NationStates Jolt Archive

Rain. It came down in sheets, dousing everything under it. Visibility was bad and the cold wet fabric of Roark's field uniform pressed to her skin whenever she moved. Everything about the operation so far had a pain in the ass. no wonder it was her job.

"What now, Lieutenant?" asked Master Sergeant Tolus. Behind him, a Behemoth lay in smoking ruins.

Roark was crouched on what used to be the roadside wall of the building behind her. She stands slowly and picks up her rifle, her eyes sweeping over the dead. "Surely they're about ready to FFE on us as we speak." She whirled around, bringing her rifle to the ready. "Sergeant Trask!" she barked.

Trask bounded forward and saluted vigorously. "Yes sir!"

Lieutenant Roark dropped her eyebrows and shot Sergeant Trask a very unamused look.

"Er... ma'am." He blushed. "Sorry. What are my orders?"

"Relieve these casualties of any supplies that might be useful to us. After that, you will meet with Sergeant Tolus and mysel--" she cuts herself off and snaps her head to the left a moment before the rest of the men can hear the whistle of an incoming artillery shell.

"DOWN!" The party scrambles as the shells began to fall. Quietly, she curses a few more times to herself as the rest of her fireteam bounded across the street. Once they're back within earshot she raises her voice again. "Back to the liine!" She shouts, as a few more heads pop up and scurry back down the road. Heaving Sergeant Trask to his feet, she follows.

Shell after shell landed around them; it was the most awesome and terrifying display of firepower Roark had ever seen. In every direction what used to be a city was being flattened by the Freekish field guns. Casualties, Lieutenant Roark feared, were possibly very high. In an attempt to neutralize the enemy's armor, Roark's company had drawn a lot of attention from the Freeks' artillery.

"What we need to do is blitz their goddamn Fire Missions next time!" Roark can't resist offering her commentary to Sergeant Trask. "If I were calling the shots--"

Suddenly the building Roark and Trask were huggung for cover burst apart in a furious inferno; the two soldiers' screams drowned out by the pervasive din of striking artillery. Instinctively Roark flung her hands to her face, but it did little good. She could feel the hot shrapnel punching into her forearms; and just before everything went dark she registered the sensation of being pinned to the ground under the rubble...

***

She could still feel it. Pinned down by the guilt of Trask's death; in constant agony over what she had decided was a stupid decision. Even now, years later, the incident haunted her. The death of Sergeant Trask had been an immense burden to bear; a burden she refused to mitigate. A return to war meant a return to this world, where everything one has can be stripped from them at a moment's notice; a world where the destruction of values was commonplace.

A knock at the door; and Roark snaps her head to it. "Colonel Roark?"

Lieutenant Colonel Florian Brozi stands in the doorway, his hand raised in a salute. Roark turns from the window and returns the man's salute. "What is it, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"I have that report for Field Marshal Holmstrom." Nadia's eyes dart to the clock, and Brozi lowers his arm. "It's all here."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel," answers Roark softly. "Leave it on my desk. I'll give it to Field Marshal Holmstrom in the morning."

Brozi furrows his eyebrows. "But I was told this report was a rush job! You told me you needed it by seventeen hundred!"

Roark folds her hands behind her and turns back to the window. "It's always best to have these things before you need them, Florian. I should hope I wouldn't have to remind you of that anymore."

Safe from her gaze, Brozi scowls. Roark was the most powerful staff officer in Holmstrom's 15th Mechanized, and many of the men immediately beneath her despised her for it. Her meteoric and mysterious rise through the ranks facilitated all manner of unsavory rumors, but they were all unfounded. Many, including Brozi, hid behind these rumors and rationalizations to avoid the simple fact that Roark was a magnificent organizer and a cool and competent staff officer.

"After all," Roark continues after a brief pause, "I would assume, under the circumstances, that your figures will only improve by the time this report is presented tomorrow." Pausing again, the Colonel closes her eyes and flexes a gloved hand. She waits a couple of seconds and her eyes snap open as she continues. "I wouldn't complain if I were you. It should present the both of us in a more favorable light."

Brozi snorts. "Have it your way."

Colonel Roark turns to face Brozi slowly, giving him more than enough time to change the expression on his face into a more favorable one. She raises her arm in a salute to the Lieutenant Colonel and smirks. "Indeed. Dismissed."

OOC thread is here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=531184)

The operation had been staged to deal with growing concerns about enemy armor in the region. High Command was under the impression that the Freeks were finally getting ready for a serious bid to push over the mountains in the North, meaning their armies would spill over into Near Harad, undoubtedly to link up with the Freekish army group a few hundred miles north of the mountains, pushing for Ali'Staan.

Roark and her subordinates knew the score. They had been battling the Freeks on the ground in Gallus ever since the eventual but bloody defeat at Port Archoerus. That was two years ago, and despite some tactical success against the enemy, the situation was growing dire. Air superiority was almost non-existant by now, and Lieutenant Roark frequently made a point of expressing her sorrow at the fact that the Guardis had been forced to accustom itself to a lack of air support.

To nullify this advantage the Guardis sought to diminish the Freekish assault capacity by launching a series of raids on their armored formations. Roark sat quietly at the conference table, her hands clasped. Lowering her eyes to the table, she tunes out Colonel Ordina's briefing for a moment as she browses her mission profile.

It wasn't hard to tell that the harder missions were being pushed on their unit. Operating with relatively little reserves and almost no leave, Roark was forced to find comfort in the fact that her companies were well equipped and vigorously supported by neighboring units. High Command had just shortened the line, but that apparently didn't prevent them from forcing her batallion over the lines almost nightly to destroy or disable enemy armor. Roark herself had no command over the actual tanks themselves, but she was responsible for helping coordinate anti-armor infantry operations.

She also couldn't help but notice that an inordinate amount of Vzj'Nakai were in her ranks. Looking over the rolls, her eyes narrowed. What did this mean?

***

Colonel Roark's eyes fly open as the phone rings. Unconsciously clutching a file to her breast, she lowers her gaze to the Field Marshals desk, behind which she was currently standing. Without a word she watches as Holmstrom folds his newspaper and answers the beckoning apparatus.

"Field Marshal Holmstrom."

Silence. Roark closes her eyes. It was a scene all too often repeated; even in her private life Colonel Roark was known to hate being 'out of the loop.' To combat this, she had developed a talent for guessing the specifics of a telephone conversation despite the handicap of only being able to hear one side of it.

"Is that so?" Holmstrom jots something down. "When?" Behind him, Colonel Roark's eyes fly open. "Uh-huh. I'll tell you what," continues the Field Marshal. Nadia watches intently as he pulls a folder out of a small heap of paperwork. "I'll start drawing up a list right now and submit it for approval by oh-eight hundred hours tomorrow."

Another pause. Roark narrows her eyes.

"Okay, excellent..." the Field Marshal writes down something else. "Uh-huh... sure. Was there anything else you needed from me?" Holmstrom turns on his chair, his shoulders perpendicular to the edge of the desk. Roark instinctively straightens up--she knows this means his conversation is nearing an end.

"Yes sir of course. I will see it done."

Slowly Roark's gaze sweeps across the room, resting on the Field Marshal as he hangs up. "So we got it then? Are we moving out?" she asks softly.

"Yes. We're moving out with elements of the 15th Army Corps. Our orders are to travel to Haven under the protection of Petrik's Third Fleet." Holmstrom stands and beckons to another officer. "Major Khan, please attend to cleaning up this office." He puts on his officer's cap as Zevon Khan snaps his book shut and leaps to a rigid attention, flinging his hand to his head in a salute. Roark remains at ease but Holmstrom reciprocates the salute. "We need to get out of here within thirty-six hours."

He turns around to face Nadia, who snaps immediately to attention and offers a salute of her own. Her eyes do not meet Field Marshal Holmstrom's until he returns the salute. "I need you to draft an order to the men," he commands. "Cancel any leaves and tell the men to report for a roll call at eleven hundred."

"Yes, sir."

**
From the Office of the Field Marshal 27 July XXXX
Re: Redeployment

The 15th Mechanized as well as a number of other infantry and armor units are being redeployed to Allanea in order to facilitate Ardan involvement with the Haven front. Under the circumstances it cannot be believed that the Questarian Commonwealth will pose a significant threat to the Gholgothan mainland for very long.

Effective immediately all leave is cancelled by order of Field Marshal Holmstrom, and all NCOs are responsible for informing their men and assembling them on base by 1000 tomorrow. Missing or unresponsive personnel must also be reported to this office by 1000 or the responsible NCO or senior officer will face reprimand. A roll call will follow at 1100, and transports will be boarded by the end of the night.

The time has come for us to fight, to showcase our ascendancy on the battlefield. Too long has the world been ignorant of Arda's fury; and very soon, we will relieve them of this ignorance.

-Colonel Nadia Roark, Pax 15th Mechanized Division
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Characters/roark1.png

***
OPEN DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE
TARGET: ALL NATIONS
ENCRYPTION: NONE

Ardan forces are preparing to move out to the Haven region as per an arrangement with the nation known as Allanea. The Third Fleet, as well as elements of the Pax Army Corps sent to Gholgoth earlier, will consitute an expeditionary force with the purpose of inspecting and maintaining allied defenses on the ground in Haven.

As before, all are advised to stay well clear of the Ardan host as it makes its way to its destination. Further bulletins as events warrant.

Khaled Sudani,
Prime Warlord of the Pax Imperica

"Again?! Tonight?! You can't be serious!"

Lieutenant Roark closed her eyes and sighed. "Yes, again. Those are the orders and I'll be damned if we're going to do anything but follow them." Her eyes pass over the men. Sergeants Trask and Tolus were crouched at the edge of foxholes on either side of her, informing their squads.

"But we can't keep doing this! Don't they know that?!" Roark's gaze returns to the protesting Corporal.

"Stop whining, Corporal. This is war, and we have to do what we have to do. I've made this unit's opinions abundantly clear to Batallion HQ and they're well aware of our fatigue."

"But we've been on the line for almost two goddamned months!"

By now Roark is starting to get angry. It would be one thing if the Corporal had some complaints that she wasn't already aware of, but the man seemed to be forgetting that she had also been on the line for almost two goddamned months. She raises her chin slightly as she answers the Corporal, her voice stern and even.

"I know, Corporal Cevik. I already told you that I've relayed our collective complaints." She lifts her rifle and sets her jaw. "After all, I share the same greivances. Enlisted men are not the only ones eager for a few days leave. I was shocked to learn this myself, but officers are usually human too. We'll get it when we get reinforcements. Excuse me."

