NationStates Jolt Archive

International boundaries had meant little to Pantera for nearly a thousand years. It was no different this morning as the swarm of Reaver ships slid from 'neutral' territory into Sarzonian claimed waters. There was no doubt in the mind of the veteran commander that the enemy was aware of his movements, but the quick moving Reaver transports would have plenty of time before any resistance was encountered, he was sure.

Thought Branwyn was pnly a Sarzonian holding, Gaise Starshone, Commander of the Reaver Fleets and half-brother of the Lord Reaver, had been given the assault on Branwyn in an attempt to assuage his hurt feelings about losing command of the fleet in AMF, and also to draw away any Sarzonian aid that might have been sent to the Gholgothan theater.

The encroaching Panteran vessels numbered nearly two hundred warships and transports, with a number of support craft such as tankers and supply ships. Some dozen-odd miles before the main fleet came the traditional vanguard of the Panteran fleet, a score of behemoth Plunder Class warships and a further half-dozen aircraft carriers. Nine-tenths of the fleet had been constructed in Crimmond, with the remainder undergoing massive repairs after the treachery by the British some eighteen months before.

Now, restive Reavers were going into combat once more, and against an enemy that would only now be aware of their intentions. With banners flying and warcries sounding, the transports broke away from the main bulk of the fleet and began to overtake the vanguard.

By the time the massive guns of the vanguard came in range of the Branwyn coastline, there were signs ashore of frenzied preperation, for the Lord Reaver had made his radio and television address from Pantera, officially declaring open hostilities and a state of war against Sarzonia.

"Glory to Gholgoth and the Blood Pact! The wardrums sound again, and we march to free yet another opressed people from the bonds of tyranny and the unwanted yoke of opression. While our Freek and Aequatian Allies in the south prepare to deny the onslaught of vile cutthroats, we prepare to sail in the name of Freedom, to snap the bonds of a chained people. I speak of course of the noble people of Branwyn, long ground beneath the Sarzonian bootheel.

Sarzonia's era of dictatorship in Branwyn is at an end. That is my word and through my might it will be made reality. As of this moment a state of war exists between the Free Lands of Pantera and the Tyranny of Sarzonia.

I have two suggestions to make, though one is less of a suggestion and more of a command. First, I urge the citizens and right-minded folk of Branwyn to rise up against their Sarzonian opressors. With sword and shot and savagery we will drive your opressors from your lands and stand alongside you should they return. To arms, my brothers, to arms! Your time is now, as is theirs.

And, to the Sarzonian opressors, I say this: Lie down your arms, lower your banners in Branwyn, and board your ships. Sail home, and opress yourselves, for you are not wanted here. As of this moment you have one hour to lower your flags and submit, or my armies will storm your shores and end your miserable lives.

There will be no discussion, there will be no negotiation.

Drag the Waters of War."

As the Reaver ships began to fan out into battle array, nearly a hundred aircraft, the Panteran AtmosFighters, screamed into the sky from the decks of the carriers. Within moments they were skipping along the upper reaches of the atmosphere, while two-score others remained below, flying close-cover air support for the Reaver fleets.

The cards were down. The world was hurtling toward war.

President Mike Sarzo played the speech from the Lord Reaver again and again. The approach of the Reavers to the Branwynian shores was the last thing war planners counted on. They fully expected that their offensive machinations against Automagfreek would draw a response, but Branwyn?

"Tyranny and oppression? What the hell are they talking about," First Partner Jay Tyler asked.

"That's just wartime propaganda Jay," Sarzo snapped. He wasn't expressing anger at his love partner, but he was getting enraged at the naked act of aggression against the Sarzonian colony. It had been years since the rebellion that led to Branwyn's surrender but now Pantera was trying to fan the embers of resentment into a full scale flame of war.

Sarzo tapped the intercom. "All Cabinet Vice Presidents and Branch chiefs to the situation room. Code Purple."

Code purple. Tyler looked up. Even though he tried to stay out of Sarzo's way as much as possible, he knew that Code Purple was extremely urgent. He also saw Sarzo get up and walk briskly from his office in the Gray House to the situation room in the depths of the Presidential mansion.

As soon as Sarzo walked in, he saw the looks of bewilderment on the faces of the various Vice Presidents and the impassive expressions on the branch chiefs.

"I'm sure you've seen the news," Sarzo said. "Pantera has just declared a state of war between them and us. He turned to face the members at the table.

"First thing's first," Sarzo said, not waiting for a response. "Kathy, what naval assets do we have in Branwyn?"

"Just a Brandywine and her escort group for right now. Two Atlantic class dreadnaughts. A total of 40 ships against the Panterans. Naval infantry units number roughly 10,000."

"We've got two brigades including one armoured battalion," Army Chief Antonius Santius said. "Besides that, it's just colonial milita."

"And we've got two air wings in the area," Air Force Chief Bill Lighton said. "That's the best we can come up with unless we divert the DontPissUsOff."

"That could be playing right into their hands," Vice President for Defence John Newman said. "They could be trying to draw us away from the Gholgoth theatre."

"And what do you suggest we do, just let them have their way with Branwyn," Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis said, incredulously. The debate ended abruptly when Sarzo banged his fist onto the top of the table.

"Enough! We're not exactly impotent with our Navy, you know," Sarzo said. "Kathy, can you send the Eighth Fleet to Branwyn and the Fourth and Fifth Fleets to Panteran waters?"

"What?!"

"You heard me," Sarzo said, punctuating his defiant tone with a glare. "We're going to defend our territory, but at the same time, we're going to show those Panteran bastards that we're going to sharpen our swords. They clearly want a fight and we're going to give them one for the history books."

"We'll probably end up being history," Bunhall said.

"I don't know about you Katherine Jane Bunhall," Sarzo said, "but I'd rather go down fighting than live on my knees. We're going to give Pantera what they want and a hell of a lot more.

"You know the story everyone. Get to work on developing battle plans. Unless someone has anything else, this meeting's adjourned."

Sarzo walked out of the situation room and toward the press room, where cameras and reporters were waiting. He spoke in tones that he hoped would show a leader whose determination alone could save the day.

"My fellow Sarzonians," he began. "We have just seen the nation of Pantera declare a state of war between them and us. They threaten our territory and are insisting we lay down our arms without a fight and without negotiations.

"I'm here to tell you now that we're not going to bow down to any enemy, no matter how fearsome. I am asking Parliament for a full declaration of war against Pantera and the authorisation to use whatever means of force are necessary to eliminate the Panteran threat.

"The cause of freedom will not be bowed by a callous band of terrorists that call themselves Reavers. It's time we showed the world just what kind of fight we've got in us. History will show that Sarzonians do not back down from anyone."

With that, Sarzo turned away from the platform and walked toward the emergency siren that beckoned the 2.4 million Woodstock citizens into the underground bunkers. He received the word from Parliament: Both the House and the Senate voted to declare war. Sarzo signed an executive order calling up all reserve units. Ships that had been designated for retirement or mothballs would be refitted and army units were quickly placed on standby.

All defences around the Sarzonian homeland went on full alert. SAM batteries, large ETC guns primed and ready, and all phases of the military began combat drills in the event Sarzonia were forced to defend her home soil from Panteran attack. The mood around Woodstock was a sombre one, but the air was charged with determination.

The world would witness one hell of a war.

As the Sarzonian's alotted hour ran out, the Panteran guns opened up. A rolling, strafing fire of shells and missiles, directed against the fortifications around the Branwyn capital city and largest port, and against those ships that had been foolish enough to come into range. For three long minutes the shelling continued before the first fighters screamed into the airspace above Branwyn proper. Nearly sixty strong, they swept down to strafe military installations, while a dozen of their number remained at cruising altitude, ready to intercept any airborne threats to the group.

As the first flight of nearly thirty bombers began their takeoff from the Panteran carriers, the troop-transports broke away from the main bulk of the fleet, some forty strong in the first wave with a second of similar number to come roughly nine minutes behind. In all the two initial waves, and two others to follow almost an hour later, would number almost sixteen-thousand battle-hardened Reavers, with a further thirty-thousand en-route from European Crimmond.

Even before the transport waves came the ten little 'fluffers', or 'Bronze7 Acoustic Detonation Vessel', as the Panteran brass so poetically dubbed the new mine-sweeping ships. Though there was some doubt as to wether or not the Sarzonians would have mined the commercial seas around Branwyn, the Commander Gaise Starshone was taking no chances with his men's lives.

While a number of the ships continued the strafing fire against the Branwyn mainland, a dozen broke away and sailed south, away from the capitol to the southern coastal region, where a smaller assault would take place.

A number of other vessels, maybe ten, along with the submarine continingent of nine subs, went a'hunting for the modest Sarzonian fleet that had been reported. With these ships was sent the Gore, one of Pantera's vaunted Plunder Class warships, said to be a match for any Dreadnaught afloat, though if such a thing happened, it would be the first such enconter.

Panteran estimates on the landing were optimistic, expecting to push deep inland, scattering the garrison and local militias, many of which were expected to be reluctant fighters at best, before the Sarzonian relieving troops arrived. By then, though, things would be too far gone for them to do much except die. The Reavers under Gaise only needed a toehold, and all Branwyn would be theirs.

"More reports of losses, M'lord...." Came the voice of an officer, a finger pointing to a set of rolling numbers on a screen.

One hour and nine minutes after war was declared, the first Reavers had already been lost. Gaise only hoped that enemy losses would dwarf his own, especially in this early stage of his assault. With the uncertainty of the militia and the scant number of Sarzonian regulars, his Reavers should sweep the land clean.

"Craft 1-A approaching beach, M'lord. Fifteen seconds to landing..."

Gaise Starshone nodded, his pulse thrumming with excitement, and tried to imagine the horror that would soon wash the shore. A little part of his wished he was there once more, instead of stuck in command.

"Then may the Gods drink their fill." He replied.

{{OOC: Weak, I know. Apologies, but the baby is sick.}}

Major Karla A'Hearn always seemed to be stuck in her rank as a colonial milita major. She always seemed to run into Parliamentary red tape when it came time for promotions and the like despite her documented successes in turning the milita into a tough fighting unit. She insisted on top drill and worked closely with Major General Carl Jeffries to drill her troops as well as the Sarzonians in dealing with anything the rival colonies around Manium had to offer. She also had an inkling that the recent tensions with Doomingsland would mean they'd have to face Legionaires, so she worked her troops hard over the past year and a half.

With the opening up of fire on the part of the Panteran warships, she knew it was go time. Pantera was a much more fierce foe than she expected her Branwynians to face, but she hoped the discipline she strove to instill into her forces would keep her troops from being routed like so many milita were in the past. If Branwyn had secured its independence, her units were definitely able to become regular army troops, and it was time for them to test their mettle. She picked up her communications device to contact the shore batteries as the Panteran fleets came into range, setting it to a secure channel and turning it on.

"Get those batteries ready to fire on the incoming army troops and the enemy warships," she said. "Let's make those Reavers pay for invading our territory!"

The Branwynian gun batteries and SAM embankments opened up a round of withering return fire, whilst her milita units set out to attack the Reavers as they begun to land. She knew from Sarzonia's attempts to land its armies in the Inkana Civil War that this was when it would be most difficult to land. The Branwynians would make sure not to give the Reavers a free pass into Daltrey.

Meanwhile, the colonial government issued quick evacuation orders to all civilians and itself prepared to get into its ground and aerial transports to leave Daltrey. They intended to head to a secure location where they would force the Reavers to find them. [OOC: For your OOC info, they're going to Entwhistle.] Commodore Kendra Christopher, the unofficial commander of all combined Branwynian and Sarzonian military assets in Branwyn, ordered three squadrons of SZ-2 'Albatross' fighters and two squadrons of SZ-1 'Vulture' strike fighters to set out toward the Panteran fleets and army units. The Albatross would be searching for aerial threats and their respective commanders would be looking to create a threat of their own. The Vultures were around to bring an offensive threat into the picture.

