NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: This thread opens yet another front to the War of Golden Succession (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=439156), which has been raging since August 2005, and remains strong. This particular front is in the region of Haven, and is completely open, especially to Haven dwellers. If you join, please put thought and time into your posts - no crap. Here's the OOC Thread. (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=441413) If you like weird weapons with huge calibres, this is the thread for you!]


6.12.2016

Rebellion Reaches the Ears of the 'Lost Kingdom'
News of the Sarcanzan and Weigari rebellion has finally traveled to the region of Haven, where once Imperial provence Gerfaanlich has happily resided since it's official break off into a seperate republic during the Great Civil War. The Senate has expressed its support behind the rebellions, issuing a decleration of alienation to Fedala, sighting Fedor as an 'instigator to a most oppressive regime.' The Senate has also announced that it will begin the action of neutral trade with the 'recognized' states of Weigar and Sarcanza; this includes trade of armaments. Fedala has responded with a vow to sink any and all Gerfaanlich shipping that attempts to run supplies to the rebellion. In fact, from the battle lines, Fedor has issued his own decree stating that is he 'had declared war on Zarbia for allowing Haven to supply Sarcanza through its territory, it had no problems annexing a rogue state." This issue has sent riples throughout the Second Empire and Gerfaanlich alike.

In fact, Gerfaanlich has taken the threat to heart and has begun the immediate mobilization and deployment of its armed forces. The Republican Armada has also been put on high alert, deploying it's navy along the coast, while mobilizing its principle fleet in the principal port city of Pripayit. The Senate offered a final decree stating that "Gerfaanlich would have no problems defending itself against the greatest threat to the continuation of its independence from the Golden Throne." They followed up by saying that "Fedor is a dying breed of absolute monarchies, attempting to keep his throne modern through the institution of extreme capitalism, that will see his demise through the eyes of a victim of dialectic progress." Fedor, in return, achieved selling his point of view, accusing Gerfaanlich of "increasingly communistic principles and expanding evidence of socialism."

Regardless of actual threats and retorts, the two nations, both on poor relations since Jonach's rise as first emperor of the Second Empire of the Golden Throne, and the self-proclaimed 're-union of the throne', seem on the verge of belligerence. This, as proved by past events, seems to indicate impending war, which would imply that Gerfaanlich would enter in the War of Golden Succession on the side of the rebellion. Ironically, changing the course of the war not to succeed to the throne, but to completely eliminate the throne. Nevertheless, the War of Golden Succession is an ever growing conflict that had at one point engulfed the Hogsweatian colonies, the region of Imperial Armies, and now the region of Haven. World war is what's next...




6.18.2016

Gerfaanlich Tiempertorch
ALEXITIARTE, Gerfaanlich - The senate, today, has declared that a state of war exists between the Republic of Gerfaanlich and the Second Empire of the Golden Throne. Consulabíerar Dietrik Catoríeks pronounced, "As the only state which survived the wrath of the Golden Throne during the Great Civil War, we understand the risks which Haven and Zarbia are tkaing to protect the interest of the free. Furthermore, and upmost, we will not stand blind while our brethren in Weigar and Sarcanza rise against the jackboot of Fedala. The armies of Gerfaanlich shall ride forth!"

As if to underscore Gerfaanlich's position, the Kriermada Republikué, has begun to mobilize itself for the first time since the end of the Great Civil War, in 2005. In the port city of Inkerman, one can already see the beginnings of the amassing of the fleet. Carriers are lined up, one by one, with aircraft filling the decks, sparkling in the sun. And in the midst of it all is the Mithradates, the pride of the Kriermada Republikué, and the terror of Gerfaanlich's enemies. It is, in fact, the only super dreadnought in use within the RK, but it provides with enough firepower to pose as a direct threat to a multitude of ships. The God of War will ride! The fleet is due to set out in three days, and already convoys of hired merchantmen are making runs through the coasts of Gerfaanlich, dropping supplies and ferrying valuable goods back and forth. There is no doubt that war will be brought to the Empire. The entire RK has been put under the command of Consulabíerar Dietrik Catoríeks, while the land army has been put under the command of Consulabíerar Lenkti Gorgan. They will effectively hold command until the next elections for the position, January 2017.

Consulabíerar Gorgan announced, "the hordes of the Golden Throne shall be swept aside, and the power which that throne holds will be, once and for all, destroyed!"

War has come...



Off the Coast of Gerfaanlich, Haven
...indeed, it had. The Labarnas, secret of Fedala, had already made her way to the gulf which sat between Gerfaanlich's western coastline, Aurillia, Edolia and the Western Colonies. It was the product of Fedala's most clandestine project; it's own armament manufacturing and developing, apart from Kriegzimmer - to avoid getting it sold abroad. What they had developed over the years were things that normal generals would never think of - they were, at most, terror weapons. But they did their job well. The Labarnas was one of the original prodigies. At thirty-seven thousand tonnes, it was a monster of a submarine; more accurately, it could be referred to as a submergible. It held two depreciated eight hundred millimeter railguns, and it proved to be the only submergible indirect or direct fire support ship any fleet of any country had. It was a monster, and aptly named after the mythical first king of the Hittites. Just like the real Labarnas, it would make a name for itself through the taxation of blood.

Kaptican Federik Diorge looked through the photonic mast of the Labarnas and he whistled to himself. He could see a five ship convoy slowly traverse the bay, headed towards Inkerman. A perfect kill, thought. The submergible slowly released the water in its multiple ballast tanks, elevating it to a depth of fifty meters. Content with his new disposition Diorge set immediately to business. He did not bother with executive officers; he thought it a bureaucratic waste. If he needed an emergency commander he had plenty of fine sailors to promote to the task. But regardless, he made his way to the command room, and set upon his duties to command the ship as thoroughly as possible. He promptly yelled, "Prepare the cannons!"

One of the sailors at the computers responded without hesitation, "Preparing the cannons, Kaptican!" All could hear the mechanical dislogding of the two doors at the top of the hull, and then the hydraulic movement of the two cannons raising their depreciation level. They would stop just above the waterline, offering two portruding cannons to the outside world. If one could see them, they knew death was coming.

Diorge smiled when the deed was completed. Bringing the photonic mast down he made one last sweep, providing radar coordinates to the ships. The guns had minor room to manuever, but most of the manuevering would have to be done by the submarine, which employed a number of water pumpjets just for that task. Quickly lining up, the submarine finally positioned itself to complete the bloody task. With one word, "Figen," the submarine shuddered as the two railguns fired simultanuously, lobbing two very large high explosive shells towards the convoy. As if to complete his victory, Diorge took down the photonic mast once again and began to look to the horizon if he could claim a kill. With the photonic mast, coupled with the railguns, the Labarnas could safely operate from hundreds of kilometers distance, sinking at will. The first round struck home, penetrating the top deck of the lead ship, but the second one fell four hundred meters short.

Not satiated, Diorge turned and yelled once again, "Figen!" Another two rounds left the guns and promptly arrived on top of the lead ship, their trajectory corrected. The lead ship exploded in a blast of fury, leaving nothing but a huge cloud of smoke. By then the other ships had attempted to deviate from their courses, avoiding a headlong collision, but the second ship was so close that it soon rammed into the remnants of the lead merchantment, rendering it inmobbile. Diorge smiled, that would be his last target. The submarine shook again, and another two rounds screeched through the blue skies, striking another ship and effectively sinking that as well. One by one the convoy sank, taking most of the crew down with it. The bloody task had been done, and finally savoured, Diorge ordered the guns retracted back into the hull and the Labarnas back to a depth of five hundred meters.

He ended the day by exclaiming, "They want to declare war against us? Hah! Let them rot in the abyss of the bottom of this bay." The War of Golden Succession had reached Gerfaanlich, the 'Lost Kingdom' - the epitome had been touched. Now only death could end it all.

[OOC: Map (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v172/NSFlags/HavenMap.png).]


The Mithradates
"Another convoy lost?" Georg Stugíentar slammed his fist on the table, his face twisted in an ugly rage. The other officers around him were silent, petrified by the anger displayed by their ship commander. Stugíentar yelled, "We have just declared war, and we are already facing inconceivable losses!"

One of the other sailors spoke up, "Yes, Admeraet. Five ships to be exact. They were all destroyed by the Labarnas, we believe." He looked at Stugíentar, his face showing absolutely no emotion.

Stugíentar looked at the officer and asked, "And where was the Labarnas last seen?"

The other man calmly replied, "Just north of the Western Colonies."

Stugíentar chuckeled and said, "Let the Mithradates set sail westbound! We shall hunt the Labarnas; titan against titan. We shall sweep the seas clean from all foes and claim victory for the Republic! All officers to their decks; prepare for immediate war." The men let out a shrill battle cry, "Alaiaiaiai!" By the end of the hour the RS Mithradates was on its way west, leaving the harbour of Inkerman, Gerfaanlich flag waving pompously in the blue skies, while the sun glared on the brilliant silver surface of the super dreadnought. It was the first time the Mithradates had set sail, and it glowed in all its splendor. It was truly a war god - and regardless of fate, it was sure to leave a name for itself by the end of the war.

Before it, three rather large aircraft, with a radar discus on their back, made their way quickly over the surface of the bay. They rapidly acended over the point where the Labarnas was last thought to be, and they began to drop sonobouys in an attempt to get a more up to date reading on its location. The sonobouys were rather large, and they immediately began to mechnically unravel a towed array which slowly spread until the dead center of the hydrophone array was located on the deep sound channel axis, where it would leave not a single shadow zone for the Labarnas. It took about thirty-two minutes to finally locate the behemoth submarine, but they finally did. One could say that Gerfaanlich was then on the back of the Labarnas after every step it took - loosing it might of meant the life line of Gerfaanlich.

