NationStates Jolt Archive

London
18th July, 1951 (Questarian Calendar)

The helicopter slipped through the air, rotor blades whirling and kicking up dust as the military liaison helo hit the ground, wheels screeching. The flight had not been pleasant for those onboard; thick, acrid smoke still rose into the sky and clogged it like a giant chimney from the bombings three days ago. It made flight via open air uncomfortable, though the flight was momentary; the Praetonian prime minister, Sir Tiberius Polax, had taken a spaceplane from Kingston to London and the helicopter transfer from the military base took less than twenty minutes. Nevertheless, the old man coughed the smoke out several times as he departed the helicopter holding tightly onto his hat and shaking hands with Winston Foxbury, the Questarian P.M. They muttered friendly exchanges as the helicopter took off back to its base.

Today was to be a momentous day; privately, of couarse, the two elected governments of Questers and Praetonia had decided that it was time for Praetonia to enter the war. Polax was just here to announce it, a fairly routine diplomatic mission that was going to turn very sour. Despite the continuing rescue efforts in London city, more than two million people had turned out to hear Polax and Foxbury’s address. In London City Square, the two men, followed by the Questarian General Graner and Admiral Hashikaze stepped up onto the podium in front of the massive wave of Praetonian and Questarian flags and an awaiting public. This is where the final moment would play out, the end game.

He would have offered a prayer if he was a Christian. He wasn’t however, and he didn’t have a name; just another proletariat to be fed into a factory, he thought bitterly. Despite the actions of the government, the socialist movement was still alive and well in Questers, and it was pretty much unavoidable given the low education and social reform rates and a mostly uncaring aristocracy and a somewhat hereditary middle class. Amidst the roar and claps and cheers nobody heard him flick the safety on his fully automatic pistol off. He’d already checked it in the hotel room, but he glanced down one more time, and watched his arms tremble. If he was lucky he would be arrested and get a quick death; if he was unlucky he’d be trampled to gore by the crowd. All for the greater good, he thought.

He jumped up and screamed. It wouldn’t be correct to call these the gunshots that would be heard around the world, simply because people did not even hear them over the shouts and cries of support for the two world leaders. In fact, the furore didn’t even die down for at least a minute, because people at the back couldn’t hear the shout of “Workers of the world unite!” or see the bullets hit their targets. The old man that was Polax fell with the first bullet that hit him square in the chest, the other two finishing him off. Just like he had been trained, the terrorist – or Marxist, because to some people they are the same thing – jumped up onto the podium to escape the crowds, and to fire at close range. Foxbury had the more terrible fate of knowing he was to die before the six bullets tore through his chest. Graner drew for his pistol, but it was too late as the terrorist swung his firearm around. Letting off the last burst at Graner, dropping the incompetent general responsible for the needless deaths of hundreds of thousands of men, the crowd promptly grabbed his legs and dragged him down from the stage.

He was beaten to death in less than half a minute.

In another part of London, the second terrorist attack began, aimed to decapitate the Government. As foreign nationals began to take free Questarian Airways flights out of the country, the King himself was present to see any departing tourists or other nationals off. A few minutes after the attack on the Prime Minister by Marxist terrorists, the King had not yet been alerted. Some say this was a leak in the Security Service, some say it was just idleness and confusion. However, what did happen was an attack on the Emperor of Questers himself. Shaking the hands of the Willinkian national who moved on, Alexander Beaufort II , the King of Questers, moved to shake the hand of the man moving to board the plane.

The Willinkian man, carrying two briefcases was more observant than the Monarch however, and saw from the side the gleam of the pistol as the assassin withdrew it from his jacket. Immediately dropping his briefcases, he jumped onto the Marxist, catching him by surprise and tackling him to the floor. Before the security intervened, the brief struggle resulted in a firing of the single shot assassin’s pistol, killing the man outright before the terrorist was dragged off by military police.

His name was Richard Fairfield, and after little parliamentary debate, was awarded the King Richard V Cross, the highest medal in Questarian service and the only foreigner ever to be given the medal.

The string of attacks continued throughout the lunch hour; firstly, a car bombing on the cabinet, killing them all instantly as the car smashed into the government building, packed full of explosives. The Houses of Commons too came under attack: as they assembled, two dozen terrorists with DR83s, legally obtained at slightly less than a hundred pounds each, broke into the building and opened fire, killing half the legislature and even more of the executive of the Questarian Empire.

Devastated by this move, by the failure to seize the initial gigantic victory they had been expecting, with public support draining and a possible communist revolution at home, the Questarian King offered NATO, Gholgoth, and the Midlonian Empire a white peace; a return to the status quo pre-war. Faced with the chaos of a possible revolution, there were more important things to be done.

Cabinet Room, Greater Kingdom of Midlonia, Kilwarby Street, Swadlincote.


“A Status Quo?” muttered Fredrick Parkes as he looked at the Foreign Minister in partial disbelief.

“Just that.” nodded Daniel Muldrow. “Apparently the public opinion for the war bottomed out when us and the Allaneans hurled the blighters back at the…uuuh….”

“Tartarus line.” answered the War Minister.

“Yes, there. They weren’t expecting so much, well, Allanean Firepower. Which is what they got.”

“To me it’s a sign of weakness.” Retorted the Agriculture and Rural Affairs Minister. “If anything we should press the advantage. Sow even more dissent by hammering them harder in other theatres, like in Okielahoma.”

“That operation was cancelled.” replied the War Minister calmly.

“Why?”

“The Okielahomans had gone into some superb defensive territory within hours of their government’s capitulation, it was deemed that the populous would soon rise en mass also. So we withdrew, we do still hold a good portion of the Western Coast of Barkozky though.”

“Hrm. So not the great gains we expected by day four?” replied Benjamin Musotana. Still PM after nearly 9 years in power, he looked no older due to the near “Ageless“ appearance of bald men.

“No.” replied the War Minister.

“Perhaps it should be debated more…” rejoined the Agriculture and Rural Affairs minister.

“Considering how widely the Military is deployed, they won’t like it.”

“No, they won’t. But ultimately what can be done?”


And so the debate continued for a further two hours, before the cabinet left in deadlock.

Unsure whether to accept the "White Peace" or continue to press to the city of London, and cause the now apparently fragmenting Questarian Empire to collapse. The knowledge and feeling of toppling their Imperial Rival was sorely tempting to a number on the Cabinet, but conversely, who would fill the power vacuum left? Midlonia was in risk of stretching, so couldn't take over any duties the QC did itself.

"The Palisade", somewhere in Aequatius Prime

"An opportunity for peace cannot be refused!" Said Sacha Novoselic as news spread of the Questarian effort for a peace settlement including a clause which allowed for status quo ante bellum or "a return to events before the war."

"It cannot be refused," Interjected President Holden Reid, "But at the same time it cannot be accepted. Status quo ante? After the costs we faced during this conflict? Absolutely unacceptable, we must seek reparations!"

"Mister President, such a demand would be most unwise," Said one of the advisers from the Department of Finances, Statistics Division, "Considering what has happened and what the Questarians are going through, asking for reparations equal to the deployment of our armed forces, along with those of the rest of NATO and Gholgoth would destablize and eventully collapse their economy."

"Then what's to be done? We cannot in good conscience walk away from this conflict victorious and empty-handed," Said Reid as he sat down in his seat, "There must be something else we can receive in exchange."

"An exchange programme," Said General Krist Von Mann, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, "We could see about establishing bases for our armed services in Questers and consolidate our own position within Western Haven, which woud help greatly in the establishment of Haven Command."

The president sat for a moment in silence as contemplated the general's suggestion, "I like it, what is its viability?" He asked as the question initiated a long discussion for over an hour before the Aequatian military at home was brought to a lower readiness condition in preparation for the coming peace.

----------

To: The Questarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs
From: Sacha Novoselic, Aequatian Secretary of State

The Aequatian Republic is willing to enter into a temporary armistice period of ninety six (96) hours so that bilateral talks between our two nations may be initiated concerning the acceptance of peace by the Republic.

Crewfold Bay
Midlonian Territory

Ensign Daniel Keyes stared out the window of the hospital ward at the Crewfold Bay naval station, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he adjusted the bandage applied to his forehead. Rays of sunlight illuminated the dust particles which floated effortlessly through the stale air, aggravated by the movement of medical personnel to and fro. Keyes himself was not undergoing further treatment, however he remained behind with his comrades as they recovered.

His eyes drifted lazily across the scene, first to a Midlonian nurse who passed, pretty by most men's standards with a charm to her. He then shifted to a group of sailors gathered around a table in the corner, playing cards and passing time. Finally he glanced out the window, the massive smoldering hulk that was the Espada del Imperio dominating the horizon through the blinds.

"Hello, son.", he heard the gruff voice of an elder man as he stirred from his trance. Looking up, the shadows cast by the incoming sunlight obscured the figure's face, leaving a silhouette of a staggering man with shimmering spectacles visible. Recognizing Admiral Richards, Keyes began to rise, only to be motioned to remain seated.
"Afternoon, sir. What's the good word?"

The Admiral leaned in close, his features becoming more visible as he did so. His voice switched to a lower tone, and a mischevious smile played upon his lips.

"Son, I've heard a rumor going around that the bigwigs in Questers have been killed in an uprising. The war may be over even sooner than originally anticipated."

Throughout the ordeal, Richards had become a sort of a father figure to Keyes, since their first real encounter on the bridge of the Espada directly preceding the attack. Since that time, Richards had secretly made it his primary objective to see Keyes home and with his wife and child.

"So you're saying that this entire thing may be over in less than a week?"
"Yes, son, that's what I'm saying.", the aging Admiral replied. "Can you honestly believe that? Now, don't go telling anyone since you'll probably just get their hopes up, but I figured you should know about that. I've already filed in for your return home, Danny, so it's all good."

Keyes locked his gaze with that of the Admiral's, his inquisitive brown eyes staring straight into the soft blue orbs that were the old man's.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me, sir."

Wordlessly the Admiral nodded with a warm smile, straightening himself up and continuing on as if the conversation had never happened. He supported himself with a black cane, hobbling through the medical ward in his white uniform with an aura of divinity about him. Keyes watched him move on, then pulled a locket from his coat pocket. Clicking it open, cracked glass lay over a picture of a young woman with child.

A tear ran down his cheek as it finally sunk in that he would be with them within a few days' time.

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

Offices of the Directorate
Laurana, Cravan

With news of the attacks in London the situation room of the Directorate was a flurry of activity, and in the center of it all was Director Anagrams and her Deputy David Koslin. The two overlooked the action with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that the end of what could have been a long and tedious conflict was in sight.

"Ma'am!", an aide called out from the floor up to Anagrams's position. "Official communique from Questers offering peace to NATO!"

A chorus of cheers could be heard throughout the room as it burst into a frenzy of celebration. The bloodiest conflict of modern Cravanian history had lasted about a week, and ended as suddenly as it had begun.

"Prepare a communique, tell them we're willing to enter an armistice period for more detailed talks."
"Yes, ma'am."


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

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Imperial Department of Foreign Affairs


The Havenic Empire is willing to accept a temporary armistice for an indefinite period of time until bilateral talks between our governments may be arranged for the best possible terms to be reached for post-war relations. We are incredibly pleased with the Questarian offer for peace, and offer our utmost sympathies over the unfortunate losses of the Questarian leadership despite the current state of conflict.

Further communication on the topic is encouraged, and we are excited to see the Commonwealth come to the table. Note that Cravanian forces are taking a defensive stance over the armistice period, but will remain on station in case of additional assault.

Signed,

Sir Leroy Webbings
Leroy Webbings
Director of Foreign Affairs

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

Imperial Air Base Crewford
Eastern Carpanthium

Flight Ensign Emma Darby stepped down from her Opinicus, her helmet clutched in her hand, her slender fingers concealed by the leather of the the flight gloves. Her auburn hair was cut to shoulder length, to provide minimal interference with her helmet. Dark green eyes cast a glance across the tarmac as she approached the administration building of the airfield, following behind the rest of her squadron. She was tired. Tired of war. And she'd not even yet entered combat.

"Emma.", she heard from behind. Turning around, she came face to face with her flight lead, Captain Felix Weatherstone, his heavily accented Carpanthian cockney showing a bit of concern. "How are you?"
"I'm fine.", she replied, her own accented voice straining under the pressure of what she had come to deal with. "Seriously, Felix, I'll be alright."
"You're certain on that one?", he responded. "Because I know you've suffered a great loss."
"Believe me, Cap'n, I'm fine."

He sighed, glancing at his feet then back to the woman before him.

"Emma you're too Goddamn headstrong for your own good. Be a woman for once and let your emotions out."
"Seriously, I'm fine. I really am."

The two continued to the administration building in silence, arriving for debriefing from their air patrol. Taking their seats, the base's Colonel stood at the front of the conference room.

"Ladies and gentlemen.", he said in his educated mainland Cravan accent. The smile on his face was wide. "I've just received word that the Questarians have made a peace offering."

The room was filled with chatter from the pilots, casting glances at one another in confusion, but soon enough joy overtook most of the general feeling in the room.

"However.", he continued. "We've not received word on the rest of the Commonwealth's intentions. Thusly, the Northies are still a major threat. We've been ordered to take a further defensive stance and reinforce our position, so you'll be running double duty for the next few days while everything is sorted out."

The obligatory chorus of moans followed this statement, until finally silence again seized the room.

"Until we're completely sure the Northfordians are no longer a threat, you'll all be taken off the active roster and given a break to regroup and recuperate. It's been a long haul for all of us, and I know many of you have lost family."

A gloomy mood overtook the room, despite the war essentially being over.

"Just know that I am proud of every last one of you. You've all served your country with great distinction, and the Imperium stands strong now thanks to you all and the rest of our armed forces. We've all pulled through together, we've beaten the odds, and the only thing we can do now is wait further until we're officially at peace. So get some sleep and rest up. You'll be back in the air in ten hours' time. Dismissed."

