila eyed the wreckage. Her ships had blown through the Czardaian blockade as she'd expected them to, but she'd been forced to halt and erect some repairs on a number of her ships. The amount of wreckage in the water was astounding.

How amusing, Bastila thought. It's almost as if the enemy put it there on purpose.

She laughed, amused by the very thought, and turned away to oversee her ships' repair.

She too wondered where the Hontah ships had disappeared to. She hoped her old friend was still alive.
______________________________________________________

General Belgarion was unhappy. Very unhappy. The Czardas army was large, but nowhere near the rumored size. They'd surrounded his army, but weren't making any moves towards his troops. Belgarion knew they had no chance of victory - they had a tenth of his men! And without his advanced weaponry and training!

He suspected foul play, but with Grey's teams still disrupting the enemy, he had little possibility to discover what truly was happening.

All around him, his men were sighing and laughing. They'd expected uncounted troops.

"No, you dogs!" growled Belgarion. "Keep those guns up! Get those helmets back on! Form up, we're sending those satan-spawned Czardaians back to where they belong!"

The men near him cheered, and Belgarion's immense army began to form up in rows and columns.

*Time progressed nearly a half hour for RP reasons, as the Imperial army forms up and the Czardaian army loads their gas canisters*

The tanks formed up for the first several rows, with the infantry in back shielded by the superior armor of the tanks. The helicopter battalions hovered overhead, and the Imperial planes left flew in formations overhead.
Belgarion trotted to the front of his army. As far as he could see, his army. From horizon to horizon, General Belgarion's troops were lined up for war.

Belgarion turned to glance again at the Czardaian lines. There was indeed some action, though not as much as he expected. He'd certainly be running for his life if confronted with an army of this magnitude. He figured he should probe their lines, to see what they were up to.

"Snipers, forward!" He ordered. Two lines of armored soldiers stepped up.

"Deploy and fire at opportunity!" He continued.

The soldiers rapidly set up their gear. The Czardaians seemed to be still preparing, and as the first sniper shots rang out, screams rang out from the Czardaian lines. Belgarion smiled grimly. He let the snipers continue for a minute to keep the Czardaians' heads down, then again continued.

"First wave, forward! Tank support waves one and two to advance! Air support, take out that artillery!" He squinted at the shapes. He had no idea what the hell that contraption was.

Overhead, the helicopters whirled by as the first wave of troops and armor moved forward to combat the Czardaians.

Belgarion sat back to watch his troops, proud that they'd do their job. His only fear was that the first wave would wipe out the enemy themselves.

As Belgarion's probing force broke into a charge, he heard noise from the Czardaian lines. He turned and stared as the immense canisters hit the ground and the gas spread amongst his troops. Men dropped as others reached for their air filters.

Gas attacks! How immoral. He hoped that it wasn't too late for his advance army. He turned to the remainder of his army, prepared to order them to fit their air filters, but smiled as he saw the army already doing so. His division commanders weren't sleeping after all.
_________________________________________________________

Phoenix Grey grimaced. His shadow divisions weren't doing well enough. It'd be up to him to finish this accursed war. He paced the room, then turned to a computer console. He plugged a few information lines in.

He was searching for whomever his man was in Czardas.

All over the world, Phoenix had a man or two in every country, highly trained and nigh invincible. The operatives were men who knew their duty and loved their Imperial Galactica well.

Ah, he thought. Mammon is my man in Czardas. Phoenix Grey, head of Imperial Galactica's Politburo, couldn't help but suppress a shudder. Mammon was almost insane. Once given a duty, he'd fulfill it, no matter how wounded or injured. Standing an impressive 6'2", Mammon had tattoos all over his body. It was rumored that every time Mammon killed a man, he added another tattoo to his body. If so, well...Phoenix stared at the man. He'd killed many, many men.

He'd get in touch with Mammon, see if Mammon thought the prey was worthy.

[ooc:] Have you remembered that it’s the middle of the night and very little can actually be seen?

[ic:]

General Longleaf grinned. The Imperial forces seemed to have mistaken his small advance force for the whole army. And the gas attacks seemed to have wiped out a fair number of troops. The problem with the stuff was that it couldn’t damage equipment, only men, and the enemy army was too well-trained to be wiped out by a surprise gas attack. However, he had planes to take care of the equipment. He sent orders to the small force surrounding the Imperial camp.

“Hold them off.”

Then he radioed the division commander of the planes. “What happened? You were supposed to distract the Imperial Galacticans while we prepared the gas.”

“Well sir, we...”

“Don’t talk to me. Go out and fight!”

What was left of the Imperial advance army was suffering heavy fire from all sides. Tanks and individual snipers exchanged heavy fire as the Czardaian army drew the Imperial Galacticans deeper into the woods, attempting to trap them. In the night aim was not so good, and light was scarce. This was soon to change, however.

Overhead the planes exchanged rapid fire, directly over the Imperial Galactican camp, as below men wearing air filters tended to the dead and dying. Stray missiles wreaked havoc in the camp, countered by anti-aircraft fire from both sides. The Czardaian planes seemed to maneuver even better in the dark than in the light, although that may have been due to the night-time weaknesses of the Imperial Galactican air force. The planes seemed to be everywhere, again attempting to draw their enemies away from the Czardaian camp.

Longleaf and Air Force Commander Karlsen had a brief radio exchange, and then more planes began to move to the battle site. Longleaf had no shortage of men. He led the remainder of his army with all its equipment a little farther so as to be in a completely opposite direction from the Imperial camp. He instructed his men to prepare a projectile with near-nuclear power.

They took a few minutes to follow his orders. The projectile was one of the smallest and most precise available. It contained a little red light, which would allow its progress to be tracked. They prepared it and shot it straight at the Imperial Galactican camp below…

-------------------------

In the forest the battle had ceased to be a battle of armies. The Imperial tanks were too large to penetrate the thick trees; the smaller Czardaian ones, on the other hand, had better maneuverability and the drivers were more familiar with the terrain, allowing them to enter the wilderness. Nevertheless, many of them got stuck or were stopped by heavy fire.

The Czardaians seemed determined to destroy all light. They fired at the lanterns, apparently possessing better night vision than their Imperial comrades. One of these lighting attempts backfired. An Imperial soldier, trying to find his way, Czardaian soldier knocked him to the ground. The match landed in the underbrush, dry from days without rain under the hot sun; Czardaians and Imperial Galacticans alike looked on in horror, helplessly, as the forest began to catch fire. The flames spread rabidly, consuming everything that grew. Soon the forest grew into an inferno, and the armies broke formation.

It was now a hand-to-hand fight. Soldiers fought one-on-one, killing an opponent usually only to be gunned down by another. Sometimes in the semi-darkness they even fought their comrades. Spun in circles and confused, one Imperial division attacked their own vanguard before realizing their mistake. The Czardaians no longer had any idea of the strength of the enemy. Their radio equipment was mostly shattered and broken.

And the battle bore on. For hours that night they fought, nowing nothing of the passage of time, or of the standings of their respective armies. And from the camps they saw the flames, and saw they could do nothing about it. The fire itself grew in magnitude and power. Perhaps it was fueled by the lanterns of fallen Imperial Galactican soldiers; perhaps blood itself gave it power. But it was by its light that the soldiers battled.

And, far away, a small explosive was quietly attached to one of the largest and most powerful ships of the Imperial fleet, set to detonate in five minutes. The man who had attached it steered his pieces of wreckage away from the ship cautiously. All around him, similar scenes were taking place. In a few minutes, a portion of the Imperial fleet would blow sky-high, including the Death’s Head. Czardas was taking no chances.

There was not enough wreckage to appear that suspicious, but enough to do away with what they wanted. It was not easy to find that magic number.

In the distance, the planes had left for the remote battlefield where the second great battle of the war was being fought.

[ooc:] Your team has just been cornered in my cave (see post above) and I can’t do anything with the militia until you resolve what happened to them.

OOC: I had presumed that night vision goggles would be in heavy use with some sort of heavy-duty night imaging hardware. I'm under the impression that that is generally used in first-world modern militaries quite often.

Still OOC: The team in the catacombs would logically have taken quite some time to explore. I had again presumed that the ambush occurred only after some time, such as when our armies joined in combat.

IC:

Commander Triad quickly reloaded his assault rifle. His team had taken some heavy casualties from the militia. He spared a glance to eye his team. He was down to half strength already, still pinned down by the enemy fire.

Triad wondered where the enemy got the incredible amount of bullets that flew overhead. It much resembled a rain of slugs. His men were attempting to fight off the militia and the...scout...team or somesuch they had apparently stumbled over.

The man next to Triad went to a knee from his crouch in an attempt to fire. He got off only a few rounds before he took one of the return fire in the shoulder. He spun to the ground, assault rifle near forgotten.

Triad grimaced. Another man that'd need medical aid immediately if he was to survive. Unfortunately, their squad medic had been one of the initial casualties.

Triad didn't have much hope that his team would make it out. He hoped that whomever else were combing the tunnels had better luck than he had.

He loaded another clip, braced for the worst.
_____________________________________________________

Phoenix Grey brought up the comm display and dialed Mammon up. Almost instantaneously, the huge man filled the display.

"Ah...Phoenix Grey." A hideous smile twisted Mammon's face.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Phoenix Grey was silent for a moment, assessing how Mammon had changed. The man was built like a brick wall and was now so tattooed that it looked more like he slept with swords than it did of tattoos.

Phoenix Grey prepared his reply.

"Mammon, you're being activated. There's a militia commander named Virthas in Czardas. You are to eliminate him." Phoenix Grey waited for Mammon's inevitable question.

Mammon smiled again, another grotesque parody of a normal human smile.

"Are there...requirements? How is this one to die?"

Phoenix Grey replied with the standard answer.

"Any way you can. Just remove this irritant. Several of my teams are combing the mountains - feel free to use their services. They are at your command. I want this man dead."

Mammon did not move.

"You know my price."

Phoenix Grey did indeed know the price. He still had an amount of the drug left. Prozium.

Prozium - The great nepenthe. Opiate of the masses. Glue of some great societies. Salve and salvation, some say it has delivered them from pathos, from sorrow, the deepest chasms of melancholy and hate. With it, a human being can anesthetize grief, annihilate jealousy, obliterate rage. Those sister impulses towards joy, love, and elation are anesthetized in stride, which some accept as fair sacrifice. Some, like Mammon, embrace Prozium in its unifying fullness and all that it has done to 'make' them great.

Essentially, it stopped people from feeling. Though the drug had been nearly stamped out a decade prior, Phoenix knew that there were still enclaves of Prozium users.

Phoenix Grey knew it was worth it, to eliminate Virthas. He spoke the words.

"Yes. You will be paid in full."

Mammon, without speaking, leaned forwards and shut off the link.

Phoenix Grey knew that Virthas was as good as dead. Mammon was a Gun Kata.

He knew of the old sect of the Gun Katas. He understood that there were still Gun Kata masters around, though Mammon was the only one he was aware of.

The gun katas. Through analysis of thousands of recorded gunfights, the Gun Kata Cleric has determined that the geometric distribution of antagonists in any gun battle is a statistically predictable element. The gun kata treats the gun as a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents while keeping the defender clear of the statistically traditional trajectories of return fire. By the rote mastery of this art, your firing efficiency will rise by no less than 120%. The difference of a 63% increase to lethal proficiency makes the master of the gun katas an adversary not to be taken lightly.

Phoenix Grey could remember the briefing as well as any. He smiled, then turned away. That problem was solved.
____________________________________________________

In Czardas, Mammon was preparing. He grabbed his nodachi and slid in into his belt, then strapped his urgosh across his back.

OOC: Google those weapons if you need an image. The urgosh is an axe with a sword blade at the bottom of the haft, while the nodachi is a very long samurai sword.

IC:

Mammon walked out of his simple hut in the wilderness. It was a day's walk to the mountain.

Virthas would be dead before the dawn of the second day.

[ooc:] Our time schedule seems to be a bit confused here. The sea battle occurs before the land battle, and the ambush occurs about the time of the land battle…and all this is a few weeks after the infiltration attempt.

[ic:] “Trap him!” Virthas directed the group of villagers and the three Special Operatives towards the remaining members of the team. They had cut down on most of their fire, shooting only when they needed to. Another member of the team rolled on the ground, injured.

“Without a medic they’re doomed,” said Irian, reloading his assault rifle. “They’ll have to surrender or die.”

As the battle went on towards its inevitable end, an aide ran to Virthas and pulled him aside.

“Commander, we’ve just received word of more teams like this combing the caves,” he explained.

“And what have you done?”

“We’ve managed to chase off one of them, but the other one escaped and is still at large.”

“How many casualties?”

“Mikhail says we’ve lost twelve.”

“Not good,” said Virthas, pulling at his beard. “Come on this way.”

In a tent located atop a remote mountain, not far from one of the many exits to the cave, Virthas, Irian, Migol, and three others sat, watching a display screen. It showed a dark room. A single candle sitting on a desk illuminated the dimness, and sitting at the desk, which was covered with papers, was Alma Finlay, her face in shadow but her voice unmistakable.

“Virthas, you’ve got a man after you. If you choose to call him that.”

“Ah?” Virthas raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.”

