NationStates Jolt Archive

Somewhere in Allanea

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is definitely not lupus.”

Vice-President Gregory House looked down on the soldier’s corpse, sprawled out on the zinc autopsy-room table.

“This, is ebolavirus Zaire. According to our intelligence records, the Doomani have been long working on an airborne version – and voila, it is here.”

There was silence.

“So far, ten thousand Allanean troops are dead – most of them in South Africa. One hundred thirteen thousand locals are also dead.”

“Jesus Christ.” – blinked the Secretary of Education, backing away instinctively from the horribly disfigured body.

“There has been an outbreak in Allanea proper, but that was insignificant and has already been contained.”

“Have any of our pilots caught it?” – asked President Cuddy.

“No. Ouroboros flights don’t work like that – there are two crews, piloting the plane in shifts. They only stop in Africa to unload the crew – that’s to prevent it being targeted by, say, a Unity Gun.”

“Well, then, we should start vaccinating?”

“Not enough vaccine. I understand Fieldmarshal Kazansky had already ordered to vaccinate the pilots, but otherwise, there’s not enough vaccine – yet – for all personnel.”

“Oh God.”

The Secretary of Defense spoke up: “I have issued a directive that all troops must operate only in powered armor during the day. Equip everybody who is not wearing powered armor with basic barrier nursing equipment. Order them to sleep in their NBC tents, fully zipping down the sleeping bags. ”

“How’ll that help?” – the Vice-President raised his eyebrows. – “You think feeling cozy at night keeps Johnny Allanean from getting ebola?”

“No, but the bags are equipped with NBC protection – nice little British invention that. But that’s not everything. I ordered that all officers and troops who enter sexual relations with locals will be immediately executed to keep the disease from spreading. In South Africa, we will have Praetoria, Johannesburg, and Capetown quarantined. Order the divisions to seize Botswana and Zimbabwe – this will let us spread our troops away from the disease centers. All international traffic will be stopped except for military use. For the military cargos, order the medical troops to conduct UV sterilization of the external surface whenever possible.”

“How do we resupply the troops now?” – the President was eyeing the Secretary of Defense with suspicion. – “I thought you couldn’t fight a war without logistics.”

“Same as before – Ouroboroses. Also add fifty S-1000 craft, let them airdrop supplies from bombers.”

“Wow.”

“These are supersonic and nuclear. It’ll help us airlift an additional eleven thousand tons of stuff per twelve-hour day.”

“Excellent. While we’re at it, I think we should deploy the Second and Third Haven Domination fleets into the theater.” –said the President.

So it was done.

And finally, a message was transmitted from the Allanean government to allied governments of the Sovereign League, of NATO, of GASN, GDI, and of Gholgoth. It was an urgent request for as much ebola vaccine as any of them had.

The Egyptian Border

A single Ourboros aircraft passed across the Nile, two hundred kilometers south of the border. It deposed it’s bowels into the river – twenty-three thousand tons of water, mixed with a variety of piranhas, candiru, and other harmful freshwater fish. These have been selected for many fish-generations for maximum breeding speeds. The Creative Warfare Division hoped that the Doomani would not find the fish disappointing.

Five thousand various cannon and MLRS systems had been spread along a line about a hundred furlongs from the border. Simultaneously with the release of the fish, they fired their first salvo – at first releasing a barrage of guided and semi-guided anti-armor and cluster munitions into targets inside Egypt itself – up to an impressive 130 kilometers into the territory.

After this barrage continued for some time, the second stage of the attack began. The cannon launched a salvo of special dispenser shells that deployed puffs of aluminium foil strips when they detonated in the air – puffs that would register as flying chunks of metal. Other shells and rockets were actually high-speed radar decoys, transmitting false signals as they flew across the lines. Yet others were infra-red decoys.

To an observer behind a RADAR or IR optics package, the sky above the Egyptian border began to light up. Overhead, a flight of five S-1000 bombers, escorted with Black Mariah stealth fighters, passed by towards the Aswan Dam.

They launched twenty MT-2 torpedoes each at the dam, aiming at it’s floodgates, and then continued towards the dam itself.

Several minutes later, five GBU-001 Supernova 60,000-pound penetrator munitions would fall towards key points on the famous Dam.

Address by Alexander Kazansky, Field Marshal of the Royal Armed Forces

Friends! Comrades in arms!

Today, I deliver to you harsh news.

Ten thousand of your comrades are dead, and it is likely many more will die to a new strain of the ebola virus. Civilian population has also been affected – Capetown, Pretoria, Johannesburg, and several other cities have been quarantined, a task for which ten infantry divisions have so far deployed.

He did not mention that already over twenty-three thousand people were killed as angry mobs tried, repeatedly, to breach quarantine.

This was no random sickness – the ebola in question is genetically adjusted, and is likely a result of biological attack by the Doomani – the people who hate freedom and decency so much that they’re capable of exterminating the entire population of Africa just to get rid of us.

Further, intelligence has informed us that the Doomani vermin have evacuated their women and children from the cities, allowing only their militia to remain. That in itself would be enough justification for me to tell you – kill everything. Destroy all in your path. Let none survive.

However, the Doomani have already used weapons of mass destruction against us. I am thus authorized by the President to tell you: you are all Delta Zeta Four Clear. Let nothing live. Burn the crops. Destroy the infrastructure. Poison the water. Kill every man who fights you. Leave no prisoners. As in the first punishment of Egypt – let the Nile run red with blood.

As I speak, you will administer yourself your dose of combat drugs – they will enable you to have faster reflexed, to feel no pain and fear, to utilize your combat training better and think cleared. I want from you nothing but what the Queen of Allanea would surely demand of you when facing such an evil enemy.

On the border, sappers began to launch mine-breaching equipment – Bangalore Torpedoes, breaching rockets, and so forth. Tanks with mine clearers attached began to move forward. Other sappers – likely, under heavy Doomani fire – placed rapid-deployment bridges across anti-tank ditches.

The first to rush into the breaches were thousand of Native Division troops with AK47’s and gas masks. They were followed by well-spread Boy Scouts and mechanized infantry, acting in concert. The mechanized infantry rode inside their vehicles, using the speed of their engines to get through the bottleneck zones and then fan out, dismounting and attacking Doomani positions on foot, with fire support provided from IFV’s.

Forward, soldiers! Let’s make her Majesty proud!

OOC: The ebola thing is based on my conversations with Doom on IRC. He said that his personnel who are undercover in South Africa would have released it on the beginning of the Allanean invasion. By now, it should have started to take effect.

"Doctor, an order just came in from General Snowlander. We're to send our surplus Ebola vaccine to Allanea."

The doctor looked up from the corpse he was dissecting, the blade in his hand dripping with diseased blood. Safe within his quarantine suit, he looked oddly at the orderly. "We're allied with Allanea? I didn't know that."

The orderly nodded quickly from behind the giant pane of glass, his voice coming through the intercom overhead. "Yes sir, through NATO."

"Ah, very well. You have my spoken permission, tell those warehouse boys they finally get something to do. I knew that keeping all that there would help out someday. Ship as many as are needed."

Doctor Erik Trigg, head of Project Wrath, looked down at the body before him and continued his work. He had long worked on Ebola Zaire, and new it's workings inside and out. He loved the virus like a child.



Warehouse BM-102392

The warehouse was abuzz with activity. Forklifts and even larger moving cranes whirred back and forth, carrying crates and shipping containers.

The warehouse had long sat unused, containing all of the surplus Ebola vaccine not kept in primary supply locations. After several years of development and production, there were several million doses contained in the massive building.

Two hundred thousand were moved out within the night, leaving the crew of one thousand biohazard warehouse workers waiting for further orders that had never previously come.

The vaccine sped off into the night in the warehouse's freight train, due to arrive at the nearest airport and be flown to Allanea for distribution.

(OOC: I know we didn't talk numbers. 200,000 seems good. I've got tons of the stuff sitting around.)

Somewhere On The South African Shore

As far as general looks went by, the small convoy of vessels seemed to be no different than the millions of others that traversed the oceans of the world every day of every year, plying their trade. Of the twenty-five vessels, not one of them had a paint-job that matched the other, or had any sort of regulation infrastructure; some had funnels missing, or funnels where there should not have been, and others had machinery on their decks that would have not been amiss in a post-apocalyptic film. Thus, by themselves they were nothing to examine closely or even draw more than a second’s attention.

Of course, it was not their looks that would draw attention to their activities; rather, it was their rather odd situation that would first draw attention. Firstly was the fact that the vessels were not docking at a port or dockside like the rest of their ilk would do to transfer or receive cargo. Instead, the vessels had come to within a few hundred metres of the shore, where a small fleet of Rigid Inflatable Boats and other vessels were travelling between them, ferrying large numbers of small metal crates in their holds or simply on their decks. These vessels would unload the crates on the shore, where native handlers and men in uniforms would cart them away to other transports. On their return, the vessels would ship back wooden crates with the Allanean symbol, a bald eagle, stamped on them in thick ink. A dull yellow glint came from a number of crates as they were transferred onto the transports.

The second fact that would draw the attention of an onlooker was the presence of the Eight Fleet of the Grand Monarchy’s Royal Navy about thirty miles away from the shoreline and the transports. Officially the vessels were merely sailing past Doomani South Africa on their way to the Grand Monarchy’s colony of Die Boerstaat, where they would deliver supplies and a Regiment of Royal Engineers to bolster the anti-insurgency forces fighting there. If anyone enquired, be they Allanean or Doomani, they would state that they were simply sailing past. However, the fact that their speed was slow even for a major battle group was unusual, as was their proximity to the shore; a cynical observer might argue that the vessels were there to protect the cargo transports until they moved off from the shore. That, of course, was a libellous accusation that the Grand Monarchy would take very seriously, and did not have a shred of truth.

Still, it was an amazing coincidence that the Fleet began speeding up just as the transports moved off from the shore and back towards the regulated shipping lanes. As the transports moved off, the last of the metal crates were carried towards the vehicles waiting to ferry them off into the continent. One of the handlers slipped, causing the other men to fall and tip the box on its side; before they picked it up again, uniformed soldiers shouting at them, an observer would have seen the phrase embossed on its side.

Ebola Virus – Vaccine EV074 – Fragile

"Never surrender!" an infantry sergeant in powered armour yelled, spinning around and stabbing an Allanean in the throat with his combat dirk. The battle for the trenches became increasingly precarious - pools of blood and piles of corpses made it increasingly difficult to maneuver, and Whyatican troops began pulling out of the trenches and backing up to the second barrier of fortifications. A fighting retreat was the best option - setting the trenches afire as they left, the Whyatican army in the first set of trenches pulled back. It was a rather orderly retreat, as the Whyatican troops used Allanean corpses for cover, pulling out of the trenches while firing and stabbing at the Allaneans. As the last soldier exited, Defense Plan Omega was activated for the trenches. A series of high-pressure pipes dumped thousands of gallons of oil into the trenches, bowling over Allaneans in their own right. A retreating soldier took one last look at his beloved Zippo lighter, light it, and threw it into the oil field along with several other soldiers. A man with a flamethrower attached, braving bullets and shells, advanced to the trenches, firing a massive burst of flames to set the oil field on fire, incinerating anyone inside, as well as delaying any advance past the trenches for hours and hours while the oil fire burned.

Whyatican men and machinery retreated back, using the smoke from the oil fire as cover from Allanean fire, while MRLS systems and artillery batteries far behind the lines made the stretch from the Allanean batteries to the oil fire an inhospitable hell, with shells raining down on the advancing Allaneans to the point where a man could not even find refuge in a shell-hole because of the density of fire. With the Whyatican dead and injured only numbering around three thousand now, this was a tactical victory but strategic loss for the Whyatican army - the Allanean dead numbered thousands and thousands more than the Whyaticans, but the strategic operating capability of the Whyatican Army in Africa was far reduced until the Allaneans were forced to retreat or withdrew.

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Venture Island Naval Base, Whyatica
The Whyatican Grand Fleet was the oldest active fleet in the history of the Whyatican Empire - from it's fledgeling beginnings as two first-rate Battleships to it's current status with over a thousand ships from the smallest destroyer to the Hood class battleship, it was the pride of the Empire and a force to be reckoned with. The journey to Africa would take a hell of a long time, especially departing from Venture Island, and it was up to the Expeditionary Fleet near Angola and the Red Sea Fleet to ensure supplies made it to Angola, and the 600,000 Whyatican servicemen there did not starve to death.

The fleet departed on it's journey from Venture Island to Africa, hoping that there would still be Whyaticans in Angola by the time they got there.


For now, that responsibility lie on the shoulders of the Arabian Guard. Ten divisions worth of soldiers had mobilized and were ready to move, and the Red Sea Fleet, holding the security of that vital shipping lane, was prepared to move hundreds of thousands of Arabian soldiers across to mainland Africa, opening a second front against the Allanean menace and relieving much of the pressure on the Doomani in North Africa. There was one thing the Red Sea Fleet could do until the troops were ready, and that was mercilessly bomb the Allanean rail lines moving troops and equipment to North Africa. Thousands of ground attack missiles erupted from the fleet, targetting Ugandan rail lines as well as any known Allanean positions, depots, anything that could halt their war effort. Ugandan oil pipelines in particular, as it would doubly serve the Whyaticans by cutting off oil and making the area inhospitable for some time.

Wolf’s Fortress, somewhere in South Africa

“The Whyaticans did what?” – Kazansky’s eyebrows climbed upwards.

