NationStates Jolt Archive

Brief Timeline of Events:

103 Years Ago: Proletarian revolt in Hurfdurfistan City results in widespread rioting by workers and farmers; Theocratic government overthrown violently; Brief but necessary period of authoritarianism begins in Hurfdurfistan; Marxist social reforms sweep the nation.

99 Years Ago: Premier Jeremy Breck steps down; Ruling Council democratically elected; Hurfdurfistan enters golden age.

46 Years Ago: High Arbiter Andreas Belmont rules (In regards to religious symbols being prominently portrayed on public grounds) that until it is possible to definitively declare the existence of a higher power, the government of Hurfdurfistan must assume that no such deity exists. The measure is a powerful statement for the separation of church and state, and all funding to religious programs is subsequently cut from federal budgets. It is important to note that the free exercise of religion is not, and will never be, illegal in the nation of Hurfdurfistan.

12 Years Ago: A group of theists (later to be known as Separatists) begin to whip up support among those still faithful. The group is largely Christian (as was the population in the theocratic days), pro-capitalism, pro-theocracy, and eventually holds sway over approximately 27% of Hurfdurfistan's citizenry (The remainder is 53% atheist and 20% theist still devoted to the Marxist ideal).

6 Months Ago: Following the arrest of Separatist leader David Manchester for conspiracy to commit treason, theist forces determined to restore the theocracy of old under Manchester (who claims to be a prophet) launch an all-out assault on the Federation of Hurfdurfistan. The major combat lasts for five months, claiming the lives of millions before grinding to a bloody standstill, neither side able to effectively move against the other.

1 Week Ago: Federation SOCOM determines that since the direct application of force has been rendered moot, the task of winning the war falls to its special operators. Teams are dispatched to most major cities under orders to capture what Separatist leaders thay could, and eliminate those they could not.

Present Day:

4/18/2008, 0515H
No Man's Land, Knemir, Hurfdurfistan
SOCOM Detachment Kilo

Captain John Blackwell did not indend to be up quite so early. He had in fact wanted to sleep in on this particular day, the day after the successful assassination of one of their nine targets. And he would have, if not for the artillery crashing down on someone in the distance. So, instead, he leaned against the wall of the deserted home his six-man team had chosen to conduct operations from, smoking and watching over his fellow soldier's sleep.

Second Lieutenant Lacie Simons was a childhood friend of his. They had gone to school together, lived together during college, and enlisted together at the onset of the civil war. They had fought together during the initial battles, including the bloody Battle of Geldon, where they had been the only two survivors from their squad, and that only by luck. So, here, away from their families and friends, he felt a sense of duty to protect her, and if that meant standing guard over her rest, then so be it. She would do the same for him.

He was always amused at the way she looked in the morning. Her hair, in particular, was almost comical. But he couldn't deny that she looked beautiful, even as he laughed. He watched the silver cross of her faith, resting between her breasts, rise and fall with each breath. Watched the way it shone softly in the early morning light. Blackwell took a drag of his cigarette, causing a red glow to dance briefly across his face, highlighting the bright blue eyes ringed for lack of sleep, as well as several days worth of beard growth. He scratched his chin and sank into a crouch, wishing he was asleep.

He went over the state of things briefly in his mind. His team had been careful in its setup, choosing a house only recently abandoned by its tenants. They'd also made sure that there were only two entrances to the house, sealing up all the rest. Both entrances were easily defensible, and one of them was rigged to explode remotely. Setting the explosives to go off without compromising the structural integrity of the house had been tricky, but he was working with some of the best Hurfdurfistan had to offer.

The team's vehicle, an up-armored pickup, had also gone through the gauntlet to look authentic. After it had finished the armoring process, Biggs took it out to the range, telling his men to fire on it, but not to hit anything vital. The bullet holes looked impressive, but were superficial, save for one. Sergeant Graham Linn, Biggs' demolitions specialist, had fired only once, but the shot he took punched into some part of the radio, so anything it recieved was now heavily laden with static. It wasn't of tremendous importance, given that all important information was transmitted via cochlear implants, but it did make it ahrd to listen to music.

All in all, not bad. Blackwell took another drag from his cigarette, lost in thought. Linn should have been back by now, and with him Specialist Mitchell Lasater, the team's marksman. He was supposed to meet a contact from within the Separatist secret police. Called themselves "Inquisitors", but Blackwell rejected that notion. They were secret police. Blackwell feared the worst, but it was his nature to worry. He consoled himself, saying that Linn and Lasater would walk through the door any minute now. He checked his watch. The glowing hands read 0553 Hours. Almost time to start the day. He sat back, absentmindedly playing with the safety on his M4. Click. Click. Click. He took a final drag from his cigarette, then put it out on the concrete floor. His eyes heavy, he sank back into sleep.

He awoke to find Lacie crouched over front of him in her underwear, gently shaking his shoulder. Her cross, again caught his eye, dangling in the air. Lacie caught the glance, then sat down in front of him, glaring menacingly. "Stop staring at my tits," she said, pushing him playfully.

He pushed her back, "Well, stop having perky ones," he shot back, dodging the cigarette butt she hurled at him. It had always been a part of their relationship, each antagonizing the other. "I mean, damn, we're sharing a bed."

"Of necessity, jackass. There are only two beds in this house." She kicked at his leg and changed subjects, "Have Graham and Mitchell reported in yet?"

Blackwell checked his watch again. 0913. Fuck. "No, but they should have been back hours ago. This is late even for them. Something's wrong here." He thought for a moment, then decided, "Get dressed. We'll take Richards and the truck and go looking for them. Davit will stay here and monitor the radio."

Minutes later, they were in the truck, heading down the road. The no-man's land between the two armies wasn't what its name implied. There was still a strong civilian presence, and the markets buzzed with activity during the day. Armed civilians, seemingly a contradiction in terms, were not uncommon, and Blackwell's group would blend in perfectly in their civilian garb.

The once-thriving port city was a fairly desolate place, now. Ruined buildings lined the roads, some still containing corpses from months ago. A wrecked tank sat sadly on a side street, a large hole in its side. It was as though a great mouth had taken a bite from it.

"It's sad, really," remarked Blackwell, "We've done all we can to remove poverty, to make race irrelevant, to keep people happy... and they still kill each other over religion."

They arrived without incident at the address where their people were supposed to meet the Inquisitor, an old werehouse on the docks. Richards took the truck around the back, and Blackwell kicked the door open, Simons at his heels.

What he saw inside brought him up short.

OOC: tl;dr I've decided to let my obligatory civil war stem from religion, because I find it makes for a more interesting conflict. Players are free to join in, I'll add more characters as the story goes on. I tend to write in terms of small groups, because I don't like the depersonalization of writing entire armies. I'll start an OOC thread if I get enough players.

Durant sat down at his desk as he sipped his cherry coffee. It was time to assume the duties as Dictator Adams. His father, Roland was dead and it was his job to run the nation. He turned on his computer. He waited impatitently as the PC hummed and buzzed. Soon it came up. It clicked on the Internet button as he pressed his intercom. "Secretary Kate, remind me to get a new computer." "Yes sir," she replied as Durant cliked on the mouse. A window came up that said "Hurfdurfistan Civil War breaks out! Christians rebel!"

Durant almost choked on his coffee as he looked upon the cross on his desk. "Kate, send me Keneth." "Right" she said as the assistant walked in. He had brown hair and glasses. "Vat, surk?" he said in native Miroxian. Durant looked at him as he said, "Keneth, draw up 'one of those papers.'". Keneth looked away and nodded. He walked out and in a matter of minutes, Keneth returned. He set the document in front of the leader as Durant signed the paper.

Durant then turned on his telecam as all Miroxian TV channels were interupted. Durant then spoke, with a seriour tone,

Attention, Miroxians. After research an careful study, I, Durant Adams, officialy declare war on Hurfdurfistan. All Hurdurfistani rebels will be aided by Miroxian troops. That is all.


