NationStates Jolt Archive

Antalia Reynes' Office

“A war bill? Why the fucking hell would I sign a war bill?” - Antalia Reynes blinked in shock. “What, is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No, your honor. It appears that intelligence had discovered weaknesses in the defenses of the Aperin region. We could go on a campaign of conquest like nothing before....”

“Stop the warmongering shit. I don't want to hear any of it!” - Antalia exclaimed. “This is disgusting!”.

The aide shrugged. “I agree. But they have a veto-proof majority.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes. Veto-proof. Even some of the Libertarians and Anarchists signed off on a haul that big. The only thing we can do is sign it. It won't make any difference, but we won't upset the voters.”

“Fine.” “ -Antalia seemed crestfallen.

“Your Honor, we should do what your campaign platform promied.”

“And that is?”

“Declare a war, fight it, and win it. Get Kazansky to command the invasions. Request the Menelmacari and the Questarians for aid. And let Alex have a free hand - and then claim the success for your own political portfolio.”

Forty days later, off the Cirdanian shore, aboard the USS Queen of Allanea

Alexander Kazansky could not believe his luck. Here he was, commanding the largest task force of all Allanean history, wish the chance to operate without the restrictions his 'allies' in the last War had imposed on his tactics. And today, he would have two entire continents as his playground.

His force contained over a thousand military ships and five hundred rented civilian transports to boot – and he was only two hundred miles off the shore of Cirdanistan – and he cuodl call for unlimited reinforcements. Even now, Kestrel stealth bombers were making the first strikes, dropping laser-guided bombs on Cirdanistani and Celdonian patrol vessels. Picosatellites were tracknig movement on the ground and on the sea, transferring target data to the Allanean arsenal ships and missile cruisers. When Kazansky would give the order, they would simply fire at once.

But first – such was the custom of the Allaneans – he had a speech to make. For this purpose, a podium was already prepared on the deck of the superdreadnaught.

Freemen. Allaneans. Soldiers.

I have returned from retirement. This has a reason for it.

The People of Allanea have entrusted with a special mission. The conquest of Aperin – or most of it Two entire continents will be ours – except what we'll share with our allies and honored friends and those nations that we will – for now – spare our mighty sword.

He was interrupted. Several wings of Kestrils went overhead, the roar of their engines drowning out all words, all thought, all emotion. They would strike their targets soon – dozens and hundreds of air defense arrays throughout Cirdanistan. A full eight hundred Kestrils would be deployed throughout the area – and that would be only the initial strike.

Kazansky grinned.

But few will be spared that sword.

He drew his sword of office. The blade was dark, having been tempered in the blood of fascist and communist troops on the day of the Battle of Baker's Landing. Kazansky pointed the sword at the far-off shore of Cirdanistan.

I hereby unsheath my sword. I am Alexander Kazansky. I am Her Majesty's Sword. I am War, Death, I am Plague, I am all four riders wrapped up into one – and I bring the wrath of Allanea to this place and its inhabitants. They have offended unto the Lady Liberty. Every day they breath insults her, and for that sin I shal punish them.

As Kazansky spoke, immense formations of the famed Zeus bombers passed overhead – but they didn't approach the coast. They launched a hail of guided missiles, smiting ground facilities on the very shore, sinking ships and destroying landing docks.

Soldiers! Clean your weapons! Today you will give them a new red finish They will be repainted in the blood of communist scum! All units, you are Delta Zeta Four clear on the entire continent. That is all.

May God bless Allanea.

And then all ships launched their missiles at once. A terrible red blossom of twenty-five thousand flashes rose, the ships were enveloped in smoke – and then twenty-five thousand bolts of red lightning pierced everything near the Northern shore of Cirdanistan.

It had begun.

Taniquetil, Vinyatírion, Menelmacar

"So it would appear," the Prefect of Defense said, looking around the table, "that the long-inevitable has finally come to pass: the communist governments in Aperin are undergoing catastrophic collapse." Lady Serendis smiled smugly. As the Soviet Union centuries before, the Aperin nations' so-called revolution had proven irritatingly uneager to make that final leap into the dustbin of history, shambling on in a political sense long after almost all outsiders had finally come to realize it was doomed. But Serendis had made this call long, long ago, and today she was vindicated.

The various warlords in attendance nodded. "This presents some unique opportunities," Lord Ferinion of the Third Fleet spoke up and pointed to the holographic map on the table, "First, we can exact long-awaited justice in the west. Second, one of the nations that has collapsed is Anhierarch, which long sheltered Lord Maglor in his exile. Naturally our approaches at these two ends of the continent should be as opposite as their locations, but both are issues we have long wished to deal with and both are issues we may never get a chance to deal with again."

"I think," Lady Naurelin of the Fifth Fleet spoke next, "that we should not really limit ourselves there. Our plans for SeOCC can be scaled to include several of the other particularly irritating realms with little extra expense." She drew her hand across a swath of the hologram. "And much of this area would make a fine nature preserve and country park. Perhaps even part of it could be set aside as a proving ground for student mages." Some of what was taught in the more respected praxea, after all, could not easily be practiced for its sheer destructive potential. With a wide empty land to work with, that could change.

Serendis nodded. "I agree, and so does the Elentári. I spoke with her this morning and she said to present her with whatever plans we think best. I have no doubt the Lady will be pleased."

Ferinion frowned. "Sirithil had best decide quickly. Allanean forces are already striking at the northwest. If reports are to be believed - and you know that they are - they will ravage the land like the orchoth of old. To a degree that's probably for the best, Allanea is a rabid dog that slavers and froths on a leash. But I would not recommend allowing an entire continent to become a charnel house."

Serendis gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "I agree; but fear not, I will deal with the Allaneans..."

----

Shortly thereafter, the meeting adjourned, and after a brief conferral with Sirithil, Serendis forwarded a brief message to Liberty City:

By the Voice and Will of Lady Serendis nos Fithurin, Prefect of Defense, Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar, to Antalia Reynes, President, United States of Allanea, given this forty-first day of Quellë in the thirty-one thousand, eight hundred seventy-fourth year of the Elentári Sirithil's reign, greetings:

It is our understanding that Allanea has embarked upon an ambitious campaign across the socialist wasteland that is Aperin. It is also our understanding that you likely disapprove of this, and of the... zeal with which Kazansky will carry out his duty. Allow us to take some of this matter - and with it, some of the blood - off your hands, as follows very simply below:

Menelmacar has considerable interests in handling certain aspects of the Aperin situation ourselves. Therefore it is our will that Kazansky's forces refrain from operating within the areas outlined on the attached map.

We are sure that this will go at least some distance to reconcile your principles and your politics. Menelmacar thanks you for your acquiescence.

Manwë send fair winds to your sails,
Lady Serendis nos Fithurin

Cemetary Bay, Cirdanistan

It was on that day that it became known as Cemetary Bay. It was called that because thousands of men would find a watery grave in it. The batle was only into its second hour – and five thousand Allaneans were dead. An assault ship was burning in the bay, half-sunk. On the very shore, a nuclear-powered hovercraft lay on the side, one of it's reactors breached, spewing coolant fluid onto the beach. And the beach was littered with dead.

Apparently ACIA made an error of some form and omitted key Cirdanistani base from the list of targets. And now people were dying because of that mistake.

“To me, Marines! To me, Brigades! To me, Disciples!” - Kazansky was there, of course, in the very thick of it. He was surrounded by Miriel Brigade troops – his personal “private army” of several hundred strong – Allanean Marines, and of course his four faithful disciples were there too. He wore no powered armor – only the black-and-gold parade uniform of the Allanean Army, his sword and his pistols. He was even using the sword and one of the pistols now, as the Allaneans inched onwards through the muddy, blood-tainted water. Tied around his neck was the famous White Scarf, the gift of the Queen herself.

The Communists peppered the bay with lead. Every second, it seemed, another man would fall, disappearing under the waist-deep water. But the Allaneans stood firm, taking time to heave their DR-83 rifles and take aim at their foes – and almost with every time an Allanean marksman pulled the trigger, a Cirdanistani fell.

Sometimes, a small explosion would disrupt the surface of the water, and a man would fall. With the heavy Kriegzimmer armor thus disabled, to fall under the surface meant certain death. Shells shrieked as they fell, sending shreds of flesh and metal through the salty sea air. Allanean battleship artillery tore into the shore.

“We can't take it, Fieldmarshal!” - a Marine suddenly screamed. He was a young man, and he hadn't seen combat before. And of course – so unlucky was he – a camera was right next to him, catching his moment of weakness.

What happened next was something Nolan Sobran, embedder reporter, would remember for the rest of his life.

Kazansky turned around, grabbing the Marine by his shoulders.

“Listen to me, man. You can go back if you like, or just duck under the water. You're waring powered armor. But you know what? I'm going on and so are all the other people here. Because there are people back home who trust us. Because your mother wants us to get on that shore, and take down that red flag and step on it. Because your girlfriend thinks you're a man and we don't want to disapponit her. Because the Queen of Allanea thinks Allaneans are crazy-brave soldiers, and we we don't want to let her down, do we?”

That sentence alone may have not been enough – but then, a burst of gunfire hit the Fieldmarshal himself. Kazansky dropped to one need, his uniform suddenly soaked with blood. A second – and he would plunge underwater completely. And then, just as it seemed the white scarf would touch water, he rose. He looked at the Marine for only half a second, breathing heavily with exertion, struggling against the burning pain. And then he started walking slowly towards the beach. “Follow me, Marksman! Let's make Her Majesty proud!”

He walked ashore slowly, shots plowing through the water around him – and then, as he was finally on the beach, it seemed an invisible string had burst.

The Allanean troops rushed forward onto the beach, screaming as they went.

“Hurrah!”

It became a brutal, terrible affair – the war of close quarters, of the flamer, the pistol, and the bayonet. The beach quickly became littered with Allanean and Cirdanistani dead – and even as troops were still fighting meters away from the water line

And Kazansky was still among them, fighting despite his wounds, his sword red with the blood of his enemies, his clothes soaked in blood, his face terrible to behold. Behind him was a trail of dead.

And the marine? The marine who almost retreated just minutes ago was fighting next to him. And three hours later, he was the subject of Nolan's most amazing photograph of the war.

The Marine, Marksman Jason Fenix, was the man who heaved the Allanean flag onto the roof of one of the bigger Cirdanistani bunkers - the first Allanean flag over Aperin.

* * *

In Menelmacar

Wilhelm Stossel, the Allanean Military Attache to the Eternal Empire, was waiting outside Serendis' office with a small datapad in hand. In it was the report on the battle of Cemetary Bay. In total, over twenty thousand Allaneans and six thousand Cirdanistani have died – but the Allaneans had their beach-head.

“Yes, yes the message was relayed to us. However... I have a personal request to make. I wish to receive an audiene with the Queen of Allanea. Would it be possible? After all she does know my sister.”

Near Cemetary Bay, Cirdanistan

"Fireball, this is Mother, we are giving you target coordinates now.”

Fireball' was Colonel Fiello Crichton's callsign, and the Colonel was already angry. Earlier that day, mobile Cirdanistani cruise missile batteries had taken out an aircraft carrier and a cruiser – and two of his coursemates were on the carrier when she was hit. Six thousand more men were added to the count of the Allanean dead, and the war hadn't even properly started yet. Somewhere out there, Crichton knew, Kazansky was debating the issue of trying the intelligence officers involved on criminal incompetence charges. He was more interested in the people more directly involved in the death of his friends – the missile battery's crew proper.

"Air wing, we have coordinates for the missile battery in the sector. Other air wings are being dispatched to deal with other batteries."

The dark-painted GLI-76 fighters spread out - five air wings, twenty-five aircraft each - moving in the direction of their targets. Behind them was Task Force Bayonet, their home battlegroup. The USS Augurnith was still burning, Crichton noted - it was not deep enough here for the giant carrier to sink completely. As for the air defense cruiser, little of it showed above water.

They crossed the shore line. And then Fiello's screen flashed red.

He pulled on the stick hard, taking evasive maneuvers (slang for: making random motions to avoid being hit) and firing off chaff to distract the missiile.

"Goddam-" - one of the fighters in Fiello's squadron was hit head on by a missile, another spiralled out of the sky, one of its wingtips shorn off by an explosion.

And then Fiello saw them - two SAM vehicles parked on a hilltop, long streaks of smoke emanating from them, the trails of homing missiles aimed at his wingmen. He caught one of them in the sights of the nose cannon and pulled the trigger. He was gratified to see the vehicle fall apart like a house of cards - assuming you cared to hit a house of cards by an invisible flaming tennis ball.

Seconds later three more Falcons strafed the other vehicle. And then they went on.

The missile battery was patethic. Four large trucks - two of them launchers, the other resupply vehicles - and smaller truck carrying an OTH RADAR. if not for the damage they'd already done to Allanean ships.

"I take the RADAR." -Fiello dived.

His weapons were two ATCM-50 bombs. Within half a second, 960 anti-tank homing submunitions were raining down on the RADAR truck. And naturally, nothing was left of it.