“He’s one of Phoenix Grey’s best operatives as far as I know. Name of Mammon. Highly dangerous.”

Here the display was switched to a photo of Mammon with all essential information: date of birth, age, biographical details, last known location, and so on. Finlay’s voice was heard between all this.

“This fellow is rumored to be a Gun Kata; this is an ancient martial art originating from the time when guns were not as good as they were today and people needed maximum maneuverability in gunfighting. He’s also a Prozium addict – an emotionless creature – and absolutely devoted to the Imperial cause.”

“Sounds like something we could use today,” chuckled Virthas.

“This operative is currently making directly for your camp. It is essential that he be eliminated.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“Well…it’s not easy. Knowing him, he might survive a bomb, and I’ve…” she paused for effect. “….encountered him before. Sending tanks after him would be impossible, and none of your villagers, singly or in groups, could possibly overcome him. In fact…the only thing that could possibly kill him would be another Gun Kata.”

Virthas grinned. “So I suppose you’re going to recommend us one you just happen to know?”

“As a matter of fact, I won’t,” said Finlay a bit loftily. She grinned mockingly. “But I do know of one fighter who could match Mammon in single combat, who I’ll…er…send over.”

“All right. I have faith in you.”

As Finlay shut off the display, she muttered, Don’t. Put your faith in ancient Czardaian blacksmiths. She thought of the reports, stating that he had not taken any guns with him. There was still, perhaps, some hope.

Although not much.

One woman could not do much against a rising dragon.

Commander Triad rose again and fired. His team had taken down a number of the enemy, but he knew he was defeated. It was down to just himself and Josef. His eyes flashed as he peered over the barrier at the enemies. Still far too many.

Surrender is betrayal - his old mentor's words flew through Triad's mind. Never give up...never surrender.

Triad knew what he had to do. He tapped Josef's shoulder and whispered a few words to him. Josef grimly nodded. He also knew that it was their only recourse.

Without a word more, Josef and Commander Triad vaulted the barrier and ran towards their enemies, screaming a bloodcurdling shriek and firing every bullet they had.
_____________

The Czardas farmer was pretty dang scared. These people were like demons from hell, clad in black and possessing unerring accuracy. The farmer really just wanted to go home...but Virthas needed him.

And as Triad was hit first once, then twice, then a third time...the farmer may have imagined it, but he thought a serene smile spread across Triad's face.
___________________________________________________

Across the mountain, Mammon ducked into the cave, only to be confronted with the sight of three Czardaian militia members. A recon team, he presumed. Not for much longer.

"Watch the clothes," Mammon growled as the frightened men drew their weapons. "I plan to be wearing them for a very long time."

With that, Mammon unsheathed the urgosh. The man nearest him had not backed off enough when Mammon had burst into the cave, and Mammon neatly bisected him horizontally across his stomach. The two remaining miltia clumsily opened fire with their weapons. Mammon executed a quick leap to the roof of the cave, turning as he did. He came up behind the two militia members and slashed through the right man. The man crumpled, offering little resistance to Mammon's urgosh. The last man trembled, and brought his weapon up to fire again.

Mammon sliced his urgosh through the barrel of the weapon and then reversed his axe to spear through the infantryman's gut. This man fell as well, though not dead.

Mammon walked over to the first body and picked up the man's pistol, still in his belt. He left the assault weapon lying where it had fallen and spit upon it as he turned. Pistols were better anyway. As he stalked into the cave, someone grabbed his leg.

Mammon looked down. The third miltia was clutching his leg, muttering something about terrible pain. His tortured eyes looked up at Mammon, hoping for salve, but Mammon felt no pity. He calmly shook the man off his leg, then resumed his pace into the mountain's interior.
__________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, on the plains, the main body of Belgarion's troops had moved up and were engaging fire with the enemy. More enemy had arrived in the past several minutes.

Some sort of reinforcements, Belgarion assumed. Well, little matter. He'd crush them all. He merely hoped they'd all come to 'reinforce' their comrades so he could kill them all here.

After all...mankind has united with infinitely greater purpose in pursuit of war than he ever did in pursuit of peace.
__________________________________________________________

On the seas, Bastila's force was slumbering. Rather like a large bear, she thought, and smiled. She alone was awake on her ship, pacing the deck. For some reason she could not sleep. She knew better than to ignore her instincts, so she was awake.

She wondered what kept her up. It couldn't be the Czardaians. Their pitiful resistance had ceased nearly completely a day before. Perhaps it was the Hontah ships. They HAD disappeared, after all.

She considered. The worst scenario would be that her old friend was dead and the remainder of the fleet was hostile. That wouldn't all that bad, though - Bastila's fleet could easily swat aside the seven or so ships.

Bastila walked over to the rail and leaned on it, watching the sea roll. The debris field had been partially cleared, allowing for some of the peacefulness of the sea to return. The waves hypnotically rolled against her ship...tick...tick...tick.

Bastila abrupted jolted out of her reverie to wonder why water pinged against her hull. That didn't sound like waves at all. It sounded more like metal against metal, or a timer or nonsense like that.

Perhaps it was just wreckage bumping her hull, but it was always best to check.

Bastila leaned over the rail. She still couldn't see what the hell it was that was making the noise. This was getting irritating.

She looked around. No one was up except for the nightwatch in the comm tower.

She jumped over the rail and dangled from the deck by her hands. Now she could clearly see it.

Although that didn't help her much. She didn't really know what the device was. Magnetic wreckage? She'd never heard of anything like that.

Actually, Bastila thought, it kind of looked like a limpet mine.

Wait - A LIMPET MINE?!?!

Bastila quickly pulled herself back to the deck and ran to the comm tower.

She burst through the open hatch, breathless.

"Alert the fleet! We've got hostiles all around! Limpet mines on our hulls!"

The radioman was understandably nervous, but quickly did as Bastila requested and alerted the other ships.

Soon, Bastila's mighty ships of war were stirring as alarms and alerts clamored. She could see on some of the neighboring ships teams descending to search the hulls.

Bastila knew she had no time. The limpet mine's timer had shown only two minutes.

Best to die as a captain, not a coward.

Bastila strode to her bridge as men began to run out of belowdecks chaotically.

And then the mine went off.
______________________________________________

Marine Oyami of the Imperial ship Renethor fished Admiral Bastila out of the water from the wreckage of her burning ship. The admiral had been flung clear of the ship by the explosion, though the same could not be said for most of the Death's Head crew. Bastila had apparently clung tight to a piece of debris until the rest of the fleet had begun salvage operations.

Admiral Bastila was, amazingly, still conscious.

"How many...did...we...lose?"

Marine Oyami glanced around the horizon at the fleet.

"Only a few, ma'am. Someone sounded the all-hands alarms quickly enough that we were able to disarm most of the mines. Looks like the Potemra and the Ocean's Fire are scrapped, but the others pulled through okay."

Bastila shivered again in the cold.

"Ready the fleet. Take an hour to search for survivors, then make full headway for Czardas. I want the entire fleet battleready in an hour's time. We'll make them pay for this one." Bastila swore viciously.

Marine Oyami, startled, hastened to convey her orders to the rest of the fleet.

And Bastila's war behemoth fleet, once sleeping, now readied itself for war.

[ooc:] The projectile I fired at your camp is set to explode on impact. And where are those reinforcements I sent? The main body of my force still hasn’t moved from its perch on the cliff above your camp. Nor have they attacked you. Just making sure you knew that.

Still OOC: Also, how did your ship’s commander see the mines when they were underwater? I would have assumed that most militaries would use protective sheaths to wrap the mines in when attaching them to the boats, so they would not be visible from above the water.

[ic:] It was night, although that could not be told from inside the cavern. The bushes rustled near the entrance and a figure slid noiselessly through, a pole in each hand. Although these were no ordinary poles. They were long, metal, and not shiny – of the same kind of black metal found in Phoenix Grey’s armor, virtually unbreakable, with ends were shaped more like arrowheads, ending in deadly sharp points. It was easy for anyone who knew to figure out what they were: ikara.

The ancient martial art of Ikari – Czardaian pole-fighting – was practiced as long ago as The Cvarken Empire (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Cvarken_Empire). At one point the Czardaian army had contained a special force of 600-1000 warriors armed only with the sharpened poles. However, after the fall of the Empire and the beginning of barbarian invasions from the north, the art had declined to be practiced only by a select few. Now, schools had been opened for teaching it (using unsharpened poles of course), hoping to reintroduce the art. Nevertheless, a true master was very rare and difficult to find.

The dark-clad figure moving silently down the dimly lit passageways was, in fact, the Czardaian Ikarteket, or Grand Master. Having won the national Olympics and performed quite well in the regionals, she was not particularly concerned about her opponent. Alma Finlay had described him in detail, and yet she did not seem in the least intimidated. But she was not easily intimidated.

The armor she wore was made of the same material that protected the Czardaian planes against fire, painted black. She was nearly invisible in the darkness of the caves. She continued along the passage. Here lay the body of a dead militiaman.

“He passed this way,” she murmured, slipping the man’s full automatic pistol from his belt, and into hers. One could never be too confident.

This passageway was mostly straight. There were practically no side paths down which a big hulking behemoth like Mammon could have turned. For her, however… She grinned and began to clamber up a sheer, almost impassable rockface that led to a high tunnel. This tunnel led to an overlook of a network of passages, much like a maze, deeper down in the catacombs.

She followed this at a constant pace for perhaps an hour, perhaps more, while the main passageway curved and twisted down stalactite- and stalagmite-filled caverns. At length she came out at the overlook. Far below, beyond a few ledges, was a small underground lake in a cavern. Perhaps there Mammon had rested. But there was no one.

“He’s gone another way,” she said to herself. She vaulted down to a ledge; then, knotting a rope in a loop, she threw it around a high crag and swung across empty space to another ledge. Retrieving her rope, she put her poles in their holders at her sides and began to clamber up a sheer 100-foot rock ledge, sloping upwards at a steep angle. At the top, she could begin to hear the sounds of footsteps. Yes; she had been right. She smiled to herself.

Following a passageway carved into the rim just below the roof, she turned at an opening and clambered through the narrow passage, brushing away the spiders. At the other end, it opened out into a broader chamber. Far below a lone figure walked down the high passage.

She jumped down to another ledge eighty feet above him, climbed down a little farther, drew out her poles, and vaulted high into the air, executing a turn and landing very nearly silently behind the man. He turned – the expected reaction – to see a figure completely dressed in black robes covering black armor, black-hooded, wielding black poles. Almost completely invisible in the cave.

Her first feeling on seeing Mammon was slight disappointment. So this was the feared Mammon? The finest Imperial Galactica could send us? We’re not as weak as we appear, she thought. Well, let’s see what he can do.

He instantly had both his weapons out and ready. Not bad reflexes.

She smiled and prepared for battle.

-----------------

Dawn broke on a battlefield of fire. The flames had engulfed a good portion of the forest before dying out; dead trees and charred ground were everywhere. The Czardaian soldiers began to gather in groups, returning towards their army. No-one knew what had happened to the Imperial Galacticans, outnumbering the Czardaians as they had. Perhaps the C.D.A. had had some hand in it, striking swiftly and silently from the trees.

No-one would ever know.

What Imperial soldiers survived, eventually made their way back to their own army, too. The tanks had gone; their drivers were found slain on the ground, or not at all. At the same time, the equipment of the local militias seemed to have improved greatly in quality. And the Imperial air cover had mysteriously vanished in the wilderness. Perhaps no-one would ever really know what had happened that night in the wilderness.

-----------------

General Ogden was very happy. So far the Imperial Galactican armies had sustained more losses by far than the Czardaians, due to a careful expenditure of men. The vast majority of the Czardaian army had still had no reason to be called into battle. The air battle, as always, was going well for the Czardaians, and the backups from the naval battle had done quite well. The only thing worrying him was that the mines hadn’t had the expected result of destroying most of the Imperial fleet. That navy’s training, by God – well, two of the best ships had been destroyed, and several others damaged and in need of repairs, which would take time. And in that time, the Czardaian navy could easily return with the new equipment. He smiled slightly. Perhaps this war could be won after all.

-----------------

Unlike General Ogden, the Czar was unhappy. He knew of everything going on during the night: all the battles to be lost and won, all the missions, the failures and the successes. He had read through the reports sent him by his subordinates. He had contacted his man in Imperial Galactica through a computer intermediary. He knew that all of the next planes to be sent out would break down before being actually used in battle. Czardas had truly conquered the Imperial air force.

He was more worried about the navy. The Imperial navy seemed to be their strongest point. So far, two attempts on them had failed, and they had lost only a portion of their force. He had faith in the Czardaian submarines, which like almost everything else from that country were small, stealthy, and powerful. The missiles they bore were just as small, stealthy, and powerful, and could explode a ship on impact.

Then there was the army. General Longleaf was still conducting his land battle against the main army; how it fared, he knew not. The latest reports had not yet reached the Czar. He knew that an all-out attack would be fatal. He also knew that Longleaf was too cunning to do that. He wondered what strategy Longleaf had to deal with the enemy.

Mammon watched the woman in front of him. He smiled at her, a grotesque parody of a normal smile. He knew this one was challenge. Mammon knew that this one was...true...prey. He flexed his muscles, and the assorted tattoos and scars across his huge frame rippled as if almost alive.