Toby Jones, Brigader General of the Miroxian army, was helping to load the Miroxia Mach 3 warship with the last of its supplies. The tall man in traditions Miroxian Armed Forces Uniform, saluted Durant as the fleet took off from the Center in Port Durant. His maps were on the computer, the plans set, and the cordinance to Hurdurfistan was planned. 100 ships, with 50 more coming, and 4000 jets were all on an even pace to Hurfdurfistan. The rebels were getting help from Miroxia, and the war was about to begin. They were to arrive in a day (ooc-RL 30 min.). Toby picked up his gun and awaited for the war. He was eager for victory...

OOC: Noted. I'll draw up a rebel for you to interact with.

ooc-kk

OOC: This is more an introduction than anything. I'm going to let events unfold a little before this commando team of mine enters the country to aide the rebels. I assume you have a coast?

IC:

Imperial Chancellory, Berlin, Brandenburg Province, Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire

"Interesting. Most... interesting. Yes, it seems that opportunity has come knocking again, gentlemen. The Deutsche Bahn privatisation was something of a fiasco. It will do us good to embark on another crusade against communism. General, what course of action would you recomend if I told you I intended to overthrow the government of Hurfdurfistan?"

"Clandestine?"

"At first."

"Well then, Chancellor..."

General-Feldmarschall von Hoyerswerda, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, gave an amused but reserved grin.

"For my first step, I'd call Krombacher."

Chancellor Friedrich Glogauer returned the smile.

"He's all in his own, then?"

"Oh, no. Other units too. But his is rather in the news right now, you must admit."

"Indeed, General. You call Krombacher, and I shall call the Kaiser."


Just outside Kufstein airbase, Tirol Province, Kingdom of Austria, German Empire

Hauptmann Gustav Adolf Krombacher lay back in his chair, watching the sun creep over the horizon, its first golden feelers reaching over the forests and mountains of his homeland, the Austrian Tyrol. He could hear the beginings of the usual early morning bustle in Kuftstein Airbase, but for now... peace. It was a rare opportunity for a holder of the Iron Cross and Order of Leopold in command of one of the German Empire's finest special forces assets to do nothing.

He glanced at his arm. There was only a red blotch, fast fading, where he had sustained a bullet wound in Kalmurstan. It didn't even hurt anymore. After the dragging that arm around for the last month, he had it back. He felt like he could take on the world.

"Kapitan!"

Oops, spoke too soon. Krombacher made a point of being addressed by the naval rank of "Kapitan" rather than his official "Hauptman", because who could resist being known as "Kapitan Krombacher"? And if the Royal Tyrolean Jaegers he served with didn't forgive a few eccentricities in a good soldier, there wouldn't have been many of them. Gustav wasn't even the worst in his own company. Unterleutnant Micheal Warner was a nut.

"What?"

"Message from Berlin. Signed by the King and the Kaiser, too."

"Well, well. Toss it here, Jakob."

Gustav knew why it was Oberleutnant Jakob Schmalkalder who had come to find him. He knew where to look. They often shared a beer over the view he had been enjoying, both being Tyroleans true. As an elite outfit, the Royal Tyrolean Jaegers took in the best from everywhere. Most of whom were Austrian, or occasionally Saxon, but there was nonetheless something of a bond between the two senior "natives" in a company whose other officers were a West Prussian "von" girl and a man who claimed he was a Hessian.

"Let's see... clandestine, oh, I do love clandestine... Hurfdurfistan... never heard of it, Anglophone... Sali still keeping up the English?"

"She's good enough to fool me, sir."

"Very good. Get Albert to shake the troops up. We fly today. We're in Wilhelmshaven tommorrow."

"First Bremen, now Wilhelmshaven, we'll be sent to Hamburg next, I don't doubt. W6hy are we even based in White Sausage Country?"

"The beer."

Jakob gave a solemn salute, and the two men walked, without haste, back to Kufstein. Waiting for them in service uniform was Hauptfelbwebel Albert Schlock. He saluted lazily, without standing up from the fence on which he was perched.

"Action, Kapitan?"

"Action. Jakob'll sort you out."

Gustav left his 2iC talking and his Company Sergeant Major listening. The made an odd pairing, perhaps because their roles appeared to be reversed. Jakob was from a family of forresters in the Tirol and had never seen anywhere bigger than Innsbruck before taking his papers and joining the army. Albert, on the other hand, was Viennese, Jewish, and firmly middle class. But down in the Tyrol, military families didn't count for much.

Which brought him to Unterleutnant Sali "the Piefke" von Wandrinnstadt, looking over a copy of the company's orders. In contrast to Jakob and Albert, she had her service cap on, partly because Prussians stick to regulations and partly because even with it, she was fried red. Austrian summer did that to people from the Baltic. Her sensitive skin didn't help. Gustav had his on too, because he liked it. It was private purchase, extremely high quality, and it hadn't come cheap. He'd shot a man to keep his hat.

"So, back to civilisation again, Kapitan."

"Only for a day. How's your platoon doing?"

"Well, Klammeren's taken to command like a fish to water. I think he has the confidance of his men. And it turns out Schlapp knows English better than I do."

"Wasn't Schlapp the man who spoke Russian?"

"And Bulgian. I've asked about it, but he changes his story every time."

"Some things are best left unknown, Sali."

"Yeah. When do we fly?"

"Today. Pack your bags."

"On it."

OOC: Okay. I'll have a character ready for you, I suppose.

OOC: Hurfdurfistan...your name...so...awesome....can't...breathe....HURF.....DURF.....

OOC: v:)v I try

OOC: Yeah, so, serious post: I'll update later tonight for Miroxia's sake (And, of course, to advance the plot that I've set out in my mind).

OOC: Ha, Nova Boozia, I completely ignored the part where you asked if I had a coast. The answer is yes, I do.

OOC2: Miroxia, NS Earth is gigantic, so I'm going to go ahead and godmod a bit and say that it's going to take your forces more than a day to get to Hurfdurfistan's waters.

04/18/2008 13:56 Hours
Temple of the One, Separatist-Controlled Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

Since the rebellion started, Leonard Weston had become a very wealthy man. It was he who supplied the Separatists with the weapons they needed to attack the Federal forces. It was he who struck deals with other nations, often in the form of guns for antebellum labor. The "temple" he lived in was in reality a mansion. Yes, it technically had a large chapel, but that was ultimately secondary to Weston's comfort. His efforts all seemed for naught lately, what with the stalemate. But now, now... This nation, Miroxia... they could break the stalemate... they could force the authoritarian theocracy the Separatists advocated on the rest of the nation...

Weston cleared his throat as he waited for his cameramen to get in position. He intended to broadcast live, on an open, unencrypted channel. His aide held up five fingers, then four, three, two... and Weston was on the air.

"Greetings, Miroxian allies! We in the Theocracy of Hurfdurfistan would like to welcome you to our *static* *static* nation, *static* *static* I personally feel that *static* *static* *static*, and that we have a future together as allies, at the grace of our Lord God. We kindly request that you dock your ships *static* *static* the ports at Knemir, which is a fairly central city on the beautiful *static* coast. We are glad you have agreed to match our own forces in numbers. I hope to greet you personally as you step off your ship, and perhaps to take you on a tour of the city. Until you land, I wish you *static* *static* *static*."

The "On the Air" light turned itself off, and Weston smiled. That should show those Federal dogs.

04/18/2008 18:26 Hours
Safehouse, No Man's Land, Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

When Blackwell was stressed, he cooked. Right now, he was chopping onions with an intensity rarely seen outside of Emeril. He cooked in volumes that could feed small nations. He had cooked enough food to feed the remaining members of his squad three times over. Frankly, it had not been a good day.

Linn was barely conscious when Blackwell's team moved in and found him. The Inquisitors had tortured him for several hours before leaving him for dead. Lasater had moved off when the doors to the warehouse slammed shut, looking for a new position to shoot from for several hours. He didn't dare use his cochlear implant to alert the rest of the team in the event that the Inquisitors had gotten the frequency they operated on out of Linn.

Linn died in the warehouse after telling Blackwell what he had learned. A foreign force was en route to the nation, the city specifically, but they were coming to assist the separatists, not the rightful government. However, the man the Separatists were sending to greet the foreigners was on their list of targets, so perhaps all was not lost.

Simons walked in and leaned against the wall, smoking. Blackwell looked away from his cooking for a moment, then simply asked, "When did you start smoking?"