And then, suddenly, one more of the fighters Fiello's wing fell apart. He knew what that meant.\

It meant people in this unit had manportable anti-air weapory,and thati was actually useful.

Then Crichton saw five more aircraft come over the missile launchers, peppering them with ATCM-50's. There were flashes asd the rocket fuel began to leak, and screams of the people affected by the blast. Fiello grinned as he saw the Cirdanis below panic.

In that panic, someone started off one of the rocket launch trucks and tried to get away in it. The Allaneans responded by dropping another ATCM right on top of it.

Another pass - to make sure all launchers were down - and a return to base.

Only there did Fiello find out out that ten aircraft from the other wings were lost too.

Strangely, that made him feel better.

The Hague, Knootoss

As the usual images of blood and gore splattered from the television sets of ordinary Knootians, a policy recommendation made its way to the desk of the new Prime Minister of Knootoss. Ignoring the flashy war logo's KNN had managed to produce to cover this exciting made-for-tv event, the elderly statesman perused the document and stamped his approval.


Policy Recommendations – Allanean Invasion
Analysis
As the Allanean invasion of Aperin commences, it would seem that the international balance of power is about to be tipped strongly towards rightist forces. In the medium term, the MIVD projects a tactical victory for Allanean forces over local resistance. This “victory” will be obtained at the cost of great destruction, severe human rights abuses, and a vast occupied continent with ideologically hostile inhabitants which Allanea will find impossible to control. If the post-conflict situation deteriorates as predicted by Knootian intelligence assessments, the consequences could be severe for Allanea, the region, and the world. Continuing violence (even after a relatively swift conquest) would lead to chaos, and only inflict greater suffering upon the local people.

Despite their anticapitalist leanings, most Aperin states still have democratically elected governments. These governments will not be able to deliver essential services if the communist ideological structures that support them are dismantled. A forced collapse of the anticapitalist governments and economies that predominate would cripple a continent already in a state of decline. Its people would likely form communist-ideological resistance groups that could count on significant international sympathy. If Allanean efforts to depopulate urban environments proceed as predicted, a humanitarian catastrophe would inevitably follow as refugees are forced to relocate across the region. It is easy to imagine the brutal actions of Allanean forces escalating into outright ethnic cleansing.

An Allanean occupation of (northern) Aperin without outside intervention subjects billions of people to a foreign strongman capable of flexing whatever political and military muscle is required to impose order amid anarchy. Freedoms would be lost, rather than gained. The world-wide standing of the global capitalism could suffer if Aperin descends further into chaos. Historically, Aperin used to be a major test of (and strain on) the military, diplomatic, and financial capacities of freedom-loving nations. Failure to act could further diminish our credibility and influence in the world. Other communist countries could intervene and the radical left could win a propaganda victory and expand its base of operations. In short, the global standing of VERITAS and global capitalism as a whole could be diminished.

Policy recommendations
Countering political extremism in Aperin has for decades been a centrepiece of Knootian foreign policy, strongly influencing how we arew viewed around the world. Because of the gravity of Aperin’s condition and the regions vital importance, the Dutch Democratic Republic is facing one of its most difficult and significant international challenges in a long while. Even though events in Aperin have been set in motion by Allanean decisions and actions, the DDR has both a national and a moral interest in doing what it can to give the people of Aperin an opportunity to avert anarchy.

Without early involvement, however, we must be resigned to the reality that Allanea can carry out its plans even if our government and its allies do not approve. Knootoss should persuade Allanea to immediately launch a new diplomatic offensive designed to build an international consensus for stability in Aperin and the region. This diplomatic effort should include every country that has an interest in avoiding a chaotic Aperin, including all important players in the world. These key states, including the Dutch Democratic Republic, should work to reinforce security and a humanitarian transition towards liberal-democratic values within Aperin, neither of which Allanea can possibly achieve on its own.

The Prime Minister has already commissioned our intelligence agencies to provide an assessment of the security, political, economic, and regional situation, along with an assessment of the consequences if Aperin continues to deteriorate, and an analysis of some possible courses of action. These assessments should be made available to to Allanean decision-makers in the field.

Furthermore, the Dutch Democratic Republic should offer the international community to appropriate a total of no less than EUR. 700 billion to support the reconstruction of Aperin. Unfortunately, the Staten-Generaal is expected to have little appetite for appropriating funds after the war however, especially if most of the destruction is attributed to needlessly aggressive Allanean tactics. Allanea should be strongly encouraged to limit human rights abuses by its military forces and, wherever possible, spare the local infrastructure.

Cemetery Bay

The beachead was established. Now it was time to dig in. Hundreds – literally – of landing craft went back and forth to the beaches, landing armored divisions and mechanized infantry divisions upon the shores of Cirdanistan. Airfields were set up and trenches dug, and artillery prepared to defend them.

And soon, the Communist counterstrike came. Thousands of Black Eagle tanks, dozens of thousands of IFV's descended upon the Allanean positions.

Kazansky watched the approaching waves of steel and flesh through satellite feed. On the live broadcast, it seemed a ring of armies was descending upon Allaneans – Celdonians, Cirdanistani, Svea Rigans, even a symbolic Gauldagan contingent. With every minute the ring was drawing tighter.

“How many troops we have deployed?” - Kazansky asked.

“We have five hundred thousand on the ground, but there's more on the ships...”

“That is completely irrelevant. We have no time to deploy. How many BG's are coming?”

The aide looked a bit disconcerted. “Over ten million. They have air support and all. Fieldmarshal, is it not wise that we retreat?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Watch.”

The aide watched in terror and amazement as brilliant flashes of light rose simultaneously on different points on the map. None of them were anywhere near the enemy forces that were closing in on the Allaneans, however.

“What...” - the aide gasped.

“Orbital artillery. I just blew seventy billion dollars' worth of godrods on the surviving Cirdanistani airbases.”

“Christ.”

“Now we have local air and firepower superiority. And they think they have numbers.”

“They do have numbers, Fieldmarshal.”

Kazansky laughed. “You will see, my friend. You will see.”

* * * *

The Zeus bombers came first, escorted by hundreds of fighters. They did not bother to drop precision weapons. Rather, they attacked the concentrations of enemy troops with that trusted Allanean strategy - incendiaries. Thousands and thousands of tiny, twenty-five kilogram thermite munitions were dropped out onto the Communist armored columns.

And yet the advancing horde pushed on. They left behind the burning wrecks of tanks and carriers, but the main body of the force pushed on – straight towards the other 'surprises' Kazansky had prepared for them.

First came the helicopters – naval helicopters and Corvus ground attack helicopters. They rained down guided missiles by the dozen, and dozens of burned-out tanks remained on the field. Then, they strafed the infantry with their 23mm cannon – and then, finally, the communists rode into the range of Allanean battleship artillery.

“Salvo on the Ranisath!”

Giant 24-inch shells exploded over the ranks of Celdonian infantry, showering them in thermite.

“Salvo on the Queen of Allanea”

Even larger, 29-inch monsters rained death and destruction on the Rigans.


“Donner and Valens, concentrate your fire on Sector C!”.

Kazansky watched, grinning merrily, as a Cirdanistani SHBT was literally torn apart by multiple hits from battleship cannon.

And it was not eveyrthing. The beachead itself was saturated with artillery units – Manticore MRLS launchers, Samson heavy battle tanks, Corbulo field guns, 120mm mortars, every kind of over-the-horizon weaponry known to men. They baptized the Aperini in napalm, they washed their sins off with shrapnel, they dispensed the eternal solace of death.

At ten kilometers from the trenches, the Nakil tanks began to introduce them to their Pilum ATGMs. The entire line of the front was now dotted with burning communist tanks.

But the Aperini had claimed several kills, too. Their own artillery shook the ground, killing thousands of men, destroying landing craft and killing aircraft on runways. Two guided missiles had impacted an Allanean Elusive class battleship and exploded in the ammunition magazine, destroing craft utterly. And soon, they were within sight of the Allaneans – and more then nine million of them still participated in the attack in an active or support function.

Kazansky saw them coming, literally. He stood upon the hull of an Imperator SHBT, eyeing the advancing enemy forces through binoculars. The communists approached in a semi-circle, blocking off all directions on land, The very horizon seemed painted in army green.

“What do we do, Fieldmarshal?”

“The obvious. Kill them all.” - smiled Kazansky as he jumped off the giant vehicle.

Of course, the communists were many in number – but the Allaneans had advantages too. Their rifle cartridges had double the range, they were better marksmen, they wore powered armor shielding them from the usual 7.62mm round, and they were behind earthen fortification. Their Nakil tanks took down Black Eagles at ranges from which those could not even aim, and they even had two SHBT”s that could not be properly hurt by tank fire at all.

But the enemy were just too many.

The ground was littered with thousands of dead, cut down by Allanean fire. They simply kept coming, using their own dead for cover. The Allaneans burned them with flamethrowers, impaled them on bayonets, threw grenades – but it still seemed that there were many more enemies then they could possibly kill. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of Allaneans died, merely buried by the wave of flesh.

And yet the lines held.

Off the coast of Anhierarch, Menelmacari Operations Area, Aperin
43 Quellë, LM 31874

The first Menelmacari unit to enter Aperin airspace was a small vessel with forward-swept wings, streaking low enough over the water that its wingtips sliced through the dark night waves that languidly swelled beneath it. It was a Vilyúlairë dropship, from the battleship MIS Bregalad, attached to Warlord Ferinion's Third Fleet. In place of the normal 'passenger' module, the ship was carrying a large vehicle with it. A Malro class infantry fighting vehicle. There were in fact, two versions of this vehicle, internally similar. The other, was a cut down box that was functionally a high precision drop pod, and offered inferior protection. This one was 'the real thing.'

Inside the vehicle, sat ten elves, with two Ronyo (from a Quenya word for hunting dog) type infantry support drones, meter-long things that faintly resembled the Menelmacari hover-tanks of a thousand years ago, and provided roughly equal firepower in most situations.

The elves could be told as part of the Marine sub-branch of the MIDF by the blue background to their rank insignia, the highest of which was the pyramid of white lozenges representing the rank of Cár – Corporal – Hairayendi nos Ancalimë, a junior member of the Menelmacari branch of that nigh-extinct but influential house, and a relatively junior member of the Marines. Nonetheless, she’d won the Sapphire Star, one of the highest decorations in regular use, and this award was lightly engraved on her golden-colored armor, on her chest.

The drone-IFV dropped into the ocean of the Gulf of Aperin, barely felt by those inside it, but clearly visible on the wide sensor-view screen at the front of the passenger compartment. There were more conventional submarines on their way too, but for now, Hairayendi's squad were essentially the first.

The Elenpalantír web had established the location of an active military presence on the smallest of the major islands off the coast of Anhierarch. They were to investigate the facility and get a perspective from the ground. For this reason, they were wearing one of the heavier thermal-scattering cloaks that the MIDF used as standard, with a full suite of optical camouflage features.

Her squad was one of the Third Fleet's most experienced in this sort of covert reconnaissance. This was where Hairayendi excelled, in being unseen.

---

Singing softly under her breath, Hairayendi paused, standing lightly on the branches of a tree. Her squad overlooked the encampment. A razor wire crested electrical mesh surrounded it, several layers thick, with dog-teams… (she petted the Ronyo hovering next to her when she saw them, cloaked by its own optical trickery built into its skin, and a variation of the same 'field' of sound-dampening and optical correction that protected her) as well as high towers.

If she had to guess, she would say that the place was an old regional submarine base, but many of the longer, lower sheds that might have contained equipment or even docks, seemed in ill repair. Smaller structures dotted the area, though, and Hairayendi allowed the helmet mounted sensors to feed a zoomed in thermal image to her eyes, showing approximate locations of the people inside.

Clusters of heat appeared, and switched to best-guesses of locations of people. Dozens filled the building, closely together. The strange thing, was that they weren't sleeping on bunks, but on the floor. She supposed the area might be short of supplies.

She engaged another 'guesstimate' intelligence-program, and glanced at another corrugated roofed building. Interesting. Here, someone apparently immersed deep in freezing water.

Ah, the elf thought, torture…

Now all she had to do was… solve this problem.

---

Vinyatírion, Menelmacar
Two Days Earlier

Serendis came back from lunch to find the Allanean attaché waiting outside her office. She accepted the datapad, glanced down at it briefly, frowned, and ran her other hand through her dark hair. Serendis peered at the young man for a moment; it was true, the Stossels were one of the few Allanean families that, generally, met Menelmacari standards of civility, and Míriel had gotten on well with Wilhelm's sister. After a moment's consideration, she gestured with her head towards the office, unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Come inside, and we'll talk."

---

OOC: There's much more coming, naturally.

Near Cemetery Bay, Cirdanistan

"No retreat! No surrender!” - with a swipe of his Sword, Kazansky removed the head, right shoulder, and arm of an Aperini soldier, sending his body back into the anti-tank ditch before Allanean defense. There the corpses of Aperinians were alredy piled three deep. And it was going on in the same manner, as the Aperini, too, refused to surrender. Their bodies were burned by napalm, their flesh pierced by lead and shrapnel, but they were many, and they were, after all, fighting for their homes and their way of life.