The Sarzonian naval squadron began to run sweeps and launch their own fighters to look for the Panteran threat and possibly engage it. The Atlantic-class dreadnaughts and their combined arsenal of 30 large 25 inch guns along with the Brandywine-class flagship ISS Potomac's nine 24 inchers would be a powerful surface foe to contend with, although Christopher realised the real show would happen when a full fleet of Sarzonian warships could arrive. They had to make life a living hell for the Panterans and slow them down long enough for the regulars to arrive, though Christopher planned to shoot for a much greater goal than that.

"Let's make this one for the record books," she said. "Let's deal these bastards their biggest defeat of all!" She ordered her four Minuteman-class SSKs, powered by newly-installed caterpillar drives that made them extraordinarily quiet and difficult to detect, to set off for the Panteran fleets. The Sarzonian forces were instructed to hit the first targets they saw, which they expected would usually be escort ships, knowing that the large dreadnoughts and command ships were in trouble if they lost escorts. If the submarines, notably the newly built ISS Liestes, could get in range of the large carriers or battleships, they were instructed to fire their Bayonet ultra large torpedoes, nearly 26 inches of massive weapon that could bedevil even a SD. With a tactical nuclear weapon installed, the big ships could be a mission kill, which was just fine with Christopher.

Colonial Governor Tom Brockton viewed the scene as he got into his helicopter and it took off with the scene of pitched battle playing out behind him. If we can hold them off long enough, he thought as the helicopter sped off and he began to listen for tactical reports, we can turn the tide in our favour. Brockton was known for thinking somewhat optimistically, but he figured his Branwynians and the brigade of troops under Brigadier General Ron Horton intended to hit the Panterans from their flank. The armoured battalion under A'Hearn assembled toward the other flank, whilst Jeffries himself commanded the brigade that would face the Panterans. They hoped the crossfire from all three sides would batter the Reavers and give them something to think about before they notched Branwyn as one of their claims.

RSTF Headquarters, 25 km north of Daltrey.

"Ah, look what we have here?"

Akbar Al-Mostafa looked approvingly at the notice from the Panterans as they prepared to assemble an invasion force into Branwyn. The Restore Sarzonia Task Force was looking for a "slam dunk" reintrodction to the world after they reannounced their presence with an attack on the Sarzonian Press Secretary during Inkana. This would be their chance to get a major power behind them that they expected even the Sarzonians would be ill-equipped to fight. Perhaps then they could force through their ultimate goal: To depose President Mike Sarzo from office and begin to overturn decades of pro-gay legislation. Repealing Article XIII's prohibitions against discrimination also looked realistic if they could rout the combined forces of Branwyn and Sarzonia.

"We've got a chance to get a little help for our cause," he said. "This is our chance, my brothers! We can strike the Great Demon whilst he is vulnerable! Victory is in our grasp!"

"What do you mean?"

"Contact the Panteran forces. Let them know who we are and let them know we're there to help them in their quest to smash the head of the Sarzonian tiger."

{{OOC: Weak, I know. Apologies, but the baby is sick.}}OOC: Don't worry, I understand. Your health and that of your family is your first priority. Hope the baby feels better fast!

"Sir, things are getting ugly ashore. We're managing to land, but they're throwing it all against us." His officer said as he pounded away at a keyboard, bringing up more droves of incoming battle data,"Our first units of armor are arriving now. Maybe a dozen of the Bashar's, M'lord."

That made Gaise smile. The Bashar 'Bash'er way to Glory' Medium Tanks would pack a nasty wallop in the face of the Sarzonian resistance,"Good, good. Have them assemble ashore and simply support our foot, until we get another armored detachment landed. Once we have twenty-five or so armored units ashore, and entire fist, I want a pincer launched. Through the Branwyn militia. See here, where they're arrayed?"

He pointed to a computer-generated map of the landscape around the Branwyn Capitol, and the landing sites of the Panterans. When the officer nodded, he continued,"There. I want a hard drive, fast and as bloody as possible. Scorched earth, understood? These militia won't stand up to Blood and Fire, and without them, the Sarzonian regulars will tuck tail and run as well.'

"I want our artillery to pound those AA installations, here, here, and there. See them? They're going to cause our aircover havoc if we don't take them, and soon. Wipe the earth around them..."

{{OOC: There's that, Sar. We'll take the rest slow for today, as I've still got quite a bit on my plate. Between sick baby, puppy dog to the vet, cleaning the filthy-ass house, and a big spliff with my name on it, things look grim for getting much of anything done today... But, it's great stuff so far, bro. Enjoying myself immensely here.}}

"All right, I want anti-armour weaponry on the beach pronto! Get our Jags into position and target the electronics of those tanks," A'Hearn yelled into her communications device. "And get me some air cover for the infantry!"

The scene in Daltrey was a bedlam of activity punctuated by rapid fire of anti-aircraft batteries and the thundering boom of 30 inch anti-ship batteries targeting the Panteran fleets. An armoured company featuring one dozen Z-33 Jaguar main battle tanks built by the Incorporated Ordnance Company rumbled into positions behind overhands and walls, setting their sights on the Panteran armour with millimetric wave radars looking for enemy electronics. The tanks would first try to take out the electronics, rendering the Bashars effectively blind. A'Hearn would dearly love to see several of the enemy tanks explode in front of her eyes, but mission kills were her first priority.

"We're in position," Captain Edward Chang signalled back.

"Get them in range and fire!"

"Aye, sir." Several 125 mm ETC guns from the Jaguars belched flame toward the Bashars, whilst one tank broke out of its encampment and fired smoke grenades in an effort to blind the enemy units temporarily. It then turned its 30 mm autocannons onto the very tops of the Bashar tanks and fired, looking to take out the secondary armaments of the enemy tanks, then spread a round of anti-personnel fire with its FU BRG-15 machine gun.

"Chuck and duck!" Master Sergeant Chris Holloway yelled to the rest of the crew of his tank! "We've gotta chuck and duck! Full speed, get us back to the encampment!"

"Roger that!"

Meanwhile, a battalion of naval infantry from nearby Fort Henley arrived with M-8 assault rifles, readying the laser sights with images of Reavers beginning to land on the beach.

"Get 'em in range," Naval Infantry Colonel Kevin West shouted into his communications device. "When you do, start wastin' these bastards!"

"Yes, sir," the men shouted back, and the first few camouflaged troops began to fire their ordnance at the Reavers who managed to land.

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Overhead, one squadron of SZ-1 'Vulture' fighters rocketed toward the besieged Branwynian capital firing their 24 mm autocannons at the Reaver positions and firing Robin small diametre bombs at their fearsome targets. The second squadron veered off for the transport ships, firing larger ASM munitions at the transport craft. Christopher's plan was to cut off the Reavers who landed and the ones who were intending to land from being able to return to their fleets. She was also hoping she could get her fleets into position to trap the Panteran fleet between shore batteries and her own ordnance.

"In range," she asked as she stared at the tactical display aboard the Potomac, looking in the direction of a lieutenant sitting at the detection station.

"Should be in approximately five minutes at current speed."

"Fuck." She tapped the intercom. "Christopher to engine room. Feel like pushing the envelope for me?"

"Sir, we've can only go as fast as our slowest ships. If we don't, we're exposed to a fleet of over 200 ships."

With 40 ships, she nodded. She knew the odds of 40 ships being able to defeat a larger force from one of the world's genuine megapowers were enormous. She knew the odds of getting more than a stalemate against Reavers were astronomical. But she scowled at the tactical display with a look of determination. If anyone's going to be able to pull off this miracle, it will be us.

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

Lieutenant Commander Chris Jacobi was known as the son of Delegate Connie Jacobi, a Liberal Imperialist from Somerset, but he was also the commanding officer aboard the ISS Liestes, one of the Minuteman-class SSKs that was assigned to the Branwyn station. He was aboard the previous boat named Liestes, an old Bolash-class SSK that participated in a rescue of a nuclear powered attack submarine from regional neighbours Bazarain. He watched Norm Spence handle that situation with aplomb in spite of wartime conditions and rescue the boat in a move that established strong ties with Bazarain. Now he was running a boat that was named for the older patrol submarine on a much more dangerous mission.

"Raise periscope," Jacobi said. "Distance to nearest enemy ship?"

"Approximately 100 metres, sir."

"Silent running, Mr. West. We want this to be as quiet as possible."

"Aye, sir."

Jacobi nodded. West was eager, sometimes too eager, but he and the rest of his boat handled their drills with aplomb. They practiced many different scenarios and the presence of an enemy threat was one of their common assignments. With the Minuteman's ultralarge torpedoes, they figured that if they could get into position and fire them at their targets and the wire-guided torps could connect, they could cause some severe damage to the Panteran war effort.

"Are we in range, yet?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Load torpedo tubes one and two."

"One and two, aye sir."

"Twenty seconds."

"Torpedo tubes locked and loaded."

"Acknowledged. Set the coordinates for the two targets here," pointing to the tactical display at the two ships nearest the Liestes.

"Aye, sir."

"Ten seconds."

"Sir, those are two of the biggest ships in their fleet!"

"I'm aware of that," Jacobi said, quickly cutting off the targeting officer, Ensign Drew Alvarez.

"Five seconds. Four, three, two, one."

"Fire!"

The two torpedoes slipped out of their respective torpedo tubes and with a WHOOSH streaked toward the keels of the Panteran ships. The other three SSKs targeted either other transports or escort ships, whist the shore batteries and anti-surface missiles were firing at other Panteran warships.

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

"Sir! We're in position with our 24 inchers. The Atlantic should be in range in another 30 seconds."

"Finally! Weapons officer, activate target acquisition software. I want firing solutions for the nearest escort ships targeted with the big guns."

"Sir! Shouldn't we target their capital ships first?"

"If we can destroy their escorts, their capital ships are in deep shit," Christopher said. "Especially their aircraft carriers."

"Very well, sir. Targets acquired."

"Twenty seconds."

Christopher slowly brought her right wrist toward the top of her brow to pat it dry of the beats of sweat that developed. She knew her crew was anxious and nervous, and she knew she was, too. But she hoped the nerves would serve as a shot of adrenaline. That and the desperation of defending her country and its way of life from an enemy hell bent on conquest.

"Ten seconds."

"Steady as she goes," Christopher said. "I want countermeasures ready for them when they return fire."

"Understood, sir. Five seconds."

"Three. Two. One."

"In range."

Christopher drew her breath.

"Fire!"

The 24 inch guns on the Potomac roared to life with their ordnance, while the 25 inchers on the Atlantic-class dreadnoughts boomed their dissent toward their enemies. Four of the new Oceania-class large escorts, really battlecruisers that were built to deal with missile saturation attacks, readied themselves to deal with any possibility of massive missile strikes, but also opened fire with their own 25 inchers.

The Sarzonian-built successor to the TAMD Mark III escorts Hyland-Nikolaas constructed would be given their first live test. Time would tell if the Portland Iron Works' decision to build their own Trimaran built successors with heavy guns would pay off.

[OOC: Don't worry about all the RL stuff you have to do. I understand. I'm having a blast in this RP too and I'm glad you're having a great time! No matter who "wins" the military end of this, in a way, we both have already won by telling a great story.]

The tank commanders were no fools, nor were they new to this game of gore and flame. Electronics were, of course, a major part of any unit's defensive and offensive capabilities, but the Reaver commanders had been at this for many years, and through dozens of conflicts. With today's introduction of EMP and other coward's weapons, they had quickly their new craft adapted to the old school of 'smash and shoot'.

"Going to manual fire, in two, one. ...change to manual complete. Targets acquired. Heavy Hitters aknowledged... Orders for target? Barrel lift to twenty-one, ninety-six. ...And rotate thirty-three left. - Target acquired. Permission to fire? Fire!" Technology from sixty years past flared to life as the gunners spun shut their barrel-covers and slapped the fire-switch. Flame belched and the units jerked, a few gouts of smoke shooting from the vehicles on the horizon.