The Corporal opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can only watch dumbly as the Lieutenant brushes past him, towards the line. He could tell she was angry with him, but the Lieutenant was a tough nut to crack. Cevik suspected it was a defense mechanism she had developed while in officer's training. It was very likely that she--being the only woman there--was subjected to an altogether unique experience. It was hard enough on the men, so he could only guess. Returning to his foxhole, the Corporal heaves a sigh as he flings his weapon angrily inside.

"Watch it asshole!" grumbles Private Rudi Budo. "The damn thing could've gone off and put a bullet in my ass!"

"Well then maybe I'd get a break from constantly having to kick it," retorts Cevik.

Another soldier stirs, talking around a mouthful of stew. "Yeah, it's probably about the only way we'll get off this goddamn line, isn't it?"

Budo and the other man look at each other, then back at the gun. Back at each other again. In unison they scrambled for it; Budo managed to lay a hand on the weapon but Cevik kicks it away. "Don't be an idiot," he pleads with a laugh. "The whole point is to make it back in one piece. No sense in blowing your own ass off."

"Did you talk to the Lieutenant?" asked the other private bluntly, as he settled back into his nook. He pokes at the stew with his spoon, awaiting an answer.

Cevik can only sigh, and silence lingers for a moment. The other two men exchange a puzzled look. "That woman is a wall. I just... I can't read her to save my soul. Almost weekly I repeat my complaints almost verbatim, but she brushes them off. I'm getting the feeling she's not pushing Batallion hard enough. We've got to have some reserves by now. I mean, it makes no sense. We keep getting Vzj' Nakai, but only in twos or threes. Company or even platoon-level reinforcements, she tells me, are still weeks away at best."

It started to rain. The three men cursed the weather softly and set themselves about setting up a shelter. Cevik checked his watch and bit his lip. Two hours till showtime.

***

Colonel Roark watched with little interest as Gholgoth faded behind them, her arms crossed and draped over a railing on the port command deck of her Florentine Class command cruiser. Behind her, aides and various staff officers mill about, each in their own individual hurry to deliver their particular tidbits of information to their superiors. Roark herself clutched a file folder loosely in her hands, absently fanning it as her eyes scanned the skyline.

She almost doesn't notice as Major Zevon Khan appears next to her. The contrast of their figures is interesting and is apparent in just about every physical property between the two of them. Roark is standing slightly slouched over the railing; Khan towers over her, dark skinned, not at attention exactly but reared up to his full height. He was a large man, and always made Roark feel small but protected.

"Hello, Zevon," Roark greets the hulking Southron in a flat but friendly tone.

"Nadia," the Major answers with a bow of his head. "You holding up alright?"

The Colonel frowns and shoots a sidelong glance to her companion. "You know the answer to that. I don't mind leaving Gholgoth so soon..." she trails off.

Khan raises a brow. "I know, I just thought I'd ask." He laughs softly. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

Roark smirks as she returns her gaze to the sky, shifting her weight once or twice as she lets silence linger. Khan's question had prompted her to call to mind memories from childhood, training, the war. Khan had been present for many of them; the two had known each other for many years. The Colonel had long suspected that he had feelings for her. Men didn't tend to be this compassionate to attractive women just for the fun of it.

Khan was a good man, and Roark knew she could count on him to help her up. Roark had started her career as a Lieutenant, but Khan had worked his way all the way up from a Corporal, so he had connections with some of the enlisted men that she lacked. Roark had seen plenty of combat from the front lines, but as an officer she had grown accustomed to a slightly different lifestyle, and she knew it.

Her mind cracks open old memories; leaping from one to the other as her eyes follow a passing fighter squadron. "I guess..." she pauses and Khan shoots her a glance. "I guess I have, but probably not as much as some others I know. It's hard, Zevon, to deal with war. It's hard on me especially because I'm still a bit out of place here to say the least."

Nadia straightens up, her hands dragging slowly off the railing as she does. "We always tell ourselves to detach emotion from conflict, and I can remember the endless cautionary tales against making friends with other soldiers in times of war." She lowers her gaze and frowns. "But it's not possible. Combat brings about a bond in men that you can't find anywhere else. We want to have it both ways, don't we Major? We want to be heartless, cruel killing machines, but camraderie and compassion for our fellow soldier are impossible to avoid."

Khan remains silent as Roark gestures broadly to the sky in front of them. "Just because there's a line on a battlefield doesn't mean that one's emotions change on either side of it. A soldier who is heartless to his comrades is heartless against his enemies as well; and I suppose this is what they want."

"Consistency," breaks in Khan, "is an ability well beyond the grasp of any government. It is a concept we strive for but can't quite reach, least of all now. I see what you mean. We must form a strong bond with our own men, and ignore that capacity when we deal with the enemy. A friendly man may be able to fire blindly at advancing columns in a pitched battle, but he may not be able to kill face to face. In a way, I guess our personalities transfer into our combat habits."

Roark furrows her brow. "Well that's a pretty dumb thing to say--of course it does. Our characters, experiences, memories are all manifest in everything we do. War throws a wrench into things, but in the end we settle into that role too." She frowns. "Or die trying, like I almost did."

Khan looks at his watch and takes a step back from the railing. "We'll be fine, Nadia. We always found a way; this won't be any different." Roark just broods. Privately, she suspects it will be radically different.

Suddenly the Major snaps to attention and offers a salute as Nadia follows suit. "It was nice to talk to you, Colonel. I have a report to deliver, and I'm sure Holmstrom has something he wants you to say to the men." Roark ends the salute and Khan turns away.

***

From the Office of the Field Marshal 28 June XXXX
TO: All commissioned officers, all staff officers of the Pax 15th Mechanized
RE: Upcoming Operations

The order of battle has been handed down to us by Warmarshal Sudani and the 15th Mechanized has been selected to take a leading role in Ardan offensive operations. Command of the Pax First Expeditionary force has been passed to Field Marshal Holmstrom, effective June 30th.

As you might be able to deduce, this puts all officers in the 15th in a unique position. A zero tolerance policy for incompetence is in full effect: the eyes of the Angsiyan will surely be upon us as the campaign unfolds. Officers are encouraged to gather on their own to relay their concerns and discuss tactics.

No details are to be omitted. Perfection is our only success; and death our only failure. Officers are strongly encouraged to come to their immediate superiors with their concerns. The Field Marshal's office is likewise open to all.

Be ready to work when we get off these transports. Make sure your men stay hydrated and get plenty of rest. May Eru smile on us at the dawning of this, our most gloroius day.

Colonel Nadia Roark, Pax 15th Mechanized Division
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Characters/roark1.png

You do not become President of Allanea unless you know people in the business community. And if you by chance become President of Allanea without such connections, you will acquire them throughout your job. At any rate, President Goldwasser had good connections with such people, and he used them.

Even as the troops began to pour into Daikatana, Goldwasser’s friends and business partners arranged a variety of ‘favors’ for the troops of the Five Kingdoms. Barrels of vodka, kegs of beer, tons and tons of various food were prepared.

The locals pitched in, too – and so the Five Kingdom troops would be up for one hell of a reception.

* *

Visualize a stereotypical small town in – lots of cottage homes – Allaneans hate apparetment buildings.

Envision this town not having a set standard of buildings – some are your usual red-roofed homes and other are former air raid shelters, some are round concrete domes and the others are built, literally, of glass.

Envision the locals not having a set dress code at all – to the point that it is disturbing, as eighty-year-olds just shouldn’t be seen around naked.

Now contemplate a society which had, for centuries, been a haven for the world’s weirdoes – geeks, Trekkies, Goths, punks, whatever such –and that these people have been accustomed, for generations and generations, to wear their respective subculture on their sleeve.

It was these people that prepared the party for the Five Kingdoms troops – and, apart from the really loud music and vodka, it was not clear what, precisely, the troops would like about it.

That, and the pre-paid-for courtesans.

Roark peered through her binoculars at the enemy line, hunched on the edge of her foxhole. Behind her, Master Sergeant Trask stirred, reaching forward to direct her gaze to a particular section of their defenses. "If I were a betting man, I'd guess they're going to send us in through that pass."

Roark exhales sharply through her nose, fiddling with the dial. "Sounds like a pretty good assumption to me. That's probably how I'd do it if I were them. As far as I know, they still haven't moved their armor from the west side of Varis, so it might be the only possiblity."She lowered her binoculars and bit her lip. The Freekish line between them and Varis was well defended, and Roark suspected that more nasty surprises were in store for them. Trask looked on worriedly as Roark rolls over and passes the binoculars off to another soldier. Keeping her head down, she lurches forward and flops against the opposite side of their foxhole.

"You should probably get out of here Trask," reccommends Lieutenant Roark with a sigh. "I'm not in the habit of sharing foxholes with my own NCO's. Get back to your own," She orders, seized with a sudden an inexplicable irritation. "If something happens to me I don't want the rest of the unit to suffer even more because we lost you too, after all. You never know when their artillery will get a lucky hit."

Trask nods. "Alright, I'll take this opportunity to check on the boys," he answers with a wink. Nadia watched as the Master Sergeant obliged and climbed his way out of the foxhole. "Eru knows they need it!" he finishes with a laugh. Nadia forces herself to smile, and watched as Trask trudged off towards the next hole. Only after a few moments is Roark able to return her attention back to the line. Privately, she grows more and more agitated with herself as she scans the Freekish positions again.

It was hard to deny that being accepted by the soldiers was something of a double edged sword. She knew at first that it was easy enough to keep a cold distance on account of her gender, but as the war progressed and they saw combat together, a bond emerged. Roark hadn't been particularly heartbroken at the beginning of her career when her 2nd Rifle was smashed at An'Arraš, back at the beginning of the war. Afterwards she had been reassigned and most of the other survivors' units were broken up; many of them were sent home. Roark found herself in the Guardis 11th Armored Division, which was probably the best tank division on either side of the line, at least in this theatre. She found herself under the command of Captain Zevon Khan, an old friend of hers.

She had been bumped up from Second to First Lieutenant upon her transfer to the 11th Armored, and she was generally credited with being one of the better junior officers in her unit. It was an interesting and difficult line to tread, and there were no shortage of incidents involving her gender. Sergeant Trask was one of the only men in her unit that didn't attempt to treat this bond as a romantic one; and in a great twist of irony this endeared him to her even more--the two of them both knew that the bond shared between them was a bond of soldiers and not lovers.