"I do it when I'm stressed. It just isn't often that I'm stressed, you know?"

"Yeah... I do. I cook. When I'm stressed, that is." He offered. He laid down the knife, he was done chopping. He dumped the onions into the oil in the frying pan. His shoulders slumped a little bit. "I just don't understand it. Our nation, our people... we're communists, yes, but we're a free people. It's completely possible to start a business here. We have all the civil rights we could ask for and we're a true democracy, not a republic. It's not as though we couldn't change our nation if we didn't want to. It would just take a referendum..."

Simons walked over and hugged him from behind, then, "I know. We're up against an enemy that wants to enslave our people, and the international community wants to aid them... but then, war's not an easy thing, Alex," she said, using his middle name, the name he used around friends.

He slid around in her arms, returned the hug, and said, "It's ridiculous. People don't realize that we stand for freedom, not them. But then, you know how it is. People always support a rebel." Linn crossed his mind suddenly, and he tightened his grip on his comrade, "You know, it's not that I was expecting to make it through the war without casualties, Lacie... but I didn't think I'd lose a man in the first week." He straightened, rubbed her lower back for a moment, and sighed, "Go ahead and relax for a few minutes, I'm going to finish cooking."

A few minutes later, Blackwell brought the rest of the food to the table, then called the team in. They sat down, still in a daze. They were taking Linn's loss hard. Blackwell sat down with them, and said, "Eat." The meal went on in silence, until Simons broke it, saying, "He would have wanted us to proceed."

The rest of the team turned to her, quizzically. "He would have wanted us to proceed with the mission. And so we will. In fact, I think I have a plan..."

OOC: Shameless bump.

OOC: Okerdays, coast it it. And I will be taking a while to arrive. I'm just wondering... would you care to explain how a nation which believes free enterprise has a right to exist is communist?

IC:

Chancellor's Private Office, Berlin, Brnadenburg Province, Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire

Reports, flashes of foreign news, histories, details... complications. Damn. What was Germany getting itself involved in? The parliamentary debate on deployment would be beginning soon, and while everyone knew that the SDP noise about militarist solutions was getting old, some of the information that was coming to light was rather... disturbing.

Chancellor Friedrich Glogauer sighed. No backing down now. If he was going to convince the Reichstag, and indeed the Kaiser, to support these measures, these would have to be some... changes. He reached for the phone and dialed for Von Hoyerswerda


Wilhelmshaven naval base, Grand Duchy of Oldenburg, German Empire

Sali stretched her arms above her head, then relaxed. "God, I hate aeroplanes. Wretched things are so cramped."

"Maybe you shouldn't have signed the transfer for a unit that does airborne operations?"

"Hey, I said I hate planes. Parachuting is fine. Come to think of it, though, we certainly get shuttled around alot more than the Kleisties. I guess when I signed up I didn't realise just how many secret operations this country is running."

The "Kleisties" was an affectionate nickname for Sali's first regiment, the 6th (1st West Prussian) Grenadier Regiment "Graf Kleist von Nollendorf". It was a prestigious unit, by virtue of having such a low number if nothing else, and her service record with it was distinguished, but she had jumped at the opportunity for a transfer to the Royal Tyroleans Jaegers in order to see more action. Not that she had any problem with not seeing any action, but she came from an old Prussian military family, complete with the big estate in the east and the "von", and what was more, the Von Wandrinnstadts had an unbroken collection of Iron Crosses going back to 1871. For her, it Eisenkreuz or nothing. It had been the same for her brother, before a mortar bomb had landed on him somewhere in Transylvania, and her parents, being forward thinking, as the Prussian military aristocracy went, had immediately bundled her into the family regiment.

"Well, from now on, its ships. Now the rest of us can feel sick."

Sali snorted. "Not every northerner is a Hamburger, Jakob."

"Well, not every southerner is a Bavi."

"So, where are you from, then, Jakob, Baden? You make it sound like you aren't a fried beer-powered Catholic farm boy with an impenetrable accent."

"Whose accent is impenatrable?"

Gustav, who had been talking to one of the naval staff, approached with his trademark leisurely walk, tearing open an envelope.

"Shut up, kids, the Kapitan is reading something important."

He scanned the page quickly, eyes flicking visibly from word to word. He had actually done a course in speed-reading on his own money. It helped a lot.

"Highly intriguing news, opportunity for more violence. Turns out everybody in Hurfdurfistan are the bad guys. Half are the Commies, half are the Restoration Party."

Gustav's referance to the organisation that had ruled France from 1930 to 1943 had just about the same connotation as, in another timeline, far away, the word "Nazi". It might not be accurate, but it got the message across.

"So, people, it's up to us. And Rosenkrantz and Gildenstern, of course."

The Kapitan's mocking tones of seriousness weren't extended to the other two company commanders in the regiment. He held Hauptman Rosenkrantz and Hauptman Gildenstern in the highest esteem, and as far he was considered, he was more famous in the army because he was more lucky.

"Current operational plan is that we slip in, observe who is winning, loudly blow up something belonging to the losing side, and say "That was us. Now shut up and listen or we'll do it do you. With a Barbarossa." Knock sense into them, clean everything up, and kill off the pesky other side."

The Barbarossa was Germany's workhorse armoured vehicle, operated by the regiments of Hussars, Uhlans, and assorted Heavy Cavalry. It was also used by the Reich's allies, in Poland as the Sobieski and in Lithuania as the Vytautas, leading to its irreverant but universally understood nickname: "Dead guy with a horse", usually shortened to "dead guy".

"Here, have a look at the file. I gotta talk to someone."

"Someone" was an officer of the Imperial Navy, or at least the port service. He shook Gustav's hand firmly and advised him that his ship, a "lost" trawler with a name in English still drying on the hull, was waiting. Albert Schlock, who has also been listening, turned and began to bellow orders. Within an hour, they would be gone.

Toby was lying in room, playing paddle ball. The miscalculation of time of arrival was driving him insane! Hopefully we are almost (lunchbelll ring; censored) there! he thought. Then he looked over and noticed he had a message on his computer. He opened it up and saw the following:

"Greetings, Miroxian allies! We in the Theocracy of Hurfdurfistan would like to welcome you to our *static* *static* nation, *static* *static* I personally feel that *static* *static* *static*, and that we have a future together as allies, at the grace of our Lord God. We kindly request that you dock your ships *static* *static* the ports at Knemir, which is a fairly central city on the beautiful *static* coast. We are glad you have agreed to match our own forces in numbers. I hope to greet you personally as you step off your ship, and perhaps to take you on a tour of the city. Until you land, I wish you *static* *static* *static*."

"Gosh darn static...but I could make out most of it..." he mumbled as he looked over and saw coast. Finally, after 5 days, they had arrived. He then saw the sign in the sun, a glare there way. He could make out 'Knemir, the *glare* City of Hurf*glare*stan.'

"Alright boys, you stay on the ship five miles of the coast!" he ordered over the intercom of the ship. It was linked to the other naval ship by the wireless link in the intercomm connections. "I will meet Leonard Weston. After plans are set, I will come back to the ship for the night and tomorrow we attack. We attack today only if a battle breaks out!" With that, he lowed a speed boat from 5 miles offf the coast. The water was calm, and in no time he was in Knemir. He then saw a man holding a sign. 'Miroxia' it said. Toby smiled as he walked over to the man. "Leonard Weston, I presume?"

OOC: Okerdays, coast it it. And I will be taking a while to arrive. I'm just wondering... would you care to explain how a nation which believes free enterprise has a right to exist is communist?

OOC: It's a strange hybrid, honestly. One cannot deny that capitalism is a stronger economic system than communism, but one also cannot deny that communism is a much more humane and, well, "good" (in the ethical sense) than capitalism. So it is not strictly communist, in that right, but it is certainly closer to the Marxist ideal than anything else. Think of it as an experiment in game theory, I suppose. Limited economic competition is allowed to strengthen the economy as a whole, but the means of production are still owned by the workers. Does that make any sense? It made sense in my head, but I fear I may have done a poor job explaining it.

e: Give me a bit to write something substantial. I'll post tonight.

but one also cannot deny that communism is a much more humane and, well, "good" (in the ethical sense) than capitalism.