It was just that that way of life did little to make them as good warriors as Allanean Marines were. Again and again the Allaneans were attacked, and again and again they drove their attackers back with grotesque casualties. In some places the Allanean machinegun positions had already become useless because Aperini troops were piled so high they obscured the field of fire. And yet, they kept coming, clambering over the bodies off their comrades.

"Grenadiers! Fire!” - several Spiculum launchers fired in a volley, another wave of Aperini attackers enveloped in the roaring fire of fuel-air explosives. Before the the Aperini could form up again, the ships in harbor added them some grief with several broadsides, tearing several large holes in what was only seconds ago an intimidating formation.

And yet they kept coming, runnnig over minefields, forcing barbed wire open, engaging the Allaneans in terrible closed-quarter combat. They were many – but you can't poke through Samson body armor with a bayonet, and the Allaneans utilized terrible ten-inch Bowie knives in that role. They lost some men, for sure – but they did not yield an inch, and they truly did wash themselves in the blood of their foes.

In the meanwhile, the aircraft carriers began their more grizzly work. Hundreds of fighters flew over Cirdanistan, targetting communications nodes, radio stations and government building with one-ton laser-guided bombs. Within several hours it would be impossible to command any military formation in Cirdanistan except through conventional army radios – and these were targeted, too, by anti-radiation missiles.

It was terrible, grizzly work. But it'd have to be done.

In Vinyatírion

"Greetings, My Lady,” - Wilhelm began, removing his hat, and holding it in his hands respectfully as he stood before the Menelmacari - he didn't dare sit down, of course. - “You understand, my story is simple.”

"When I was sixteen, I joined our nation's armed forces. I underwent training for the Airborne Assault units until I was seventeen, when I completed training and was sent for service against the Doomani in Africa.”

He blushed and paused. “Here's the difficult part. I only fought for about three weeks. I fought in Fieldmarshal Kazansky's personal assault unit. I met the man himself. But then I was transferred – here of all places. I don't know precisely... but it appears my dear sister has been sufficiently overprotective to call the Fieldmarshal and scream at him.”

"So now I'm here. I don't want to be here. I'm still very young, but I'm an adult and I have my own life. I was a good soldier for the Fieldmarshal. I even killed a man for him. And then my sister – of whose pull you surely know – used her connections to get me here. I don't belong here, really I don't. Now, if I could get an audience with Her Majesty, our Queen, I'm sure that... that our Fieldmarshal would listen to her and maybe take me back. He's in Aperin now, he's fighting hordes of communists. Wouldn't it be fair to say my place is there, with him, doing what I was trained to do in service for the man I respect the most – no offense, My Lady – rather then here, shuffling papers and filing bilateral reports?”

The office, naturally, more than any other in Taniquetil save a few, was impressively large, as befitting Serendis' status. The entire back wall of the room was a row of holographic screens, very cunningly designed to simulate with near perfection the view one would have if one could look out at the city of Vinyatírion from here - which of course would normally be somewhat problematic with the several meters of warship-grade armor and hundred-plus meters of solid rock between the interior of Taniquetil and the open sky. The holo flooded the room with the natural light one would expect with such a view, as well, and there was nothing save by extremely careful investigation - or some quick mental logic - to determine that it was false.

Serendis languidly turned in her chair to look out at this view for a moment, pursing her lips at the generally unpleasant subject of Kazansky, and tapping the datapad with the Cemetery Bay report against the open palm of her other hand, before turning back to Wilhelm.

"So your problem then, Lieutenant Stossel, is that you wish the combat assignment you can't have, and you wish Lady Míriel's intercession on your behalf, am I basically correct in this assumption?"

Wilhelm frowned a little at this, and nodded. "Normally, it would be beyond me to question an assignment, but because my dear sister had already interceded on my behalf in this... horrible manner, I am forced to resort to the same means for a better end."

"Horrible?" Serendis arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair and tossing the datapad lightly onto the blotter on the marble desk, and fixing him with the wise gaze of one a thousand times his age. "On the contrary, dear boy, she loves you dearly. One need only read that very report to see the scale of death being unleashed upon Aperini and Allanean alike even as we speak. How old are you again, Wilhelm?"

"I'm an adult under Allanean law, that's all that matters, doesn't it?"

Serendis shrugged. "Technically, I suppose. The point is - and take this from someone who's been around a while, and sent an awful lot of good people off to fight, and possibly die, for queen and country - you've got pretty much your entire life ahead of you." She leaned forward now, resting her forearms on the desk. "I know your... Allaneanness tells you there is nothing greater than to throw yourself on a communist's bayonet on some nameless battlefield, and who knows, maybe that is your place in this world. But you should think it through first, instead of begging to rush off to war the moment you see it on the holovision, and leaving your very thoughtful sister with little more than your name on a report like that one."

"Look, I've seen this sort of violence - I know my stint was short, but it counts, right? - and I've long wanted to be back. If you think all an Allanean soldier is, is some mindless piece of cannon fodder, then you're wrong. I've been trained extensively in the various methods of making the other guy die for his country. My training in the diplomatic niceties, on the other hand, approaches nil. Look, I realize that to you, we are all... not very well-bred and not very mature people. I mean you no offense - your culture is so deeply ancient it is only natural to think that. But it is really a mistake to discount my decision as rash and not well-thought-out. I've wanted to be back at my real job for a long while - it's that new war that just made me ask for it. I saw the Fieldmarshal in action. A lot of the good stuff people tell about him is really true. He's an awesome man, and he's always been good to me - and he needs me out there. He needs every good rifleman he can get, I'm sure of it."

"Lieutenant, you joined the Allanean military the moment you were old enough - not old enough in many places to drive or vote, let alone fight - and scarce months later you were already on a battlefield. By our standards this does not constitute 'extensive' training. As for diplomacy, your words tell me you understand Menelmacar, at least, far better than most of your countrymen, and for that matter, far better than you give yourself credit for, and this is something I am not anxious to lose, as it is a rare trait in your people. But, Wilhelm Stossel, if this is truly what you wish I will grant your request to the extent that I am able."

She paused a moment, turning to her computer, calling up some records; there was no monitor per se, just a mostly flat hologram projected in the air - 'mostly' because program windows were layered over one another. For security, the text was jumbled from 'behind' the holo, though to Serendis it was all perfectly readable. "It seems the Lady Míriel is not in the country at the moment; she is abroad on matters relating to her educational pursuits. But I know her well, and I know she would not want you feeling unfulfilled. I will send your government a message regarding your request."

"My Lady, I am most infinitely thankful to you. I hope you are not offended by my choice. Your nation is one pleasant place to work and live in - but there's a man out there that needs me by his side. I know you don't understand why Allaneans support the Fieldmarshal, but I do. Thank you so very much. I don't know how I can thank you, really."

Serendis looked at him for a moment, and gave the slightest hint of a smile. "Just don't get your name on this report, yes? You make good tea in the mornings."

Wilhelm continued, speaking quickly, as if worried she might change her mind. "Now, I have one more last question. You see, until the Fieldmarshal calls me back to his side, I'm still his representative here. So... are there any instructions I need to deliver to him in person? I mean, since, unofficially speaking, I will soon see him anyway..." - Wilhelm trailed off, and then smiled, the praise finally sinking in, along with the realization that she was doing as he had asked. - "Oh thank you so much."

Serendis shook her head. "Just stress what we have already told him, and to try to contain his zeal to at least some extent."

"Thank you again. I'll definitely do that. Am I free to leave, my Lady?"

She nodded and waved him off with a bit of a smirk. "Go pack, boy, before I change my mind. And make sure they don't send some tobacco-chewing halfwit in your place."

"Yes, Ma'am!" - Stossel was a graduate of the R. E. Lee Military Academy, Allanea's best, and it showed; there was a lighthning-fast motion - hat went back on the head, feet clicked together and he flashed a crisp salute straight off a parade ground, and then left.

Serendis looked up as the tall oaken door closed behind him, and frowned. Like as not she'd never see him again. It always was such a hassle getting someone trained to make her tea right.

---

OOC: RPed out in MSN with Allanea, added to and touched up by me.

Near Cemetary Bay, Cirdanistan

"Fieldmarshal! We can't hold much longer!”

Another wave came. There was not even time to respond – suddenly, all around them was full of roaring, angry communists. Kazansky fired his pistol until it was empty – and seven Cirdanistani lay dead on the ground – and then removed the lower legs off an eighth Communist with his sword. Around him his personal guard were making short work of the other attackers.

"We don't need to!” - Kazansky shouted over the din of battle. - “We have already won, Shiunji!”

His apprentice shouldered his DR-83, pulling the trigger once. Through his scope, he saw the head of a Svea Rigan colonel explode like an overripe watermelon.

"We -” the Fieldmarshal made a short slashing motion, sending another Aperini back off the escarpment - “have” - he parried a blow from another enemy - “already” - he impaled him on his sword “won.” - with a short motion, he forced the mutilated body off his blade.

"What do you mean?” - finally, there was a lull in the fighting. It would likely last all of two minutes.

"You see, there's a reason I told the air force to attack their comm centers and AA installations.

"And that is?”

"Now it's difficult for them to detect, much less act upon, what I am going to pull off now – something any kind of air defense capability would have stopped. But right now they have practically no air defense in the sector beyond SAMs.”

"And that is?”

"You are impatient, Shiunji. But look to the sea.”

Out above the sea, there were forty aircraft, approaching in a wide front, escorted by fighters. They were still many miles away, but Shiunji could already see them – so far only as dots.

"What the...”

"Ourobororii. All forty.”

"What's the point? They can't possibly swing so many Marines...”

"No. They're swinging bombs.”

And the bombs came. A combined total of one million tons of glide-bombs were released – from a range of sixteen miles, at which the Allanean cargo aircraft were still shielded by the Navy's EW and AA capabilities.

Within half a minute, the skies over the attacking Aperini forces became dark – the Allanean submunitions had blotted out the sun. And then the millions of incendiary and fragmentation bomblets began to detonate.

From orbit, the display would have been truly awesome. The entire semi-circle of Aperini forces was instantly enveloped in a sheet of raging, hellish flame. Everything burned – the hulls of personnel carriers, the ammo containers, even the very flesh of the Aperini soldiers.

"Jesus Christ.” - Shiunji breathed out with feeling.

And Kazansky was laughing. “See it now, Apprentice? Come now! There is still work to do!” - and he jumped down from the escarpment. “Follow me, men!”

And so the Allaneans charged forward. The Samsons and Nakils would attack in wedge formation, cutting the remains of the Communist force apart, creating pockets of scared, disorganized troops. Behind them, in the Bay, landing ships deployed thousands and thousands more fresh troops that would beef up the Allanean offensive that now begun.

Soon enough, the Aperini began to run – the Celdonians, Svea Rigans, and Galdagans far sooner then the Cirdanistani, who were, after all, fighting for their homes.

One hundred and fifty thousand Allaneans were killed in the Battle of Cemetery Bay. Two million seven hundred thousand Aperini soldiers were killed in the battle and the ensuing chase. Some were killed even as they were tryng to surrender, their arms still raised in the air as the Allaneans bayoneted them to death. However, that said, the Allaneans did take prisoners – a hundred thousand of them. In the coming days they would be charged with the heinous task of collecting the bodies of their very comrades. Many of those bodies were already desecrated, as Allaneans removed the heads, skins, and other body parts of their foes as mementoes, no matter whether military regulatinos forbade it – which, given the troops were Delta Zeta Four clear, they were not. The corpses of particularly good-looking Aperini women soldiers sometimes diseappeared from the very pallets onto which they were loaded, and there were rumours there was a necrophile on the loose.

Those corpses that were successfully assembled were then disposed of, in the same way the soldiers of Gondor had once disposed of the corpses of the orcs. They were put into huge piles, doused in kerosene, and then burned. The tall columns of thick, black smoke could be seen for miles away – which was how Kazansky had intended it, of course.

Then he let the Aperini prisoners go. All of them.

* * *

It was raining when Junior Lieutenant Wilhelm Stossel entered the Cemetery Bay Military Camp. He took off the helmet off his powered armor and smiled at the raindrops trickling down his face as he walked away from his cargo helicopter. Before him, a strange procession of men in orange jumpsuits moved out of the camp. The men were unshaven, and the women disheveled. Many of them looked badly shaken, as if they had undergone a terrible ordeal. Soldiers watched them sternly as they walked out and away from the camp, a variety of weapons trailing them.

Wilhelm merely shrugged and proceded towards the Fieldmarshal's Bunker.

To call it a bunker would be an overstatement - it was a glorified dugout with a ceiling made of heavy logs. In that room sat Alexander Kazansky and his apprentice, Shiunji Watanabe. He had been responsible – though Stossel did not know it yet – for the burial of the communist dead.