Two leviathans were on deadly crossroads. Two dieties. Two Goliaths. A blood dimmed tide would soon result...

The Labarnas

The submarine had made quite a run after it had been picked up by the Gerfaanlinchi sonobouys, and it had proceeded due north, in the middle of the bay, where it would be able to target incoming convoys with greater ease, although the center position would also make it equidistance to all possible foes. Nevertheless, it was more than obvious that the southern coasts of the bay were not the safest areas, especially with teeming enemy aircraft and the such. And so, two days later, the Labarnas stabilized itself in its new position, finding a suitable depth of four hundred meters. Soon thereafter it received an incomming satellite data burst, ordering 'Kaptican Federik Diorge to open fire on the Mithradates immediately'. Subsequently, it offered Diorge accurate coordinates and the possibility to downlink more up to date coordinates from a geosynchronous satellite positioned over Gerfaanlich. And so Diorge did as ordered.

He was already in his command room, and like always he went immediately to business, "Raise depth to fifty meters." His face was blank without emotion as he made those orders, and he hands were stable on the rail infront of him. He watched as the sailor on the computer did as told, and he failed to jolt as the bow of the Labarnas rose slowly and the screws began to make turns for eight knots. Within minutes the submergible was in the correct position, and the guns, as per ordered, were already dislodging themselves from the large nest on the top of the hull of the boat.

Diorge then turned to a comm next to him and picked it up, setting the tone for the radio room. There was an immediate pick up and Diorge said, "Coordinates!"

The reply was again, quick, and the sailor said, "Coordinates, Kaptican! Quadrant ZBB11, A6 and K8." There was a click on the other end, but Diorge was satisfied.

Turning back to the room he bellowed, "Let loose the hounds of war!" A might cheer developed through the crowd of sailors and Diorge ordered, "Fire at will!" The eager men cracked their fingers and then set to work, while Diorge divulged the coordinates; and soon the submarine and the guns were in position to engage. The capsule shook, as well as the water above it, and one could visibly see the pressure gauge's arrow move to the right, and then back down to around its original position, wavering back and forth. This time Diorge could not see his kill through the photonic mast - he was engaging at over four hundred kilometers distance, but he would be able to see it through satellite. And so he gave yet another order, "Downlink satellite imagery!" Within minutes it was all set up for him.

The two shots had been misses, and so Diorge ordered the guns depreciated a bit, and let out a second salvo. This time one of the shells hit right on the spot, striking behind one of the massive turrets on the Mithradates. Not palled, Diorge yelled, "Fire!" Another shudder, and another explosion seen through the satellite's telescope, but the Mithradates was unmoved. She was already beginning to bring her massive cannons around, no doubt looking for the foe, as it had probably not expected to face a submarine from those ranges. But Diorge had no doubts about the abilities of the commander of the foe; Admeraet Georg Stugíentar was a very capable commander, and Diorge had no doubt that if Stugíentar survived this battle he would give any invasion forces hell. And so Diorge continued to wait and fire on the Mithradates, while the enemy's guns were slowly leveled towards the general area of the Labarnas.

Diorge suddenly changed his mind, "Stock the guns and drop depth to four hundred meters!" The sailors at the computer replied, "Aye, Kaptican!" He would break off the battle before the Labarnas received an absolutely fatal shot. While the Mithradates could possibly take countless shots to the hull, the Labarnas could not, and ultimately that was one of its weaknesses. And so, with that said, the short day's battle was over and the hunt continued.

The Mithradates
The massive superdreadnought rocked back and forth as that heavy shell struck right behind one the frontal gun turrets. The explosion which converged over the deck thereafter gobbled up the lives of countless crew members, and caused the internal disruption of one of the guns on the turret it almost hit. Stugíentar thought that his foe would get a laugh out of that, but he remained composed, showing no external signs of anger towards the Labarnas. As his guns continued to rotate into position, another salvo struck his ship, and the Mithrdates oscillated a bit more out of position. Stugíentar muttered a few words under his breath and waited for the guns to finalize their swing. How the hell had the Labarnas known about the presence of the Mithradates? The Admeraet ventured to guess it was as a series of satellite imagery. It mattered not; the trajectory path of the Labarnas was very predictable, and counterbattery fire against a submarine that could not move during firing was an easy foe. A crew member approached the commander and said, "Guns at ready, Admeraet!"

A thin smile formed across Stugíentar's lips and he simply said, "Give the order to fire."

The other man nodded and backed out quickly, taking the order to the command room, where it would be processed digitally to the gunners. A half a minute later the Mithradates banged as it preformed a full broadside, with a total of fifty-eight guns raining led to suppress the fire of the Labarnas. The exucutive officer of the Mithradates eyed Stugíentar strangely, and Stugíentar automatically knew what his friend was having doubts about. He said, "Of course this is absolutely necessary. The buggers are submerged! It's best to make sure we don't miss, aye?"

The other man did not seem persuased, and he surved his right eyebrow, replying, "Sure."

Stugíentar cracked a chuckle and answered, "They are very likely to be submerged, and perhaps headed out. It's best to make sure, trust me." The other man stood silent, obviously not yet parallel to his superior's mindset.

The ship rocketed back again, in recoil, as the waves to the portside rose in harmony with the force of the salvo. Stugíentar thought it was all very beautiful, but the beauty was somewhat misplaced by the tingling thought that the day would not end with the dominance over the Labarnas. For some reason, he thought his foe capable enough to pull out victorious, with a shot advantage over the Mithradates. He harumphed. He also noticed the failure of another salvo and he made up his mind. Turning to his executive officer he said, "Order a ceasefire. Restore full power. The hunt is on again."

The executive officer turned, saluted, and responded, "Yes, Admeraet!" He did an about face, letting go of the salute, and headed out to give the orders. Indeed, the hunt was still on...

The Colonies
[OOC: The latest map is here (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y76/Blackbird-SR-71/hwmap15.png).]


The guns sparkled in the sun, their grandeur made even larger by the sun rays which reflected off the metal muzzle pieces that spiked out of a ravine, offering a limited horizontal view of the masterpiece. There were at least twenty guns laid on the rather inclined slope, all uniform in calibre length and bore. They were truly behemoths, and they were the absolute largest the Empire had to offer in its colonial defense force. But they were also largely clandestine projects, forever hidden from the common knowledge of the international community, but it seemed that they would finally see some sort of combat. They were, in fact, variations of the Corzian Supergun, renamed collectively as the Tiglath-Pileser gunpit; twenty-two sunbaked 1200mm railguns, displayed in all their splendor. They were, by far, the largest guns history had to offer, putting to shame the previous holder of 800mm, given by the mythical Dora gun; perhaps the only nation that could even suggest the same, or more, magnitude of ordnance was the respected Eurusea, forever known for its grand tank technology and incredibly array of super heavy armaments. But others nonwithstanding, the Tiglath-Pileser gunpit was a machination for which the Empire was proud of.

The crewmew seeemd specks of dust when aligned with the gun. Indeed, even the tallest man could not match himself with a single calibre of each barrel, which extended for twenty-four meters, giving the entire barrel a length of sixty meters, lined on the inside by two titanium alloy superconductors. They were state of the art designs, and they had been aimed perfectly for positions in the Gerfaanlich colony to their north, their hydraulic motors below giving them the ability to angle the gun differently to hit different targets, somewhat - the truth of the matter still sat on the fact that the gun did rely on long ranges do be able to hit different targets kilometers apart by moving a fraction of a degree. In the end, though, it worked like a charm.

The place in general, however, looked completely like an ultramodern military installation - no doubt, like it should, but one could not get past the fact that it could have been overkill. Over the actual pit a wild, and vast array of surface to air missile batteries, both mobile and fixed, offered their dazzling missiles for the protection of Tiglath-Pileser, along with complimenting anti-aircraft artillery guns, which were, to say the least, dwarfs as compared to their counterparts below and behind them, and to lay a final layer of icing, additional stockpiles of human personnel, armed to the teeth. It was a festival of military machismo, designed to protect one of the most impracticle bases in existance - Tiglath-Pileser. To that effect, it was quite a buzzing area, with soldiers and trucks scuttling around, doing this and that, and completing the every day task of a soldier, or at least someone that was technically in the Ejermacht.

The aura of peace was quickly broken by an ear splitting wail of a siren, sending its shockwaves and soundwaves, all the same, throughout the gargantuan gunpit and sorrounding oblast. The men rushed into preordained positions, running as if it was the final run of their lives. Within minutes the siren suddenly off, and an earpiercing silence swept over the compound. Just as quickly, and with less of a forewarning, the twenty-two guns let loose their power, the fission reactors underneath the Earth providing with thousands of horsepower to power the magnetical acceleration within the barrels. It all sounded like the basement of a mad scientist; turbines spinning, electricity running, and all with the final touch of the shudder of the metalloid cannons after releasing their sixteen ton rounds into the air and hurling them like a medieval catapult over the straits. It would take minutes for the round to hit the target, but in the end, what hit it would serve to shock a nation.