The group of pilots filed out in silence, as the colonel watched them from the podium. He remembered those days of being a fighter pilot. He missed it. But he was thankful he never had to go through this.

Ensign Darby shuffled out of the room, her head set down and her eyes scanning the floor. From behind Captain Weatherstone watched her with a concerned expression upon his face, and a look of helplessness in his eyes.

Office of the President, Palace of Peace, New Theeb, New Vetaka:

President Daniel Pearce gazed at the various footage of the terror strikes across the Questarian Empire. He rewound a lot of it and simply gazed at it again. The attacks within Questers had been called the 18/7 Terror Attacks by the Vetakan Media. Whilst Vetaka had not directly entered the Great War the Vetakan Dominion had sent aid and the Vetakan Defence Forces had deployed Hospital Ships and Helicopter Assault Ships to aid in evacuation of the people of London.

The VDF had worked 24/7 to aid the people whom had provided so much help and aid to Vetaka during its infancy. Whilst Vetaka and Questers where not directly Allied they did hold what most political commenter's called "The Questers-Vetaka Special Relationship" furthermore although Vetaka had left the Questarian Commonwealth years before the Great War had broken out their was whispers within the Palace of Freedom that Vetaka would seek readmittance to the QC.

Whilst the VDF within Questarian London was not a Combat Force it was instructed to do what it could to support the London Authorities in the grip of what many had called the "London Socialist Push" furthermore although the VDF was overstretched across the globe and was also getting into some very hot water with Mer Des Ennuis the VDF would grant anything Questers required.

Pearce shed a single tear for the fallen a traditional act of honour of the White Phoenix Tribe. Straightening up he proceeded to hammer out the Vetakan Dominion's official statement:

Official Free Dominion of Vetaka Diplomatic Message:

To:<Open Communication>
From: Office of the President (Vetakan Dominion)

Subject: Terror Attacks within Questers

I as President of the Free Dominion of Vetaka, Leader of the Vetakan people offer my sincere condolences to the Questarian People in the wake of these Terrorist attacks. I offer my condolences to family of Prime Minister Foxbury and the families of the fallen Cabinet Members.

The Vetakan Dominion and its people are deeply saddened by these callous acts. As a mark of respect to the fallen within this War and within these Terrorist Actions the Vetakan Dominion will hold a 2 Minutes Silence at Midday tomorrow.

Furthermore all Flags across Vetaka, its Embassies aboard and all of its Military Assets shall be lowered to half mast to remember that have perished upon all sides. I appeal to you all to do the same and join us tomorrow in remembrance of the fallen. I appeal to you to forget which side you on in this war and come together in peace to show that those that have died have not died in vein. To show that those whom died, died achieving this peace.

Yours with the Greatest of Respect

Daniel Pearce

President of the Free Dominion of Vetaka
Supreme Commanding Admiral in Chief of the Vetakan Defence Forces.

Office of the President of the United States

We thank the Questarians for their offer of peace. For long the Allaneans have held this war to be a meaningless tragedy, a useless sacrifice of human life at an unknown altar. As such, we will begin withdrawal of Allanean troops immediately, as soon as we can recover the bodies of our dead. Simultaneously, all Questarian POW's in Allanea will be released, and the bodies of the dead repatriated to Questers.

Furthermore, Marxist terrorism is a threat to all that is good and noble about Haven. President Goldwasser would like to meet with the leadership of Questers to discuss possibilities of Allanean assistance regarding the struggle against the Marxist heathens.

"Hear ye, surviving Questarian leaders:

"To fight for a worthy cause, ye shall gain honour! To fight for fighting's sake, ye shall gain none!"

Tis an ancient proverb, just as relevant today as it was yesterday. Charrian and Questarian warriors have yet to shed each other's blood, and tis fortunate that this is so, for neither would gain honour from it. Therefore, we opine, that as this war began by Questarian forces penetrating Gholgoth lands without provocation, so shall it end by Questarian forces leaving Gholgoth lands. Though your nation is backward and dishonoured in our eyes, we have no quarrel.

However, I have neither the power nor the will to speak on behalf of either Gholgoth as a whole nor those nations who have shed the blood of countless warriors and lost billions of currency units as a result of your foolhardy dishonour. Had a single Charr lost their life to a single Questarian bullet, the bullets would continue to fly. To launch an invasion with neither cause nor provocation, and then beg forgiveness from your victims when you no longer have the means nor will to fight? Perhaps those who have lost their warriors to you shall not be so forgiving as we?

And, perhaps they shall be right to feel that way?

May the Gods of Fire grant you the strength to defeat your internal problems, and may they also grant you the wisdom to stay your weapons in future situations such as this. Fight for right, not just for the fight."

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Clan Leader Bonfaaz Burntfur
United Clans of the Charr

~From the desk of Azrael the Advocate, Imperial Regent of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

Very amusing, this whole thing is. Yes, amusement is the first word that comes to mind. After but four days one of the self proclaimed powers of this world has thrown in the towel after suffering several decisive blows....who would have thought.

I am also amazed at how the Questarian King thinks he can simply...wash his hands of this. Had the situation here been reversed and it was Automagfreek that started a war of this scale, you would be demanding Dreadfire's head on a plate, and the Freekish monster chained. Truth be told, the military and government of Questers made a severe error in lashing out against NATO and Gholgoth, and for such audacity we cannot simply let this slide. There has to be some accountability for there to be peace.

However, I do not desire to inflict harm upon the Questarian people, for they seek a better path and have taken steps in a new direction, and I wish to see their lives continue on as normal. However, those who plotted and initiated this war should own up to their wrongs and suffer the consequences of their actions. If Freekish officials have anything to say about this, there will not and cannot be peace until justice has been served.

The fact of the matter is this, the Questarian government is in no position to be dictating much of anything concerning peace, for the NATO/Gholgoth bloc holds all the cards. With a mere snap of our fingers we could completely level London and bring a much worse fate upon the Questarian nation. It is only by our good graces that we even address the notion of peace, and we will send a prepresentative to the NATO talks, since our allies wish there to be discussion of this matter.


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Azrael the Advocate
-Imperial Regent of Automagfreek-

"I cannot speak for Dreadfire or The Advocate... but I can tell you what I think of this offer." Omar Pace, leader of the Brotherhood, spoke from what was obviously a command center inside Gholgoth. A situation map behind him showed the movement of Questers' ships, but no Crimm or Freek forces. Why give the enemy an advantage? "And I think it is anything but amusing. It is nothing but a desperate attempt to save your own skins because you shipped out too much of your military at one time and what's left can't handle the uprisings in your heartlands.

"I have a counter-proposal. You surrender and withdraw all your forces from Gholgoth, sign a document stating that you will not so much as squawk at us again and that you will reduce your military by 25%. Half of that being your Navy. Those are conditions that are quite fair, considering the can of worms you opened. I do not speak for Gholgoth by saying that, but I don't think many of them would object to such terms.

That is the exact proposal that my own representative will give to you when and if talks commence. Feel lucky I've given you a few extra hours to think it over."

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Omar The Untouchable
Leader of the Brotherhood

We in the United States of Allanea, unlike our fellow men in Automagfreek, do not see the need for 'punishing' or 'subduing' Questers.

Look here – we have arguably suffered the most under Azahan and Questarian attacks. It was our land that they invaded, our men and women that they killed. And yet, we hold not to such notions as 'revenge'. Has King Alexander not suffered enough in the loss of his daughters? Has London not burned? Are not hundreds of thousands of Questarian troops and millions of civilians dead? Have the Questarians not suffered enough?

But let us ignore such tiny issues. Surely they are beyond the consideration of modern leaders. We hope that everybody's goal is like the goal of the Allaneans – the goal of achieving permanent, or at least long-lasting peace, in Haven. Should we impose disarmament on the Questarians, they will rebound eventually – you know as well as we do that we can't impose disarmament forever. But should we humiliate the Questarians by destroying the proud IQN, cutting down their valiant military, executing their leaders – then I guarantee to you that when the Questarians are back, they will be angry. Remember what happened when Germany rebounded from Versailles?

Now, I am not saying no measures are to be taken for peace. Even as I speak, Congress is discussing a package of over 150 billion per year over ten years in development loans to Questarian business. Even as I speak, the Questarian Prisoners of War are being released honorably with their uniforms, and the bodies of Questarian dead are being repatriated to their families. We are also ready to visit the Questarian capital to discuss reasonable – and I repeat, reasonable temporary disarmament measures that will not insult the honor of the Questarians, nor the common sense of the Allaneans.

Thank you for your time.

May God Bless Allanea.

Special Ambassador Ilana Lipmanovich



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I dislike this proposal, Senator... but I see no reason to discuss it before there is a formal summit of some sort and give the enemy any more ammunition.

-Omar the Untouchable

The Cabinet had met for the second time in a day. Most unusual.

This time however, there was finally concensus.

Peace was to be made, as greater threats than the Questarians were emerging, namely the fanatically Catholic nation of the Doomani Imperium. Rather than have the war against Questers drag on, it was deemed that the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia would switch it's war-time economy over to a different target. The Doomani currently fighting and slaughtering the Kahanistanians.

As such, a simple letter had been sent to Questers, declaring the war between them was over, agreeing to the "Status Quo".

Less than two minutes after the letter was delivered, Midlonian troops fighting across the fronts against the Questarian Empire. Stopped and began to retreat.

London
Questeria
18th July 354 Post Res Publica

Sir Tiberius had visited Questeria many times before. It was, in his estimation, a nice country, if perhaps not a beautiful one, inhabited by a populace that was perfectly agreeable so long as one made pains to avoid provoking their vociferous racism. "Perfectly agreeable," of course, being high praise indeed coming from an old aristocrat like Sir Tiberius. He enjoyed the London city-scape. It reminded him of Kingston. Thoroughly civilised. Today, however, the place was looking a great deal worse for wear.

Sir Tiberius had stepped off the gleaming spaceplane and entered another world. From the smooth, fashionable and tidy spaces of a craft widely considered to be the pinnacle of aeronautical engineering, fitted out as befits the transport of the government of a Great Power, he entered a pock-marked and smoking military base in a landscape of pock-marked and smoking streets, punctuated with rubble from collapsed buildings. He was led, almost apologetically, to a juddering old mechanical monstrosity of a helicopter that flew him through acrid smoke that made him splutter and cough.

As the helicopter delivered him to the centre of the shattered city, he considered the day's itinerary. Upon arrival he would proceed through London with Foxbury for the crowds. Then he would address the crowds on his historic decision to bring Praetonia into the war. Finally, he would visit a bombsite to help with the rescue work - a sure morale booster for the Questerians. He looked around, and shivered. London was in ruins. He calmed his anger, and tried to imagine Kingson reduced to rubble. Was this what he was to bring the people of that great Commonwealth? He took his pen, and his speech, and scribbled the following line,

"the world is poised on the edge of a Great War, the likes of which have never before been witnessed, and may never be witnessed again, such will be the desolation of the oncoming storm"

The Great War. Perhaps it would destroy Kingston, too. Perhaps the entire free world would writhe under a victorious Gholgoth army. But he could not believe it ever being so, and thought comfortingly of the spaceplanes that had delivered him and which, in military service, he had ensured were numerous enough to level whole cities in single raids. They may batter London, but we shall flatten them, he thought to himself with a sense of vengeance that surprised the ordinarily stoic old man. It terrified him what destruction he was about to unleash, yet he resolved that it was worth it.

The shaky helicopter touched down, and he caught sight of Foxbury.

"Good day, old friend," he said, warmly, shaking Foxbury's hand, "Bad business," he muttered, solemly, observing the ruins around him.

Taking the podium with the three Questerians, Polax waved to the crowds. They're in terrific spirits, all things considered, he noted with some relief, waving enthusiastically to the cheering crowds. It was at this moment that he heard the shouting, and turned to see his crazed assassin. He made to strike the man, but the terrorist got his shot in, and the old man's legs gave way. Hitting the ground with a dull thud, Sir Tiberius lived long enough to feel the final two shots that sealed his fate. In his last moments he heard more shots, saw Foxbury go down, too. He caught sight of a man he knew from the Embassy who had drawn a gun, but the Questerian crowds had already blocked his line of fire as they made to do his job for him.

Uxbridge Palace
Duchy of Uxbridge, Praetonia
Morning of the 18th July 354 PRP

The crackle of gunfire broke the cold morning air. The sound of squawking intensified as the pheasants' escape from the beaters in the woods below took on added urgency. More guns sounded, as new rifles were handed to the shooters below. More bloodied birds fell to the ground. More and more shots joined the cannonade of fire until after just a few seconds the fire reached a crescendo of noise, drowning out the idle chatter of the onlookers. More and more birds were jerking and falling now; and then, as soon as it had all begun, everything fell silent. A scatter of shots still punctuated the landscape.

"Good shot, Your Majesty!" bellowed a mounted figure in a khaki cross-belted officer's uniform, his feathered hat bobbing to and fro with the motion of his horse as it trotted forwards.

The King turned, and smiled. His guests and the onlookers from the village gossiped contently in their separate groups.

"Rather!" He shouted back, handing the rifle to his orderly who stowed it with the others as another orderly ran to collect the pheasant.

The military figure dismounted, and approached his sovereign.

"Your Majesty," he bowed, "I come with grave news from the Foreign Office."

The King looked concerned. "The war?" He anticipated some great military disaster. The fleet, perhaps, which only yesterday - had it really been so soon? - he had waved off from the Royal Yacht, foundered and burning in some desolate patch of oil-soaked sea. Perhaps the Questrian Northern Front had already collapsed, and the Praetonian Expeditionary Force would be dispatched not to glorious victory but to lingering death along the outskirts of London?

"No, Sir," the Lieutenant seemed to hesitate.