"Junior Lieutenant Wilhelm Stossel reporting on duty, Fieldmarshal.”

Kazansky was stunned. For a few seconds he simply started at Wilhelm, then blurted out: “Will! How in the hell...”

"Special recommendation from the Prefect of War.” - Wilhelm smiled merrily.

"But...”

"Look, I know my sister carries weight with the Queen. But I do want to be here, Fieldmarshal.”

"YOU FOOL!” - Kazansky barked - “What is this with this country? Every fucking asshole and his fucking dog worships some mythical figure of Kazansky-the-fearless-leader! Every fucking bitch has my picture as a fucking pin-up poster in her fucking bedroom! And yet nobody care that I'm a fucking person too! Because you know what, Wilhelm? Not only did I want your sister not to be upset, not only did I not want Her Majesty, the Queen, not to be upset with you dying – because, amazingly enough, I do fucking care for some people on the globe – but I want you alive, Willhelm Amadeus Stossel! I am struggling to keep my other apprentices out of trouble as it is! Why is it... oh nevermind. “

Wilhelm blushed a little. It was touching to him that this man – who had both saved millions and condemned other millions to death – cared enough about him to want to keep him, Wilhelm Stossel, personally out of trouble. “You caring this much is only the more reason for me to be here.”

Alex grinned. “See, now I can't well send you back. Given you outwitted me once and got your ass back on the battlefield, you clearly want to be here very badly, and I have little in the way of an ability to restrain you from it, other then physically tying you up – and then you'd surely say something about it, too.”

Wilhelm responded with laughter. “Yes I would. And speaking of being tied up – who were those fellows in orange prison gear leaving camp just now?”

The Fieldmarshal responded simply: “POW's. I let them all go.”

"You had... communist POW's and you let them all go? Why?”

"Because if you didn't notice, we have a long war to fight. It's untenable for me to keep hundreds of thousands of POW's all at once, and I didn't want to execute them.”

"Why?”

"Apart from how I'd rather prefer to kill less people if I can avoid that? Because I will use them as a weapon. A PSYOPS weapon.”

"What?”

"These people will now go home – to Celdonia, to Gauldago, Svea Riga or villages in Cirdanistan itself. itBest of all, they might rejoin the army - there's some units still left after what we did to them. And I didn't even need to instruct them what to say. “

"What?” - Wilhelm began to understand.

"First they'll tell people how we butchered their comrades. They'll shake from PTSD and tell people how the bomblets blotted out the sun, how. they had to work for hours and hours on end to toss their comrades in mass graves, how cruel we were. And their loved ones, and their superiors, and everybody who hears their story, will remember that the Allaneans are cruel, evil fucktards. We invade communist countries, and we kill their soldiers, and we remove their heads and some of us do even more terrible things to their bodies,” - he winked at Shiunji - “and we are generally hard-ass, mean mofos. Normally this would make them fight harder – but they have a way out. You see, these people are living proof – every one of them is – that while death is ineviable if you fight the Allaneans, if you surrender, we give you life and liberty. Why, they can't even truthfully claim to have been abused – unless of course you count MRE's.”

"They will know we did this with five hundred thousand ground troops – and that our deployed forces increase by the day, while I doubt that Cirdanistan has another ten-million-man army to throw at us. We are Allanea. We are death incarnate and inevitable for our enemies There's no point in resisting us. We will kill you and humiliate your body in unspeakable ways. But surrender – and we let you leave.”

"Had I instruvted them to deliver my message to their people, they would have refused or lied. As it is, they are even now doing my work – and I have not even told them what to say. My message will be all over Aperin soon. And by that message I'll strike Aperin harder then with a thousand bombs.”

Southwestern Menelmacar

Lord Maglor watched the workings of the factory with a degree of interest. To him, it was still occasionally amazing how some of the high technology of Menelmacari culture worked. Deep in the southern desert of Menelmacar, this heavy industrial building of the Luinilwë Aerospace Company was built underground, almost completely hidden from the surface. not even gases escaped to pollute the environment; all waste was dispersed in the form of neutrinos, and if those had any harmful effect, neither elven nor human science had yet discovered it.

The assembly systems that dominated the cavernous bay below appeared simply to be columns of shining light under which the lines passed. The viewing area in which he stood was protected by polarized glass that prevented him being blinded by the light as molecules were fused into the materials and then components needed for the items being produced. This particular line was making dense gravitic engine cells that would be used in a whole series of gravitic vehicles, many of them the customized vehicles common in Menelmacar. Others fabbed industrial crates, combat drones, or medical systems.

"You asked to see me, Lord Maglor?" came the voice of Ítanér nos Alalmë.

"Ah. Yes," Maglor said, turning away from the molecular assembly system, "I have a… special task for you. …Why are you out here, anyway?" he asked.

Ítanér grimaced. "Oh, you know, my Lord. My great-grandfather runs this place, and he wanted some help installing the new type-8 impulsers…"

"Well, in any case, I hope you don't mind tearing yourself away," Maglor said, in a tone that suggested he was confident Ítanér was just raring to charge headlong into some dangerous situation. "As I said. I have a… special assignment for you…"

The younger elf tried to conceal the cold feeling creeping up his back. "Really?" he squeaked, attempting to sound optimistic, with limited success.

"Yes. I'm going to a place called Anhierarch, in the forsaken land of Aperin. The very same nation that was the last in the long line of places I dwelt in my exile." Maglor frowned briefly. "And I need someone trustworthy and discreet to establish contact with what's currently passing for local government…"

"I'm sure, my lord, that they could probably spare me here for a few wee-–"

"Good!" interjected the elf-prince with a smile, "It’s settled, then. I'll pass it on. Anyway, I've lots to do. I'll see you aboard MIS Dant'harthad in an hour…"

----

Glasburgh, Celdonia, Northern Aperin
44 Quellë 31874

The city was... typically Aperini. The skyline was dominated by the featureless drab concrete slab-layout tenements favored by many socialist nations, although here and there crumbling monumental Stalinist-style buildings - veritable temples to communism and the worker's paradise - also pierced the angry clouds. At night the city was only sporadically lit; it didn't matter at this moment, though, as locally it was early afternoon and most of the light came from a steel-gray overcast sky.

In better times - relatively speaking of course - the sky had been dark with plumes of smoke from foundries and factories struggling to keep up with the government-determined needs of the nation. Now instead the plumes were greater in number but smaller in size, rising from furnaces and fires and - for the very lucky few - generators. Most of the foundries were dark, now, home to squatters or gangs. Some still ran, under the control of the various warlords that controlled pieces of the city and surrounding countryside; it had been several years since the government had splintered in a long-inevitable collapse, and when it had, literally hundreds of military officers had grabbed the materiel and men they could and struck out on their own.

Several of these factions had foolishly gone west to join a hastily-cobbled 'multinational force' in Cirdanistan intended to repulse the Allanean invasion - of course, few of their members had returned. There was a power vacuum now in several sectors and Glasburgh was in recent days convulsed with violence as the remaining warlords sought to capitalize on the situation.

It seemed out of place, then, to find a Menelmacari foreign correspondent in a navy-blue-and-silver robe reporting from one of the more major intersections. One might think he would have run into trouble by now - in fact, he had. The locals had already tried to kill or rob him three times; at every occasion, the gravitic shield projected from a small device on his belt had protected him, and the four civilian-grade knife-missiles accompanying him had taken self-defense to its logical conclusion.

He was on camera even now, beginning a report. Behind him loomed the ruin of one of the slab-tenements, bombed out two years ago in an airstrike by one warlord against another, which had failed to kill its target anyway (but had succeeded just fine in killing three hundred and twelve people who had lived in the building). There was a barricade across the street which had once been several cars produced a decade ago at a foundry in this very city with more concern to government quotas than consumer needs. Now they seemed unrecognizable twisted, blackened metal. The rattle of automatic weapons could be heard in the distance.

The elf, who along with his equipment was probably the cleanest thing for fifty miles in any direction, looked into his little hovering holo-cam. "This is Alyan Tristimdorion reporting for ISN from Glasburgh, the former capital of Celdonia. We are beginning to receive reports from the Cirdanistani front, and nothing of what we've been hearing is pretty. We've been following this story all day so far, and -- wait, I think one of the former POW's is over there..." Alyan jogged over to a haggard-looking man walking up the debris-strewn street wearing the orange prison fatigues the Allaneans had issued him - probably, despite the humiliation, the finest clothes he'd owned in years.

"Sir, sir, I'm reporting for ISN, I was hoping to get your perspective on what happened in Cirdanistan the other day. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for us?"

The fellow looked up and glared at Alyan. "What is there to tell? They're barbarians..." he coughed. "They slaughtered us all... they came like devils... the fire, the death... it was over before it began. They used gas, napalm... I saw men scream and die, tanks turned to ovens for thousands to be baked to death. It was over... almost before it began. Most of us who surrendered were bayoneted where they stood. They cut off ears and fingers and heads, and wore them like trophies, the savages! They raped and desecrated the bodies... and made us throw them on heaps to be burned... thousands of them. And then the fortunate few of us that lived still, they let us go, god knows why. Maybe a few thousand... out of a force of millions. So help me, if I see them again... I'll kill as many as I can."

Alyan started to thank the man, but gunfire rang out, sending the interviewee scrambling for cover and Alyan's shield snapping into place. "They're shooting at us again! Get a shot?" The camera turned to face a building up the street, where there was the flashes of an assault rifle from an upper floor. A high-pitched hum followed as two of the knife-missiles peeled off to handle the matter. It wasn't long before the gunfire ceased. "Right... I'm getting word from our studio that we have satellite footage of some of the aftermath of the Cemetery Bay counterattack. I'm warning you that if you have young children present, this may not be appropriate viewing for them."

The satellite footage was damning. Elenpalantír satellites produced remarkably high-resolution images in real time, and even at the relatively low setting cleared for public consumption one could clearly see Allaneans bayoneting a surrendering Gauldagan. Next was a short clip of a man likely only Alex Kazansky would recognize as Shiunji Watanabe, doing something - mercifully blurred out by a video editor - with one of the corpses. Another nearby Allanean cut an ear off a body and added it to a string of similar trophies. And so on.

Alyan continued in this vein most of the afternoon and into the night as Elenpalantír footage continued to be leaked to ISN and veterans of Cirdanistan continued to trickle back into Glasburgh. Other Menelmacari correspondents were doing similar work for other networks, reporting from various cities in Svea Riga, Celdonia, and Gauldago.

The message had indeed been sent.

This is Army Radio Voice, final hour. We are pleased to report that the Battle of Cemetery Bay is finally over. The Communist multi-national task force has broken itself apart on the Allanean bayonet, and even as we speak, thousands and thousands more troops, tanks, and assorted equipment are being landed. Army Marshals Al-Ghazi and Watanabe have been tasked with the command of two Army Groups tasked to deal with the survivors of the multinational task force as the army heads for New Grey Havens. And now, a song for our brave men and women at the Cirdanistani front.

Back home in Allanea, uncounted men marched through the streets of the cities, dressed in parade uniforms, every button cleaned to a crystal purity, every bayonet gleaming in the sun, the civilians cheering as the troops paced towards the train stations and bus stops from which they would be taken to the airports and seaports – and then onwards, to Cirdanistan. There, the Army Groups were formed from those troops that have been already landed by Task Force Aperin. So far, a million combat troops would be fielded under Kazansky's overall command. His apprentices would deal with the specifics.

O'er the earth the drums we hear,
Cannons pointed to the East,
O'er the Earth the winds will roam,
Soldiers follow after them.

New Rivendell was the town that caught Marshal Watanabe's attention. It was notable for being a center for the famous Aperini maglevs. It was there that the thousands of fleeing troops of the International Task Force would try to congregate, some to fight again, others to simply flee to their own countries. Further, the location would be the necessary focus for any Aperini strategic operations in the future. Shiunji was determined to prevent that – and yet he had orders to capture the city as intact as humanly possible.

Which is not to say he had no solution to this quandary. In fact, he had enough of a solution to relax as his staff helicopter carried him towards the next field of engagement. And the song on the radio was quite nice, too.

What's a Soldier's purpose?
Lady Liberty's breath!
What's a Soldier's calling?
Killing commies dead!

“Observe those forests below you, Shiunji.” - his master's voice rang suddenly in the earphones. “Doesn't it strike you as peculiar that nation with so much fresh land has to depend on topsoil imports from foreign nations?”

“Not really, Master. They worship of 'the environment' to exclusion of their own welfare. This is merely an obvious consequence.”

Somewhere, Kazansky nodded. “Very well. You are a good apprentice. By the way, I saw you on Menelmacari TV last night. You need to be more careful.”

“Yes, Master.” - then he turned to the pilot. “Hey, give me a FLIR feed, will you? I want to know what's down there.”

Lead and fire are upon us,
But a Soldier's not afraid,
It's not safety he's seeking,
He just wants the communist dead!