OOC: Ahem (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayn_Rand). Sorry, this was not the place for me to do that. I just happen to believe differently.

OOC: Are you serious? Objectivism is the worst possible philosophy, in that it encourages individuals not to rise above their base greed and selfishness, and instead embrace it as a virtue. It is a system encouraging people not to work together, it is the epitome of "Fuck you, I got mine." Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it's essentially the basis of the Ron Paul campaign, which should in and of itself speak volumes. Well, Objectivism and the Balkanization of the US.

Ahem. Sorry about that.

OOC: I'm well aware of the hatred for the Ron Paul campaign on SA. And if you had a better understanding of Objectivism, you'd know that the greatest thing people can do is work together for mutual benefit. There's a difference between embracing one's animal greed and selfishness, and believing that one's rational self-interest is ultimately the most satisfying motivator in life. Read up on it, its much more personal and complicated than "Fuck you, I got mine." It is in essence, the praise of man's greatness, of what he has the potential to be, when not bound to some definition of servitude to irrational ideals or other parties in general.

In the five or six days since Miroxia's declaration of war, submarines from the Yanitarian colony of Okhotsk had been making their way through the pacific towards the Pacific Isle Dictatorship of Miroxia. When they were a day's sail away from their northernmost isle, the URPY issued the following statement.

http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i156/UNDComrade/Yanitaria/OfficialCommunication-1.png

In the course of human events, man finds it inevitable that liberty cannot be extinguished by means of religious control of the people. The rise of the people for freedom, and against tyranny is inevitable, as is it's eventual triumph.

Because of this, the United Royal Provinces of Yanitaria hereby declare open war against the Pacific Isle Dictatorship of Miroxia. Our intent is to liberate the Miroxian people from their dictatorship, allow for democratic elections, and establish trade and industry in their nation.

The government of Miroxia has one day to surrender, before submarine raids begin on their ships, and strategic bombing runs are carried out upon their cities.

OOC: Miroxia, d'you have a map, of some sort, with cities and military bases, and the approximate location of your nation with in the pacific?

ooc- "dictatorship" in our country is used loosly. we are a "Council Seat," if you will. The leader is elected (I have a thread somewhere) and there are 99 elected Council members who all vote on political issues. also, i need to update my map. i'll do that later today. i'll also start an individual war thread for this.

ic

The dictator sat at his desk as Keneth brought him his stress medication. Not only were they fighting for freedom of religion in Hurfdurfistan, but now Yanitaria was declaring war on Miroxia. He then ordered the 2nd regiment of the Miroxian army to guard the northern coast and the navy of that regiment to guard the sea...

OOC: Doesn't really matter, my nation is just flexing it's muscles. I am not really too committed to this war, and likely half way I might RP protests, and pull out.

04/23/2008 1141 Hours
Docks, Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

Leonard Weston strode forward confidently, dressed in an imported silk suit, smiled, and grasped Brigadier General Toby Jones' hand, shaking it vigorously. "Yes, I am Leonard Weston," he said, smiling all the more. He clapped Jones' shoulder, leading him toward the second of three white Mercedes Benz E550s. It will be my honor to show you the city of Knemir, General. Please, if you would follow me..." As soon as both men were inside the car, the motorcade came to life, rolling through the quiet streets. Weston gestured to the expansive minibar within the vehicle, offering "Please, feel free to help yourself to anything here," before pouring himself a drink.

As the vehicles continued on, Weston pointed out certain sites, making sure to emphasize the rich culture and history of the port city. "Oh, and up ahead we have the building that used to be the Temple of the Incarnate. It was once a major holy place... well, until the Revolution a century ago." He looked sad, but continued on. "Some of the communist scum barricaded the Temple, trying to use it as a stronghold against the rightful authorities. At the time, of course, there were no such things as less-than-lethal methods, and the military felt they had no choice but to shell the building." He took another drink before continuing. "The Marxists chose to preserve the shell of the building as a testament to how far we had come as a civilization... they felt it had some kind of symbolism. Who knows?" The motorcade kept going, deeper and deeper into no-man's land.

Several blocks away, lights on detonators turned green as the vehicles came into range. Lasater watched the motorcade's progress from the eighth story of a ruined housing complex. He peered into the carefully placed rifle's scope (insofar as that he had placed it far enough back from the window that no light could reflect off of it), but couldn't make out individuals through the tinted glass windows. Davit, a block from Lasater and at ground level, held the detonator in his hands, waiting for the go-code. The tension in the air was palpable. All he had to do was turn a key in the detonator, and Weston's car was flaming shrapnel. Still, he waited. Mustn't jump the gun.

Several buildings away, Blackwell and Simons sat in one of the few remaining restaurants, silently drinking water and waiting for the convoy to roll into view. A glint of sunlight off the carefully polished chrome, and there it was. Blackwell keyed his cochlear implant, saying simply "Bravo, go."

Weston, ironically, was about to comment on the quality of the food in the restaurant the were coming upon when the bomb went off. A current suddenly passed through two cunningly hidden kilograms of Semtex, detonating it. Weston's car vaulted a good six feet in the air (OOC: Probably not enough, but I just woke up and don't feel like working it out) and flipping it onto its left side. Or, at least, flipping what remained of the car on its left side. Blackwell and Simons leaped into action, cutting down the men trying to exit the escort vehicles with short bursts of precision rifle fire. Davit slipped quietly out of his building, heading toward the safehouse. When Blackwell and Simons were sure that all the bodyguards were dead or dying, they did so, as well, slipping into the gathering crowds.

Only Lasater remained on station, three hundred meters from the flaming wreckage, ready to take down anyone who tried to crawl out from the flaming wreckage. There could be no survivors here.

OOC: If you really want Toby to get out of this, we can assume that the wind shifted and Lasater can't see through the smoke. Of course, that would require him to have survived the explosion, which Weston most assuredly did not. It's your call, though.

OOC: Miroxia, just so you know, the next update will be of the Theocracy launching a massive internal manhunt for the traitors they presume must exist. So if you're planning on launching a retaliatory strike, you're probably on your own.

Toby lay bleeding, glass dug into his skin, the car crushing his left side. His phone was in reach as he dialed the ship slowly. Soon he got an answer.

"Hello, Admiral Carl Tent speaking."

"Carl...it's Toby...I'm dying!"

"What?"

"A federal soldier set off a bomb in the car. So, I am as good as gone. You are the new Brigader Admiral, Carl."

"Yessir!"

"Now, please, take the army and wage the first battle and win...the Battle of Knemir..."

"Yessir!"

With that, Toby took his last, dying breath.

Back at the ship, Carl Tent ordered all to prepare for battle. Soon the ships were pouring out of the sea and onto the shore. Once anchored, Land Rovers and tanks and many soldiers came marching out. Soon the army was marching through Knemir. They went to the sight of Toby's death. They threw a bouquet of flowers from his desk (which were from his wife) into the fire. Then gunshots were heard as the crowd scattered! Five Miroxians went down. The battle had begun...

The ship formerly called Olga, just outside Hurfdurfi territoiral waters

"Ladies and gentlemen, the mission!"

"The mission!"

The senior crew of what everybody called the Olga threw back there glasses with enthusiasm, a practice which Gustav, Jakob and Albert had tought most of them. It was just what you did, they had all been told. Strangely enough, there was very little alcohol at the table: Sali didn't drink because she had been in the habit of near-puritanism since joining the army before legal age. Unterleutnant Micheal Warner didn't for reasons no-one had ever teased out of him. Gustav had a suspicious aversion to drinking at sea. The ship's captain, Kapitan-Leutnant Kurt von Eretzfeld, didn't drink when he might have to take over the helm. Jakob held the onsly beer in the wardroom.

The next toast was his. They'd had the Kaiser, they mission...

"This fine ship! And that's the last one for me."

He corked the bottle to demonstrate his seriousness.

"Remember, Jakob, that biologically speaking any spewing within ten minutes of now is just you making a fuss."

"Hey, shut up, Hauptman, you act like you can hold your drink!"

Even Krombacher, Kapitan Krombacher, knew that using that rank on a naval ship was just bad manners.

There was some chuckling from the other officers.

"Anyway, people, we must cut this delightful supper short. I'm going to the bridge, and I want Herr Krombacher and Fraeulein Von Wandrinnstadt with me."