The woman carried some sort of sharpened pole. Mammon held his urgosh and nodachi blades. Mammon calculated quickly. He understood that she would hold a slight advantage over him in range, but he would have brute strength, his second weapon, and, he hoped, the advantage of his training.

Without another thought, Mammon threw himself into a headlong attack with a nearly mindless scream of rage.

Virthas still needed to die.
___________________________________________________

The missile hit the Imperial camp, spreading the huge shockwave and nearly flattening the camp. Fortunately enough, most of the Imperial troops had still been in the forest - whether lost or on recon was anyone's guess - and as thus there were limited casualties. Limited, of course, meaning manpower - equipment loss at the camp was nearly 100%, not counting the loss of the camp itself.

A drawback, certainly, thought General Belgarion. But not irreplacable. It didn't endanger his mission overmuch.

But he knew he had to give his men time to recover.

"Form up! Pull back to the rendezvous!" He bellowed. The order was quickly relayed throughout the Imperial command structure and the troops began to withdraw.

As Belgarion stormed away, he thought he heard a faint cheer from the Czardaian lines.

Cheer away, he thought. I'll be back soon enough.

OOC: Sorry I went to Camp for the past 2 weeks then Mall of America Yesterday woo!

IC:

Commander Lokken sat idle for the next few days sending out signal buoys and GPS PinPoint Locators for the impending suprise of military might.

It was now 0200 and reports were coming in constantly of Limpet Mines, and raids on encamptments.

"Sir Its Commander Miller on the Priority Alpha Band."

"Miller, Report."

A Young voice followed. "Sir, I'm reporting contact of a submarine named Pine Fresh"

"Is it a Highlighter class?"

"Correct sir."

"Good, run battle order HontanBattleOrder 238 on the Highlighter." A 238 would induct it into the battle group formally. It would involve paperwork but thats he came through.

"238 Confirmed"

"Good"

"More targets approching rendevous point. Sonar silouhette's are of the following:

2 Kitty Hawk Carriers
2 Countermine Avengers
2 Iowa Jima Amphibious Assault Ships
1 Wasp Amphibious Assault Ships
4 Iowa Class Battleships
4 KIDD-class
4 Ticonderoga Cruisers
3 Shugart Class Cargo Ships
5 AOE 1 Sacromento Fast Supply Ships

And I'm reading just under 50 Hontan Hydrofoil Class 103 "Chimera's" newest thing since we left, A 2-Tube Penguin Anti-Ship Launcher, A 4-Tube A-4 Anti-Air Launcher and 4 Mk38 Torpedo Launchers, a crew of just 7 and a top speed of 85 knots. They'll Swim Cirlcles around Imperial Galactica.

"Thank god for inginuity."

OOC: Hey, watch the godmodding, eh?

Keep in mind that my fleet is still probably several times your size at least. It'd be the equivalent of naval suicide, especially since there's the Czardaians are currently more or less routed. Fighter wings are being built and, with Imperial Galactica's huge industrial complex, will quickly be in the air.

BTW, I'm waiting for Czardas to post before I continue. I wouldn't want to RP anything he doesn't agree with.

OOC:
what do you mean godmodding, i think the fleet's perfectly reasonable its just 25 or so, unless your talking about the Hydrofoil craft, but there just under 30 feet long and the fastest hydrofoil ever went 95knots

General Ogden was in his third communication with Longleaf that night.

"You should have fired that missile earlier."

"I'm sorry sir, it takes a long time to prepare."

"As it is you still have most of the men to deal with."

"Who needs the men? We have the equipment on our side."

"Longleaf, leave the long-range missile equipment at camp and try to take out soldiers. I mean manpower. Go with the planes and attack their main body full force. Try to seem as large and powerful as possible."

"General, they still outnumber us two to one. And I can't bring the full army into battle."

"That doesn't matter. They have better training, but we have more at stake. Defenders fight harder. And who told you to bring the full army into battle? We don't need all two million-odd for full force."

"Yes, sir." Longleaf shut off the display and gave his orders.

From the Czardaian camp, thousands upon thousands of soldiers and their full equipment advanced upon the Imperial army far below, the whirring of aircraft permeating the near-silence of the columns descending the steep mountainsides towards the Imperial rendezvous.

...And perhaps, towards total and utter destruction.

------------------------

[ooc:] I have two poles.

[ic:] She stepped aside as Mammon rushed her. Swinging out one pole, she caught him on the back of the neck, hitting the nerve. It didn't seem to shake him at all. She didn't look too surprised. After all, this is just the beginning.

He turned and stabbed forward with the nodachi. Her pole met his blade. With the urgosh he swung at her; a pole met that too. Every time he tried to attack, he found one of his blades met by a pole. Reverting to a different approach, he grabbed at one of the poles, trying to wrest it from her. She stabbed his hand with one end of the other pole—causing him to let go of the first—and in a blurring motion flicked her wrist, hitting his other hand and sending the urgosh (which it contained) skittering across the ground into darkness. Raising the nodachi in both hands, he struck down at her with full strength. She moved backwards and the long sword struck the ground so hard that it stuck. He pulled it out and went in the direction of his urgosh.

She smiled to herself. She knew the geography of this section of the cave, after all. In that area, invisible due to the blackness of the floor, a crevasse completely unknown to Mammon -- and possibly a hundred feet deep -- yawned. No human eye could spot it without light of some kind. And this section was dark, and contained none. If she could just get him close enough...

She moved forwards to attack him again.

------------

General Ogden was shocked. "She did what?"

Admiral Bendragon, calm as ever, stated, "She abandoned the ships she couldn't repair immediately, and pushed off anyway. Towards the Cape, and Port Khûfi."

"But that's..."

"Good naval strategy," said Bendragon.

"Exactly. And we need to do something to stop her!"

"What do you suggest, sir?"

"Er...You're the naval commander here, what do you think?"

"I think we should send out stealth submarines. Our ships have already been destroyed. Hard to detect on radar, although they can probably shoot our torpedoes. But apparently we have an ally -- a nation called Hontah -- which has brought its own navy into play."

"Admiral, why don't you try to contact the leader of that navy? I'll ask Karlsen if he has any planes to spare."

"Very well, sir. I will do that immediately."

When Bendragon had signed off, Ogden contacted Karlsen. But first he contacted someone else.

"Make sure you have it all done."

"It is all arranged already, sir."

"Good. Remember your orders -- to fire on the Imperial navy."

"I will, sir."

"You had better. You know what happens to traitors."

Ogden's contact did, as a matter of fact, know what happens to traitors. The Czar valued his operatives highly. And when they did not repay his trust... everyone knew the stories of the secret rooms below Complex 13 in the mountains. Everyone had heard of Phaetros Rye, the notorious traitor who betrayed secret Czardaian plans to Northeast Kradva, and how one day he had simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. Some said he had been secretly murdered and buried in an unmarked grave; some held that he had escaped the secret agents and started a new life in a distant nation like Dionica; some believed he had been kidnapped by the NID and tortured or executed in Czardas; a very few thought the Czar had dealt with him in person.

Such punishments were not supported by the general population, of course, but for the Czar, vengeance sometimes superseded democracy.

Intel Briefing Room, Duke's Palace, Ouranberg City, Grand Duchy of Ouranberg

The Palace of the Duke of Ouranberg is more than just a sight in Ouranberg City, it is the place, were the countries policies are decided upon, even though the Parliament is ruling the country. In Ouranberg history, it rarely has opposed anything, any duke has proposed.

The Intelligence Briefing Room, my first few days as leader of this great nation, and I have to discuss such matters, a possible war! This thought send shivers down Duke Albert's spine, but this war might just be, what Ouranberg needs, to become a major player in the region, if not in the world.

"So, what do we know, about this war?" he asks.

The other persons present were the head of Ouranberg Intelligence Service (OIS), Sean Brownstein, Defence Secretary Franz vom Turm and General Robert Graf von Naunburg, head of the Generalstab of Ouranberg.

They were looking at a map of the region, with the front of the war marked and known troop postions high-lighted. It looked really bad for Czardas.

"Well, we don't know enough to fight in this war," Brownstein said. "I agree with my colleague here, our doctrine asks us to know our enemy, as well as our allies well enough before we fight," the General added, " We are able to fight, but we need to know more, than just these few informations we got through the media, as well as our own intelligence."

"What do you think, Franz?" The duke and the defence secretary knew each other for years, were close friends. "I say, we ask Czardas, what they have, both in terms of intelligence, allies, forces, stuff like that, I think my colleagues here can come up with an extensive list, and then we ask Czardas what they need. And then we will see, how we can make these things to match up." He glances over to them.

"I agree," both say, almost instantly and at once.

"So shall it be. Men, do what you have to, I have to convince the Parliament"
While Duke Albert III left, he had the feeling, this might become one of these rare times, where a duke is opposed by his parliament.

---------------------------------------

From: The Grand Duchy of Ouranberg
To: The Libertarian Concordance of Czardas

Greetings from The Grand Duchy of Ouranberg! We heard of your current act of self defence. The Grand Duchy of Ouranberg wishes to aid The Libertarian Concordance of Czardas in its darkest hours. To do so, we need to know a few things, such as your current status in this war (forces, lost ground, reserves etc.), certain intelligence (enemies strength, capabilities, goals), the rules of engagment of this war (if there are any). Knowing these, we will send you, what you need.

The Grand Duchy of Ouranberg will stand by your side in this conflict!

Franz vom Turm, Secretary of Defence

Kari Alhoun raised his eyebrows slightly as the message came in. Reading through it, he shrugged. He was not the one to deal with these matters.

He called out to his secretary, "Lorin, tell Ogden and Astoria we need them."

After a few minutes she said, "Conference room F."

Alhoun took the message and headed for the nearest elevator. He came out on the top floor, with views of Czarna, and opened the door to the Conference Room. Inside, two people were waiting.

Screens were everywhere. This conference room had been set up as a kind of terminal for communication between the capital and the front lines. Sitting in swivel chairs were Minister of Defense Violet Astoria and General Ogden. One screen showed Secretary General Delatoire; another, the morning action on the plains; others could communicate directly to different leaders.

Alhoun handed them the message. "Ouranberg's gotten back to us. They can help us, but we need to give them information."

Astoria read it through. "Fairly simple matter," she said. "What's not so simple is their motivation."

"Obviously," agreed Ogden. "It seems on the surface that they want to help us. But they could be trying to collect intelligence on us for the enemy. We should consult with our friend in Saketh first."

"Our advantage is, of course, that Imperial Galactica doesn't know just how many soldiers we have. Or perhaps I should say, how few," said Astoria. "They might be working to find out through an intermediary."

Alhoun said, "I've been looking them up. It's apparently a fairly old and respected nation. No previous connection to Imperial Galactica or any of its allies. However, we need to know if they were contacted by them first, or if we were the first to reply to them."

"As I said," said Ogden, "the Czar might know. Let's contact him."

Astoria walked over to one screen and touched a few buttons near the side; the face of the aged paraplegic appeared, immensely wise, yet sad.

"You have the latest data about Ouranberg?"

"Yes," said the cracked voice. "I would recommend that you give them their information."

"Why?"

"We risk losing what may be a valuable ally. We don't know if they are on our side, but there is a good chance that they are. Besides -- I have operatives in that nation who believe they will be on our side."

"All right," said Ogden doubtfully. As the display shut off, he began to write a series of figures and maps on a scrap of paper, and handed it to Alhoun. "This is what they need. Write it up in appropriate format."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To: The Grand Duchy of Ouranberg
From: The Libertarian Concordance of Czardas

Greetings from Czardas! The Concordance is glad to hear that you wish to help us. Enclosed you will find the necessary information that you requested concerning the standings of the various armies and their position in our current war. As you can see, our strong point lies in our air force; we have avoided major pitched battles to date, but that must soon change. In addition, please take into account that we have a local militia network of unknown strength. We trust that you will not give this away to the enemy, either due to your sense of responsibility or through knowledge of the consequences for your nation.

~Kari Alhoun, Czardaian Foreign Minister
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Current total reserves: 7,837,260
Current total active militia: 3,837,996
Current total combatants: 2,079,040
Current lost ground: 85 km, including villages along Tyrion river
Current pitched battles to date: 1 (ongoing)
Soldiers lost in combat to date: 73,000
Total civillian loss to date: 28,000

Total number of planes remaining: 276
Total number of warships remaining: 6
Total number of submarines remaining: 19
Naval battles to date: 2
Losses to date: 44 ships, 5 submarines, 64 planes

Intelligence collected on enemy:
Current total reserves: approx. 453,000,000
Current total active militia: approx. 218,000,000
Current total combatants: approx. 109,000,000
Current total in Czardas: approx. 8,000,000
Current losses to date: Unknown

Total number of planes remaining: at least 320
Total number of warships remaining: at least 64
Total number of submarines remaining: unknown
Losses to date: 5 ships, ? submarines, >200 planes

Enemy believes we currently have a military strength of 10 million or greater, explaining why they have avoided many pitched battles so far. In addition, the vast majority of our resources have been directed at this war.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lobby of The Parliament of Ouranberg, Ouranberg City, Grand Duchy of Ouranberg

"That was a greats speech, your Excellence. Never thought, they would actually support you, but pointing out the huge differences in the numbers of the two nations, it is clear, that we have to do something to stop the aggressors."