Gouts of fire rained all about, and a number of the Reaver tanks had been damaged, but as electronics came back online after their blank, they began to roll. Manually, and with computer guidance, they began to throw death once more.

Around them, the Reaver's vaunted silksteel armors were not enough to stay the bullets from all flesh, but the Sarzonian's attacks were blunted, and gradually more gained the shore. Mortar fire soon began to erupt from the landing zones, and the assembled lines began their initial push against the Sarzonian front. An all out drive began toward the capitol city, armor and infantry side-by-side, in an attempt to meet the hoped uprising by Branwyn citizens and disloyal militia.

Aboardship, Starshone calmly ordered another sortie from his carriers to intercept the encroaching Sarzonian flights. For now, he had the advantage of numbers all around, and it was showing. Despite the fierce, fairly surpsrising, resistance of the Sarzonian regulars and militia, Panteran losses remained low.

"Sir, we have incoming ordinance at two-two-zero, shore batteries numbering one, two, three..."

As the officer droned on, Gaise raised his voice and, over the battle-din, barked his commands,"Seawall up. I want none of that shit getting through. Where are we on torpedo nets? There's no..." As if in answer to his question, a riot occured near one of the communication stations, soon reports of moderate damage to the light carrier Sun King and minor damage to a number of other ships.

"Bloody fuck! They're right there, sir. Active searching shows a number of submersibles firing... Returning fire, M'lord."

Cursing soundly, orders came to deploy depth charges, both deep-water and shallow. Underwater observation had immediately located the source of the firing and, hand-in-hand with the depth-cannons, returned their own hello. Nearly a thousand barrel-sized charges were launched toward the underwater threat, their splashes drowned out by the chatter of the Seawall's chainguns shredding inbound torpedoes and shell's with flak and fire, the massive mainguns of the warships, and the distant pounding of shells against the shore's defenses.

The chatter of the Seawall was ferocious, lifting high at times of scant inbound fire, while lowering do a deep thrum as more and more shells came in. A mixture of chaingun and flak-cannon, the effectiveness against Sarzonian shell and missile were astounding, and every ship, from the smalles mine-detector to the largest carrier, had it. The air around the ships became saturated with thousands of flak-bursts, the fabled 'Fog o' Flak' that had so many times been the saving grace of Reaver seapower.

Grinding his teeth, Gaise listened to ever more reports of damage flood in. The Sarzonian's weren't taking this on their backs. "Where are those fucking freedom fighters? The time to strike is -now- if it was ever. One firm hit to a bridge or military HQ and we could end this thing decisively..."

Nycon Brax had lived longer than most men ever hoped, and had lived his life in a hundred different nations across the earth. He was originally born in New Spartha, of all places, but he had lost any such allegiance decades before Damien's Sentinals had completely wiped the nation from the earth. He was wanted for murder, espionage, and a hundred other charges in at least sixty nations. He was well known on the other side of things, and though he was nearing eighty years old, he was still sharp of mind and manner.

Though he had decided to aid the Lord Reaver in his relationship with the 'Restore Sarzonia Task Force'. Silly name for an extremist group. He thought, but would never have said. He was far too good for such things. Yes, he would help the relationship along, but not because he believed in any idealogy, but because he was old, and he knew what was needed about the group, for he had lived in Sarzonia for nearly a decade in faceless obscurity. He had worked for Panteran interests before, and was always pleased with the rewards. He had already contacted a member of Reaver Intelligence, and had been promised much.

Yes, it would pay well, he thought as he hobbled into a bar where members of the RSTF were known to frequent. He had only to glance through the twenty-odd patrons gathered to know who he needed, as most seemed to nervously watch the reports of war on the television. A sweating, moustached man playing pool and drinking heavily, his clothing black. That was the one.

Ordering himself a tall bourbon and water, he made his way over to the freedom fighter. Easing himself onto a seat near the pool table, Brax hummed a soft tune. When it drew the eyes of the man, he beckoned with two fingers and murmered,"I seek audience with a certain group of your comrades, mmm? We both know your business, and we both know of your preperations. I have orders from one not to be named, though he is, and would be, a friend to those opressed..."

Christopher grimaced at the large number of shells that were being shot down.

"That's unusual," she said. "They must have some extraordinarily great CIWS systems to knock down that many naval gunshots."

"What should we do, Commodore?"

"Keep firing. Sooner or later, the law of averages is going to catch up to them."

"Aye, sir."

It'd better catch up to them, she thought, looking at the tactical display. One of the light carriers suffered moderate damage, while other ships suffered slight damage in the first round of the attacks.

"Get the VLS tubes ready," she said. "I want the Scourge and Scorcher missiles ready to go."

"Should we arm them with the tac warheads?"

Christopher thought for a moment. One Scorcher missile armed with a tactical nuke was powerful enough to wipe out an entire U.S. aircraft carrier battle group, she realised, since the Scorcher was based on a Russian missile. The missile the Scourge was based upon so worried the former United States Navy that they sent an entire carrier battle group after a single Russian destroyer armed with that missile.

With conventional weapons, it would take several Scorcher missiles to wipe out the entire Panteran fleet. But Christopher decided she wanted to save that trump card for later, if it turned out she needed it. Right now, she wanted to deal the Panterans another vicious shot.

"Conventional weapons, mister," she said. "We don't need to destroy this fleet of theirs. Just give them enough damage to force their hand a little bit."

With doubt creeping into his voice, Weapons Officer George Hawk sighed a reluctant, "aye sir."

"Countermeasures away!"

The Oceanias fired their anti-missile batteries, along with the escort ships and the Potomac herself. They were getting the majority of the missiles with their Hornet SAMs and the short range Yellow Jacket mini-SAMs and the 35 mm Millennium Guns knocked down a few other missiles. Meanwhile, decoys drew off others, but one shot managed to hit the Potomac, causing an area near the primary communications array to envelop in flames.

"Damage control teams to Deck 8 immediately!" Captain Edward Hansen, the nominal commander of the Potomac shouted. The automated fire suppression systems would start work on dousing the flames immediately, but Hansen wanted to make sure the fire was well under control. The backup communications systems immediately came online, though Hansen and Christopher both thanked their lucky stars the targeting software was still online.

"Targets acquired, sir."

"Full spread, missiles and naval guns. Use the secondary guns to target their escorts if they're in firing range. Give 'em a few more torpedoes while you're at it."

"Aye, sir."

With a growing look of anger mixed with extreme hatred for her new Panteran enemies, Christopher drew her right hand into a fist and all but growled.

"Fire!"

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

"Direct hit on one of their ships," Alvarez shouted as the Sun King reeled from the impact.

"Sir, they're returning fire. Depth charges."

Depth charges, Jacobi thought. They haven't been in use since World War II.

"Helm, evasive maneuvers. Get the Nixies ready in the event of torpedo fire. Make ourselves as hard a target for those bastars as we can."

"Aye, sir."

The Liestes increased its speed slightly and veered hard to starboard, evading one depth charge and staying out of the range of two more.

"Alvarez, I want torp tubes three and four loaded and torp tubes one and two reloaded."

"Aye, sir." "Torpedo tubes loaded."

"I want a firing solution that can get through those torpedo nets and get to that carrier," Jacobi said.

Alvarez pulled off the headset, and with an unmistakable quaver in his voice, said, "sir, torpedo tubes are ready."

"Then get to it," Jacobi said.

"Aye, sir." Alvarez's right hand trembled as he pushed the button to fire the torpedoes from all four tubes and the sub shook with the energy required to launch them.

"Mr. West, right full rudder. Take us to St. Christine's. I have a hunch we're going to be needed there, too."

"But sir, what about the rest of the fleet?"

"We've got to make sure we can be available when the ISN gets its shit together."

"Aye, sir."

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

"Sir, bandits at four o'clock!"

"Hard right, let's put some moves on those fuckers and blast them to kingdom come!"

"Roger that!"

The SZ-2 Albatross air superiority fighters, built more for dealing with enemy fighters than the SZ-1 Vultures, were going to use their maneuverability to their full advantage, performing banks and hard turns that they hoped would frustrate Panteran efforts to target their squadrons.

"Get locks on their fighters and blast 'em out with all you've got Hellrider," the squadron leader yelled into her communications device, taking great care to employ maximum encryption. Not that her plans were any great secret. She knew the Panteran fighters were gunning for the same mission, but she didn't want to give away her position or that of any of the fighters under her command.

"Roger that Den Mother."

Colonel Jacqueline Barclay grimaced. She hated being called Den Mother, even though as the commanding officer and a woman who was old enough to be the mother of just about every pilot under her command, she earned that moniker. She was still one of the very best pilots on her station and with several Branwynians in the squadron, she felt comfortable that the squadron would give it all they had.

She remembered from her history lessons that despite impossible odds and outdated F-16 fighter jets, a squadron of Branwynian pilots took on 75 Mauiwoweean jets and shot down 13 of them. She knew their odds were impossible, but she figured her pilots had more of a fighting chance. She was desperate to prove herself right.

"Acknowledged. I've got one bandit in my sights now. Firing!"

Her fighter launched one of its AAMs at the Panteran fighter in her crosshairs and she followed it up with several booms from her autocannon. She wanted to make sure she got a kill on an enemy with it in her sights, and she readied chaffs and flares in the event the Panterans got her in their sights. But she wanted to make sure she was as difficult a moving target for the Panteran fighters as she possibly could be, so she veered her aircraft hard to the right and then throttled her aircraft high into the air, keeping an eye on both the locations of enemy fighters and on her aircraft's service ceiling.

I've got about four Robin small diametre bombs, she remembered. I need all the maneuverability I can get. Maybe I can get something else out of it, she mused, increasing speed until she reached a position near one of the larger Panteran warships. She pushed the hatch to release the bombs from her weapons bay and four Robin small diametre bombs began a rapid skyward descent toward the Panteran fleet.

The rest of the squadron also followed suit in their wild maneuvers, making sudden banks and rolls and firing both missiles and autocannons when they got Panteran aircraft in their sights. Barclay hoped that they could provide enough of a distraction to the Panteran aircraft for the Vultures to swoop on their prey and claim a few kills. Toward that end, four Vultures modified to carry the Bayonet torpedoes launched those torpedoes toward enemy warships.

Maybe those Goddamn Reavers won't have a fleet to go back to if we play our cards right.

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

"Countermeasures, get the countermeasures up!"

"I'm trying!"

BOOM!

The tank wasn't directly hit by the oncoming enemy fire, but a glancing blow was enough to knock out the tank's tactical display. The battery backup flickered for a moment before it came to life.

"Damage report!"

"Minor damage to the hull, but we lost our primary tactical display. The battery backup's going to have to be enough for now."

"Fire more smoke grenades. Maybe we can use the blindness to get away."

"Aye, sir."

The tank sent more smoke grenades toward the armoured units, and motored toward a covered embankment where it would hope to fire its ETC guns unimpeded. The other tanks fired occasional rounds from their ETC cannons, while Captain Lloyd Honeyworth got another idea.

"Get the sabot rounds in there and fire at those bastards!"

"Yes sir!"

Honeyworth's Jag fired a sabot round, whilst two other tanks did the same. All the while, anti-armour weaponry began to ring the beach.

"Major, we've got the anti-armour in position."

"Fire!"

The anti-armour weaponry began to ring out its own hello as the smoke from the grenades cleared up and Holloway's tank found cover. It would most likely be worked on by the army corps of engineers whenever they had a chance, but right now, it would have to get quick repairs on the fly or be used in its current damaged state.

"I want armour piercing rounds, now," Kevin West shouted to his infantry riflemen. And I want some fuel air explosives directed at those Reavers."

"Yes, sir!"