“Spammed Uganda up with rockets. So far we have upwards of six thousand dead and lots of injured, and the rail system is fucked utterly, Fieldmarshal…”

“That’s easy to solve, just start using trucks and tank transporters – think of Barbarossa if you will. Also I believe we’re completing the vaccination of ten more division, have them flown in by Ouroboros. But anyway. What’s up with the oil thing?”

“They flushed their entire forward trenchline with oil – killing some of our troops that basically got drowned – and then set it on fire. Happily most people could escape before the fire spread across the entire thing.”

“Holy mother of God. You’re telling me that they just wasted enough oil to fill the entire trenchline, along the entire southern and western border of Angola, to hold us off, and also shot their strategic mobility in the foot while they were at it?”

“Yes, Fieldmarshal.”

“Brilliant. Best news of the entire day. Don’t attack Angola. Sit tight and wait for it to burn out, lol.”

“You just used ‘lol’ in actual conversation?”

“Yeah. That’s how I roll.” – said the Fieldmarshal.

Both men laughed.

“Now, about something less funny. The ebola situation. Brief me.”

“We’re still having problems. Especially among the natives. Apparently about three hundred thousand people in the quarantined cities have gotten the bugs, and about a hundred thousand have been killed tryng to breach quarantine.”

“Jolly. Are we vaccinating our own troops, at least?”

“Yeah. Thank the Skinnians for that one. Don’t know if we can vaccinate everybody, of course.”

“Okay. I want you to use the hospital ship complement of the First Force Projection Fleet to evacuate everybody that’s injured, or has the bug – going to cost us about two divisions of personnel once you count everything. Also… code Banzacor.”

First Force Projection Fleet

As if by magic, from the various Allanean ships, twenty-seven Khan missiles rose, aimed at the Whyatican carrier ships to the West of Africa. They were distributed evenly, at a ratio of three Khan missiles per ship.

Fifty minutes after that, three S-1000 bombers based out of Botswana, flew over the African shore and launched their entire cargo – 150 Shockhammer missiles – at the Whyatican aircraft carriers.

Wolf’s Fortress, somewhere in South Africa

“Now… the final action… we have 217 divisions in Africa, not counting Native Divisions and Boy Scouts. Of those, 48 are on the Whyatican front.”

“I thought there were 49?”

“Yeah, well, fix that. Take the Furry Airborne off that one. Anyway. Fourty-nine in Whyatica, ten stuck in Cote D’Ivoire, sixty-five in the Sudan. This bears the question – what exact thing are the other divisions doing?”

“Spread out through the African Sleeve.”

“Yeah. In other words, most of them are doing nothing useful. And therefore…”

Allanea’s border with Ethiopia and Kenya/

It happened at dawn.

The first formations of Allanean light tanks crossed the border, traveling in armored squares, not unlike the formations used by the Wehrmacht in Operation Barbarossa. In the middle, shielded by the tanks, rode self-propelled cannon and IFV’s, pouring fire onto the Ethiopian positions.

Aircraft flew overhead, targeting Ethiopian positions with Mark 83 bombs, and helicopters sought out key military bases for bombing and shelling.

Similarly, Allanean troops made their way through Kenya. Everywhere, destruction and death marked their path.

The Allanean troops were under orders to capture officials of the Kenyan and Ethiopian government – ministers, jail wardens, tax officials, and even child services workers. Rapid court-martial would be the justice of these men. For those convicted – of cooperating with the Doomani slave-trade or for general ‘crimes against humanity and freedom’ – there would be only one punishment administered.

“Forward, Freemen! Forward! For our Queen and our Liberty!”

JAREDCOHENIAN EMBASSY, MIANA, WHYATICA.

Ambassador to Whyatica, Václav Havel, had been on and off the phone all day. Originally, he just wanted to get a turkey sandwich from a deli in downtown Miana. However, a call from Coheningrad perked his ears.

"So I need to speak with McKenzie? You sure you can't call him? I'm doing ambassadorical stuff, Admiral...You're the one in charge of foreign relat-. Fine, I'll do it." Havel placed his large thumb on the intercom. "Stacy, can you contact the Whyatican Foreign Minister and tell him that there's something urgent that I must discuss with him? Something about Allanea and Africa." He took his thumb off for a moment, placing it back on. "Contact the Fleet Admiral and tell him I'll tell him what McKenzie says."

WHYATICAN FOREIGN MINISTRY

A Jaredcohenian car arrived in front of Whyatican Foreign Ministry, Ambassador Havel stepped out. He wore a grey suit, white shirt under it, a blue tie, and a less formal pair of Nikes on his feet. The Ambassador goes for comfort, never a fan of black shoes and having a Clandonian touch his feet to shine them. In his right hand, he clutched a black suitcase. Havel went through security, and finally reaching the Foreign Minister's office.

"Mr. McKenzie," he said. "My government has a proposition for yours. Would you like to hear it?"

These are most surely dangerous times. The fates of many nations put on the line in several major conflicts around the world; millions of innocents live in fear and misery being caught up in the crossfire of three world powers and other millions live day and night in theocratic oppression. Thousands of miles away a city.. a city of hope, of new beginnings, of adventure and empire is burning under the might of three led by one... one that is the scourge of the Earth; a self perpetuating cloud of darkness and death which wants nothing more to enslave all under its might. One nation stands in the brunt of its spread. The unwilling vanguard of the free nations of the world. This nation values peace and wisdom. Having been borne of blood it has no desire for more.. but it has no choice. To its south lies the holy land.. now once again caught in the iron gauntlets of religious tyranny. What was a friendly neighbor is now a province of an empire of single minded hate and zealotry. Alas this nation of peace, forged in fire and blood, can no longer tolerate such impotence so near. For up till now... it naively believed that one who minds to his own will never be attacked by a warmongering neighbor.. This harsh lesson came at the price of the blood of millions of people. People who cared nothing for war but knew only that they were part of their country's and kin's dream. Now scores of them lie dead and their city in flames. Their nation's hand has been forced in this matter. Yet to south this nation still holds the virtue of choice. It has seen what happens when one pays no head to a greedy neighbor and if the fanatics to the south had the malevolence to forcibly seize the holy land and the state to the north... there is little to prove they won't want to pillage the sacred artifacts of Topkapi Palace and for that matter invade the whole of Anatolia and the Caucasus. No the native-land will not sit idly by while Muslim and Jew alike are crucified and subjected to barbarism to the south. Action must be taken. There is little choice in the way of future prosperity. In a fortunate twist of fate, however, the time is right for such intervention. Right now surging up Africa like a spawn of locusts an unfamiliar name is making its way towards the holy land with one goal in mind. It moves with great speed and destroys all those who seek to hinder its progression. Back at home religious unrest is growing as zealous Jews and Muslims call for action and Jihad. There may be a way to channel this dangerous internal aggression. The opportunity has presented itself and will not come again. The Wolf has been awakened....it will not fall.

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TOP SECRET COMMUNIQUE TO THE GOVERNMENT OF ALLANEA
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To whomever this will concern.

I am Ibrahim Karachay foreign minister and secretary of state of The Republic of Groznyj. I do not doubt you know my country's location and hence our obvious.. and albeit neccessary interest in this war you are waging. Beleive me when I say that I speak for the whole of my people that the Doomani are an inbred plague on this Earth. Or course neither you nor I have much time so I will be breif: my government wants to help you overthrow the Doomani oppression. Were it not for significant trouble oversees.. of which I am sure you are aware of (just open up the world section of any half decent paper) we cannot directly intervene. However we are more than willing and able to support you in this war.

I believe that it is far more wiser that the details not be discussed in this manner however and I wish to speak with you in person as quickly as possible.

Ibrahim Karachay,
Secretary of State


Official Seal of Groznyj http://www.chechnyawar.com/flags/coat_arms_small.jpg

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MESSAGE TERMINATED
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OOC: A really weird response to Grozny.

IC:

“Voldemar Mbonga!” - the Allanean officer barked. - “Throughout the last fifteen years you have been in charge of the Nairobi Department of Social Services. Through this time, understaffed and underfunded though your office had been, you have overseen the disposition of about ten thousand cases of custody in which the child has been removed from the home. In five hundred and fifty-nine cases, though what appears to be bribery, you have allowed these orders to be removed and the child to be returned to the original family.”

“No bribes! Never!” - screamed Voldemar in panic.

“Peace, my dear Mr. Mbonga.” - replied the officer. “The bribes do not concern me in the slightest. The other... nine thousand, four hundred and forty-one cases concern me more. According to your own records, of those children, two thousand were removed from the homes of their parents because the custody officer inspecting the homes found the homes to be 'a mess' during inspection. There are fifty cases of children removed because the parents did not send them to school, three hundred cases because of them feeding their child a vegetarian diet... but I feel I don't need to continue.”

“You... do not? You mean I am free to go?”

“This, as you understand, is a court-martial. Your signature and stamp on thousands of documents would have still required a long process in an Allanean court by a jury of your peers... here, however, I am the sole judge. And you, Voldemar Mbonga, are guilt of over three thousand counts of gross violations of basic human rights under color of law, as well as over five thousand counts of conspiracy to violate basic human rights to privacy, to liberty, and to the upbringing of one's own children.”

“That's ludicrous!”

The officer hit Voldemar Mbonga in abdomen, once. When he fell, he proceeded to kick him in his kneecaps, groin, and face.

“Voldemar, I have three children back home in Allanea. I'll have you know none of them attend a school – I am sick and tired of the kind of secular nonsense the people in our school system teach. My children” - he kicked Voldemar in the face again - “are brought up in the faith of Moses. It scares me to think that, had you been in charge of my country, you'd have ripped every single of my children from his mother's breast, without giving me even the benefit of the kind of justice I have given you. It'd be a matter of applying a stamp to a pre-filled form to you, Voldemar.”

You deserve to have your children taken away, thought Voldemar.

“I know what you're thinking, Voldemar. That I deserve to have my children taken away.”

He choked.

“I've seen many like you, Voldemar. In Iragia, in Antanjyl, in Chimaea. Same old story, everywhere. People like you, Voldemar, they're like vermin. Like rats. They're everywhere. People who believe that they know better then you what's good for your life, your children, your belly-button – doesn't matter if they're doing it for Baby Jesus, or the Great Secular Truth, or Glorious Leader. They're always the same. People who think they have the right to rip the child from his mother's hands because they don't like the content of the fairy tales she's telling him. You're common. Like rats. Like cockroaches. And like with cockroaches, there's only one thing to do with you.”

The Allanean officer drew his immense Desert Seagull pistol and trained it at Voldemar Mbonga.

“Step on you.”

Two shots rang out.

Voldemar's cases was the same like the cases of thousands of Kenyan and Ethiopian public servants. Judges who convicted people so they could be sold off into slavery to the Doomani, psychiatrists who had people committed because they didn't like the way they talked, child services inspectors who had children torn away from their families for some minor pretense, prison wardens, police officers, high school headmasters – in total, forty thousand people were executed by the Allaneans, their bodies piled into pyres outside the big cities, doused in gasoline, and ignited.

In the meanwhile, in South Africa, the local population continued to die of ebola. Sometimes, small groups of citizens tried to breach the quarantine checkpoints at the exits of the big cities.

That never worked.

Once they approached the checkpoints, the soldiers would simply get behind cover, or even into their IFV's, and fire their weapons at the approaching people, until they either changed their mind about breaching the quarantine zone, or died. The Allanean soldiers didn't look as if they cared either way. Soon enough, corpses and burned-out-vehicles began to block the major highways out of the cities, making breaching the quarantine zone even more difficult.

Among the non-urban population, the Allanean propaganda had bred a seething hatred of the Doomani – the people who spent years buying the young sons and daughters of the locals to use as slaves, and that had now convicted their brothers and sisters in the cities to violent death. As such, recruitment for the Native Divisions increased. Sure, they were only rag-tag groups of uniformed men with rifles – but so far, that was just what was needed for Kazansky's plan.

In the meanwhile, Secretary of State Allison Cameron was already landing in Groznyj. Her mission was quite clear – to hear out the proposition that the Groznians had to make, and to accept any kind of help that they would like to offer.

The Republic,
Divinidom,
High Minister Palace

'Your Excellency, Allanea is going to win the war,' stated Commanding General Katsukawa looking over a map of Africa. His short, black hair and scruffy beard were signs that he didn't particularly care for personal hygiene.

Ronin Matsumoto, on the other hand, was bald with a goatee and was built above average with tanned skin, he resembled a Mongolian. He, unlike Katsukawa took very good care of himself. At the moment though his diet and health habits were at the back of his mind as he studied the map of Africa and saw the large swab of land Allanea had managed to take from both Whyatica and Doomingsland. He wasn't sure who controlled it prior to Allanea's arrival, but it was clear they didn't control it now. A geographical map, displayed on the television next to it showed smoke covering Whyatica.

Katsukawa followed his leader's eyes and growled, 'The Whyaticans have used oil filled trenches, set on fire, to delay the Allanean advance. Though that will not last long and once the fire has settled, the Whyaticans will once again be on the defensive.'

Ronin knew something was amiss, since the Allaneans contacted Jagada directly. The two countries never had any contact before that strange message that asked if Jagada would assist them against Doomingsland. The official reason was for Jagada to assist in helping retake Kahanistani Negev, though Ronin knew the reason was more economical than that. The Allaneans obviously were getting spread too far and if a few million Jagite troops arrived, that was a few million Allaneans that they could use elsewhere.

Ronin's eyes never left the map, 'Are we being used for Allanea's own imperialistic goals?'