The ship's actual captain had in fact got to first-name terms with the army officers on the voyage over, so his slightly tongue-in-cheek formality indicated that the pary really was over.

Warner hopped up. "I'll get Schlapp."


Ruediger Schlapp was at that point lying sprawled over his bunk, head dangling off the edge as he talked.

"So, what's it like in the highest echelon of the German command structure, Ernst? How's the Kaiser doing? Has he fixed you that seat in his box for the Tannenberg parade? The Imperial General Staff keeping up to your exacting standard?"

Unterfeldwebel (newly promoted) Ernst Klammeren chuckled. "Well, the Kaiser is a bit busy presently but he did say I could have his seat for the Wirten parade to make up for it. As for the Generals, I fear they are growing lazy. I think I shall give Von Hoyerswerda a stern talking to."

Not to be taken back any more than his friend, Ruedi simply nodded understandingly by way of reply.

"If you could enlighten my with your secret orders from Berlin, why aren't we taking a sub? Like the last time."

"Because I'm claustrophobic, and I'm the highest elechon of the German command structure. No, really, I asked this sailor guy about that. Apparently another team had to abort the Kalmurstan op becuase there were concerns that there sub was identified. This way should technically be better if we pull it off convincingly."

"Rememgber how you always told me never to trust positive comments from my superiors, mein Unterfeldwebel?"

"You can trust me, becuase..."

Ruedi never would find out why his comrade's optimism was more valid than that of officers, because another voice called from the door to the cabin.

"Hey Ruedi, bridge, be quick about it."

"Whoops, my superior intellect is called for. Back later," the irreverant soldier gave a salute that was slightly too solemn "supreme commander."

Ruedi ran to the bridge, for he had never seen the point in going anywhere slowly, and came to meticulous attention, discarding his banter in the presence of genuine officers.

"You needed me, sir?"

Gustav nodded.

"You speak English..." That was a statement of fact: Krombacher wasn't going to drag someone to the bridge unless he knew he wanted them. "So you're in the starring role here. Your job, Captain Schlapp, is to say in English everything Not-The-Captain Von Eretzfeld types on this screen in. Red text is for Executive Officer Von Wandrinnstadt. All clear?"

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Okay! Equipment mangled, Kapitan?"

Von Eretzfeld nodded.

"Well then, I told Jakob to shake up the men in 15 minutes, so... let's go!"

04/23/2008 1230 Local
Docks, Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

Lasater watched as hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers poured from the docked ships. This, he supposed, was unexpected. He began sighting on them, firing on those with slightly gaudier uniforms. It was difficult shooting, both because of wind and distance, but Lasater was an excellent shot. He fired one full magazine, four shots, then decided to reposition. He picked up the rifle, reloading the internal magazine as he walked, and moved up a level, to the roof. There, he sighted in again, shooting more officers.

Of course, the men he was shooting were a drop in the bucket when taken in context. Then came the trucks. It was difficult to make out distinctive features, but they looked like Land Rovers. He fired into their engines, trying to stall the encroaching army's advance as long as he could.

Then came the aircraft, and Lasater knew it was time to get out. He popped a smoke grenade atop the building and hoped that evac would get there in time.

04/23/2008 1312 Local
Camp Early Light, Federation-Controlled Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

For a month, Federation Command (Hereafter referred to as FedCom) had ordered no further advances against the Separatists, on the grounds that the politicians had deemed it imprudent to do so. It was not as though FedCom could not have won this war already, but that the civilian oversight necessary in a democracy had determined that it would be a grave error to crush them as the generals longed to do.

But this new threat was not Hurfdurfistani, and was therefore fair game.

Strike fighters from as far as Hurfdurfistan City took off at the first news of enemy combatants on their soil. Flying low and fast, the assembled 1200 fighters of the first wave, carrying cluster bombs and air-to-ground missiles, converged rapidly on the enemy ground forces. Shortly thereafter began thirty minutes of constant and merciless explosions as the fighters' munitions struck home.

And that was just the first wave.

As the second wave took off, the first wave began to fall back. The second wave was armed with a mixture of air-to-air missiles and air-to-ground munitions and had orders to engage the aircraft the enemy would surely throw up before engaging any remaining ground targets.

Elsewhere, in Knemir, ground forces began to rally around important targets. Tanks lay in wait in alleyways, snipers watched through their scopes as the Miroxians landed, firing at targets of opportunity, Humvees armed with TOW missiles patrolled the streets, and infantrymen waited to ambush approaching Miroxian soldiers.

Such measures would not have been necessary if not for the damn fool civilians that had decided to shoot at the Miroxians mourning the loss of their leader. But now that the battle was engaged, there was no backing down.

04/23/2008 1824 Local
Camp Evening Star, Separatist-Controlled Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

One thing was certain above all else: The rank-and-file would not be happy. And it was true; it was an unusual measure to take. But HQ was fairly sure it was the correct one. It would certainly inspire loyalty. And it may indeed solve the problem. All the same, as he traded in his golden rank insignia for the shining black one command had sent, Colonel Harold Donovan knew that innocent blood was going to end up on his hands. The newly assigned Colonel-Commissar Donovan pulled on his gloves and fixed his hat in place, thus completing his dress uniform, and walked out of his office, telling an aide to "Round up all the men who serviced the late Mr. Weston's personal vehicle in the last week. Detain them until I send for them. Then gather the men on the green." He then walked back into his office and spent the next hour reading Hobbes' Leviathan, waiting for his orders to be carried out.

Eighty minutes after he issued the orders, Donovan appeared on the green himself. The prisoners were on their way, having been gathered up and searched. Donovan began to speak:

"Soldiers! Men of God! Heed these words well! Today, we lost a great man to the Marxist dogs. God saw fit to take Leonard Weston, a great and honorable man, into his arms, following a cowardly bombing attack on his motorcade as he toured the city with the leader of our new Miroxian allies, the late General Toby Jones. Even now, our Miroxian allies, I am sure, exact a punishing toll on the Federal scum.

"But we know the Communists! They are certainly not astute enough to think up such a scheme on their own (OOC: They did, in fact, come up with the plan and execute it themselves.). No, there must have been an inside man. Someone with access to the late Mr. Weston's car. A traitor. Let it be known that the Theocracy will not and does not tolerate such betrayal!" Donovan turned to the three quaking mechanics assembled before him.

"One of you," he said, almost joyfully, "is a traitor to the cause. A mole. A double agent. And you will not walk away from this." He drew his pistol, chambered a round, and turned off the safety. "But I offer you the opportunity to save your fellows. Speak now, and the others will be spared." The men before him looked at him numbly, each hoping the other would speak. "No?" Donovan asked, "Pity." He leveled the pistol at the first man's forehead, mumbled "God be with you," and squeezed the trigger. Three shots rang out in the night. Three bodies, eyes clenched shut, fell to the cold, hard, ground.

"Let it be known," shouted Donovan, "That a Grand Inquisition is to take place, with myself as High Inquisitor. No man will escape! All will be tried!"

(OOC: I'd like to apologize for not sticking to the deadlines that I myself have set, but a couple weeks ago I was asked to leave my house, so I don't honestly know when I'm able to access the Internet. So if I don't post for a few days or something, the RP isn't dead, I just haven't been able to get Internet access... I really can only post at friends' houses (but who asks a friend if he can use their computer so he can play games with the Internet? Well, besides MMO addicts.) and when I'm on campus and not in class, which is for only a few hours a day.)

(OOC2: Gesford, baby, there's no reason to bring up what other websites I may or may not post on. I'm sorry we disagree on Objectivism. I simply find that it's hard to substantiate claims that it encourages working together when one reads Atlas Shrugged or The Virtue of Selfishness, or even Anthem which admittedly is less intense than Rand's other works. Yeah. I used to buy into Rand's work, back in high school. Then I read Marx, and realized that the "greater good" is better served via egalitarian socioeconomic structures. We can continue this via TG if you'd like.)

NEW FUKUOKA, PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF H-TOWN TEJAS

President Tsuchii Miho was the first democratically elected leader that H-Town Tejas had had in 125 years. Getting there hadn't been too hard. Her sole opponent was an uncharismatic old man with a very unclear platform. Needless to say, she had won in a landslide.