Their immediate target was the Gerfaanlichi capital of the colonies, Alerge, one of the most beautiful colonial cities in the region. For all its beauty, not even a gorgeous glance would be able to shrug off the damage done by the most grandious bombardment. In synchronous form the guns hammered at the sky, punishing the blue heavens with their fire, and then bulldozed Alerge in an unhealthy dose of revenge. Terror would grip the streets of the foe, and men, women and children alike would soon know the name of the Golden Throne. The war gods had heard the prayers of the Empire, and their battlecry was resounding through the soundwaves of the most ferocious artillery barrage. Boom, boom, boom. One salvo after the other. It would be at least two hours before the hell was over, and by then massive refurbishing efforts would have to be undertaken on the barrels in order to put them back at top shape - barrel wear was atrocious.

Under the spitting fire of the artillery two mechanized divisions prepared at the docks of the grand Macabee system that sprawled along the most northermost point of Macabee territory in the colonies. The infantry stacked into the ships, as the warships were already setting out into the straight, prepared to carry the armies of God to the very ends of Gerfaanlich. All the while, the whines of shells overhead only became louder and louder as the minutes went by...

Alerge
The beauty of the city was manifested in all its splendor and elegance, reaching the epitome of its glory in the hustle and bustle of the morning. Alerge's only match in the world was Fedala, and perhaps other selective city, but it was indeed magnificent, matching Babylon for its wealth, Dresden for its grandiosity, Paris for its class, and New York for its technology. Alerge had become so reknown that it had become to be named the Ciutat Orgsorns, or City of Gold. It was a brilliant place, especially at this time of the day, when all were out in their automobiles, heading for work; for the most part, all the schools had begun half an hour ago, while the parents were driving to their workplace, whether blue or white collar, speeding through the subterranean superhighways, or slowly manuevering through the stone paved streets of the city, offering the city both an ultramodern outlook and one that was retro as well. In other words, the city had taste. It was within this backdrop that soldier Anton Jurg was making his way to his part-time profession at the megamall in the center of the city, home to some of the most prestigious international chains.

"...course, I'll be there tomorrow morning, sir. There is no doubt, sir. Of course. Do I have my rifle? I have everything issued to me by the base before I left on the long term leave, sir. I'll be sure to bring that with me. Thansías." He shut the cell phone and put in in his pocket with his right hand, as the left hand kept steady control over the wheel of the car. Putting his other arm back on the wheel, he shifted gears with the wheel based transmission of his Tango et Kartuma, ironically designed and constructed in a nation that was now the prime enemy of the Republiqué - the Golden Throne. But Anton paid little attention to such politics and preferred to simply drive what he could afford, and to say the least, Imperial cars were known for their quality and their affordibility, despite their constant oppression of the worker to be able to achieve the lowest manufacturing cost. But, frankly, as a consumer, as most others were, Anton was not concerned with such triffles in other nations. He was content just to live his own, petite, life.

His phone rang again, and he sighed, reaching for it in his pocket while applying the break and the cluth to slow down his car. Putting the frontal LCD display to his face he read Andréa, his lovely wife. He opened it and put the phone to his ear and mouth, "Hey baby, what's up?" Listening, he responded to her question, "Yea, I'll be home at around four today honey. I'll bring some food and we'll have a nice dinner, alright? I love you girl. Bye." He shut it again, and once again put in in his pocket, gave a sigh, and continued driving. He sighed for a second time and though, I'm going to have to break it to her that I'm headed for the base again tomorrow. Shit. But he decided to not put much thought on it and just focus on his job.

Suddenly, he heard a crack and just as immediately a heat wave fell upon him and his car, the force almost tipping over the sedan. He swerved to the left, almost crashing into a sidewalk lamp post, and completely stopped the car. Opening the door he rushed out to see what the had just happened and when he saw it, he gasped. A tower of fire arched over the city in countless areas, and the buildings directly around them had been littered with shattered glass. He stood perplexed, in his footsteps, for quite some time, but a second shake of explosions allowed him to recompose himself. Almost diving into the car, he reeled back and headed home. First Andréa, then the base. His mind swept through countless different thoughts in the frame of a second, and he finally ended the pain with, Oh God, what if it hit her.

He swerved onto the highway soon after, dipping back underground, where he felt safe. Hitting about one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour on it he made it home within ten minutes, thanking Tango et Kartuma for their wonderful engines, despite the fact that they had probably just paid a great deal of money, or at least loaned it, to undergo that attack on Alerge. When he arrived to his street, no doubt rushing, he was relieved to see it was still intact. He didn't park the car, instead he ran in onto the green grass that made the front yard, and then rushed out of the car, leaving the motor on, and smashed open the door. His wife came running out from the kitchen, screaming, "What's happening?"

Anton didn't have much time, "Just get in the car baby."

With that he headed for the base. War was at hand, he knew that for sure. When he arrived it all became too obvious. The base commander looked him up and down and said, "Getting fat? And who's this?"

Anton looked at him with a bewildered look, "This is my wife Colonel. I was hoping she could be in the base, since it's safer." The colonel nodded and Anton went on, "And yes sir, I haven't trained for at least two months."

The colonel chuckled, "You'll get enough training to last you a lifetime." Anton didn't like the sound of that. The colonel said one final thing, "Prepare to move out tomorrow morning. That means get all the gear you brought and mix it with the new gear we're giving you. You're going to need it." It was just too obvious.

The Liernat Straits, the Colonies
The RS Hamilcar silently made its way along the Gerfaanlichi coast, looking for prey. It had not been ordered to open fire on the Tiglath-Pileser and instead had been ordered to scour the seas, looking for prey. The ship was commanded by Admeraet Danel Fiern, a very senior officer, but not considered one of the best. In the bridge of the Hamilcar, he scanned the horizon using a photonic telescope, and an array of satellite imagery provided by very powerful geosynchrenous platforms. There had been nothing useful on the high seas for the past two days, and anything that could be destroyed had been neutral shipping; Gerfaanlich was certainly not in a position to harm neutral shipping. But, Fiern was getting restless, and his vision impaired. He was getting a lust for a kill, and soon enough he thought he had found it.

The image had first come from a satellite databurst, and he then had pinpointed the location of the target on his photonic telescope. It was about seventy-six kilometers away, which was a little too close for comfort, but Fiern was sure that the Hamilcar could deal with the threat. The satellite image showed what looked like the bow of another ship, but Fiern could not make it out on the telescope, and the satellite imagery was hazy at best - probably do the high clouds. There were absolutely no markings to be seen, all hidden or at least invisibe to Fiern's eye, but it was obvious it was a warship. Fiern thought to himself. He couldn't risk war, but he couldn't risk his ship either. He turned to his adjundant, "Tell the gunners to prepare to open fire." Obviously interested, the officer saluted and headed out to complete the deed. Fiern still wasn't sure if he could do just that and he thought to himself, why would they be this close to the coastline?

As if ready his mind another officer said, "Admeraet, if I may interject, would it be wise to open fire?"

Fiern turned his head to look at the other officer and gave a confused look, responding, "Why would they be this close to the coast? Shipping, especially warships, normally stay out of the exclusive economic zone." The other man simply nodded, trusting in his commander. Fiern made up his mind. He would open fire. He had been waiting too long for a kill, and it was his foe's fault for ordering their ships so close. And so, there it all spiralled into what would become the endgame for Gerfaanlich in the colonies.

The Hamilcar began to close with what now could be described as a frigate. The second ship was still not to be seen, but Fiern was no longer worrying about that. As he got within sixty-five kilometers, the Hamilcar opened the battle, laying a salvo of shells, directed at the frigate. The Hamilcar boasted of eight dual-mount 800mm railguns, making it a very powerful ship. It was considered a superdreadnought killer, although it had never been held up to the task, and its armoury could match any non-capital ship, including this specific frigate. One could see a bright flash a shell hit its target, but the wound's gravity seemed unknown. The ship was quickly sorrounded by yet another plume of white smoke as it unleashed another furious salvo. The ship shuddered with each passing shot, and the noise of the guns was impossible to confuse. All the while, the Hamilcar continued to close range, quickly reaching a range of fifty-five kilometers. A third salvo, thirty seconds later, marked the final salvo which the frigate would be hammered with. The frigate had responded but it had not made a grand impression on the Hamilcar; three of the CIWS mounts, and one of the ladar ranging transmitters had been bulldozed by minor cannon fire, but for the most part the Hamilcar had come out unscathed.

To Fiern's horror, however, he soon saw his real opponent, and its flag. Out of the grey mist arrived what seemed like something on equal footing, but much, much, shorter. It was an Izistani battleship, sporting large sixteen inchers, and it was on a warpath with the Hamilcar. Startled, Fiern yelled, "Gyrate the guns! Fire at will!" The massive hydraulics could be heard screeching throughout the ship, but it was inconsequential. To his right, Fiern could see the frigate sinking, but he had a much more powerful opponent to his front, at around sixty-seven degrees from him. By the time the two could fire at each other, they were barely at thirty-five kilometers distance. This seemed more and more that it would turn out to be a classic naval battle - guns to guns. But Fiern was not sure he could win.

Taking the comm he completed other orders, "Turn left rudder eighty degrees!" He would close the range even faster. If he tried to run the Izistani warship would be able to pocket him with its missiles; if he closed the range the only thing the two could rely on were their guns, something the Hamilcar was superior too in all ways.

One of the officers stepped up and questioned, "Should we not break off? Sinking an Izistani frigate is bad enough for public relations; do we really need to engage a full on dreadnought?"

Fiern laughed, "I have no intent of loosing my ship today, officer. We will close range." Nobody else questioned. Much like the Labarnas and the Mithradates, these two other ships were on a war path...