Below the tree tops, men were retreating. Some were still using the ancient, beat-up army jeeps often used by the Aperini armies. Most had long abandoned their vehicles after running out of fuel or bogging down. In the terrible panic that followed the Cemetery Bay defeat, many have abandoned their weapons too. That would be a mistake.

Perched in treetops, the soldiers of the Fieldmarshal's Personal Guard watched in awe as the ruined remains of a defeated army passed below them. Here was an officer, his epaulettes torn off, his face unshaven, trudging in knee-deep mud, unarmed and terrified. Here was a soldier without a shirt, but still lugging a belt-fed behind him on a long, torn sling that obviously didn't belong on it. And here was a corporal looking curiously at a carefully-folded parachute lying under a tree.

“This doesn't look like it's one of ours, Comrade Captain.” - he called out to someone.

“Who the hell cares? Keep going.”

In one of the treetops, Wilhelm put his finger on a remote control. “Come on...” - he whispered.

The parachute blew up. Or rather, the two kilograms of high-explosives Wilhelm hid in it blew up.

The forest filled with smoke, the cries of the dead and wounded.

From the treetops, the Allaneans began to take aim, picking off dozens of soldiers within minutes with silenced rifle fire. As the little sound that there was was obscured by the forest cover and the explosions roaring around them – every Allanean had planted his own parachute-bomb - there would be no way for the communist soldiers to even know where the gunfire came from.

They kept dying.

Sometimes, a man would hide in the undergrowth, feeling safe for a few seconds – only to then feel the muscled hands of an Allanean grabbing him from behind and the ice-cold steel of a knife touching upon his throat one last time.

Sometimes an Aperini would take flight with a group of buddies, only to have a black-clad Allanean appear from behind the trees and throw a bundle of stick grenades at them.

The panic grew by the minute, and within half an hour it enveloped a wide area. The Allaneans had killed a hundred people – two men each – and disappeared into the darkness. Their work would continue to do itself.

Every man killed in the panic would be attributed to them. The panic would grow, and the rumors of terrible devil-soldiers would continue to spread.

What's a Soldier's purpose?
Lady Liberty's breath!
What's a Soldier's calling?
Killing commies dead!

Shiunji's Army Group would begin to work by evening. It's first impact – almost literally – would be decisive.

Several wings of Zeus bombers had become the tool of his wrath. Even as the troops were still piling into the giant train station of New Rivendell – some to escape, others to find their commanders and reorganize – the bombers came. They dropped bunker-buster bombs upon the roof of the station, causing it to fold together like a house of cards – and killing eighty thousand soldiers and ten thousand civilians. Many more would be injured, and it would take hours and hours to get them out of the ruins.

Others trailed military maglev trains as they sought to enter or escape the city, sowing thousands of sub munitions in their paths – and turning them into flaming death traps. Fifteen thousand troops were killed that way.

There is nothing ever sweeter
Then to hear a statist cry,
To a Scout there's nothing better,
Then to see a communist die!

Ten miles south of the city rested the Red Morning Communal Underground Farm. Now, that farm was an underground base for the Aperinian Multinational Task Force – or, rather, a hiding place for thousands and thousands of troops, huddling together in pitch darkness, whimpering in the cold. Had they not been atheist, they would be praying for their lives.

At noon precisely, a single Zeus Bomber passed overhead, dropping six MOABs onto the location.

It had been a farm, then a military base. Now it was a mass-grave.

Shiunji waited for one day for the rumors to spread. Then, the planes seeded the city with leaflets.

Comrade Citizens of New Rivendell!

This is a message from the commander of the Allanean forces now moving upon your city. I have killed thousands of your kin, and am capable of killing you all. I do not flinch from killing, but I would wish to avoid it. Should you engage me in any of your silly notions of 'urban guerilla warfare', I will not endanger one of my soldiers, but rather burn the city to the ground. Should you surrender, I promise to cease all violence in your city forthwith, and treat you decently and humanely. However be assured: We are Allaneans. We know no surrender. We will never, ever stop until we are victorious. Resistance may not be futile, but it does mean death.

You have 24 hours to make the decision.

Shiunji was not very surprised when they surrendered.

Vinyatírion

The war room was one of several in the palace, this one was in fact, part of the personal quarters, a slight alteration to the Elentári’s office. A wide window dominated one wall, looking out over the sea and the city.

A tall dark haired woman dressed in a distinctly foreign outfit languidly stroked Ranisath’s ear, which he, having adopted, for the moment at least, most elf traits, enjoyed. “I’m beginning to see your point Valá,” he said, “this is too much…”

“Of course it is, my lord…” the brown haired woman sighed.

Sirithil, standing to Ranisath’s left, frowned, “The one good thing about this is that at least they’ll be eager to cooperate with Maglor’s operations in central Aperin.”

“There is that…” Ranisath agreed, “However. This shouldn’t be allowed to continue un-protested.”

“I agree…” Sirithil said, “Something must be done…”

“I’m sending a video message to their field headquarters…”


And so he did. The image had himself, his wife, and a few attendants and servants in the capture frame.

“Kazansky… I address this to you rather than your president, because it’s obvious that, regardless of the will of ‘your queen’ you’re still calling the shots… What do you think you’re doing? As far as we can tell, you’ve mounted a campaign with the sole aim of depopulating and destroying Cirdanistan.

“You’ve killed three million people today. For no reason whatsoever. Much as we’ve had our differences with the intransigencies of the region, they’re not attacking you. Nor, despite their ideology, have the states in the region ever actually oppressed anyone. Your own so-called Libertarian principles suggest that everyone has a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, no? I take it the denizens of Aperin have no right to live unmolested by their own laws in your book?

“I know it may strain disbelief, but as far as we have ever been able to tell, the denizens of Aperin are almost universally committed to the socialist principles they espouse, and have never needed death camps. Many of the men and women you have butchered today have doubtless never even beaten anyone up, let alone been the instruments of a Stalinist regime. How you can delude yourself into thinking your mass-murder of them for daring to think that things might be better if they didn’t have capitalism is any better than fascist mass murder of ‘thought criminals’ for daring to think that things might be better if they could have some control over the Leader eludes me.

“I don’t even remember Aperin having a war. These are people whose militaries have prised ‘hacking’ and economic damage over actual killing. Your ‘men’ are butchering pacifists as they try to surrender. I hope you feel big.

“Make no mistake, this is a criminal act you have enacted for your own infantile, Ork-like bloodlust, and if you do not immediately withdraw and make reparations to the region for your crimes against peace, there will be no forgetting it.”

New Rivendell, Cirdanistan, 24 hours later

“Marshal Watanabe, we have a problem.”

“Which one?” - Shiunji slumped in the Provincial Governor's chair. The real Provincial Governor was naturally dead. - “Let me guess, the food.”

“How did you know?” - the Cirdanistani collaborant gasped.

“Because you people are a bunch of communist morons. You use underground farms to preserve the environment. Underground collective farms. So even in peacetime your calory intake is a third of the average Allanean. I shudder to think what's going to happen now. This, Comrade, is Communism at its finest.”

“So? At least we eat equally. We don't have capitalist pigs eat in prosperity, while others...”

“Shut up. I'm going to try and actually feed you guys.” - Shiunji tossed the Cirdanistan a phone book. “You know how to use Skype, right? Call up these people. They are representatives of seven Menelmacari food manufacturers. Tell them we need food, we need lots of it, and we need it ASAP and that the Army will pay for it. If they ask for confirmation tell them to confirm my authority with Command directly. “

“How much food do we need, Sir?”

“... tons. Don't worry, Congress will pay.”

“Allanea's Congress can pay for that much food?”

“Out of pocket change.”

New Grey Havens, Cirdanistan.

Again, a steel ring formed on the map of Cirdanistan. Now, it was the Allaneans who formed this ring. It was round New Grey Havens that it had formed – a ring of armored vehicles, troops, cannon. The maglev lines were blown up at several key points, isolating the city outright.

Fighter planes had strafed the city's international airport, destroying two TU-244 planes even as they were setting to land. The results were spectacular as the slim bodies of the supersonic aircraft were broken apart, large fragments skidding across the runways as they burned. Another pass – and the airport was peppered with runway-denial munitions.

On the other hand, fighters that went over the harbor had less success – the CWS Revolution and its escorting AA cruisers were there, and the majority of the fighters were shot down outright. Only the missile cruiser Comrade Rumbiak was hit by Allanean rockets.

In the meanwhile, the Allaneans delivered a surrender offer to the Cirdanistani legislature. The response was more then negative.

* * *

“We, the People's Revolutionary Legislature, and the representatives of the workers, farmers, and intellectuals of Cirdanistan, hereby suggest that you take your surrender offer and stick it where the sun don't shine, as they say in your country. We in Cirdanistan actually know proper grammar. We further would like you to go home and worship your Queen, who is, by the way, a...” - Kazansky blinked at the paper. - “Woah. They go on for about half a page.” - His face was flushed, and in his eyes was the gleam of anger.

He turned to his apprentices. “Okay people. I do realize we're already Delta Zeta Four clear on the city... but much as I really fucking want to, we can't glass them. There's a variety of elven architectural treasures there. We can't. That, and I would like to at least keep some of them alive.” - he cursed awfully - “Fuck that shit. Right now I want to kill every last one of them. But unfortunately that's one of those things I can't really do.”

“So what do we do?”

“Like I said. We take the city.”

“Weren't we supposed to make an example of it?”

“I bluffed. Don't worry though. We're not going to be all nice and Knootian. There's a limit to even my mercy.”

And then the Revolution fired. The USS Morningstar took the first blow. For a moment, it looked as if the CIWS systems could fight off the hail of missiles – they took out one, three, seven – and then two missiles bit right through it's flight deck. Even as the smoke from the explosion was still expanding through the air, two of the escorting cruisers were hit too. Another missile salvo – and the Bec de Corbin began to turn over slowly, the huge hull pierced in several places and leaking water.

“Damn them all!” - Kazansky swore. - “At my command! Begin artillery preparation!”

* * *

“So wait. He called me a libertarian? And he says I want to depopulate Aperin? Ha! He needs to page the people in New Rivendell. Observe how not only have I not depopulated it, but am arranging for the people there to be fed at taxpayer expense. That's more then practically anybody in Allanea gets from the government, damn it. Had I wanted the people in New Rivendell dead, they'd be dead already.”

Wilhelm paled. “But, Master!”

“Will you shut up? All of this is bullshit. He should read the fucknig Congressional reports on the state of human rights in these nations. There are prisons in this very country for people who own guns, home-school their kids, eat meat, fuck me if I know what else. They sponsored terrorist organizations to kill Knootians. Their psychiatric commitment system makes Old Europe look downright cute. SeOCC is basically Big Brother on steroids.”

“But Master!”

“WILL YOU HEAR ME OUT? Will nobody hear me out? The very listing of stuff that they do just in Svea Riga that'd beconsidered a violation of human rights in Allanea is twenty pages long and Congress has it available in PDF. The “anti-cult” policies in Svea Riga are enough to fucking nuke the place to glass and start over. Fucking communist cocksuckers!”

“But Master!”

“He portrays me as some form of spider in a web of conspiracies. As if I started this war. Goddamn it, I was in retirement! I had nothing to do with the declaration! Fucking retard! But you know what? He's not-”

“Master, please listen to me.”

“Yes?”

“First of all, I will direct those reports to the Elenaran. But second, I believe you should treat him with more respect.”

“God-damn it, do you not fucking realize what he is doing? God, Wilhelm, why do you all insist on never fucking listening to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I'll explain later. We have a war to wage.”

* * *

Somewhere in Liberty-City

Moses Rachmaninov, Chairman of Allanean Arrangements, Inc., looked carefully at the Knootians in front of him. “Look, I can tell you who to go to – the House committee on the Armed Forces, the Senate committee on Foreign Affairs. Hopefully they will give you access to Alex Kazansky. He is the Military Governor of Aperin.”

“But the question is: What are those liberal democratic values you speak of? You do understand the Allaneans have a very different view of those values from you? How do you plan to adress that?”

There were many things that the communists expected. They did not expect the Royal Cannon Battery. Nobody expects the Royal Cannon Battery.

20 1000mm self-propelled cannon fired at once, their shells impacting the upper deck of the CWS Revolution with sadistic accuracy, punching through the deck of the monster ship as if it was paper. Within seconds, the vessel's weight tore it apart.

Then it was the job of the smaller Allanean Elusive battleships. They approached the Communist AA cruisers to cannon range and simply sunk them, one after the other. Only one ship was lost, the USS Samaritan, which got caught on a large Aperini anti-ship mine.

And then the Allaneans put in their sucker punch.

Over the large city flew squadrons of Zeus strategic bombers, the very machines that became the very symbol of Allanea in this war. From them dropped giant, parachute-retarded bombs. They seemed to hang motionlessly a few hundred meters over the roofs of the Cirdanistani arcologies as they detonated, enveloping the city in a cloud of strange greyish gas. Allanean artillery fired several salvos, delivering the very same gas in shell and rocket form.