"Well? Out with it man!" The King snapped.

"The Prime Minister has been slain."

The King quickly covered his astonishment. It was not seemly for a Praetonian sovereign to behave anything but stoically, at least in public. "By whom?" He asked bluntly, expecting a stray bomb or shell. Damn silly man probably insisted on visiting the front, he thought to himself.

"A Marxist terrorist. A Questerian, Sir."

The King did not answer.

"The Foreign Secretary respectfully requests Your Majesty's presence in Kingston, Sir," the Lieutenant ventured.

"Yes, yes," the King waved the man aside, still considering the events of the past hour. Praetonia, a country just as capitalistic as Questers, though its populace prided itself on its belief that it was even more so, was nonetheless a foreign country, whose social fault lines lay not along racial or economic divides, but along far older disputes over the existence and place of the Monarchy and of Parliament. Those arguments mostly ended by the present settlement, Praetonia existed in a state of unusual tranquillity. It was only natural for a people who saw themselves and their unique system as the light of civilisation in a world of barbarity and despair to assume that the few nations it elevated to the position of its peers enjoyed a similarly contended condition.

"All that must be done will be done," he whispered to himself, mounting his horse, "I must attend Parliament. Is the train prepared?"

"Yes, Sir."

The two mounted figures receded into the distance, the King's guests muttering polite comments of confusion and even reproach, blissfully unaware of what was happening in the world.

Commonwealth Palace
City of Kingston, Praetonia
Afternoon of the 18th July 354 PRP

"My Lords and Members of the House of Commons." King George IV of Praetonia had replaced his humble shooting gear and Wellington boots with the full state regalia, complete with Imperial State Crown and sceptre. The House of Lords was packed with Members from both Houses, although owing to those Members unable to return to Kingston from their constituencies on such short notice, there was no overflow out into the lobby.

"Many of you have had to put yourselves to great trouble and expense in order to attend upon My instructions to assemble in this House. You have My most sincere thanks.

"For the first time in history My First Minister has been murdered. The blow struck by his assassin landed not just upon a great and innocent man, but upon My own dignity and, in so doing, upon all of My Subjects. The peace of the world has never been under so grave a threat as it is today. The Great Powers are riven by war and, within Questers, with the murder of the Prime Minister and the attempted murder of My Royal Cousin, the first signs of spreading civil discord. I am sure that Parliament is under no illusions that the threat of Bolshevism is just as grave a concern to the Free World as the established totalitarian states of Gholgoth and their aiders and abetters. I wish to grant assurances to the Government and peaceable citizenry of Questeria that the Praetonian military shall stand behind their free and lawful constitution against aspiring tyranny, and shall act to bring to justice the murderers of both of countries' First Ministers.

"For some time now, Our own Crown Commonwealth has been free from the menace of Civil War, and yet we are well acquainted with the desolation it brings. We must be always on our guard against the emergence of civil strife elsewhere in the world, as such conflicts are want to spread to consume a great portion of the globe, perhaps reaching even so far as our own shores. It must never be forgotten that the safety and prosperity of My Realm has always and continues to depend upon the peaceful preservation of the King's Peace, with the assent of Parliament, and the force of the police and armed forces. Today's tragedy has reminded us that, though We can look far from Our own borders to find adversaries, we must be perpetually on guard against threats from within.

"And yet, Sirs, it must not be forgotten that the Old Enemy does remain, and that the Questerian will to continue the fight has been fatally undermined by this recent blow. Even now, the forces that We had resolved to engage declare themselves victorious over an enemy that the brevity of the war has not even granted them the opportunity to come to blows with. For the Free World to retain sufficient strength to deter the Tyrant's forces, that should surely wish to trample over all Praetonia, Her Territories and Dependencies, those of our Royal Georgian League, and upon Questeria and all our allied states, the Questerian Commonwealth must retain its might and pre-eminence among nations.

"On the advice of My Government, I inform Parliament and the World that it is our intention to continue our support for Questeria against any foreign foe in war, to support Questeria in its struggle against those responsible for the death of My First Minister and aid Questeria in her bid to rebuild the damages that the ravages of war have inflicted upon her. The Free World remains united and strong in her defiance of the Tyrant.

"Further to the reassurances I offer Parliament on matters of foreign policy, I announce My intention to make Prime Ministers Polax and Foxbury Knights Grand Cross of the Royal Sarian Order for their service to their two great and grateful nations, and to make Richard Fairfield, a Willinkian national, a Knight Commander of the Royal Sarian Order for his selfless sacrifice in defence of My Royal Cousin.

"I, with you, thank Almighty God for having brought us through this week of peril and anxiety, and I pray that His Blessing may attend you at all times."

Black Friday

After the decapitation of the Government, the majority of M.Ps fell to the Social Labour Party and the Communist Party. Small minorities of Liberal, Conservative, and Nationalists struggled to compete but were heavily outnumbered and Parliament passed, by a hefty number, the JULY57 ENABLING ACT, passing on all the powers of Parliament to the office of Prime Minister. The Prime Minister, a Socialist, David Moore, quickly and decisively declared an acceptance of the Crimmondi(?) peace proposal. Without informing any military staff or the King himself, it was broadcast at 11:00 hours exactly, over international and national radio, television, and internet, that Questers agrees to a total ceasefire and surrender and to reduction of military size by 25%.

The initial response was outrage.

The King himself declared, six minutes later, which was also reported by the media, that he had declared Parliament dissolved and their surrender null and void. On all fronts, any military work stopped; soldiers and general staff alike were glued to television or radio sets. The entire nation stopped work momentarily to listen to the crisis, sure that it would be resolved speedily. Which it would. Parliament was surrounded by local volunteers; mostly marxists, with some true-republicans and anti-segregationists and doves thrown in to the mix. Armed with mil-spec weaponry, the only thing they lacked was experience and training; these were draught and reserve dodgers, who had avoided national service but bought cheap firearms anyway, abusing the system to defend their own liberties but not willing to put their lives on the line to defend their neighbour's. In total, maybe ten thousand of these "Parliamentarians" were directly around Parliament. Another ten thousand were scattered about the city and made some attempts with varying degrees of success to capture key positions.

In London itself, two hundred thousand Loyalist soldiers were milling around helping with relief work. However, their loyalties were divided as only their officers were strictly loyalist, and in any case it happened to fast to bring them to bear. Naturally, Parliament (or the majority of it anyway) defied the King, and quickly passed the 1555 Anti-Tyranny Act, legally stripping the Monarch of all his powers. This too was broadcast on TV, at fifteen minutes past eleven. The reaction was disbelief and again outrage. Twenty minutes later the King's forces, the Coldstream Guards Brigade, supported by elements of the 215th Reserve Division and the 188th Reserve Cavalry Brigade began assaulting Parliamentary positions. After an hour of heavy fighting, Loyalist forces punched their way into Parliament. Five minutes later it was announced on national media, and then internationally once it had been confirmed, that King-Emperor Alexander II had arrested all Communist and Labour Members of Parliament and continued through with dissolving the Commons, giving all Liberal, Conservative, and Nationalist MPs hereditary lordships, giving them seats in the House of Lords.

At this point, the King, who had declared himself an absolute Monarch, had a task to do. Firstly, the surrender to Gholgoth was completely revoked, though the ceasefire with NATO nations that had accepted it was still in effect. Secondly, all members of NATO and Gholgoth, plus a Praetonian and Midlonian delegation, were invited to Salisbury to confer with Questarian Commonwealth officials. Thirdly, he ordered that SIS, GCHQ, and the Security Service in cooperation with the Army begin arresting known Communists, Trade Unionists, Homosexuals and other deviants, Feminists, Dove Lobbies, Anti-Segregationists, True-Republicans, and Catholics, Muslims, and Jews (who would later be released).

On the home front with Allanea, all units began to cease fire. Some overzealous artillery units fired off a last shell "before" they heard the order to stop firing, but very quickly the troops on the line began to empty their magazines into the air, or just sling their rifles on their backs and try to grab some sleep. As Allaneans returned Questarian bodies, Questarian medical teams began to repatriate Allanean captives and shift Allanean bodies over to the other side. The same was happening on the Azaha - San-Nereiana front. Across Havenic waters, Questarian naval formations began to disengage and withdraw, converting to defensive rather than offensive operations.

In Gholgoth, naval units ceased offensive operations and began to withdraw, forming defensive formations to take the long journey home.

The night of Friday 18th was one that would go down in Questarian History. 40,000 loyalist troops from the Coldstream Guards, the 215th and 188th and with reinforcements from outside London under General Morgan Featherstone, did battle with over half a million rebels. From the announcement of the dissolution of Parliament, Marxist forces openly rose up in rebellion. Large swathes of troops “summarily executed” their officers and democratically appointed new ones, and raising the red banner, laid siege to the “Featherstone Line” that stood from Parliament, through the ruined city twelve miles up to the Imperial Palace and eighteen miles east to the Airport in one large, hardly staffed, triangle. With little heavy support on either side, the battle was fought at close quarters. Assault after assault was broken against the Featherstone Line.

Yet when crack of dawn approached and the smoke cleared, the Loyalist troops thought that reinforcements were coming. They were quite wrong. Large groups of Army units had ‘converted’ to Marxism, executing their leaders and taking the Red Flag under the Marxist “General”, Alistair Warterbury, a member of Parliament that escaped arrest. Around the city of London, airbases were quickly overrun and all support was cut off to the city. By the afternoon, despite heavy fighting by loyalist forces who had rallied to the banner, three quarters of London was under Communist control and loyalists fought a desperate delaying action to bleed the Marxists for every step of ground they took. As the night fell, there was still no sign of relief. Similar things were happening over the country. The only major city that was not in a state of emergency was Kure, which was quickly locked down by largely loyalist forces. Out of the military, perhaps a third were loyalist, a third Marxist, and the other third had plainly defected. The night of the 19th saw no respite despite the day of rest. Strong Marxist attacks backed by mortars and artillery made headground into the Featherstone line before being repulsed after a vicious counterattack. The Loyalists, in entrenched positions, lost five thousand men that day: The Communists lost twelve times their number. Another two days passed, and Questers declared to the world it was not yet ready to negotiate. The consistent attacks had taken their toll: The Featherstone Line had been forced to withdraw from the airport and form a true line from Parliament up to the Imperial Palace. By the night of the 21st, the Line had been smashed as Marxist reinforcements poured in, blocking detachments hot on their heels. Direct communications had been cut off between the Loyalist occupied Parliament and the Palace, and on the 23rd, the last morse code message was sent from the Parliament building.

Communists on the staircase. Will fight to the last round. God Save the King.

Cut off and surrounded, ten thousand men and the same number of wounded troops held their own in the Palace. Like trapped rats they drove off attack after attack but it seemed useless. However, by this time, much had been done by the loyalist General Staff under Field Marshall Okamura to pacify large sections of the Army and bring them back under control. Though the North was still largely under Communist control, the South was stabilised, though guerilla operations were disrupting communications and transport and the Marxists were still launching division sized assaults against loyalist strongholds.

Friday 24th
Evening

The crack of rifle fire was constant. Corporal Richard Holmes, lying flat on his belly amongst the ruins of a wall, squinted down. Gunfire strafed the advancing communists, cutting them down, but at a cost: they were gaining ground and their support fire was accurate and deadly. One by one, the loyalist machine gun outposts were being silenced. He squinted, watching a Marxist hit the dust, and then another. It was hard to tell in the dark, but you got used to it: eventually you could see where the bullets from the machine guns hit the ground and you could judge if someone was hit from that. The batteries on his night vision goggles had run out long ago.

“Jesus Christ. They’re at the gates of the fuckin’ compound.” His squaddie muttered, pausing to shoulder his rifle and drop an advancing combat engineer that had was trying to break through the gates. Next to the pair of spotters, a machine gun chattered. It rarely stopped; apart from to cool down, empty cartridges filling up around them. Earlier they had joked they could make sandbags from the spent casings: this had ceased to become a joke when they actually started doing it. The lights strobed from every part of the Palace into one direction, great beams of constantly changing light bringing death.

Taking aim himself, Holmes dropped another engineer, but ammunition for the rifles was getting scarcer and scarcer. Some time they would actually have to stop shooting and let the communists get into the building, which was even scarier than the thought of them running out of ammo in the first place.

“The fuck is that?” His comrade nudged him, pointing in the distance. Holmes didn’t see it at first, but they became more pronounced as they carried on, eventually to a point where it would be hard to miss them. Great plumes of fire, shooting into (or was it from?) the sky, spreading from vibrant oranges and yellows and reds to darker colours before totally ceasing to exist. It was hard to watch one at a time as there were so many of them and so many different types. They sat in amazement at the lights making their way from the air to the ground and too from the ground to the ground, some great, some small, but all mesmerizing.

They hardly noticed the man who jumped down to the prone position next to them, hitting the floor with a thud. It was one of their squadmates too; a young private who had chosen to fight for the King and for his Country instead of some warped ideal of equality. The many Marxists that had chosen to fight for the other side were slowly demoralized, but to little effect. The truly political reliable were given officers positions, but mostly were appointed to blocking detachments. Many of the dead were either civilians quickly persuaded of the glory of Marxism, or troops who had nothing left to fight for, or troops who had fallen under the lure of populist policies and left wing rhetoric.

“You see that over there?” He asked excitedly, pointing in the direction of the flashes and explosions that Holmes had just observed. Glancing at the boy’s fine brown hair, Holmes remembered he was hardly older than 17. It was hard to believe this mathematics student, normally quiet and reserved, was enough of an ideologue to come to fight what was surely a doomed battle for King and Country. What a crazy world. Holmes thought to himself.

“Uh… yeah.” Holmes’ comrade didn’t turn to face the new arrival as he kept his eyes down the iron sights, dropping another communist that tried to use a breaching charge on the gates. The spent casing shot out of the ejection chamber and hit the floor, one of thousands. This casing, probably large enough to be swallowed, had just ended a human life.

