NationStates Jolt Archive

West Georgetown Airstrip, Southern Inkana. 0800 Hours.

Tires skirting across the sun beaten gray surface of the airstrip, a small private jet touched down and soon came to a halt. To any single person watching, it was a procedure that happened dozens of times each and every day in Doomingsland's small port on the South Inkanan coast. People and cargo were constantly being shuffled to and from the busy port city and Doomingsland itself. And while it may have seemed to be a landing like most others, it was the passenger of the sleek jet that made it special.

Bodyguards dressed in simple civilian clothing made their way down the steps of the jet and onto the tarmac. Following them was Imperator Maximus of Doomingsland. His face wasn’t hard to recognize. There wasn’t much of a breeze, but enough to gently blow his black beard to the side. Although his security detail may have tried to keep a low profile, Maximus feared no man, as evidenced by his elegantly trimmed jet black dress uniform. The Imperator was stepping foot on Inkanan soil for the first time in nearly 17 years.

Meeting him at the base of the steps was a man of about equal height, maybe an inch shorter, garbed in the jet black uniform of an Inkanan General Staff officer that fit tightly around his muscular build. A fierce smile, one that had become famous to the press and to his wife Anna, but not many more, spread across his rugged face. His piercing gray eyes seemed to light up. He extended his hand to Maximus.

“Imperator,” he said with a grin. “Frederick Wrangel, President of Inkana. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The rise of Frederick Manstein von Wrangel is nothing short of brilliant. Once nothing more than a low level officer in Field Marshal Lommer’s army fighting the Imperial Inkanans in the Inkanan Civil War, Frederick quickly rose through the ranks of the Liberty Party, one of literally hundreds of radical political parties to spring up during the post-war economic bust, when Inkana simply could not pay it’s war debts while at the same time rebuild it’s shattered cities and countryside.

Party Member 23 proved to be a brilliant public speaker and master organizer. As his party gained power, he began to organize “Liberty Brigades”, former soldiers or street toughs to convince Social Democrats or Labour Party members to vote Liberty. After a successful bid at the Inkanan Senate in 2018, Senator Wrangel(he detested the “von”, saying it “reeked of monarchy”) and his now highly organized and powerful Liberty party ran for President of Inkana over the incumbent R.E. Lee, who had guided the Confederate Republic through the Civil War but had fallen to criticism for his handling of the economy and the crumbling of the average Inkanan’s quality of living. Frederick by now had completely mastered the art of public oration and could send any crowd into a frenzy. In particular, one speech he gave in New Cumberland drew in over 600,000 according to some estimates, more according to others. With his natural charm, charisma, and a face that the press loved to get time on Confederate TV, along with the powers of the Liberty Brigades to convert other parties to the philosophies of the Liberty Party, Frederick’s calls for Nationalization of the economy and expansion of the military in order to “Ensure Inkana’s place in the Sun” were agreed with my the entire nation. Inkana was whipped into a nationalist frenzy, and on Election Day, Frederick was elected president by a margin of almost 90 to 10.

Frederick followed up on his election season promises. The economy was almost fully nationalized. The military was expanded. Tariffs were raised in order to make sure the prosperity of the Inkanan citizen before anyone else. Liberty Brigades essentially took over the duties of Law and Order and as a result, crime was almost eliminated. The Brigades soon gained a nasty reputation for showing no mercy when it came to criminals. When Frederick came up for re-election in 2026, he won by an even larger margin than before, since he was essentially the only name on the ballot. The Confederate Constitution outlines that Presidents serve terms of 6 years, but there is no limit to how many terms one may serve, and no Supreme Court to meddle in Frederick’s affairs.

Frederick’s base plan for Inkanan growth and prosperity was based around a time of complete isolation from the world in order to take care of in-house affairs. “Let’s get our shit taken care of in Inkana,” he was quoted as saying to his inner circle, “before we make our move onto the World Stage.”

That time was now.

“I hope we can get a lot accomplished while you’re here, Your Majesty.” Frederick’s other hand cupped over Maximus’, and the de Facto dictator smiled even wider.