“ZMI Psych-Out gas.” - grinned Alexander Kazansky. - “It involves weaponed LSD and a variety of sedatives. Within twenty to thirty minutes most of the population will be either asleep or having the trip of their life – and that includes most of the combat effectives.”

“But Master... there are men underground whom the gas will surely not reach.” - said Shiunji.

“That is correct. And that's why we're injecting Assault Batallions into the tunnels.”

They watched for the next half-hour as the gas settled and as dozens and hundreds of armed men disappeared into the tunnels of New Grey Havens.

“Very well. We go now.”

Thousands of armored vehicles rolled into the city, carrying Allaneans in powered armor to key locations. With the exception of a few people who happened to be wearing gas masks, there was practically no resistance - and where there was any, the Allanean troops easily suppressed it Then, they moved to tie up any unconscious – or 'tripping' Aperini troops they could find while the Kazansky motorcard went on to the Halls of the Revolution. There, the Cirdanistani legislators were rounded up by Kazansky's assault unit.

Minutes later, a rattle of shots rang out as Cirdanistan's highest representative body ceased to exist.

Underground, the battle was still raging – but aboveground, it was already over. The Allaneans were de-mining the harbor. And despite the low casualties – 25,000 Allaneans and 35,000 Aperini – the city was theirs.

Somewhere in Liberty-City

Moses Rachmaninov, Chairman of Allanean Arrangements, Inc., looked carefully at the Knootians in front of him. “Look, I can tell you who to go to – the House committee on the Armed Forces, the Senate committee on Foreign Affairs. Hopefully they will give you access to Alex Kazansky. He is the Military Governor of Aperin.”

“But the question is: What are those liberal democratic values you speak of? You do understand the Allaneans have a very different view of those values from you? How do you plan to adress that?”

"I'm afraid we don't really plan to address anything, Mr. Rachmaninov." The Knootian in the middle smiled confidently, showing two open palms as he shrugged.

"Let me try put this to you in Allanean English then: it is in your own best interest to behave in Aperin, seeing as the support of your political masters in Vinyatírion depends on it. We will certainly also be unwilling to help you out. You see, our goal is to create a stable, industrious and Freedom-loving Aperin. That requires a well-treated population and most of the infrastructure intact. Your governments actions will instead give birth to an anticapitalist meat grinder whose only advantage is that it will help curb some excess Allaneans."

His head turned towards his aide-de-camp, who spoke up in a more subdued voice.

"Our government takes this matter very seriously, sir. And we've already sent people to all the institutions you mentioned, including efforts to contact ... him." The name 'Kazansky' was avoided in clear distaste. "To tell you the truth, our department of Education is probably larger and more complicated than your Federal government. So lets skip a few turns on the bureaucratic wheel, please?"

The aide returned the nod, allowing for the senior diplomat to speak again.

"The Allaneans might be able to overcome resistance in Northern Aperin, you won't be able to actually govern an entire continent full of hostile inhabitants, let alone do meaningful rebuilding. As it stands, you cannot count on our aid. Rather the reverse, it seems far more tempting to help out the Aperinians and gain their sympathy when they inevitably regain independence."

The Allanean chuckled. “Our masters in Viniatirion? I think you got caught up in some propaganda. We respect the Menelmacari. In fact the public loves them. But our masters they are not. The very fact that we currently have a President that opposed the political will of the Empire would be testimony to that. The idea that the Menelmacari are... in charge here is an overstatement of the facts. Besides, I don't think they'd mind all that much if we killed every last Aperini – not, I add, that this is our point.”

"As for a freedom-loving Aperin... no, this is a key point. I would think that if you polled the nations of the world, every single one of this planet's 150-trillion population would agree they “value” freedom. Even the Reichites. Except I think the definition of 'freedom' I would give would differ to one Bitch Bridgette would give if shge were to answer the poll – and surely I wouldn't want to accept her advice, would I? I need to know your definition before I can accept yours."

"Additionally, I know for a fact that Fieldmarshal Kazansky is currently looking for a team of advisors to aid in the post-war reconstruction of Allanean Aperin. I understand you want these to be Knootian advisors. But they could equally turn out to be Menelmacari advisors. Or Questarian advisors. Or some other advisors what-soever. If you want to be able to sell your plan, you better have a concrete plan. So far I have yet to hear one from you.”

"I believe there will be a hearing of the Senate committee on Foreign Affairs in a week. So what you should do is either testify at the hearing or – and that is much the better course of action – travel to Aperin and get an appointment with the Fieldmarshal. Whichever channel you choose, you'd better have a plan by then.”

"And don't go about bragging about the size of your Department of Education, that makes you sound like barbarians.”

* * *

The Southern Aperini waters looked calm – too calm. In truth, dozens of sleek, black shapes already prowled these waters. The Submarine Task Force was already at work. Sometimes, they'd attack a Galdagan patrol boat on the very outskirts of the territorial waters. Sometimes, it would be a Celdonian cruiser that'd get caught in the sights of the enemy submarines. And if a submarine was lost, well, nobody really cared.

The Allaneans have deployed giant swarms of Rhapsody robotic mini-subs/cruise torpedos. They carried light weapons arrays – and in extremis, the sub itself could be used as a very larger 720mm torpedo.

The pilots themselves sat in absolute safety in mainland Allanea, giggling as they destroyed carriers, cruisers, patrol boats and even five oil tankers. For them it was simply yet another day of field exercise, joystick in hand.

For the Aperini, this was hell.

The Allanean chuckled. “Our masters in Viniatirion? I think you got caught up in some propaganda. We respect the Menelmacari. In fact the public loves them. But our masters they are not. The very fact that we currently have a President that opposed the political will of the Empire would be testimony to that. The idea that the Menelmacari are... in charge here is an overstatement of the facts. Besides, I don't think they'd mind all that much if we killed every last Aperini – not, I add, that this is our point.”

"As for a freedom-loving Aperin... no, this is a key point. I would think that if you polled the nations of the world, every single one of this planet's 150-trillion population would agree they “value” freedom. Even the Reichites. Except I think the definition of 'freedom' I would give would differ to one Bitch Bridgette would give if shge were to answer the poll – and surely I wouldn't want to accept her advice, would I? I need to know your definition before I can accept yours."

"Additionally, I know for a fact that Fieldmarshal Kazansky is currently looking for a team of advisors to aid in the post-war reconstruction of Allanean Aperin. I understand you want these to be Knootian advisors. But they could equally turn out to be Menelmacari advisors. Or Questarian advisors. Or some other advisors what-soever. If you want to be able to sell your plan, you better have a concrete plan. So far I have yet to hear one from you.”

"I believe there will be a hearing of the Senate committee on Foreign Affairs in a week. So what you should do is either testify at the hearing or – and that is much the better course of action – travel to Aperin and get an appointment with the Fieldmarshal. Whichever channel you choose, you'd better have a plan by then.”

"And don't go about bragging about the size of your Department of Education, that makes you sound like barbarians.”

Smiling faintly, the senior Knootian representative reached into his diplomatic briefcase. From its contents he removed a ten-by-fifteen-by-one-centimetre cuboid with a large display/input screen. (One of several in his apparent possession.) The back of the device was marked with the Knootian national weapon (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v462/ITDGov/knootoss.gif), identifying it as an official reader for official government electronic documents. Several holes at the bottom implied compatibility with foreign computer systems; at least for this particular model.

Typing in an access code of sorts, the senior diplomat accessed an elegant presentation of the Knootian plan for post-war Aperin. Timetables, resource requirements, infrastructure rebuilding estimations, breakdowns of political and ethnic demographic divisions, and the proposed reconstruction effort put in a historical context. It was all there.

"I'm glad you asked about our plans, Moses", he grimaced as he handed the reader over to the Allanean. "We've done our homework, and if you study our proposals I'm sure you'll find that our interests do not need to diverge on this issue."

70°17'N 165°26'W, In Orbit Over the United States of Allanea, Haven

In space, the USWS Exterminator and USWS Planet Shifter took up their positions as appropriated by their commanders. On a mission designated as 'research and development', they were joined by twelve other ortillery mega-ships and began to activate their on board equipment as necessitated by the mission's classification and requirements. Not so much weapons testing as much as just making sure that military equipment were still working, crew on board the ships were told to make sure that all safeties that prevented an actual ortillery strike were activated. 'No use causing an incident,' the Department of Defense would have thought to themselves, 'Over something that could have easily been prevented'.

Various governments that controlled territory below them in the meanwhile were notified of the activity, and were told that they had nothing to fear.

Within the Silver Structure, New New York, the United States of Wadestown

Meanwhile, on a completely unrelated matter President Jack Maddox had called an emergency meeting with his Ministers and advisers. With the Minister for Defense at his right, the President began the meeting with a congratulation to the Education Minister on his daughter getting married.

"On more important matters," the President turned to the topic of the meeting. "I am sure you are all aware of the atrocities being committed by the United States of Allanea on the Aperin' continent."

A quick tape was shown, footage taken by the Menelmacari ISN just a day or so earlier. Silence ensured around the table they were sitting at, in the Briefing Room at the Silver Structure. President Maddox would continue.

"With your support, and the support of the three-hundred and forty sixth Congress of the United States of Wadestown, I would like to address this issue by delivering an ultimatum... that the freedom loving peoples of all over the world would not tolerate this sort of barbaric behavior, and their fear-perpetuating violence in the world as we know it."

"You do realize that Allanea has more allies than us, and probably more military experience?" interjected the Minister of Defense. "I don't mean to be a pessimist, but we can hardly control the issue."

"Once the world has realized just what kind of a mad state that Allanea is, one can take refuge in the fact that there are still voices of reason throughout the international community. We may not know them personally yet, but we can lead the charge against this kind of behavior. I doubt we will be the only ones who find their crimes against humanity unacceptable," the President replied. "And even if we do remain alone, we have the resources to severely damage the Allaneans if not defeat them entirely. Remember, experience only counts for something if you've managed to learn from your mistakes."

A unanimous decision was made that day; the President and his Ministers would announce their ultimatum as soon as it was conveniently possible.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/wadestown.jpg

This is an Official Government Announcement by the United States of Wadestown
"The Problems of the Future, Today"
Proudly Sponsored by Coca Cola and the Smiths Crisps Corporation

With a healthy respect to sentient rights, the United States of Wadestown has sought out to promote democracy, the free market, and freedom throughout the world as we know it. Yet, we have yet to mobilize one of the largest military forces in the world, in all of its capability, efficiency, and size. One must wonder in the meantime, if this is possible, how is it that in almost every chapter of human history, we can observe that the United States of Allanea has been somehow involved not only militarily, but destructively to the human and sentient race. Over one billion sentients have had their lives ended by the United States of Allanea, and more than a countable amount of human rights abuses have been recorded. Mass murder, for example, has become the hallmark of a military campaign by popular leader Alexander Kazansky.

Wanted throughout the world by governments on charges of crimes against humanity, his reign of terror and the spreading of disaster continues to remain unchecked. Nevermind his Government's reasons for going to war in the first place... a simple understanding of the now defunct Geneva Convention would assist in the understanding that Alexander Kazansky is of the criminally insane. It is with this cause, and of his Government's notable warcrimes such as Mass Murder occurring on the continent of Aperin against a peoples who desire only peaceful independance, that we of the undersigned have been forced to deliver this ultimatum.

In the interests of protecting an otherwise under-defended peoples, against a force of recklessness, hatred, and evil that would rather see them dead for their beliefs rather than safe, the United States of Wadestown hearby decrees that the United States of Allanea will cease all military activity against otherwise peaceful countries located on the Aperin continent, effective immediately, and consequently will withdraw all military forces from the region as soon as it is logistically possible.

If the United States of Allanea fails to agree to this ultimatum within 72 hours, a state of war shall exist between the United States of Wadestown and itself, with the consequences of such to be designed in such a way that we will maximize the impact of our attempts to force the government of Allanea into a state of peace with the peoples and governments of Aperin. We shall in the meantime, hold responsible those found by a Court of Law to be in contradiction to the former Geneva Convention, if such a trial is made possible. The United States of Allanea shall and will bow to the terms as proposed by this document, or so help them God.

Signed,

President Jack Maddox
The United States of Wadestown

Minister Gordon Owlon
Department of Defense

Minister Patrick Engels
Department of Foriegn Relations

In Allanea

“This is a very interesting plan” - the Allanean smiled - “So whom do you want to see? I really suggest you go to Aperin. I think they're going to get the New Grey Havens Airport fixed really soon.”


In Tellenic Aperin

The Allanean armored line was truly an impressive sight. From orbit, the Allanean line was seen as a giant steel wedge, the front edges of it a combined length of approximately two thousand kilometers. The force contained sixty armored divisions – 18,000 main and heavy battle tanks and 45,000 other vehicles, the tip of the spearhead provided by three Imperator SHBT's. By nature of the process, the speed of the immense convoy was only at best 45 miles per hour, limited by the speed of the lumbering steel monsters in the lead – but that actually was an advantage.