The Lieutenant is forced out of her reverie by Sergeant Tolus, who appears behind Roark's foxhole with a report. "Lieutenant Roark!" he shouts. "Captain Khan has handed down our orders. A briefing is to take place in one hour."

Roark whirls around, finding it difficult to conceal her surprise. "Thank you Sergeant. Is Corporal Cevik back from his patrol yet?"

"Yes ma'am, he just returned, I was about to tell you." Sergeant Tolus salutes and Nadia returns it.

"Thank you, that'll be all."

***

As the Ardan Third Fleet neared Haven, it restructured its formation. Gunships and Flak firgates swept out below and in front of the larger cruisers and destroyers, but their guns were stowed and fighter compliments were kept to a bare minimum. Patrols flirted with Questarian territorial waters, but an obvious attempt to avoid them could be observed by the path of the fleet itself. Three Florentine class command cruisers dropped from their typical perches far above the formation as their descent began in Allanea proper, coming down well ahead of the troop transports proper.

The Third certainly wasn't going to set down all at once, so it maintained a static holding position over the main landing site, which is where the officers and a couple of Pax Mechanized Batallions would be the first to set foot on Allanea itself.

The Florentines couldn't land on just any tarmac due to their construction, so the officers would be sent down along with the infantry in special Wolverine class dropships. Ever suspicious of foul play, the Ardans split their officers up. Owing to caution and to the limited launch capabilities of the Florentine, about two-thirds of them would launch from the fleet's Grayforge class mobile garage, as opposed to either the Florentines or the normal fleet carriers.

Holmstrom and his entourage had chosen to stay aboard their Florentine and disembark from it. Roark was displeased to learn that Brigade Marshal Dashka Vasi had made the same decision; not that she disliked Vasi himself but Roark and Vasi's cheif staff officer often quarreled. Nonetheless she could take quiet pleasure in walking in front of the man, an indignity she knew all too well that he hated to suffer. Roark knew that Lieutenant Colonel Florian Brozi was itching to pass or at least match her in rank, and guessed he would take advantage of this war to do so.

Reading his reports always made her smile, but she had to put it away for now. A quick check of the wall clock and Nadia drops her pen and sets her papers aside. An inspection of her uniform and a glance in the mirror to verify the quality of her appearance, and she is off.

"Colonel!" Roark exchanges a salute with a Dunlending Major from Vasi's brigade, barely ten paces out her door.

"Hello, Major Hilderic." Nadia folds her arms behind her and turns to him as they face the lift. "Any news from home?"

Hilderic smiles. "The Angsiyan visited Old Dunland just before I shipped to Volandstad. I'm sorry you couldn't have been there. He gave a rousing speech, and Minister Reaven was there too. It was a good time."

The Colonel raises a very intersted brow. "I haven't seen that speech yet. What did the Angsiyan and Minister Reaven have to say?"

"Reaven went first, he really got them going by pointing to lowering unemployment rates and higher profits from key industries. Minister Sshendem was there too, but he usually stays pretty quiet. Reaven and the Angsiyan have grown very adept at rallying the people when speaking in succession. Reaven appeals to them on a cultural level, and Althalon makes and keeps the military promises. Agriculture is finally starting to take hold in the east, and a growth in recruits means the orcs should be kept in check."

Roark smiles easily as the lift arrives and they step in. "That's good to hear," she answers as the Major keys in the desired deck and the door seals shut. "What are our friends in the 11th up to these days?"

"They're running training and emergency operations in western Rhûn, helping hold the Orcs in just southwest from the Northwatch."

Roark grins. "After all the crap I've taken from Easterling officers in my career, it's comforting to know they still rely on the good old Dunland Guns for their security."

Major Hilderic laughs easily. "Yes, yes, I know. Still, they're strong in their own right."

Behind him, the Colonel chuckles. "Of course they are, that Florian Brozi of yours is quite the handful. But enough of that, I want to hear more of the Angsiyan's speech. What of our reasons for the Haven asssault? Helping Gholgoth?" She lifts her chin and watches the Major intently, but he does not turn around.

"Althalon hinted at the possibility for an armed hegemony with Gholgoth. If they are truly enemies of Morgoth, they could be useful in stemming the eventual tide of his return."

"Is that so?"

The Major shrugs. "There's opposition of course, but no military leaders have come out against it. The Pax seems satisfied enough."

Roark closes her eyes and lowers her hands to her sides. "But are we not strong enough to bear the return of Morgoth on our own? After what we've done to him?"

"Colonel?"

Earlier...

Brigade Marshal Dashka Vasi sits quietly at his desk, his eyes lowered to the report in front of him. He's only half listening as Lieutenant Colonel Brozi finishes up his briefing to a couple Battallion Captains, who would be in charge of security for the remainder of the descent and the eventual landing in Allanea itself.

Brozi was the Brigade Marshal's XO, and basically acted as a contact point between Vasi and both his staff and his commissioned officers whenever the mercurial Brigade Marshal didn't feel like dealing with them. In charge of collecting and digesting personnel and logistics data for Vasi's 112th Brigade, Brozi was an alert and competent staff officer. Vasi was well aware of the man's ambitions, and Brozi's rivalry with Colonel Roark was the subject of much amusement amongst the Brigade Marshals of Holmstrom's 15th Mechanized.

Brozi turns back to his Brigade Marshal and salutes once the briefing is finished. Vasi stands slowly and returns the salute, turning to the pair of Captains when he's done. "Thank you gentlemen, that'll be all. If you have any additional questions or conerns please take them up with Captain Isa at your earliest conveinence. Now get to your landing craft and get ready to put out a line to Division Switchboard. Captains Reyhani and Morceli are already waiting to hear from you."

"Yes, sir!" comes the expected response as all assembled exchange another set of salutes and the Captains depart. Vasi turns and looks out his office window; their gradual descent just beginning.

"I trust you are content with the selections?"

The Lieutenant Colonel nods confidently. "Yes sir, I believe that the 12th and 33rd battallions are probably the best units for the job. Holmstrom made an excellent choice."

The Marshal stands stoic next to his window, intently looking out. "Are you ready?"

"Sir?"

"This will be your first major assignment as my XO. I have a reputation to maintain and I'd like to make sure nothing happens to it." Vasi's eyes flicker to his subordinate. "Colonel Roark made express mention of a zero tolerance policy for incompetence," he angles his head towards Brozi a bit, "and I don't intent to look the other way on anything."

Brozi furrows his brow. "Permission to speak, sir."

"Granted."

"Do you doubt my ability to perform, sir?"

"Of course not, Brozi. You're a good man and I have full confidence in your abilities. My only major concern is the chaos of war. As you know, the chain of command is often damaged--sometimes irreparably."

Brozi lowers his head slightly. "I know, sir. I'm prepared for the challenge."

The Brigade Marshal folds his arms behind his back. "I'm certain you are, Lieutenant Colonel. I'm not worried about you doing your job..." he trails off for a moment, and Brozi is puzzled. "But if something happens to me or one of the other Brigade Marshals, you may have to work under a certain someone you have advertised something of a dislike for. Colonel Roark is acting essentially as Division XO, and it's very likely that she will receive at least a provisional commission if one of us is killed or disabled."

Marshal Vasi turns to face Colonel Brozi fully, and the Colonel tightens his jaw. "Can you work under her? If you want to be transferred out to avoid that possibility, now is the time to do it. I'm sure Major Khan and the Field Marshal could make it happen."

Brozi stomps his boot on the floor and slautes swiftly. "With respect sir, I would prefer to stay here in the 112th. I like it here, sir, and the possibility of working under Roark is one I can most definately deal with. There will be no problems, sir."

"Good," retorts the Brigade Marshal, saving his best for last. "Because I'm taking a brief leave to attend to a family matter back in Gar'Hael. I'm leaving at 1500 on Monday. I put in a reccommendation for Colonel Roark to take interim control of the 112th as they prepare defenses here, and Holmstrom approved on her behalf. Based on on what you just shared with me, you will have no problems treating Colonel Roark with the same respect you so faithfully accord me, correct?"

The Lieutenant Colonel has to concentrate to keep an extremely displeased look from passing over his face. He knew that if he cracked or showed any signs of malcontent, Vasi would probably put in a request to have him reassigned. Only Holmstrom could do that, but Brozi knew the Field Marshal would probably do it if he had to. He may have been lying about being okay with working under Roark, but he wasn't lying about wanting to stay where he was. He had no choice.

"Yes, sir, I will, sir."

"Excellent. Dismissed."

The diligent Ardan Colonel scanned intently over the assembled officers, her eyes darting down to her clipboard occasionally as the ticks people off as present. Present are the senior officers of the 112th Brigade: one other Colonel, 4 Lieutenant Colonels, a Captain and a Major. Nadia knows most of them by face, and rarely catches herself double-checking their shoulderboards to verify their identity or clearance.

Behind Roark stood Lieutenant Colonel Felix Varias and Major Khan, the command and personnel staffers that administered the entire division alongside Roark from Holmstrom's office. Only a few hours ago, Nadia had the unexpected pleasure of receiving a runner from Dashka Vasi's office announcing his departure and naming her the interim commander of the 112th. She knew Vasi would return before hostilities began, but the Brigade Marshal's message made it clear that the 112th was still to be briefed on security measures.

Colonel Roark smiles to herself as the clock strikes 1130. She hands her folder to Major Khan and follows up with a salute. "If you would, Major."

Khan returns the salute and walks to the window where he draws a shade and flips out a light. Roark folds her arms behind her and Lieutenant Colonel Varaias strides to the stage and seizes the men's attention with an Easterling shout. Another few words and the officers all salute Roark as she strides to her podium. Roark returns it, and Varaias turns on his heels and maneuvers behind her.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she begins with a tap of her finger on the podium. "At ease." The crowd complies, taking their seats. A moment later, a holographic map is projected to the front of the room, depicting Allanea and the Third Fleet's descent into it.

"As anyone with ears already knows, the Fleet's descent into Allanea is underway. Brigade Marshal Vasi has a family affair to deal with back in Khand, so I will serve as the Commanding Officer for the 112th, with Lieutenant Colonel Brozi acting as my adjutant. Under my command, elements of the 112th will accompany Divisional officers as we land in Allanea."

A click of a button, and the Third's fighter escort is highlighted---all of them: even the ones locked within the bellies of their respective carriers. "Since the Florentines cannot land at this port, command elements from the 15th and other Divisions will be disembarking in Wolverine class dropships. Some will be launched from here, others will come down from the Grayforge garage. The 112th will be primarily responsible for coordinating security measures for personnel launched from all three Florentine cruisers."