Katsukawa's eyes flared with disappointment, as if Ronin was trying to worm his way out of the war somehow. Though he kept his composure, Ronin was far more powerful than himself and to challenge such a power could be fatal, 'No, you Excellency, I don't think so. The Allaneans could have called upon other, more eager, allies to assist them. I think they read up on Jagada and saw he have chalk with Whyatica.'

'Had,' corrected Ronin, since his official policy was not to seek revenge on Kraven Strongholds that had broken away from the corporation.

One of the grand admirals, looking at the map as intently as Ronin, spoke up with more than a little arrogance, 'There is no point, with the oil trenches burning; we do not have any access to Angola. The Grand Navy certainly is in no shape to take on Whyatica's navy.'

Katsukawa growled and slammed his fist down on the table, his eyes burning with rage, 'Coward!'

The grand admiral rose to his feet, and Katsukawa took three steps towards the grand admiral. Katsukawa would have easily defeated the admiral, since he was at least twenty years younger and while not bigger, was known to be quick. Ronin stood to his feet in a rage, 'Enough! Both of you children!'

Katsukawa took only one more step forward before his military discipline stopped him and he retreated back to his starting position, the grand admiral merely took a seat again. Both of them kept their anger-filled eyes glaring at each other until Ronin interrupted them.

'Where can we land at?'

Katsukawa's face lightened and a smirk nearly formed but vanished as soon as his eyes met Ronin's. The Commanding General turned his back on the High Minister and looked at the map. He extended his arm and pointed out several ports along the western African coast.

'We can land at these positions.'

Ronin noticed that he chose ports far north of Allanean South Africa, for fear of the ebola virus. Jagada had the ebola vaccine and would be vaccinating all soldiers before they left for Africa. Ronin leaned back with that thought in mind -- the Whyaticans were owed one or two genocides for their part in Jagada's Extermination, and while Jagada maintained an official policy of reconciliation, it was widely known that Whyatica was probably the second strongest Kraven country and probably heavily involved in the planning and execution of the Extermination War. Beyond that, Jagada had wanted colonies ever since Risban proved more than a little rebellious. Though Katsukawa's arrogance and blatant violence was less appealing. Since he proposed the plan and it was by far the best one he'd been presented with yet by the War Command, he'd have the right to implement it personally. Was he even capable of being patient long enough go threw with his entire plan or would Jagada rush into enemy territory ... again ... and again be slain in en masse.

'So, your Excellency, do I have your approval?' said Katsukawa, now oozing with mannerism and respect for his leader, when moments ago his face nearly labeled him as a traitor.

Ronin visibly sighed, not a good sign to a Commanding General, and it showed on Katsukawa's face, 'Yes, Commanding General Katsukawa, you have your approval. You may choose any of our Intercontinental Armies, plus more, to complete your campaign.'

Katsukawa's smirk now blazed on his face, and his eyes told the grand admiral to go screw himself, several times. For his reply, the grand admiral rose to his feet gave a polite bow to Ronin, whom rose and returned it, and the admiral walked out -- clearly disappointed. As Katsukawa bowed, so did Ronin, and the Commanding General began to leave the room.

'Takeo,' said Ronin dryly. The Commanding General turned around, 'Yes?'

'Do not return if you fail,' he said, his eyes never meeting Katsukawa's, whom merely grunted, turned, and walked away. Ronin sat back down in his leather chair and stared at the map. One word stayed in his mind as he looked at Whyatican Angola ... Revenge.

Alexander Kazansky grinned broadly at his aide.

“The Jagadans, huh? That's a quarter I didn't really expect aid for. Where are they planning to land?”

The aide shrugged. “Here, here, here, and here, your Excellency.” - he pointed to several spots on the map which were the sites of impending Jagadan landings.

“Wonderful. This is what I want you do do. I want you to tell the Jagadans that we accept their help fully. I want you to begin rounding up more divisions in Allanea, vaccinating them, and sending htem to the front. Can you round up thirty more divisions within two weeks?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want you to do that. This was is the number one priority to Allanea. We must win it - whatever it costs.”

OOC: I hate to add OOC to this, but I'm curious as to who controls what RL territory in for the purposes of this RP. Is there a list or a map available?

Parliament House, Dowland City

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 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.

He had called for the men and women that now filed through the doors of his office, sitting down in the chairs that surrounded the large conference table that had been carried in a few hours earlier, to discuss the problem of the Imperium Doomanum. It had been a number of months now since the beginning of the conflict between AMF and the Doomani Empire, a conflict which had already consumed the lives of millions and would undoubtedly consume millions more before it ended. Now, Allanea had declared war on the Doomani Empire and was waging war on several fronts - one of which was Africa, a large continent some distance from Haven.

Although the Grand Monarchy had so far remained neutral in the two conflicts, it had not been an easy decision to make; only the implied threat of dismissal from the Sovereign League had stayed the hand of Alexander and the rest of Parliament. But now, with the Allanean-Doomani conflict raging on and rapidly expanding, the Grand Monarchy could not continue to maintain its stance of guarded neutrality. The shipping of ebola vaccine to Allanean Africa was only the beginning; now was the time to show the Doomani government that the Grand Monarchy would not stand for its actions and their results.

The last Cabinet Members filed into the room and took their seats, the doors to Alexander's office closing. The lights 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 one screen was a three-dimensional globe of the planet, zoomed out to show the surrounding space, and on another was a camera feed from a ship or room of some kind.

Secretary of Defense Paul Hunter turned to Alexander, face grim even through the dimmed light. The globe on the screen slowly rotated and then zoomed in, focusing in on the borders of a small nation, whose geography was unfamiliar to Alexander. A moment later the map flickered - updating the real-time footage being taken by one of the MILSTAR Satellites that orbited above the planet - and then text began appearing on the screen, black letters contrasting with the subdued green and brown hues the map consisted of.

The phrase 'Somalia' appeared at the top centre of the image, and to the far left vital statistics began to scroll slowly down, highlighting the military, economic and political situation in the country. For a moment Alexander was silent, reading the information and analysing it. The nation was tiny and impoverished, apparently within a few months of reaching a population of several million people. Other information scrolled downwards, much of it superfluous. However, when it came to the section entitled 'International Relations', Alexander sighed as he read the short but detailed paragraph that was under the vague title. He turned to Hunter, who was sitting in his customary position to the right of Alexander.

"So Somalia is a key location in the African theatre, and to deny Doomani the nation would drastically aid the Allanean assault? If I understand you correctly, by landing there with the forces we have available, with more to folow-on, we could cover the eastern flank of Africa ad help roll the Doomani forces up?"

Hunter nodded, face grim. He pressed a button on the computer screen that was set flush into his section of the table, and sat silently as another of the computer screens changed from a cross-section of Somaliai to display a map of Africa itself, the continent stretching across the whole screen; the image flickered as a satelite far above the planet updated the live footage.

"By landing in Somalia, we will gain access to a number of strategic ports and airstrips that can be converted into military areas, and aid the Allanean assault into Doomani-held Africa. The civilian government will be informed of our arrival and told that the forces landed there are for their own protection. We doubt that there will be any resistance, but if there is it will end in Somalian defeat their armed forces are pitiful, to say the least. We estimate the ability to launch offensive operations into Domani teritory within the month if all goes to plan."

Nodding thoughtfully, Alexander turned to his own computer screen, which was larger than the ones the other Cabinet Members posessed; he tapped at the onscreen controls and watched as the screen that held the map of Sonalia zoomed out again until it had both Somalia and the Grand Monarchy on screen. Tapping a few more controls, Alexander bought up a cluster of symbols on the map, many of them slowly moving; on the screens around the main one, details of various military formations of the Grand Monarchy were displayed, unit numbers and statistics scrolling down at various speeds. This done, Alexander turned to Paul Hunter.

"What forces do we have in the region, Paul? If we're to land in force, I'd prefer some veteran units to do the job."

Hunter studied his own screen for a moment, leaning over it manipulating controls and tapping at buttons, then straightened up and pointed at the main screen. One of the cluster of symbols blinked several times, and details of the symbol were displayed on one of the adjacent screens. A three-dimensional image of a Super-Dreadnought appeared, slowly rotating.

"The Tripoli Battlegroup is currently enroute to Nerotika for a peace-keeping mission - show the flag and make sure the locals don't do anything stupid. She's only a few hundred miles away from Somaliai at the moment with Rear-Admiral Higgins in command, Your Majesty; Higgins is a good man in this kind of situation, and the Tripoli should give us more than enough of a presence there."

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. An entire Battlegroup headed by a Superdreadnought would certainly be enough to secure the Somalian coastline and sea, as well as protect the first troops going ashore. As his thoughts turned to the trops that were initially to be involved, he turned again to Hunter and asked what forces the Grand Monarchy possessed in the area.

Hunter consulted a sheaf of papers next to him.

"We have the Third RRF on station in New Kaylee. The Third is a Mechanised RRF consisting of five thousand troops, one hundred Lion MBTs and around one hundred-fifty APCs. They can be in Somalia within twelve hours, and the Eighth RRF can be there within twenty-four if neccessary."

Alexander nodded his approval.

"Excellent. Send the neccessary orders and have the units begin deployment. Meanwhile, I'll draft a communique to be sent out to all the neccessary channels. Hopefully none of this will be neccessary, but we'll have to go through the motions anyway."

He tapped at his computer screen and began typing as the rest of the Cabinet nodded and filed out. This would show the Doomani court that, Sovereign League or not, the Grand Monarchy did not tolerate slavery or anything attached to the replusive idea...

Southern Egypt

"DEUS VULT!"

The battle cry reverberated all along the line as the Doomani steeled themselves for the coming slaughter. Of course, it would not be they who were struck down; they would be the butchers, for they did God's Will. Whether or not they all died to the last man in His name was in His hands alone, for they were all prepared for this end; Glory and Martyrdom awaited those who fell in His name, and death

The cowardly infidels required drugs to prevent themselves from feeling pain, or fear. This was not the case for the Doomani. Brutal, often sadistic training and sheer force of faith made them strong- they felt nothing but utter contempt for their foe, who required weakling intoxicants to make themselves fit for battle rather than taking the path of true men.

Allanean artillery found few targets- what they did hit were things the Doomani wanted them to hit: fake vehicles and howitzers, unmanned bunkers, non-functioning depots, all left in the open to satisfy enemy satellite intelligence. The real defenses remained in hardened, expertly concealed bunkers, with armored formations residing in underground staging areas hundreds of miles from the front.

Of course, because the Allaneans had fired the first shot in the artillery duel, they were also the first to expose their guns…to a much larger Doomani artillery mass. Immediately after the last of the Allanean shells had hit, they received a deafening response.

Over eight thousand guns in calibers ranging from 152mm to 16” had been massed along the Egyptian portion of the Sahara Line, primarily manned by Imperial Guard crews; even more towed, remotely-operated MLRS systems sat along the line, exceeding ten thousand in number. All were well hidden, although a bunch had fallen victim to the initial Allanean bombardment due to the sheer number of enemy guns involved. However, this would not make too much of a difference: the Doomani began unleashing a counter-battery bombardment the likes of which had not been seen on this blood-soaked continent.

Six thousand 300mm multiple rocket launch systems along the Doomani line sounded off, the screaming of the motors capable of being heard from miles away as they spat their payloads high into the air. Their targets: the Allanean artillery. Equipped with composite cluster munitions, they had both fragmenting anti-personnel and high-explosive anti-tank bomblets. In total, over seventy-two thousand rockets were launched at the Allanean artillery, the position of which had been ascertained via counter-battery RADAR as well as being verified via satellite intelligence.

This, of course, was merely a hint of the living hell the Allaneans were blindly charging into. As the first of the Allanean breeching vehicles and sappers moved up the line to the defenses, over two thousand howitzers opened fire on the line, showering their positions with hundreds of thousands of individual cluster munitions. These included fragmentation, thermobaric, anti-tank, as well as mine rounds, which would remain undetonated for enemy tanks or infantry to run over and set off.

With the approach of the Native units, the artillery barrage intensified; the cluster munitions hit practically every square meter of ground they advanced upon as they kept up their movement. However, even as this happened, the Allaneans still surged forward, creating breeches in the minefields and anti-tank ditches to move across via their sappers and bridging vehicles, although the number was likely severely diminished due to the artillery barrage.

With these breeches created, the first of the expertly concealed defenders began to open fire into the chokepoints. The chokepoints were covered by literally dozens of medium and heavy machineguns, grenade machineguns, auto cannons, as well as marksmen; those were the anti-infantry weapons alone. The volume of fire poured into the chokepoints as the infantry tried to move through was simply staggering; auto cannons ranging in caliber from 23mm to 37mm along with 40mm grenade machineguns raked them with high explosive rounds, while machineguns ranging in caliber from 7.8x63mm to 15.7x131mm would cut down anyone foolish enough to take to their feet and attempt to advance; in this way the Allaneans’ tactic of moving up in small groups would easily be countered. If they attempted to bum rush, of course, they’d be slaughtered either way.

Meanwhile, hundreds of 82mm and 125mm mortars began dropping rounds into the gap to completely annihilate those caught within. Mixed in were rounds ranging from high explosive to fuel air explosive, to ensure everything in those chokepoints was completely incinerated.

Of course, then came the enemy mechanized units. Taking advantage of the narrow chokepoints, 125mm recoilless rifles opened fire from the bunkers as well as 152mm ETC guns and heavier caliber auto cannons. Their goal was to clog up the chokepoints with the wreckage of enemy vehicles; even those that succeeded in breaking out of the chokepoint and scatter would find themselves taking heavy anti-tank fire from the front and on either flank. There was simply nowhere to maneuver on the other side; they’d simply run into more mines, bunkers, ditches, and machineguns. Those that were able to dismount would, like the others, find themselves under heavy machinegun and auto cannon fire, as well as fire from mortars.