That's the stuff, I want to hears, people telling me, how good I am, ignoring the fact, that I send their children into certain death. But this is important! Duke Albert III thought. They were right, he gave the speech of his live, turning a divided parliament afraid of a war into a united parliament screaming Havoc in a mere half an hour.

He then saw General Graf von Naumburg. Approching him, he said, "General, you got your orders, execute plan Care Packet immediately!"

"Sir, Yesss, Sir!!"


[OOC] I will go with a military of 73,840,000 (4% of 1.836 billion). The money is out of my trade surplus of $227,766,209,289.71
--------------------------------------------

From: The Grand Duchy of Ouranberg
To: The Libertarian Concordance of Czardas

We will not disclose these numbers, not even our own parliament knows exact numbers, and they signed special non-disclosure acts concerning these approximations.
We will deploy ground forces to your nation, those will be completly under your command, as well as a supplement of fighter craft. As our naval forces are not sufficent enough yet to participate, therefore we cannot send forces.
If you need financial aid, we could spare up to $100 billion.

Ground forces: 3. Heeresgruppe, 5 million men, a tank heavy strike force, containing armies 31 through 35, 31st and 32nd beeing tank armies.
Air forces: 4. Luftflotte, 250 planes, 150 of which are multi role fighter (Su-30), 50 ground support planes (A-10's), assorted support planes (refuelling etc)

These units will be under your command, please use them wisely.

May the war gods be on our side.

The Grand Council was in session. The Governing Council -- Czardas's executive branch -- sat around an elevated, long table, while the members of the Grand Council (Council of 400) sat in seats in the amphitheatre-like Council Room. Beyond them were hundreds of Czardas's leading citizens: mayors, governors, military commanders, and even a few ordinary citizens who served as moderators on Czardas's vast forum network, Czardasnet, where citizens came together online every day to vote on proposals from the Council of 400 or just discuss and debate various things. ([ooc:] It's not that far-fetched. Just look at NS.)

"So far, Ouranberg has offered help, in the form of manpower, equipment, and any possible money we might need," stated Minister of Defense Astoria. "I believe we must accept their help. This is not a war we can possibly fight alone."

National Intelligence Department Vice-Director Airya Wong agreed. "Our operatives in Imperial Galactica agree that vast numbers of soldiers far exceeding Czardas's total population are entering the nation. If we cannot turn the tide, they may abandon us and betray us to the enemy."

President Dimovilà stood and addressed the Council of 400. "We must have your approval, my friends and comrades, to accept command of the resources Ouranberg can deploy to Czardas. Remember, we are fighting this war for ourselves. It directly affects every one of you. We cannot allow our people to become citizens of another nation, a dictatorship at that. Democracy must be kept pure!"

Secretary-General Delatoire spoke in a low voice to the Council. "You may vote on the screens in your desks."

As Council members pressed buttons on the screens, votes flowed into Delatoire's computer, connected to the network. After less than an hour the voting was finished, and Delatoire read out the results.

"Votes in favor: 313.
Votes against: 84.
Abstain: 3."

"Kari, wire to Ouranberg accepting their proposition."

Foreign Minister Alhoun smiled to himself as he nodded and stepped lightly into a nearby elevator that would take him up to his office.

Executor Urza Ender Thrawn paused for a moment at the briefing table, watching the status bar. Though Czardas's military was falling, the manpower from Ouranberg and the naval power of Hontah were decidedly worrisome. Their combined numbers nearly rivalled his combined armed forces. He didn't think he'd have to take any drastic measures; drafts did tend to alienate the populace at large. Urza looked up at Master Strategist Liang and rubbed his temples tiredly.

Urza: "Zhuge, these numbers are beginning to worry me. Have any of our allies responded?"

Zhuge Liang, composed: "Executor, we've still got the advantage in just about every deciding factor. Czardas' army is nonexistent; this militia opposing us is but rabble. The reinforcements from Ouranberg are still an unknown factor but it is unlikely that they are more advanced than we are. The Hontah ships are still mirroring our fleet as it makes way for the Czardaian mainland. The Supreme Admiral left her damaged ships behind with several top of the line ships to guard them and went for the throat immediately."

Urza templed his fingers and debated this tidbit. He cleared his throat and spoke again.

Urza: "We'll need another speech for this."

Liang nodded silently.

Urza: "You know the repercussions if..."

Liang nodded a second time gravely.

Urza sighed, a wholehearted sigh of a man wishing for another possibility, another way out.
__________________

Official Broadcast
Imperial Galactica Ministry of the Interior
Dated Broadcast 109.23.563.

Urza stands at a podium. The flag of Imperial Galactica flies before him from the podium and behind him from golden flagposts. Behind Urza, the crest of Imperial Galactica is painted onto the wall as a tribute to her glory.

Urza: "Citizens of Imperial Galactica."

Here Urza paused for a brief second, as if wounded.

Urza: "Today I come to you bearing grave news. Grand General Belgarion's troops were defeated yesterday in pitched battle. The army has lost minimal casualties. Do not fear, mothers of Imperial Galactica. Your husbands shall return. Great people of Imperial Galactica, remember why we fight."

Here the shot cut to pictures from the great devastation seen months earlier in the border cities wiped out by Czardas. Suddenly, a man's face appeared on the screen. He was dressed in the simple work-stained clothing of an Imperial Galactica man. However, he bore himself like a man of the highest caste - a concept that still had meaning, despite the long-ago banning of all outward markers of caste.

That man was Executor Urza Ender Thrawn, leader of Imperial Galactica. The assorted masses of Imperial Galactica gasped, for they knew by the sun behind Urza that this was a live broadcast. Collectively, the men, women, and children of Imperial Galactica leaned forward, listening to Urza's words.

Urza speaks, calmly and simply.

Urza: "People of Imperial Galactica. Look at these atrocities."

Pictures flash on the screen of beheaded bodies. Well-known and potent images.

The camera came back to Executor Urza.

Urza: "Czardas is a country that has no citizens. Only people who are compelled to call themselves Czardaians and live as Czardaians under fear of death."

Here standard pictures flashed of Czardaians en masse - the very footage often used to show the piety of the Czardaian population. But now, in these circumstances, the images seemed to be those of puppets, acting in unison out of fear.

Urza's face reappeared on the screen.

Urza: "People of Czardas: You welcome these foreign armies as liberators. Beware that these armies do not feel that they've conquered Czardas rather than aiding it. No one can ever truly conquer another nation - national will and identity is too strong. Imperial Galactica's only problem is that of your current government, which burned our cities - and our people - to the ground."

Urza's face was calm as he issued this proclamation and veiled threat.

Urza: "My blessings upon Imperial Galactica. I bless the soldiers who fight for Imperial Galactica. I bless the farmers who feed Imperial Galactica. I bless the women who give birth to Imperial Galactica and raise Imperial Galactica to manhood and womanhood. I bless the great powers of this Earth who unite to help the people of Czardas regain their lost freedom. I emplore you, people of Czardas - let no more die. Make your country true yourselves and allowing us to live at home in peace. We will live in peace eventually - God bless you all."

Great tears rolled out of his eyes and down his cheeks. An assorted gasp arose from the people of Imperial Galactica. This was all done live, so the tears were obviously real, and the people of Imperial Galactica were truly touched.

At long last, Urza raised his eyes and looked towards the sun setting in the distance and uttered one last line.

Urza: "For tomorrow, Imperial Galactica...for tomorrow..."

The broadcast faded out and ceased, but the reborn feelings of Imperial Galactica towards her leader wouldn't.
______________________

Across the nation, Phoenix Grey turned off the comm unit decisively. Phoenix made his way to the great map that showed the status of the war in Czardas, black cape billowing behind him. Crassus, across the table from his, wiped his forehead again nervously.

Crassus wondered idly if Grey ever took off his armor. It HAD to get hot in there.

Phoenix Grey, eyes upon Czardas, raised his hands and made a strange series of movements across his forehead, then drew three fingers backhanded across his face.

Crassus nearly gasped as he watched Phoenix Grey. He knew what that signet was.

It was the mark of Shiva the Destroyer.
_________________________

Half a world away, or so it seemed, Belgarion was trudging towards the staging area for his troops. It was still a more or less concerted action, luckily. He wasn't overly worried about the Czardaians to their rear - the Grand General of Imperial Galactica knew his men would acquit themselves well. Especially against that god-accursed militia.

Belgarion wondered how many of the enemy his troops had taken down.
_________________________

Several miles away from Belgarion, Bastila strode the deck of her new flagship. She knew this was the time for victory. Headquarters had relayed word of the new Czardaian reinforcements, but she wasn't worried. Her navy was intact and ready to fight. Bastila was ready and her fleet mirrored that readiness, moving at nearly full power towards the closest Czardaian port. Her fleet could swat Hontah at nearly any time, but she allowed the Hontah ships to live for now.

With a feral grin, she granted those quaint little Hontans another moment of life.

All around Bastila, her fleet moved closer to the port, a deadly razor aimed at the throat of Czardas.
________________________

Meanwhile, in the tunnels of an unknown Czardas mountain, Mammon was still fighting that godawful woman. Mammon's eyes glowed brightly, as if he were demon possessed.

Mammon thrust his weapon at her again and was rewarded with a prompt parry.

This was a true fight. He was glad to have come.

He sent a word of prayer to the All-Consuming Oni of Chaos, his obscure pagan entity. It was a glorious day to fight.

He whispered to the woman as he clashed with her again.

Mammon: "Some people dream and hope. I erode the human soul."

Mammon was rewarded with a quickly hidden grimace from the woman.

She was an excellent fighter, Mammon reflected. In another life, perhaps...

Mammon shook off the thought and attacked with renewed vigor and a vicious smile of pure rage.

Meanwhile, Special Division troops still explored the tunnels, searching for sign of the rebels.

Aurdania, Czardas

The port city of Aurdania was the last town on the long peninsula called Cape Shalar. Quaint eighteenth-century houses lined its streets, and facing the sea were dozens of small piers where boats were docked. Cars and bicycles sped by on its narrow streets, and in the many trees birds twittered merrily. It was a peaceful morning. Little did the inhabitants know that that peace would soon be shattered.

Guarding the harbor were a number of Czardaian warships, all that was left of the navy that had been crushed farther north near Tyriandor. They looked like a pitiful defense in the face of the scores of Imperial Galactican warships quickly descending on Czardas like birds – or more accurately, fish – of prey. And yet General Ogden was not worried.

With a sudden burst of gunfire the morning peace was shattered. The Imperial ships had arrived at last. The Czardaian navy maneuvered into place, returning fire. Nonetheless, the outcome was inevitable. One after another the Czardaian ships were targeted and destroyed. Within less than an hour all five Czardaian ships were gone, and Imperial Galactica had only lost two ships, with minimal manpower loss.

Then, on the vast world chessboard that used men as its pawns, Czardas made its move.

The submarines had approached as close to Imperial Galactica’s navy as they dared to get during the battle. While Imperial Galactica’s navy had been engaged in battling Czardas’s, the submarines had released powerful missiles designed to destroy everything within a hundred-meter radius. Now as the Imperial Galactican ships blew up the last Czardaian ship with all hands, missiles sped towards within a hundred and twenty meters of their ships…a hundred…eighty…

By the time they readied counterattacks, it would be too late. Even if they managed to shoot one of the swift missiles, it would still destroy whatever ships were in the radius.

And even now there was a Plan B being prepared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was early morning when the Ouranbergian soldiers and planes began to arrive, in the Czardaian airport not too far north of Czarna. Gradually the whole army began to assemble. They had been placed under command of General Ezekiel Shaestri, an aging but still excellent strategist. He looked them over; they seemed to be very well trained and with very good equipment, some of it even better than Czardas’s own. He smiled and nodded.

“Our target is Grand General Belgarion’s camp thirty kilometers north of here,” he said. “General Longleaf will be with us, attacking from the other side. Imperial Galactica must not know of our plans. Destroy all recon forces.”

They set off with their lines of tanks and jeeps and planes, flying overhead and joined by a contingent of Czardaian dagger planes, which would go ahead to get rid of all recon teams to avoid knowledge of their march.

Longleaf and Shaestri had communicated, and the whole of the Czardaian army began to descend into the valley where Belgarion was camped. More planes led the way.

Surrounding the enemy camp was the best way to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But the battle outside, in the morning sun, was like child’s play in comparison with the battle deep in the cave where no light ever shows. In the dark corner of the branch, sometimes just inches away from the crevasse, Mammon and the Ikari master fought. Two weapons against two. Every attack was met by a parry. No one had been wounded seriously, at any rate.

As Mammon threw himself at her with a cry of rage, she felt behind her. Barely a foot behind her was the crevasse. She stepped aside and swung one pole down to the level of her opponent’s feet. Mammon charged in and stumbled over the pole, and fell heavily to the ground.

Only there was no ground.

As he felt himself hanging on for dear life to the edge of the crevasse, hearing the sound of one of his weapons clattering down to the bottom – a very long way, she leaped in with both poles upraised and struck downwards with both at once, towards what she hoped was Mammon’s head.