The Colonel pauses to sip her water, and steps out from behind her podium when she's done. Her expression is aloof but captivating; a look exclusive to her that she had cultivated for many years. Occasionally she catches men writing (or trying to write) without looking down. "This means that we'll have the smaller of the two operations, which will mean it will be easier for us to carry out within Field Marshal Holmstrom's provisions. On the other hand, it means we'll be the first to slap Allanean soil with our boots."

She turns a subtle few degrees to face Major Hugo Reize and Captain Kurt Kraus, who are sitting next to each other. "Major Reize and Capatin Kraus, your units will understandably be kept at bay. If anything goes wrong, we are to uproot our HHQ company and get off the ground as soon as possible. Since we won't be landing until the full weight of the Third Fleet's firepower is availible to us, there will be no need for either of this brigade's artillery detachments."

The two men nod and jot down their own versions of the Colonel's information. Nadia turns back to the direction she was previously facing, but her head snaps to the door as it opens. A surprised face greets Roark, and she smiles. "Ah, Lieutenant Colonel Brozi. My Deputy!"

Brozi puts on a puzzled expression and tentatively takes a step into the room, but Nadia stops him with an icy gaze and a penetrating tone: "We salute the rank, Colonel Brozi. Not the woman." The entire room turns around to face Brozi as he returns the salute, suddenly flushed.

"Apologies, Colonel--I... thought I was coming early. The memo I got said to be here at 1200," stammers Brozi with a hint of anger.

"I bumped the start time back to 1130. Fortunately for you we've only begun a few minutes ago."

Brozi lowers his hand. "I'm sorry sir, I got no message."

Roark lets the dig pass, and gestures to the podium, near which Varais had been standing the whole time. "That's not my problem, Brozi. I sent one, and the rest of these men somehow managed to get it. If your G6 needs a kick in the ass it's your job to give it to him, not mine."

Brozi opens his mouth but Roark continues the briefing without missing a beat. "The 12th Mechanized Strike Force and the 33rd Armored Infantry Batallion will oversee the descent." Her eyes follow Brozi as he walks around the perimeter of the room, past Major Khan and towards her podium. "They will jettison from the Overwatch* at 1815 in thirty Wolverines, which will proceed to the surface under cover of about four squadrons of Wainrider Mark IV's."

She makes her way back to the podium again and takes another nonchalant sip of water. Behind her, Brozi continues to simmer. Colonel Roark continues in a cool, even tone; well aware of her deputy's malcontent. "We don't know much about this facility except what we've seen from satellite footage, but we'll put two companies on the ground before any of our officers even leave. Chances are, we may need to convene again with you guys and the Batallion G3's if they spot anything that requires that we change the plan on the fly."

Roark reaches over to tap the button on her podium again, and the hologram (which pretty mcuh everyone stopped paying attention to some time ago, and may have even forgot about) is replaced with a representation of the Allanean landing facility. A handful of key areas are highlighted in red. "These are key locations we'll be needing to scout upon our arrival. Allanean officials will be invited up here to coordinate with us but with things being as they are in Haven right now, the possiblity of terror attacks is a real one."

She presses another button, and a new set of highlighted zones appear, forming lanes towards the plotted landing position for the first couple dropships of the 112th. "The red zones are areas form which disembarking soldiers will be vulnerable to small arms fire. The Orange lanes you see represent possible angles of approach from armed or explosive vehicles. The yellow dots are possible sniper perches."

The scribble of pencils fills the room as Roark's officers take in the information. "The Third will be relaying recon data to us regularly, so the sniper threat will likely be kept to a minimum. Given the volume of firepower directly above the facility, such operations would prove impractical for them anyway. The biggest threat as such is a small group of 'chameleons'--military men or other armed agents meant to blend in until the last possible minute. Of course we can't expect flybys to identify those, so I want firing quadrants to be established on the weak sides of all Wolverines. Once we get enough men on the ground, more passive security measures will be assumed."

A Lieutenant Colonel stands, and Roark gestures to him in acknowledgement. "Yes, Colonel Agani?" She watched the man intently. He was a Vzj'Nakai.

"Has intelligence found anything of note since 2245 last night?"

Roark shakes her head. "No, we've not yet uncovered any significant third party threats to our operation. For whatever reason, our deployment seems to have gone relatively unnoticed, through no real effort by our Intelligence Office. I don't know exactly what the deal is, but we haven't heard a peep from anyone since we left Gholgoth."

The Lieutenant Colonel looks down briefly, checking one of his documents. "And the Allaneans?"

Roark sighs. "I don't know. I don't fully trust them myself, but all signs point to a warm reception without incident. The Cerulean is reporting an increase in trade traffic in the area, which could mean nothing or it could mean that they want to trade with us or supply us somehow while we're here. Still, the Allanean government's relative silence has me uneasy, and the specifics of our security protocol will probably betray this feeling to the Allaneans."

Agani bows his head. "Thank you, sir," he shoots back as he sits. Roark sighs. Turning back to her podium, she leans in towards Brozi and whispers a few words.

"The Lieutenant Colonel will take you through the last half of the operation. If anyone has any questions after the briefing, I'll be in my office until 1300."

***
TO: 112th Pax Imperica Armored Infantry Brigade
RE: Security Precautions

At 1815 tonight we will finalize our descent into Allanea. Thirty Wolverines are to be dispatched, with officers seeded out equally among them. NCO's report for briefing at 1500 hours and verify the readiness of your formations.

Artillery units will be exempt from this operation for obvious reasons. All Artillery NCO's are ordered to alert status, but are not required to attend the briefings.

--Lieutenant Colonel Florian Brozi, Pax 15th Mechanized

*OOC: The Overwatch is the name of the Florentine (http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/FlorentineClassCommandCruiserMkIPro.jpg) Class command cruiser on which Roark and the rest of these officers are being carried into Allanea.

The landing in Allanea included just about all of the hustle and bustle Colonel Roark would have expected. On either side of her, Divisional officers--including the Field Marshal himself--were disembarking from their Wolverine (http://s48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/?action=view&current=WolverineFrontRight.jpg) class transports. Roark's eyes flicker from one to the other, making sure it's in the right place and that the covering platoons are doing their jobs. Even though the 15th was sending down about a regiment's worth of men, only three companies were conducting "active" security measures.

Roark watches, amused, as Lieutenant Colonel Brozi and Captain Driss Morceli finish a conversation and take a salute from an Allanean. She raises her chin and takes a step out of the doorway of her own Wolverine as the two men approach. They exchange a brief salute, and Brozi extends his hand to his right, taking a dutifully offered file folder from Captain Morceli, the communications officer for Roark's 112th Brigade.

"Everything is in order, sir," reports Brozi, folding his arms behind his back as Roark takes the folder, unamused. "It's all still in order from our preliminary sweeps. The threat potential seems negligible enough."

Roark examines the report, and Brozi and his Captain exchange a glance as the Colonel lets the silence linger for a moment. And then another. Brozi finds his mind starting to wander when Roark finally speaks again, as she hands off the file to Major Khan, who is standing behind her. "Very good, Lieutenant Colonel. Your work will surely make the Brigade Marshal proud. Where is Major Zuri?"

Brozi turns and gestures some distance down the tarmac. "Right over there, sir. He's taking a final report from D Company. Would you like me to call for him?"

"No need, I'll check in with him myself," Roark insists. Nadia salutes and Brozi and Morceli return it. "You two are dismissed. Zuri and I will take it from here."

Major Sein Zuri was the Operations staff officer for the 112th Brigade. He wasn't very tall--he and Roark were about the same height at 5'8" but the man was stockily built. He and Roark had not yet met face to face, as the Colonel was a recent addition to the 15th, and Major Zuri had been there for quite some time. He doesn't notice as she walks towards him, and continues to take a report from a company Lieutenant, who straightens up instinctively as Roark approaches.

Both men whirl to face her and salute, the Lieutenant cutting himself off mid sentence. Roark returns the salute and smiles easily. "As you were. Continue, Lieutenant."

"D Company has been in position for twenty minutes and reports no operational anomolies. All lanes are clear of threats and I've spoken with each squad leader personally. One squad from B company left seven minutes ago with Sergeant Major Kronen to survey the rest of the grounds with the Allaneans."

Roark crosses her arms behind her and watches Major Zuri closely. "Excellent. Thank you, Lieutenant Murad. Get back to B company and keep your ear to the ground for news of Sergeant Kronen's expedition," orders the Major. All three of them salute each other again and Murad is off. Major Zuri turns to Roark and salutes again. "Colonel Roark! To what do I owe this fantastic surprise?"

Nadia smiles as she lowers her arm. "Nice work, Major. I'm glad our first project together seems to be going so well. Brigade Marshal Vasi will surely be pleased."

Major Zuri bows his head slightly. "You honor me with your praise, ma'am. I've looked forward to working with you for some time."

"Is that so?" Roark cocks her head. "Well, we've still got more to do so the dream isn't over yet!" She turns on her heels back towards her Wolverine and beckons for the Major to do the same. "Naturally, I'm to coordinate the rest of our defensive procedures here, not just the landing we're in the middle of at the moment." She weaves around a passing troop column and glances back over her shoulder to the Major briefly as she continues. "Holmstrom thinks that because I come from the Guardis, that these measures should fall under my jurisdiction."

They start up the ramp into Nadia's transport, and are greeted by a couple communications officers and three Vzj'Nakai sentries, wearing the stripes of Sergeant. A swift salute is exchanged, and Roark leads the Major to a terminal. She crouches above the keyboard for a moment and squints at the screen before holding up a gloved hand expectantly, not bothering to look back at the Major just yet. "Your PDA, Major."

Major Zuri complies, and hands her his device. He watches as she uploads a briefing and operations schedule that appears to be several months in length. "You certainly don't waste your time, Colonel," offers the Major with a chuckle.

Roark turns around and leans against the terminal. "Certainly not!" she answers, cracking a grin. "The war may still be a few months off, but I want the men to get used to a routine in the meantime. I'm sure we're all going through our own private pre-war crises, but its time to snap out of it."

The Major nods in agreement, and Roark turns around as the PDA announces the completion of its task. "Arda is still a foriegn word to many here. I'm surprised no open threats have been made, under the circumstances. So far our deployment to Haven has been much quieter than Gholgoth's."