The IMS Izistan, one of the largest ships in Izistani service, bucked under the force of a near miss. The incoming 800mm rounds packed a heavy punch, as the gunners in the second starboard eight inch gun found when one of them found them. The resulting explosion blew the turret apart, spaying the deck with shrapnel and starting a fire which was (happily) stopped by the fire suppression system before it could reach the ammunition. With smoke and firefighting chemicals streaming from the crater in her side, it was evident that the Izistan, pride of the Izistani Navy, was outmatched by the sheer power of the Hamilcar's guns.

But this didn't stop the remaining gunners from flinging ordinance at the Hamilcar. Turning her port to the enemy juggernaut, she let fly with the two eight inch secondaries that could hit the Hamilcar while her twin triple mount sixteen inch guns were aimed. And then they fired, adding their discharged fumes to the cloud of smoke and other airborne material around the ship. Another massive enemy round slapped into midships, which promptly threw many crew to the deck.

Even though Izistan was fighting back, Captain Owen wanted to withdraw. Firstly, to get the ship out of a close range gun duel (in which the Izistan would be at a disadvantage) and to a suitable distance at which they could evade incoming fire and respond with a swarm of missiles. So he got his orders out to the crew:

“Helm!”
“Yes sir?” The crew member at the wheel responded, looking somewhat green as he wondered why the hell he had ever joined the Navy.
“Take us away from that damned thing! All ahead flank!”
“Yes sir!” The crew member brightened as he happily threw the battleship ship into a sharp turn and began to accelerate.

“Weapons officer!”

“Sir?” The weapons officer poked his head out from under the console where he had been ducking for the last few minutes.

“When I tell you, fire all the '52's we have at that bastard. I want him dead goddammit. And grow some balls for god's sake man”.

“Yes sir” The officer turned to his console, tapped a few buttons and paled. “Sir! The VLS hatches are jammed!”

“What?!” roared Captain Owen as another shell whacked into the stern, and cratering the helicopter pad and flinging shrapnel into the hanger (the doors where jarred open by the impact); which ruined two of the helicopters and started some fuel on fire. With the fire alarm screaming throughout the ship and damage control teams rushing to stop the blaze, Captain Owen faced a decision that he never thought he would have to face in his career:

“Navigation, plot us a course back to the nearest Izistan port. Helm, follow it at flank speed. Communications, signal Command and inform them that we have been been engaged by a Gerfaanlichian battleship, and that we are withdrawing from combat. And tell them to send in the Coast Guard for the survivors from the Vindicator...” Another shell from the Hamilcar cut him off in addition to throwing him against the navigation console (resulting in unconsciousness and a concussion).

And so even as the Izistani battleship turned and ran for home, under a hail of high velocity projectiles, the reports from the ship hit the desks of Izistan Naval Command like so much nuclear artillery...

Parliament House, Dowland City

The latest session of Parliament had ended, and now Alexander I, Royal Monarch of the Grand Monarchy of Skinn87 was being escorted back to Parliament House in the usual convoy of jet black SUVs and grey limousines. As they entered the grounds of the newly built facility, built to give the Monarch a new and untainted place to command the nation, away from the memories and actions associated with the Grey House and its former occupants, the Royal Guards positioned by the front entrance to the complex saluted. Out of instinct, military traditions so ingrained even after more than a year of becoming Monarch and leaving the military, Alexander returned the salute automatically. Realising that the mirrored glass would make the salute invisible to the troops outside, Alexander rapidly lowered his arm and coloured slightly. He sighed as the limousine drew up outside the entrance to Parliament House itself; sometimes he wished that he had remained in the military and not been chosen as Monarch - things would have been much simpler.

The left-hand door of the limousine opened and was held by one of Alexander's Security Detail. He stepped out of the vehicle and nodded a curt thanks to the agent, who returned the gesture in kind before returning to scanning the grounds of the facility for possible dangers. Alexander looked up at the bright sky and blinked; after the enforced darkness of Parliament and the long session on the Guffingford situation, the sudden light was unexpected and painful to his retinas. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he walked into the main entrance to the facility, saluting the guards on detail and this time seeing the salute returned.

The bright natural light was then replaced by a much dimmer and relaxing artifical one from the ceiling lights, and Alexander lowered his hand. As he did so, he noticed his Secretary of Defense, Paul Hoover move from the Ceremonial Dining Hall and catch up with him, large black-clad file in hand. As the two men and their details entered ascended the elegantly curved stairs that led to Alexander's office, Hoover turned and gave the file to Alexander, face dark and apprehensive. Alexander turned the file over and saw the usual State Department warnings emblazoned in glaring bright print. NOFORN and TOPSECRET were present, and underneath came smaller black-printed words. Gerfaanlich/Macabee Situational Report said the text, with the date added next to it.

They entered the office through the ornate double doors and their security details peeled off to take up position outside, leaving the two men to their privacy. Alexander took his seat behind the mahogany desk, sighing audibly at the relaxing leather the chair had inlaid, then opened his eyes and stared at Hoover, report before him on the desk. "'Gerfaanlich/Macabee Situational Report'. So what's been happening with our friends up north, Paul?"

Hoover sat down without being asked; in any other situation it would have been a breach of protocol, but the two men had fought alongside each other enough to discard such trivial things. "It would appear that at long last The War of Golden Succession has come to Haven. Gerfaanlich, a one-time colony of Macabees we believe, has become embroiled in that whole goddamn mess. Normally I'd just put the report in the Weekly Situational Tactical Reports, but this looks like it could spill over into other countries."

Alexander flipped open the folder and took out a neatly-typed situation report and a small pile of digital photos. He picked them up and began correlating them to the typed report. "So, this is the wreckage of a Gerfaanlich convoy...and this a possible report of a sub located by the RSS Invincible, which was lost within seconds." Hoover nodded, awaiting Alexander to find the last batch of photos. He didn't have to wait long. "An engagement between the Izistani and Gerfaanlich navies. One with losses on both sides, it would seem. You were right to bring this to my attention Paul; it is rather worrying."

He put the photos back in the file and moved the chair back, legs craping on the pine floor and screeching slightly. He began pacing up and down, as he did when thinking or nervous. For several minutes this continued, Hutton remaining silent, knowing that to interrupt would be impolite. Finally Alexander stopped and slammed his palm down on the table. "These are dangerous waters, Paul. What with Guffingford potentially putting maniacs back into power, and the Czardas situation rapidly heating up, especially with the Volunteer Brigades pressuring me, we can't do anything...risky." He was silent for a moment before nodding his head slightly. "Deploy the First Naval Group northwards to the border of Gerfaanlich naval waters, just by the 200km limit. But make sure they don't do anything rash; I just want them to show the flag and let all sides know we're watching. Do not fire unless specifically fired upon. We don't want a shooting war with either country now, not at such a critical moment. Understood?"

Hoover nodded and picked up the file, resealing it. The Naval Group would be deployed, show the flag, do a few reconnoisance flights. Just to make sure nothing untowards happened that could involve the rest of Haven. A shooting war was something highly unwanted in this situation...

The Liernat Strait, The Colonies
Admeraet Danel Fiern shook his head as he witnessed one of the four guns on the frontal turret crack and bend under the stress of firing such a large projectile at such high velocities. He muttered something about incompetence, and then looked on as a measly eight inch shell failed to penetrate the belt of the Halmilcar, but while a hail of them were able to put the mid turret out of action. By that time he had started to pace and shout orders to his executive officer, "Right rudder, pull parallel to the Izistan." The ship did as told rather slowly, but the entire time the larger guns on the Hamilcar pounded the Izistan, causing deck fires and massive damage on its own gunnery turrets. In fact, reports had come that its verticle launch system doors had jammed under the debris, and one of the shells harming the electronics to the opening suite. Fiern looked at his executive officer once again and shouted, "Continue fire and bring her closer to her prey. We're going to board the enemy vessel."

The executive officer looked at the admiral bewildered, but gave the order anyways. However, the order came far too late. The Izistan had begun to use her faster velocity to pull away from the engagement, turning to head towards an Izistani colonial port. Fiern swore and ordered, "Continue fire." The Hamilcar shook as the massive turrets, or at least those that remained, continued to put armour piercing shells into the the smaller battleships trying to run away. The Hamilcar attempted give chase, but it's velocity could not match that of the foe. The death bed of the battle arrived when a stray Izistani shot penetrated a weakened section of the deck armour and almost penetrated into one of the reactor chambers, scaring the admiral of the ship enough to turn away from the Izistan. Nonetheless, given the railguns on the Hamilcar, she continued to fire at the foe. Engagement range exceeded two hundred nautical miles, but by then fire would be rather inneffective, so fire was cut short at around thirty nautical miles, especially as the Izistan began to belch smoke into the air, attempting to mask its presence from the advance sights used on the Hamilcar.

The Izistani frigate that had followed its larger brother into battle may have not been so lucky, and it was seen leave the area with a massive deck fire that could only plausible expand into the ship itself rather quickly. Fiern decided to give the ships a head start of around two hours, knowing that any wounded ship would have its engines shut off - the Hamilcar would then scour the area at night, sink anything that was still left, and return to port. Fiern scowled as he muttered, "This damage will take at least a year to repair."

The fate of the two ships were unknown, but even before the night search was begun, Admirate Fiern had sent a message to naval command in the colonies, expressing the 'great victory' against the Izistan, which was "surely out of action for the next two years. As well as a possible sinking of an Izistani frigate." When the news arrived at home politicians were horrified, and they immediately began to fear for the worse. Izistani blood had been spilt, and many thought that not even the must lucious gifts would be able to satiate the Izistani need for blood. In fact, with the country facing war against CAD, it would either need most of its forces elsewhere, or it would have an even larger pall for combat. The former would be to the Republic's advantage, while the latter would really not. But there's was no doubt that the admiral had put his country into very deep trouble, and it was very possible that Gerfaanlich now faced possible war against the Empire and Izistan - something it had never expected, and could hardly defeat. Nevertheless, what had happened, had happened. To make matters worse, it seemed Fiern was dead set on following those two ships and making sure at least one was sunk that night.