It was actually being President that was hard.

Her foreign minister, Desiderio Quiroga, entered her office to see her hitting her head on the desk in front of her.

"...Miho?" he said, "That's really not a good thing to do."

"Yeah? Well, when you have three papercuts and another fucking ream of paperwork to go through, it feels good!" she responded, "I'm not Chairman Nagaraku!"

Quiroga sighed and put a couple of sheets, stapled together on her desk.

"Read these first," he said, "There's something going on overseas."

"There's always something going on overseas," President Tsuchii said, looking down at the report. As she went through it, her petulant child attitude of before left her face, and was replaced with an intense, serious expression. Quiroga sat down, waiting for her to finish.

"How many troops can we spare?" she asked. The crackdown on the fascist rebels had been going well so far, but it still consumed a fair amount of manpower.

"I can probably get General Nakahara to spare a few brigades," Quiroga replied, "Are we gonna do this?"

"No, Desi," President Tsuchii said sarcastically, "We're going to let a fellow secular socialist regime that's more democratic than we are fall to foreign-backed theocratic rebels."

"Right. I'll get to General Nakahara and write a statement," Quiroga said.

"Don't worry," Tsuchii said, "I'll do that."

OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT STATEMENT

The People's Republic of H-Town Tejas will not stand idly by while a democratic state of the people is trampled over by the backwards-thinking forces of extreme rightism and theocracy. If it pleases the government of Hurfdurfistan, we would like to send a group of peacekeepers to assist in defeating the separatist forces that threaten their nation.

Tsuchii Miho, President of the People's Republic of H-Town Tejas

http://img260.imageshack.us/img260/7462/officialcommuniquexi5.png

To President Tsuchii Miho, People's Republic of H-Town Tejas,

To begin, we would like to extend formal greetings to you, personally, and your nation, on the behalf of the Federation of Hurfdurfistan. To be brief, we would welcome any help we can garner. Although we can hold our own against one opponent, we fear that the involvement of the Miroxians (and potentially others) may bode poorly for our nation.

We welcome our socialist comrades, and gratefully accept your offer. Perhaps, when this is all over, we can explore further diplomatic relations.

Regards,

Nikolas Sampedro,
High Councilor of Hurfdurfistan

OOC: Postin' dis to get around the length restriction.

http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i156/UNDComrade/Yanitaria/OfficialCommunication-1.png

The United Royal Provinces of Yanitaria would like to offer our comrades in Hurfdurfistan the ability to buy any Yanitarian made military equipment on credit. At the conclusion of our victory in Miroxia, we will extract payment from the people of Miroxia as "reparations" for supporting the rebellion in your nation.

OOC: See sig for link to store.

Ambassodor Terry Lawwood from Miroxia stepped onto Miroxian Star-Jet 5, the plane used by all Miroxian ambassadors. He soon sat in his seat, laptop running with Yahoo!Mirox-E-mail running. He soon began typing:

To: Hurdurfistani Leader
From: Miroxian Ambassador Terry Lawwood
Subject: Peace Confrence

Greetings, fellow brethern. I am Terry Lawwood, an Ambassador from Miroxia. I have been given strict order from our leader, Sir Dictator Durant Adams, to meet with you for peace. Our troops in Knemir have retreated in cease-fire. Miroxia's only wish is to give religious rights to those in Hurdurfistan. We (the Dictator and I) have come up with several compromises to please both the Miroxians, the Sepritists, and the Hurfduristani people alike. We also would love to help clean up the damages of the war. Thank you.

He then clicked send and began typing again:

To: Yanitarian Leader
From: Miroxian Ambassador Terry Lawwood
Subject: Peace

...As you can see, this is a very pointless "war", if that is what you can call it. The point of this war is to keep Shazbotdom armies from destroying your nation and Scandivanian armies from destroying mine. It would save plent of hassle and waste. You could come to the peace confrence betwwen me and the Hurfdurfistani leader, or we could hold a seperate one. Thank you.

With that he sent it and sit back to relax on his trip to Hurfdurfistan.

To: Ambassador Terry Lawwood
From: High Councilor Nikolas Sampedro and convened Governing Council
Subject: RE:Peace Conference

Greetings, ambassador. My name is Nikolas Sampedro, and I am the High Councilor of the Governing Council of Hurfdurfistan. We bid you welcome to our once-glorious country. Normally I would play the role of gracious host, but these are dangerous times, and I feel that perhaps it would be best if we simply got down to business.

It would be our pleasure to host negotiations, but we feel that perhaps you have not yet grasped the totality of the situation. The Separatist forces have, and have always had, the freedom to practice their beliefs in any way they so choose. However, we understand that our ways are alien to you, and would gladly talk with you personally at Camp Early Light, in Knemir, as that seems to be the most convenient location for all involved. If you wish, we will send a diplomatic envoy to retrieve you and any security you wish to bring along, as we recognize that our past behavior has been, perhaps, overly aggressive in regards to your nation and its people.

It is good that your men in Knemir have fallen back, as we were and still are greatly saddened by the pointless loss of lives incurred there. We give you our most solemn promise that we will not break the cease-fire with your forces.

>>Greetings, fellow brethern. I am Terry Lawwood, an Ambassador from Miroxia. I have been given strict order from our leader, Sir Dictator Durant Adams, to meet with you for peace. Our troops in Knemir have retreated in cease-fire. Miroxia's only wish is to give religious rights to those in Hurdurfistan. We (the Dictator and I) have come up with several compromises to please both the Miroxians, the Sepritists, and the Hurfduristani people alike. We also would love to help clean up the damages of the war. Thank you.

http://img260.imageshack.us/img260/7462/officialcommuniquexi5.png

Although we appreciate the gracious offer from our Yanitarian comrades, we must at this time respectfully decline. It is imperative that we keep our own industries afloat during the course of this war, and to buy foreign military equipment would do more harm than good in that respect. Wars, after all, are as much a civilian undertaking as a military one, and to disregard that would be folly. If, however, the war comes to a point where we cannot manufacture equipment fast enough, we would gladly purchase equipment from you.

We do have a request, though. With the scorched earth tactics often employed in the first months of this war, our agricultural base has dropped to nearly nothing in some areas. In major cities, our people go hungry as we cannot produce enough food. Would you, perhaps, be willing to sell us foodstuffs instead of weapons? It would be mutually beneficial, and would continue after the war until we are able to supply our peoples' needs again.

O

OOC: Nova Boozia, I have no intention of ending this conflict only 30 posts in. If you're still down, I think I've still got some fight in me.
OOC2: Content bump when I remember where I wanted to go next.

To: Ambassador Terry Lawwood
From: High Councilor Nikolas Sampedro and convened Governing Council
Subject: RE:Peace Conference

Greetings, ambassador. My name is Nikolas Sampedro, and I am the High Councilor of the Governing Council of Hurfdurfistan. We bid you welcome to our once-glorious country. Normally I would play the role of gracious host, but these are dangerous times, and I feel that perhaps it would be best if we simply got down to business.

It would be our pleasure to host negotiations, but we feel that perhaps you have not yet grasped the totality of the situation. The Separatist forces have, and have always had, the freedom to practice their beliefs in any way they so choose. However, we understand that our ways are alien to you, and would gladly talk with you personally at Camp Early Light, in Knemir, as that seems to be the most convenient location for all involved. If you wish, we will send a diplomatic envoy to retrieve you and any security you wish to bring along, as we recognize that our past behavior has been, perhaps, overly aggressive in regards to your nation and its people.

It is good that your men in Knemir have fallen back, as we were and still are greatly saddened by the pointless loss of lives incurred there. We give you our most solemn promise that we will not break the cease-fire with your forces.

>>Greetings, fellow brethern. I am Terry Lawwood, an Ambassador from Miroxia. I have been given strict order from our leader, Sir Dictator Durant Adams, to meet with you for peace. Our troops in Knemir have retreated in cease-fire. Miroxia's only wish is to give religious rights to those in Hurdurfistan. We (the Dictator and I) have come up with several compromises to please both the Miroxians, the Sepritists, and the Hurfduristani people alike. We also would love to help clean up the damages of the war. Thank you.