“Its General Hawkesworth and 38th Army! They’re routing the bolshies right now!”

“You have to be fucking kidding me?”

“Huh?” After loosing off some more rounds, the other soldier looked up, not sure what he was hearing. Soon the word was spreading throughout the palace as rifle rounds and grenades were still edging dangerously close to their targets. They had been bled dry, but they had won.

While it would take many more weeks to totally clear London of Communist resistance, and many more months to defeat the large Communist armies and many years to totally put a stop to Communist insurgency and terrorism in Questers, this was just the first step. The Communists had lost control of the capital and had been locked out of the country’s three key cities, London, Salisbury, and Kure. Immediately, anyone willing to negotiate with Questers was invited to Salisbury to do so, while millions of soldiers, marines, sailors, airmen, police, and national defence troops patrolled the city rooting out Marxists and other terrorists and provided general security in Questers’ safest city.

Meanwhile, the King, after evacuating to Salisbury, had his own plans. His advisors began to draw up a constitution for the country’s laws to be based from. And it would certainly not be democratic.

"They are weak... broken. Now is the time to strike!" A general said, fist thumping off the desk.

Omar looked to another General. "What of it? Can we assault their mainland?"

"Not at this time, not alone. The government is in chaos, the army badly weakened... but the navy is still at full strength. We could attempt an assault, but we would require a task force at least as large as the one they sent for us. If for no other purpose than to tie up their armada. I'd say we would need at least three nations with us to mount a full naval assault and invasion." The grizzled general stated, sounding for all the world like he was speaking of chess game and not war.

The first general fumed. "Well, what of it? The Advocate is not a fan of any peace negotiations, any more than we are. I say-"

Omar stopped his next words with a withering glare. "What you say does not set policy, General. Remember that. I will consult with our Gholgothian allies and see what the opinion is. If there is support, we shall go. If there is not, we shall stay. Now leave me..."

He typed up the message, to be sent to the leaders of all Gholgoth powers privately.

========

Brothers, we have a chance at crushing an enemy for good. Questers is in ruins, though it's fleet is still dangerous. If we can slice up their warships and make landfall in their lands, the fractured and war weary soldiers would fall to an assault quickly. Crimmond is unable to undertake this assault alone, but a fleet of several nations could chase the Quester's fleet out of Gholgoth and smash them, before moving on their homeland.

There is not much time to decide... do we merely drive them off, or do we crush them and invade Questers ourselves?

-Omar Pace

Salisbury, Questers

The call had come from the Questarian monarch, the highest recognized figure in the nation by the Republic, for representatives to meet for open discussions as to the beginning of peace in both Haven and Gholgoth and the future of not only the Republic's role in the future of Haven, but of the kingdom which was to become a strong ally of the Aequatian lands. Or so Sacha hoped.

Sitting in the rear cargo compartment of the Air Force C-181A Starlifter transport plane, Aequatio's highest diplomat and Secretary of State, Sacha Novoselic, ran his shuttle diplomacy as he had volunteered to represent the nation at the Salisbury talks with Alexander II. His hands shook with the vibrations of the military transport as they held his leather briefcase, within it the documents outlining what was considered a most fair bilateral treaty between the Aequatian Republic and the Questarian Commonwealth. Aequatian forces in Carpanthium, San Nereiana and the Southeast had already either been given the order to cease operations or switch to humanitarian support, such was the case in Carpanthium, where Aequatian Republic Army trucks were used to ferry evacuees back to their homes, originally removed for fear of the Northfordian invasion. Around him formed what had been a hastily collected bodyguard from the 82nd Marine Expeditionary Brigade in Carpanthium after the refuelling stop before leaving for Questers, a platoon of Marines, seemingly armed to the teeth and ready to protect him at all costs, Sacha wondered what motivated them, remembering his own compulsory days in the National Guard were filled with apathy and boredom, and why they chose such a harsh life before remembering what drove all Aequatians to continue working, "The State Before All."

He noted their uniforms, the desert combats issued to them in their initial deployment to Kahanistan for Operation Haven Sentry and the peacekeeping duties that followed with ARMIK. He averted his eyes as they talked amongst themselves, feeling guilty for signing the mandate that placed them in such a dangerous situation, especially after the Doomani invasion out of Northford, and the massive effort to retrieve them from the troubled nation before it was finally obliterated in the final days of the war. The mood changed as the Air Force loadmaster, in his Olive Drab flight suit and helmet walked down the center of the compartment, "Twenty minutes!" He shouted over the roar of the two pairs of jet engines.

Thirty minutes had passed since that point as the C-181A rolled to a halt on the tarmac of the runway and the loadmaster operated the control panel as the rear cargo ramp's hydraulics whined as it lowered itself to the ground and a squad of marines, weapons at the ready, marched down and monitored the grounds as the platoon leader called back to the Air Force technical sergeant, "Secure! Bring him out!"

Sacha rose from his seat, briefcase in hand and wearing one of the Army-issue ballistic-protective armour vests and helmet marked with the letters "A.R.S.D." much to the cruel smiles of the troops and snide comments on how the State Department couldn't be "arsed" to solve the problem before deploying them, as he walked with a combat-ready Marine on each side carrying their rifles hefted against their shoulders as they were greeted by a Questarian officer, Sacha spoke up as the engines of the plane died down, "Greetings, I am Sacha Novoselic, Secretary of State of the Aequatian Republic, we're...er, I'm here to attend the discussions with King Alexander the Second."

Salisbury

Major Parker shook Sacha's hand. "Mr Novoselic, His Majesty is return from Jesselton after receiving an intelligence report. He is due back in about an hour or so. The meeting will take place here, in the airfield." His accent was typical Questarian upper middle class.

Parker looked in the air and stopped speaking for a minute or so as a flight of fighters landed, instead waiting for them to cut their engines. There was alot of noise before they had landed, and the sound of artillery firing into the distance could always be heard. Aircraft and helicopters were constantly on patrol.

"Over there is the most fortified place in Salisbury; a bunker capable of withstanding a strategic nuclear exchange and still provide decent living for a month. In there you'll be confering with His Majesty. I imagine you would like me to take you there at once..."

Later that evening

The train was slightly slower than expected; it had to move at a certain speed or else the anti-mine protector at the front wouldn't function properly. The heavily armoured train, with 20mm and 13mm guns and plenty of other machine guns and small arms housed the King, and for the six hour journey he had set off on before the Aequatians arrived he did not particularly feel safe. Even with the squadron of helicopters fanning out and watching the ground, the train was passing on its last push to Jesselton through dense forest. Despie the IR trackers on the HELOs, it was impossible to see through parts of it.

It was too late - they didn't see the first missile launcher, or the second, or the third. Simultaenously, three Doomani Spiculum rockets shot out of their launchers and careered into the trains flank. Before the helicopters could react, perhaps two hundred rebels were swarming over the train. Machine gun fire and rifle fire fire freely exchanged itself between the two sides, as the train slowly ground to a halt. Grenades and lighter explosives bounced off the train, but as it halted, the engineers frantically trying to restart the engine, detonation charges blew open the doors of the train. While the helicopters and 20mm guns made short work of the rebels who didn't get inside the train in time, vicious close combat ensued between the loyalist Coldstream Guards bodyguard and the Communist insurgents. The King himself joined in the firefight with his .303 revolver. Hit in the leg by grenade shrapnel, he went down and the loyalists managed to clear out the rebels with shotgun and smg fire.

An hour later then it should have, the train rolled into Salisbury, and the King made an express helicopter trip to the airport. Going down into the bunker with a single crutch hooked around his left arm where various guards saluted him, he finally made his way the room where the Aequatians were waiting. With the finest furniture, a drink of any kind, and excelletn air conditioning it wasn't the worst place to be delayed for an hour, nor to have a conference. The King sat himself down opposite Sacha, wincing visibily at the quick and sharp motion of dropping onto the chair, and lit himself up a cigar while an aide poured a Singapore sling for His Majesty.

"Bloody Bolshies. What nerve, the light buggers. I took two of the blighters though, shot them down with my Webley. Bloody marvellous thing." He withdrew the revolver from its holster and put it on the table.

"Rather symbolic." He said as he emptied it of ammunition and slid it to the centre, representing the end of hostilities and hostile feeling towards the two nations.

"Now, your offer?" He said, finally letting the Aequatian speak.

SIC:

Kampfers Stadt, Kampfers
In the office of the Fuhrer

As Richtoff sat, more time passed. Time was crucial, and he could not afford for it to slip away. This was a situation that required more information, but there was no time to acquire that information. Perhaps misinformed, Richtoff would have to make a decision nonetheless. Opposite from him in a cozy chair was his friend, General Klischten, who also headed up the Joint Cheif's of Staff. For either path the Fuhrer could choose, Klischten had prepared a course of action with much consultation with the other branches.

The recent turn of events had brought about a change in the way Kampfers thought about the war. Although Kampfers would have sided with the Questarians had its hand been forced, they had managed to remain neutral. In the Fuhrer's eyes, he would much rather not bear arms against the Cravians, the Midlonians, and the other various New Alliance Treaty Organization nations that were aligned in Haven. However, when Questers had offered white peace, these nations had been quick to accept, seeking only minor reparations from Questers. Now, however, Questers was in the midst of a full-blown civil war, and the Gholgothian nations were sure to take advantage of it. It was a well known fact that other than the nations of Aequatio and The Charr, Gholgoth had been much against the prospect of peace with the Questarian Commonwealth. Should Gholgoth strike against Questers, they would find a weakened foe, and it certainly would be an inviting prospect.

However, an attack against Questers was not only limited to that scope. An attack against Questers was an attack against Haven. An attack against Questers could remove one of Kampfers few true friends in Haven. A successful attack against Questers would result in many nations with whom Kampfers did not have favorable relations land aplenty in Haven, and bases with which they could strike at Kampfers or many of the other United Federation of Allied Nations members.

The more the Fuhrer thought about it, the clearer the choice became. Kampfers would not stand for a counter-invasion of Questers, an invasion of Haven. Kampfers would do all to prevent such an attack from happening, but should it occur, Kampferians would bear arms in the Questarians defense. As such, the Fuhrer turned to Klischten. "My friend, we shall aid the Questarians. Now, tell me, what have you prepared."

Klischten turned his notes over a couple of pages, to where he had detailed the plan. "Alright. Now, the majority of this plan depends on the agreement of King Alexander II, but we can execute the naval portion without his consent if necessary. I highly doubt he will turn down the assistance. Now, as I was saying, the plan for Kampferian aid in Questarian defense goes as such.

"Currently at the Southwest Haven Joint Military Base, located on the island off the coast of Praetonian South Haven, we have one Carrier Strike Battle Group which is preparing to return home. Two more CSBG's are en route to replace them. As we can not simply abandon our base navally, it is my opinion that we should divert these two CSBG's to Questers and let the original remain a bit longer. Should the King ask, we can provide more naval assistance, but this is not where we feel we will be most useful. Questers still remains the naval power, and it would be best to allocate our resources elsewhere. We can have one SEACOM prepared to aid Questers quickly, but I feel that it might not be in time. Nonetheless, we will begin it's preparations and hope for the best. At full speed, our CSBG's will arrive well before the Gholgothians, but the jury is still out about the SEACOM.

"More important will be our contributions to the defense of Questarian skies and land. Currently, the nations in ripped by war, and its army is substantially weakend. We, on the other hand, are approximately 67% mobilised, as a result to numerous crisis that have involved us lately. Due to the Zanski Crisis, the XII ArmeeKorps is completely mobilised. On the other hand, none of the XXXIII Fallschirmjäger ArmeeKorps or XI Lüften Sie beweglich ArmeeKkorps is mobilised. Several divisions of the III SS ArmeeKorps are mobilised. As our contribution, given the permission from the King, I would send the 10 SS Panzer Division Frundsberg and its attached Mechanized Infanterie Brigade and the 11 SS Panzer Division "Vorwärts" to aid the Questarians fight against the communist rebels. These men are skilled in fighting insurgencies and should strike fear in the peasant revolter. I would then recommend sending the whole of the XII ArmeeKorps to Questers and allowing the King to postion them where he would. We will still retain homeland security, but in order to ensure this we will begin the mobilisation of the II Armeekorps and the rest of the III SS ArmeeKorps. This will also serve us well as we will be prepared when the Ennusian Crisis finally overflows. Anyways, that about wraps up Kampferian involvement in any possible ground war.

"Finally, we have our Air Force contribution. This will be our best donation, if not the largest. Due to the fact that Shuksei's can not be carrier based, this will give us a a decent advantage if we send some. As such, we have decided to send the whole Kampferian KL-69 Grief force, 96 planes, to Questers. While this does not seem like much, they should make a great addition to the Questarian fighters. In addition, we will send two squadrons of KL-XB89 Ubermassige Festung's, the Dartian B-74 Shadowcasters. On top of those, we will send four squadrons of FLD-9B Peregrine Falcons, to add to the number of G4M6's that the Questarians already control. Then we will send the XII Kampferian Luftwaffe, made up of KL-181 Adler's (FA-15 Cardinal's), KL-X22 Hollenkatze (F16 Priest's), and KL-545B Sturmenwolke (B-22 Zeus's). Naturally, the fleets will have their accompanying Flottenluftdiensts.

"I think that about does it. See any glaring flaws? Oh, and we are currently working to reprogram a section of OBSAT so that we can have eyes on this continuosly and defend those eyes at the same time. Thoughts?" Klischten relaxed in his chair. He had gotten it all out without a single kink.