The men kept up a withering fire toward the Reavers on the beach whilst other riflemen crawled into range in their camouflage and on top of the spectra fibre vests that replaced kevlar in the ISA as part of the reforms enacted by the government. They took out magazines of anti-armour shells designed to penetrate the armoured protection of enemy personnel and these shells would get their first test.

Meanwhile, the fuel air explosives, which often created an explosion reminiscent of a nuclear mushroom cloud, though the effect was short-lived, would at the very least cause some enemy troops to meet their own version of hell a lot earlier than they expected.

"Colonel, in range and ready."

"Fire!"

The shorter ranged shells of the Sarzonian guns sent another round of flame in the direction of the Reavers and the fuel air explosives started hurtling toward their targets. In various buildings throughout Daltrey, explosive devices were rigged to a remote control system that would be detonated once a certain number of Reavers entered a building. In homes and apartment buildings, snipers set up their rifles with their aim to cut down Reavers as they approached the buildings themselves.

I hope the army hurries its asses up and gets here," one sergeant thought as he waited desperately for reinforcements sent by Sarzonia in the form of a full Fleet, with two divisions of regular army troops under Lieutenant General Ryan Kennedy to augment the limited colonial and Sarzonian forces. Unbeknownst to them, the ISA was on its way: To St. Christine's. Kennedy decided he wanted to land his troops where the Reavers weren't and set out to intercept them, either in Daltrey or further into the countryside. The Navy was still steaming toward Daltrey in the hopes of contesting the Panterans, but Christopher with a mere 40 warships wasn't expected to last long enough. Perhaps she could pull something out of her ass and weaken the Panterans enough to let the Fleet strike a fatal blow, but against a world megapower, that was uncertain at best.

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

"Mike, do you want to make a speech to the Branwynians," Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner said.

"What the hell do I say? 'Keep fighting until the cavalry comes'? Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to defeat those guys even if we had an army that wasn't a world laughingstock?"

"No, Mike," Tyler interrupted. Several Cabinet members looked in shock. Tyler rarely ever got involved in situation room-type discussions.

"What you do is tell the Branwynians that you're there to support their freedom against the conquering evils of Pantera. Remind them that they're fighting for their homes and their way of life against an enemy that's out for territory."

"So you mean give them a lot of propaganda?"

"No," Tyler said. "How about you promise them independence if they help hold off the Panterans?"

"I can't do that, not without an Act of Parliament!"

"Remember, the Wartime Powers Act? Remember Article XVII? Use them," Tyler said as he walked toward the underground bunker that served as his and Sarzo's quarters during extreme emergencies.

"Don't listen to him," Haffner said. "Let the people who know what they're doing handle this."

"Handle what," Sarzo retorted. "You forget you're talking about my partner over there. And politics ain't exactly rocket science. I'm going to invoke Article XVII and the Wartime Powers Act and I'm going to make that speech."

"Mr. President!"

"My mind's made up. Now excuse me, I've got work to do." Sarzo turned and walked briskly toward the broadcast centre and walked up to the podium. With the bright lights of cameras in front of him, Sarzo began to speak as soon as he heard the signal.

"Citizens of Branwyn," Sarzo began, with his face showing a forceful determination that Sarzonians and Branwynians rarely saw in their President. "As you know, the rogue state of Pantera, in blatant violation of Sarzonian and Branwynian sovereignty, has attacked Daltrey and is making it known that their goal is to take Branwyn from us. They claim that we are an oppressive regime when they neglect to mention their own dictatorial behaviours.

"I implore each and every one of you to oppose the Panteran 'Reavers' as strenuously as you are capable. If not directly in combat, refuse to provide any aid to them as much as you can. Hide your valuables. Burn anything that can be construed as sensitive information. But by all means, fight the enemy and we will join you arm in arm as we defy the Panteran threat.

"I am here to announce now that as of this moment, the Wartime Powers Act and Article XVII of the Sarzonian Constitution (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=330340) is hereby invoked. I assure you that this measure is a temporary one and shall only be in effect until such time as this emergency passes. I am also here to announce that if the people of Branwyn are successfully able to force the Panterans to depart without having taken the colony, I will sign an executive order granting immediate independence, to take effect as of the total cessation of hostilities.

"We recognise and appreciate the great and difficult task in front of us in these terrible times. But we also have great admiration for our Branwynian brothers and sisters for their extreme courage and determination and our hearts soar with every demonstration of those wonderful attributes. Until victory is ours!"

With that, the camera light dimmed as Sarzo turned and walked away from the podium.

"Great speech, Mike," Tyler said as Sarzo returned to their quarters.

"God, I hope so."

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

Akbar Rafsanji noticed Brax's gesture and ambled over to his table as if he'd seen an old friend from uni. He sat down with a jovial expression on his face that melted into a serious demeanour as soon as he finished scanning the room to make sure no one was eyeing them suspiciously.

"Good, you made it," Rafsanji said. "I wish they'd turn on the damn air conditioning," he said, though the heat in the bar was far from oppressive. "My men stand ready to assist you in your goals of striking a blow at the Great Demon, Sarzo. It has long been our organisation's goal to overthrow him and repeal many laws we find immoral and wrong. Notably," he said, with his voice clouding over in a venomous snarl, "the pro-gay rights legislation. I'm tired of having my country run by a couple of faggots.

"Though that is not our only goal. We have other goals in mind; notably, toward taking Sarzonia out of this war for good. My people hate the Praetonians, you must understand. They have thwarted our plans more times than I care to count.

"Based on the what my informants within the colonial government tell me, their next step will be to move the government from Daltrey and toward Entwhistle. The terrain toward that city is known for being rather harsh, as the infrastructure here has never been the same since the insurrection and the Quasi War against Sdaeriji. There is another city that lies between Daltrey and Entwhistle. Its name is Bonham. It's a training ground for the colonial troops and the Sarzonian Army.

"The ISA has been training fiercely since Parliamentary hearings after their disaster in Inkana. I suppose you're finding that out to an extent on the beachhead."

Rafsanji looked into Brax's eyes, hoping to get a sense of what his information was doing to the Panteran agent's mental gymnastics. I could always read other people like a book, he thought. But this guy's real good.

Tag, wow Sarz, that was one long post.

And great work so far guys.

Excellent RP Guys! Sarzonia, you are coming out of this conflict a major power in the world!

(Overblown Tag)

OOC: Sarzonian declaration of war against Pantera (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=441069), for reference only.

OOC: If it's OK please accept the following, if not, let me know and I'll go away

General Ripper ran towards the office, only to be stopped by Ms. Jackson, probably the only person, other than king Rox himself, that dared stand up to him.

"Jack, where the hell are you going in such a hurry?" she asked.

"Rox, has got to know Harriet's motherland, Sarzonia has declared war and may be in trouble. They've suspended production from the IOC and . . . well, dammit Janet, you've got to let me in to his office!"

"OK, hang on Jack, just sit tight, let me buzz him."

:::buzzzzzzzzz::: King Rox picked up the phone - "Your Highness, General Ripper is here with some information I think you might need to hear." said Janet.

"OK, send him on in. Oh, and Ms. Jackson, please call me 'Rox'" not 'your highness.' You should know by now that such formality between you and me is not necessary."

::: Gen. Jack T. Ripper entered the office of King Roxicet "Rox" Soma Narcosis :::

"Rox!" he said, using the familiar tone that, like Ms. Jackson, he was permitted to use, "We've got a situation in Sarzonia. They are at war. Branwynne is causing trouble again and Pantera is involved too. We can't confirm it, but we suspect the Black Queen, even from her prison cell, might be involved!"

"Jack, calm down" said the king. "Mike and his consort Jay can handle things in the short term with no problem. It's only just started, nows the time to offer aid. I want you to get the troops and, especially the navy, geared for action. I'll let you know what to do. Just make sure we're ready."

"OK your highne . . . Rox, I'll get on it." With that, General Ripper left the room and King Rox began to type.

"Dear Mike:
We understand your situation at current and are distressed. As our long time friend an ally, please let me know what we can do to assist. W.M.D., Inc. can assume production of IOC items. My nation as a whole stands ready to commit 15 full carrier groups, 5 million army and marine ground forces and 3,000 of our best planes to your combat effort in addition to financial and humanitarian support if you desire. This is your war and the enemies and nature of your dispute with them are barely known to us. However, you are our ally and the person we trust the most. We will support you no matter the cost. Please let me know if you desire our military assistance. The monetary and humanitarian aid is being sent regardless.
Sincerely,
Your friend and ally,
His Royal Highness,
King Roxicet "Rox" Soma Narcosis
Son of 'Lude II
King, Mauiwowee

P.S. former Queen Harriet is asking to be returned home. We might be willing to turn her over to you if we can recieve the appropriate assurances.

OOC: Yeah bud, I think we're gonna keep this just me and Sar, at least for now.

IC:

As the guns crashed and the men died, an old man sipped his drink. Nycon Brax watched this Branwynian and tilted his head. When he spoke, his tone was laced with urgency. He felt no particular hurry, but he knew that if these men did his bidding quickly, his rewards would be even greater. "Quickly now, comrade. Haste is of paramount importance, understand? The Panterans will have much of the militia and Sarzonian dogs tied up on the beaches."

"I am sure your organization has contingency plans. Things planned out and readied for, but simply have not been done, -yet-. The time for these things is now. I would advise a wide-spread uprising. Extreme tactics would, mmm, obviously be best. With the Sarzonian machine shaken from within, they will crumble before the Panterans. That much is obvious, is it not? What is not so clear is who will be in power when the smoke clears."

The old man leaned forward and smiled his withered old smile, letting the full meaning of his comment sink into his companion's thick skull. With casual carelessness he reached into his coat and produced a thick, rubber-band bound stack of large-sum bills. A gnarled old finger flipped through the edges of the bills for a few moments before he sat them on the table and inclined his head.

Smiling lazily, he pushed it across the table to the Branwynian and nodded,"Three thousand, for your effort in getting this started. Should your, mmm, uprising go as is wished, the one who we will not name will be -very- grateful, and will see all those with a hand in things well rewarded... But I expect to hear the concussion of righteous anger reverberating through the Sarzonian hearts within the next two hours, Sir. Alert your cells. Their time has come."

<OOC>
I realize that this is a solo contest between Sarzonia and Pantera, but this is how I'd react regardless. There should be no military effect until after the Branwyn situation is resolved (one way or the other). Until and unless the two of you agree to it, I will make no further posts here.
</OOC>

That was fast. The Warlord mused silently as he read the External Security report. Not a bad strategic move on Pantera's part. I think we could work with their military. Too bad they're moving against a Dominion ally. After carefully reading the report a second time, he keyed in a command to his desk console. The display screen lit up, showing a severely unattractive older woman wearing basic black. "Ms. Connors, I am profoundly displeased with External Security's work on this Sarzonia-Pantera situation."

Only the Warlord's extensive skill at reading expressions revealed the woman's reaction. Her eyes widened and narrowed slightly, so fast it might almost have been a twitch. She began to reply. "Sir, I assure you ..."

The Warlord cut her off in mid-spin. "Spare me the sophistries. I expect External Security to provide timely warning of just this sort of disaster before it happens." He didn't raise his voice, but the Director of External Security could hear the steel in his words. "How could you imbeciles have missed Pantera's preparations for this move against one of our allies?"

The woman's unattractive face grew even less comely as she began to sweat. "Sir, I ..." She stammered, then composed herself with a visible effort. "My fault, sir. I tasked most of our ES assets to covering the unfolding situation in AMF and that morass in Inkana. That included satellite assets as well. With all of the analysts spending most of their time working on AMF imagery, we didn't get around to seeing the Pantera build-up until this morning."

"By which time it was too late to do anything to prevent it."

"Yes, sir." She swallowed and stared rigidly at the top of her display screen. "No excuses, sir. Shall I summon my deputy?"

"I've already done so. You are relieved of command. Internal Security personnel will escort you to my office." The Warlord cleared the screen and activated another circuit. Another woman appeared on the display. This one was slightly younger and not quite as unattractive, but her eyes were hard and dark. She spoke first.