Elsewhere, others prepared for a fate they had never deserved. The Gerfaanlich Colonian Expedition [GCE] had been put on high alert and had shifted most of its manpower to the Izistani border, while keeping highly mechanized brigades near the coastlines to provide for a defense against any invasion parties from that area of the country. Reserve divisions, equipped with the older, but still capable and upgraded, S-30Es were also put into active duty, formed into a strategic reserve, as it prepared for a war, heightening training levels and pumping some pre-bellum adrenalin into the soldiers that would die for their republic. The airforce also began their own preperations, as well as the colonial task force, which had begun to move into the outer harbour, ready to reinforce the Hamilcar if needed, and provide a mobile offensive against Izistani harbours if need be. Gerfaanlich was not about to take any chances, knowing full well what would happen if it let down its guard ever so slightly. However, politically, these deployments went against them, showing Izistan that Gerfaanlich was seeking a fight - especially as most of the troops were positioning themselves on that border. To Izistan it could look like a pending invasion. Nervous breakdowns seem to have caused this political crisis to untwirl into a downwards spiral, much to the unfortunate cause of the Republic, who had managed to survive living outside of Imperial rule for the past eleven years, and the only pre-civil war region to have survived the wrath of the Macabee Royal Army during the Great Civil War. It now seemed like their luck had failed them.

Swords were indeed rattling on both sides of the border...

Izistan City, Izistan.

“So what of the Izistan?” The Premier asked while looking over the skyline of Izistan City, the rooftop park on the War Department was a favorite place for Izistani politicians to complement things that involved violence.
“Well, the team we sent in to Novy Petrograd said she was torn up pretty bad. She'll be in dry dock for a year at least. Although we were looking at replacing her since she was getting old, my people tell me it would be cheaper to retire her rather then repairing and updating her. Hell, she wasn't even suppose to fight something like that...thing, especially on this cruise.” Admiral John Currie had requested that the Premier meet with him on the roof.

Robertson tore his eyes from the scenery and fixed it upon a heavily laden RMI airship passing by. “And what of the Vindicator? I understand she was scuttled?”
“Well sir, she was burning and the crew abandoned her, remarkably we only lost thirty. But we didn't set charges, we wanted to salvage her, but the fire reached the magazines and she's laying in about a kilometer of water right now.” Currie produced a holographic memory disk and handed it to the Premier. “All of this has been documented of course. What are we to do now?”

“I've called a session of parliament together today, begins in a about a hour. You might want to watch it.” Robertson turned to head back inside, “I expect that the Navy will stand ready to defend Izistan as always, if we come to an agreement. Intelligence says the bastards are already mobilizing along the border.”. He walked away, leaving the Admiral to deal with what he had just said.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Five hours later.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Izistani National Broadcasting Corporation. 5:23 PM AOTC +0200 20XX.
For immediate international release.
- - -
Izistan declares “a state of open hostilities with the Republic of Gerfaanlich”, armed forces prepare to mobilize in response to Gerfaanlichian threat!
-N. Austen.

In apparent response to the sinking of IMS Vindicator and the damaging of IMS Izistan, the Izistani Parliament convened today in order to decide on the official government response. Outside, a number of people from the Northern Colonial Territory [NCT] staged a protest in regard to the “lack of military presence in the region”.
Parliament ended up in a fierce debate for four and a half hours before coming to a vote. Hard details are hard to come by, but the measure (Bill D-678 Commendation of Hostilities with the Republic of Gerfaanlich) appeared to pass with a majority of ~75%. A closed meeting was called with the respective heads of the Armed Forces, and is still reportedly in secession. Protesters from the “Demilitarization Party of Izistan” held a peace vigil outside the War Department before being dispersed by security.
Apparently Gerfaanlich has responded to their own attack, and has begun to mobilize. As a result, the 3rd Colonial Army and the 6th Army (which was involved in training exercises with the 3rd Colonial) have been ordered to move to the border and dig in.
A statement has not been released by the Government.

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

Walleye AFB, near the town of Walleye. Near the Izistani Northern Colonial Territory and Gerfaanlich border. 8:35 PM NCT Standard.

The Arrow's engine roared as it accelerated down Runway No.7 and took to the air, reconnaissance pods on the under-wing hardpoints. The stout Northern Expansite built airplane handled well in the capable hands of the ARM pilot that was to skirt the border that night. The pilot of the box winged aircraft radioed the tower with his concerns, “So what if those guys come after me? I only have the twenty mike-mike and my .45.”
The radio hissed and the air traffic control officer came on, “Relax George, Novy Petrograd's got a RADAR screen along the border and the DAS-15's can show up and lend a hand if anything bad happens, hell, our DAS-12's might even join in; so relax and do your job. We haven't got the damn UAV shipment from Petrograd yet, so you're all we've got at the moment.”
“Roger, over and out.” George sighed and got on with flying. After all, the last thing he needed was his house knocked down by some damn tank. The Arrow banked onto the course that would take him along the border, and his thoughts got back to business.

Battle of the Liernat Strait
The Halmilcar inched through the night's fog in the straits, her massive searchlights penetrating through the cloud screen. Most of the guard was on the deck, looking around the ship out to sea - looking for the frigate that they thought they had struck. It was rather eerie, and rather chilly, which Admiral Fíern soon found out as he made his way to the deck. He stepped out and immediately snuggled his jacket around him tighter, heading aft of the ship. Looking around he asked his executive officer, "Are all the searchlights on?"

The officer nodded and replied, "Aye admiral. They are all on. I'm beginning to think that we sunk much less than we originally thought." The admiral didn't say a word to that, but they all understood that if they didn't actualy sink anything the battle would have been more worthless than it already was. They had sparked a war, and with no gain. He would be branded a fool. But the Hamilcar continued to search, and after a while the executive officer said, "Admiral, we must leave to port and get our turrets repaired."

Fíern scowled, but nodded nonetheless and was about to speak, but a sailor off to the far right interrupted him, "Sir, I think I see her." Fíern's head shot towards the call and he yelled back, "What do you see?" He started to jog towards the sailor as the man stared wideeyed at a glowing red fireball that had just appeared from the fog. The admiral stopped by the rails as he looked one and said, "Yes, that is her." The sailor took his binoculars and switched them to infra-red, looking through the clouds and he read, "Vin-di-ca-tor. Sir, we sunk the cruiser."

Smiling, Admiral Fíern yelled, "Turn this ship around, we are heading home!" Behind him the Vindicator crackled as the intense flames ate her hull. The Halmilcar saw no survivors in the water, and she left, although admittedly the look hadn't been very detailed. An hour later a smaller warship would pass by and pick up at least fourty survivors from the water, who would now become the first Izistani prisoners of war. In any case, the Vindicator sunk around three minutes later, recorded on the infra-red imaging camera from the Gerfaanlichi vessel. She would also be the first Izistani loss in the war, and very many losses were soon to be taken on both sides as the war heated up. The Hamilcar made it to port by the next day and would stay in port for another two months before it was able to hit the high seas again - by that time the war for Gerfaanlich would have taken a very nasty turn. In any case, the massive ship had terrorised at least two ships, and the war survived for long enough she would hit the seas to terrorise even more - and even if not, there was plenty of a Gerfaanlich navy to do the job for her. There were already plans laid out to seize the Liernat Straits, knowing that the Second Empire was too busy with controlling their own seas around them, and sending forays against Stevid and Independent Hitmen.

As the ship left one of the sailors spoke to his comrade, "I can hear the survivors screaming." His hands shook.

The other man looked and replied, "Shh. There were no survivors when we looked."

[OOC: Before I actually roleplay the preperations for defenses I noticed I have to make a map. So I'll leave this as the post for now and get a map up of the Gerfaanlich's colony.]

OOC: I'll need the map before invading. But in the meantime, we can have some fun. >.>

The calm and foggy noon was broken by the growl of tank engines and the squealing of treads. T1A3 Keet's and the other assorted vehicles commonly found with advancing military units. However, there was no shrieking artillery barrage in the air, just the sound of helicopters scouting a few kilometers ahead of the advancing Izistani forces.

But this was not Gerfaanlich, it was the former colonial territory of Peligrosos, and these Izistani were reservists from the Izistani colony of Foral. Peligrosos's had seemingly collapsed, which was not good for the agriculture exports of Foral and Peral. So, word had come from the homeland to seize Peligrosos and its shipping facilities. Besides, it never hurt to have another location to operate submarines from.

The advance went smoothly, with the odd few firefights between armed locals that resisted occupation by the Izistani (these were thankfully short in duration thanks to coordinated mortar and air support). Behind the forces came civilian repair and aid teams, their goal would be to get key facilities up and running as soon as possible, as well as rendering aid to the population. Gerfaanlich would be in trouble once sea traffic to their colony came under attack.

Parliament House Situation Room

It seemed like a long time since Alexander I, King of the Grand Monarchy of Skinny87, had just taken time out to relax and unwind. Taking occasional power naps on a bed or couch just didn't recharge his batteries, as they had done in his earlier years. Even though he was barely thirty years old, he felt about fifty; the strains of leadership were putting bags under his eyes and having who knew what other physical detriments on his body.