The plane landed in the Knemir Airport. Terry stepped off the plane and got in the Roles Royce the plane had brought. It was the dictator's own bullet-proof, tinited window, gold-painted Roles Royce. Several body guards were accompaning him in his journey. He had a map of Hurfdurfistan. They soon found their way to Camp Early Light. He then spotted a man in a suit with many bodyguards. He and his bodyguards stepped out and met. The two men shook hands as Terry said, "Hello, High Concilor Nikolas Samperdo; I'm am Terry Lawwood, Miroxian ambassador. The dictator has given me some topics he want to talk about. The first is both our nation's form of (weird) governemnt. You may start," he said.

04/24/2008 0952 Local
Camp Early Light, Federation-Controlled Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

High Councilor Sampedro looked around, smiling. "Although it's a beautiful day, I'd prefer that we conduct our sensitive diplomatic affairs inside, if that's alright. Come, we'll use a conference room." With that, he was off, walking with the members of his guard.

The conference room was large, used normally for meetings of officers. "I'm sorry we don't have any fancier accommodations, but this is after all a military base. You must be hungry, thirsty perhaps. It's a long flight, from what I gather, and the drive isn't short either." He called for an aide, then asked, "Is there anything we can get for you, Mr. Lawwood?"

Pleasantries out of the way, Sampedro sat down across the table from Lawwood, leaning back in his chair. "Now then. Onto business. You asked about our government. We are a fusion of a republic and a pure democracy. We have a governing council for matters that we do not have the time to pass referendums for, but most issues go directly to the people. Our people determine our policies, domestic and foreign. And what of the government of Miroxia?"

Lawwood sipped his wine the aide brought him. He looked around and said, "Well, um, Miroxia has taken up the name "dictatorship" after Ustin Jusari united North and South Miroxia into one Miroxia for the good of the nation. Ever since Roland took over, he insisted that "dictatorship" is a traditional name, but he'd call our nation a Council Seat, in which a High Coucilor is elected only after the current "dictator" dies or quits, much like Roland who was shot and died of heart attack. In a close election, Durant, his son, won. 99 other councilors are elcted and sometime, the council will vote on things. Sometimes, if there's a draw in votes, or the "dictator" feels the issue doesn't need to be voted on, he will decide the result." He sipped some more of the wine. "Anyway, I understand religious men are taking up rebellion, but you claim they can worship freely. Any explanation?"

"The rebellion? Well, I suppose it's time for a crash course in Hurfdurfistani history. It all started forty-six years ago, when we declared that our government should and would be secular in order to limit favoritism. What one must understand was that this was an effort to remove bias in government, and that theists were and are free to worship as they please. Religious groups simply don't receive any federal funding. This was and is, by and large, fine with most of the citizenry, but there was a fringe element that wanted to revert to the theocracy we revolted against.

"Over time, that fringe element began to win people over. It's impossible to deny that they've got catchy rhetoric, after all.

"Eventually, they decided that the time was right to force the nation back to rule under God, and attacked the Federation." Sampedro shrugged. "At least, that's what we believe happened. It's been nearly impossible to talk with them, and capturing one of their leaders alive has thus far proven problematic."

"Well," Terry said. "I believe that chucrch and state should be seperate. That way, people can worship, as you said, freely!" He took another sip of wine. "But if you want them out of your hair, give them some remote territory (small bits) and let them rule themselves. Under Miroxia, we will give them what they want. What area is the most remote?"

"That just won't do, I'm afraid. We will not bow to them, as popular opinion holds, and perhaps rightly so, that they are the forces of totalitarianism. Nor, I think, would they be amenable to such a proposal. Realistically they would be weak under such an agreement.

"Mr Lawwood, I must say, I don't think we are going to get anywhere. Not as long as it is only you and I in this room. Let me ask you, how long do you intend to keep forces here? We are not abject to your soldiers' presence, per se, as long as this cease-fire holds up, of course, but it is in our national interest to know. Surely you understand."

"Well, if that wouldn't do, you could have cease-fire and talk with a Seperatist leader. What are their demands, anyway?"

Sampedro smiled. "My friend, our diplomats have tried to call cease-fire before. Do you think we immediately reacted with force? We are not savages, sir, despite what you may think of us. Granted, we have not shown ourselves to be anything other than bloodthirsty, but I would hope that, well, we can let bygones be bygones. I would like to offer my personal apologies for the death of your commander, by the way. That was an unfortunate affair.

"The simple fact of the matter is that we are facing a relentless enemy who desires only conquest, as best we can divine. Neither of us can realistically give any ground, you understand. And we are committed to this war, despite the current standoff.

"This, sir, is a matter of national survival, not a matter of an extremist group demanding self-governance."

"Tough demands. So the only way, being as stubborn as these Seperatists are, is war, so it seems?"

"As far as we can tell, yes. It is, to paraphrase, a conflict for the hearts and minds of the citizenry."

To: Yanitarian Leader
From: Miroxian Ambassador Terry Lawwood
Subject: Peace

...As you can see, this is a very pointless "war", if that is what you can call it. The point of this war is to keep Shazbotdom armies from destroying your nation and Scandivanian armies from destroying mine. It would save plent of hassle and waste. You could come to the peace confrence betwwen me and the Hurfdurfistani leader, or we could hold a seperate one. Thank you.

With that he sent it and sit back to relax on his trip to Hurfdurfistan.


To: Miroxian Ambassador Terry Lawwood
From: Jocelyn Eldegaard, Minister of Foreign Affairs
Subject: Peace

I do not believe that Shazbotdom could destroy Yanitaria in it's entirety, especially with help from our ally, The Scandinvan Empire. With Yanitarian ships and planes bearing down on your nation, you are the one who is most in trouble.

Since your letter is most undiplomatically worded, we are wary of dealing with your dictatorship. However, now that there seem to be peace talks between Miroxia and Hurfdurfistan, we will agree to seperate talks on our terms.

These talks will take place between your dictator and the Captain of the HMS Ellis, a Shchuka Class attack submarine, Commodore Walter Fost. Upon your agreement, Commodore Fost will surface his submarine and sail into an agreed upon port, where the Dictator and one guard will be escorted into the Commodore's quarters, where he will be accompanied by one guard. The ship will then sail out to ensure that neither the HMS Ellis or your dictator will be harmed by terrorists or overzealous destroyer captains.

If you do not agree to the terms of this meeting, Yanitarian ships will continue as ordered towards Miroxia. If you agree, as a sign of good faith, all military ships and planes will be recalled immediately.

As a sign of good will for now, the military aircraft en route to Miroxia will be recalled.

Sincerely,
J. Eldegaard,
Minister of Foreign Affairs.

O

OOC: Sorry, but it's seems to have not quoted your message from before.

IC:

It is by great coincidence that Yanitaria is looking for nations willing to buy Yanitarian agricultural products. Of course Yanitaria can start shipping food to feed your hungry nation.

Sincerely,
J. Eldegaard,
Minister of Foreign Affairs.

OOC: Sorry, but it's seems to have not quoted your message from before.

IC:

It is by great coincidence that Yanitaria is looking for nations willing to buy Yanitarian agricultural products. Of course Yanitaria can start shipping food to feed your hungry nation.

Sincerely,
J. Eldegaard,
Minister of Foreign Affairs.

We are gladdened by this news. As long as Miroxia isn't actively sinking our ships, we still control Hurfdurfistan's blue-water navy, and can send ships to accept the goods if necessary.

Regards,
Sarah McKay,
Secretary of State

We are gladdened by this news. As long as Miroxia isn't actively sinking our ships, we still control Hurfdurfistan's blue-water navy, and can send ships to accept the goods if necessary.

Regards,
Sarah McKay,
Secretary of State

Allow us to send our own ships, which will be traveling under the escort of YRN Hatchet class frigates. Any attack on our ships will be considered an act of war, and force the Yanitarian military to act on it's invasion plans for Miroxia.

Sincerely,
J. Eldegaard,
Minister of Foreign Affairs.

OOC: To the relevant parties, is the separatist movement more about economy or religion? It certainly seems like the 'anti-Theocracy' side of the debate is the one that is getting all the attention.