Meanwhile, the Allaneans had succeeded in destroying the Anwar Dam. The resulting catastrophe from that particular exercise in destruction was simply staggering: the Nile River was overflowing; the cities along the banks suffered heavily from the flooding. Cairo Air Force Base’s flight operations were completely down; all of the aircraft caught on the surface when the flooding had commenced suffered extensive water damage that would require repair.

The introduction of carnivorous fish into the river prior to the destruction of the dam had been a stroke of genius by the Allaneans; this resulted in casualties that were far higher than what normally would have come from the flooding, with the fish devouring unsuspecting Imperial Guardsmen as they attempted to ford the waters of the cities, forcing them to take cover on the upper floors of buildings. All in all, it was a disaster for the Province of Aegyptus.

However, there was good news to come of this all. The Allanean 2nd Force Projection Fleet had foolishly run right into Classis Atlantica in their rush to Cote D’Ivore, and had as a result thrown away the advantage they had with their Khan missiles. The Doomani, in this case, had the clear numerical advantage for once, especially in terms of naval artillery. Their missile spam was nothing to sneeze at, either: a fleet 1,000 strong certainly had a lot to toss at their enemy in terms of firepower.

Their initial attack consisted of a massive barrage of Redemption anti-shipping missiles, which would fill the waters around the Allanean fleet with supercavitating torpedoes; thousands of the missiles were launched, along with smaller Bireme and Trireme missiles, which were more conventional sea-skimmers with terminal pop-up maneuvers to deliver their payload into the decks of the enemy vessels. The meat of the missile spam was in the Redemptions, of course, which could cause the most damage overall and were the hardest to counter.

It was not long before they were within gun range, and the amount of guns the Imperial fleet had was simply staggering: 6”, 12”, 20”, 25”, and 27.5” guns were plentiful. The amount of shells being poured into the enemy fleet was simply sickening, with escorts often taking shells no smaller than 12” at a time. The shells being used were rocket-assisted, GPS-guided rounds, ensuring that they would ultimately hit their marks. The Doomani made a point of targeting the Allanean carriers and arsenal ships, with the carriers receiving 6” cluster munition spam on their decks, while the arsenal ships were targeted predominantly with 12” and 20” guns to puncture their VLS systems and set their magazines off.

"General Brown, we have stalled the Allanean advance." a Colonel said to General Tyrone Brown, who was watching video replays of the battle and current feeds of the oil fire and continuing artillery exchange.

"I'm aware of this. What's the status of the fleet?"

"They're retreating, they're outnumbered immensely by the Allanean fleet and the Grand Fleet is on it's way."

"Infernal wets should've sent us help ages ago..What about the Arabians?" Brown muttered, switching to a readout of divisional readiness in Arabia.

"Thirty divisions report being ready to move out."

Brown swore underneath his breath again, and said, "Get the Arabians moving. Operation Seal Poacher. We'll hit them from the East and get the Doomani moving south." Brown said, standing up and storming out of the room. The man needed a smoke, and this battle was rapidly giving him a headache.

--

Artillery fire continued to roar across the horizon, although slightly more randomly now that the smoke from the oil fire obscured vision. The goal now was just to keep the Allaneans from reorganizing with the sheer volume of fire involved. The oil fires gave the Whyatican Army plenty of time to regroup and prepare for a counteroffensive, but the situation they were in was not making that easy. They were outnumbered two to one in divisions, and the factories in Angola were incapable of supplying all 600,000 men for very long on their own. The best shot was a large-scale offensive from Arabia that can create a link from Arabia to Angola and bypass the sea transports. Four paratrooper divisions were prepared for an assault on Djibouti and Eritrea, and the rest of the force would depart with the Red Sea Force at the same time. This massive cross-Sea attack would catch the Allaneans off-guard, facing forty Arabian Guard divisions on a vulnerable flank.

The Red Sea Force had achieved it's first objective; eastern Africa rail lines were no longer accessable to the enemy, and now they began with a far less efficient process of using tank transporters and trucks across the rough territory. Constant bombardments from the vaunted Sariel stealth bomber would make the perilous crossing now nearly suicidal. The RSF fleet would now begin it's second objective - shipping thirty divisions of Arabian Guard troops across to Ethiopia and attacking the Allanean eastern flank with as much force as could be brought to bear. However, the situation became more perilous for the Whyatican-Doomani coalition daily as the Allaneans gained more allies, but the Whyaticans were not without allies of their own..

________________

Daniel McKenzie looked up at the Jaredcohenian ambassador and said, "Well, I'm listening, Mr. Ambassador. Tell me what you have in mind."

The man was frayed and looked older than he was, and Daniel rubbed his head and thought out loud, saying, "Does this have anything to do with the Allanean war?"

_________________

A stereotypically mysterious-looking man entered the Whyatican Ministry of War, claiming to be an Allanean defector and wishing to speak to someone higher-up. After being searched from literally everything imaginable to make sure he had no explosives, knives, guns, or weapons on him, he was brought to Colonel Clarence Potter in Intelligence, and he said, "What do you know, Allanean?"

"In short, Colonel, my group aims for the abolition of the Allanean monarchy, the establishment of a secular Allanean state, and the end of the African conflict. We are willing to use, quite literally, any means necessary to...persuade the government of our views. All we need, the only thing we need, is a way to get our men to Africa and the necessary equipment."

"Very interesting, Mr...?"

"My name is unimportant, Colonel. I have about two thousand people following me, and we're all prepared to go to Arabia and cross the Red Sea and raise havoc in Ethiopia, South Africa, all the places my government has illegally occupied."

"Then you have a deal. Get your men to Mecca and we'll move out from there."

The Allanean did not say anything, but with a slight smile on his face, he turned around and left the Colonel's office.

________________________

Red Sea Force, 20 kilometers from Eritrean shore
Eritrea was a small country, population four million, and yet another 'Unclaimed' country in the Dark Continent. Today was going to be a changing day in most Eritreans' lives as they became pawns in the Great War between the Imperial powers in Africa. Fifteen Arabian Guard divisions were onboard with the Red Sea Force, and the Eritreans had not made any effort to resist. No broadcasts of surrender, or resistance, or anything for that matter. They seemed to know it was coming as soon as the war broke out.

As the first drop-ships hit the water, the first phase of Operation Seal Poacher began - and that was securing Eritrea and nearby Djibouti, which had a similarly sized force landing in it, and then a massive advance into Ethiopia to attack the Allaneans there, cutting them off before they could reach Doomani North Africa with a larger force.

"Thank you, Foreign Minister McKenzie. As I'm sure you know, Jaredcohenia has a colonial holding in what you can call Nigeria and Cameroon, the name is unimportant. However, intelligence that you can see in this document...where is it..." He opened his suitcase, pulling out a manila folder. The folder was ill-cared for, the corners crushed and the folder itself doodled on. "The first page of the folder is a picture taken over the Gulf of Guinea, is several Allanean hovercraft heading to what we believe to be either Ghana or the Côte d'Ivoire. However, recent satellite photographs show increased activity in the nation of Côte d'Ivoire, a Jaredcohenian colonial interest. If you examine pictures taken from the satellite on the second page, you can see as many as 7 camps in the nation. However, we suspect their to be more. My orders from the Secretary of Defence and the Foreign Ministry are to tell you that the Jaredcohenians will support the Whyaticans and Doomanis against the dreadful Allaneans, also to inform you of the situation in the Côte d'Ivoire. With your permission, bombing runs in the area would occur." He closed his suitcase and fixed his blue tie. "From what I realize, my nation is allied with Allanea through two alliances. I believe my superiors know that as well, but I doubt that they can stand to see the Allaneans kill citizens of the Pope, no?"

[OOC: I've been informed that Whyatica is ignoring his Kraven history -- but at the moment, my reasons for entering this are simply changed from vengence to helping Kahanistan in some form. So I'm just going to leave my initial post the same, but consider my reasons being to help Kahanistan.]

Onboard JGFS 大胆

Katsukawa raised the glass of illegal ale to his mouth and quickly took several gulps, finishing it off. He slammed the glass back down on the metal table, nearly shattering it, and exhaled with pain as the fire in his chest subsided. Alcohol was illegal in Jagada, but since he joined the military he was managed to get several shipments sent to him. He was no fool, or at least not a stupid fool, he kept them well hidden in a locked locker in his personal quarters, and no military inspector would dare opened a locked locker in a Commanding General's room. That would end badly for everyone.

Reaching over he grabbed the large bottle of ale and refilled his ice-filled glass before looking back down at papers he was holding. It appeared the 'Eye' had tracked several Whyatican divisions moving across the Red Sea, probably to attack Allanean positions in eastern Africa to relieve the Doomi. Though from what intelligence was showing about that clash, the Doomi didn't need any help. The Allaneans seemed to be dying in mass. That would complicate things if Allanea began to loose the war. Katsukawa tried not to think about that, Doomingsland and Whyatica were well known countries that could easily defeat Jagada if it stood alone, which is usually did.

He shook his head at the idea and went back to reading other intelligence reports. Suddenly he noticed the intercom that was positioned just in front of him on the wall, was blinking -- a sign that someone wanted his attention. He pressed the button, 'What is it?'

'Sir, you have a visitor on the bridge. A ... Brother Asano,' said the voice of a random ensign.

He growled, while he officially declared himself a Christian, he had little use for God or religion or even spirituality. Life was far too short, far too important to worry about things like that. Though, by ignoring this guest and sending him away he would be insulting the Republic itself. Brother Asano wasn't just another priest; he was a Combat Priest -- a priest who fought in battle like other soldiers. To top it all off, he wasn't just a normal battle priest, he was their commander. While he acknowledge the request and said he was on his way, he could not hide the annoyance in his voice.

He was still cursing God, priests, and religion in general as he opened the door to the bridge and stepped threw. Brother Asano quickly made himself known to the Commanding General, as he and a young, tall, and skinny man in uniform approached. The tall and skinny officer was Grand Admiral Fujimoto. Brother Asano was a contrast to what one would expect a soldier to be. He was old, slightly balding, had no noticeable muscular features and his face displayed only drunkenness. Though neither of these men kept his eye for long, as from behind Brother Asano the graceful figure of a woman appeared. He instantly felt himself became aroused by her and his military discipline seemed to fade as he let his mouth hang open slightly. Asano noticed the gawking and seemed to take some offense to it, as he took a step in front of the woman.

'Commanding General Katsukawa, I assume?' he stated dryly.

Katsukawa slowly restored his poise, but his eyes never left the graceful woman, whom had long black hair and the body that could easily have belonged to a twenty year old. Though her face conveyed an age closer to seventeen. 'Yes,' he said shortly and bluntly.

He extended his hand, 'Brother Asano, of the War Priest Battalion.'

Katsukawa shook the priest’s hand, his eyes only now tearing themselves from the woman he stood partly in front of. 'Good to meet you, I assume your men are all ready for the campaign ahead of us?' he asked.

The war priest nodded, 'Yes sir. Though I wanted to meet you to discuss a few matters regarding the land we're entering.'

Katsukawa struggled to keep his eyes on the priest, instead of the woman. He nodded and motioned the priest to go on. He did so without hesitation and boldly, 'To be blunt Commander, the natives of Africa are not known for their proper religious practices. Some worship being whom are too close to Satan for Congress' liking. I expect you will allow my men and I the freedom to proper ... instruct these people?'

When a war priest asked to instruct anyone, it usually included a regiment of torture, followed by a beating until the person acknowledged they did wrong. The Inqusition of old Spanish Empire times would not find itself out of place among the war priests. Only one minor thing stopped the war priests from doing exactly that.

'Its illegal, Brother Asano, to torture anyone at all, under any circumstance.'

Katsukawa really had not problems with torture, so long as it was done well enough that he wasn't caught. Life was short, and those who didn't do all they could to survive usually found that time cut even shorter. Though this priest had done nothing for him to make him want to risk his career and possibly life.

The priest, however, seemed to like the answer less than Katsukawa expected, 'Religion is the cornerstone of the Republic. To allow these heathens to worship satanic gods and deities are a slap in our face and we must properly educate them or suffer God's wrath!'

Katsukawa's race began to glow red as the priest defied him with religious zeal. That was the thing that annoyed him more than anything -- religious zeal. He grinded his teeth together and tried to keep his temper but his anger was clearly visible, 'It is illegal, and I won't risk my career and life for your beliefs.'

'It is God's Wi-'

'Enough!' exclaimed Katsukawa in a rage. No old man would talk to him like that, 'Off of my bridge, now! Once you learn your place in the chain-of-command and show proper respect for it, you are not welcome here!'

Asano began to take a step forward, as if to challenge the Commanding General. Katsukawa was not a man to be challenged, and eagerly took a step toward the preist, his fists already clenched together in rage. The two men stared each other, eye to eye, albeit Katsukawa had to look down slightly due to his superior height. For a moment it appeared the two men would exchange blows, in such a match Katsukawa would definitely have won. Though the woman, who Katsukawa had eyed so intently, suddenly spoke up.

'Father! Please, lets just calm down,' she said in a voice that broke Katsukawa's rage instantly. It also seemed to break Asano's who turned and faced his daughter and smiled. In a short, almost unheard voice, he apologized and the two exited the bridge without another word.

Katsukawa growled again, 'So they're family ... that complicates things.'