In the rear of the giant armored column moved the self propelled cannon. They moved by dashes, stopping to unleash several salvos at some hapless Aperini patrol, and then pushed on to catch up with the column. In the front, scores of Doomani-made helicopters scouted, providing ranging and sighting for the artillery and dropping bombs on various enemy installations. The Tellenic Empire stood no chance against a force of this size.

The tactic chosen was of one, concentrated, strike on the capital, preceded by rapid bombings of military installations around it. The Kestril and Sariel bombers did their usual job – rapid penetration into RADAR screens, delivery of precision munitions. Within days, the Allaneans enveloped the capital entire. The locals, with the fate of New Grey Havens before them on one hand, and of New Rivendell on the other, surrendered rapidly.

But it seemed not all would go as smoothly in the future.

The Rigans had known for weeks that Allanea would go for them next – but their military had no contingency training for attacks from inside Aperin. There were practically no permanent fortifications on the Svea Riga-Cirdanistan border. And so the Rigans had taken their cue as the Allaneans fought in Tellenic Aperin, preparing frantically for war. Resources were rallied, anti-tank ditches dug, ammunition factories stepped up production, reserves were called out. The nation prepared to fight.

This could – and likely would – prove to be a sort of problem.

OOC:

The very fact that we currently have a President that opposed the political will of the Empire

Danger, Danger Will Robinson. Gross Factual Error. We approved of her. We would dearly like her to have her way on this issue too, as in the first post. She's the first Allanean president Ranisath has actually deigned to visit.

OOC: That wasn't known until after she got elected though. Now let's actually NOT have a debate about this stuff in the thread, please.

OOC: Denied; retcon'd.

You really can't do something of this magnitude in this fashion to an entire continent of people who pelted your existence with IGNORE weaponry.


IC:

http://www.louisiana.edu/~lst4606/ns/Galdago/gnw.gif

In weather this week, sailing on the Pacífico Inlet is expected to be smooth, with winds out of the SSW at 2 knots. Chop on the Narangath Ocean is predicted to be light with a 30% chance of scattered showers on Friday and clearing into the weekend.

OOC: Just thought I'd like to point out this post [#18], since it became subject to a moderator's approval and I didn't want it to get missed. Link not included to prevent my OOC comment from being forced into some waiting list and therefore possibly missed.

OOC: At the player's request, I have removed references to Galdago or Galdagans from any of my posts which had them (as far as I could see, just one). Galdago and its people will no longer feature in my roleplay in any capacity. All Galdagans in my posts have been replaced by Gauldagans, residents of a country remarkably similar but in all respects completely unrelated to Galdago. I deeply apologize any inconvenience this may have caused. *diabetically-sweet smile*

OOC: At the player's request, I have removed references to Galdago or Galdagans from any of my posts which had them (as far as I could see, just one). Galdago and its people will no longer feature in my roleplay in any capacity. All Galdagans in my posts have been replaced by Gauldagans, residents of a country remarkably similar but in all respects completely unrelated to Galdago. I deeply apologize any inconvenience this may have caused. *diabetically-sweet smile*

OOC: Seconded.

OOC: I approve this RP! Forward, Gauldagan comrades!

OOC: Clearly I need to sue under Menelmacari standards of infringement of intellectual property. Except I'm not very good at pretending to be a capitalist pig-dog. Though impersonating me could be grounds for harassment. *peer* On another note it's still a non-consenting interjection into a multiverse where Allanea does not exist. However, feel free to toast SeaORC, Kreldonia, Cordanistan, Hellenic Aperin, Xikwing, and so on... :P As a practical matter, destroying the rest of Galdago's multiverse is an equally complex infringement on my concept, after all.

Carry on.

OOC: Clearly I need to sue under Menelmacari standards of infringement of intellectual property.
OOC: Assuming Menelmacar even has such a legal concept. Of course, even then, it'd surely not apply to nations (parody, don'cha know), and an actual examination of the posts made by Siri and I in this thread, as opposed to those made by Бoгіѕ/Allanea, would reveal that we have nothing like the same agenda of widespread destruction and mayhem. Indeed, about the limits of Siri's plans, as related to me, are shooting up a few pirates/slavers, sinking a big, semi decomissioned ship, shelling some banditos, arresting mercenaries and providing material aid to the vast quantities of refugees created by the Boris-ite invasion. At no point does the Menelmacari plan actually involve permanant military presence, attacks on commissioned Aperini forces, attacks on civillians, or claims of sovereignty over the area. The only reason she's actually interested in doing it is to write something big and flashy - we're currently thinking of doing a few thousand word megapost about it some time next week.
Except I'm not very good at pretending to be a capitalist pig-dog. Though impersonating me could be grounds for harassment. *peer*
Nah. If Sacco&V's hilarious Sea-Ox parody isn't objectionable, I don't see why Gauldago should be.

Incidentally, while you're here, could you explain for the benefit of Allanea, that it's unlikely your nation, or its contemporaries, have prison populations comparable to those of the United States of America. He explained that 'assumption' to me out of character. My reply was that as socialists, you're probably not imprisoning people for life over prank calling a police station three times, or having a gramme of pot. I've been attempting to explain that with a lack of poverty (or at least, bourgeoisie to steal from for profit) and disenfranchisement, limited scope for crimes such as fraud, along with what I expect would be fairly liberal criminal codes and lenient sentancing policies, nothing like the same level of prison population should exist.

He disagrees on the principle that you're 'less free' than he is, according to Allanean standards. Of course, I suppose I could be wrong, and Aperini-states being mazes of gulags and rat filled mexican jails, but I'd like to hear your ideas on the Galdagan penal/reform system...
As a practical matter, destroying the rest of Galdago's multiverse is an equally complex infringement on my concept, after all.
I'd think you'd have had to learn to get on without them of late, given their lack of activity...

...as opposed to those made by Бoгіѕ/Allanea, would reveal that we have nothing like the same agenda of widespread destruction and mayhem.

OOC: My primary problem with this thread, actually.

Regarding the latter, my companions' lack of activity is irrespective of fact that their nations still, indeed, do not exist in the world where this scenario campaign has been launched, given how interactions between the two bodies have been large-scale written off since eons past. My point is that this thread is a very bad farce, and in poor taste. While you're welcome to post to your heart's content, any storylines developed here will be IGNORED by Galdago's continuum (necessarily now, since it appears this country has been cut out) and likely by any other nation directly mentioned herein. Just dropping by to leave a note that your actions are not cooperatively sanctioned nor is this storyline being jointly developed.

If any of you who are not Boris wish to sow mayhem in Galdago, however, contact me regarding something slightly more covert and disasterous that you may do to my poor helpless nation that I'll be certain I'll never discover the origins of and am helpless to defend against. Best bet may be the test orbital microwave power station we sent up years ago. Alternatively there are several ground-based objectives that have potential as well. Maybe some deviance at the Central Economic Planning Bureau, though actual economic planning is a bastardized decentralized model and that may cause less trouble than it sounds like it might.

OOC: Regarding prison populations, the only place you'll find excessive amounts is perhaps the overzealously paranoid SeOCC, and they've been cleverly hidden somewhere in dark places never to return. All the same, there are far too many social liberties and accepted forms of deviance to expect large prison populations, which may be the reason "crime" is so rife in Galdago. Who knows?

OOC: My primary problem with this thread, actually.

Regarding the latter, my companions' lack of activity is irrespective of fact that their nations still, indeed, do not exist in the world where this scenario campaign has been launched, given how interactions between the two bodies have been large-scale written off since eons past. My point is that this thread is a very bad farce, and in poor taste. While you're welcome to post to your heart's content, any storylines developed here will be IGNORED by Galdago's continuum (necessarily now, since it appears this country has been cut out) and likely by any other nation directly mentioned herein. Just dropping by to leave a note that your actions are not cooperatively sanctioned nor is this storyline being jointly developed.

OOC: Your primary problem is that Siri doesn't have an agenda of destruction, or that Бoгіѕ does?

In any case, while it might not be of any use to you, I think I can pin down the origin of this 'style' of activity to the The Planet Mars region. Because that deals with a solidly extant map with limited space on the planet, when nations go inactive, it's become customary over the years to assume that they 'fall into anarchy,' disappear, or otherwise cease to exist as states, and generally have someone else take over their territories.

OOC: Your primary problem is that Siri doesn't have an agenda of destruction, or that Бoгіѕ does?

OOC: That Boris is quite in a hurry to burn everything to a crisp and annex the territory. Or roughly equivalent. See previous page for offerings of potential naughtiness you can cause much to my heart's content in Galdago. You know, if you disable that microwave power system, that thing was powering a lot of the southern grid last I checked. Galdago was a primary electricity exporter in the region. Either way, yes. Quite wanktacular. Not surprising form for Allanea but overzealous to say the least.

OOC: Thing is, hard as it is to believe, we're primarily motivated by benevolence, jelly babies, and cuddles. Unlike Boris, we're not out to crusade against the evil Communists (except SeOCC maybe. Who's just too hilarious when he's angry not to do bad things to now and then...) :p

OOC: Thing is, hard as it is to believe, we're primarily motivated by benevolence, jelly babies, and cuddles. Unlike Boris, we're not out to crusade against the evil Communists (except SeOCC maybe. Who's just too hilarious when he's angry not to do bad things to now and then...) :p

OOC: It's so hard to find good motivation for conflict these days. :(

Picture Archibald Meredith Cavendish-Smythe - raconteur, lothario and seasoned Excessive Self-Endangerer - reclining on a kelp bed floating some fifty miles offshore of the hazy western Aperin seaboard. Call him Archie. See him drained him of his customary energy by his latest dalliances with the Narangath Ocean's more aggressive sea creatures. Perhaps it is age, perhaps a lack of new challenges, but Archie senses the onset of ennui and is profoundly disturbed. The clouds of melancholy are not lifted by the recent mangling of his splendid tweed jacket by a particularly tenacious bugger of a shark.

Witness his shock as a flotilla of foreign military vessels pass him by and proceed to launch their fearsome firepower at... at what, exactly. Curious it is, but these mighty powers seem hell-bent on attacking an unconquerable and perhaps even invisible foe.

Listen, as Archie is roused to speak.

"Well bugger me blind and drop crabs in m'jockstrap. I've seen wizened old men scale sheer cliffs wearing nowt but a smear of blue paint on their buttocks; bewhiskered ginhounds streak through nunneries with their todgers on fire; cigar-smoking renegade catastrophologists tightrope-walk over acrid vats of Grand Old Hackney Rum... but these fellas...

... they're insane."

Note the fevered, crazed features of the captain of one of these ships, eyes fixed on his nemesis, what-and-wheresoe'er it may be.

"Hmph. Next they'll be squeezing sperm. Wankers."

20 kilometers inside Svea Riga

The first tank battle inside Svea Riga has been short and brutal. Six Nakils had been lost, two still on their tank carrier trucks, and one Ironheart was a burned-out metallic coffin lying on its side in a small creek that would remain unnamed. That was done by only two Rigan tank crews. One of these tanks, a well-camouflaged Black Eagle, still remained unharmed.

They have fought an Allanean army unit and defeated it, inflicting seven-to-one casualties. Wilhelm could not deny it was impressive. In fact, he would freely admit he respected those people and their tenacity in defending their system.

But then again, it was his duty to destroy that system.

Right now, Wilhelm Stossel was folding his parachute. Then he would bury it, together with his other team mates. They were six, without powered armor, heavy weapons, or air support – and behind enemy lines.

Their first operation was simple.

It happened on a tiny, unimportant forest path only half a mile from where Allanea's first armored recon unit was destroyed. They waited, hidden by tree branches and undergrowth, until a Rigan patrol vehicle passed by. Wilhelm Stossel fired the first shot, killing the driver immediately – a DRS-83 cannot miss at a close range. Then, as the car skidded to a stop, the other Allaneans fired several hundred rounds into it as the Rigans scrambled to open the doors and return fire.

Wilhelm reveled in the success – his first mission in command, a small step for Allanea, a giant one for Junior Lieutenant Wilhelm Stossel. He had to almost beg the Fieldmarshal to send him here – Kazansky did not seem willing to endanger him. He had to prove himself now – and prove himself he would.

New Grey Havens

Kazansky looked at the weeping Aperini woman. “Listen to me, Lady...”

“Comrade.” - she retorted.

“Comrade. Whichever. You realize I did not bring you here to mock the death of your husband.”

“No?! Then why did you bring me here, you capitalist pig? Your men had murdered my husband after he surrendered! He had his hands up and they killed him! I know this! The people in his unit, they told me everything!”

“Exactly.” - Kazansky nodded. “Now you understand.”

“What?” - the woman paused.

“I am looking for the men who killed your husband. I am in the process of rounding up every Allanean who, in violation of my explicit orders, killed prisoners in the Battle of Cemetery Bay. You understand?”

“...what?”

“Yes. I want testimonies. You know people who saw these crimes comitted, and want the perpetrators punished. Our interests meet, then.”

“How do I know that you will not have those who testify executed?”