OOC: It's really all about religion with economics as an aside, something to think about afterwards.

Yanitarian-Miroxian peace talks @: Operation: Miroxian Defence

OOC: Still here, everybody! I need to catch up because this is exam season here in Britain and I'm a bit swamped. Please forgive me. I'm just saying that my troops have just arrived because all the diplomacy has taken place on their voyage over.

IC: "Go, go, go! We haven't got long!"

Krombacher seemed to be everywhere, twirling over the deck like a whirlwind, materialising next to every team that was struggling with their equipment. Jakob and his men were already hopping into the water and, not waiting for their comrades, striking out for shore with long, confident strokes. They were in sight of land, and would be in action soon. There was no times to waste.

"Okay there, Dimo?"

"Ja, hauptman."

"You, Steuben?"

"Ja, hauptman."

"Then I must go."

Gustav's hands swept over his swimming gear for a final safety check before he vaulted into the sea. The cold was something of a shock, but he knew moving was the way to work it off. Others were making splashes of their own all about him. He had nearly everyone.

The coast loomed very close, although of course in nautical terms, any coast you could see was generally pretty close. They had chosen this stretch because it was almost entirely deserted. No gran entrances for the Koenigsjaegers.

Gustav struck out with the front crawl, the only stroke he felt fully at home with. Hand over hand over hand... he quickly settled into a rythm, the numbing cold losing its bite as the coast glided closer. It didn't feel like long before the first of his soldiers were on the beach. Flippers came off, rifles were emptied of water (they should still work, but it would be best to check before seeing action), and, shovels in hand, they scrambled up to the tree-line.

By the time Gustav joined them, a hole was already taking shape. Normally German forces were meticulous with their equipment, but for this mission they had had to use the crude method. One frogsuit after another was hurled to the bottom, along with other disposable equipment in bags. A strict inventory would be kept. When this was all over, someone would have to dig this stuff up.

Gustav looked back down the beach. That was everybody.

"Ditch swimming gear! We're knee-deep in this now, people!"

The troops cheered and got to work. Give it twenty minutes, and they'd be off.

OOC: So if I draw up a crude map, will you pinpoint where you landed?

As soon as the reply from Hurfdurfistan came, the Tupac Amaru Shakur Division of the Tejano Proletariat Defense Force was put on ships to the war-torn nation, so the Separatists could be defeated more quickly. While in transit, the Separatists had already largely fallen apart. They lost Miroxia as a foreign supporter, and they themselves were going through internal chaos: a purge by their no-doubt insane leader. So, the 10,000 men and women of the Tupac Amaru Shakur Division didn't see themselves staying long. They would have to fight their way through the remaining separatists, then stay a little longer to make sure the peace went smoothly, most likely. What could happen?

They finally arrived in Hurfdurfistani waters, near one of the country's major ports. They would disembark there, then head towards the Separatist-controlled zone. The division had been stationed in the interior of Tejas's war-torn Dallas Exclave before they had come here, and were all experienced in anti-insurgency warfare.

Furui Yasujiro, the unit's commanding officer, looked out at the country where he would be for the duration of this operation.

'Piece of cake,' he thought to himself, taking a swig of beer. He sat down on the lawn chair he had put in the bridge and leaned back.

OOC: Yes. A map would be highly appreciated.

OOC: I wrote up more content and drew up a map. I'll post them as soon as I can find a scanner.

04/25/2008 0933 Local
Market, No Man's Land, Knemir, Hurfdurfistan

All things considered, the cease-fire had been good for Blackwell's team. It gave them time to regroup and think, to plot and perhaps scheme a bit. More importantly, it gave them time to rest, which was a rarity in their line of work. The constant stress and pressure of an operation such as the one they were engaged in had to be relieved sometime. As always, for Blackwell, it was simply action. Today, it was cooking.

He walked through the streets with Davit, looking at the different types of vegetables. "You know, I find that fresh ingredients really make a dish. It doesn't matter how well one can cook if your ingredients are bad. So, one must find the best ingredients if one wants to cook well. Like these tomatoes. We could get these, here, these Roma tomatoes, and they're a good bargain, but they're a little bit too soft for my tastes. Now, these ones, still on the vine, are firmer. A little more expensive, sure, but I like to think that I give the people I work with the best I can." Blackwell looked over at Savit, "Of course, maybe I'm just talking." Savit grinned, then offered "I don't like your cooking, sir. I don't know what half of it is. It tastes good, and it's filling, but... I miss my parents' dishes."

Blackwell shoved Savit with the butt of his rifle, "Get me recipes, Kris." Savit nodded, "Will do, sir." The pair walked on a little longer, checking more ingredients. Eventually, with a backpack full of food, they turned back toward the courtyard where Richards was waiting with the truck. As they neared it, Richards opened the door, getting out to greet them. Then, with a loud clap and a fireball, the truck exploded, throwing Richards to the ground, bleeding. Blackwell sprinted forward, checking Richards' wounds. Savit stood over him, rifle at the ready.

Richards grasped at Blackwell's hands, holding him tight as blackness overtook him. When his hands went limp, Blackwell checked his pulse. Nothing. Blackwell passed his hand over Richards' eyes, closing them. Then he stood up, walking fast. "Detachment Kilo has been compromised. Repeat, detachment Kilo has been compromised. All remaining units are to fall back to..." He throught for a moment, deciding "rally point Bravo. All units fall back to rally point Bravo." He reached into his backpack, pulled out his radio. "Kilo zero-one to Kilo actual. We have been compromised. Falling back to rally point Bravo. Requesting UAV observation. Over."

That done, Blackwell turned to Savit. "I'm going to go back to the safehouse and make sure the others make it out alright. You head to rally point Bravo. Secure it. We'll be there shortly. Now, hurry." Savit nodded, then jogged eastward. Blackwell keep moving north, heading toward the safehouse. Running. He was minutes away when the call came in. "Kilo zero-one, this is Kilo zero-four. I am with Kilo zero-two. We are under fire. Repeat, we are under attack. Please advise." "Kilo zero-one to Kilo zero-four. I'm approaching now. ETA four minutes. Just hold them off for as long as you can. Over."

He picked up the pace. Sprinting, he came upon the safehouse. Breathing heavily, he looked through the ACOG atop his M4. It looked like... six men. Heavily armed. Some kind of special forces judging by their breaching technique. And, fuck, an APC covering them. Blackwell dropped the backpack, pulling out his tactical vest. He crept up on the APC, crawled under it, and planted a shaped charge. He crawled out from beneath it, then around the low wall surrounding the safe house. He could hear gunfire from inside. He hoped he wasn't too late as he triggered the shaped charge.

The APC's turret flew upwards as a gout of flame forced its way out accompanied by a muffled boom. Then Blackwell ran inside, hoping to flank the attacking team. He came across two already dead in the first room alone, evidently killed by the exploding doorframe. As he advanced further into the building, he came across another, this one shot dead. The gunfire grew louder as he found the rest of them, standing at a doorframe, shooting whenever Simons and Lasater stopped to reload. Blackwell leaned around a corner and started shooting from his flanking position. He dropped two. Then his weapon jammed. The last man swung his weapon around, brought it to his shoulder, aimed.

Then dropped.

Simons stood over him, her Mk21 in her hands. Her chest heaved with her breathing. Her face impassive, she said, simply "Lasater's hit."

Blackwell went into the room, fearing the worst. Lasater leaned against the wall, bleeding. He was clearly dead. Even so, Blackwell checked his pulse. Nothing. He closed the man's staring eyes, grabbed Simons, and walked outside. He picked up the backpack and made for rally point Bravo.

The Separatists had begun their push in Knemir. Tanks rumbled through the docks, infantry marched through the streets, and helicopters hovered overhead. And in front of the surge of men and materiel, Colonel-Commissar Harold Donovan urged his men forward.

OOC: So that's the story detail I've written for today. I'll address specific posts later tonight. As soon as I find a scanner.

Map. (http://h1.ripway.com/therealbiggs/MapofHurfdurfistan.jpg)
It's big, and I only have so much daily bandwidth, so please, download it only once.

After much peace talking and failure to please both parties, Miroxia herebys withdraw from the war. we will donate 1 million dollars to pay for damages and frustration. thank you.