Georgetown, Inkana

17 Years Earlier

A fountain of mud and rubble shot upwards not twenty feet away as the 22 year-old future emperor walked his battle line in an ever so casual manner amidst the pouring rain, even as bright red Sarzonian tracers danced about him. His DR-83C carbine hanging off a bungee sling and full magazine pouches, he was virtually indistinguishable from the other Marine Legionaries save for the fact he wasn't wearing a helmet, his now very greasy, short-cut jet black head of hair scanning the area as he stepped into a cohort command post that had been built out of the ruins of a church. He sported a a healthy five o'clock shadow rather than the signature beard he would adopt in later years.

It was still mostly intact, although many of the pews had been tipped over and there was a large hole in the cieling down from which rain water was dripping. All of the stained glass had been shattered, and the floor and altar were covered in dust and rubble. Hanging by the neck from one of the support beams high up in the rafters were three men in the uniforms of Sarzonian Army infantrymen, gently swaying back and forth as the church shook from nearby explosions. Maximus had ordered that no prisoners be taken until the Sarzonian commander officially surrendered as to expediate the process; such orders were entirely characteristic of Doomani officer training.

"Tribune, status report," he said in a calm tone as a mortar round exploded fifty feet behind him. Despite his very young age in relation to those under his command, Maximus' very presence held an aura of sheer power and authority among the men, and it both motivated and inspired them. He'd be the first to admit his inexperience, although his conduct in the past hours wouldn't suggest the fact he'd been in the army a far shorter time than his youngest officers.

Looking up from the screen of a Marine's laptop, the thirty-year old tribune along with a dozen other Doomani soldiers (who'd stopped what they were doing for a moment) looked astonished to see their commanding general standing at the entrance of their CP.

Quickly regaining his composure, he replied swiftly and loudly as a pair of friendly machineguns barked a few hundred meters outside of the CP,

"Sir, we've got our end nice and plugged. They can't move for shit."

The Battle of Georgetown had been raging for a day and a half. The Sarzonian Army had proved itself to be completely disorganized and pitifully trained: a ten-thousand man force had assaulted the city head on, running into surprisingly lackluster Doomani resistance (which was channeling the Sarzonian advance down through the center of the city), had found itself caught in a double envelopment. In those short hours of fighting, the Sarzonian perimeter had collapsed six seperate times, and had been completely reformed seven times, each time becoming increasingly smaller.

It had been almost too easy; the enemy naval vessels sitting offshore refused to provide gun support due to the dense civilian population of Georgetown, and the Doomani exploited this advantage to its fullest extent. They had been able to pound the interior of the Sarzonian pocket with 300mm rockets and 152mm shells as well air power with total impunity. The more the Doomani pressed inwards, the more they found themselves in a city that more resembled the moon than a city.

There was room for just two cohorts of marines to keep the Sarzonian perimeter hemmed in so small it had become, allowing for Maximus to command from the front as he preferred rather from his command post. The rest of Legio Marinus III (which would later distinguish itself in combat against the Questarians at Paralentum five years later) was positioned to contain a breakout or to repel a second landing by a Sarzonian relief force, which evidently was not coming.

"Excellent," replied the future Caesar, who removed a cigar from one of the utility pouches on his flak vest.

Placing it in the corner of his mouth and suddenly finding one of his men giving him a light, he puffed the fine, expensive piece of tobacco which had come from his mother's homeland of Generia.

"What do you think of these guys we're fighting, tribune," Maximus asked frankly as he blew smoke.

"Sir, quite honestly, they weren't worth my men's trouble. They're fucking pitiful," the older man replied.

"My thought exactly," Maximus replied soberly, nodding towards the three bound corpses that hung from the rafters of the church.

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Georgetown, Inkana

Present Day

Brings back memories, Maximus thought to himself as he stepped off the aircraft, grinning broadly as he shook the President's hand firmly.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. President," the thirty-eight year old battle-scarred Imperator replied in accented English, a language Maximus used only when with those he deemed to be friends. "It has been a very long time since I have visted your country," he scanned the horizon. It was a bright, sunny day, unlike those other days he'd spent in this city.

The President smiled for a second and then broke off from the steel-like grip of Maximus' hand.