"Morning, sir. I see you've read your ES report."

"I'm not in the mood for chit-chat, Marshall. What's our status?" He didn't quite snarl at the woman. The situation wasn't her fault, after all.

Marshall King's hands moved just outside the display pickup range, and a sidebar began running on the Warlord's screen. He checked the data against his own sources and nodded. "Very good, Marshall. I authorize TRINITY TWO as of right now. I want everything that flies ready to launch, and double the CAP across the board. Everything that floats will make ready for sea. All leaves are cancelled."

The Marshall nodded absently as she keyed orders into her desk console. The Warlord continued, "I want your plans for protection of EOE territory on my desk in four hours. I want several alternative plans for relieving the Sarzonians and protection of our other allies on my desk two hours after that. You and the Chiefs of Staff will meet here at 1730 to discuss our options. Any questions?"

"Just one, sir." Marika King was made of sterner stuff than the former Director of External Security. She wasn't afraid to deliver bad news. "Are you aware that anything we do will be too late to affect the situation at Branwyn?"

"I am. Anything else?" When the Marshall shook her head, he snapped. "Make it happen, Marshall."

After clearing the screen again. the Warlord sat quietly and ran through several possibilities in his mind. At length, he activated a new circuit. "Your Omniferocity, I have a problem to report ..."

How the hell are we supposed to defeat these bastards, Kennedy grimaced as he sat aboard his Normandy-class heavy combat amphibious assault ship planning the strategy for a Sarzonian army that had much to prove to the world and, more importantly, to the Reavers. He grimaced as he looked at the intel on his enemy. Automagfreek's Sentinels were well-known throughout the world as fearsome enemies, and many armies made it their goal to find a way to slaughter them.

The Reavers may not have had the same cachet as the Sentinels in the eyes of some, but they were every bit as fearsome in the eyes of defence ministers the world over. Now the Branwynian milita and relatively small numbers of Sarzonian regulars were seeing one of those feared units first hand.

I guess I get stuck defending the colony, Kennedy thought whilst his brigadier generals coordinated training their units, both armoured and standard infantry. Major General Mike Quinn was getting his first assignment since Parliamentary hearings resulted in the major reforms for the Sarzonian army, and despite Kennedy's higher rank, it was Quinn who was the centrepiece of the new army. At least Quinn had a chance to work with allied commands with his Fifth Incorporated Army. Kennedy was going it alone.

"Colonel Whitney, please report to the situation room," Kennedy said, hitting the intercom. David Whitney was Kennedy's aide de camp and was a man who helped see him through border tensions with Chacor that nearly led to war. He felt a quiet sense of security when Whitney was there with him.

Whitney walked into the room with a look of surprising cheer for a man on what many in the ISA referred to as an impossible misison. Kennedy noticed the look on Whitney's face with a raised eyebrow.

"I've just looked at the intel on the Branwyn situation," Whitney said. "From the looks of it, the milita and the ISN are giving the Panterans a bigger fight than they expected. The ISN is supposed to be sending another fleet to counter the Panterans."

"That fleet is going to take four more days at normal speed, and two days if they're travelling at full steam," Kennedy reminded Whitney. "The chances of their getting to Daltrey in time are slim and none."

"They don't have to get there," Whitney said. "At least not for the first battle. We don't have to get to Daltrey to fight the Reavers there. I doubt it's going to be any secret that the Branwyn government is going to relocate to Entwhistle. I mean, any fool knows that. But on the way there, the Reavers are going to have to deal with mountainous terrain and we can get to Bonham in time to intercept them there."

"That and what about the freedom fighters movement?"

"Sarzo just announced he was going to sign an executive order giving Branwyn their independence if they won the war. Perhaps we could use that to our advantage?"

"I don't see how," Kennedy sighed. "The Panterans are already claiming that Sarzonia's oppressing Branwyn. If I know Pantera at all, they're going to use that PR bit to their advantage."

"Sarzo's no dummy," Whitney said. "Don't you see? That's why he did that. He wanted to blunt Pantera's advantage by announcing they'd get immediate independence if Pantera is defeated. We can use that to our advantage if we use our psyops to tell the Branwynian freedom fighters that freedom will be theirs if they join our side. We've got to tell them that the Panterans will try to keep the colony for themselves if we lose."

"Even if we did win the support of the freedom fighters, what then?"

"If we win the support of the freedom fighters, we blunt Pantera's best chance to defeat us without expending much of their energy. We'll force them to face a unified front. They won't be able to scatter us and get us to fight amongst ourselves. They'll have to face people who know the terrain and are fighting for their freedom."

Kennedy brought his hands together on his face in a thoughtful pose. Whitney was onto something. If he could bring his army units up, they could catch the Reaver formations by surprise by slamming into them from behind. But that would mean he'd have to call an audible on his original plan, which was to provide reinforcement at Daltrey and throw the Panterans off their tenuous foothold on Branwyn. It was the military equivalent of the bob and weave and it would allow his troops to get into combat position much more easily than they would have trying to sprint up to Daltrey.

"The 18th Armoured Division should be able to get to Bonham within 20 hours," Whitney said. "We're going to need to get air cover and our infantry is going to have to be top notch."

"And what about those transport vehicles we got from Soviet Bloc," Kennedy said. "The Humvee replacements?"

"Yes, they should be good for the terrain leading to Bonham," Whitney said. "As for the fighters, we've got those new Predators the AAC built after Inkana. They should be able to outmaneuver anything Pantera's got as far as air force goes. But we're going to have to figure out how to get those there under Pantera's noses."

"Isn't there an air force base within about 100 kilometres of Bonham?"

"Um, there's Fort Tracy, but that's about 160 kilometres away.

"That should work," Kennedy said. "Maybe we can fly at night and fly at low speeds and perhaps that wouldn't attract attention. We'd have to use full stealth to get there and fuel up. Then when they prepare their march, we send the aircraft in to provide aerial support."

"The Preds are interceptors, not strike aircraft," Whitney pointed out. "We can use them if we spot their aircraft first and we can go in and cause them some damage. We've also got the Jump Condors that can get there pretty damn fast. I think if we can get some of those aircraft near enough to the battle zone, we've got a chance there."

"Understood," Kennedy said. "We should get some rest. We'll reach St. Christines at around 21:30 hours. We're going to have a long day ahead of us so we're going to need to be alert when we face the enemy."

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

Rafsanji eyed the money Brax flashed in front of his eyes the way a nomad travelling across a desert would eye a glass of cold water. Don't drool, he thought. Even though that was more money than he saw at any one time, he knew he had to keep his composure.

He thought to himself what that money would do for him personally and what the kind of support Brax and the people who worked with and for Brax could provide could mean for his cause.

Sarzo's as good as dead, he thought smugly. Just then, a bespectacled woman from Branwyn Broadcasting Association's Channel 8 news appeared on the tele. She was well-known as an anchor, so her presence was not in itself a shock to Rafsanji, but with the first few words out of her mouth, that changed.

"The latest word from Woodstock, President Mike Sarzo has made a startling announcement. We take you live to the Gray House press room."

if the people of Branwyn are successfully able to force the Panterans to depart without having taken the colony, I will sign an executive order granting immediate independence."Colonial government officials are not commenting on the declaration, but insider sources tell BBA news that executive order would come as the last act under the Wartime Powers Act while Sarzo does not require Parliamentary approval."

Shit, Rafsanji thought. That makes our jobs that much harder. Until Sarzo made that announcement, Pantera held all the cards in all phases of the war. Now, Sarzo has taken one front in this massive war by himself: The psychological battle for the hearts and minds of Branwynians who longed to set their own path on the world's stage now had swung in favour of the longtime Sarzonian President.

Thinking quickly, Rafsanji remembered the Freedom NOW coalition was continuing to fight a guerilla-styled campaign against Sarzonian army regulars who remained in Branwyn after the colonian insurrection. He also remembered their leader, known only as Collins, was a radical who was a charismatic force and could get his band of rebels together in a heartbeat. But he also knew that Freedom NOW was only one of the factions that wanted independence immediately. The larger and better-oranised Branwynian Liberation Front was less likely to join forces with Freedom NOW, and knowing the A'Hearn, she was likely to have already started to work on them to get them behind her.

It isn't a war without a fight, Rafanji thought.

[OOC: Not my best effort, but I wanted to set some events in motion.]

Sarzo sat huddled at the terminal where war reports were coming in from the front lines of Sarzonia's war with Pantera. Reports of losses inflicted on the city itself, notably the Town Square being engulfed in flames and dozens of people trapped in the steadily increasing rubble from the Panteran attacks. Firefighters and emergency medical personnel would have to work overtime and then would have the unenviable task of airlifting patients out of Daltrey.

Traffic slowed to a halt along Colonial Route 23 headed north toward a village far removed from the fighting where a good number of citizens had family. However, that village would be only temporary quarters for the citizens, as it was near the boarder with a Hamptonian colony. Hamptonshire's status as an "armed neutral" meant that they likely would soon become embroiled in the war effort sooner, rather than later.

"How much longer until the Fleet can get there," Sarzo asked as he saw Bunhall walk by, grimacing as she was reading from a binder.

"We deployed the nearest fleet as soon as we could after hostilities began, but they're not going to materialise out of thin air," she said gruffly.

"Kathy, I know that," Sarzo replied. "What's the quickest it can get there?"

"At the slowest speed of their supply vessels, it will probably take them another six hours at the earliest."

"And what about the expeditionary force under General Kennedy?"

"That should be landing there within the hour."

"Hope he can get there in time," Sarzo said quietly, going back to look at his terminal with no small measure of concern. He looked at Tyler as if to ask what to do, then he remembered that he was the one who suggested implementing the Wartime Powers Act, and he also remembered his bold move to announce that he would sign the executive order to free Branwyn after hostilities ended.

"Hey Mike," Tyler said as he was reading a history book.

"What," Mike said quickly.

"Know anything about the Emancipation Proclamation?"

"Jay, I don't have time for," Sarzo began, until he saw that Tyler was pointing something out in a history book he had splayed out in front of him. It was a scribbled note about the effect it had on the war effort. Namely, a Great Britain that looked like it would use its Royal Navy to smash the Northern blockade suddenly withdrew support for the South.

"What about giving Branwyn its independence now?"

"That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

"No," Tyler said. "With limits."

"Such as?"

"Only grant independence to the areas under our control. Give a $1 trillion grant over 10 years to the Branwynian government, and here's the kicker," Tyler said. "Give general amnesties and full pardons for any acts committed prior to the announcement."

"Are you nuts?"

"That may be," Tyler said, "but if it works, you'll be viewed as a genius."

Sarzo walked over to his laptop and decided to ponder the most bold and daring act of his age.

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

"General, we're approaching St. Christines."

"All right, let's move!"

For Kennedy, the time for staging and conducting combat training aboard the Normandy-class transports and other vessels had passed. The time for briefings on the Panterans and for strategy planning sessions aboard ships was at an end. It was time for live action.

Kennedy lowered himself into his Z-37 Raptor amphibious combat vehicle and it touched the waters and headed toward the beach along with other vehicles and armour. Once ashore, the Sarzonians would advance toward Bonham with the idea of catching the Reavers from behind.

"Stealth is of the essence," Kennedy said into his communications device, set to maximum encryption. "We can't just announce our presence."

It's going to be slow going, Kennedy thought. If we raced up there, we could get there in 20 hours, but we can't run up there and still be stealthy. He looked around at the uniforms of his men and women as some of them began to get into their vehicles. Some of them were wearing the green camouflage intended for jungle and forest combat, which was the scene they were facing en route to Bonham. But others were wearing a gray that was designed to mimic the mountainous conditions through that part of the colony.