"Sounds good to me. I'll draft up a message for the world, the King, and some of our allies. I think I'll go ahead and reallocate a few sections of the United Federation of Allied Nations Rapid Reaction Force to North Point Military Base and Durham Military Base until we can get the aforementioned ArmeeKorps mobilised. Go ahead and put your plan into action. And remember. Nie Rückzug, Nie Übergabe, und Gibt Nie Auf! Für Kampfers!" Richtoff saluted and dismissed his friend. Klischten returned the salute and exited, making his way to High Command. Richtoff turned to his computer, and began to tap out a few messages.

TO: His Royal Highness Alexander II, Questers
FROM: Eric Richtoff, Supreme Fuhrer of Kampfers
SUBJ: Kampferian Aid

Over the course of this war, I trust that Kampfers has shown their faith in your nation and your ability to lead it. Be it by the Kampferian led donation from the United Federation of Allied Nations or vocal support, Kampfers has stood by the side of Questers. Things such as slavery and your dislike of communism have kept us from voicing full and unrestrained support of your nation, but now a greater evil proves itself. The nations of Gholgoth have refused to accept your peace, despite the wiser actions of Havenic nations such as Midlonia, Allanea, and Cravan. As such, they have proven themselves far worse an evil than a few slaves in Questaria. While rebellion ravages your nation, they view you as weak, and will surely strike. This we will not allow. As such we are prepared to send a large amount of forces to help defend your nation. Enclosed is a breif of our plans. With your approval, Kampfers will commence the final preparations, including the transit of soldiers.

Sincerely,
Fuhrer Richtoff

IC:

Official Kampferian Statement

http://i174.photobucket.com/albums/w107/imdmill/kampferianseal.jpg

The nations of Questers has far from a clean record. Noted hate of communism, the legality of slavery, and perhaps an uprovoked war come to mind when mentioning their blemishes. That said, Kampfers views the hardheadedness of the Gholgothian leadership in a very negative light. This goes beyond warmongering. To impose Versailles like sanctions on the Questarians is unreasonable and would only lead to future troubles. That said, the continued shed of blood is not a favorable course of action either. Let the Questarians fight amongst themselves and settle their own differences. I highly doubt they will pose a great threat to you after this civil war. Be that as it may, they still deserve the right to govern themselves.

Should the nations of Gholgoth determine that they will not accept the Questarian offer of white peace, let it be known that Kampferian forces will be among those defending the Questarian homeland. Kampfers will not stand for this aggression against Haven and more importantly a good friend of the nation. We encourage all nations to reconsider their actions and accept the Questarian offer while there is still time. Just as the Cravanians, Allaneans, Midlonians, Aequatians, and others have shown wisdom, the nations remaining at war with Questers would be better served to accept offers of peace with low restrictions.

This war has taken enough lives, and it is time to end the bloodshed. However, should Gholgoth attack, should the nation of Questers continue to face battle against these nations, Kampfers will ensure that even if unsuccessful, the defence of Questers will cost such a high price that the nations will be forced to reconsider. Above all, I promise you this. Kampfers will never retreat, Kampfers will never surrender, and Kampfers will never give up.

With a determined mind,
Fuhrer Richtoff

Salisbury, Questers

The Secretary of State and a personal bodyguard, a Marine lieutenant who had left his rifle propped up against the wall of the room, sat in waiting for the arrival of the Questerian king. The remaining marines had created a security cordon at the C-181A aircraft as they themselves waited, chatting and generally relaxing despite being on the ground in a nation that was being torn apart by internecine conflict. Sacha was sipping from a ceramic mug of coffee as he turned to the Marine officer, "These Anglo-types have no idea how to make a good cup of coffee," He joked as he set the half-filled mug down, "Although I'm sure their tea is of the best quality."

"I'm sure, Sir," Replied the lieutenant curtly, "But nothing tastes better than beans from the coffee plantations on Secundus, those Jadans can really make some nice joe."

"True," Novoselic said as they were interrupted by Alexander's arrival. Both stood up as the diplomat greeted the King, "Symbolism is important, your majesty, otherwise we live for nothing but ourselves." Sacha turned and nodded to the marine as the lieutenant stepped forward towards the table.

The lieutenant undid a scabbard on his belt and pulled the sword from it as he presented the king with an ornamental, but battle-ready, Marine Officer's Sword, the hilt of which held the coat of arms for the Aequatian Republic Marine Corps and the initials A.R.M.C., "A gift from the Republic to yourself in honour of this day," Said the soldier as he stepped back.

Upon the king's request for the information regarding what the Aequatian government had prepared for the peace treaty, Sacha reached into the open briefcase and presented Alexander with the folder, "We wish to improve relations between our nation by accepting your status quo ante bellum clause for the acceptance of an establishment of embassies in our respective nations and the leasing of bases or land for the construction of bases in the nation of Questers for use by the Republic's armed forces in forward positions to support allied operations in Western Haven. While this would be a bilateral treaty between our two nations, we would seek to place emphasis on those in Gholgoth to cease from any... overzealous responses on their part for what has happened."

Salisbury

The King thanked Sacha for the sword, inspecting it closely. "Magnificent. Outstandingly so. There are few on this Earth whom from such a finely crafted weapon could be born."

Listening attentively to the Aequatian offer, the King did not take long to consider. In any case he wanted peace, and these deals were more than agreeable.

"No objections. I can offer you the free use of our largest naval base in Kure, plus the use of Kure Airbase, as well as a similar deal with King Charles Island. In addition, I propose the construction of three Aequatian land bases, with the land leased for 99 years upon renewal, of 150km squared each. This should be sufficient, should it not?"

Jesselton, the next day

Chief of the Intelligence Department, Internal Surveillance and Intelligence Service, Mark Rhodes, pushed the sleep out of his eyes and took a sip from his tea. In other countries, coffee would be drunk in the morning to get that kick. In Questers, it was tea. Liberal amounts of tea. He hadn't shaved for a while; since before the war, actually, during which he had been Chief of SIS. The new ISIS took over internal operations from the Secret Service, and worked closely with SIS (The Secret Intelligence Service) and GCHQ (the Signals Intelligence Service) to protect the nation. Before opening his copy of the London Times, he looked up to the wall facing him. Above the door, next to his painting of the crucifiction of Jesus, stood the shield of ISIS. Before he could pick up his paper a short rap at the door signified the arrival of an aide or perhaps a peer.

"Come in." Rhodes answered.

It was in fact, an aide; a higher ranking one than Rhodes had expected. Major-General Forbes was the commander of ISIS's executive division, wihch meant he was responsible for actual military actions and arresting dissidents.

"Morning Mark." Forbes nodded. He moved to take a seat when Rhodes replied. "Morning. What's the matter?"

Forbes sat down and jammed a cigarette into his mouth. "I can smoke in here, right?" he asked, his voice muffled by the object in his mouth.

"Of course." Rhodes replied.

"Right. Well." Forbes lit up and took a drag. "OK, good news. The Kampferians have offered us assistance. The King accepted. Including FA-15s and 16s, plus B-22s. The 16s will be of most use to us here, they perform great in the close support role. Of course, we have our own COIN planes, but every little helps. Plus several divisions of troops and tanks apparently specialising in insurgencies. This is good news indeed, given that loyal soldiers are just what we need right now."

Rhodes lit up his own cigarette. In Questers, it was unknown that a man old enough to vote was not smoking. In fact, many started smoking at 16, or even earlier. Cigarettes were cheap and easy, low quality packets of hundreds going for as cheap as several pounds. Given his salary, Rhodes was able to afford the better quality cigarettes and cigars; even "occasionally" indulging in the drink of the cultured Questarian, which is basically any form of spirits. Of course, many different parts of sociey drink different types of spirits; Landed aristocracy prefer gin and tonic and cognac, whereas the navy types prefer brandy and rum. Rhodes himself was partial to whiskey.

"That's good." He said. "What's this about the Aequatians? I heard the King offered them bases in Kure and King Charles Island."

Forbes nodded. "That's right. Naval and air, on both, apparently. It doesn't bother me though, I expect that the Aequatians will assist us in our operations."

"Talking of Operations..."

Salisbury, Questers

The king's quick acceptance of the peace deal both surprised and relieved Sacha as he sat opposite the leader, "Excellent, this is most agreeable, your majesty," He afforded himself a smile as he continued, "I am certain that our military leaders will want to talk about the deployment of our forces in counter-insurgency operations, initially including the 17th Airborne Special Forces Group along with a number of rotary-wing aviation and fixed-wing support aircraft."

The period following the discussions was filled with the formal establishment of the agreement and many of the details which would include the forces deployed and the mandate in which they were expected to be deployed and living in Questers. News of the peace treaty had reached not only the marines at the airfield but also the forces stationed around Haven, leading to a region-wide celebration from the Aequatians while at the same time thoughts about the future of their countrymen inside Haven.

Von Hector Air Force Base, Vanaheim, Aequatius Secundus

Colonel Jane Hughes sat in the passenger seat of the civilian-conversion liaison vehicle as it made its way through the base to the operations building, as commanding officer of the 17th Special Forces Group (Airborne), she would be speaking with her superiors as the unit was brought from its cadre strength to full operational readiness and deployed to Questers to help in supporting the Loyalist forces in quelling the Marxist insurrection.

The special forces soldiers would be deployed to Questers and operate under their command in supporting the Loyalist regular forces. Along with the soldiers, there would also be the movement of specialized helicopters such as the Bagheera utility and Akela attack aircraft and the massive AC-130Q Spectre III gunship for aerial support. Within 72 hours, the entire group and its support elements would be on the ground and prepared for immediate action.

The Following is an Extract of a Mission Report released under the Vetakan Freedom of Information Action (2000) ordered by the Vetakan Senate to promote Public Confidence within the Vetakan Defence Forces. The Report has been modified for public viewing however all important details remain within the document. The report has been complied by Dr Henry Hampton General of the Vetakan Defence Force 1st Hospital Regiment Commanding Officer of the VDF Humanitarian Support Mission to Questarian London. The Report documents an incident now known as the "Battle of Hendon Hospital". As part of Humanitarian Operations to support Questarian Civilians in the aftermath of the Alleaean Bombings the VDF as part of the Operation set up an Emergency Hospital and Support Centre within the releatively intact Hendon High School building. On Sunday 26th of July 1951 (Questarian Calendar) at 11:00 a Crowd numbering 1,000 People surrounded the Hendon building. At 14:00 the Crowd attacked and Overrun the Garrison with the loss of 90% of the Defence including its Commanding Officer Captain Rosslando Kemp of the VDF 85th Defensive Logistical Support Regiment. This report documents the Incident based upon eye witness accountants of the survivors, recovered documents and general intelligence. The report found Captain Kemp and his Troops responded above and beyond the call of duty and as such where granted "Honourable Promotion" and where all awarded the "Wagdogian Bone & the Animarinian Heart" the second and Third highest medals within the Vetakan Defence Force. Captain Kemp along with 5 other Personnel received these medals along with the "Phoneix Feather" the highest medal within the Vetakan Nation for Valour, Bravery, Loyalty and honour. The incident has gone down in history as the most number of high ranking medals ever awarded in a single battle. The report was released to the media with the title of "The Force of True Defenders".

Extract 1:

Written by Private 1st Class Susan Bennet in her statement to Investigator Dr Henry Hampton:

"The incident began at around 11:00 hours crowds of peoples numbering 1,000 that we identified as Communists gathered at all access points to the Base (Hendon Complex) they proceeded to erect defences and barricades around the base. As part of Protocol Captain Kemp informed the flagship VDFNS White Storm (Jyno Class Aircraft Carrier) of the situation and a general evacuation was ordered supported by our Fleet within the area of operations. Evacuations began within following 20 ships. At that time although I do not remember exactly I believe 500 Questarian Civilians where under our charge"

Extract 2:

Written by Warrant Officer 2rd Class Harry Conrad in his statement to Investigator Dr Henry Hampton:

"Captain Kemp in an attempt to ease the situation ordered the initial defences of the base be fortified and that all none required medical personnel be armed this was done and we all mounted the walls. Captain Kemp announced he intended to talk to and mediate with the Communists I along with a number of the Senior Staff protested however Captain Kemp noted them and transferred Command temporarily to Lieutenant James Gudson. I decided to accompany Captain Kemp out of the Base he however refused and ordered me to remain at the Gate. At the gate he ordered be opened in clear of the Communists he threw down his rifle (P90 Assault Rifle) and drew his Pistol (E-57 Service Pistol) he again threw this to the ground and marched alone and unarmed out of the base. He spoke with 4 men for a period of 20 minutes he then proceeded to return to the complex however just as he entered the gates he received 1 Gunshot Wound to his left shoulder he collapsed into my arms as the gates closed. I was able to observe the men whom the Captain had spoke looking angry and concerned. At that time I heard 4 shots which I do not believe where aimed at the Base"

Extract 2A:

Written by Warrant Officer 2rd Class Harry Conrad in his statement to Investigator Dr Henry Hampton:

"Upon further recollection of this incident I do believe Captain Kemp did the right thing in seeking diplomacy with the Communists. After all we are Allied to the most respected socialists on the Planet. If asked to give my opinion upon the Command of Captain Kemp it would be that he acted Honourably, Professionally and above the call of duty a true Commander of the Vetakan Military, A true Commander of the United Federation and above all a True Vetakan. When the Communists attacked Captain Kemp refused Pain Relief Drugs and took up his weapon mounting at that time the last Defence. He refused Evac and ordered myself as the Commanding Officer at time to leave and that the Captain would as he put it "hold the bastards at bay". This was the last time I saw and heard of the Commander."