It would not kill him, but it might surprise him enough to let go of the edge and fall down to the bottom.

It was important to strike before he could climb out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The same day another speech was shown on all the Imperial Galactican television channels. It was made not by Czardas’s President, but by a hated Czardaian who had become the icon for the decadence, corruption, and fear Czardas stood for in the popular image. The shot of Alma Finlay gunning down an Imperial Galactican soldier had been circulated throughout the country, and figured prominently every week in bonfires.

The camera starts rolling, showing Finlay sitting on a rock on a Czardaian mountain-top. She begins to speak. “Peoples of Imperial Galactica, it is you that I address today.”

Imperial Galacticans boo and hiss, and throw whatever happens to be handy at the television. But Finlay merely smiles, as though aware, wherever she is, that they will do that.

“You have called us oppressed citizens. You believe we have lost our freedom. You think it is our government that has called for the destruction of your cities, against our will.”

She pauses again, as though letting the seeming unreasonableness of these questions sink in.

“You want to destroy our government, which has caused this war and the death of so many Imperial Galactican citizens. But to destroy the government of Czardas, you must kill every last citizen of the nation. For the government is the people. I, as an ordinary citizen of Czardas, can tell you that.

“It was no government that decided to declare war on Imperial Galactica. It was your government that sought to battle us, for no reason except that you wished to recreate your long-lost, glorious Empire and rule the region. It was your government that sent your friends and families to die on the battlefield. It is your government that is telling you these lies.

“We live in no fear. We have nothing to fear, as someone once said, except fear itself. But you have something to fear. Us. For every Imperial soldier who sets foot in Czardas is a condemned man.”

The people of Imperial Galactica gasp collectively in the pause appropriately placed by Finlay.

“Yes. Do not think your husbands, your sons and daughters will ever return from Czardas. They are all doomed to die. Many have already died. But many more will. And that is all the decision of your government – your Executor, who seems to be sacrificing himself for the good of your nation, while really causing the deaths of countless of your people.”

She takes up some papers and displays them to the camera. “Your government tells you that we are powerless, that our militias are rabble. Yet do you think I lie when I tell you that the Czardaian Defense Network has won seven battles, and lost none?” Numbers appear on the page: Total Czardaian losses: 2; Total Imperial losses: 176, and more. “…when I tell you that the Czardaian army has lost less than seventy thousand men in battle, while the Imperial army, in excess of eight hundred thousand?” Total Wartime Losses to date: 69,087.

“There is only one way to stop your loved ones from dying. You must overthrow the government that sends them to their death. Call for the immediate withdrawal of all Imperial troops from Czardas. And if your government does not accept…perhaps it is time you learned that the best rule of all is by the people, and if the people do not control the government…” She points to a screen beside her showing pictures of the destruction of the battlefield near the border, the burning wilderness with the body of an Imperial soldier lodged among the trees. “This is what might happen.”

As though tired, she turns towards Imperial Galactica and the north. “Executor Thrawn, you asked us to let no more die. I call upon you to do the same. Have pity on your people and withdraw them from Czardas, before we destroy them ourselves. This is your last chance. I promise you, Czardaians will have no mercy. Only you can save your people now, Executor. Let no more die – of your side and ours. Withdraw, and then we can live in peace. Otherwise you shall regret it. I promise you.”

Finlay sinks back to the rock, as though making this speech has taken a great effort. She almost whispers the last words.

“Retreat…or die.”

The camera fades out.

OOC: How can your submarines close to firing range without my navy spottign them? I do have the advantage in military technology and training.

IC:

Mammon, hanging from the pit, felt an emotion almost akin to pity for the woman as he hung above the pit. She had to know that she would eventually be defeated. He, Mammon, would eventually kill her, of course. The All-Consuming Oni of Chaos would see to that.

Mammon swung to a side as the woman's blades came down at his head. One of the blades clattered off the stone.

But the other bit into his shoulder fully.

Mammon revelled in the pain as he began to bleed. He'd forgotten what the feeling was, pain. He'd still kill her, of course. That much was necessary. Mammon's only regret was that his nodachi had fallen into this accursed pit. He'd have to get a replacement now.

But first to even the odds.

Mammon pulled himself slowly out of the pit and the woman backed off, eyes wide. Mammon's return leer was an emblem of a death's head, the woman's blade still buried in his shoulder. He reached out with one massive hand and pulled the blade out of his shoulder, tossing it almost jovially into the pit behind him.

Both down to one weapon.

Mammon shrugged, a welcome wave of pain spreading through his body like fire, and attacked anew.
___________________________

Urza Ender Thrawn spoke to Phoenix Grey and Zhuge Liang coolly, anger simmering just below his composure.

Urza: "Czardas will pay for this."

Zhuge Liang merely inclined his head, but Phoenix Grey responded.

Grey: "You know we can end this war."

Urza nodded hesitantly. He knew Phoenix would bring the subject up.

A weapon of such devastating potential that the war would end. With grievous casualties enemy casualties. A bomb of such power that Czarda would cease to exist as a city and render the surrounding land uninhabitable for countless years.

Phoenix Grey whispered:

"If the radiance of a thousand suns
Were to burst at once into the sky
That would be like the splendor of the Mighty one..."

Urza nodded. Between the choice to end the war with Czarda destroyed or to continue losing Imperial Galactica's men and brothers in pointless war...

The choice was obvious.

Urza replied slowly: "Do what you have to. Send all available troops to the battlefront and deploy the weapon at Czarda."

Phoenix Grey nodded and turned away. As he walked down the long corridor, he noted that its grandeur would soon return. To himself alone, he finished the verse.

Grey:
"I am become Death
The shatterer of Worlds."

As Urza turned to continue reading the reports from the battlefield, Zhuge Liang commented only once.

Liang: "Executor? All available troops?"

Urza turned his eyes to his comrade. It seemed to Zhuge that the soul, the charisma behind those eyes...to Zhuge, it was faded, washed out. As if Urza was tired. Very, very tired.

Urza: "Yes. All of them. Czardas will pay."

All over the nation, Imperial Galactica's forces readied themselves for war, and deep in an underground bunker, a missile was being prepared to end that same war.
_________________________________

OOC: I ignored the army and naval battles for now, both to continue the mountains and home front positions and to gather my thoughts to continue both battles.

[ooc:] Your navy is engaged in fighting mine at that moment, so they were too busy firing, deflecting, maneuvering, etc. I mean, a few ships could have noticed that submarines were appearing on their radar, but those could be their submarines disobeying Bastila's orders and their top priority was Czardas at that time. Or if that's too far-fetched, they could have noticed, but not been able to get the information to Bastila on time. I don't really know.


[ic:]

General Ogden sighs. "If that is our only way out..."

The Czar moves his head ever so slightly. That is all he can do by now. "It is," he says. "Reports tell of massive insurrections in the northern provinces of Imperial Galactica, following the broadcast yesterday. Some soldiers have deserted the army. To control this the Executor is going to need to do something spectacular to convince his people to stay on his side. And he will do that to us.”

“So what is worrying you?”

“Reports speak of a massive army moving out of Imperial Galactica and preparing to attack Czardas. Some say as many as sixty million soldiers. There is only one way we can defeat them.”

Ogden nos in comprehension. “But I really don’t want to do this. They don’t deserve it.”

“No. There is only one man who deserves to be utterly vaporized in Imperial Galactica, and his name is Phoenix Grey. He is what caused this war in the first place. He is fighting against me.” The Czar smiles slightly, tolerantly, as though referring to an errant pupil.

“I’ve been to Imperial Galactica,” says Ogden. “Before the war, when we were still at peace with them, before this Phoenix Grey came into power. It has valleys that supply food to six nations, and high mountains like ours with beautiful scenery. Do you really want to destroy all that?”

“I never said to destroy the whole country,” says The Czar. “Destroy the capital. Perhaps, the underground bunkers around it in case they are hiding there.”

Ogden sighs again. “If it must be done…”

The Czar says firmly, “It must.”

“Very well. I’ll give Karlsen his orders.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No one knew what Red Wolf’s real name was. Perhaps he didn’t know it himself. No one knew, also, whether he had gotten it in service in the Special Operative Division or been named by the local population. What everyone did know about him was that he was perhaps the best sharpshooter in Czardas. His abilities matched and exceeded those of Imperial Galactica’s best soldiers; it was said that he could pick off a squirrel at two hundred meters. (He was not quite good enough yet for it to be a fly.)

Red Wolf was a Lieutenant in the 14th, but he rarely took orders from his Captain. In fact, no-one had ever seen him take orders from anyone. He went on missions by himself, invariably returning successful and with nothing to tell his comrades. However, the next day there was usually a report of some havoc wrought on enemy lines.

Red Wolf was now on a special mission. He had chosen that mission. The rest of the fighters were regular Air Force pilots. Each plane had a crew of three except for the dagger planes, which only required one. Red Wolf was in a dagger plane.

It was weighted with an unknown weapon, and Red Wolf had orders to drop it on the Imperial Galactican capital.

The other daggers were loaded with CX-31 missiles, to be dropped on any bunkers they found using their radar system. A few large bombers were loaded with weapons more similar to Red Wolf’s, but he knew little about them, or cared, except that they were fairly heavy.

The little squadron took off from the airport closest to the Imperial Galactican frontier, flying up to heights nearly indetectable on radar. Anti-aircraft fire from the ground was easily deflected by the shields and guns of the planes high above. Fairly soon they encountered no more resistance. Far below, when Red Wolf saw a break in the clouds, he would look down to see more lines of soldiers coming together in different camps. It seemed as though they would never end.

He detected on radar more planes approaching, one of the last wings relegated to defend Imperial Galactica. He was confident here. Planes fired at him…and nothing happened. The planes’ firing mechanisms no longer worked. Red Wolf shot down the plane nearest his. He knew what had happened: Czardas’s Imperial Galactican operative had done his duty.

He radioed as much back to the 14th Headquarters, and then continued on his path.

Near him the planes had detected bunkers, some far underground. Many would be empty. Some would have just old equipment, rusted and unused. But a few would contain useful things: weaponry, perhaps even soldiers. And perhaps the Executor and his elite cabinet would have heard of the mission, and retreated to a bunker themselves.

Missiles sped downwards, burst through the clouds in front of the eyes of surprised citizens of Imperial Galactica, and blasted craters where the bunkers had been. The formation of planes now broke into groups of three.

So far, so good.

It was still half an hour to the Imperial capital. Red Wolf sensed that there would be trouble ahead. But he would not fail. He had never failed. Somehow, he would succeed.

Far away he saw another plane drop a missile and knew that another bunker had been found. Those planes were flying in the direction of the mountains. What surprised him was what came after the missile was dropped.

A huge column of smoke and fire rose upwards through the clouds, towards the sun. The plane that had dropped the missile, and two others, were instantly vaporized, leaving small explosions behind him. Red Wolf never heard the boom; his plane was thrown sideways by the wave of radiation. He felt his vision going black. He reached for a little tablet in his pack and dropped it into his mouth.

Almost instantly his vision and consciousness were restored. He saw that the other planes around him were just speeding along a straight line, their pilots dead at the controls. They would eventually crash-land, exploding their cargo. But he knew already that this changed everything.

He had just under thirty minutes before the radiation caused the material of his weapon to decay and explode. He must not let it take him with it. He flew on towards the Imperial capital at double speed, as fast as his plane could go. He felt fairly sure he had broken the sound barrier, but he would never know.

He descended to about fifteen thousand feet, leaving the clouds. Far below him was the vast metropolis that was Imperial Galactica’s capital, unknowing of the destruction about to be wrought upon it. As planes sped towards him he shot at them, sending one, two, three down, and then swerved out of the way. They chased him towards the center and the government buildings.

Three minutes left…two….one…

About two hundred horizontal feet and ten thousand vertical from Imperial Galactica’s main government building, he pressed the fateful button. Like an arrow the decaying projectile descended from the sky…

In the same moment the planes caught up with Red Wolf, high above. He fired upon them once more, then sped away, up in a reverse dive, higher and higher, flying into the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ooc:] Sorry I had to do that, but I can’t just sit back and let my nation which I spent months working on just get nuked like that. I admit it would be fun to RP a country where all the citizens are dead ( :rolleyes: ) but I’d still, uh, prefer to keep them alive.

OOC: I didn't actually intend to kill them. It'd end the RP far too abruptly, eh?

[ooc:] That it would. Likewise, I don't intend to kill your whole governing council. I'll let you figure out what happens to them. They could be out on the field or something, giving direct orders to their generals.

Phoenix Grey fumed. He really wasn't happy. This attack by Czardaian planes could easily have spelled the end of the Imperial Galactica governing council.

Except that he too was in the council room. Accursed Czardaians. They couldn't even bungle an attack correctly.

Which led Phoenix to wonder about the suspicious timing of the Czardaian attack. A few thoughts led to more.

He hardly glanced up as the heavy-duty armor plating encased the governing room. The explosion of the missile against the armor didn't even create a sound inside the suddenly quiet area.

Urza looked over at Phoenix.

Urza: "Grey. We need this war over now."

Phoenix nodded. Phoenix's comlink buzzed quietly and he leaned over as the Imperial officers resumed their strategizing.