"If you'll follow me, sir, we have a car waiting to take us to the helipad. I've arranged for us to discuss matters in the privacy of my personal retreat in the Gustav Mountain Range. The 'Lion's Den', as the press has has christened it." The president bared his straight white teeth. He could have been the focus of a recruitment poster with his looks, had he been nothing more than a private.

Frederick led the Doomani Imperator to a sleek black limo, devoid of any markings besides the Inkanan license plate. With two men such as the Inkanan President and the Doomani Imperator within the same vicinity as eachother, security was at a premium. As an Inkanan security agent held open the door for Maximus, he turned to his own Doomani security detail and waved them away.

In the back of the car, Frederick spoke.

"We Inkanans have much to be thankful for when it comes to Doomingsland. Without their assistance in the Civil War. I'm damn sure that we would have lost and been reduced to nothing more than a bankrupt state with a corrupt Monarch. Why, I myself carried a Doomani weapon and ate Doomani rations. when I fought under Lommer." Pausing to think, Frederick continued. "I hate to dip from the well again, but, while our military is large, it isn't sufficiently equipped. Some units are still using armor produced before the Civil War. Of course, I'll explain more once we get to the Lion's Den."

A few minutes later, their car arrived at the Helipad.

As Maximus stepped out of the limo, rays of sun hit the lenses of his signature aviators, causing them to glisten brilliantly as the engine of the waiting helo began to spool up. Turning to his Inkanan host, Caesar replied,

"You shan't need to worry about that anymore, my friend," he said in thickly accented English with a broad grin.

Almost compulsively, the Imperator found himself igniting a fine Generian cigar which he'd subconciously placed to his lips. By all accounts, the man was a chronic smoker, although it did not appear to effect his health in the slightest. In the same motion he offered one of the two hundred denarii cigars to his new found ally. The media was bound to have a field day with this: two national leaders reinitiating an alliance through the simple act of smoking a few cigars.

Frederick took the cigar, nodded, and lit both Maximus' and his own. A puff of smoke filled the luxurious cabin they were seated in. He took a glance outside. The press had finally arrived. He checked his wristwatch.

"They're off their game today." He chuckled.

"Your Majesty, we're not that different from each other." The president paused. "Granted, your military record is slightly more...notorious, shall we say, than mine, but in the end, we're awfully similar. We both served our countries and risked our lives for them, and continue to do so. We both have a drive to succeed that is unmatched. Otherwise, we wouldn't be in the positions that we are now. We both view certain...governments and their systems in a similar manner." He paused again, and took a hit from the fine Generian. "That is why it is as if Inkana and Doomingsland are destined to great things together. They both have strong leaders with straightforward minds."

The State helicopter began to take off, and hovered above the ground. President Frederick Wrangel looked at his cigar.

"You know, they say these are deadly." He chuckled. "Apparently all those doctors have never seen combat."

"I hear it every day from my physicians, my friend," Maximus replied with a smile before taking a puff as the helo began to lurch forward. Clearly the two leaders had taken a liking to one another, which would ensure that the coming conference would go all the more smoothely.

Frederick chuckled before taking another puff of his cigar. As the halo of smoke rose above his head, he paused for a moment, before speaking.

"Your Highness, I have outlined the basics of what Inkana would like to achieve with a strong tie to Doomingland. Namely, I have mentioned the need to drastically upgrade our military, along with completely opening up trade between our two nations. Tariffs can take a side when it comes to your country, as long as Inkana receives the same treatment. I hope you find this satisfactory."

"Of course, Mr. President," Maximus nodded with a chuckle, "Free trade is something we Doomani firmly believe in. After all, as you have said your military needs upgrading, and my subjects would be most pleased to begin exporting whatever hardware you require to your nation..." he allowed his voice to trail off as he glanced out the window at the scenic mountain view below.

"Excellent." The President said with a grin. "We will discuss the specifics upon landing. We are almost at my private hideaway in the mountains here. Not many know of it's whereabouts. The press has dubbed it 'The Lion's Den' and given it an ominous tone when speaking of it," Frederick chuckled, "there I hope you will be comfortable as we discuss the direction we plan to take with each other, over a drink, of course." Grinning, Frederick straightened his officer's cap and gazed briefly at the mountains below.