Roark offers Zuri his PDA and he checks over it. Briefings every day at 0900 and 2000. "They're all fanatics," retorts Roark, irritated with the lot of them--Gholgoth and the QC--in absentia. "It belies their ultimate weakness. Gholgoth just wanted to wag their genitalia at us and Haven doesn't appear to know or care who we are, for the most part."

Zuri tucks his PDA back into his jacket and nods in agreement. "Their fanaticism may be their only saving grace. That their commanders would risk so much to throw their armies headlong into this speaks volumes of their loyalty."

Roark smiles again and salutes slowly. Zuri promptly returns it. "Indeed it does, Major. We'll see how long it takes to break or if it even can be done. I have the fullest confidence in Sudani and his staff to see this through. It was a pleasure to work with you and I look forward to doing it again. See you tomorrow morning at 0900."

"They're doing what?" Nadia blinks.

Field Marshal Holmstrom whirls his office chair around and hastily arrays a few documents on his desk. "Sudani has pulled the 8th, 21st, and 39th Mechanized from reserve along with another two armored divisions and..." he trails off, checking his numbers, "three more divisions of armored infantry."

The Colonel raises a brow as she looks over the paperwork herself. "It sure seems like your commission is only getting bigger, now doesn't it?" she offers with a wry grin. Holmstrom just closes his eyes and rubs his temple.

"Yes," comes the answer after a moment. "But it also means my strategic reserve has shrunk to five mechanized divisions--FIVE!--until they call up more. If something were to go down right now, I'd very much doubt our capacity to sustain any meaningful amount of conflict."

Roark straightens up and purses her lips. "True enough, but there's enough materiel between us and the corridor. I doubt we'd be a first priority even if things did start to rumble a bit ahead of schedule."

Holmstrom just grunts and waves a hand dismissively at his Colonel. Behind him, Roark pouts. "I'm going to call upon the rest of the Marshals to attend a meeting on the issue. Sudani says the new deployments shouldn't affect our operational priorities, and it should be assumed that any briefings we've attended on the Haven Scenario are still in full effect." He turns around to get out of his chair and Nadia's expression snaps back to normal. "I think Sudani wants me to start setting up my own strategic reserve here in Haven. Until now it had been implied that reserves would ocme straight from Arda, but if the Angsiyan does plan to send Guardis units to Gholgoth, such a move would preclude this possiblity."

Colonel Roark found it difficult to mask her displeasure at the idea of Guardis personnel defending Gholgothan soil, and she couldn't help but call to mind a myriad of incidents that may occur while conducting the defense. Roark had seen nearly all of her combat in the Guardis and still had many friends in its 11th Armored Division. During the Freekish invasion the unit (or more accurately, the remains of the unit) had been instrumental in turning the tide at Volandstad in the west, after which Althalon had activated the Pax and transferred her to it. She was just a Major at the time, and to date it had been the only period in her military career during which she had had a commission of her own. Despite no longer being a part of it, her attachment to the 11th Armored was still very strong as a result of many of the men still being there.

The Pax Colonel is shaken out of her reverie by the slam of Field Marshal Homstrom's boot on the ground as the two of them salute nearly in unison. "Draft a communique to all Field Marshals. We'll meet on Monday at 1300 to discuss the reserves and what to do with them. It's likely we'll have to talk to the Allaneans again and figure out where we might house such a reserve when it's needed." Roark stands and watches as the Field Marshal gathers his things. "That reminds me," continues the Field Marshal, assembling a few papers in his file folder, "has Brigade marshal Vasi returned yet?"

"No," answers Roark. "And I'm still commanding his 112th as per your instruction."

"Can you handle that? You've also been placed in charge of security, although not by me."

"It's fine, sir. There's not much to do with the 112th right now anyway, but I'm killing two birds with one stone by using them for my primary security detail. However, as more troops disembark I may actually need to add to it, at least until the MP's show up."

"That might be a while. I don't think Sudani wants to ship out the MP's until the war is about to start. My reccommendation would be to keep the 112th on security detail; I'm sure Vasi won't mind and he can always rescind the order when he comes back. I'll whip up some paperwork and get abother Brigade or two in on the action so we can rotate them out." Holmstrom salutes again and the Colonel faithfully returns it.

"Yes, sir," she answers loudly, emboldened by her new authority. For a moment, her reservations about the Guardis deployment are pushed out of her brain as she immediately sets herself to work drafting base security protocol in her head. She was going to have a lot to discuss with Brozi and Zuri in the near future.

***
From the Office of the Field Marshal 04 JULY XXXX
Re: Reserves

It is apparent on account of the shifting of more Pax divisions to Haven that High Command intends for Arda to possess a strategic reserve here in Allanea. Field Marshal Holmstrom will be conducting a meeting on Monday at 1300 to discuss this development and how to deal with it.

The growing possibility of dispatching Guardis materiel to Gholgoth raises the concern that an Ardan strategic reserve would be impractical at best. All Field Marshals are encouraged to attend so that we may work from the largest possible base of ideas.

(signed)
Colonel Nadia Roark, Pax 15th Mechanized
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Characters/roark1.png

"Bloody Helicopters, I canne take flying aboot," grumbles the slightly green Midlonian General as the Goshawk thunders over the plains of the Allanean land; his moustache had drooped along with his beret which sat on his ear.

"Told ye ta take ya Air sickness pill ya daft ode sod." barks back Major General Kelly as he laughs and shakes his head.

"Ah shoot ya wheezt." retorts Machonagie. "Use ya flapping mooth for something usefae like telling us how long till we're there!"

"Aboot 1 minute noo." Replies Kelly aafter getting an answer form the pilot through his headset. "We'll hae tae use a translator tho ah bet. They wonna understand us." The Helicopter begins to ascend, its distinctive wide body and thundering rotors easily distinguishable, the standard Midlonian Helicopter was one made by ZMI and had been in faithful service for a while now; it was the easily recognisable workhorse that the Midlonians used.

Five Imperial Marshals are seated along a circular conference table; with the last two standing at a window looking out over the base, whispering with each other. Most wear the dual-starred shoulderbards of a Field Marshal, although the men at the window bear the insignia of Battle Marshals.

The room was quiet, and even with Marshal Beck and Marshal Holmstrom's staff present, only an occasional soft murmur could be heard as the Ardans patiently awaited their guests. The staff officers stood at ease along the left wall, with the exceptions of Colonel Roark and Colonel Arkhet, who stand directly behind their respective Marhsals.

Marshal Beck exchanges a phrase with Colonel Arkhet in Dunlending, and strides to the conference table as his cheif staff officer draws the curtains shut and murmurs something to the staff officers on the side of the room. "Gentlemen, the Midlonians have arrived," announces Beck. Roark slumps her shoulders subtly and just looks to the table, mildly annoyed. "Fortunately they haven't made us wait long after all," booms the Battle Marshal in a thick baritone. Roark draws a file folder from under her jacket and presents it to Holmstrom as other staff officers stride forward to offer similar documents to the remaining Marshals.

"We should be just about on the same page with the Midlonians, at least here in Allanea. I've prepared for you and your staffs a basic set of ideas we need to stick to," reminds the other Battle Marshal.

Beck stops for a moment to scrutinize something on another sheet and jots down a quick thought before raising his head back to the congregation. "Just remember what we talked about last night, Marshals." He nods to Battle Marshal Ahaz Esarhaddon, the other eminent Pax armored commander within the operation. "Marshal Esarhaddon and I will likely do most of the talking."

Meanwhile, on the tarmac, the Midlonian helicopter touches down and immediately General Machonagie and Kelly disembark from the Goshawk; both holding onto their berets and holding down their kilts as the rotor blades chop and blow up dirt around them. Brigadier Kelmarsh strides off in more 'normal' fatigues compared to the two Laputians. "We're here to see, I beleive, it was Marshal Beck," he spoke in a smooth Midlonian tone, which was quite something compared to the thick accents of his comrades.

As the Midlonians enter the complex, three Dunlending men stand at the end of the conference corridor, conspicuous in their bright red uniforms and gold shoulder knots. They slam their boots on the ground in disciplined unison, and fling their hands to their heads in a vigorous salute.

"It is an honor to meet you, General Machonagie," announces the frontmost man. He lowers his hand and bows his head to the other officers. "Major General Kelly, Brigadier Kelmarsh. I am Lieutenant Sarus Ariaric, and these are my colleagues, Master Sergeant Ari Baza and Lieutenant Arkhan Ovida. We've been instructed to lead you to the Marshals' conference room."

"Aye." Speaks up Machonagie. "Well, better lead us oon then. Aye, Aye."

The three of them turn at once and don't speak another word as they plod down the hallway, arriving at a door near the end of the hall and opening it. Ovida and Baza step to either side of the doorway and Lieutenant Ariaric strides in, falling off to one side and turning back to the doorway as he salutes the arriving Midlonians again as they enter.

"General Machonagie and his colleagues have arrived, sir," announces the Lieutenant loudly. He turns on his heels and salutes the Field Marshal once the visiting Generals finish entering the room.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. You may take your post outside," announces Beck cooly before turning to Machonagie with a friendly grin and a more casual salute. "Hello, General. I am Battle Marshal Runo Beck of the Angsiyan's Pax Imperica 3rd Armored Division. With me this afternoon are Field Marshals Roland Groenvold, Osvald Holmstrom, Hori Merodach, Danilo Todorovic, and Reha Dei," he lists, indicating each officer as he names them. "Presiding are myself and Battle Marshal Ahaz Esarhaddon. I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"I'm General Machonagie, and these oor my people, Leftenant General Kelly and Brigadier Kelmarsh." Machonagie gestures to each in turn. "And noo, not entirely, flight dinnae agree wi me."

"Ah, well I'm sorry to hear that," offers Beck before standing aside. "Come, take a seat then, perhaps that will help things." The Marshals rustle their papers as Battle Marshal Esarhaddon stands and strides to the far end of the room, in front of the drawn curtains.

"Welcome and well met," announces Esarhaddon in a thick Southron accent. "Unfortunately we have little time to dispense with pleasantries and must get down to business. The Angsiyan is eager to know the full extent of allied involvement on the Haven side of things."

"Indeed," breaks in Beck. "Let's get started."

Brigade Marshals Gari Krolyak and Xavier Gromm stand on a catwalk overlooking a throng of arriving soldiers and materiel. Men plod under them with heavy packs while laborers outside worked on bringing out the armor. A man bearing the stripes of a Lieutenant Colonel strides to them and salutes, bringing the generals out of their quiet conversation to return it. "Hello Colonel," starts Gromm, a large and boisterous Dunlending with many medals.