Brigadier General Terry Collins would take his armoured brigade to the right whilst Brigadier General Jane Wells was in charge of the left side of the formation. Whitney would command the infantry which stayed in the middle and was armed with Smasher ATGMs, designed to penetrate some of the most difficult armour in the world. Kennedy sat and reviewed the plans as he watched the terrain go by and studied the satellite imagery. He watched the flickers of light from both Sarzonian and Panteran weaponry as the two sides exchanged hostilities throughout a war that was surprisingly fierce on both sides.

Let's hope Operation Hangman works, Kennedy thought.

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

Sarzo finished the final edits on his Declaration of Sovereignty, running it by Tyler for one last edit before he took to the television cameras to address the Branwynian people. His stroke had to be bold enough and his action had to have enough of an impact to turn the tide of the war completely against the Panterans. For that, he had to make sure the wording was just right.

He showed the document to both House Speaker Josh Williams and Senate President Pro Tempore Karen Beltran before going live with it, though with Parliament in recess to allow them to relocate to the emergency below ground city underneath the Military Command Centre in the Saugerties suburb of Woodstock, Parliament wasn't exactly in position to reject the document.

Sarzo took a breath as the countdown neared its end.

"And you're live."

"Citizens of Branwyn," Sarzo began. "I come before you today with an announcement. I told you earlier that if you were able to successfully throw off the attempts of the Panteran imperialists, you would be considered a free and independent republic. I now am prepared to offer you some details.

"I announce that this Declaration of Sovereignty shall take effect immediately. The text of the Declaration reads as follows:

Effective upon the announcement of this document to Branwynian media outlets, the areas of the Colony of Branwyn currently under Sarzonian control shall be recognised as the free and independent Republic of Branwyn. Colonial Governor Tom Brockton shall be recognised as the President of the Republic of Branwyn, and your Colonial Assembly shall be recognised thusly as your National Assembly. This Declaration of Sovereignty shall only take effect for those areas under direct Sarzonian control.

As a token of our intent to foster friendly relations with the newly independent Republic, we offer a $1 trillion grant over the first 10 years of independence. This grant shall take effect upon the cessation of hostilities with Pantera and the first payment shall be made not less than one month to the day following the end of hostilities. Future payments shall then be made on the anniversary of the date of first payment for the remainder of the 10 year term.

Finally, I am hereby issuing a full Presidential pardon and general amnesty for all freedom fighters for any acts they may have committed against the Incorporated States of Sarzonia, covering all acts that have taken place before this Declaration shall have taken effect. We hope that this step shall be the first in a long affiliation of friendship between Sarzonia and her Branwynian brethren.

We join with you in your efforts to remain free and independent in the face of this invasion by the Panteran rabble. Divided, we can not stand, but united, we can overcome.

In far Pantera, the Lord Reaver was amused, though only slightly. Sarzo offered the people of Branwyn too little, too late. With the Panteran juggernaut at their side, Sarzonia would never be able to hold him back, even with the support of the populace. No. His little declaration would do nothing except help the Evenstar further his own agenda.

Branwyn was free. That was why he had gone to war in the first place, was it not? He snickered to himself. The world knew Sarzonia was dumb enough, or brave enough, to stand against the Panteran Storm, but the world also knew that eventually the sheer mass of Pantera and fabled ferocity of her Reavers would have overcome them. Dayne knew as much, and with such an opportunity as the Sarzonian declaration before him, he would not waste it.

Within an hour of Sarzo's broadcast, the wary little Panteran embassy in Sarzonia offered the President a letter, hand-written and sealed with wax. The letter had been faxed, to be sure, while the seal was added later by the ambassador. This was not the official waxen seal of the Lord Reaver, the blazing sunburst-with-tail that signified his name, Evenstar. No, this was the more common Panteran seal, the plain, unadorned longship of a thousand years ago. Such a symbol of simple, unrelenting warfare would not be lost on Mike Sarzo, Dayne was sure.


Sarzo,
Your men fight on bravely, suprising me greatly. I had thought they would crumble easily, but perhaps I underestimated them. It will not happen again, to be sure. With Pantera alongside the Branwynian rebels, do you think the scraps from your table will truly placate them? Victory is in their grasp. Violent, sweet victory. Would you have them kneel to you again and thank you for giving them what they could just as easily take? Do not be foolish.

However, I truly hope this little communique will go far in putting a stop to this conflict. I must remind you that this is an unofficial communication, and any attempt to put it out to media outlets will be met by scorn from Seastone Palace officials. This will remain private until official terms may be written up. Simple enough? I'm sure it is.

First, I will offer to sign an eighteen-month ceasefire and withdraw my forces from Branwyn, provided you do the same. Over the next three months we will withdraw together until only a token force remains. Call it thirteen-thousand troops to remain in-country to aid in the reconstruction.

Second, you will order a full withdrawal from Gholgothan waters. Your presence there is an irritation to me, but no more. If I wished to empty my harbors and fill the skies, I would do so, and your forces would be no more. Know that for true. Your presense in the Gholgothan theater will be limited to logistical support. In return I will also limit myself to such terms, if the hostilities spill out into other nations and regions friendly to yourself. I'll simplify it now. You stay out of my hair, I will stay out of yours.

Third, and this one I think will please you, I will offer to put forth pro-gay legislation before the Panteran lawmakers and those of all of my holdings abroad. Six billion souls, Sarzo, and countless more who would be swayed just by my example alone. I know of your lust for gay-rights. I myself carry no such desire, but it would be nothing for me to allow gay legislations to pass.

Finally, I will refrain from landing my own forces upon the shores of any of your allied nations for the remainder of hostilities. A like promise from yourself would, of course, be expected. This will ensure that both of our nations remain unscathed in the coming terror.

Now, Mister Sarzo, let me be quite frank. Your chances of defeating my war machine in all out combat are zero. If I had wished it, I could have landed in Branwyn with a hundred-thousand Reavers and swept away all before me. You know it, for you are no fool. My men are born for combat, bred for fury, and they truly believe they are righteous. As you yourself will know, there are none more dangerous than a righteous man.

I shall order my commanders in Branwyn to ease their assaults and wait for further orders from myself. I will expect you to do the same, while we negotiate. However... Let me warn you that treachery, here, will be punished most severely.

Should you seek to cheat me or defy me, I will land my armies en masse upon Sarzonia proper. I will conquer and burn all before me, and turn everything that is good and green in your lands to smoking rubble. My reasons for the Branwyn conflict are known to you and I both, so I will spare you, but know this: If I want what is yours, I will take it.

So far I have kept myself from all-out war, and I intend to continue this. By eliminating Sarzonia from the conflict, I will have struck a mighty blow for the Gholgothan cause. You yourself will have taken my own Reavers from the war abroad, and could count yourself victorious here. But if I am pushed, Sarzo, I will turn your lands into the Crow's Feast, and all your efforts at a homosexual utopia will be for naught. I will crush you if I am defied, but you will remain alive, Mike. You will live, to listen to the anguished wailing of your people, until there are no more screams, and there is only you, alone in the nightmare that you caused.

There is your choice, Mister President. Peace, or annihilation.

-Evenstar

Before boarding Sarzonia One bound to Navarre, in the capital of The Freethinkers Commonwealth, Sarzo perused the stack of mail brought to him by Executive Secretary to the President Becky Davis for the latest reports on the war. He rifled through reports of defences around the Sarzonian homeland running constant drills. He skimmed over Navy reports of increased patrols around Sarzonian waters and the Portland Iron Works’ construction of war build ships.

One item caught Sarzo’s attention, however, since it came from a domain name he hadn’t seen before. Evenstar. Sarzo’s back arched slightly as a subtle chill ran down his spine. Sarzo knew that was the Lord Reaver and he resolved to study the missive.

Seems Evenstar doesn’t know the first thing about diplomacy, Sarzo thought distastefully as he read the insults that permeated the letter. However, when he came upon the proposal, he raised his eyebrow. For a war that had only just started against a much larger opponent, the terms were essentially what Sarzonia was looking to reach all along.

This is a ‘you stay out, we’ll stay out’ treaty, Sarzo thought. If I said going in I’d get this, you’d either say I was crazy or that we’d beaten the Panterans. The third item caught his attention, however. Increase gay rights in Pantera? That was never on the table when this war started. He studied the proposal twice, three, four times.

“These terms are VERY generous,” Sarzo said out loud as Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis walked into the room. She had her bags packed and was en route to the ISS Pacitalia to begin a summit with Halberdgardia’s President in spite of her scant experience negotiating in summits like that. She was looking for last-second tips and advice from a more seasoned diplomat, but her ears perked up when Sarzo made his statement.

“Let me see,” she said. She read the missive from Evenstar. He saw Lewis’s expressions as she read the letter and from his knowledge of his longtime friend’s inner workings, he knew how the wheels in her mind were turning.

She must have seen the third proposal, Sarzo thought when he saw her eyes widen after a few minutes of reading it.

“This is not a humiliating treaty by any stretch,” Lewis said. “There’s enough to negotiate on. But we’ve got a few more cards we can play,” she said. “I trust you will know how to play them right.” She turned and walked toward Sarzonia Two for the flight to Nicksia and the ISS Pacitalia. Sarzo picked up his communications device and called the pilot of Sarzonia One.

“We’ve got a change of flight plans,” Sarzo said. “I need you to fly me to Toke. Namely, the Seastone Palace in Toke, Pantera.”

“What?!”

“You heard me. Now isn’t the time to ask questions or speculate. We’ve got a war to end.”

Sarzo called First Partner Jay Tyler, who had packed his suitcase and was going to travel to Isselmere-Nieland to wait out the duration of the war at Sarzo’s behest. Even though he wasn’t constitutionally in line for the Presidency should something happen to Sarzo, the President still wanted his partner safe. He figured Pantera wouldn’t dare attack a neutral country to get at the love partner of the leader of its enemies.

“Jay, change of plans. You’re coming with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to Pantera.”

“We?”

“Yes, you and I. Time is of the essence, Jay. Let’s go.”

Within a matter of minutes, Sarzo was handing Davis a sealed statement of his own to deliver to the Panteran embassy in Sarzonia.

We have read your statement, and besides what is clearly further underestimation of your opponents, in the interest of peace, I am willing to set aside those slights. I am willing to travel to meet you face to face discuss your proposal for ending the war. I am also willing to order my forces to arrange a temporary cease-fire whilst we negotiate a possible end to the war.

Obviously, we’re going to have our own proposals for ending the war, but I am interested in preventing the needless loss of untold millions of Sarzonians. And Panterans.

With respect to your proposed withdrawal of forces from Branwyn, I believe it should be the decision of the new national government of Branwyn to determine the schedule of withdrawal by our respective forces. Since they are now independent and you have asserted that you wanted to ensure their independence, we believe that is only fitting and proper that the former colonial government make the final decision.

I was originally scheduled to travel to The Freethinkers for a previously arranged conference, but I have just instructed Sarzonia One to set course for Toke. If you wish to host a conference at The Seastone Palace, I would be a willing participant, along with First Partner Jay Tyler. Once we are in the air, I will have my pilot radio you for instructions. As standard procedure when I am travelling during a war, I travel with a heavy Air Force escort. Please notify me of any instructions for the escort or for Sarzonia One and we will be sure to comply.

Mike Sarzo
President
Incorporated States of Sarzonia

Sarzo got on his communications device and contacted Vice President for Defence John Newman.

"John, this is Mike. Quick. Contact our forces commands in Branwyn and contact the Fleet Commands in Gholgoth. Instruct them to hold fire and await further instructions."

"Mike?"

"Pantera is proposing a cease fire and a treaty. The treaty looks pretty generous. If we can come to an agreement, we save millions of Sarzonian lives."

"And Panteran," Newman said in an even tone that Sarzo knew hid a small measure of fear. However, the tone was slightly different enough in timbre that Sarzo detected a tiny undercurrent of defiance.

"I'm going to Toke to try to hammer out a treaty with the Lord Reaver," Sarzo said. "Hopefully, I'll come back with something the House will ratify."