Extract 3:

Written by Private 2rd Class Simon Paris in his statement to Investigator Dr Henry Hampton:

"The Reds attacked without warning at around 14:00 the Reds surged forward without warning, on the Command of Corporal Smith we opened fire the Commies retaliated and we sustained casualties I was afraid and was oddly reminded of the Training Exercise within Fort Tailville DR in Wagdog. We held them at bay covering the Roof so that we could proceed with the Evac of the Injured and any Questarian Civilians caught up in the Battle. The Choppers continued their operations despite them sustaining Machine Gun and RPG Fire. Warrant Officer 1st Class Stanley Goodspeed co-ordinated the Defence of the Complex he ordered that the Designated Snipers engage the Reds with the RPG's and any Anti Aircraft Weaponry. Us Infantry where ordered to engage the crowd as the enemy considering they had struck first I did as ordered and proceeded to engage without any restriction the situation was a tie until the Reds brought down one of our blackhawks with a lucky rifle round. The Chopper was brought down upon the crowd outside the gate the subsequent explosion blew the gate apart and the base was breached. Warrant Officer 1st Class Stanley Goodspeed ordered us to retreat and fortify the main building. It was at this time a number of the medics attempted to drag and treat a number of down Commies. However this seemed to anger the crowd whom attacked viciously one of our medics a female <Name Removed> was seized and raped repeatedly. As a result one of our snipers engaged and killed the female medic this is the only friendly fire incident I am aware of. We where ordered to hold the building and helipad at all cost."

Extract 3A:

Spoken by Private 2rd Class Simon Paris to Investigator Dr Henry Hampton during interview when asked whether the Private believed the Friendly Fire Incident was justified:

"Yes the Friendly Fire was justified <Name Removed> was violated in ways that can not be spoken. The Commies carried out the attack to provoke us and we responded honourably and to prevent further harm and shame to <Name Removed>. The incident angered us all we proceeded to engage the Reds with all anger and hate these people where not our allies they where not like the Wagdogians they where savages and I have no regret in killing them"


Extract 4:

Written by Lieutenant James Gudson in his Report to Investigator Dr Henry Hampton:

"After taking over Command of the situation from the now incapacitated Captain Kemp I ordered my Senior Staff to proceed with destroying all OBSAT Technology that could salvaged using the standard protocol I also secured all Data and proceed to evac all documents I could on a Evac Heli. It was at this time that Captain Kemp saved my life an Enemy Trooper had some penetrated the complex and was using stealth to sneak upon me and kill me using a Combat Knife however Captain Kemp entered upon a crutch and fired 3 shots into the Trooper whom died. It was at this time that Captain Kemp ordered me to leave and as he put it "Defend our Actions" he ordered me upon the next chopper and took over command from their. That was the last time I saw him alive."

Extract 5:

Written by General Dr Henry Hampton in his report to the Joint Chiefs of the Defence Staff, Supreme Operational Commander of the Vetakan Defence Forces and the President of the Vetakan Dominion:

"After much investigation into this incident this is the time line of events that I believe best define what happened during the "Battle of Hendon Hospital" in which most of the VDF Garrison where killed in action. At around 10:33 small crowds began to gather around the Hospital Complex these crowds began to rapidly grow in number and by 11:00 these crowds had formed one large crowd of around 1,000 people. This crowd had now isolated the Hospital and its Garrison following predefined protocol and orders the Garrisons Commanding Officer informed VDF Command via VDFNS White Storm on hearing this a full scale evacuation of the garrison and all peoples within it was launched by the Vetakan Naval Defence Force based within the London Docklands and the Thames. At around 11:30 in a disregard for VDF Operational Protocol Captain Kemp lay down his personal weaponry and exited the complex in an attempt to communicate and defuse the now ticking time bomb situation he was outside of the defensive line for approximately 20 minutes at this time I am unable to attain what Kemp said to the Communist led Crowd outside of the garrison. As Kemp returned to the Defencive Line he was fired upon by a Sniper whom I believe was on the 5th floor of the "Jones Bakery" building Kemp sustained an injury to his left shoulder whether this assault was authorised by the enemy leadership is unknown as 4 gunshots where heard immediately after the incident from within the crowd out all my investigation I can confirm these shots occurred however whom made them and their intended targets are a mystery if asked to make a prediction I believe these shots where made by the Communist Leaders against the Rogue Sniper whether the Sniper was killed I am unable to account for. At precisely 13:56 the Communists launched an offensive upon the main gate following orders the Defence Commander Corporal Smith ordered the Garrison to fire as a result the Troops opened fire using all weapons their intent to defend the garrison and facilitate total evacuation of the Garrison to safer lands. At around 14:32 the invading enemy manged to bring down a VDF Evac Blackhawk helicopter using a Conventional Assault Rifle the Helicopter crashed upon the advancing crowd and subsequently demolished the main gate as a result with this breach the Garrison Commander ordered a retreat into the Main Building to regroup and hold the helipad. During this chaos a number of VDF Medics disobeyed orders and attempted to aid the injured some of them reported to be Women and Children this decision proved to be erroneous and resulted in one female VDF medic being ganged raped in full view of her Commanders and Comrades as a result in order to save the girl a VDF Sniper shot and killed her this is the only friendly fire incident I am able to report. After much investigation it is my recommendation that this FFI was totally justified and I shall if required defend this action of my men to any investigation made by the Joint Chiefs, the Supreme Operational Commander, the President or the Senate.

At precisely 16:00 after heavy fighting the advancing Communists managed to penetrate the main building however most evac was completed only the designated Rear Guard under the Command of Captain Kemp remained hold up on the top floor awaiting the last chopper extraction. This came at 16:04 under the advance guard of two AH-1 SuperCobra's and the last evac was mounted the Attack Choppers proceeded to launch an all out assault upon the complex as a diversion during this assault the Blackhawk Extraction Chopper evacuated all bar Captain Kemp whom refused to leave electing to ensure the commies where unable to launch AA Weaponry against the leaving choppers. This was immensely brave and went above his level of responsibility it was truly above and beyond the call of duty. The actions of all involved where truly honourable and I have no criticism of them at all. They all responded to the situation above and beyond the call of duty. The Battle of Hendon Hospital should be remembered as the day Vetaka truly defended the free and the peaceful. The garrison shall forever be remembered as "Force of True Defenders."

Extract 6:

Recommendations of General Dr Henry Hampton in his report to the Joint Chiefs of the Defence Staff, Supreme Operational Commander of the Vetakan Defence Forces and the President of the Vetakan Dominion:

"In response to this incident it is my recommendation to Joint Chiefs of the Defence Staff, Supreme Operational Commander of the Vetakan Defence Forces and the President of the Vetakan Dominion that an emergency deployment of Combat Personnel to London be made immediately in support and under the command of the Humanitarian Mission to Questers. As Commanding Officer of the Humanitarian Mission I recommend the deployment of a small fleet of 15 vessels and 1 Division of 3,000 personnel to support and protect all Humanitarian Operations of all Nations operating within Questarian London. It is my recommendation that all personnel involved within the Battle of Hendon Hospital be awarded "Honourable Promotion", Themselves or the next of kin be awarded the top grade of the Duties to Pearce Pay Scale, All Personnel be awarded both "Wagdogian Bone & the Animarinian Heart" it is also my recommendation that Captain Rosslando Kemp, Lieutenant James Gudson, Warrant Officer 2rd Class Harry Conrad, Corporal James Smith, Wing Commander Christoper Blower, Airwomen Kelly Keldon and VDF 1st Combat Medic <Name Removed> be awarded the "Phoneix Feather". All personnel make me proud to be Vetakan and part of this nations Military Service the Questarians could learn a lot from this Force of Defenders. The Questarian King, the City and people of Questarian London owe this Force of Heroes a debt that is unrepable this force of heroes attempted to help those misled even under heavy fire and great danger to themselves"

The White Phoenix Public House, Questarian London, Kensington, Questers:

The White Phoenix Public House wasn’t actually a pub it was more a Wine Bar as it had both a terrace and street side areas than a traditional pub however it still managed to bring in the traditional working Questarian. The building itself had originally been an office block for a now defunct Questarian Business it had been purchased by two Questarian-Vetakans Charlie Rogers and John Denfiod whom had come to the grand city of London from the small sleepy island of Milton shortly after the Questarians had taken control of the island from Vetaka on the eve of the Grand Vetakan Exodus of Haven all those years ago. The Two Questarian-Vetakans had come seeking fortune and wealth they had decided to do what they did best and open up a business of peace and leisure making people laugh and cry with happiness naming the business in honour of the White Phoenix Tribe of their native Vetaka they had been an instant hit within Kensington and had built up quite a reputation across the city of London. Offering traditionally brewed ales and wines brewed and fermented on the premises the White Phoenix where soon hiring door staff to turn away those whom had arrived to late enter the place.

After a couple of months the White Phoenix Pub had hired yet more staff and where open 24 hours a day 7 days a week offering food around the clock which was yet another success and hit with the locals as the workers running for the tube could easily get hold of good food and good drink any time they wanted to. In the aftermath of the Allanean led bombing of the city during the last great war the White Phoenix Pub managed to survive the bombing through a lot of praying and cursing of the Allanean Bombers when the sirens sounded the all clear the White Phoenix Staff rushed to the aid of the injured and even began to produce food and booze for the tired people of Kensington. The White Phoenix Pub even went as far as making up beds for those whom had lost homes in the bombing. When the Communist Insurgents launched their war of terror the White Phoenix provided and invaluable base for the Questaraian Army and Royal Air Force to deposit supplies and rest their men. They also provided intelligence on known Commies whom had tried to get food and alcohol from the pub only to be turned away with the staff and their E-19 Prestonian Assault Rifles.

The Commies had even tried to burn down the White Phoenix only to be attacked by a mob of Angry Questarians pissed off that the damn Commies would try and burn down a bloody good boozer. As the Sun steadily rose above the City of London Charlie and John decided to take breakfast on the street as they ate their Cheese and Bacon Oatcakes they gazed at the streets goings on chatting to passing Locals and Questarian Troops handing the brave lads free freshly made Cheese and Bacon Oatcakes and mugs of tea, they where moving out to secure areas of the city that where still in the hands of the Commies as the Troops and Tanks moved on and the street began to quieten. The conservation soon turned to the past:

“It All went tits up when the sodding Allaneans decided to bomb the city, I mean come on beside making a lot of people pissed off what did they think they would achieve by bombing London?” spoke Charlie as he downed a bit of bacon whole.

“Exactly, perhaps Allanea doesn’t have a Officers Training Academy either that or its Commanders where on crack. Why bomb London when you could of bombed the front and border lines and follow it up with a swift attack with the old army. I mean god damn with all the energy they put into bombing London they could of bombed the front and got an extra 200 miles worth of land?” replied John as he drained his glass of orange Juice.

“That’s the Allaneans for you…… Fuckin Stupid. I hope Private Doug Page comes back from this security operation the Army has launched. He owes me a game of Darts. Anyway they say Questers lost the war personally I disagree after all the world and its ruddy oyster lined up against them and well Questers is still here is it not.” replied a now rather bloated Charlie

“Damn Right Charlie. If Vetaka was still in Haven my buddy Max in VDF High Command reckons we’d of launched an Invasion of the Midlonians that would have been fun to see.” replied John as he spoke his eyes fixed upon the Questarian Patrol of the 38th Army that had appeared coming up the street.

Before Charlie or John could say another word a 4x4 screamed down the street and came to a halt just meters from the two Questarian-Vetakans. Two lads barely 18 jumped from the 4x4 Assault Rifles raised they roared:

“Die you Vetakan Capitalist Scum”

They Rifles burst into life sending a storm of lead roaring towards John and Charlie. Charlie reached for his E-57 Service Pistol which had been a present from his dead back in Milton John on the other hand dived upon his friend and brother taking the bullets meant for him. The Advancing Questarian Patrol burst into action one of its Tank fired blowing the Jeep apart the Commies threw themselves to the floor Sprinting towards them the Questarian Troops began barking orders for them to surrender the Commies complied however they would not survive stained in Johns Blood Charlie pushed his dead friend off him he grabbed his Pistol jumped to his feet and roared:

“For Freedom”

He charged forward and emptied the Pistol into both of the Communists with the Commies dying he dropped the pistol and turned and collapsed over the dead body of John Denfiod he burst into tears and closed his best friends eyes and sobbed over him. A Questarian Medic appeared sprinting up the street ignoring the Commies he bent over John only to sigh and put his hand on Charlie reassuringly.

The Allanean Government did not officially support the establishment of the International Task Force in Questers. Indeed, officially, the President of Allanea swore up and down “that there will not be a an Allanean occupation force in Questers.” And in fact, she was speaking the truth. The Allanean Republic did not send an occupation force to Questers.

Which said nothing about individual Allaneans. With the Allanean military assuming a defensive stance, many of the kind of people who actually want a job where they shoot people and get shot at sought a new outlet for their adventure-seeking – and ACIA made sure they would find that outlet in Questers.

And mixed with these individuals were also professionals send out by the Allanean Republic. But of course that didn't count as an occupation force, did it?

Sergeant Michael Sandworthy, Team Spearhead #4564

“We are coming closer... closer...” - The Westland Whippet began to descend.

“So what is it we're hitting, Lieutenant?” - Michael asked, passing his fingers through his moustache. “And why are we not being told anything?”

Usually, the special operations unit would receive information much earlier. Today, they weren't told anything about the target – only that it was some communist village.

“Because there's nothing to tell. We gave you satellite pics of the village. It's a communist stronghold somewhere in Southern Questers. Population slightly under a thousand. Used by communists to store munitions and resupply. They have some 23mm flak cannon – like maybe two or three. Five tops. That's all the Questarians gave us.”

“Oh, I see.” - until this last moment, Michael hoped they would be given proper operational info on the mission. Oh well.

“Troops! Prepare for minimal-altitude drop! NOW!” - the Lieutenant barked. It was clear he was just as little pleased with the situation as Michael.

And drop they did – ten men in Kriegzimmer Samson suits, dropping from seventy meters. They dropped at night, sixteen kilometers away from the village to avoid detection. Then the Whippet came in for a second pass, dropping out a large container. It carried explosives, bombs, mines of various kinds. Over the next few days, it would come back again, carrying more supplies. But in many things, Detachment Omicron would have to rely on itself.