It wasn't just his body, either, he mused as he walked towards the Conference Room that was joined to his office by a small, private, corridor. He was becoming far more cynical than he had ever been, even in the trenches during the Civil War. It worried him, as he wondered what else might occur. A good rest would do him a world of good; unfortunately, at the moment that rest seemed further away than it ever had been, thanks to this latest crisis.

He opened the door into the conference room silently and closed it behind him, footsteps silent on the carpeted floor. Sunlight filtered into the room through several large bay windows set into the wall, casting dark shadows onto the table and the men and women gathered around it. They all stood up at Alexander's entrance, but he waved a hand impatiently and they sat down again. Taking his place at the head of the table, directly opposite several large computer screens showing the flag of the Grand Monarchy, Alexander sipped quickly at a cup of water. Finishing off the water, he then nodded once. This was the signal for the conference to begin.

The light dimmed as the windows turned from opaque to deep black, using electronic impulses to control the light, and electric lights sprung on overhead. On the computer screens, the three-dimensional flag was replaced by several different images. On the larger of the screens was displayed a three-dimensional map of Haven, which rapidly zoomed in to focus in on the northern part of Skinny87, the border with Gerfaanlich, and the part of the Omzian Strait that the two nations shared between them. On the other, smaller screens that were clustered around the main one, satellite images of the sunken Gerfaanlich convoy were displayed, as well as a grainy, black and white picture of a large naval vessel; the image was badly focused as well, as if taken in a hurry, and the identity of the vessel was unknown.

In the newly darkened room, Secretary of Defense Paul Hutton stood up and nodded to Alexander. “We’re sorry to interrupt you in Parliament, Your Majesty, but you did say you wanted to be informed of any updates on the Gerfaanlich situation.” Hutton, a tall, thin man in his early forties who seemed to wear the same teal-coloured suit wherever he went, looked at Alexander. Pouring himself another glass of water from a jug positioned next to him, Alexander nodded wearily. “I know Paul, I did say that. So what has been happening in the time since we last looked at the situation?”

Hutton picked up a small silver box from the table in front of him; it looked like a common television remote control, only this had fewer buttons. He pointed it at the main screen and clicked one of the buttons; a faint red light lit up at the end of the device, and a red dot appeared on the zoomed-in map of Haven. Hutton cleared his throat, then began speaking, moving the laser around the screen to illustrate his points.

“As you can see, sir, the Carrier and Superdreadnought Groups that you ordered to the international waters by Gerfaanlich have remained in position, sending out reconnaissance flights along the international borders and occasionally flying directly into Gerfaanlich airspace itself, although of course we’ll never admit to it happening.” As Hutton spoke, the map zoomed in further, replacing countries with plain water and tiny symbols representing the massed vessels in international waters. Larger squares represented the Supercarriers and Superdreadnoughts, and smaller ones Destroyers and Frigates. Even smaller ones, barely visible on the screen despite its size, symbolized squadrons of fighters.

“Despite numerous fighter patrols, and the use of AWACs, we have not found any further evidence of the vessel that has been destroying the Gerfaanlich convoys. Even with KEYHOLE satellites combing the area every few days, we can’t find it; Admiralty believes it may well have fled the area, or gone into hiding. The only image of the vessel itself we have in our possession is the one taken by the Invincible when on patrol in that area.” With a flick of his wrist, Hutton moved the pointer onto the smaller screen that contained the blurry photo.

“Even with photographical analysis and digital enhancements, this is the best quality we could get from the image. If you all consult page twelve of the document in front of you, you will see the report of the Invincible’s CO, Captain Page, attached.” There was a rustle of paper as all present, including Alexander, flipped open the files in front of them and examined the brief report. “As you can see, the Invincible only spotted the vessel on Sonar for a brief moment whilst on the surface conducting repairs. The Periscope and attached Digital Camera equipment had been damaged in a run-in with a Merchant Seaman a few hours previously, and were unavailable for use. An older style camera held by a crewman was rushed to the bridge and used by Page himself to take the single photograph, before the vessel went out of sight.” More rustling as people finished reading the report. “By the time the Invincible had submerged, the vessel was out of sight; further patrols did not pick it up on Sonar.”

Frowning, Alexander put down the report and looked at Hutton. “Paul, if I remember correctly, the Invincible had reported locating an unknown submarine, not a surface vessel. So what on earth is this all about?” Hutton’s face went a deep red, and he choked slightly as he picked up his copy of the file and flicked through it. He stammered for a second, and then replied to Alexander. “Yes...Yes, Your Majesty. It would appear that you are correct. Captain Page sighted this vessel some hours after getting a Sonar contact from the unknown submerged vessel, and before the collision with the Merchant Seaman. We have no further reports of the submarine in the area.”

Alexander glared at Hutton for a moment, eyes flinty. When he finally spoke, his voice was just above a growl. “This is highly unlike you, Paul. Usually your reports are spot-on. I’d like to think that this is something of an irregularity that will not occur again. Am I correct in thinking so?” Hutton seemed to turn an even darker shade of red and stammered out an affirmation and another apology. Alexander dismissed it with a flick of his hand, and then turned his attention on the others present around the table.

“This Gerfaanlich situation is increasingly annoying me. Its one thing to have a few convoy’s sunk; that happens a lot in war. But when it starts occurring practically next to our own waters, and to a country that borders the entirety of our northern border, I begin to get worried.” He slammed a fist down on the file, knocking over his glass in the process and soaking the file and table. He angrily waved away an agent moving forward to help. “If Captain Page and his crew wish not to incur my significant wrath, then they had better make a better job of the next mission I want them sent on.”

He paused for a second to let his words sink in, the continued. “I want the Invincible ordered to immediately leave New Kaylee harbour and proceed into Gerfaanlich waters. They are to conduct a thorough search of the area and try and locate this mysterious submarine.” He glared at Hutton again. “They will not be looking for anymore vague surface vessels, nor take anymore bloody photos of them. Understood?” Hutton nodded again, and Alexander stood up, signaling an end to the conference. He moved out of the Situation Room and into the adjoining corridor in a foul mood, glaring at his protective detail. He needed a good sleep right now, and he’d hurt anyone who tried to stop him.

RSS Invincible, 30 Kilometers Into Gerfaanlich Waters

The bridge of the Invincible was deadly quiet as the submarine surged through the territorial waters of Gerfaanlich. The boat was rigged to Condition: Ultra-Silent; it had been ever since it had approached the boundary between international waters and those controlled by Gerfaanlich under the Maritime Treaty of Haven. Under this condition, all non-essential personnel were restricted to their beds, rubber-soled shoes were issued to those crewmembers who were essential to the running of the vessel, and all metallic or otherwise heavy items were strapped or tied down. This ensured that they did not fall down and create any unnecessary noise, something that could mean the end of a submarine in potentially hostile waters; the same was true for the other actions taken.
Juliet Page, Captain of the Invincible, stalked over to the Sonar station and leaned over the shoulder of the technician on duty there. The man, clad in the silver-grey uniform of the Royal Submarines Service, was leaning over the Sonar Display and staring intently at the Sonar Screen, thin green band rotating in a clockwise direction against a circular background. At the approach of Page, the man turned around, pushing away the wires that led from the bulky headset he wore to the console itself. “Nothing to report, Ma’am. We’ve had no contacts except for the usual biologicals and civilian traffic ever since we got into Gerfaanlich waters.”

Page grunted, leaning in herself to look at the display. Seeing nothing except the green band move in a slow circle, and noticing no difference on the other instruments on the console, she patted the technician on the shoulder and moved away. Crossing the cramped bridge, Page walked to the Periscope controls and stood there, arms resting lightly on the stubby levers that operated the device. There was no way that the device could be used so deep underwater, but it helped occupy her for a second. For another moment all was quiet, and then her XO, Commander Lewis Acre, spoke up. “Coming up on the final navigation point, Skipper.”

Page nodded at Acre. “Thank-you very much, XO.” She moved to the Conn and addressed the two crewmen sitting there, operating the large wheels that moved the vessel. “Conn, come about to two-nine-four degrees, two hundred and thirty feet, up bubble.” The orders were intoned by the XO and the crewmen before they slowly moved the wheels that would put the submarine on the next leg of her course. Page felt the deck shift under her feet, a sure sign that the Invincible was moving. As she turned to move towards the Plotting Table and note down the course change, the Sonar Technician cried out. “Conn, Sonar, faint contact at zero four five. Range, two thousand metres.”

Page moved towards the technician, rubber soles silent on the metal deck, and moved behind the technician. “Can you identify the contact?” The man frowned for a moment, scanning the consoles and listening intently. “Ma’am, Sierra Twenty-Seven is a submerged contact, but that’s about all I can get at the moment.” Page nodded, and then turned to the Conn. “Take her to sixteen knots, steady as she goes.” The order was intoned again, and the ship sped up slightly, moving towards the unknown contact.

For a few moments all was silent as the Sonar Technician strained his ears at the faint sound of the other vessels engines. Finally he turned to face Page. “Sierra Twenty-Seven is a Labarnas-Class Submarine. The engine noises are unique to its class, Skipper; it’s the only one in existence. It belongs to the Second Throne allright.” Page smiled grimly and turned to face the rest of the bridge. “Bring us to one hundred feet and deploy the towed array; we have to get this information to the Admiralty.” The Invincible emptied some of its ballast and rose towards the surface, whilst at the same time reeling out the SBQ-1 Towed Array that would transmit the confirmation of the submarines class and allegiance to the Admiralty. On the Bridge, Page wrote out the message to be sent and handed it to the Communications Officer, who then began transmitting the message over the airwaves in an encrypted format.