We can all hope.

Dayne was impressed. He had never thought that the Sarzonian President would dare to come himself, but once again, the boy-buggerer showed his mettle. No, he thought, catching himself. That sort of talk would never do, here. The man showed iron, in his decision, and Dayne could respect that.

His orders were issued swiftly, and within the hour, the Panteran guns in Branwyn fell silent, and the Reavers ashore began to dig in. Fortifications were thrown up and armored units moved into defensive positions. The fleets there, and in other sectors of the world, would remain on high alert.

As the Sarzonian President's plane, and his military escort, entered Panteran airspace, a half-dozen Reaver AtmosFighters descended from the upper reaches of the atmosphere and moved to shadow their enemies. Keeping a careful distance, they broadcast a 'No Fly: Diplomatics Inbound' message to all about.

As they approached the Panteran mainland, however, the lead fighter opened a frequency, "Sarzonia One, this is Windwail Three, under orders from Reaver Command in Toke. Your fighter escorts are to break away and head to coordinates Three Three Seven North for refuelling and to await President Sarzo's departure. I repeat, break away and head to coordinates Three Three Seven North.'

"By the Word of the Lord Reaver all Sarzonian delegates are under His Own protection and will come to no harm. Sarzonia One is instructed to head directly for the airstrip in Toke where the tower will instruct you further. Any deviation from His orders will be considered an act of agression and will result in forfeit of His protection and renewed hostilities.

"Welcome to Pantera."

The Evenstar hurriedly ordered his Great Hall readied, and the Queen Reaver to attend him for the Sarzonian arrival. Diplomacy was her game, not his own, and he was sure the boy-buggere... the Sarzonian's would appreciate her grace and beauty.

"You heard them," Sarzo radioed his Air Force pilots personally. "Comply with all instructions. Sarzonia One out."

As the Panteran guns fell silent, so too did the Sarzonian ordnance. Kennedy and his armed forces would continue their journey to Bonham, but under vastly different circumstances. They would reinforce garrisons and set up their defences in the event peace talks broke down.

Sarzo's going personally? Kennedy thought. That's a switch. Under wartime conditions, Sarzo was usually adamant about not attending conferences with an active enemy himself. He'd send Lorber or now Grant Haffner since Haffner was the more blunt of the External Affairs officers. He'd send a military man, notably Admiral Marcus Patinkin during Sarzonia's war against Corp Sac. But he never went himself.

Until now. Sarzo must have something up his sleeve, Kennedy thought. With the peace treaty terms a secret to all but Sarzo and Lewis, the only prevailing thought that ran through the minds of the military and Cabinet officials was that something was up.

Tyler was studying the terrain outside the window of Sarzonia One with nervous focus while Sarzo was busy looking at whatever information he could find about Pantera.

We've got to do a better job of threat management, Sarzo thought. This war caught the Sarzonians by surprise. While the Sarzonians fought fiercely, they were suddenly thrust into a world war with a foe that had little history with Sarzonia and until recently, had no reason for a war. Free Lands of Pantera, Sarzo thought bitterly. He ruefully shook that thought out of his head. These terms weren't even close to surrender terms. Peace has a chance.

Sarzo thought long and hard about the Blood Pact that existed between Pantera and Automagfreek. Sarzonia stopped just short of declaring war against Automagfreek in its government statements, though the Nicole Lewis-flavoured statement was a tacit declaration of hostility against Automagfreek. While the bonds of friendship between Sarzonia and Praetonia weren't forged quite as long as those of the Gholgoth powers the Sarzonians called their enemies, the ties between the two maritime nations were among the tightest of any bilateral alliance. Sarzonia did not shun her ally. Period. And Sarzo knew the same held true about Pantera and its ally.

The fact that Pantera was proposing to withdraw from the war provided that Sarzonia did the same made an impression. Military planners for the Allied forces would gladly take that trade. While it weakened the Allied war effort to take out one of its storied naval powers with a long tradition of excellence, ridding the Gholgoth pact of its largest power would do far more damage to their war effort.

"Sir, we're approaching the airstrip now."

"Notify the tower for further instructions."

"Control tower, this is Sarzonia One. Request permission to land, over."

The next act is just beginning.

OOC: CAUTION! Fucking monster post ahead. :) I got the itch to write.

IC:

Although Sarzo had doubtless seen the gargantuan fortress as his plane landed some eight miles away, the driver watched his face as the motorcade rounded the last bend of the road that snaked up the three-thousand foot high Cliffs of Toke. Even after so many years in the service of the Lord Reavers, the old man never tired of seeing the dozen-odd towers and the looming curtain wall that surrounded the ancient fortress.

Though only five-hundred years old, the grey-green stones of the walls and soaring ramparts seem as ancient as the earth itself, their surfaces spotted with centuries of lichen and salt. With the arrival of foreign delegates, the servants in the Palace had festooned the old walls and draped the high ramparts themselves with the burgundy and black shadowcat banners of the Lord Reaver himself, as well as a dozen other brightly colored flags, all bearing the sigil of one of Pantera's Great Houses: Cresting wave for House Seaswell, the blue-on-black longships of House Kasix, the silver and crimson scorpions of the Tor, and of course, the fabled dogshead banner of the legendary Reaver General, Caval the Warhound.

Far, far below the great walls of the Seastone Palace, to the southwest, stretched the expanse of the Blood Bay. With the recent storms, the brownish-red deposits of silt that gave the Bay it's name were swirled with fresh water from the tributaries that ran down out of the Dawn Mountains and the Range of Rage, leaving long blue streaks through the red waves that stretched out to the southern horizon. A number of vessels, oblivious to the warfare raging to the south, lolled lazily offshore, while a few more pleasure craft slid through the waters at full sail.

Breaking his reverie, the old driver lowered the seperating screen and offered behind him,"My apologies, President Sarzo, but since you are bound for the Seastone Palace, I figure you might like to hear it's story, mmm? A terrible story, it is, but it is the story of Pantera, and the very first Lord Reaver."

Slowing at the first pair of massive gates set into the huge curtain wall, the driver continued,"A thousand years ago the Reavers, a tribe who lived in these lands and on those seas, and many of their rival tribes began to sail afar, forging the image many folks have of Pantera. The wild, long-haired barbarians of old, sailing their needle-thin, leathern-sailed longships incredible distances to plunder strange lands and return their booty to the shores of Pantera...'

"All of the Tribes began to make these voyages, but for some reason the tribe of Reavers profited most of all. They had the nack for it, see? As the other tribes simply existed, they thrived. Soon the others wanted what they had and banded together. However, even all of them allied could not overcome the terrible ferocity of the Reavers. They succumbed, and the Tribes of Toke were sacked, creating the first Panteran Kingdom, however it was not to remain so."

Licking his lips, the driver accelerated the car into the cavernous tunnel that led through the great wall,"Not even the Reavers could tame the terrible might of the Panteran tribes, and soon they, too, were only another tribe amongst the tribes, eternally at war....'

"Around the year of 1450 or so, a previously unknown warrior emerges from the tribe of the Reavers. This is the first Lord Reaver, and the ancestor of the Evenstar himself... His terrible rages and uncomprimising will earned him the name Vayne, the Iron Lion, and a fitting name it was. He wielded his warriors as a swordsman wields his blade, conquered all before him, putting thousands - no, hundreds of thousands, to the sword. In doing so, he broke the back of all resistance. From the western Cliffs of Toke to the northern, Bloody Gate of the Vale, and east, to the frozen shores of Daath, he carved a mighty kingdom... Indeed, it would have been a mighty kingdom, in any day, but..."

Glancing in the mirror to ensure his audience was paying attention, the driver smiled and continued,"...But, he lusted for more conquests, as such men are wont to do, and as he plunged south, into the fertile lands of the great valley, he began to take captives. These poor souls were sent north, to Toke. Here, the Iron Lion had ordered the construction of the greatest fortress the world had ever seen. He supposedly said 'I want a new mountain erected there, atop the High Cliffs. A fortress like none other, impenetrable'.'

"And build a mountain they did, as you can see. For forty-five long, terrible years the Iron Lion waged his wars, and the captives taken were sent to the ever-growing Seastone Palace. Panteran lands or distant lands, it made no matter. He plundered their loot to finance his great fortress, and he stole their children to build it.

"Finally, around the year of 1500, the great Palace was completed to remain until this day, however, the story does not end there, I am afraid. Upon the completion of his fortress, the Iron Lion ordered every mason and slave, every cook-girl and slave-driver, killed. With their murder, he sealed the secrets of his Palace forever, and sealed they were."

Smiling as he pulled to a stop before the great flight of steps that led to the gigantic bronze and oak palace doors, the driver gestured,"And from this place did the Lord Reavers unite the Panteran Continent, and from this place did they sail to conquer and plunder other lands, their longships and wild, barbaric cries striking terror into nations thousands of miles away, as they do now. The fortress, for five-hundred years, had never fallen until the Evenstar himself took the castle from traitors, some two years ago, in his bid to annihilate the cowards of the Seastone Council, and to avenge the murder of his brother, the Lord Reaver Bastien the Bronze. Thank you for listening, Sir..." Opening the door for the delegates, the driver bowed his head respectfully, seeming pleased that he managed to finish his story.

From there a pair of massive Rigante took charge of Mike Sarzo and his entourage. Bearded, armored, and without any visible emotion, they led the way. This was a carefully calculated move by the Evenstar, for the Rigante were his death-legion. The wild tribes of the Dawn Range still kept to the Old Ways of constant raiding and warfare upon one another, and rather than put a stop to such infighting, the Lord Reavers had encouraged it, recruiting the most ferociously fanatical of these into his Rigante, which, in the Old Panteran tongue meant 'brothers in blood'.

If the Sarzonian President knew -anything- of Pantera, he would know that he was in the presense of men who were utterly dedicated to violence and rapine. These were no ordinary soldiers, recruited and trained. These were men born and bred killers who had been honed into fanatically loyal disciples of the Lord Reaver. Men who would murder, or rescue, a thousand children, depending on the whims of the Evenstar.

The Sarzonian delegates were led through the great doors and into the Palace itself. Fantastically painted tapestries and carvings depicted the longships and long-dead Reavers from the driver's story. Spaced down the corridors were strange and beautiful artifacts, plundered from exotic lands centuries past. Gold and silver glittered on a platter of ancient, fabulously wrought platemail while jewels adorned an otherwise seemingly plain wooden staff. A thousand treasures from a hundred lands surrounded the group as they made their way through the labyrinth of corridors and hallways, until they stood directly before the gilded, shadowcat carved doors that led into the Great Hall.

Turning without any expression whatsoever, one of the Rigante spoke,"Rules. First, the Lord Reaver may, if he wishes, invite you to come closer to the Seastone Chair. If such a thing happens, you will show him the respect due his station as Lord of this Land, and you will bow your head. No need to damage your pride, a simple inclination of the head will do. Next, under no circumstances should you make any sudden movements toward Him or His Queen Reaver. Any attempt to harm them, or any of the good Reaver Lords, will result in you being -immediately- put down by my brother Rigante. As is Reaver custom, any personal weapons you possess may remain on your person, though any attempt at treachery will result in the purging of Sarzonia and all it's inhabitants. Am I understood? Go, and may the Gods grace your negotiations."

Swinging the doors open, still never showing a scrap of emotion on his features, the massive Rigante motioned the party through them, and into the Great Hall. Thirty-six gigantic hearths lined the walls, none lit at this time of day. The hearths were decorated with shields and weapons bearing a thousand sigils. On the floor lay rugs of grizzly, snowbear, shadowcat, and a hundred other exotic beasts. A huge table was set off to one side, before a window that would have dwarfed most houses. The table was set with a large number of platters, each bearing fruit, bread and cold meats. Alongside the platters were a hundred bottles of all colors and sizes, most obviously alcohol of one sort or another, though a few pitchers of water were places strategically amid the foo.