On the first day, they walked until they were within two kilometers from the village. Then, Sandworthy ordered his men to stop. “Wait. Nigel, do you see that?” The sound systems on the armor suits were rigged to “Internal only” - anything the unit members said was relayed by radio to the other unit members, and to them only. To an observer, the men seemed peculiarly silent.

A tall guard tower was standing over the entrance of the village. With the advanced optics on their Kriegzimmer suits they could make it out quite easily by moonlight.

“I see it.” - said Nigel, the unit sniper. “Do you see the other guard, too, Sarge?”

“Yeah.” - another guard was pacing nervously at the foot of the tower. - “A good idea, too. He's standing so he can't fall asleep, and he's bored to shit, so he keeps his partner from falling asleep – and it's a good idea for having two guards, anyway. Keeps them from going crazy.”

“Want me to take them down, Sarge?

“No, wait for my mark. Stay here.”

The sniper lay down, preparing his rifle – a bullpup .50 BMG monstrosity made somewhere on Roanoke Island. It's low firepower was compensated by it's suppressor. At two kilometers out, the shot would not even be heard. The other team members began to spread out, taking positions around the village.

When they were all in position, Sandworthy nodded. “Wait now.”

They waited for thirty minutes or so, and then the guards were changed. As the new guards were done chatting to the men they replaced, and the old guards went back into their home, Sandworthy nodded. “See? Had you done it then, we'd only have thirty minutes for our fun. Now...we have the full shift.”

The sniper chuckled. “Sorry, Sarge.”

“Do it.”

There was a sound like that of a wet paper bag bursting, and Sandworthy saw the guard on top of the tower twitch strangely, his head bobbing violently on his neck. There was a light thud as the man collapsed, but he was dead before he hit the ground. By the time Michael turned his eyes on the guard that was standing at the foot of the tower, it was too late. He could no longer watch him die.

“Go.” - in his line of work, Michael was used to communicating in one-syllable words.

The commandoes spread out, moving silently along the walls of houses, their adaptive camoflage and the darkness concealing and disrupting their features.

“Shit.”

“Sarge, do you ever use sentence with more then one word?” - the team machinegunner giggled.

“Screw you, Cassie. And yes. Here is a sentence: They have a guy guarding the cannons.”

Indeed, a fattish villager was in fact guarding three ancient, towed 23mm cannon, parked in front of a large shed. Written in white on the shed door were the words DO NOT ENTER.

“Why is it I think it's not the cannon?” - Jaffar, the grenadier, commented.

“Heh. You think it's the shed?”

“Remember what the redcoats said? It's the ammo storage they were talking about, I bet ya. Look at the size of that shed – likely enough to feed a division of Commie regular for a month.”

“It is big. Not that big though..”

“Yes, but look at the one next to it. They built four huge sheds, and they are all the same. And looking at how fresh the paint is, they were built recently.”

“You want a bet?”

“Yeah. Ten bucks it's here.”

Without warning, Sandworthy raised his DR-93MS and fired. The silenced rifle seemed to want to pull his hands upwards as it recoiled, shot after shot after shot pumping .308 hollowpoint rifles into the guard's stomach and chest. He fell.

Seconds later, they were opening the shed's door.

“Jesus Christ.”

It was filled with boxes. Large, green boxes stacked right to the ceiling. Some where marked CAREFUL: EXPLOSIVES, others with less ominous DO NOT SHAKE signs. But the message was clear. After inspecting the other sheds, it became clear that Sandworthy did in fact owe his teammate ten dollars.

“Pull the body indoors. Start planting the charges.”

Four operatives entered the sheds, planting plastic explosives in a variety of locations. The idea was to cause a set of timed explosions in each shed, separated by about half a second – to blow up the ammunition stockpiles one after another within two seconds.

“Sapper, how long will it take you boys to do the work?”

“Five more minutes, Sarge.”

For some reason, Sandworthy was worried.

Sandra Smith

Sandra didn't care much for communism or capitalism. But she cared more about her husband. So when her husband joined the Communist Party, she followed. Her member ticket had a consecutive number to that of her husband. And so today, when her husband was on guard duty, she got up at nught to bring him a bowl of hot soup.

Naturally, she was a little distressed when she saw him lying at the foot of the guard tower with his brain pan completely removed.

She screamed – a high-pitched, penetrating scream, going through village walls with ease, her mouth open wide. Just wide enough for the sniper to shoot a .50 BMG bullet into her throat without hitting her teeth.

But the damage was done. Seconds later, doors began to slam open across the village.


Cassie Lindbergh, Team Spearhead #4660

Senior Markswoman Cassie Lindbergh was the team's machinegunner. She was six feet tall, weighed seventy kilos, and most of that was muscle. She was a firm-jawed angry lesbian, and enjoyed two things in life. Sex and violence.

The way it worked out tonight, she was going to have lots of fun – and it didn't look like she was going to get laid.

Her role was known to her. Now that the villagers have awoken, she and four of her team mates would begin to move through the village, slaughtering all afore them – and distracting the villagers from what happened in the sheds. She heard screams of pain as Nigel fired his heavy rifle again and again Infra-red nightvision gear allowed him to see through the walls of the huts, and the steel-cored .50 BMG rounds bit through them easily.

She saw a villager run out of one of the houses, screaming and cursing. “My wife! Bastards, you killed my wife!” The man was bald and overweight. Ugly, even for a male. She stepped out into the open, and for a second he could see her – an angel of death clad in armor. The DMG-83 roared and spat fire. At this distance, nobody could miss, even a Kahanistani – and Cassie was Allanean.

She laughed as the hollowpoint ammunition tore dozens of oversized holes the man's belly. He still stood for half a second, watching in seeming bewilderment as his torn innards spilled out on the ground , and then fell on his face. And I get paid to do this.

Jaffar Ibn Khaldun, Team Spearhead #5600

Jaffar was the youngest member of the team, and eager to prove himself – even though his job was easier then anybody else's. After all, how hard is it to create a noisy distraction when you're packing a Spiculum launcher and five thermobaric rockets.

He fired one – and he saw a large house fall apart, the roof caving in, the walls being thrown out, the windows belching fire - and a sole survivor staggering out, his very flesh in flames. He reloaded, and fired again, and again, and village homes being torn apart by the explosions.

And then a man appeared from behind a corner only two dozen yards away from him, leveling an AK-74 at the grenadier and firing a full burst as he charged.

The armor saved him – and a second later he was face to face with the shooter – who was even now reloading his gun.

There was no time to reach for a different weapon. He hit the villager over the head with the empty launcher tube. The man dropped on one knee, and Jaffar hit him again and again, hearing the crunching of breaking bone under the launch tube as he smacked again, again, again, breaking collarbone, jaw, fracturing and finally, caving in the man's brainpan.

Simon Jones

Simon Jones was nineteen years old. He was kissing his girlfriend in the hay of her father's shed. They heard the explosions, of course.

“Simon, shouldn't we see what happened?” - asked the girl. She didn't know the village was being destroyed, she just wanted to distract Simon. She knew that with a few minutes of persistent rubbing, cuddling, and pleasuring, he would get her horny enough to do precisely what he wanted.

“No, Rita” -said Simon, reaching under her shirt. She moaned softtly as his hands cupped her large, plump breasts. - “If it's a war, I'd rather not die a virgin.”

He did not know that, only minutes ago, Sandworthy killed his father by slicing his body in half with a chainsword. He did not know that his mother was even then screaming in pain and terror as flames enveloped her clothing, or that his brother was lying in the street dead, his throat slit by an Allanean bayonet-knife.

And he did not know that, only ten yards away, stood an Allanean with a flamer, laughing merrily as he pointed the weapon at his girlfriend's father and pulled the trigger. The screams of pain escaped his attention entirely – they were much less important to him then the girl's moans of pleasure.

And then the door fell open, just as Simon started folding Rita's shirt up. He turned in horror, thinking it was the girl's father. And then his heart froze.

It was an Allanean soldier, his armor black, standing there silently as he leveled a flamer right at Simon's face.

He would die a virgin after all.

Comrade Foxley

Comrade Foxley was the leader of the communists in that village. Even the midnight assault did not faze him, and even now he was trying to rally his men to come together and fight – even as the strange armored devils come and wnet through the village, striking and disappearing, as sniper fire from nowhere bit straight through building walls, as houses burned to his left and right. Two of his lieutenants were already dead, and the terror seemed to be getting worse with every second -

“They're running away! They're escaping!”

He saw the armored men retreat, and he saw one of them turn around, firing a Doomani made machinegun in short bursts, taking down two villagers who tried to give pursuit. And then, suddenly, the men vanished into the tall wheat. His comrades fired into the dark, but to no avail. But it didn't matter, he thought. The enemies have gone away. They were saved.

Foxley raised his rifle, shaking it in triumph. “They are running away! They are running away! We won!”

And then the explosive charges detonated.

It seemed as if the entire middle of the village became an opening into the very depths of hell. Boxes of explosives and ammunition that survived the initial blast rained down on the village, blowing up in the most unexpected places. For about half a minute, all that that Foxley could do was lie down and cover his head.

He did not see dozens of men and women try and run off from the vilage, to leave the fire behind them – and be cut down by efficient, accurate rifle fire. Allanean marksmanship was famous across Haven for a reason.

But he did see the dawn break. Compared to many of his neighbors, he was very lucky.

Sergeant Michael Sandworthy, Team Spearhead #4564

Michael, too, saw the dawn break. He saw the center of a village become a set of craters, and he saw many houses that were on the outskirts catch flame.

And he rose i. He took out his chainsword, holding it in one hand and his Desert Seagull in the other, waving it towards the village, where survivors still scampered through the ruins.

“MARINES!” - officially, legally, Team Spearhead was part of the Marine Corps. And thus, Michael was a Marine. - “MARINES! You are Delta Zeta Four clear on that village! Charge! No survivors!”

A villager raised his rifle to shoulder – and died before he could pull the trtigger. The sniper was still at work, his rifle shots regular like a clock's ticking.

The villagers were no professional soldiers, even though some of them were guerillas. Many of those were already killed in the initial fighting or in the explosions. The explosions had already broken their spirit. The charge was the final straw.

Some ran. These were luckiest. Those that managed to leave the village unnoticed would survive if the Spearhead troops didn't fire a round into their backs as they fled.

Some fought. They were few, and no match to the armored, trained, and coordinated Allanean troops. Most of those who tried to fight were shot by the team sniper, and for those who weren't, the scoped DR-83 rifles made for an excellent exit, too.

Some hid. These had about the same chance for survival, but their deaths would also be humiliating. The Allaneans sought htem and found them in the usual hiding places – the basements, the attics, the closets, the latrine houses. Sometimes they didn't even bother to check for survivors – at one point Cassie shot fifty rounds into a latrine house and was not the slightest bit surprised when the front door fell apart to discover a villager with thirty or so holes in his body.

And some where unlucky enough as to be taken alive. For these the Allaneans had prepared some truly entertaining stuff – drawing and quartering by the village's surviving tractors, bayoneting, and hanging. And burning alive of course.

They were done by eight in the morning. Over eight hundred villagers were dead, giving each Special Operations soldier a body count of about eighty.

“And now,” grinned Sergreant Sandworthy, “decorate it.”

Now, the hard work came – beheading the bodies. Several corpses were thrown into the village well, to render it unusable. TheMost of them were piled into several large piles throughout the village, and several dozen heads were mounted on the village fence, or what remained on it. The Red Flag was taken away as a memento.

And in the center of the village, mounted on an I-2 Collapsible Impalement stake, was Comrade Foxley.

Random Highway, Northern Questers

Of course, Team Spearhead members constituted only a fraction of Allaneans operating in Questers. The majority of Allaneans in Questers were civilians. It was the Ashtonbury Brigade that made it so – they distributed ads in gun magazines, used their communications with militias and private militaries, and eventually caused several thousand Allaneans to arm themselves and head into Questers to fight for the government.

Jenny Westminster was one of these people. She was now sitting in the front seat of Firestorm pickup truck that was heading. Next to her was an abominably fat man wearing a black three-piece suit, a tall top hat and a monocle.

“So, why are you here, Mr. Baum?” - she asked.

“I was in the Army durng the Fifth Edolian war. I was a technician. Never got to shoot at anybody. Then I got rich, became a weapon collector – bought the tanks right there - “

Jenny looked in front of the car, where a large MAD-II tank was plowing right ahead of the convoy, followed right in front of the truck. Another tank was following in the back, as well as a Venator anti-air vehicle.

“Bought lots of shit, that Venator behind us is mine too...”

“Jesus, how rich are you?”

“Fifteen megabucks in the bank, own a bunch of stock in nice companies too. Anyhow, I felt a bit guilty about collecting those guns and never getting to shoot at anyone – you know, ever gun collector secretly wishes he got to see a real war. So I spoke to this guy I knew who was putting this team together. I donated some money to buy trucks and found people to man the shit from my collection.”

“Oh.” -Jenny tried to smile. - “Is being rich why you wear the suit?”

“That and I cosplay as Penguin.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. He was always sort of awesome. My friends call me Penguin, by the way.”

“So why didn't you let any other people in your truck, (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12779760&postcount=24) Penguin? It can/i] fit four more people you know.”

“Actually I wanted to, but they didn't show. We're supposed to have a few more people. Anyway, why are you here, Jenny – I guess you have a broken heart and the world doesn't uderstand you and -”

“Oh shut [i]up.” - Jenny understood why he thought so. Her hair was black and stood out in an array of spikes not unlike those on a hedgehog, her clothing was made up of an array of black leather and steel and exposed – among other things – her arms, which showed about a dozen cut marks. “More like, yes, my life sucks. I don't expect you to understand, and you likely never will so don't act like all superior.”

“Sorry.” - was all Penguin could really say.