'Sir?', asked Grand Admiral Fujimoto. Katsukawa shook his head, he would not answer. Instead he turned his head to see the South African coast. Not turning to face Fujimoto he said, 'Grand Admiral, begin to land our troops are the predestined locations. I'll been in my quarters or on the main deck if you need me.'

Katsukawa never even bothered to wait for Fujimoto's reply before storming off the bridge.

SIC:

Fleet Admiral Soda Popinski had recently talked with Ambassador Havel, the Whyaticans had approved the strike on Allanea, specifically in the Ivory Coast. However, the Jaredcohenians were faced with a predicament. Allaneans, though rarely involved, were in the Global Alliance of Sovereign Nations. The Slavs in Jaredcohenia were slowly (seemingly) rising through the power charts of the GASN, and being ejected would be something not beneficial to the Republic.

The Slavs would have to do the thing Slavs are known for. Deceit.

"We know that the Allaneans are in the Ivory Coast, no?" Popinski rhetorically asked. "And our troops are currently in Cameroon and Nigeria...what if we were to say that the Allaneans killed Jaredcohenian soldiers?"

Minister of Security Ivan Cohen, seemingly sleeping with a cap covering his eyes, added "because stating that the enemy destroyed one of our ships when we're had no relations with them works every time."

Popinski glared at the Minister of Security, a look that spoke 'I am not pleased by this.' "We can always try, no? Fudge some results, have a Merchant Marine ship off the coast of Lagos be sunk by a Jaredcohenian submarine off the coast of the Lagunes province, fudge it and state it was done by Allaneans. Also change the radar in the ship had detected a sub. Should work, I would think."

SIC:

Off of the coast the Lagunes province in the Côte d'Ivoire, Operation: Slavic Deceit was underway. The Jaredcohenian Merchant Marine vessel Lech Kolnikaya was chosen to be destroyed. The ship, an old one, had working radar and no one on board. However, the Jaredcohenian Submarine Panther 13 was the opposite, state of the art technology and chock full of naval officers. The Lech Kolnikaya was shot by a torpedo from the Panther 13, the ship had sunk.

IC:

THE COHENINGRAD TIMES

WAR! JAREDCOHENIAN VESSEL SUNK BY ALLANEANS!Matt Labunda, Senior Editor

'Tis a sad day for Jaredcohenia today as the Merchant Marine vessel, the Lech Kolnikaya (named after the negotiator of the first Jaredcohenian-Blub Non-Aggression Pact), was hit by a submarine off the coast of the Ivory Coast. The ship was travelling to Lagos, Jaredcohenian Nigeria bringing medicine and supplies to the colonials on the island. However, off the coast of the province of Lagunes in the Ivory Coast, a submarine sunk the vessel.

The submarine is believed to be Allanean as the news of Allanean troops massing in the Ivory Coast came yesterday in a leaked report showing Allanean troop placements in the Ivory Coast and pictures of hovercraft belonging to the Allanean government heading towards the area.

War is expected to officially be declared later today.

Official Allanean message to the GASN

“WTF? We did not in fact sink any Jaredcohenian ships. We can provide movement logs of all our submarines for the last month, and furthermore we point out our navy is not authorized to wage war with Jaredcohenia. For that to happen, a bill would have to be discussed and passed in Congress. If a submariner had fired at a Jaredcohenian, then he would have comitted a major crime and should be executed. Also we would like to have access to the wreck for analysis. If you like, it can be stored in Praetonian or other neutral shipyards for the purpose."

Naval Action

There was only one way to describe what happened to the Second Force Projection Fleet that day: even with the use of nuclear anti-missile equipment, MTHEL, and the other equipments at the Allanean disposal, the fleet simply got butchered.

Within minutes, a large fraction of it's combat capacity was gone. Assault cargo craft laden with supplies and ammunition for the Marines, empty aircraft carriers, guided missile destroyers – when it was over, only about 150 ships were left. Of these, the USS Benjamin Franklin was stranded, separated from main fleet.

The Allanean ships reacted rapidly. The submarines launched a salvo of torpedoes – 5 each, for total of 250 torps. From the light cruisers, a rain of 1,000 Shockhammer anti-ship missiles took off. From the batlteships – 350 Khans. And then, the Allanean ships began to retreat, firing the 30-inch cannon of the Elusive class battleships at anything that tried to catch up.

Southern Egypt

“For Mother Liberty!”

The front rapidly became strewn with the dead and dying. The Native Divisions took the brunt of the first wave, and now they were paying for it in blood – in full, fifty thousand Sudanese were lying in the Egyptian fields, dead or dying. In some places, bodies clogged the anti-tank ditches, and combat vehicles were already moving in, tracks biting into the flesh of the dead.

But the Native Divisions were not the only ones to pay their price. At the rear, the Doomani artillery decimated the Allanean batteries. They did not kill all the Allanean batteries – the Allaneans had equipped themselves with too electronics 'alphabet soup' electronics for that. But the damage was immense. Burned-out SP cannon and MRLS launchers became a common site on the battlefield.

* * *

Sarah Monson was lying flat on the ground, her scoped 20x138mm rifle aimed carefully at what appeared to be a firing slit in a bunker. It was covered by steel grate to prevent a grenade from being thrown in. For Sarah, that didn't matter. At two kilometers away, the Girl Scout aimed her immense rifle at the firing slit, waiting for a glimmer of a human movement inside. When she saw something move inside, she pulled the trigger calmly.

The entire battlefield was filled with thousands of snipers and designated marksmen – Allanea was, after all, the Nation of Riflemen. Every mechanized infantry detachment had at least one Desgnated Marksman, and at least one grenadier whose launcher could fire not only anti-tank, but also thermobaric munitions, to clear out and break into enemy bunkers. However, the Boy Scouts were not as well equipped with the latter, and the Native Divisions, on whom the brunt of the first attack fell, did not have many of the former. Their mode of warfare was different.

* * *

Some of the most terrible drugs are not among those cooked up in underground laboratories. The most terrible drugs are those manufactured by the human body – testosterone, adrenaline, and so forth. Concentrate them, combine them with the more 'hairy' artificial drugs – and what you will have is Hell on earth.

Billy Flannigan was the commander of a Boy Scout Detachment. A Boy Scout detachment that has ceased to exist in fifteen minutes of fighting around a single Doomani emplacement. He was now alone, with a bullet hole in his side and another one in his left arm. Blood seeped into his uniform, making it cling to his skin. He was out of ammunition for his rifle. Yet Billy Flannigan did not feel pain. He felt anger – glorious, exhilarating anger, pumping through his veins to the rhythm of the music that blared out of the combat loudspeakers on every Allanean vehicle.

He ran towards the Doomani bunker. A machine gun rang – almost inaudibly, for Flannigan's altered perception. The drugs, and his own emotional state, worked in conjunction with each other to ensure the 17-year-old felt almost no pain as fresh bullet wounds blossomed over his chest. He fell, rose, fell again, and finally was inside the bunker somehow – how, he himself did not know.

Several Doomani raised their rifles to aim at him – but this no longer mattered. His fingers were already on the handles of the immense grenades he carried – six immense grenades, each carrying 430 grams of high-explosive.

Flick. Flick. - he twisted two of the detonators into the 'fire' position, without bothering to take them out of his Alice Pack. Three more bullets tore through his lungs, his, skull, his heart.

Bill Flannigan, commander of the 45th Boy Scout detachment, fell on the floor of the Doomani bunker, dead as a brick.

Seconds later, fire belched out of all the firing slits of the bunker at once.

Two of you get into the house together - you, and a grenade; both be lightly dressed – you without a knapsack, and the grenade bare; go in grenade first, you after after; go through the whole house, again always with a grenade first and you after...

Sergeant Muhammad Elinejad and his platoon – composed by now of only three other men – had arrived by the Doomani bunkers. They took cover behind a destroyed Allanean tank, it's turret pierced clean through by Doomani munitions. To the front of them were two bunkers. Smoke was coming out of one of them where the tank gunner had managed to aim his main cannon right into one of the firing slits. The other was still alive. They could hear the crackle of it's autocannon as it traded fire with a SOV-06 vehicle behind them. From the vehicle, several guided missiles streaked out towards the bunker, but to no avail.

Muhammad spat. He hated those Doomani infidels. Enslaving his people, worshipping disgusting idols. It wasn't that he liked Allaneans much, what with their depraved habits – but it was nothing like the burning loathing that he had felt towards the Doomani. And now it seemed he would just die here, in the desert, humiliated and useless, without even killing one of them!

“Listen to me, men. This is what we do...”

Second later, they rose and ran – two appearing on the left of the tank, two on the right, sprinting to govern the forty yards separating them from the Doomani bunker.

Thirty yards. The machinegun fire poured in their direction.

Twenty yards. Bishara Tibi fells – or rather fell apart, his body ripped in half by autocannon fire – but the Allanean SOV-06's turret turned, and a long staccato of Gatling fire was heard, and one of the Doomani machineguns ceased it's clatter.

Ten yards. There's a loud explosion behind them as a Doomani shot penetrates into the bowels of the Allanean vehicle The turret is ripped off completely and thrown several dozen yards like a cork shooting out of a champagne bottle.

They were at the entrance of the bunker. Someone threw in a string of heavy hand grenades, and the ground shook as the massive explosion rips the steel door the hell of it's hinges. Then, they threw in three more grenades. And then they were inside, fighting the Doomani bayonet and knife, firing AK-47's at point-blank range, slashing throats and kicking ribs in with their heavy boots. Momentarily, the gunners were distracted from firing their weapons at the ceaseless onslaught of Native Riflemen and Allanean mechanized infantry to deal with them.

Minutes later, all were dead. Sergeant Elinejad died last, with his left hand broken and several large bullet holes gaping in his chest, blood leaking into his lungs. Every inch of his body hurt as its cells screamed out for oxygen.

He did not hear the roar of engines and loudspeakers as an Allanean IFV parked a dozen yards from the bunker. He did not see the Allanean soldiers as they rushed in, clearing out the Doomani out with flamer, grenade, and bayonet. And even though he was still alive when an Allanean soldier accidentally stepped on his chest and smote a Doomani soldier with his chainsword, cleaving him in half from neck to groin, he did not feelt it. He was smiling happily. The doors of Heaven have opened for Muhammad Elinejad, and the houris were already waiting for him, pretty like his wife Sajeda.

There is only one strict rule now – give yourself elbow room! At every step danger lurks. No matter – a grenade at every corner of the room then forward! A burst from your tommy-gun around what's left: a bit further – a grenade, then on again! Another room – a grenade! A turning – another grenade! Rake it with your tommy-gun! And get a move on!

Even despite the piling casualties, the Allaneans continued to move on, slowly gnawing away at the Doomani defenses. Sometimes, sappers would rush onto a roof of a bunker – two, three, or more dying in the process – and plant an immense explosive charge there. Sometimes the bunker would be destroyed with direct fire from light tanks that could get close enough to slip a round into it's firing slits. At other times, Allaneans or Sudanese would rush into a bunker and simply fight – with rifles, with the Thompson guns of the Boy Scouts, with chainsword and bayonet.

A word has to be said about the Allanean bayonet, the ABK-1. Allanean bayonet doctrine is not based on the idea of massive bayonet rushes in the style of Timoshenko or Budenniy. Rather, the bayonet is an adjunct to the rifle, a sort of enhancer to the close-combat techniques Allanean infantry are taught. It is essentially an immense Bowie knife that can be attached to rifles. It enhances the usual Krav Maga rifle jab and and rifle slice - simply by attaching a large, sharp, heavy bit of steel to the barrel. Alone, it's an effective knife – and even if the blade breaks, smashing someone over the head with the heavy metal handle is always a nice thing to do.

With this kind of weapon, it is easy to visualize how the Allaneans fought when they met face-to-face with the Doomani. They were skilled – and yet they were ferocious, they were efficient – and they were brutal, they worked by the book – and yet they put every ounce of emotion they could muster into their work, so that the floor of the bunkers ran red with Doomani and Allanean blood.

And yet it was not enough.

By the end of the day, 90,000 men were dead. Included in that number were not only the Sudanese riflemen or 'combat troops', but men of 'non-combat' outfits like sappers, signal corps soldiers, and others who were not supposed to be in the line of fire, but whose duty brought them there anyway.

The Allaneans continued to push on, at an enormous price -and yet, they were losing time. And so, the Allanean high command has decided on an immense sacrifice. Materiel, aircraft, even human lives – all of this was less important then the one crucial element of time.

And so the Condoleezza Rice Air Armada took off from the airfields in Botswana. The aircraft were outdayed F/A-18s. It would not be a pity if they were lost – and indeed, the Allaneans expected that a lot of them would be lost. But it was an Air Armada of one thousand aircraft, and even with immense losses, the damage they would do to the enemy would be significant.

Each of the aircraft carried ten GBU-39 Small Diameter Munition - advanced guided bombs designed to fulfil one purpose and one purpose only – to penetrate bunkers. Between them, that meant that ten thousand anti-bunker bombs would be carried by the Allanean aircraft towards the Doomani positions. Yes, there would be immense losses, and the Allaneans knew it and accepted it beforehand. But regardless, this much explosives would do the enemy some truly significant damage.

Additionally, the Allaneans would now know more about the location of the main enemy AA stations.

Which allowed for the second wave of attack.

It was much greater in scale. Based from South Africa and Botswana, two of the Air Armadas that used to provide the air complement of the First Force Projection fleet had arrived. Again, the Allanean mission statement for these vehicles was based already on the idea that large losses would be sustained.