At the far end of the cavernous hall was a raised dais, with twenty or so steps leading up to it. On this dais was set the Seastone Chair, a single, massive hunk of oily green stone, the backrest carved to resemble a cresting wave, ready to crash down and envelope one who sat in it. The arms were intricately carved longships that rode the rising wave. The arms of the huge chair, however, were partially obscured by the huge hands of the Lord Reaver.

Barely twenty-five, he had always been considered handsome, the darling Reaver Prince of Pantera, younger brother and champion of the true heir, Bastien the Bronze. A life of hardship and grief had hardened his youthful features, leaving him with a brooding, almost sullen appearance that did nothing to take away from his rugged beauty.

At just under seven foot tall, the Evenstar was an impressive sight. Clad in simple black wool, his only concession to adornment was the slim iron crown that rested on his brow, and the hilt of the massive broadsword that peeked above his chairback.

Waist-length golden hair had been tied up into his two customary twin braids, each of which was as thick as a normal man's wrist. He wore a short, carefully trimmed beard on high, slightly hollowed cheekbones. Set deep in his skull and below a pair of sharply beaked brows were the trademark indigo irises of House Vayne. The blazing purple of his eyes was calculating, however, as he watched the Sarzonian delegation cross the hall.

The crier stepped forward and made with the introductions, which Dayne found tedious, but were important nonetheless,"May I present the Lord Reaver, Dayne the Evenstar, High Seat of House Vayne, Protector of Branwyn and Defender of the ThirdEye..."

Inclining his head at the introduction, the Evenstar offered a calloused hand to his wife. Dressed in a low-cut, curve-clinging gown of burgundy samite, her features were slightly plump, though not overly so, her stomach slightly swollen beneath the fabric of the dress, showing evidence of the coming Prince or Princess, the second of her short marriage. The crier took the cue and continued,"His Wife, Empress of the ThirdEye, Trueborn Bride of Pantera and Queen Reaver, Teshara of the House and Nation of Atarkos."

The crier droned on as the assembled Panteran Lords and Ladies bowed and offered their smiles to the Sarzonian delegation. Nearly a dozen were named before the grizzled old man stepped forward, his fabled dogshead helm under one arm,"Caval the Warhound of House Blacktyde, First Champion of the Lord Reaver, Baron of the Blood Bay and Lord Commander of All Reaver forces, at home and abroad." The legendary old man only smiled a smile that never reached his eyes, the scars and wrinkles covering his face doing little to hide the violence that roiled just beneath the surface of his being. Most folks, if they had heard of Pantera, had heard of the Warhound and the sixty-odd bloody battles he had participated in in his sixty-eight years in service to the Lord Reavers.

As the Panteran introductions came to an end, the Lords and Ladies began to file slowly from the room, until only the two hulking Rigante, the Lord Reaver, his Queen, and the old Hound remained. The crier continued his introductions onto the Sarzonian delegation,"Former Protector of Branwyn, Sarzonian President Mike Sarzo, his paramour, First Partner Jay Tyler..."

As the Sarzonian introductions droned on and finally came to a close, the Evenstar heaved an amused sigh. The formalities were done and done. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, studying the Sarzonians. A slightly irritated look passed over his face as the grizzled old Warhound seated himself on one of the steps up to the dais, placing his dogshead helm alongside and reaching into a pocket for a smoke.

As blue smoke began to drift from the old man, Dayne placed a hand on the small swell of his wife's stomach, a gentle gesture that almost ruined the air of ferocity that hovered about the dais. Almost, but not quite.

His voice was deep and rich as he spoke, his head lolling lazily to one side,"Ahhh... President Sarzo and Mister Tyler. Your arrival in Pantera pleases me... I'd not thought to actually see -you-, when my little letter was sent, but it is much for the better. Ambassadors are fools, I say. I much prefer to get my own hands bloody, rather than leaving such matters to silk-swaddled messenger boys and blood-sucking sheister bureacrats."

Coming to his feet, the Evenstar descended the steps of the dais, his young wife in tow. The Hound remained slouched on the steps, careless of the diplomacy about to occur. Dayne himself, however, made the most of his great size as he peered down at the Sarzonian couple and smiled,"But you came, no? You have come where most would fear to tread, which is into the layer of one who could have your blood spilled and your peoples exterminated, if he wished..."

Letting the comment hang in the air, he guided his queen to a chair at the table and pulled it back for her. With a defiant toss of her head, however, she spoke to the Sarzonian's in her singsong Atharkan lilt,"Forgive the poor manners of my husband. He forgets that we are not enemies here, but friends, come to discuss terms of peace, mmm? Please, sit, the both of you. Eat, drink, and let us talk of peace, and a glorious, war-free future for both of our nations."

With a fond smile at his wife, Dayne nodded to Sarzo and his partner and waved them to a chair. Taking up a bottle of deep blue ale, he pours it into a glass, taking his time. After a long swallow, he nods his approval and offers the bottle across the table,"Elaran ale. Aged twenty-two years in my cellars. A fine vintage, I say... But..."

Shrugging a heavily muscled shoulder, the Evenstar leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table, to either side of his glass. With cooly deliberate arrogance, he smiled and resumed speaking,"..But, you did not come here to discuss my booze. So, Mister President? Let us get to business? Why is it that you come? Is it to refuse my terms and condemn yourself to annihilation, or to tell me, man to man, that you have chosen peace, and life for your people, instead?"

Sarzo let a few pregnant moments slip between the Lord Reaver's statement and his next words. He knew he could either consign his people to years of brutal war that would completely devastate the country or he could agree to a peace treaty that would limit Sarzonia's role in the war to logistical support.

At 47 years old, Sarzo knew the gamble of further war would be too great, even if he felt his forces could somehow shove off the Panteran assault or at least turn it into a Vietnam for the Reavers. He knew that simply shoving aside a treaty that tipped ever so slightly in favour of the Sarzonians would be suicide. Sarzonia's own pattern in previous wars was to make subsequent treaty proposals progressively less generous once the horrors of war extended and the Sarzonian military beat petulant foes.

Sarzo's own countenance slowly hardened ever so slightly at the words, "Why is it that you come? Is it to refuse my terms and condemn yourself to annihilation," from the Lord Reaver. He caught Tyler out of the corner of his eye giving him a look. Without having to speak or listen to any words from Tyler, Sarzo knew it was an unspoken plea to remain calm.

"I am well aware of your nation's military might," Sarzo said finally, with a quiet firmness that surprised him. "I don't believe either one of us wants to see our two nations involved in a war that would bring the losses of tens of millions on both sides," he said, his eyes flashing just a hint of defiance.

"I am also well aware of your nation's Blood Pact with Automagfreek. While we do not call our own alliance with Praetonia by that name, we have a strong sense of loyalty to our Praetonian brothers and sisters that is matched by very few. As I'm sure you can imagine, our withdrawal of forces from Gholgoth when our Praetonian allies are without doubt counting on us is a pill I have to think long and hard about swallowing.

"However, I notice that you promise the same withdrawal of your forces from direct combat. Knowing the history of your Blood Pact, that offer impresses me. I am willing to agree to the mutual withdrawal of our respective military forces from Gholgoth, provided that both sides agree to remain out of direct fighting so long as the other meets its obligations that could come from a treaty between our peoples.

"A treaty negotiation would not be a negotiation in its truest sense without a counterproposal or two, and here are mine. I agree in principle to your proposal of withdrawing forces from Branwyn; however, since that government is now an independent national government, they should be allowed to set the timetable for the withdrawal of our respective forces. Should they not wish the presence of either of our military forces, they should be given the right to make their opinions known.

"With your proposal of a Sarzonian military forces withdrawal from Gholgoth proper and from Branwyn, I counter with a proposal that we are allowed to patrol the waters and lands of its allies Praetonia and Hogsweat and come to their defence in the event they are needed to defend their homes and their lands. We will not involve ourselves in the fighting unless we are fired upon. But we will remain out of your hair by not sending our forces into Gholgoth proper.

"Finally, we note with great appreciation your proposal to increase gay rights throughout Pantera and its holdings as a gesture of your willingness to negotiate an end to this short but bloody war between our countries. Provided that we come to an agreement on the terms of this treaty, we will bear that proposal in mind in the future, and we hope that future remains bright for both of us."

Sarzo sat back slowly and uneasily and quietly drew his breath. It seemed the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He hoped he didn't say anything that could bring that weight crashing down on his country.

The Evenstar took his time before answering, sipping at his glass and gingerly caressing his young wife's stomach. When he did reply, he seemed to choose his words with great care,"And and done a dozen times over, Sarzo. We have an accord... Or, we almost do."

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and took a freshly cracked olive from a dish and popped it into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he watched Sarzo for a few more moments before speaking once more,"The last matter is of a great importance to me, and to this little sit-down, Mister President."

"Dreadfire. A monstrous beast of a man, to be sure. You and I agree on that. However, I know the man as you do not. He loved my brother as I loved him, and I have seen the great oaf act with such gentle kindness it would shock you, when compared to his customary brutality...

"Yet, you and your fellows have refused and derided his denials of the heinous nuclear attack on Cariya. Do not mistake his brutality or his ruthlessness for stupidity, Sarzo. He is no fool, and only a fool would have opened these hostilities with a fucking nuclear attack..."

Shaking his head, Dayne took a swallow of ale and continued,"No, Mister Sarzo. He is no fool, nor is he a liar, or one who would attack in such a manner, like a coward in the night. He is a man of fierce pride, and believe you me, he would have met your fellows head on, if given the choice.

"He has personally vowed to me it was not he who gave the order, but it was, indeed, a rogue general. I believe him, for we do not lie to one another."

Glancing at his wife, he took another breath before concluding,"My final term is simple. I know that Damien is telling it true, and on my own Honor I would vouch for him. I want a statement, Mister Sarzo. You will say that after a bit of intelligence gathering, you have decided that Damien should be absolved of any wrongdoing in this little nuclear affair, and that, enemies or not, all involved nations should join in the condemnation of the rogue sub, crew, and commander..."

Sarzo drew in his breath. He considered Damien a man bereft of honour, but Evenstar had a point. He knew Damien in a way that Sarzo did not. Were the negotiations surrounding an action by Pacitalian Prime Minister Timothy Ell, Sarzo could easily have said much the same as Evenstar.

He had to weigh his message carefully. On the one hand, he knew that Evenstar was a man of his word. Thus far, the Sarzonians have been treated well even though Sarzo was in the house of his enemy. He and Tyler have been treated with great respect, just as they were promised. He instinctively knew that Evenstar was a man of his word, even if he remained doubtful of Damien.

The President also thought for a moment. Sarzonia was on the verge of ending sudden, but fierce hostilities with their newfound enemy, though it was becoming obvious that it was an enemy with newfound respect for Sarzonia. By absolving Damien of responsibility for the nuclear strike, he wouldn't be absolving Automagfreek of all its ills. He thought for a moment that peace now would give his country a chance to bide its time until the drumbeats of war sounded once again.

Sarzo badly wanted to get a shot in on Damien now. The war effort was stalled as the Hogsweatian and Praetonian fleets seemed to lick their wounds from the massive assault. Had the war still been afoot, Woodstock would have pressured both Praeton and Hogsingrad to seize initiative or at least retaliate harshly for the nuclear attack. But Sarzo realised the treaty gave him only the most subtle of openings, but one he planned to run through like a Mack truck.

"Very well, I will issue the statement," Sarzo said. "Based on 'reliable information,' as you have demonstrated yourself as a man of your word. "I will announce that reliable information and intelligence gathering have determined the attack was not a premeditated assault on the Cariya Islands. We will also note your statement regarding the honour of Damien and will incorporate that into our own.

"And, I will join all parties involved in condemning the rogue attack as an act of cowardice on the part of the sub, its commander, and its crew. Regardless of which side we find ourselves on, we are all enemies of that form of cowardice."

Maybe now the war is finally over, Sarzo thought.