As the message finished sending, and the towed array was being reeled in, something fatal to a submarine in the Invincible’s position occurred; someone dropped something. In the Galley, an errant Midshipman dropped a metal mug as it burnt his hand; the mug fell onto the deck with a resounding noise. Even as far away as the Bridge, the noise was heard. Page swore under her breath; they were certain to be found now, possibly even attacked. “Conn, take us to three hundred feet, emergency dive! Course, Zero Six Zero!” In an instant, the orders were obeyed and the Invincible moved to the bottom of the sea, engines churning. Page gritted her teeth; would it be enough?

Heavenly Oaks Primary School, New Kaylee


“...An' then the Prince an' the Princess walked away to the Castle, an' everyone was happy and they lived happily ever after. The End!”

The source of these words, a small schoolgirl clad in the grey and white uniform of her school, closed the book that she had been slowly reading from, and turned to face her audience. She lowered the book to the floor and curtsied, legs crossing and then uncrossing. With a smile on her face, she then turned around and walked back to her seat, sitting down with the dozens of other schoolchildren of Bee Class. A sea of young faces awaited a reaction from their esteemed audience, the little girl particularly.

Their audience for this book reading, and the reason for their assembly by their teachers into the small classroom, smiled and began clapping, smile on his face. Alexander I, Grand Monarch of Skinny87, smiled broadly at the little girl. “Why thank-you, little Susie. That was a lovely reading. Very well done indeed!” The little girl's face lit up and went a little red, giggling for a second before falling silent after a glare from her teacher.

Alexander smiled again, and looked behind him. The rest of his entourage were smiling and clapping; even the usually stony-faced members of his Secret Service group had managed to crack a small smile. He turned back to face the children, and took the proffered book from one of his aides standing behind him. As he opened the book, entitled 'The Prince and the Dragon', he felt a small feeling of satisfaction. He didn't get enough chances to do this sort of thing really. He had been elected by the people, and yet for most of the year he was stuck in offices and meetings, away from those who had invested such power and hope in him. Even a small ceremony like this was a major victory against the soulless workings of government he found himself enmeshed in.

He opened the book and looked at the first page; it was garishly coloured and had broad, black letters at the top. A Prince, clad in bright silver armour, sat astride a dark brown horse; he was riding towards a massive stone castle in the distance, sunbeams reflecting off of his armour. If only life were really that simple, he thought for a second, before clearing his throat and beginning to read. “One day, in a Kingdom far, far away, there was a Prince. His name was Prince...”

Unfortunately for his rapturous audience, they never got to learn the name of the Prince, or anything else about him. At that moment, one of the SS agents moved through the small group behind him and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Alexander frowned for a moment, listening intently, then nodded and motioned the man away. He closed the book and placed it on the floor, then turned to the children and teachers before him.

“I really must apologise, boys and girls. Something very important has just come to my notice, and I cannot stay and finish reading this delightful book.” In an instant, the sea of faces turned from faces of happiness and concentration to those of confusion and even sadness. Standing up and dusting off his suit, Alexander faced them once more. “Although I have to go now, I do promise that I shall come back before long and finish reading the book. But now, I must leave. Farewell!” With a jaunty wave, Alexander walked from the room and out into the shiny, brightly-lit corridors of the school, leaving behind several bewildered teachers and dozens of disappointed children.

Alexander moved through the corridors towards the front doors of the school, Secret Service agents moving in front of him and flanking him, whilst the rest of his aides and advisors tailed behind in a small group. Two agents heaved open the doors and Alexander walked out of the building and into the warm summery day he had left behind only a few short hours ago. He raised an arm suddenly, protecting his eyes from the gusts of wind, leaves and dirt that Sentinel Two, his official helicopter, was throwing up. Bent at the waist to avoid the rapidly spinning rotor blades, Alexander climbed into the helicopter without any of the usual pomp and ceremony that such an exit required, and moved into the large interior. Two Secret Service agents came behind him, pulling up the extendable stairs and closing the thick metal door of the helicopter. As soon as the door slammed shut, the helicopter took off towards its new destination.

Alexander brushed off a particularly stubborn leaf from his suit, and then sat down besides his Secretary of Defense, Paul Hutton. He glared angrily at Hutton. “You dragged me out of an important event, Paul. You know how bad this kind of thing looks to the public; I don't much like this either. This had better be damned important.” Hutton nodded grimly, passing a sheaf of papers and a single manilla folder to Alexander. “ I'm sorry to drag you away, Antony, but this is important; you said yourself you wanted to be informed of any developments with the Gerfaanlich situation.”

Alexander, real name Antony franklin, nodded and opened the folder. He took out the three sheets of paper that the heavily-stamped folder contained and began reading. It didn't take him long to finish them, as they were excerpts of transcripts and a brief summary of their significance. He put the papers back into the folder, and picked up the loose papers. He read through them quickly, eyes scanning. Putting them down to rest on the folder, he massaged his temple with his hands, rubbing his face before looking at Hutton. “You're sure about this,Paul? I mean, one-hundred percent sure that this is what has happened?”

Hutton nodded, face impassive. “We scheduled the Invincible to come to one-hundred feet every four hours and transmit their current location and course. For the last three periods, a total of just over twelve hours by now, we have had no word from her. To add to that, we have the last message she sent before the radio silence. It indicated that they had engaged an enemy submerged vessel and were taking evasive action. The vessel was positively identified as belonging to the Second Throne.” Hutton paused for a second to allow Alexander to digest the worrying news. “We have come to the conclusion that the Invincible has been attacked by the enemy submarine, and either destroyed or crippled beyond assistance. There is no other way to explain the failure to report in over the radio.”

Alexander nodded again, then turned to face the dull grey wall in front of him. He sat for a moment, litening to the muffled sound of the rotors beating and engines whining. When he turned back to Hutton, his face was grim, anger in his eyes. His voice was just above a whisper, and Hutton had to strain to hear it above even the muffled rotors.

“These bastards bring the biggest war in recent history to our doorstep, to the very borders of this country, and we do nothing. We wait, and we watch, and we wait some more. Ships are sunk, innocent people killed. But still, we do nothing, because we do not wish to bring such a conflict onto our land, to our people. To my people. But then, they take it a step further; just one step, but one that was almost inevitable in this. They attack and sink one of our ships; they kill our soldiers, our citizens. Oh, it could have been a submarine, it could have been an aircraft, but they would have done it anyway.

“They sink it, without provocation, and they watch, and they wait. They never apolgised for breaching Havenic waters; they're far too arrogant for that. And we did nothing in response; we appeased them by standing idly by. This is a deliberate act, and once again they will do nothing - no apology, not even a response, and they'll expect us to do the same. Because they think we're weak, and cowardly. But they've gone too far now. If they want a war, then by God they shall have one.”

Hutton listened, both fascinated and worried by the tone that had crept into Alexander's voice. As the helicopter fought against the elements outside, rotors becoming louder, he leaned forward to catch the last of what the King was saying...

“They shall have a war unlike anything they could even dream about...”


Warrickshire Prime Secondary School, Dowland City

Eric Crenshaw ran as fast as he could, pushing open fire doors and running down the flights of stairs that led to the bottom of the building and the door outside. He took the steps two at a time in his haste to get outside, nearly tripping and breaking his neck on more than one occassion, but he couldn't care less. He could only swear, rapidly and with some skill, at the fact that he had caught detention only an hour before the King made his speech. Finally he made it to the bottom floor and the exit to the thick tarmac of the playground. He pushed the door and ran outside, ignoring the sound of the door slamming into the brick wall, then ran as fast as he could towards the centre of the schoolyard, where several televisions and radio sets had been set up.

A considerable crowd of schoolchildren and adults had assembled, clustered around the television sets and radios. As he pushed his way through the closely-packed people, Eric estimated that there were at least two thousand people here, perhaps more. It took him a few teeth-jarring, elbow-thumping minutes, but he made it to the front of the crowd and to his schoolfriends. Jarred Knight and Nick Tratt turned and grinned at Eric as he stood next to them, and Jarred thumped him on the arm in greting. “I told ya not to piss of Mr Larner, but you just had to, didn't you?”

Eric grinned sheepishly. “Made it in time, didn't I?” he retorted back, grinning and breathing heavily. No sooner had he managed to get his breath back than a murmur came from the front of the crowd, from those near the televisions. It took a few seconds to reach the ears of Eric and his friends, but by then it was patently obvious what was occuring; the King had come onto live television and was about to begin his speech. Eric craned his head to try and see a television, but there were too many people in the way. Fortunately, the volume was cranked to its highest setting, and the radios were also turned up. As the King began his speech, each carefully chosen word echoed through the schoolyard.

“My fellow citizens. Today, on this, the seventeenth anniversary of the end of the Civil War, I must come to you again as the bearer of news. However, unlike my broadcast on that joyous day, what I am about to say does not bring me any joy or comfort. It brings me only pain and sorrow, and I doubt that it will be cause for any celebration by you, either.

“As you may well have read in the newspapers, or seen on the news, a conflict unlike any other has been raging for more than a year throughout the globe. The Empire of the Golden Throne of The Macabees has been split usunder by a civil war, a bitter conflict that dwarfs even the terrible one that this country suffered not two decades before. Such is the power and size of the conflict, that other powers have been drawn into its deadly maelstrom, forming two mighty powerblocs, each as powerful as the other. Whilst countless millions have died in this conflict, the Grand Monarchy has been able to stay neutral, due in no small part to the diligence of this country's great diplomats and the power of our military.