"Marshal Gromm, Marshal Krolyak," responds the Colonel as he drops his hand, nodding to each of his superiors in turn. "I'm pleased to report that the assembly is more or less in order."

"More or less?"

"There's been some problems with a few of our organic artillery components. It seems they were packed in the Drogues, which are still coming down outside and in other parts of the base."

The Marshals exchange a glance, and Kroyak speaks up. "What seems to be the problem, Colonel Teimourian?"

"The Quartermaster in Gholgoth packed a few Wolverines a bit too tight and ran out of space. We have a little more ammunition than we really need, but I'm sure I can find a use for it."

Gromm grunts. "You know I want those guns off their boats by 1800 for fire tests and drilling exercises."

"Yes, sir, I am thoroughly aware of that," retorts the Lieutenant Colonel. "I've instructed the Drogue crews to work double time and I've already sent Major Ariaric out to oversee them. I've also sent a couple companies out there to help, and will send more as soon as we're unpacked and assembled more infantry."

The Marshals nod, mollified for the moment. "Very well, Lieutenant Colonel. I will be eagerly awaiting your report at 1700. In the meantime I'll get ahold of Lieutenant Oyan and give the Quartermaster a piece of my mind. Dismissed."

The three men salute again and Colonel Teimourian is off. Silence lingers for a moment, and the Marhsals crawl back inside themselves. "What news from home?" asks Marshal Gromm suddenly. Krolyak, who had just returned from a brief leave, is happy to answer.

"The final pieces are being put into place," Krolyak asserts. "Althalon is massing reserves all over Arda and plans to have most of them ready to ship to Haven within six weeks. The Fourth Fleet has just been commissioned, and there's talk of a Guardis deployment to Gholgoth. But we've not heard Word One from their government since Teteriuk's attempted correspondence with Dreadfire and 'the Evenstar.'"

Gromm furrows a bushy eyebrow. "I never understood that title. Why, if you're the Panterans, do you choose for your leader's name the title of an elven princess?"

Krolyak shrugs and spreads his hands. "Who knows. I've often wondered the same myself. There are plenty, more intimidating things you can call yourself; and to anyone who knows what an Evenstar really is, it just makes him look like a buffoon."

Gromm chuckles. "Teteriuk did that on his own, I'm given to understand. Did you see the letter (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12786452&postcount=8) our Lord Captain sent that man?"

"No, I haven't read it, but I've gathered that the complete absence of a response to it has resulted in us ignoring the Gholgoth front, more or less. If Althalon doesn't deploy the Guardis to Gholgoth--which I'm not sure he will anymore-- it should be obvious that its defense is not a priority for us."

A few days earlier...

Sitting behind an enormous heap of documents and technical diagrams, Colonel Roark flings her hands skyward and stretches with a lengthy yawn. She wasn't at her desk (as one might expect by the volume of paper in front of her); but in her quarters, poring over technical drawings and other readouts. Always very technical-minded, Roark had a small display of model gravitics either sitting or suspended above her her dresser and desk.

Roark's family was one of Arda's four main defense contractors, and ever since she was a little girl she had had a strange but profound interest in the flying machines manufactured by her father and his associates within the company. Her favorite model was the Ragnar (http://s48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/?action=view&current=RagnarMkIIRevised.jpg), and while she had never been on one herself, she hoped one day to get the chance. Pax and Guardis personnel rarely got a chance to fly on Cerulean craft. Roark had been on a Florentine (http://s48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/?action=view&current=FlorentineMk1alt.jpg), a couple of fleet carriers (http://s48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/?action=view&current=CarrierMkIIRightProfile.jpg), and a few of Arda's artillery platforms (http://s48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/?action=view&current=ArtilleryPlatformMkIBroadside.jpg). If she had anything to say about it, she'd have boarded--and perhaps even flown--just about every model in the Cerulean garage.

Roark peers at a technical diagram, and then back at the model she was presently assembling. She had decided on a whim to put together a model of the new Arda (http://s48.photobucket.com/albums/f222/ganjmahal/Renders/?action=view&current=ArdaMkIAlt.jpg) class Battlecruiser, and it was fairly challenging. It wasn't quite as intricate as the artillery platform dangling above her dresser, but it was reasonably large and difficult to assemble correctly.

As she reaches for her next part, it slips away from her. Nadia knots her brows and looks down to the piece. Attempting to seize it again, the piece slides away once more, as if it were a dollar bill on a string. Roark's expression grows more exasperated and she slides her chair back a bit, lowering her head to the desk to examine its grade. Finding it flat, she cocks her head and a curious "Hrm" escapes her lips. Once more she flings her hand at the piece, as if trying to catch it by surprise. This time it slides not away but toward her hand. Roark's mouth gapes as she tries to wrap her head around what had just happened. She raises her hand from the desk and opens her fingers slowly, examining her open hand and the piece in it with a curious look.

The oddity lingers in her mind for a moment before she shrugs it off and continues. The model was starting to take shape, and it looked pretty good so far. She pastes another couple parts in and stands, taking a few steps back to examine her handiwork from a distance. She smiles warmly at nothing in particular and as she starts back to her desk, the phone rings.

A sigh escapes Roark's lips. The only people who had that number were her superiors and her family, and she was pretty sure she knew which would be on the other end of the line when she picked it up. Roark loved her job, but like any other red-blooded human, still preferred her downtime to last as long as possible.

"Hello?" She answers flatly, already reaching for her dress jacket.

"Nadia!" booms a voice on the other side of the line. "It's cousin Daglio!"

Roark's eyebrows shoot up and she smiles again. She lets go of her jacket and it falls back onto the back of her chair. "Dag!" Nadia gushes. "Long time no talk! How are you?"

Laughter breaks in from the other side. "Well you know me.. I can't complain, but sometimes I still do!"

Nadia rolls her eyes. "Give that line a rest, will you? Joe Walsh is spinning in his grave."

Laughter again. "So mom told me they've got you running security out there. You must be a very busy woman!"

The Colonel sits back down at her desk and puts her feet up. "It's not been that bad, actually. We've not had any significant incidents. In fact, my duties have been limited pretty much to slapping around the occasional drunk and making sure the ranges are safe. About the biggest thing that happened since we landed was some Private set a small fire inside one of the Krawls."

Daglio snickers. "I bet that guy got an earful."

Nadia scans the ceiling as she calls the incident to mind. "He certainly did. I put him on tavern restroom detail, a little hard labor, that sort of thing for three months and he straightened up pretty quick. He didn't cause any real damage, so he wasn't discharged. He started it with grana* so there wasn't more than a black splotch on the floor. You know how soldiers get when they drink."

"Thank Eru for small favors, I guess," offers Daglio regretfully. "You know, my mother and her sisters can't shut up about you. You've given the Roark women something else to talk about, which is about the last thing they need."

The Colonel rolls her eyes. "You say it like I don't know it," she answers flatly. "Last time I was home they couldn't stop taking pictures of me in my uniform. Did it ever occur to them that part of the reason I enjoy going home so much is that I get to get out of the thing?"

Daglio laughs. "But you look so good! Rudi still says you look like a bellboy."

"He does, does he?" Roark lowers her brows but the traces of a grin can still be observed at the corners of her mouth. "Well you tell Rudi he's more than welcome to drag his lazy ass out here and see just what kind of hotel I work in over here!"

A laugh again and Daglio assures his cousin, "I'll be more than happy to."

Roark opens her mouth to continue, settling into her chair but there's a loud knock at the door. Alarmed, Nadia leaps to her feet and yelps. "Come in," she offers before quietly assuring her cousin of a call back and hanging up.

Brigade Marshal Dashka Vasi takes a step into the room and Roark slautes quickly. Vasi was a Variag man of respected lineage, and as a result the man held a position of some prominence in Arda's military court. He was of average height and build, but bore a latent ruggedness. He was not scarred like most men who had seen a comparable amount of action, a trait that sometimes puzzled Roark, considering how bemedaled he was. "To what do I owe this wonderful surprise, Brigade Marshal?" Roark respected Marshal Vasi, but he was Florian Brozi's boss, which made her suspicious.

"Major Hilderic has something important he must share with us at once. Captain Reyhani sent out the note about five minutes ago." He taps her communications terminal with his finger, which she had stopped paying attention to ten minutes before. "We need to get going."

"Thank you, Brigadier Vasi, sir," answers Roark in a stern tone as she lowers her hand and grabs her jacket. She flings on her boots and secures her sidearms before Vasi is three steps out the door. A quick glance at the mirror forllowed by an impulsive hand through her bangs and she's off, hurling the door shut and hastily locking it behind her.

"Do I have time to stop off at my office, sir?" She asks once she catches up, slowing to a walk just behind the Brigade Marshal.

"It'll be a short meeting. The Major believes the war will start within a matter of days or perhaps even hours. We all know what to do when that happens."

Roark's eyebrows shoot up and she gasps, surprised. For the last year or so she had tried to push it out of her mind; 'peacetime' was still usually busy enough to require her full concentration and she had few opportunities to worry overly about the future. "Is.. is that so?" is all Roark can manage.

Vasi nods, shooting a glance over his shoulder to the Colonel. "Indeed it is. Satellite reconaissance has shown a flurry of activity at munitions dumps and airfields--far above the preparations that had already been taking place there previously. Looks like the Commonwealth is getting down to business."

*OOC: Grana is a recently synthesized combustion agent that takes the form of a fine white dust. It's dropped from Sky Furnaces in mass quantities right before a purge to help it light.

OOC2: My next few posts here will take place in the hours leading up to the war's start. Any current military activities will be described in one of Questers' threads and perhaps detailed again here, since they may involve Roark's 15th mechanized.

Roark bit her lip as she looked down to the phone she had just hung up. She kept in touch with elements of the Guardis 11th Armored, despite having been transferred to the Pax a few years ago. Up until very recently there had been serious discussion of sending a Guardis Army Group to Gholgoth for the purposes of helping with the defense there, but Guardis military leaders had sternly refused such an undertaking, and many fireworks were doubtlessly being observed at the Serechav in response to this. Roark figured the Guardis Battle Marshals eventually wore Althalon down, since Teteriuk had openly stated only a few days before that no Guardis mission to Gholgoth was forthcoming.