Phoenix listened to the unnamed person on the other end of the comlink. He leaned up suddenly. He took a moment to regain his cool posture. Only Urza had noticed his discomforture. Urza was watching Grey steadily, waiting for him to speak.

Phoenix: "Executor, the Czardaian attack on the capital has failed miserably, but one of the attacking enemies - " Here he nearly spit with disgust. "One of the Czardaians happened to hit the atomic bomb we were ready to deploy. The explosion took out a significant portion of the launch complex."

Urza templed his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

Urza: "So. We come full circle at last. Send more men to Belgarion - the second wave should be reaching him just about now. Where are those planes we built? Get ahold of Grensky and see what he's up to. Send reinforcements to Bastila. She'll need them."

Phoenix nodded. He had his own suspicions concerning Grensky.
___________________________________

Across the world, Mammon drove the woman back against the cave wall. He reflected again that given time, he could beat her. Easily. Mammon gritted his teeth, knowing that he had no more free time. He'd have to quit playing with the woman and go hunt down that militia commander.

Mammon drove the woman back against the wall and hurtled down a side corridor. He hoped he could kill the militia commander quickly so he could resume his battle with the woman.

Off in the distance, a Special Operations man notices the huge man hurtling off. He'd been briefed on who the man was. He waved to the men following him and the squad set off in pursuit of Mammon.

Mammon ran through the corridors like a freight train as the men of Special Operations Division 2 shadowed him as silently as the encroaching night.

Mammon hoped the woman would follow.
_____________________________________

Belgarion really wasn't doing well. His men and he were holed up in a temporary fort complex. All around the fort, the Czardaians had encircled him.

He meditated briefly upon that. The Czardaians had successfully completed an Enclosure. Belgarion knew that it wouldn't be as tactically superior as the Imperial version of the Enclosure, but it was dangerous nonetheless. His men needed resupply and a morale boost desperately.

Suddenly, the southern flank of the Czardaians broke from ranks and came towards the fort.

Attacking? The entire southern flank? He mused. This would be the end, then. His men had nothing left to throw at the enemies.

Belgarion turned and relayed his orders. As the enemy closed, Belgarion's weary men formed into defensive formations to attempt to repel them once more.

The reconnaissance squad suddenly burst onto the wall.

The man in charge took a moment to regain his breath, then started.

Captain Ojinma: "Sir, the Czardaians!" He pointed wordlessly towards the flood.

Belgarion didn't even bother to look.

Belgarion, impatiently: "Yes, Captain. I can see them as well as you can. The men are ready and we'll -"

Captain Ojinma interrupted, unable to restrain himself.

Captain Ojinma: "No, sir! Look! The enemy isn't attacking. They're RUNNING AWAY!"

Belgarion whirled back to the wall. For the first time he noticed that some of the Czardaians were firing behind them. He grabbed his binoculars and focused in the direction.

Imperial troops! He could recognize that banner from anywhere. As he watched, the first stirring strains of the Internationale, Imperial Galactica's national anthem, reached him. Below him, the men under Belgarion had glanced around uneasily. As they recognized the anthem, however, they cheered. Salvation was at hand!

Belgarion turned again to his men. Huge numbers of reinforcements meant huge numbers of supplies. This entire war just turned around.

Silently, he thanked the Fates and his Executor for sending the additional troops.

He swelled with pride. His troops had broken the Czardaian Enclosure.
_______________________________

Bastila was extremely pleased. Her ships had nearly taken the port. A number of the enemy was still resisting, but it'd only be a matter of time. Her ships had already offloaded a significant number of their Marines to take the remainder of the port.

Bastila hoped that the rest of the war effort was doing as well as she was.
_______________________________

Grensky idly walked down the rows of planes. Row after row, the planes stretched back in the underground hangar for what seemed like forever. Fresh and new out of the Commonwealth's esteemed industrial facilities.

As he walked the rows, he stretched his hand out to rest on each plane for a few moments.

These planes weren't going anywhere. Not as long as he was in command.

The Czardaian army was in a bad position.

They held the southward side of the fort, but Imperial troops had the northern end. Barricades and fencing prevented the Czardaians from reaching the Imperial Galacticans and vice versa, but that arrangement looked like it could not last.

On the first day of the battle the Czardaians began an airstrike on the fort, attempting to take out all of the anti-aircraft batteries. Planes from everywhere joined in and battered the Imperial fort, aided by Ouranbergians. The Imperial Air Force was nowhere in sight.

By the evening of the first day, the Czardaians were beginning to break through the wall into the fort. Belgarion's war-weary first wave fought only half-heartedly. The new reinforcements were either on recon or attempting to shoot down the Czardaian planes. It wasn't easy.

All night the battle raged, and over the next day Czardaians began to move into the fort. Belgarion had retreated outside into the ever-growing circle of Imperial soldiers.

The Imperial fort had been designed to withstand powerful attacks, and it could shield the Czardaians within well -- for the time being.

On the third day the Imperial Galacticans began to notice that some of their attacks came from behind. Recon parties disappeared without a trace, a sure sign of the CDN and other local militias. In the meantime, the number of Czardaian and Ouranbergian soldiers within the fort lessened daily.

On the fourth day General Shaestri left the fort carrying a white flag, and firing halted. Shaestri felt a sense of pride that he was privileged to fight an enemy so honorable, and such hard fighters. He felt a bit of pity for the Imperial Galacticans.

Shaestri was admitted to Belgarion's tent amid the vast armies gathered outside the fort. High above the battle, the CDN remained watching silently, sentinels standing against the green forest.

It was not the war, but it seemed almost the beginning of peace.

Shaestri waited until Belgarion was ready to see him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Aurdania, the leader of the last remaining Czardaian ship lay down his weapons in front of Bastila in a symbolic gesture of surrender, the last one to cease fighting the Marines as they came ashore. Officially, at least. The citizens of that town had other plans. However, it seemed peaceful enough. No-one could have imagined exactly what would happen next. Except for General Ogden and several other high-ranking officers.

Bastila was fairly lucky that she had left her flagship...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Wolf swore under his breath. He had failed to activate the bomb as it fell, and of course it hadn't exploded, disintegrating in the air as it fell. Circling above Imperial Galactica, he radioed his commander for more planes. He then checked to see what else had happened.

The planes carrying bombs, whose pilots had been killed by an atomic explosion, had crashed into the capital of Imperial Galactica, killing hundreds. However, that had only strengthened the resolve for war in the south. Thanks to Finlay's speech, however, the North was still rebellious, and a number of soldiers had refused to march towards Czardas. Red Wolf wondered idly what Executor Thrawn's response had been.

He cursed again. Another Imperial plane was flying straight at him. He extended his needle and flew like an arrow straight through its cockpit, impaling the pilot and his controls. More of the planes were following him. He increased his speed and flew upwards again. He pulled a small missile out of his Special Operative package and looked at it. A small red one, the same as Dorakov had tried to plant months earlier.

He set the timer to "On impact" and checked his computer screen. He was now directly over the central government building. Setting the plane to autopilot, he loaded the missile into the compartment and dropped it straight at the building.

Almost at the same time something came whistling by him. Fire from below. Anti-aircraft fire. He nosed the plane upwards again and flew into the sky, south towards Czardas.

On top of the government building the small red projectile landed. It ticked once.

Red Wolf could see the explosion from 60,000 feet. He dived down to make sure of his hit, then, satisfied, turned back into the sky and trailed off into the clouds. Imperial Galactican planes below him seemed to have turned back towards their capital.

Alma Finlay never forgot the radio message she received: "There is death in the air. I have burned it."

In the catacombs, the strange woman picked up her pole and began to follow Mammon silently, barely noticeable in the darkness. Then, almost like an animal sniffing an unexpected scent, she stopped.

Off in the distant darkness of the cave, she spotted movement. A person. No, two. She was fairly certain Mammon had been alone when he came.

She gritted her teeth and cursed under her breath. A Strike team, it could be nothing else. They were interrupting her battle. It would take time out of the fight for her to deal with them. No matter, she would hurry. She could run fast enough.

The team appeared to be following in the direction Mammon had gone, and she was fairly sure they hadn't noticed her. Silently she began to shadow them in turn. She carefully measured her pole: it was quite sharp enough, and long enough to do the job.

Then she struck at the last man in the strike team, burying her pole in the back of his head and feeling it break bone. She pushed it forward and felt it encounter more skulls, until she had reached the full length of the pole. Then she withdrew it sharply and stabbed fiercely at the one remaining member of the team.

It had all been accomplished in total silence. She hurried onwards after Mammon. She hardly cared if the strike team was alive or dead. They didn't really matter.

She was here primarily to protect Virthas, which in itself was ironic because Virthas was nowhere near the catacombs. In fact, what little militia remained to guard these tombs was on the other side completely, eleven miles away, overlooking the plains where Belgarion's camp and equipment had been. She allowed herself a smile. She was doing her duty.

She knew the shortcuts of the catacombs, and guessed where Mammon had been heading. It was only a short time before she had made her way to the other end of the passageway he was rushing down heedlessly. Really, anyone with a bit of sense could see that turning left instead of right at that turn is so much faster and gets to the same place, she thought. Mammon was heading straight for her, only a short way away now. That strike team had taken up too much of her time. Mammon would not expect her; she held her pole out into the center of the passageway, ready to lunge as soon as he appeared.

Mammon growled and ceased his forward motion, spying someone in front of him.

That accursed woman.

Mammon questioned only for a moment how she had gotten ahead of him. He knew now that she was the test.

Perhaps Phoenix had meant for Mammon to kill the woman the entire time.

Not that it mattered.

Mammon pulled his blade from his back and sprinted forward, blade already slicing down at the woman.
__________________________________

Somewhere behind Mammon in the catacombs, the special operations man bled. He knew that the rest of his team was dead - it didn't take a medical professional to know that one couldn't survive a hole in one's head.

The man quickly assessed his own condition. He was bleeding badly from his chest wound. That...thing...that had attacked his team was demonic.

He dragged himself by his arms to where his radio had fallen. To think, ten minutes ago his team had been whole and well.

He tried not to think of whose entrails were scattered around him.

The man reached out and grabbed the radio and called in the distress.

All around him in the silence of the mountainous dark, special operations men paused and listened, then set their pace towards the intended target.

The man fell back and tried to breathe shallowly. Whatever that creature was, it would die.

Nothing could withstand the might of the Special Operations Divisions.
_________________________________

When word first came in that the general of the Czardaian ground forces currently opposing his command had approached the Imperial Galactica battle lines with a white flag, Belgarion had been understandably skeptical. After all, no Czardaian officer or command had surrendered yet.

He waved to the waiting aide and the aide went outside to tell General Shaestri that he had been recognized and was allowed in to discuss the situation with Grand General Belgarion.

Belgarion hastily cleared his desk of battle plans and current force counts, but otherwise made no move to clear his desk of the assorted maps and marks.

The tent's door was held open by the aide and General Shaestri of the Czardaian Army strode through.

Belgarion eyed Shaestri and awaited what he had to say.
_________________________________

Bastila was pleased. The port city had gone down much faster than she had anticipated. The populace seemed uncaring that she had just taken over their city, but she supposed that it was the same everywhere. As long as the conquerors did not affect their lives, the commoners went about their lives ignorant and apathetic.

She turned to a nearby Marine general and organized the final capture of the city.

Bastila soon turned and began the walk back to the harbor, already planning the land campaign ahead.
_________________________________

Phoenix Gray trooped toward General Grensky's headquarters in full regalia. His characteristic black armor and flowing cape were back and he held himself aloof from the people around him. He had, of course, brought an 'honor' guard of a battalion of Special Operations troops. Contrary to Gray's dress, his men wore full battle armor and carried the complete arrangement of accoutrements they were famed for.

The presence of the troops would undoubtedly send Grensky a message.

Phoenix Gray hoped that Grensky would be very, very afraid.
_________________________________

Urza Ender Thrawn paced in the briefing room.

Urza Ender Thrawn: "How many casualties, Zhuge?"

Zhuge, resplendent in his white robes, answered with a touch of sadness.

Zhuge Liang: "Unknown, Executor. It was a subnuclear blast and we're still taking down the casualties. We're lucky that most of the administrative buildings escaped more or less intact. We're still checking through our officer staff to see who...fell."

Zhuge bowed his head for a moment.

Urza Ender Thrawn turned to Zhuge, fire in his eyes.

Urza Ender Thrawn: "The people need to know about this. Make the calls - I'm giving an address to the nation."

Zhuge Liang watched as his lord paced back and forth. Apparently satisfied, he turned to his comlink to begin making the necessary arrangements.

Shaestri spoke.

"General, I am here to make a request of you. I wish to call a cease-fire between our armies. An armistice, so to speak.

"I would like the Czardaian and Ouranbergian armies to walk free of this camp and return to our military bases, with whatever weapons and equipment they have. It is obvious that we cannot sustain too many more casualties fighting here. In return, you will be allowed to leave this campsite too, to go where you please.

"We will not surrender except with orders from our commander. We only wish to retreat. Too many are dying in this battle.

"What say you?"

----------------------------

As they approached the Imperial Galactican fleet, the missiles, composed of six warheads each -- each warhead containing an explosive blast of great destructive power -- began to separate. When that separation was finished, water would flow into the warheads, detonating the charges. By the time they even started separating, it would be too late for the Imperial ships.