The force now was divided into two parts. One, an Armada composed partly of aged F/A-18 aircraft and Black Maria aircraft (which, unlike the F/A-18, possessed some amount of stealth and had a higher payload) attacked the Doomani bunkers again – this time, with about three thousand GBU-10 Paveway munitions – large, one-ton guided bombs designed solely for the task of piercing bunkers.

The other Armada was composed of Black Marias solely – and was given a more important mission. They escorted – and provided a distraction from – a hundred stealthy bombers, the Lancaster II. Behind the scenes, Allanean EW equipment provided whatever radar Jamming they could, and the escort aircraft attacked the Doomani AA with missiles and the Doomani aircraft with air-to-air weapons – and generally, when that many aircraft unleash their weapons on an AA system, it hurts. A lot.

But the bombers would do something no less painful. Between them, they carried 3,000 tons of munitions of various kinds, and these munitions – cluster anti-vehicle bombs, short-range HARM munitions, FAE bombs, napalm – would be dropped on the locations of the Doomani AA.

One would be curious at this stage – what was the third Air Armada of the First Force Projection Fleet doing?

The answer was simple – it was preparing for the second stage of attack. Soon enough, it took to the air, armed with long-range air-to-air munitions and anti-radar rockets. They were escorting other vehicles, as well – 500 BE-23 aircraft. In theory, of course, less aircraft would be needed to carry out the combat complement nine complete Airborne divisions and one that was severely crippled. But it was decided to spread the troops across more aircraft then was needed – in fact, almost double the needed amount of aircraft – to reduce overall losses of personnel to AA.

Soon enough, the troops would begin to drop out, their parachutes opening only 70 meters from the ground to avoid making the white silk of parachutes a target too early. Many would still die before reaching the ground. But when the maneuver would be accomplished, the result would be spectacular – thousands and thousands of Allanean troops would be upon the very positions of Doomani artillery, engaging with rifle and grenade against artilleryment, troops whose main weapon was the howitzer and the mortar – even as Army Group Egypt continued to slowly gnaw on the defenses of the enemy.

In Ethiopia

The presence of the Allanean Republican Army made itself felt on the very first day of their arrival. On that day, there were massive riots in Addis-Ababa – if you can call it a riot when rifles are fired at your men, and youngsters only fourteen years old throw Molotov cocktails at you.

Kazansky was there on that day, visiting the freshly-conquered city. He had hoped to see the famous City of Roses, the Jewel of Ethiopia. Instead, he had to wait out in a command vehicle, his personal guards to his left and right – at least, that was how Army Personnel Protection Division planned it.

They were wrong. At some point, the Fieldmarshal observed one of the ARA fighters – distinct from the Ethiopian fighters, he was clad in a green uniform, equipped with a DR-83 rifle, and shouting slogans with a distinct Allanean accent even as he fired his rifle at Allanean soldiers and pro-Allanean Ethiopian policemen.

“Down with the regime! Death to the elven bitch! Death!”

The door of the command vehicle opened. The Ethiopian fighters did not pay much attention to the red-armored soldiers that emerged – but the ARA fighter was. He paled a little – and when he saw a figure of a young boy clad in a black ceremonial uniform, his head uncovered, wearing a white scarf with a silvery clasp, wielding two immense autopistols, he turned to run.

He did not see the Fieldmarshal cut through the crowd of rioters, but he heard the continous roar of the automatic pistols, and he knew that the Fieldmarshal was a good shot.

When he heard the stamping of the Fieldmarshal's shoes inches behind him, he turned in panic. He was too scared to think of using the rifle. Instead, he merely grasped where he thought the boy's throat would be – his fingers clenched the white scarf and the uniform's hard collar underneath.

And yet, Kazansky made no move to kill him.



“Look, I need to...”

The ARA man reached back with one hand, grabbing a knife. With the other, he was still pulling on the scarf – with the result that the scarf unwrapped itself and he almost fell backwards – recovering immediately to jab for Kazansky's throat. The fact he was holding the scarf almost didn't register.

“Give me the scarf back.” - said the Fielmarshal calmly, avoiding the blow.

“Fuck you, theocrat!”- replied the ARA man with much less calm, now aiming at Kazansky's face.

Suddenly, the black gloves latched on his knife hand. There was a horrible crack as Alexander broke the man's hand in three places in a single motion. He fell on his knees, and then Kazansky drove his knee into the traitor's face.

“I want this man be given a doctor, stat. I want him in a hospital, and I want interrogators talking to him on the double. After it's done, be prepared to give him a trial for high treason.”

“Yes, Fieldmarshal.”

“Anybody care to brief me on the Ebola situation?”

“We've got enough vaccine, but it's likely lots of people already got it in some dormant stage.”

“Damn. What about the cities?”

“It's increasing on an exponential rate. It is estimated one hundred thousand people died in Praetoria alone. People are getting desperate to get out of quarantine.”

“I see. But now we have lots of vaccine – the Menelmacari sent some too – and we can begin giving it to civilians. I want to to start airdropping it into the cities from helis. Also... I want you to order 2,000 Strikecats to begin making their way into Africa – they can do it with extended tanks. How are the Ouroboros flights doing?”

“We're still preparing the next reinforcement.”

“Not good enough. It should all be faster. Now, before I return my full attention to the situation in this particular city, let us talk about the Whyaticans...

* * *

The first wave of attack was a salvo of 500 Khan missiles fired from South African army camps, targeted with data from Jagadan and Skinnian sattelites.

It is a general truth of military strategy that a military landing ship has to be stationary for at least some time to land troops or to take them aboard. It is at this time that it is most vulnerable. And so the Khans were aimed at various Whyatican landing ships – 200 at ships loading on the other side of the Red Sea, 200 at ships unloading in Africa, and 100 at ships in transit.

But already as this attack was executed, the second stage was in the works. It took the form of 100 Allanean GLI-133 bombers, each carrying 125 long-range anti-ship missiles. This immense amount of missile spam - 12,500 missiles – was unleashed solely at the Whyatican troop transports.

Separately from that, a wave of aircraft – two thousand three hundred F/A-18 aircraft from the 2nd and 4th Haven domination fleet – passed over the Somalian territory, escorting 50 S-1000 bombers. While the F/A-18's would be protected by their sheer numbers, the S-1000 would be protected by their sheer speed and enormous altitude, as well as by their MTHEL systems. The other aircraft of the 4th Force Projection Fleet were in the meanwhile ferrying themselves into South Africa, after which the aircraft carriers left for the homeland.

Between them the attacking craft carried 11,900 tons of munitions. Simultaneously with their attack run, 250 A1 Skyraiders crossed into Erithrea from the East. Bettween them and the main force, 12,400 tons of bombs would be dropped on the Whyatican landing forces – 3,000 tons of anti-armor submunitions, 2,650 tons of FAE, 3,000 tons of anti-personnel submunitions, and 3,750 tons of tiny, 125-kilogram general purpose bombs (30,00 bombs, that is).

Several hours after that, twenty-five Allanean divisions, leaving their non-combat component behind, crossed the border into Djibouti and Eritrea. Originally the Allaneans planned to do that with thirty-five divisions, but as it was, they needed to leave troops behind to deal with the uprisings.

* * *

In the end, the Allaneans did not quell the riots – the first major guerilla action of the war. Eventually, the anti-Doomani portion of the city – the Orthodox Christians and the Muslims – got annoyed – apparently, some rioters have set fire to a mosque in retaliation for the muslim support of the Allaneans - and got into the streets. All that was left to the Allaneans was to lead and direct the angry city men against the crowds of Doomani Catholics.

“Doomani Catholics? Here?” - marveled one of Kazansky's aides during one of the lulls in the fighting.

“Well, they're not really Doomani.” - smiled Alex - “They just worship the same brand of Catholicism.”

“But that makes... no sense.”

“I know. Maximus would have likely executed them all if they were in his Empire. Down here he sees it fit to exploit them. But religion is like that – makes people do stupid things. Just like ideology. Just like our own ideology, sometimes. In that sense there's no difference between a religious fanatic and a secularist fanatic – why do you think the ARA guys are fighting on their side?”

* * *

The church of Our Lady of Roses was not merely a stronghold of Doomani Catholicism – that in itself would not be enough for a military attack on it. However, when an ARA man had put up a machinegun in it's bell tower, when it's halls were packed with angry followers who fired at Allaneans and local police from the windows, there was nothing left to do. A sniper took down the machinegunner and then Miriel Brigade troops and Sisters of Liberty entered the church from five direction, firing flamers and machineguns at anything inside. Sister Gloria (Natalia Bates before conversion) led the Sisters, driving into the church through one of it's wall aboard a flamer tank, and Alexander Kazansky, Fieldmarshal of the Republic, led the red-clad private troops into the main entrance.

There were three ARA men still alive in the house, and they rushed towards the Fieldmarshal – perhaps hoping he would spare their lives, or hoping to kill him. Nobody would find out.

“In the name of Our Queen! Fire! Let none survive!”

* * *

They lugged out the bodies of the insurgents, piling them up in the street (Brigade troops and Sisters of Liberty were, of course, treated much differently). The Traitor-Allaneans were treated even worse, hanged off lamp-posts upside down. Some of the Brigade troops wished to be photographed on the background of the dead bodies, or standing on the pile of corpses.

And after that, they partied.

They sat in the church building – the High Command officers and the sergeants, the private military troops and the Fieldmarshal of Allanea, the Sisters of Liberty and the Ethiopian policemen – and they drank the red eucharist wine and said toasts.

“To Freedom! To Victory! To the death of Maximus!”

Sister Gloria smiled tenderly at the revelers, looking through the wrecked window glass at the roses that still survived outside the Church building.

“That's why they call this church “Our Lady of Roses”, Field Marshal?”

“That's why they call the entire city the City of Roses, Sister Gloria.”

“They're beautiful.”

“Yes.”

“Imagine someone you loved gave you these...” - said Gloria, smiling dreamily at the roses.

“I prefer not to imagine that.” - the Field Marshal smiled sadly.

Overhead, the engines of returning aircraft sang in the sky.

Official Response to the Allanean Message

Upon further inspection of the remains of the ship (which is sadly a scrap of metal, mangled with the corpses of Jaredcohenian naval officers), we find that the Allaneans have done enough damage.

However, if the Allaneans are willing to submit said log of all submarine movement then fine, they are allowed to. We will require the information to the exact hour for every submarine. This does not justify the action, and would you take any nation who uses internet slang seriously?

Allanean Response

It is extremely suspicious to us that you do not allow our, or Praetonian, naval experts to inspect the ship. Here are movement lots of all submarines up to 5 hours after the stated hour of attacks. Note that no submarine ever arrives within 500 mile range of the location in question.

Also note that a nation that can't use the word 'mangled' properly should not be condemning our use of 'WTF'.

OFFICIAL RESPONSE

Upon researching the documents, we find that the Allaneans are indeed lying. Ships were found in the coordinates near the city of Abidjan-a few kilometers from where the Jaredcohenian Marine Vessel was found destroyed and where it's final distress call was sent out. The ship is classified, with several national secrets on board which no other nation may view. The reason said ship was to be turned into a museum next week was so that the secrets of the Lech could be turned public. However, we refuse to let this ship be sent to a nation that the Allaneans request.

Secret IC

In the meanwhile, a secret message was sent to Derscon, and other allied nations, requesting a variety of war materiel to be sent to South Africa, by plane or boat.

Reichkanzlerhof, RAMC

The Kremlin Empyreal was an imposing building, a decorative building.

A fucking huge building.

It was, however, actually four different buildings, fused into one -- although, as Dersconii architects were skilled in this sort of design, no one not used to it would be able to tell. (They, did, after all, have four thousand years of experience).

The Reichkanzlerhof was the newest edition to the massive centre of government, being a replacement to the Imperial Chancellery/Reichskongress building that was now closed down and used as a private concert hall for the Dersconi nobility.

In the Eastern Wing of the RKH, the flag officers of the dersconi military made their offices (the actual General Staff was housed inside the main palace itself, though the "practical" offices of the flags were in the RKH). It was here that the Allanean message was recieved.

Marshal Darii Shchitkovetsovich Razladanov was in his office when the aide brought the message to him. Luckily for him, his good friend Lord General Kruchina Drakonov -- Overseer of the NMCC -- was in his office at the moment.

"So, Allanea wants supplies for yet another one of her crusades?" Lord General Drakonov chuckled.

"Big surprise. Colonel," he said, turning to the aide, "has the Tsar approved this?" The colonel nodded.

"Yes, sir. Xavier's signature is attached." Darii turned to Drakonov.

"We have anything to spare?" Drakonov scoffed.

"We have so much stuff we've phased out still stored, we could supply our army twice." Darii shrugged.

"Says here in the addendum he wants missiles." Drakonov smirked.

"I can do that. Tell the shippers to get ready to ship some of the old Hammer missiles."

"How many do we have?"

"Shitloads."

"How many to send?" Drakonov shrugged.

"Shitloads. I'm sick of having the quartermaster's office giving me forests of paper about stuff we keep around. Give him half a million, mobile launchers included, as well as a friendly note to write again if he wants more." The Lord General chuckled. "I'm thinking of selling them on the market. I'm sure there are some private militias out there who'll want them." Darii nodded.

"Okay, I'll get on that. Have fun back in the void." The Lord General scoffed.

"Indeed."

_____________________________________________

TO: ALLANEA; WHOMEVER IT CONCERN
A SHIPMENT OF FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND HAMMER MIDRANGE MISSILES, LAUNCHERS INCLUDED, IS EN ROUTE TO YOUR DESIGNATED DROP-OFF POINT, IN DERSCONI SHIPPING FLEETS.