The Angsiyan evidently had plans on a hegemony with Gholgoth, but their behavior when the Ardan sovereign had hastened to the Freeks' defense had been unexcusable. The Guardis had seen most of the action during the recent Freekish invasion of Arda, which added to their mistrust of the Freeks; in many cases an open hatred of Gholgoth and the Freeks could be observed to this day among many of the Guardis senior officers. It was one of these officers which Roark had just finished speaking with. It wasn't enough that they hated the Freeks, apparently they wanted to use events in Haven to further their agenda. Roark didn't disagree with them, but couldn't shake a strong apprehension at the position this put her in.

Suddenly, as if realizing something, Roark pulls open a desk drawer and opens a file folder. Her eyes fly over the list as her hand absently reaches for a pen near her desk lamp. Occasionally she squints at a name and makes a mark next to it, flagging officers in her division who had been transferred in from the Guardis. Zevon Khan had been her Captain for much of the latter half of the Freeks' last invasion, and he had already established himself as a close ally; indeed, even as a co-conspirator. He was a good start, but it was likely she'd need to count on at least a handful of other senior officers for support. She knew caution was paramount. It was good to know that she enjoyed to confidence of her old friends back home, but spiritual support only counted for so much.

Roark sets her pen down and reaches over with a gloved hand and reaches over to press the "transmit" button on her intercom. She could almost swear she hears the click before her finger touches the button. "Major Hilderic's office," comes an answer instantly. "How can I help you?"

"This is Colonel Roark. Is the Major busy right now? I have something I need to discuss with him."

"Just a moment, sir. Let me check."

Nadia had long ago stopped being bothered by the Ardan military's habit of calling her 'sir.' Patiently she waits, mulling over her plan in her head. She had no idea how hard it would be to get off base for a few days, and couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the possiblity of a negative or suspicious response.

"He's free," answers Hilderic's secretary seconds later. "I'll put you through now."

"Thank you."

It was a month before the outbreak of ‘The War’. Northford, as a country, was collectively mobilising. Inefficient, Labour-intensive manufacturing sectors were being closed, replaced by virtually labourless automated arms industries. The freed up manpower was being pumped into the Military. Divisions, Brigades, Corps and Armies were being created, it seemed, overnight. The vast material reserves of the Northfordian Military, designed with the principle ‘Prepare for the worst, expect the best’, was rapidly being depleted of its supplies.

All across the Commonwealth, similar preparations were being made. Aunesia and Azaha were playing host to Northfordian construction firms hastily building escort shipyards, the Skinnians were preparing to invade SS and, of course, the Crown Imperium itself was readying itself in the final preparations for the multifronted conflict that would soon arrive.

Indeed, the Crown Imperium was not only readying itself in Questers. All over the Commonwealth, it’s paws could be felt. In Azaha, it was re-enforcing the large Azahan Army with professional training, while in Aunesia, it was preparing the Naval Defences, in case any amphibious landing took place.

In Northford however, its presence was not so welcome. The main action taken here was for the Questarians assume command of Northford’s intelligence community. Considering Northford’s friendly relations with many of the NATO members, this was taken with a ‘pinch’ of suspicion that the Imperuim did not trust their Commonwealth allies, and instead needed to spy on them.

In any event, Northford was one of the few Commonwealth Nations that actually had its own intelligence service. Most Commonwealth countries simply had their own branches of the Questarian SIS. Northford on the other hand had the NIC (Northfordian Intelligence Commission), NSC (Northfordian Security Commission), as well as the three Armed Forces intelligence commissions.

On the insistence of Admiral Tricker, the Foreign Minister, the Northfordian Naval Intelligence Service was spared from the cull. Owing to his lack of budging and the fact that he managed to successfully argue Northford’s large Navy necessitated it’s own force, the NNIS managed to retain independence. The result: the NNIS became the sole tool of the Northfordian Government, its services only available with the publication of an Executive Order from the Cabinet.


===

Ripon, Northford

‘Slim, discreet and powerful’- ‘Powerful’ words, on a deodorant can. Spraying himself with ‘Northford Air’, Loans made haste to finish his daily personnel hygiene routine, ending with tying his blue-white check tie around his bespoke tailored Dark Navy suit.

In Loans’s life, two things mattered: Punctuality, and Classic style. For this reason, he drove a heavily modified classic ‘2007’ Bentley Arnage, it’s Walnut interior homed by both the original ‘Mulliner’ coach builders and further by the Northfordian Naval Intelligence Service (NNIS) when he made it his ‘personal’ Car. It provided raw speed, endurance, protection and, most of all, style. This was not, however, enough for Loans. Complimenting the classic outfit was his own driver, called ‘Claud’. Tall, well built, but with a scarily high pitched voice, it was said he was the kind of man who imposed more when he did not talk. Fitting in with the rest of the outfit, Claus also wore a suit, it was brown, mottled in colour, and complete with a peaked cap.

Stepping out of the door of his Neo-Georgian Ripon house, he nodded his head politely at Claud, who proceeded to open up the door of the car for his, allowing him to get in.

It was a cool day, the middle of May, and the end of spring in Northford. The sun was out in the sky, and despite the best predictions, light drizzle was falling in Ripon. Birds sung their cheerful songs, and along the leafy avenues of Ripon their cheerful voices were accompanied by the dripping sound of water, the groan of light traffic, and the occasional ‘hum’ from a passing train.

Ripon was rather unique in Northford. Population wise, it could be classed as a typical Megacity; after all, it contained 20 million people. It had all the hallmarks of a Northfordian Megacity too: it contained a large -almost pervasively so- underground rail network, several military divisions to defend it, as well as it’s own large port. In fact, the city even had a stretch of water named after it, in the form of the so called ‘Ripon Channel’ that separated the Northfordian Mainland from the large island of Anglesey and the city of Redbridge.

Despite this however, there was one defining characteristic that set it apart from the other large cities in Northford. In Sale, Richmond, Redbridge, Newport, there were all area’s set aside for Super High Density Housing (SHDH).

Taken from “SHDH’s- Arcology just twelve acres wide”

“These were area’s that contained skyscraper after skyscraper after skyscraper, with their own dedicated infrastructure. Houses were above offices, which were above yet more houses. Each large skyscraper had two railsystems: a large freights one that stopped in the basement, and a smaller personnel railway that was mounted on the roof. Typically, it could be said that a person would not move from a 36-skyscraper block all his life. He would start off in an apartment, be taught at one of the schools within his block or the next, and get a job within one of the offices there. Eventually he would marry, and with his wife, buy a larger apartment further ‘up’ the Skyscraper. Here he would have kids, use the in-block cinema’s, swimming pools and tennis facilities for leisure, and perhaps occasionally go on holiday to the Rural Northfordian Exterior. Despite this however, within his local, everything was contained that a human being would need to live a successful, wholesome life. Within at least one of the local buildings, there was swimming pools, tennis courts, squash rooms,. Snooker tables, 5-a-side Football pitches, basketball courts, cinema’s, theatres and libraries (both online and paper). For employment, a person living within a SHDH could choose to work within the infrastructure complex of the building, managing food deliveries in the basements, or perhaps working within one of the leisure complexes. Far more usually, however, the person would be engaged with one of the many businesses that were established within the SHDH, joining a ‘Call Centre’, or possibly one of the Head Quarters of one of the large manufacturing companies that were based there.

Despite these benefits, there are several criticisms exist of the SHDH system…”

Unlike those areas with SHDH blocks, Ripon was designed to emulate the original capital city of Northford: Richmond-Redbridge. Generally speaking, excusing the a few commercial districts, most buildings in Ripon were not taller than 10 stories, and even then, were usually for a specific purpose.

The main consequence of this was that the city covered a much larger area, it’s suburban sprawl covering almost the entire length of the coast that was opposite Anglesey.

And it was this consequence, today, of all days, that frustrated Loans. He was a patient man, and the large, cheap rail network meant that barring peak times, the roads in Ripon were usually empty. This did not, however, remedy the fact that he had a long way to travel to get his destination.

Roaring down the A135 at 130 mph in the middle lane, Loans looked at his watch. ‘Damm’, he thought to himself, sighing slightly as he realised he might hit the morning rush. ’Not today, of all the bloody days he mused again, his gaze flicking from his watch to the side window repeatedly.

Fortunately, for Loans, he did miss the morning rush. Arriving at a small, bungalow central downtown Ripon, he got out of his car, once again nodding to Claud as he held the door open for him.

[ http://www.lamp.ac.uk/recruitment/press_releases/images/bungalow.jpg ]

Carefully making sure he stuck to the grass, he approached the path, knocking twice. Opening the door was a man, thin, averaged height, who was wearing dark, black trousers a white shirt, and a rather padded waistcoat. Under each sholder was a sling, each holding a Cravanian-made CS-12 with several ‘NORTH-LONG’ extended clips, each containing 20 rounds of Hollow Point Pistol ammunition.

“Good Morning Sir”, said the man, holding the door, his brisk, Oxbridge educated voice sounding tired.

“Is it really?” replied Loans, giving half a wink to someone who was quite apparently his subordinate. Walking through the door, he turned left, and with Claud following, poured himself a cup of coffee out of the perculator.

“News?” he asked the man who opened the door for him, who was now doing the same with respect to the coffee.

“None, Loans… we’re monitoring everything downstairs, but no noise yet. HQ’s not giving us anything either.” He said, staring.

“Mmmm” vocalised Loans quietly, taking his suit jacket off and placing it on the hooks behind him. “I’ll tell you what, Gravels, lets wait until the Ministry publishes the Post, and take it from there.

Gravels nodded, also offering a coffee to Claud. “That sounds good enough. Anyway, any deliveries??”

“Well, as it happens, yes, there have been.” Said Gravel, nodding approvingly. “And two of them have been exclusively for you… Anyway, follow me, I’ll show you.”

As this was said the three of them entered what would, supposedly, be a bedroom door, but instead lead to a rather large escalator, covering a descent of around 20 feet. Stepping on the escalator, Claud looked around slowly as the seemingly normal features of a bungalow vanished, and the clean, stainless steel interior of an NNIS outpost.

“So what are the toys?” asked Claud, looking over at several large computer consoles showing various different radar readouts and streaming video’s off the internet.

“Toys?” replied Gravels, smiling. “No no, most of what we got was the usual shit…stationary, new modems, a couple of monitors for our computers… we also got a mile –quite literally- of high speed internet cable. According to NNIS, wireless internet is detectable, so we’re moving all this shit back to good old wires”

“Oh.” Replied Claud, his face visibly fallen.

“Either way though, I’ll show you” said Gravels, walking over to a nearby crate. “Here they are.” He said, withdrawing two boxes, one large, one small.