By now the ships were beginning to notice the presence of missiles nearby. Although they were stealth missiles, making them difficult to notice on radar, they had suddenly become very noticeable to the advanced Imperial ships ahead, who began firing missiles to counter the Czardaian strike.

Little did they know that by the time they hit the missiles, it would be already too late...

--------------------------

From the shore at Aurdania, a small group of citizens watched the Imperial fleet maneuver into position. Some of the back ships appeared to have turned around completely; people wondered whether they were turning to go home. But what came next was very surprising.

One of the ships managed to hit a missile in the early stages of its separation, just a few dozen meters away. There was a muffled boom, and the ship just...disintegrated. To the surprised onlookers, it seemed to simply crumble into wreckage.

As more explosions sounded, the air was suddenly very full of Czardaian planes, who looked very determined indeed, and very full of missiles and anti-naval ammunition.

---------------------------

General Ogden smiled. "So what's your report, Feran?"

Feran Iolmes, a manufacturer from northern Czardas, saluted. "General, in a massive push to our economy, we've managed to neary triple our number of planes and ships. We now have a total of three hundred-fifty new planes, and sixty new ships, almost completely replacing our former navy. Of course, they have to be outfitted with guns and missiles, but they'll be ready within a few days."

"Good, we'll need them. What about transport craft?"

"We have 260 helicopters, 140 planes for equipment, and a number of smaller craft for manpower."

"You've done well, Feran. Keep the shipments coming."

--------------------------

Finlay glanced at Red Wolf and smiled. "So... what's your opinion?"

"It's foolhardy. You'll never pull it off."

"Why not? The Special Operatives of Czardas are famed for surviving in the face of tremendous odds. Just look at our mission a few months ago, at the beginning of the war -- three of us, against God knows how many thousands, and we very nearly pulled it off."

"But this time, it's not infiltration... it's assassination."

She shrugged. "Pah, infiltration, assassination -- it's all in a day's work. Besides, with at least 30 Special Operative Divisions, not counting one or two regular divisions which we can fly in for additional help -- I see no way in which any of them can escape."

"All right. But we won't be leaving enough to defend Czardas."

"We've got Ouranberg, Hontah, and our own forces to do that," said Finlay. "This is major."

She abruptly turned from him and began to issue orders through her intercom. "I want Divisions 1 through 30 to report at once to Lac-Montané. I repeat, Divisions 1 through 30. All of you."

--------------------------

She heard Mammon running at her. He had noticed her. Good. Two points for eyesight, she thought. His urgosh was raised over his head. Well, that meant he had left most of his body exposed. As he ran in, she lunged and felt her pole come in contact with something -- not the urgosh, which was too metallic. Withdrawing it immediately, she prepared for a renewal of combat, speaking in a whisper.

"Some use war as sport. I use it as weapon."

...And battle is joined.

----------------------------

A militia party, numbering over 500, was the next group that entered the catacombs. Only Irian and the two Special Operatives had any kind of advanced equipment. Irian handed the tracking devices to the team leader, Migol, and warned him: "Apparently there are up to six strike teams converging ahead of us, so I urge you to proceed cautiously."

"Why are we here at any rate?" asked a young farmer.

"Transport convoy. We're going through towards Lac-Montané base." Migol looked at him sternly.

"Ah." The farmer was silent. The group moved in general silence in the direction of the strike teams. Eventually it came out on the edge of a ledge, covered with stalactites and stalagmites. Far below, in the gloomy stygian distance, they saw shadowy figures moving about.

"Imperial Galactican strike teams," explained Irian in a whisper. "Deadly and impossible as hell to kill. I want you to carefully take aim and begin to fire on them. Ready yourselves and take your time. We want to take them by surprise."

The front row of snipers and sharpshooters stepped forward and began to prepare, aiming using night vision goggles. It was still nigh-on impossible to see anything, due to the darkness of the caverns.

It was then that Thomas Irian's radio message came through from Finlay—a dead giveaway...

Belgarion sat back and considered the man's words. Not the surrender he had hoped for, but perhaps a needed break of hostilities. His men needed the extra supplies and rest break. He knew that if he asked them, they'd fight on...

But he knew that his men needed this break.

Belgarion: "General, take your cease fire. Pull your troops back. You've got three days before I resume my march towards Czardas."

Belgarion awaited Shaestri's response.
____________________________________

As Bastila rounded the last corner, she was greeted by the sight of her ships. Bastila smiled widely and moved into a trot towards the welcome sight.

Suddenly, the second closest ship's guns rotated and began firing up into the sky. Soon, the ships nearby also began to fire in the same direction.

Bastila skidded to a stop. Best not to interrupt her ships' maneuvers, she supposed.

Bastila moved out into the middle of the street and shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting up at the bright sky for the targets her ships were firing at.

Pinpricks, she noticed. Not planes. Probably missiles.

She made a quick count of the missiles. Not too many. Here and there, her ships managed to knock one out of the air. A last ditch defense effort by the Czardaians. Bastila didn't think her ships would take much, if any, damage from the poorly coordinated missiles.

As Bastila watched the pinpricks, the number of them seemed to multiply. Just sunspots, Bastila decided. Her ships would be fine.

Bastila noticed that one of her ships had broken loose of the formation and was apparently fleeing. She didn't recognize its profile, but it was one of the medium-sized ships. She'd have to check the roster and get that captain's bars. None of HER ships broke lines.

Bastila turned around toward the main body of the city. She wouldn't be able to get back on her ships for a good hour or two - policy dictated that they stay battleready for at least that long after a serious missile attack.

As Bastila strode away, the first of the missiles hit. The fleeing battlecruiser vanished, as if it had never existed.

As Bastila whirled around, her fists clenched, Bastila already plotting vengeance.

Above Bastila, the first wave of Czardaian planes flew in.
______________________________

Commander Legial's men turned at the sound of the comm transmission. He turned and looked upward with his thermal vision. Enemies! Warm bodies all over the place!

He flipped his comm on.

Legial: "All soldiers. Fire at will upon targets at coordinates 2:00 subset 12."

His well-trained men began to fire indiscriminately at the arrayed militia exposed above the cliff. The militia, having already been prepared for the ambush of the Imperial Special Operations division, threw a few grenades and sporadic fire down at the Imperial soldiers. Legial's men scattered as they were trained to do, taking cover in all available areas.

Legial's men began firing as the miltia attempted to regain its confidence.

Legial awaited the militia's next move, and smiled grimly. Finally, some action.
________________________________

A few miles away in the catacombs, Mammon grunted with what was almost surprise and pain. The demonspawned woman had nearly impaled his thigh with her pole! Fortunately for him, his attack posture had been turned enough that the pole had deflected off at an angle, leaving a considerable but not overcomeable wound in his thigh.

Mammon savored the feeling of the fresh blood dripping down his leg as his urgosh swung towards the woman.

He growled primordially, battle rage coming on him already.
________________________________

Across the nation, Executor Urza Ender Thrawn walked solemnly to the formal address area. He needed to prepare his thoughts for the trial ahead.
________________________________

As Phoenix Grey reached Grensky's headquarters - or lair, he thought with a cold smile - he found that it wasn't prepared.

Ah, for the small things in life, thought Grey. Things would be significantly easier.

He walked into Grensky's lair, his troop both preceding and following him. Immediately, Grensky was notified by the gate guard.

Grey didn't even need to hesitate, for the gates opened immediately. Someone wanted him to walk in. So be it.

Grey tapped the soldier on his left and relayed a complex and short array of hand gestures. The soldier passed it back through the line and Grey's troop stiffened, weapons held at the ready.

Grey mused that he was about to walk into the throat of the beast.

So be it, thought Grey for the second time. He'd soon remove this beast from the pains of living.

Phoenix Grey wasn't a terribly good meal anyways.

Shaestri nodded gravely. "We have learnt much these four days. Your soldiers are very well-trained." His tone turned to one of warning. "And we shall be preparing for you during every one of those days. Be warned."

Shaestri didn't even wait for Belgarion to respond. He turned on his heel and left the tent, walking out through the ranks of soldiers standing stiffly at attention, barely glancing at them. He made his way back inside the fort, held by the soldiers, and issued a few brisk orders.

As the day wore on, thousands upon thousands of Czardaian troops began to leave the camp, heading for the hills. Behind them they heard the sounds of cheering from the Imperial Galactican ranks. Shaestri, directing the maneuvers towards the camp whence they had come, smiled sadly.

His soldiers had fought the Imperial Galacticans hard, and given as good as they got. The Imperial troops were among the finest he had ever seen. Pity they were all going to die.

Three days. Seventy-two hours, before Imperial Galactica was back on its march towards the largely undefended Czarna. And how to stop them?

Shaestri reflected on a phrase Phoenix Grey had used months earlier, unbeknownst to him. "Cut off the head, and the body soon follows."

He continued to reflect.

-----------------------------------

Over Aurdania, the Czardaian planes loosed a small volley of missiles at the Marines and Bastila onshore, before moving onto the ships. As the anti-aircraft batteries clicked into life below, the Daggers dropped a load of missiles on the ships, nearly 240 of them altogether. A little below them, the bombers prepared to launch their own specialized missiles, designed to hit ships specifically, and fired them down.

Along with the planes, a hundred thousand Czardaian troops, about a third of what was left from Longleaf's and Shaestri's forces, reached Aurdania in jeeps and trucks. Leaping from their transport vehicles, they began firing on the Marines below. Even as they went more and more soldiers appeared behind them, rushing down towards the docks that Bastila and the Imperial Marines had occupied.

Meanwhile, underwater, the rest of the first wave of ballistic separating missiles struck, destroying everything solid within 200 m of their point of impact. And considering how many ships were within that range, casualty count was expected to be high. A few nautical miles upcoast, the subs launched a second wave of deadly missiles.

Imperial Galactica had gotten away with too much, for too long.

The battle was on.

-----------------------------------

She was very nearly taken by surprise, and stepped backwards involuntarily as the urgosh swept across, then down. She struck upwards with her sharpened pole, trying to pierce the flesh and twist up to the carotid; she was rewarded with an immediate parry. Fighting one-handed, she looked for a way to defeat the insane man in front of her.

Then she remembered the pistol she had taken from the soldier in the hallway.

She had hoped that she would not have to use it... but then, she had a mission, after all.

They locked blades, each trying to throw the other's weapon off. She pulled it from her belt and discharged three shots into the figure in front of her. She didn't care where they hit.

Almost simultaneously, the long urgosh blade hit her in the shoulder. Pain and a sudden feeling of circulation rushed through her body, and she shivered slightly. It was cold. Autumn was coming on.

She stepped back cautiously, waiting for Mammon. He didn't seem to be dead, although you couldn't be too sure.

-----------------------

Across the catacombs, the militia reloaded and fired again, keeping a steady and regular fire on wherever they saw strike team members. The four Special Operatives in the front wore thermal-vision goggles and, thus being able to pinpoint the locations of enemy troops, were by far the most dangerous of the group. Irian radioed Finlay, explaining that they were engaged in a mission at the moment and would make headway for Lac-Montané as soon as possible.

Groups of militiamen, armed with whatever weapons came to hand, went after the strike team members, each hiding individually. Against heavy fire, they threw grenades and fired their weapons. Some of these were ancient rifles, or even bows and arrows, but nonetheless the ragtag groups managed to storm enemy positions. Partly because they just happened to know the catacombs better—living in the area probably did the trick—and partly, because they were fighting for their homes and families, while Imperial Galactica was battling for little more than the word of a dictator who called them, sometimes unwillingly, into battle.

-------------------

At Lac-Montané, the groups of Special Operatives—more than two thousand strong—filed into Daggers, Peregrines, and Kestrels. Their packs contained all the necessary equipment: the knives, time bombs, wireless deactivators, radios... they had their orders.

Finlay talked to Irian one last time. "I'll leave you to finish your mission. Make sure you catch up with us later. You know where we'll be."

He did, in fact, know. He knew Alma Finlay, quite well in fact. In the catacombs, he smiled.

Around Finlay, nearly ten thousand Czardaian infantry, heavily armed, piled into transport aircraft, talking noisily. Finlay smiled and began to give out her orders as she climbed aboard her own SM Dagger.

"We'll stick together until we cross over," she explained through radio. "Then we're free to go our separate ways. I want the infantry to land at the meeting place and deal with whatever ground forces are there. The rest of you—you Spec Ops—bomb who you like, but remember we're all meeting up at Rendezvous Thirteen. And we're after the top brass. Take out the soldiers so we can have fun with the officials."

The planes started up and prepared to take off. As they did so Alma Finlay's final words came through.

"Oh, and leave Dict X to me. I have my own score to settle with him."

The group of planes sets off, headed inexorably northwards, following in the path of Red Wolf's solo mission just a day or two ago.

...Towards Imperial Galactica, and its capital city.

Phoenix Grey strode into Admiral Grensky's compound. Not quite a confident stride,but...perhaps a wary stride. The stalk of a tiger before it pounces, possibly. Or maybe Grey's stride was comparable to the movement of a bird of prey as it strikes a small animal.