“However, a great power such as this country cannot remain neutral forever, and today it is my sorrowful duty to inform you all, that the Grand Monarchy will soon become a part of this terrible conflict. Not only has the conflict spread to Haven itself, but it has come to the very shores and land of the Grand Monarchy. The vessels of our great neighbour, Gerfaanlich, were sunk by ships bearing the flag of the Golden Throne, very near to our territorial waters. No apology, or even an explanation for these grievous actions were recieved from the government of the Golden Throne; instead they arrogantly ignored this government's demands, even my own personal interventions. Their government viewed us with contempt, sneering at our desire for peace.

“This was followed, just two days ago, by the very action that has forced this government to come to its momentous, and harrowing decision. Investigating reports of transports being sunk, and innocent civilians being machine-gunned in the waters between Gerfaanlich and the Grand Monarchy, the submarine Invincible was attacked and sunk by a submarine identified as belonging to the Golden Throne. Over one hundred and fifty brave souls were killed by this unprovoked attack, but not before getting one last, courageous message out, informing the Admiralty of their situation. No survivors have been located, and given the sickening actions commited by naval forces under the banner of the Golden Throne, none are expected to be found.

“This can be seen as nothing less than an unprovoked and hostile act of war. This government issued a communique to the government of the Golden Throne, demanding an explanation and recompense for the brave souls who died in the incident; they wee given twenty-four hours to respond or it would be my duty, however awful, to declare war. It is my sad duty to inform you all that no such response has been recieved, and that consequently, a state of war exists between the Grand Monarchy and the Empire of the Golden Throne.

“This is not something that I have ever wished to put this country through. This country has been faced by the daemons of conflict and death in our recent history, and it was something that no person should ever have to go through again. Unfortunately, this situation has been forced upon us by a malevolent and evil force. This is just one incident in a long line of foul acts commited by the Golden Throne and its loathesome allies. Less than a month prior to the sinking of the Invincible, the Juumanistran government, who supports the Golden Throne like an engorged parasite sucking on the blood of a vulture, assassinated the beloved Monarch of our closest ally, the United Kingdom of Quester. Queen Clara was cut down by an assassins bullet, killed in the prime of her life by a treacherous country that could never rival the might of Questers. This is just another example of the treachery and evil that the Golden Throne and its allies represent.

“I will not lie to you all. This will not be an easy period for the Grand Monarchy and ourslves. Our bravery, resolve and courage will be put to the utmost of tests. But we must not shrink back from the challenge that has been put to us this day. Today, we have begun fighting in a war that is not about ideologies or abstract political ideals, or even for resources. We are fighting against an insidious power that looks at us in contempt, believes us to be weak and wishes to destroy us. Not just this nation, but every democratic, peace-loving nation that dares to stand up and say in one voice, “We will not go quietly into that good night, we shall not bow down without a fight, we shall go on into the light and triumph over evil and adversity!”

“It will be a long and hard path for us all. There will be struggles, and there will be adversities all of the time. There will be sadness, there will be privitations, there will nevitably be defeats. I cannot promise you an easy or short victory. But there will be victory, whatever the cost of length of time. That I can promise you.

“Thus, I say to you now, go to your homes. Be with your loved ones and relatives. Savour this night as the last night of peace, the calm before the storm. For when you awake tomorrow morning, this country, indeed the very world itself will be a different place. Savour what you can, for as long as you can. God bless, and may you all sleep well.”

The speech ended, and the national anthem played for a moment before the broadcast itself came to an end. For a moment there was silence in the yard; the shock the speech and what it meant needed time to set in. Then came uproar, as thousands of voices began speaking at once, emotions pouring forth; fear, anxiety, hatred, even happiness. However, for Eric, there was only one prevailing emotion; grief. Pure, heart-rendering grief, mixed with shock. As the crowd roared and began chanting, he fell to his knees, his entire body convulsing and shaking. Jarred and Nick quickly noticed and managed to haul Eric to his feet; then, putting his arms over their shoulders, they dragged him through the rapidly growing and animated crowd to a relatively quiet spot in the schoolyard. For a few minutes Eric could say nothing, so bad was his condition, and neither Jarred or Nick could understand why he was so badly shaken.

It took the crowd to begin shouting 'In-vinci-ble! In-vinci-ble! in a slow, rythmic chant, each syllable loaded with hatred and anger, for Jarred to suddenly understand. He turned to Nick and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout over the chanting. “The Invincible! Eric's dad was the Executive Officer on the submarine.” Nick swore at not remembering, and they both crouched down at Eric's side. His face was blank, and he was not even crying. For several more long minutes, as the crowd continued the haunting chant and its numbers swelled as passers-by became involved, Eric showed no sign of recognition or movement. Then, with stiff but calculated movements, he stood up and began walking slowly out of the schoolyard and into the adjoining street. Nick and Jarred ran to catch him up.

“Those bastards killed my father.” His voice was almost robotic, showing no emotions at all. Nick put a hand on his shoulder. “Look mate, you've just had a massive shock. You need to go home, to your mum. Talk to her.” For a second Eric stopped moving at the mention of his mother, then shrugged off the hand and continued walking. His two friends continued walking alongside him, and this time Jarred tried to talk to him. “If you're not going to go home, where are you going then?” Eric turned and looked Jarred in the eye, unblinking. “They killed my father, and I'm going to kill as many of them as I can before they kill me. I'm going to sign up with the Infantry. I'm a good shot with a rifle.”

Jarred and Nick said nothing for a while, as they walked down streets filled with crowds chanting or otherwise discussing the Kings broadcast. They turned the corner and were soon in the main City Square, where the Army Recruitment Station was. The low, squat building, glass walls decorated with opaque pictures and recruiting slogans, had already attracted an impressive crowd of teenagers and older men and women. The three friends took their place at the end of the queue. Nick turned to Eric. “Allright. If you're going to do this, I'm not letting you go alone.” He faced Jarred. “You in, Jar?” For a moment Jarred said nothing, then nodded, once. “Someone's got to look after you two pillocks. Might as well be me. Friends forever, and all that.”

So the three friends queued and waited to be recruited for the infantry, whilst in the back ground came the now familiar chant, each syllable snarled almost gutturally by the massive crowds that had gathered in the square.

In-vinci-ble! In-vinci-ble!

OOC: I was bored and felt that I should do something. So here I go. *The Slingshot is a air augmented, solid fuel, two stage, road and rail mobile theater ballistic missile that can carry a one tonne payload a thousand kilometers along with penitration aids (decoy balloons and whatnot). Six of the warheads were straight thermobaric, four were cluster warheads with thermobarics sub-munitions, and the remaining six clustere warheads with straight fragmentation submunitions. 1/4th of all submunitions are delayed action, from a few minutes to several days.


National Wartime Command and Control Facility, Mount Kerr, Izistan.

“They what?!” Robertson exclaimed surprised. “Why would they side with Gerflaanich?”
“Apparently one of their submarines disappeared and they believe that the Maccabees's took it out.” Admiral Currie replied. Robertson sighed and took in the featureless metal walls and table of the meeting room in the command bunker buried one and half kilometers down, deep in the granite roots of Mount Kerr. “Just another damn obstacle in our path. We'll say nothing regarding they're declaration until they threaten us, until then we'll not bother them unless we have no choice. I'm not about to go down as the fellow who started a inter-Pact war goddammit.” He slapped a button on the table and a panel on the wall flipped around to reveal a LCD screen displaying a map of the Gerfaanlichian colony.

“Now in the meantime, we need to do something. I've had suggestions of bombarding important Gerfaanlichian facilities from orbit, but we should hold off on that for now. Especially since the Skinnies have those damn ships hanging in orbit. I would however, prep one of our Icarus's for a recon mission in the near-term. Just in case someone takes out our observation satellites. van Buren from the Aerospace Force told me that we do have sixteen Slingshot* ballistic missile launchers in Foral, can we use them offensively at all, John?”

Currie rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Well I'm guessing that nuclear or chemical munitions wouldn't be suited to current operations...Perhaps suborbital EMP wouldn't be out of the question. But fitting them with cluster munitions and a few with fuel-air explosives and hitting a something important might make a nice statement.” He played with the recessed control panel on the table and a military base on the Gerfaanlichian coast facing the former Peligrosos territory was highlighted. “I suggest that we hit this site, its within range and seems important enough to get our message across.” Robertson considered the plan for second, “Very well. But we'll send the fellow who runs the colony a little notice a few days from now demanding that he surrender. If we can end this without bloodshed, we should. And get a message to those guys in the Aerospace Force that they have permission to get those fancy new Sarzonian bombers to Foral and stand by.” Currie replied with a short “Yes sir” and left. Robertson sat, running his hands through brown hair that was beginning to become streaked with grey, and dreamed of his retirement.

A forest clearing in Peligrosos, later that day.

The mudsplattered truck mounted transporter-erector-launcher creaked and groaned as it maneuvered into launch position under the weight of the two stage missile. At last it ceased moving and all personnel outside of the launch trucks, and launch control van, ran for the hastily prepared bunkers in the woods, some stumbling as they fixed gas masks over their faces (rocket exhaust wasn't something that you wanted to breath in). At last it was time for the Izistani to strike back.

The launch controller in the control van flipped the cover of a stereotypically red button and with a brief moment of hesitation, pressed it. Without a moments delay, fire, hot gases, and debris belched from the solid rocket motor and the missile streaked off the rail into the sky. Around the forest, missiles rose like meteors in reverse, burning a bright and smokey trail through the clear blue sky, hopefully destined for an explosive death on Gerfaanlichian held earth.