ARRIVAL TIME IS EXPECTED TO BE A FEW DAYS.

IF YOU WANT MORE, FEEL FREE TO WRITE. WE'RE SICK
OF KEEPING THEM.

The file folder sailed through the air for but a brief second and landed on Jaime Wolfe's desk. His head shot up from the report he had been reading, only to see Lieutenant-General Dominic Freebird, the Harakian Military's Head of Logistics. Jaime closed the report with a snap and laid it on his desk, then glanced down at the folder Freebird had casually presented him with. The near-blank first page of the folder's contents had only a few words on it, but those words clearly showed their intention.



ANALYSIS OF LEND-LEASE SHIPMENTS TO ALLANEA FOR USE IN COMBAT AGAINST DOOMANI FORCES


LIEUTENANT-GENERAL DOMINIC FREEBIRD, HEAD OF LOGISTICS

SUBMITTED TO THE PRIME MINISTER MAY 23, 2007


NOT FOR INTER-DEPARTMENTAL CIRCULATION



Jaime looked up to Freebird, who gave him a half-smile. "Sir, if it's all the same to you, I'm just now realizing that I should've had this couriered over. I need to get back to my office, so if you'll excuse me...?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Thanks, general."

"No problem, sir." Freebird turned smartly and walked out the door, allowing Jaime to turn his attention back to the brief report. It detailed nothing political, only the logistical feasibility of shipping off older materiel to Allanean forces fighting in Doomani Africa. It was a cheap alternative to Haraki's entering the war, something that would not go over well in parliament. Tyrandis-made bombers - an ally of Haraki's - were bombing Allanean forces, a strain of the Ebola virus had been unleashed against them, and the Harakian people had no desire for a drawn-out war, which it surely looked to shape up to being. After the initial Allanean call for Harakian direct military intervention, Jaime had quickly worked out a system of lend-lease with the Allaneans instead. Older Harakian hardware, now mothballed and sitting in surplus warehouses, would be shipped to Allanean-occupied Africa in heavily-guarded Harakian convoys, or flown in directly. Once the war was over, Allanea would proceed to monetarily repay the Harakians, over a long-term repayment plan with very low interest rates.

The diplomacy of the matter had already been worked out. Freebird's report detailed what could be sent, the priorities involved, the necessary transport capacity for that amount of war supplies, and other such matters. Jaime read it thoroughly. Some parts he reread twice, then he sent a short message to the Allanean president.



[To: President Cuddy]
[From: Prime Minister Jaime Wolfe]
[Subject: Lend-lease shipment availability]

We should be ready to send the first shipment in under seventy-two hours, under close guard by part of the Harakian Third Fleet. What we should be able to send in that shipment, from warehouses in Arkia, is the following: large amounts of mobile anti-aircraft pieces, plus self-propelled rocket artillery and large amounts of fuel and armaments for the planes and artillery we're sending. The next shipment will be within one week, and will be sending primarily cruise and ballistic missiles and their launching bases - some are truck-mounted, some require more elaborate setup and launch apparatus, in addition to further and greater amounts of fuel, bombs, shells, and ammunition. If you still require more after that, we can negotiate about further convoys.

In the meantime, it will take somewhere between two and four days for the first shipments of planes. We need to perform rudimentary maintenance and adequate refueling on the planes we're sending to ensure they'll fly all right to get there - any further maintenance you want to do is up to you. Bear in mind these planes have been sitting in warehouses and hangars, mothballed and unused, for about three years. The first priority for flyable planes is long-range fighters, while we assemble enough in-flight refueling to get shorter-range planes there. The next group will be composed of decade-old bombers and attack planes, followed by twenty-five year old strategic bombers and decade-old fighter planes. The pilots for all these planes will be brought back on transport planes - escorted by Harakian long-range escort fighters - that will accompany the Harakian air forces from Haraki to Africa. Again, this is as far as we've planned but if you require more, we'll talk later.

Good luck.


Jaime Wolfe









OOC: I didn't specify numbers because I'm not sure as to the numbers involved here. Suffice to say, they'll be large numbers, but which are appropriate to the roleplay. Also, I don't expect to be posting in this thread much more, so I probably won't make any more posts about these shipments unless Allanea wants to start negotiations about sending more or someone's got something to do with my actions. Just so everybody's clear.

SIC:

After certain members of Vetakan Security and Intelligence Service and High ranking members of the Vetakan Government had been approached by Allanea Diplomats and Allanea Intel Agents asking for aid in their war with Doomingsland although not wanting to get directly within the war did want to help a mutual and well respected Ally.

As a result Vetaka was about to deliver its support to the Alleana below the calm deep waters just off the controlled Alleana coast a Submersible Aircraft Carrier slid gently to a stop surfacing it broke the water directly next to a some what Innocent small looking Civilian Cruise Liner. From their very quickly the Vetakan Skeleton and the Allaneans quickly swapped ship the whole process took less than 30 minutes. Once they had swapped the Captains smiled and shook hands before parting ways. The Carrier dived and moved sailed away. The Cruise Ship turned and shot away off to a Tropical Island for a well earned break. Natually the transaction never took place and all of the equipment and assets that Vetaka had supplied where all cleaned of anything that could identify them as coming from Vetaka.

Nothing had been taken for granted and everything that could possibly identify it to be Vetakan had been removed.

OOC:

Supplied

1 Poseidon Class Submarine Carrier
50 Eurafighter F-37C

Four transport plane marked with a medical red cross flew over the ocean towards Allanean forces in Africa. The pilots onboard were happy with their mission, it wasn't too often they carried supplies to save lives. Most often it was supplies to end them. None of them really knew what they actually carried.

Onboard each plane was a single missile, nestled deep inside the crates of Ebola vaccine. These missiles carried an experimental weaponized virus called 'Silent Fury'. Secret discussions between Allanea and Sigma Octavus had agreed upon field testing the weapon in Allanea's current conflict.

A fifth transport plane, marked in the usual black and red of a Sigman transport plane, carried a large load of weaponized Sarin nerver agent. This plane new what it was carrying, and was told that the Sarin would only be in Allanean hands as a last resort weapon.

Flying escort for the transports were four long range VTOL-SOF 1A "Barracuda" support fighters. These pilots believed themselves to simply be protecting a medical shipment.


To: Allanea
From: Sigma Octavus Department of Foreign Aid

We have sent more of our surplus Ebola Zaire vaccine, we wish you and your soldiers well in the coming days. We will always support our NATO allies to our fullest extent, and take great pleasure in reducing friendly casualties.

Live well. Fight strong.


(Contained within this message was a highly encrypted message, indecipherable to all but those meant to see the message.)

TOP SECRET

As agreed, we have sent the Silent Fury weapon. You shall be most pleased with it's power.
Please make sure to record any and all data regarding the weapon, as it is still experimental and would help us greatly in it's completion.

Thank you.

-Sigma Octavus Bureau of International Intrigue

OOC: I don't expect to be posting in this thread much more, so I probably won't make any more posts about these shipments unless Allanea wants to start negotiations about sending more or someone's got something to do with my actions. Just so everybody's clear.

OOC: Yeah, I'm in the same boat. I'll stick around if people need supplies (and they're allied, naturally), but I don't have much interest in getting involved any way else.

SIC:

Special Issue Communique

To: Allanea

We might be able to help you in your struggle against your enemies, mainly with weapons, supplies and funds. If interested, send a man to this address ###-######-###, we'll meet him there and polish the details of the agreement.

OOC: For the record, the address is that of a neutral nation, let's say, Naasha.

The sun was setting over Landfall Moors; a spectacular parade of pink and orange cloud streaming slowly across the sky, the object of centuries of veneration sank slowly beneath the Western horizon, sending shafts of golden, glowing light parading over the city’s nearby beaches and bathing the rolling country outside its smoky confines in its softness. It was, all in all, the making of a beautiful night.

Except for Emperor Marcus.

For Emperor Marcus it was rapidly turning into a holiday from hell. The Allanean message was most unwelcome. He rubbed his wearying hip gently, sitting at the worn desk he had purchased many years ago for the then-princely sum of forty pounds, and re-read the message. It was no good; no matter how many times he worked to convince himself that it was the drink, the tiredness and the light making the message seem as bloody awkward as it was, it still seemed to swim back into unpleasant focus no matter how often he squinted. Marcus sighed; no rest for the wicked. Even his long-suffering Lucy had finally decided that enough was indeed enough, and retired after many hours’ trying to drag him with her and not a little irritation at his steadfast refusal to leave the message alone. Doubtless he’d have to pay the price for that error in the morning. Still, that was a small price to pay for having a wife who tolerated this sort of intrusion into what was meant to be her holiday on a regular basis. Marcus smiled, staring at his distorted reflection in the empty wine glass. Can’t complain too much, eh? Heaving yet another tired sigh, he reached for the phone at his right hand and dialled the number of his Foreign Minister.

“God, I don’t fucking need this… bloody privateering bastards…” Marcus muttered all the time, even when on his own. As he had explained to many people, sometimes it was the best way to get a sensible conversation. “Jenny? That you?”

“Urrgh…” the voice on the other end of the phone replied balefully. “Who’s this?”

”Marcus, Jenny.” He twirled the cord, grinning. “The man you work for, remember?”

Jenny Farringham snorted in a most un-ladylike manner down the phone. “Yeah, I remember. I’d remember better if you gave me something to do more often, but…”

“…Jen?” Marcus’ voice had quite suddenly lost its friendly aura; it faded quickly into nothingness as the last of the sunlight vanished. “Listen. I’ve just e-mailed you a message we got from the Allaneans. Read it and get back to me, could you?”

Jenny hummed for a second. “Sure; it’s not as if I need to sleep or anything.”

“Hey, d’you think I want to be awake at this hour to read the whinings of a lot of privateers? Just give me some idea of what your department’ll think. E-mail it to me or something, OK?” Before she had chance to reply, Marcus hung up, knowing full well that she would now be cursing him to eternal darkness forever more. There wasn’t much he could do about that; what he could do something about - eventually - was this damned message.

Allanea was an ally. That much he knew. And, as Hiirako had said earlier, that mattered. The Cabinet liked allies. Parliament liked allies, too; Marcus didn’t need to worry about election, of course, but the Parliament that gave the best advice was the one to keep, and this one hadn’t done badly. It’d be a shame, he knew, to lose it.

Allies who one aided tended to be inclined to aid you when you’d dug yourself into a similar hole. That was good, too.

What was bad was that Allanea was only an ally by virtue of being in an alliance DPUO had long known: NATO. In every other way, Allanea was an enemy. Sovereign League membership, diametrical ideological opposition and a record of getting involved in problems all mandated against helping Allanea in any way at all. No, Allanea had few friends in Parliament or the Cabinet, despite their alliance. In fact, Marcus was fairly sure Allanea had no allies, in the Cabinet at least. Shoving through any resolution to send anything more substantial than a note of condolence to them would be tricky; shoving through anything promising military personnel would be impossible. There couldn’t be more than a few dozen MPs who would, if asked at that moment in time, support a Parliamentary decision to send troops of any sort to Allanean Africa. And though quite a few would be swayed by the promises of money, of valuable testing grounds for new equipment and of honour in the international community, Marcus wasn’t sure that that would do the trick. Especially because, in the emphatic words of his Defence Minister, the Sovereign League - of which Allanea was a member - was considered by many to be simply an enemy who hadn’t got round to attacking them yet.

Of course, he could just out-and-out ignore the Cabinet’s decision. He didn’t even, in all truth, have to pay attention to their debates; he could, if he wished, despatch every eligible man and woman in the land to fight to the death in that windswept, sand-blown, Ebola-ridden hell-hole. The only problem with doing that was that he would be crucified in the press, crucified in the Cabinet, crucified in Parliament, and quite likely spat at in the street.

That, and he personally thought that Allanea was a country of lunatics who ought to have been erased from existence many decades ago. That really didn’t help at all.

“Fucking Allaneans”, Marcus growled, and rubbed his eyes. “Trust that load of fucking idiots to want help from a country that doesn’t like them, their allies or their enemies.”

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

By the time Jenny’s e-mail arrived, Marcus was sound asleep, unperturbed by the bracingly chill wind coming in from the south-west. Fortunately for him, his new e-mail alert was a recording he had made himself, and of which he was inordinately proud. As the e-mail arrived, the machine faithfully opened the sound file. And so Emperor Marcus was woken from his soundly dreamless snooze by a single, pure sound of his own making:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

When he had finished putting his heart back into his chest, Marcus managed to read the e-mail’s contents. Jenny had not pulled any punches; as far as he could see, in fact, she had basically told him that he was right in his conclusions regarding domestic support for sending Allanea anything more than a gravestone and a chisel. Under the circumstances, her ending remark of “hope this helps!” was hard to construe as anything other than her being her usual, bloody-minded self.

Marcus raged. “Fucking Allaneans! he bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk and sending his empty glass’s tasteful cocktail umbrella tumbling to the floor.

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

In the end, there wasn’t a hope in hell of success. Hiirako valiantly volunteered to lead the charge into the Cabinet; backed by Mikhail, the Defence Minister, and Jenny (who was, unfortunately, also the High Priestess of the Order) they assaulted the defences of those who would no sooner help Allanea than eat their own arms. Unfortunately, they failed dismally; when the final vote was cast, the result could hardly have been less decisive. At least, however, Jenny had nobly volunteered to write the reply. Marcus knew he could rely on her to be tactful, yet firm; or at least, he could rely on her to be tactful enough not to insult Kazansky to his face, but still get across her point.