“Because if I wanted to kill all the Aperini, I would not have used such a filthy excuse, I would have just killed them all. Or nuked the place to glass. Now. Do you want the murderers of your husband punished, or do you not? Are you his wife or not?”

* * *

It was raining as the first convicts were dragged out into Revolution Plaza. The Allaneans had not renamed it. They said they liked the name.

The convicts were not Aperini, they were Allanean, and despite the rain, they wore nothing but their underpants.

Pacing in front of them was an Allanean Army colonel in parade uniform, wearing the famous Allanean army hat and multiple medals too.

And far away stood a platoon of Girl Scouts, with rifles at the ready.

“McMurphy, Wellington, Thompson, Petrov! I hereby no longer adress you by your rank. You have violated the explicit orders of the Fieldmarshal, and further comitted treason against the good character of the Allanean Armed Forces and the Good Name of Our Queen. As such, you are not worthy of wearing The Queen's Uniform or carrying the Queen's ranks on your shoulders. Sergeant Johnson, isn't Wellington wearing army-issued underpants?”

“That seems to be the case.”

“Remove them. These men are not to be identified with the Army in any way.”

Sergeant Johnson walked up to Wellington and kicked him in the shin, hard. Frederick Wellington screamed in pain as he fell over, and then Johnson literally ripped the last bit of clothing from his body. Then he proceeded to kick the convict twice in the chest, ribs cracking with every kick.

“That is enough, Sergeant. McMurphy, Wellington, Thompson, Petrov! You have been convicted guilty of murder of prisoners – five, ten, six, and twelve counts respectively – of violation of direct orders – five, ten, five and three counts respectively – and of action unbefitting the honor of an Allanean soldier, as well as treason unto the Republic and unto Our Queen. Even separately the punishment for these crimes is death. Girl Scouts! Ready! Aim! Fire!”

Within two hours the video recording of the execution would be already on several video sharing sites. Later, there would be more videos and more executions.

Subcommodore McTavish, erstwhile commander of a disparate fleet of anarchistic pirate clans who had been exiled from Weegie for various thievery-and-smuggling related offenses, and currently hiding away from various CACE customs patrol boats seeking them for the "liberation" of 20 tons of extra-virgin Constantinoplean olive oil, was puzzled. He put down his binoculars and spoke to his second in command, "Big Mad" Pedersen, who of course by the conventions of nicknames was a thoughtful, sensitive man of average height who only bit through a table that one time he was hopped up on rian'laich.

"Ah, did ah just see a huge navy o' almost incomparable strength go frae naewhere in particular to naewhere in particular, firing weaponry at everything and sending out messages proclaiming the inevitability of freedom to those oppressed under dictatorial communist regimes?"

McTavish was standing on his pride and joy, an old Celdonian cruiser refitted with as much weaponry as they could steal and was now known as the totally non-copyrighted Vittle Sperk. Pedersen looked through the binoculars, sighed, and looked back at McTavish.

"Ah think ye did, cap'n. They seem to be headed towards some windmills, cap'n."

"Windmills?"

"Windmills."

"Windmills?"

"Windmills, cap'n."

"Off the coast of Cirdanistan?"

"Some o' those renewable energy thingummyjigs, y'ken. Apparently the wind's really good there, cap'n."

"Ach, Sancho." He said to Pedersen, for that was Pedersen's first name. "That seems very quixotic."

Stossel Estate, The Hash

Your Majesty!

I am writing to You from my family estate. It is unclear to me what is going on on the fronts these days. Baby Brother has managed to somehow manipulate the military into getting him deployed on the Front, and I can get no answers from Kazansky on the nature of his deployment, he merely keeps reassuring me that Wilhelm is safe. This means nothing to me of course – as we both know, Alex has an extremely skewed definition of 'safe'. When it's himself or his underlings, he takes absolutely demented risks. When it is people he genuinely cares about, he takes every single precaution that is to be taken. I have thought before that he cares about Baby Brother, but I am no longer sure.

Jenny pauses for a second, writing no longer. She struggles to hold back tears – but without success. The paper will have strange bluish splotches in places where the tears had mixed with the ink.

The blogs and TV say that preparations bombings have begun in Gauldago, combined with Marine landings. There are some form of sabotage operations going on in Svea Riga. I pray that Baby Brother has not been silly enough as to volunteer there – but this is just the sort of thing that he would find appropriate with that accursed training of his.

Father says that I should not worry and that the operation is a 'military necessity'. Maybe, but couldn't they at least keep us more informed?

Kazansky visited here a week after Baby Brother went off to the front. He spoke a lot about Will and I have no doubt that he really does like him – he said Will is really good at what he does and one of the best 'men' in his charge. I don't think he understand, but Will isn't really a man yet. The two of them are really just overgrown boys looking to play soldier and mess around with expensive toys. But at least A.K.K. seems like Will. Do You think he can keep Will safe?

Oh God, I hate this war so much.

I would have asked about your relatives, but I would think you would find that too nosy. You are after all the Queen of Allanea. You may however find it pleasing to know you are still well-remembered and well-loved here, though I am not sure how popular your message is. Your pictures are in a lot of homes and schools and stores, and there are at least two people I know who collect every single newspaper clipping and picture and speech of yours religiously.

Me and my family of course love you very much, and you are always welcome to our humble mansion.

Thank You for Your kindness. This should arrive with the next shipment of Your Tea..

Your Loyal Subject.,
Jennifer von Stossel, Baronetess of the Republic

Quite an endearing work of fiction. H'n.

This is Army Radio Voice, final hour. The advance into Outer Aperin had completed itself with the utter and complete surrender of the enemy, with ten thousand Allaneans and twenty thousand local soldiers killed, as well as highly limited civilian casualties. Only Svea Riga now remains as an obstacle to our complete domination of Northern Aperin. Operation South is proceeding on schedule as ten Force Projection Battlegroups are approaching the shores of Gauldago...

Kazansky switched off the radio. He already knew these things and was not interested in hearing his very own official version of the events. To him, what was happening was a foregone conclusion in every way. It was not that which worried him. He fired up Skype.

"Hey John. Look, I need you to find a contractor. Best of all Kevin, but whoever does it will do. I need to begin looking at applications for plans for reconstructing infatrstructure. Cirdansitan was never really good to begin with, and it's going to be worse in Gauldago once we're done operating there. We need to make sure nobody freezes or starves after we're done, okay?”

OOC: To the players behind this ill-begotten campaign, I deliver a communiqué:

1) It's the first basic rule of RP that you ask first. None of us have been contacted. Therefore it's completely improper to continue to use Aperin, Aperin nations, and the concepts of our creativity for your own purposes. Stop.
2) This is god moding. Stop.
3) It is worth pointing out that for the entirety of my time on NS, it was always some capitalist trying to invade the non-capitalists. We were quite happy to write scathing press releases and go have a drink. The invaders, on the other hand, seemed incapable of even allowing other ideas to exist in the same world. Once again you have proven the fundamental nature of capitalism - viz, violence - and demonstrated the levels you will go to in order to soothe your own pathological need to be the owner and weilder of God's Divine Truth. Stop invading people, especially us.
4) Did no one get the memo on ignoring? I know my colleagues are playing nice, but leave us alone. Forever.
5) Really.


With love and snaffled coo-beasties (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highland_cattle),
SeOCC

OOC: Since it seems that Aperin itself seems to oppose the continuation of this RP, I'm forced to acknowledge their will over their nations (and continent). Sorry Allanea, but it would be inappropriate for my first RP to be something to a degree of godmoding. I was looking forward to our little confrontation too. :(

I suppose that means you can consider my responses to this post retconned, along with the way the rest of this thread seems to be going. Maybe in the future though, we'll see. :)

- Wadestown

By special request.

In the innermost sanctum sanctorium of the inner sanctum that is the vast subterranean enclave riddling the high mountain range of Lhai in Xikuang's interior, a yellow eye, rheumy with long sleep, opened, closely followed by another, quite close by; stuck, indeed, in the same head. As the eye flickered alertly about the room for the source of the disturbance that had attracted the attention of the brain behind it (the other eye followed, a bit less alertly, perhaps owing to an imperfect connection between the hemispheres of the aforementioned brain), it suddenly began to shine with a red light. A reflected light. A small LED had flickered into life, indicating that a missal had been transmitted from the surface.

The gigantic, heavy-boned, muscular form of Saghrahtt the Indestructible moved with a catlike grace belied by his physical bulk to the console. With one digit the size of a quality Italian sausage, he pressed the big green button marked 'Receive incoming', under which had been scrawled, in a rather suggestively icky red-brown substance, 'MAK THINGG WURK'. The message flashed up on a screen, dark red letters against black, to avoid offending the night vision of the reader.

ALLANEAN INVASION OF APERIN NATIONS SOME OF WHICH ARE NO LONGER IN PLAY EVEN. STANDARD RESPONSE

Saghrahtt the Indestructible growled, all traces of lethargy vanished from his supreme countenance as he moved into action. Barking orders in a harsh, gutteral tongue as he moved from the communications chamber into the corridor and into the Great War Hall, he seemed to grow in height and girth, as if he were not already huge enough, his muscles rippling beneath his green-black flesh, flesh that would, if it could (perhaps it can) laugh at the most highly-developed power armour.

He reached the War Hall, and strode to the centre. His men were already assembled: an advance team of 500,000 strong, led by generals distinguished in past battles, earch one armed with adamantine swords forged in dragon's fire and further equipped with unbendable will and unshakable courage fuelled by boundless rage. Their red, yellow, and ice-blue eyes burned with anticipation and fury as, silently, but quivering with eager bloodlust, they faced their leader. Saghrahtt himself surveyed his advance troops, knowing in his heart that it would not be necessary to awaken the ten million reserve forces deeper in the mountain complex.

A low growl took form in the throat of the Indestructible, and was echoed throughout the Hall, both by the walls cut sheer in the living rock and in the throats of his bloodthirsty war party. The growl rose steadily, the taut bowstrings carried by the archers, the very metal of their armour vibrating in resonance, until it became a roar, a roar to shake the very heart of the mountain. With a powerful war-cry distinguished even in the midst of the thunderous din Saghrahtt the Indestructible raised aloft his mighty blade, energy sparking over its surface. As one, the gathered thousands of genetically modified super-soldier Orc ninja assassins raised their blades in kind.

Then they put them back.

Some of them began to whistle, and to meander randomly about the chamber. Some formed little groups and chatted idly to one another about the weather and the price of cheese in Larkinia.

It was what they had been born to do. What they had been bred to do. What they lived for. What they died for.

Ignoring stuff.

In all the world there was no ignorance to equal the forces of the Genetically Modified Super-soldier Orc Ninja Assassin Ignorers of Saghrahtt the Invincible, nor would there ever be.

(The Genetically Modified Super-Soldier Orc Ninja Assassin Ignorers of Lhai are a CGI effect officially classed as RVC (Really Very Cool) and developed by the XÜG division (Xikuang Über-Geek). They are downloadable from all good EDW servers. We politely request that you upload an MP3 or two.)

(OOC: edit to ensure appreciation of tongue in cheek.)

Alexander Kazansky's Quarters, Allanean Theater Command

Shiunji opened the door without knocking, ripped off his jacket and threw it in the corner, then began to work on the upper shirt, struggling groggily with the buttons. He was about to drop into one of the beds that were arrayed in the building for Kazansky's apprentices, when he heard the Fieldmarshal's voice behind him.

“So where were you out this late?” - Kazansky was leaning on the door and looking at his apprentice as the latter looked extremely confused.

“I had, eh, a date.”

Alexander looked as if he was about to be physically ill. “Please. For the love of all that is holy. Do not refer to these activities as 'dates'. It is enough that I protect you. And... please have a shower. I don't want to even think of what you touched today. Okay?”

“Hey man, don't knock it until you've tried it... in face, it's better then what you are after. Living women – hah! The disappointment, the frustration, the coldness... damn it, I can see it in your face already. Besides, even a dead human girl is a better lay then any..”

And then Kazansky hit him.

The first blow was merely a punch to the face, throwing the Mortician to the floor. Before he could get up, his master began to kick him – first in the left kneecap, making a terrible crunching sound, then in the right shin. Watanabe was still screaming in pain as Alexander kicked him hard in the stomach and the scream began a low-pitch yowl

“Listen to me, Watanabe. I allowed your escapades. I will continue to... tolerate them. But you, my boy, are really screwed up, even by my standards. And let me tell you, there's going to be a limit to your behavior – for your own sake if nothing else. The next man whom you speak to in this form will not be so merciful.”

OOC: They're back, Boris. It's over. Quit this horrendous eye-burning nightmare of a roleplay.

Dear Sir,

I am shocked and outraged!!!

I must object to a recent description of the fine architecture within Glasburgh being described as "featureless drab concrete slab-layout tenements". Have these people even been to Glasburgh??!! Those elves may life in grass hippy huts but us civilised people don't.

I shall be writing to my MP.

Faithfully,

Outraged of Glasburgh.

*shoots thread in the head to put it out of its misery*