“There’s another one with your name on it Claud,” said Gravels, “Further downstairs, I think, probably dumped near the consumables, as usual”

Claud nodded politely while loans cautiously put his hands into the box, withdrawing what looked like a rather aesthetically unpleasant draught excluder with a belt attached.

“What on St. Clements head is this?” he asked, running it through his fingers while trying to ‘prod’ the liquid satchels that made the structure move.

“Oh, that’s some funky new armour stuff from the Churchill Institute.” Said Gravels approvingly, “Uses that sheer thickening fluid stuff, see… mind you, though, this stuff isn’t really bullet proof. Good for stabs, but, more importantly this piece is designed for back protection. See that central column? You drop 50 foot, and with this thing on properly, and the swanky boots that come with it, you’ll be walking away just cursing to yourself”

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Loans pondered. ‘Interesting’ was his first though, remarking that as novel as such a device might be, it really didn’t have much use for him. He might be an ex-Marine, and even an ex-SSS (Special Security Services) member, but strictly speaking, he didn’t ‘need’ that kit.

“Nice.” Said Loans as he gave the piece of ‘armour’ back “But why are you giving it to me?”

“Haha, you were a bit too hasty there, weren’t you?” laughed Gravels, rummaging around in the box. “No, no, no, that’s just a sample being sent to us, though you did ask. No, what I’ve got for you is this” he said as he withdraw a considerably smaller box and thrusting it into Loans’s hand.

Opening the box with considerable fervour, Loans withdrew his ‘present’. A small earpiece, it seemed to be designed exclusively for his ear alone. It had a small needle that pointed out from the side, and leaving the small ‘drum’ that fitted inside the eardrum was a very thin protrusion that seemed to fit on the outer edge of the ear itself. It was perhaps only a millimetre in diameter, but this also had small pins trailing the outer edge of it.

“New Earpiece?” he asked, running his fingers over the object. “What’s special about it?”

Gravels smiled, “Yes, it is a new earpiece, and the question is what isn’t special about it!” he said, while his eyes took on an almost manic gleam.

Silence tinged the air for a moment until Claud spoke, his high pitch voice cutting through the air.

“Guys,” he started, “Have I got one?”

“What? Oh, of course. Anyway, don’t you guys want to know what’s so dammed special about this thing?” said Gravels, slightly crestfallen at the lack of response.

“Well, yes, go on then” said Loans crisply.

“This little gem is patched into the Bluetooth network,” started, Gravels seemingly stating the obvious: In todays world, all headsets were patched into their respective phones Bluetooth network.

“But!” he continued, “This one is equipped with the 10.5 protocol! Once configured with your phonebook, all you need to do is say the person and you are trying to call and it will patch into nearby Bluetooth networks to connect the call for you.”

“Fancy” quipped Loans, half-smiling. “What’re the pins for?”

Without answering, Gravels gestured towards Loans to put the earpiece in. Doing so, Loans twitched slightly as the pins seemed to, almost automatically, pierce his skin.

“Wait a moment!” buzzed Gravels, waving his hands slightly as Loans went to pull it away.

In Loans left ear, a series of strange noises were being heard. ‘Detected User’, ‘Processing’, ‘Activating uplink’. This ended finally with “User recognised”.

“That,” said Gravels, almost reading the confused expression on Loans face as he heard the noises in his ears, “was the system certifying who you are. In case your skin is so thick as not to feel it…in which case might explain a significant proportion of your demeanour… you felt those pins piercing your skin and taking a small, minute, sample of your blood. It has now identified you as the owner, and should anyone else attempt to put it on, a minute canister of pressurised gas will be released on the person’s eardrum, causing extensive pain.

You can take it off now. If it’s ok, I shall take your mobile phone off you and upload your existing numbers on it. Please note however, that for external numbers you shall need to contact us, here. We’ll act as your switchboard, and we’re assigning a couple of operatives to assist you from their desks.”

“Desks?” asked Loans and Claud simultaneously. Until this morning Loans was not aware he was anything but a ‘Desk’ person. At 33, he was, in his own words ‘Too Old’ for the field, and made the option to convert to the job of ‘Op’ Handler (or Supervisor) after a rather profitable heist on a drugs ring; a heist that -by all accounts- made him rich.

Claud sneezed, his high pitched wheeze shaking the room.

“Yes.” Said Gravels quite abjectly. “I thought you already knew. I spoke to Tricker on the phone this morning, and he said you were being transferred to Kepler’s edge. I’m not sure if this exactly right, but I think his words were ‘Just ‘cuz that bastard got rich doesn’t mean he can shirk his job forever’.

Anyway, Loans, this is probably going to be the last month before the war, if Tricker’s ranting is anything to go buy. Someone of your caliber shouldn’t be stuck behind a desk.”

‘Nothing like being told’, mused Loans. This was news to him, completely out of the blue. Also, from the way Gravels was talking about it, it seemed things were moving pretty fast.

“This is why you’re giving me this little earpiece, isn’t it?” asked Loans. When Gravels nodded, this time rather meekly, Loans just carried on talking. It was 3 months to Kepler’s edge, at 30 knots. “When am I going? And… more importantly, how am I going to get there?”

“This afternoon. On a freight jet I believe. I didn’t get all the steps, but the impression I got is that they’re modifying a cargo jet to give you both a rather well hidden living area that will take you to Franberry. From there, as I understand it, you’re taking a standard commercial jet to Skinny, from which you’ll board a small private jet that will land on a Northfordian Navy Convoy heading to Kepler’s Edge. Tricker said from there you’ll be jetted to Kepler’s by a couple of dual-seater interceptors. All in all, it’ll probably take you a day.”

“What…” Claud stammered, quite obviously confused at the journey.

“…are we actually planning on doing there?” finished Loans, now… slightly… angry at the state of ignorance he was subjected to.

“Basically lock the place down, I think. They’ve rented you a room down at the fishing village, and you’ll be given a team of marines from the ‘Site’*, Military Police, I should think. The Crown Imperum isn’t giving anyone fuck all, so it looks like you’ll be in charge of anything shifty. If any of those NATO bastards decide to have a crack at invading it, you’ll be in charge of Guerrilla warfare, living around the base of Mount Brookes. Tricker said they’ve already buried a couple of shipping containers, actually, so at least you’ll not living ‘rough’.”

For the educated nostrils of Loans, ‘Rough’ was rather a subjective term. He could see now why they had left it to Gravels, Scientist-cum-Security Guard to tell him this. If Tricker, or anyone else for that matter, had actually taken the effort to tell him, he’d refuse outright. Now, ‘shirking’ his duty would be classed as treason, and he had no choice.

It would be a good job Claud was not much of a conversationalist.

===

*Name for the Fortifications at Kepler’s Edge. Referring to the ‘Building Site’ that it constantly was.

Roark sits timidly at a chair near Major Khan's desk, visibly shaken. She truggles to steady her hands but finds she can't; and it didn't help that Khan's presence wasn't reassuring her as it usually did. "I just... I can't figure it out. It doesn't... it doesn't make any sense!" she stammers excitedly.

Khan is still trying to wrap his head around the story the Colonel had just relayed to him. "A rockslide? Just like that?"

"Yes!" comes the exasperated answer. "I don't believe it either! I was just trying to get down the hill without killing myself. I can't for the life of me figure out what happened. I throw my hands out to steady myself against a bank of rocks and the next thing I know they're tumbling down the hillside. I nearly followed myself!" Shocked by the following revelation, she quiets down for a moment. "I could have been killed! What a fine start that would have been!"

"It can't possibly be magic," Khan answers flatly, with a hint of incredulity sneaking into his tone at the emphasis. "Unless you're a Maia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maia_(Middle-earth)) and I don't know it," he offers with a laugh. But Nadia wasn't biting. Lowering her elbows to her knees, she hunches forward ever so slightly, tilting her chin up to Major Khan as he speaks.

"I don't know what it is." She peers at Khan, beginning to suspect that he didn't believe her. "There's no art of the Elves I'm aware of that physically moves things anyway; their abilities are far more subtle, not to mention difficult to learn." Her eyebrows begin to tremble. "Now with this to find out on top of everything else..." she trails off for a moment. Khan opens his mouth to reply but Roark continues abruptly, unaware. "...I... I'm in one hell of a spot right now. That I was the only one of us able to get away for this little operation of ours only makes things worse."

Khan hunches down, sitting on raised heels to bring himself eye-to-eye with his longtime friend. "Don't worry Nadia, we'll figure it out in due time. The effects you've described are similar in operation to a construction aide currently being developed for the Iteration engineers. We might be able to put you in touch with the R&D team."

Roark's head snaps back up and she levels her gaze at Khan. Khan, surprised at the severity of her reaction, reels back ever so slightly in surprise. "A 'construction aide?'" Nadia demands to know more. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sure." Slowly, Khan stands and he makes a ring around his wrist with his thumb and middle finger. "They're currently testing a small, personal use gravitic drive, worn like a glove almost, for Iteration engineers. The devices will theorietically allow them to move several tons of construction materials and it's hoped they'll make field defenses wildly easier to construct."

Nadia knots her brows. "But why would I have one? And 'worn like a glove?'" She frowns. "But I wasn't wearing them."

Khan shrugs. "I don't know, I'm just saying... maybe you had a device on you somehow and you acitvated it without knowing it. When did the pulse start?"

A moment passes whilst Roark attempts to remember every little detail about what happened. "Well," she begins, hoisting herself off the chair. "If you're the pile of rocks," she grins for the first time and Khan answers with a chuckle. "If you're the rocks, I was standing about like this," she assumes a slightly precarious position, her weight ever so slightly off balance, with most of it on her right foot. "And I began to stumble forward a bit. When I did, I just kind of pushed outward instinctively..." she simulates the stumble and thrusts her hands towards Major Khan's chest.

To their mutual surprise, the gargantuan Major is propelled across the room and slams into the wall with a very alarmed expression on his face. Roark's eyes widen as the plaster falls around Khan's frame. "And then... that happened," Roark explains dumbly.

Any shred of disbelief now gone, Major Khan stands and absently dusts himself off. The two officers stand quietly for a moment, sharing a quiet, incredulous moment. "I think you have your own personal grav drive, Miss Roark," offers the Major quietly after a time. "It's the only reasonable explanation, even if it might be harder to explain where you got it. If I were you I'd head down to sickbay for a body scan."

Nadia pushes her eyebrows together, suddenly angry and wanting more answers. "I think that's what I'll do."