From: J. Farringham (Foreign Minister)
To: A. Kazansky
Subject: Your Little Problem

Mr. Kazansky,

First, let me say how truly sorry I was to hear of your predicament earlier today. There is very seldom any call for the use of such products of man’s ingenuity, no matter who one is fighting. And of course, needless to say, it’s quite likely the locals are none too pleased by your mutual, overspilling slaughter.

However, to get straight to the point: while we are all, of course, appalled by the slaughter of Allaneans and Doomanis, we are in no position to intervene on anyone’s side. Moreover, it has been unfortunately impossible to gain any support for sending aid, material or otherwise, to Allanean Africa in the Cabinet, for reasons which I am sure you understand. While it might be possible to take our case to the people in the form of a referendum, it is highly unlikely that they either would be inclined to send their offspring and taxes into a conflict in which both sides are in urgent need of disarming, more than anything else.

It is therefore with great regret that I close this message, leaving you with nothing more than my fond and sincere hope that this situation will be resolved to the advantage of those who deserve it most.

Yours,
J. Farringham (M.F.A.)

OOC: For the record, the address is that of a neutral nation, let's say, Naasha.

OOC: Feel free to use Naasha, I'm sure we'll be happy to look the other way for TWSP. I just used Jolt's search function on my name, it's scary how many threads it comes up in without my knowledge...

Somewhere in Naasha

The Allaneans had, of course, sent their own agent to discuss the deal with TWSP. He bore a simple request:

We need long-range missiles, cargo aircraft, llogistic supplies, and trucks. Lots of trucks.

OOC: Allanea tipped me off about this but i won't join the war- but i shall protest to certain aspects of it.

IC:

The Holy Empire of Stevid, esspecially the Stevidian Catholic Church, openly protests against the heritical acts of Doominsland. The Catholicism that this country practises does not conform to to the Holy Bible.

While Stevid openly protests this military move by Doomingsland and the acts they are performing, Stevid is in no position at this point in time to make them change their ways. the Golden War of Succession and the safety of the homeland takes top priority and so we will not interfere.

However special forces of the the Inquistion and the Knights Templar maybe sent in to forcibly and religiously teach these heritics and/or infidels a valuable lesson about God's warth and the wrath of His true and dedicated followers.

In short we fully condemn the actions of the Doomingsland government and declare our polictical support, but not military support, to Allanea and her allies.

Somewhere in Naasha

The Allaneans had, of course, sent their own agent to discuss the deal with TWSP. He bore a simple request:

We need long-range missiles, cargo aircraft, llogistic supplies, and trucks. Lots of trucks.

The agent took off his hat and scratched his head, then he looked at the Allanean agent straight in the eyes.

"Im certain we can provide you with what you request, after all, someone standing against the Haven Morons is not something you see everyday. I'll tell this to my goverment and we'll put up a "relief" package for you.
Just stay in a hotel tonight and meet me tomorrow, here, at the same time, I'll hand you the details and you'll give me the coordinates where we are supposed to deliver all this stuff"

ooc: fuck there is a lot to read here... anyhow:

The coordinates given to Allison's aircraft led it deep inside Groznian soveriegn soil. A small fighter escort was afforded to the delegate's plane as it flew. From her seat the Allenean S.S. would note the vast expanse of Groznyj; for she flew roughly 1,400 miles north-east, over a lake, and onto a large island about 200 hundred miles long and ~100 miles wide. The destination was a city of only 1,100,000 people. The Groznian goal was to keep this as low-key as possible. After landing Allison Cameron was quickly taken by limo to government owned estate overlooking vast rolling hills and meadows. It was built in a european fashion and was a large white and red work of artistry with a decorated plaza greeting any visitors.

Allison was escorted inside the building and into an a study room. Behind her the door was shut and a man, apparently caught unawares to her arrival, got up from his chair and greeted her.

"Welcome to Groznyj," he said, "I hope your flight wasn't too unpleasant. The Krissaeran Mountains can be hell for air traffic.. Please, have a seat."

When they had finally settled down, the man, Secretary of State Ibrahim Karachay spoke:

"Alright and now to business. I called you here because my government is interested in helping your's against the Doomani. We would intervene in their disgusting actions if we didn't have our hands tied elswhere. Tell me, how is it my country can be of service to yours?"

The Allanean nodded. "We need aircraft -cargo and fighters -, we need trained pilots - I'm sure volunteers can be found - and we need money. Just as usual I guess."

The Allanean nodded. "We need aircraft -cargo and fighters -, we need trained pilots - I'm sure volunteers can be found - and we need money. Just as usual I guess."

"I understand, I'll rely that info to my goverment. However, as far as volunteers go, I cannot promise anything."

OOC: I was meaning Grozny.

The Sahara Line, Egyptian Sector

The rattle of spent brass emanated throughout the small bunker as its two DMG-85 medium machineguns continued to keep a stiff base of fire on the kill zone: a bridge the Allaneans had set down over the ditch leading to their position. The mound of mutilated corpses on the Doomani side of the bridge was simply enormous and continued to swell in size; the Allaneans simply poured across, only to be brutally cut down. Yet they simply kept coming, casually throwing their lives away in a frenzy of blood.

For Tesserarius Octavius Varo, this was a pleasant way to spend a morning: killing infidels wholesale. The men beneath him were reveling in the carnage, keeping count of those they’d killed, keeping track of which heathen managed to make it the furthest before being torn apart by a burst of 7.8mm rounds.

The interior of the bunker was pitch black; the six men inside rotated on the guns, making sure they always had a fresh gunner to put down a good, accurate barrage of lead. Varo had his own viewing port that he used to direct the machinegun fire, spotting targets for his gunners and making sure everything that tried to come into their sector was eliminated. By his count, they’d killed about two hundred of them so far, although he’d have to confirm that number with his gunners if they managed to come out of this alive. Of course, they were not expecting this. They embraced their fate: martyrdom.

Beyond the bridge, past where the prattle of blue tracers were impacting was what appeared to be a platoon of Allanean mechanized vehicles followed by infantry…many, many infantry. Moments later, an illumination round burst above the group, turning night to day. There were hundreds of them, and they had armored support. It appeared that Varo and his men had killed enough heathens to warrant them actually sending a force capable of killing them.

”Here we go, boys,” the thirty year-old Legionary growled, ”I guess they REALLY want us dead,” he laughed.

The Allaneans knew where their bunker was by now; they couldn’t waste time waiting for the infantry to accumulate in the choke point. If they did that, the IFVs would be able to pick them off before they even got a shot off. That simply wouldn’t do.

”Kill them all,” he roared.

Both machineguns opened fire and he peered through his spotting scope, watching as the blue tracers danced along the sand dunes, kicking up sand and limbs alike. A satisfied grin came across Varo’s face as he watched scores of Allanean infantry crumble over and disappear into the sand, staining it red with their blood. This did not last long, however; moments later, two SOV-6s trained their auto cannons on the bunker.

The men saw a few muzzle flashes just before the steel grating on the firing ports buckled and burst inwards as a round flew through, bursting inside. The explosion, though small, was extremely violent; Varo was knocked off of his feet and deafened, with shrapnel wounds all over. Looking over to Discens Pollosius, he saw only what remained of the once towering young soldier: he’d been totally disemboweled, the auto cannon round blowing apart his entire lower body, cutting him in half and spilling his intestines into the confines of the bunker.

Lifeless, the expression frozen on the man’s face would be disturbing to anyone looking upon it: a twisted smirk.

Cannon rounds continued to burst along the outside of the bunker, pock marking the thick walls; occasionally a lucky shot would pierce the slit and detonate inside, sending white hot shrapnel tearing into the men manning it. Even as this happened, one of the guns simply kept firing. The soldier manning the weapon, Miles Gregarius Adeptus, was missing an arm, and his lower jaw was hanging by a thread; despite this he simply kept pouring the lead out on the enemy infantry as they began to cross the bridge.

Within minutes the Allaneans were all over the exterior of the bunker, looking for an entrance; Adeptus was hit in the face by an enemy rifleman whilst Varo began calling in an artillery strike on his position. Everyone but him was dead now; as he finished calling the coordinates the wall adjacent to him buckled inwards. Laying still, he calmly squeezed off a round from his sidearm, hitting the first man through the gap between the eyes, blowing the back of his skull out all over his comrade, who shoved the dead man aside and charged through yelling like a madman.

Varo fired another round; another head shot. The second man tumbled over, landing at his feet, his skull leaking blood and grey matter throughout the already gory interior of the bunker.

Snapping up to his feet, Varo drew his gladius in a swift reverse hand motion, bolting towards the gaping hole as an enemy soldier entered; he made a swift slash with his blade, opening up the Allanean’s neck, sending him stumbling back, gasping for air. Just as he recovered, a bullet tore through his left leg, forcing him down on one knee as another enemy soldier stepped up into the entrance; Varo swiftly severed his foe’s Achilles tendon, bringing him down before getting on top of him and proceeding to grapple.

His opponent was a boy scout, no older than sixteen; the boy fought like a rabid animal, crazed from his drugs. Varo was far more cool-headed in his technique even as the boy attempted to strangle him; he calmly tore the dagger from his vest, proceeding to sharply jam it into the kid’s temple, twisting it as he did so. As he was pulling the blade out, he felt another sharp pain as three 7.62mm rounds tore into his back from nearly point blank range, knocking him forward.

Rolling over, he narrowly dodged a sweeping blow from his foe’s chainsword only to have a bayonet thrust into his throat. Glaring up at his foe as the bayonet was twisted, he grabbed the pin on a grenade and tore it out, his eyes glazing over as his enemy pulled the bayonet out.

”Deus vult…” he barely managed to gurgle as his lungs filled with blood.

A moment later flames spewed out of the slits of the bunker as the themobaric grenade went off, incinerating everyone within its confines and cooking off all of the unspent ammunition.

This scene was common throughout the line as the Allaneans went all-out on the first line, eventually breeching it in multiple areas. However, even as they did this, the Doomani ignited oil that had been released into the anti-tank ditches in order to further delay the enemy advance. Meanwhile, more artillery-deployed mines were laid down as troops in areas being overrun made a fighting retreat to prevent themselves from being flanked and encircled by the Allaneans; this was done via underground tunnels running from the bunkers to the second line (there were actually no external entrances to the bunkers on the first line; rather, they soldiers lived in subsurface barracks structures linked to the bunkers). As they retreated, the soldiers sealed off the tunnel doors, switching on automated machinegun and flamethrower turrets to cover their retreat.

The tunnels were deliberately designed to be disorientating and difficult to move through; for example, the immediate entrances into the tunnels featured steel staircases, which could be automatically folded into a perfectly smooth, tractionless ramp, which would force any enemy soldier trying to get in to slide down and hit the ground hard…right in front of an active ceiling-mounted machinegun or flamethrower. This was followed by long corridors with machineguns mounted at the far end, followed by more long corridors…and more long corridors, all seeming to wind rather endlessly until they got to an area where the tunnel had been collapsed.

The Doomani had made a point of collapsing the tunnels behind them, so that the Allaneans would eventually hit a dead end if they decided to go under.

Despite this, there were a good deal of Imperial bunkers still manned and standing on the first line, their crews tired from the long, bloody night's fight. They'd earned their rest.

However, all along the line, things began to go quiet. Artillery guns on both sides died down, machinegun fire rattled to a close. Infantry began to dig in, tanks rolled to a halt, aircraft withdrew to their proper sides of the border. A bilateral cease-fire had been called. The war was over.

The Doomani and Allanean governments had finally reached an agreement regarding the Kahanistanis: they were to be handed over to the Allaneans at the price of five-thousand denarii a head. Both parties saved face: the Doomani made a nice bundle of money off of it and were able to declare victory in Egypt, and the Allaneans looked like heroes and saviors of the Kahanistani people.

However, a full-scale rebellion had commenced in occupied Kahanistan…how many would live to see freedom in Allanea remained to be seen.

---INTERMISSION---
(elevator music plays)

During this time a mutual aid pact (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=529420) is secured between the nations of Groznyj and Allanea. Allanea will be given the right to maintain 10 bases in the southern most reaches of Groznyj safeguarding it from Doomani attack and Groznyj is to establish a naval port in Allanean Haven to further its economic expansionist agenda.

--End INTERMISSION--

Karachay opens a folder and hands a stack of files to Cameron, "I think you'll find exactly what your looking for in there. We have scores of militant civilians itching to take up arms against the Doomani on religious reasons. They are becoming more of a headache everyday and are threatening the internal stability of this nation. Seeing a large group of men shooting Kalashnikovs into the air and pointing them mockingly at passersby is not considered usual in Groznyj I assure you."

Karachay points out a specific document to the Allanean representative, "Here they are. they claim to be Mujihadeen, fighters for Islam. If you ask me they've done nothing but stifle the faith here. Virtually all of them have had previous combat experience fighting in war torn third-world countries. None of them are patriots for this land."

Karachay points out another document to Cameron, "this you may also find useful. This is a registered crime ring. Everyone knows them as the Jewish Mafia, many of them claim to have been members of MOSAD. From all accounts they all have military experience in one form or another fighting in the Holy Land. Some of them are still registered pilots."

With this Karachay looks at the Allanean representative, "This will help you as much as it will help us. These people want to go to war with the Doomani with a suicidal fervor. They're all fanatics. With your acceptance I can call their heads to a meeting and have them shipped out of here in a few days."