But none of those thoughts ran through Phoenix Grey's mind. His thoughts were instead upon the coming confrontation with Admiral Grensky.

Which led him to his initial suspicions. The Imperial Air Force had been remarkably inferior and worthless against the Czardaian Air Force. Troublesome, considering Imperial Galactica's standard of training and the ability to field far more planes than the Czardaians could.

Grey had seen Executor Urza's executive order for the new planes sent out some time ago. And yet, none of the newly designed planes were sighted at the Czardaian conflict spots. Not even by his operatives.

And his operatives were everywhere.

So just where were these new planes? Not to mention all of the remainder of Imperial Galactica's air fleet. Bastila had reported several wings of fighters near her position some time ago, but Belgarion had reported nearly nothing - a number of helicopters and some limited air cover were the only reports.

Phoenix supposed it was always possible that Belgarion had neglected to file a few forms. But...he refused to believe that Bastila did the same in the ensuing weeks. Bastila Hattori was fanatical in her devotion to duty. The conflict reports from Belgarion were troublesome as well. Air cover was never mentioned in his reports - not even offhandedly or a casual mention. There was absolutely no reference to any Imperial fighters.

One of Grensky's men, a captain, approached Grey's delegation. The man saluted briefly, and after Grey's impatient gesture, began to speak.

Captain Onasi: "Phoenix Grey, Grensky will receive you in Conference Room Alpha-Thirteen."

Ah, thought Grey. So the posturing and maneuvers began immediately. Grensky's move of appointing a meeting place was intended to make Grey stumble - but Grey would show him his folly. In excruciating detail.

Grey nodded curtly to the man.

Phoenix Grey: "Good. Your presence is not required. Leave us immediately."

The man stuttered and stumbled over his response, then evidently decided to simply accept Grey's words. He moved out of the way of Grey's contingent, then spread his arms, inviting the party to proceed. Grey glared at the man for only one brief second, then strode ahead of the man and into the building.

Soon enough, Grey was through the doors of the conference room. He noted that it was one of the more grandiose rooms, intended to subdue visitors. Grensky was already in the room, seated at the head of the long table. A dozen men were decked in full honor guard dress along the left wall.

Grensky raised an eyebrow as Grey motioned behind his head. A dozen of Grey's men marched into the room, stopping at the precise point along the right wall that the Grensky men were standing at along the left. The black-armored men executed a brief left-face and opposed Grensky's men silently. The remainder of Grey's contingent took up position in the hallway outside.

As for Grey himself, he strode to the table. Grensky glanced up, as if inquiring why Grey was here, but did not speak.

So be it, thought Grey. So the ball was in Grey's court after all.

Grey walked slowly to the flag of Imperial Galactica hanging behind Grensky. Grensky was forced to rotate his chair to follow Grey's movement. Grey fingered the cloth as if in deep thought. Still facing and fingering the heavy cloth of Imperial Galactica's flag, he spoke to Grensky.

Phoenix Grey: "The flag of Imperial Galactica." He waited a moment for his words to sink in, then continued.

Phoenix Grey: "Loyal men of the Imperial Army and Navy fight, and die, miles from our current position. Hundreds, even thousands."

Grey turned his head to glance at Grensky.

Phoenix Grey: "How many of your men have died, Admiral?"

Grensky and the assorted men in the room couldn't have missed the pointed inquiry if they were deaf. Grensky's careful composure slipped.

Grensky: "See here, Grey! My men are dying, just as yours are!"

Grey cocked his head to one side.

Grey: "Really? My men are dying?"

All too late, Grensky realized his mistake. The Special Operations divisions were ostensibly still in the capital. The assignment from Urza Ender Thrawn had been verbally only, and Phoenix Grey hadn't written down any such troop deployments. How then could he know that Special Operations troops were fighting in the Czardaian War?

Grensky, however, regained his composure quickly.

Grensky: "I merely refer to the fact that all of the Imperial army fights. We all make sacrifices for that flag."

Grensky motioned towards the flag of Imperial Galactica.

Grensky: "That flag has killed a lot of our men -"

Grensky chuckled, his amusement slowing and ceasing when he realized that no one else was laughing with him.

Grey turned now to face Grensky.

Grey: "There have been certain...allegations."

Grensky regarded Grey coolly.

Grensky: "Aren't there always, in war? When people feel that an officer hasn't done all he can?"

Grey nodded.

Grey: "Except for one thing. You HAVEN'T done all you can. You haven't done much of anything, in fact. Reports show that, what, one-tenth of Imperial Galactica's air fleet has been in battle?"

Grensky attempted to interrupt, but Grey continued onwards.

Grey: "This forces me to inquire where exactly all of your men are. All of the ones that AREN'T fighting."

Grensky sputtered and leaned forward in his chair.

Grensky: "Grey! I'll have none of this from a Politburo skullduggery agent! I'm fighting this war as best I can!"

Grey responded after a moment of deliberation.

Grey: "Yes, you have done the best you can. To hinder our side. To hurt Imperial Galactica. To kill more of the sons and daughters of the Commonwealth."

Grensky: "You can't make accusations of this grave manner! You have no proof! Get out of my base NOW!"

Grensky was nearly beside himself with rage. Grey, on the other hand, was detached and cool, as he characteristically was.

Grey: "Then I take my leave of you. But I'll be watching - after all, I'm a master of skullduggery, as you said."

Grey allowed himself a brief smile, then turned. As he strode towards the exit, he flicked his fingers and his troops fell in neatly behind him.

As he moved towards the exit, however, Grensky's satellite phone rang.

Grey stopped abruptly.

Grensky lunged for the phone, to turn it off.

Grey turned around, watching Grensky's frenzied movements.

Grey: "Why don't you answer your phone, Grensky."

Grensky swallowed hard and stopped his movement.

Grey: "We both know that this room is lined with titanium alloy. Only satellite signals of Status Phoenix-Red can be beamed down here. Those codes are held by only five people."

As Grey spoke, he ticked them off on his fingers.

Grey: "The first is myself...and I'm here, so that call is obviously from me. General Belgarion...who's currently on operations on the Czardaian Front. Admiral Hattori...who's been under comm radio silence for the past eleven hours...obviously not from her, either. The Executor and Strategist Liang are the only ones remaining. Liang has been in the Battle Strategy and Tactics room, which is unable to receive and send such signals because it's locked down. Our respectable Executor Thrawn is the only one remaining who could possibly be calling you. And he left instructions that he would be unavailable for two hours."

Grensky quivered visibly as Grey ran through the High Command of Imperial Galactica.

Grey continued, unceasingly.

Grey: "So the question remains. Who, then, is calling you on Phoenix-Red, Admiral Grensky?"

Grensky made no move.

Grey made an abrupt motion and the rearmost soldier in his formation reversed, heading for the dais quickly to answer the satellite phone.

Grensky's eyes tracked the soldier but made no move towards the still-ringing phone. Panic, perhaps, or just sheer shock.

At any rate, none of Grensky's soldiers moved to oppose Grey's man, who snatched up the phone and answered it with a gruff greeting.

It seemed as if time had frozen - all eyes were on the black-suited soldier as he listened silently to the man on the other end of the satellite connection.

Anticipating the end of the call, Grey moved up to stand by his soldier. The soldier slowly took the phone from his ear and turned it off, then mechanically moved the antenna into standby position.

The soldier turned to Grey and whispered in his ear.

For the minute that the soldier was speaking to him, Phoenix Grey kept his eyes on Grensky, who was now as still as stone. His eyes were blank and vacant, as if dead already.

Once finished, the soldier waited for Grey's command. A flurry of hand signals passed and the soldier nodded and rejoined his squad.

Grey turned to address Grensky's men on the opposite wall, who were shifting and obviously confused as to what was happening.

Grey: "Your commander just received a phone call from a high-ranking Czardaian army officer. Why?"

Grey fell silent for a moment, surveying Grensky's men. It wasn't their fault.

Grey: "One could always postulate that he was attempting to organize a coup de'tat or perhaps a turn of allegiances. But why didn't he arrange it with the Politburo, or mention it to anyone?"

Grensky's men glanced at their frozen commander uneasily.

Grey turned to Grensky.

Grey: "Under the circumstances, Grensky, I'd have to arrest you. Personally, I'd rather shoot you, but times being what they are...and our government being what it is..."

Grey shook his head with a trace of remorse.

Grey: "Grensky, you're under arrest for treason."

Grensky didn't even move from his chair - he stayed frozen in shock. He had been in command and well-respected only a half hour beforehand. Now...Grensky was lucky if he had anything.

Those accursed Czardaians! Grensky had enough presence of mind to curse them mentally.

Grey turned away, and Grey's men followed him.

As Grey walked down the hallway, the remainder of his men awaited his command.

Grey stopped and turned at the head of the hallway and surveyed his men. The rows of black armor clad soldiers stood at attention, waiting for his inevitable command.

Grey turned to stride out of the building, and as he turned, he uttered the command -

Grey: "Get these planes in the air."

Grey smiled grimly as he heard his men run off to organize the Imperial Air Force. Soon enough, thousands of newly built Imperial planes would be in the air.

Soon enough.

The formation, consisting of no less than a hundred Czardaian planes discounting transports, had finally reached Imperial Galactica. Two hours' flight, passing over the huge armies gathering in the plains far below. The airforce planes made the distance in a little under an hour, traveling somewhat faster, but they were all bound for the same place.

An additional fifty thousand Czardaian troops had piled into more transports in bases around the area. The air force would be virtually unopposed for a number of reasons, or so they thought. The last mission—the last strike on Imperial Galactica's capital—had taken out many anti-air defenses around the city when the planes, manned by corpses, smashed into the outskirts. As in Czardas the war began to swing in Czardas's favor, with defenses around Czarna being prepared and the missile armaments in Palma finally readied against the Imperial Navy, the time had come to bring the war to another front.

With all available troops deployed to Czardas, there would be little but a token defense in Imperial Galactica itself. After all, no hint of the planned Czardaian attack had been reported. The planes themselves, traveling at more than 70,000 feet, had not been sighted so far.

Several Imperial planes suddenly loomed out of the top of the cloud bank. Alma Finlay laughed inwardly, knowing that their cannons and missiles had all been disabled, as was their order to Grensky concerning the new planes. Czardas may have had only a tenth of the total airforce strength of Imperial Galactica, but how much of the Imperial air force actually worked most of the time?

Missile and cannon fire from the fighter planes around her knocked the enemy planes out of the sky; the missiles that did hurtle towards the Czardaian planes had no effect whatsoever. Now within less than 30 minutes of the capital, they were sure they would meet little more resistance.

At that moment, Finlay's phone rang and she picked it up, setting her plane to autopilot. "Hello?"

"Hi, General Ogden here, just letting you know that our op in the Commonwealth's been captured."

"What?"

"Yes, it was in the news today, he's going to be tried for treason in a short time. Although, I suspect the trial will be a sham."

"That's some damned good intelligence there."

"No, it was simple deductive reasoning, I suppose. Someone noticed that Imperial Galactica had ordered 2400 planes to be deployed and no reports of them were ever found. They could have all been eliminated by AAA, flak, SAM, and aircraft fire along the border...but apparently that was too plausible."

"I knew something couldn't be right when the reports said 320 planes in Czardas," said Finlay. "I mean, Imperial Galactica has a base of about 4800 planes in total, probably a lot more, so I knew a friend of ours was behind this...Wonder how the Czar's taking it."

"Not well, I suspect," said Ogden's voice amusedly. "Ah well. Apparently Phoenix Grey's taken command of the air force now."

"Ah, our old friend in the Politburo. All I can say is, he'll probably have the shortest command in Imperial history." Finlay giggled aloud.

"You'd better hope so. Where's your position now?"

"T minus nine seconds at four," Finlay read mechanically from the groundscan screen. "Passing over outskirts of capital."

"Right. I won't delay you any longer. The troops know their orders."

"I give their orders," Finlay said tartly, shutting off her phone. Speaking into the radio, she started to do just that. Around her, in the clear blue sky, the planes went into formation, clustering like an anvil around the central AWACS plane, from which Finlay was now giving her orders.

"Bombers, prepare your ASMs, aim at any government buildings, prepare to strike. Fighter cover, prepare to repulse any incoming attack."

The planes began to spread out. The Strikers, light multirole bombers, and larger Hailstorm planes—forty-five Strikers, five Hailstorms—released their first wave of bombs. A total of 55 rained down on eleven preset targets throughout Imperial Galactica's capital: government buildings, including the central complex which Finlay and two others had infiltrated months ago; military barracks and stations. The bombers prepare another rain of bombs, launched at different targets farther out, including the buildings outside Grensky's compound housing thousands of Imperial planes and industrial complexes where weapons were manufactured. The incendiary bombs would cause fires wherever they hit, leading to massive destruction and chaos. Another rain of somewhat fewer bombs—about 40—is fired upon civilian targets to cause more fires, and thus more destruction, and thus more chaos.

Amid all of this resulting chaos, the Czardaian shock troops will soon arrive, with more transports bearing more troops coming within less than two hours. Meanwhile, the Czardaian Air Force held the skies, out of anti-aircraft range, destruction raining through the air.

Grensky's unmasking came too late.

The tables have finally turned, and Imperial Galactica is going to pay. Big time.