“So why do you have this ancient crank gun in your truck?” - she pointed at the 1880-issue Gatling gun mounted in the back of the truck.

“This ancient crank gun pumps out just as much ROF as a modern machinegun, is more reliable, and packs more firepower in a round then these useless Kalashnikov rifles do in a magazine. You'll see.”

“Oh...”

A biker sped past them. His head was decorated with immense fake cat ears and he wore a fake tail on his camo pants. His shirt had the words PAFCON 2007 on its back. Penguin waved to him.

“You know him?”

“I know most people here. People call him Fluffy. He was in the Airborne. Real badass, actually, no matter how, well, fluffy, he looks. He...”

And then the quiet ended. Suddenly, there were two grey lines of smoke coming in towards the convoy's front and back – the trails of two anti-tank missiles. There was an explosion in the front as the track of the MAD-II tank fell off, the tank spinning to a stop and the truck slamming into it at full speed. Jenny heard screams of pain and agony and cracks of bone breaking as the truck turned over, throwing the people in the back out on the road, flailing like thrown rag dolls.

And then there was a terrible, long squeal as Penguin stood on the breaks.

Fluffy

He had just passed the front vehicle as he heard the explosions behind him. Fluffy – A.K.A. Senior Marksman Richard Bachman, First Furry Airborne Division, brought his motorcyle around to look.

The first two vehicles of the column turned themselves into a vicious mini-pileup, the men in the back of the truck now thrown around on the highway. Some where dead, some were injured, and a few seemed relatively unharmed. In the rear, the first rocket had missed it's target – naturally, the rearmost vehicle, a large blue van. Even now it was slowing down rear doors were opening, the men inside jumping out to escape what seemed obvious – and then became certain as two more anti-tank rockets hit the vehicle at once.

Bachman flipped his bike to the ground and then lay down. On both sides of the road were giant cotton fields. And now the people who previously pretended to be working in them were converging upon the road, rifles in hand.

Richard looked at one of them down the scope of his .308 ABR-8 [Allanean Battle Rifle, Mark 8] and pulled the trigger. The man's head tilted backwards violently, his jaw exploding like a broken glass. Then, before the communists pinned down his position, he flipped the selector switch on his rifle and fire a well-aimed three-shot burst at another man. The first hollowpoint pierced the Questarian's belt buckle, the second hit him in the sternum and pulverized his heart, the last one went thought his head. He was dead before he began to fall, not just before he hit the ground.

Fluffy's next shot went wild – the communist ducked just just as he was pulling the trigger.

“Damn you.”

Cecilia Savage

Cecilia got up, slowly. It seemed everything in her body hurt after being thrown out of the truck. Next to her, she saw the man that was sitting next to her just a few seconds ago. He was dead. The skin on his arms and his sleeves were torn, and bone was poking through on his right arm. His skull was half-flattened by the impact. She had no idea how she herself had survived. She tasted blood and knew – and then felt she had bit almost completely though her lip at some moment.

“Ow.”

She saw a headshaven man get out of one of the other cars – a Unimog. He was wearing a white tank top and a set of black pants. Tatooed on his muscular hands were a variety of symbols, and of course he was wearing two ammo belts – one across each shoulder - and carrying a Doomani 4M1 machinegun. He grinned like a madman as he scarfed up several different pills.

Cecilia loaded her own rifle. It was eerily quiet as the communists paused their fire and the Allaneans were preparing their weapons for what would surely be their last fight. And then, the voice of a single Questarian carried over the battlefield, augmented by megaphone so it would be heard by all:

Allaneans! This is Comrade Huxley speaking! Surrender and you will be treated fairly and generously! There are two and a half thousand of us in this Regiment. You are at an obvious disadvantage.

There was a pause – not because Allaneans were contemplating the offer, but because they were looking for someone with a working megaphone. A full and shameful five seconds lasted until a man in a three-piece suit and a top hat – the very image of the stereotypical capitalist the Communist Questarians hated so – raised a megaphone of his own:

Comrade Huxley, there are at least three hundred thousand rounds of ammunition in this convoy. It is you who are at a disadvantage. I however do promise to treat you and your comrades generously if you surrender.

A single bullet was the answer, knocking the top hat clean off – and then the headshaven man heaved the Doomani gun towards Huxley and fired it. He laughed madly as the Communist staggered, bullets ripping up his chest, tearing holes in his thighs, breaking his kneecaps. Huxley fell on his knees already dead, and then a final, triumphant burst of hollow point ammunition blew up his head.

And then the Communists charged.

Simultaneously, several heavy machineguns further away began to work on the column. It seemed the tractors and combines dotting the cotton fields served as a form of cover for them. Cecilia saw a man with a long ponytail crawl across the road, screaming in pain as a 12.7mm round had completely ripped his foot off at the ankle. Another one died instantly, multiple rounds blowing holes in his chest you could push a hand through. The Unimog sagged on its wheels, then started to burn.

Savage heard a deafening, downright earsplitting roar to her left. Before her, dozens, no, hundreds of small explosions tore through the ranks of the communist guerillas. It was the Venator tank, it's twin gast cannon hammering away at an insane firing rate. The MAD-II cannon fired twice, two giant fireballs blossoming on the tip of the barrel. Immediately, two of the tractors that the guerrillas used for cover blew up as if they were toys that a curious child had rigged with M-80's.

God, sometimes the Doomani can be so fucking awesome, – thought Cecilia.

And then the Communists were upon them.

In a terrible fraction of a second she understood what had happened. They had come from the other side, to the Venator was notfiring. She fired instinctively, letting loose a full magazine at point blank at a Questarian who appeared right in front of her. Cecilia felt momentarily relieved as the man fell, flailing almost as if he was still alive, there was another man next to her, and he was already raising a weapon. She thrust her rifle forward, the magazine jabbing him in the face in a classic Krav Maga move, his nose cracking audibly under the strike. He fell – and then she was sitting on his chest, pouinding his face with the stock of the rifle again and again, though he stopped moving already. Then she heard the sharp whistle of a machete cutting through the air. And then she didn't hear or feel anything at all.

Jenny Westminster

Jenny stabbed right in front of her, the thin, delicate stiletto the first weapon she could reach for in close quarters. The communist jerked instinctively, stepping back, the thin blade still stuck in his throat as he gasped pointlessly for breath, the pain blinding him, the blood flooding his throat and lungs. He fell, and she was already beset upon by two others – but by this time she already had time to reach for her brace of pistols.

In her mind, she recited that old high school rhyme she seemed to have always known. “Two to the chest...” The Glock-30 barked twice, and one of the communists dropped his rifle. There was a crack as the other fired his own weapon, missing her by just an inch. “One to the head.” The first attacker fell and Cecilia turned around. No time for procedures – she aimed in the Questarian's chest and pulled the trigger again, again, again, again, his eye seemingly exploding, his chest bleeding from multiple new orifices, the man falling, to the ground, fire more, more, more.... the magazine was empty and she still tried to pull the trigger one more time.

It was the bass roar of the ancient Gatling gun that made her snap out of it. She realized she almost got herself killed – and dropped the empty pistol. No time to reload. She simply drew another one – just as the communists began to flee.

The giant .45-70 hollow point rounds tore right through their bodies. Some where killed immediately, with a wound to the torso. Others were injured only – the giant hollow points severing hands at the wrist, cutting through femoral arteries, breaking pelvic bones, destroying livers and kidneys.

Jenny saw a young boy of maybe 14 drop to his knees. Maybe he was trying to surrender, maybe to aim better with his rifle – anyhow he somehow seemed to ignore Jenny. She was to his side – and she simply kicked him in the side of the head once, twice, thrice, and until he stopped moving.

She stopped.

There was silence. Around her, Allaneans and Questarians were lying dead or injured. She saw Allaneans walk from one Questarian to another. Sometimes there would be a gunshot. It meant that they found a live one.

The fields, too, were strewn with dozens of dead. Far away, tractors and combines still burned, and warm shell casings from the Venator cannon were scattered over the highway.

“Shit fuck damn it all.” - a headshaven fellow leaning on a Doomani machine gun said. - “What's your name, emo girl?”

“Fuck you.” - replied Jenny cheerfully. - “They're going to come back, you know.”

A wounded Questarian moved, trying to get up. The machinegunner didn't even bother to shoot him – he just stepped on the man's throat and crushed his trachea, then watched with a happy, laid back grin as the man twitched for about thirty seconds. Then there was no more twitching. “See, this shit is why I wear combat boots all the fucking time. That way I'm not as disgusted when I step on a fucking communist.”

Penguin

He shook his head sadly as he reloaded the Gatling. It was clear something would happen now – the Communists wouldn't just leave them like that. They would certainly come back – and the Allaneans had already lost half their number.

“Get back behind the vehicles! Take cover! They'll be coming back soon and you know it!”

But it was already too late. A veritable hail of bullets pelted the Allaneans, killing dozens of men before they could get to cover – and some through their cover. There was the high-pitched howl of mortar bombs – and then a vast explosion and Penguin knew that the Venator no longer existed.

He heaved his Gatling around, aiming it at the approaching attackers, and began to spin the crank yet again.

He saw the machinegunner walk towards the enemy, his augmentation drugs finally taking hold. “Die, die, commie scum! I'm gonna kill all of you! Come and get some! Get some! Get some!” - the headshaven man fired his weapon in short burst as the communists approached, and almost with every burst a man fell to the ground. He didn't notice his comrades falling beside him one after another, nor did he seem to care as the Questarians surrounded him – he merely swung around and hit one of them over the head with the machine gun, smashing the left half of his skull. Then another – and then suddenly he was by the flank of the burning Venator, grabbing the ax mounted on its side.

“Get this, bitches!” - he charged at the Questarians, oblivious to the pain, blood running from many wounds on his torso, his muscular body painted red from his own blood and the blood of the communist foe. One of them paused to replace the magazine on his rifle – just as the Doomani steel entered his skull, hacking straight to his brain.

The machinegunner fell on one knee, bleeding from numerous wounds – but then in his one last thrust, he lashed out with the Doomani weapon, burying it's tip in the belly of one of the Communists. The Questarian fell over – and the dying Allanean rose – not to fight anymore, but to stand proudly one last time. “Come on, motherfucking communist scum, is that all you have? Give it to me bitches! Give me your best!” - and then he fell over as a dozen Kalashnikov rifles roared at once.

Penguin could do nothing to help him – he was too busy spinning the crank.

Altanar Westerniel

The last armored vehicle – the MAD-II tank – was too at the end of it's rope. A track was torn and the armor pierced thrice, the driver screaming in terrible pain as the tank burned slowly him alive, trapped under the twisted and charred metal. The commander tried to escape the burning, dying monster, but was taken down by sniper fire. The loader was long dead. But by some miracle the gunner remained alive, and the turret mechanism still worked.

His name was Altanar Westerniel, and as usual, the prayer was on his lips in such a situation.

The Lady is with me, I shall not want,
For Her Purse it feeds me.
The Lady is with me, I shall not fear,
For Her Sword it protects me.
And She watches Her Warrior in the Field,
And Her Broker in the Market.


He turned the turret for one last time, aiming the cannon into the mass of oncoming enemies.

Glory be unto Our Lady Sirithil, now and forever.

He pulled the trigger. Even as the body fragments were still sailing through the air, the fire reached the MAD-II's ammunition compartment.

The ground shook briefly as the ancient tank tore itself apart. But Westernie did not die in vain. The attackers broke up and fled, only to – surely try again soon.

Jenny Westminster

There was another lull. She sat near the first Doomani tank, the one at the front, leaning on it's blackened hull, reloading her pistols, one after another. She saw Penguin and Bachmann approach her – as well as three other men she didn't know the names of. They were tired, bleeding, one needed to lean on his gun to walk.

“Hey Jenny. Look. It's still flying.” - Penguin said with a tired smile. She looked up – and there it was, right on the top of the tank. The pole was bent by the impacts and explosions, but it was still there – the Allanean flag.

“Remember that children's story?” - Jenny smiled weakly, too. - “But what kept that pole up at that awkward angle... were patriot's bodies... remember that, Penguin? I'm sure they taught it at your school too.”

He nodded. “I didn't go to school... but my Dad taught me that one, too. Say, Jenny... did you see any other girls make it?”

“No... why? Does it matter? They're going to come again.”

“Well... step back.”

That was directed to the other men.

He bent over and looked into her eyes. “Do you believe in love at the first sight, Jenny?”

She would remember it for the rest of her life – his bloodied face, with skin torn on the cheek where his monocle once was, and his smile, with broken, bleeding lips. And I thought nobody could love me. And suddenly she knew what that strange feeling was inside her.

“I don't, Penguin. I know it happens.” - and they kissed. It was a brief moment as she felt his tongue touch hers, his arms around her, protecting her, caressing her...

...and then she felt the needle boring into her arm.

“Damn you...” - she said weakly as her body became limp.

“I am sorry. I have no true sedatives. This will make you unable to move. Thus, they will think you are dead – and maybe you will survive.”

She couldn't say anything.

“I love you. Really. That is why....” - he kissed her again, then rose.

“Fluffy!”

“Yes?” - the other men looked on grimly. They understood.

“Are they coming?”

As if in response to the question, a bullet whistled overhead. They definitely were.

“Very well, men!” - Penguin looked at his 'troops'. Hedrew a large, gilded, Desert Eagle pistol and wraped a long, white gentleman's scarf around his neck. It was clear whom he would imitate in his last minutes. - “Fix bayonets! Prepare to charge the attacking Communist infantry! Forward, men! TAKE NO PRISONERS!”

* * *

By the time the next anti-communist convoy would come to that road, Jenny was just regaining the ability to move – or rather, twitch. She was the sole survivor on the Allanean side, and Questarian dead were everywhere, too.

When they finally recovered her, she lay alone, shivering and twitching, in the shade of that old burned-out tank with the bent, leaning flagpole.

And the flag was still there.