NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC As of right now this is closed to members of the Imperial Ultimatum thread and their respective allies, most of them also involved, I'm sure you know who you are. I would post the OOC thread but the internet picks the worst time not to work. I'll be lucky to get this out, but I'm sure everyone knows where the OOC is.

IC


When the first newsreel had rippled through the Imperial Capital, it had said nothing of the heinous civil crimes, the threats, at least in a recognizable form. There was however quite a large section of the Pictish Consul, in evening dress, chasing down various symbols of patriotism or of matronly love. It had taken quite some time for the newly elected President of the Imperial Republic to finally veto the act of ratification, which in turn had given Waldenburgers some time to prepare. The first gear of war to begin turning, before the great military parades was a frantic scrabble for to enrage the heart of every citizen across the great diocese of the Church; candid messages, and subtle overtures were made by every parish priest for the mortal soul to be given a quick brush up before it was off for the final judgment. Some of the more old guard within the august halls felt it was too subtle; there was no fervor in the street or burning of effigies, and most importantly no rush to the recruiting booths.

This last point, at least to Captain Adam Adalban, was quite irrelevant as anyone who could stand up best two times out of three had a rifle slapped on their shoulder as part of the massive and comprehensive Imperial Defense Initiative which started nearly a year ago. Though the captain would never voice the opinion it simply made people easier to shoot as a weapon, which one does not know the use, becomes a weapon of the enemy. Admittedly it was comforting to see the Imperial Opera take part in weekly bayonet drills, there was something inherently beautiful to watch a two hundred kilogram mezzo soprano thunder her way down the converted cricket pitch and cut a sack of flour to ribbons. He also personally knew the Minister of Agriculture could now remove a man’s head with a swipe of his hand, due to more specific drills, but it ultimately boiled down to the government handing a bolt-action rifle 50 years out of date, to fight aircraft. In his mind, and with his most recent posting the Captain had promised himself silently to never allow that to happen.

Now it was the WIS Indolence that demanded his attention, and though he would have liked to describe the ship as sleek, and elegant; it was most often described as a bucket of rust held together by hope and chewing gum. This was no Imperial Navy ship, most of which had been purchased five years ago, after the debacle against the Maldorians, this ship was of the Serene Legion, the ad hock militia set up by the Cenobiarch in the name of security. The ship was forty years old, and most of it’s crew more elderly, most of them often having flown the original fighters upon it when it had been sleek and elegant. Adalban had at least seen it cleaned and Cross of St. George, covering most of the flight deck, almost glowed in the dusk hours.

Within the reinforced command bunker, which be design had been moved below deck, and fiber optics now connected it to the above world, the command staffed waited for the ancient communications offer to scribble the most recent message from the Cenobiarch who seemed to be taking a very personal interest in the matter, so much so that already one man was in hospital with a shattered wrist.

“Proceed,” the old man cracked at last though gummy lips, “to pursue to the Church’s ultimate goal and take the fight to the enemy in whatever manner seems beneficial to our officers in the field. Sorry sir.”

The captain nodded solemnly, it was practically a death sentence, the order had been given before and even though the officer turned out a tremendous victory and with a handful of ships defeated an entire navy, but ultimately he had not followed the vague directives of the Church.

“Righttttt..” Adalban rubbed his hands together slowly, “we have a green light to attack both from the Church and unofficially from the war cabinet. So how to go about doing so, an aerial assault is out of the question whatever the Cenobiarch says, and we will not risk our frigates,” he rolled his eyes slightly, “to shore emplacements. Paratroopers though effective, well it’s a long drop. Can we estimate the number of Pictish men?”

“Perhaps three regiments, a squadron of aircraft and some light warships probably, and defensive guns.” A young intelligence officer piped in, and as he did so his voice cracked, and his honest red jowls wobbled slightly.

“To many for our,” the captain snapped his fingers for some time, “our three hundred paratroopers. It looks like we are either confined to land our troops some ways up the coast, or a direct assault into enemy territory.” Already the Captain knew which was the Church’s directive, and it was not the sensible option. It was always said that first to win a war you had to win hearts, and the threat of oblivion always modifies the heart rate.

“What off the frogmen?” There was a silence for a moment and the officers parted to stare at Deacon Hobbis, who sat at his ease amongst a pile of military maps. “Though I am not a man of a military man, perhaps the frogmen could take the harbor and secure a beachhead for the Storm Troopers. I believe we have some ten thousand amongst the squadron? They should be adequate to wipe away this rabble of enemies. In fact that is the directive of the Church."

--

On the Amphibious Assault ship WIS Thunderer, which at least had been laid down in the last twenty years, forty wet-suited naval infantry man were being strapped into their suits, and being shown how to work the electromagnets, which would through, and here all but the most keen intellects glaze over, which would through a round about manner stick, the men both to their Sea Bobs, and enemy warships. Well insulated was the major sticking point and, iron filings were all that stuck in most of their minds. The motorized sleds could take them down forty meters under the hull of any ship, and move the platoon the twenty-two miles to surprise the Pictish. Hopefully, provide nothing went wrong; the squad would arrive at sundown, which continentally would turn the bay into a glistening mirror reflecting back only red. And slightly later, if things went to plan it would reflect back a different sort of light all together. The black figures slowly slipped into the sea, and kicked their engines to life.


--
Fanfare of the Imperial Horse Guard (http://gustave.club.fr/Musiques/Marche_Grenadiers_a_cheval.mp3)

To the fanfare of the Imperial Horse Guard their namesake thundered past the Grestonian infantry who looked slightly baffled as cavalry trotted down their barracks and churned the dirt on their parade ground. Seven thousand of horse, in four regiments cascaded over the ground their banners and armor shining in the setting sun. Sabers and lances were well in evidence, and as the color guard slowly trotted to a halt, the first of the officers dismounted.

“Colonel Saxewheeler a pleasure,” one of the cavalrymen stuck out his hand to an apparently ranked Grestonian officer. “Eleventh heavy cavalry, Waldenburger of course.”

“Pleasure,” the Grestonian replied back as he shook the man’s hand in a rather amused manner. “Move your armored units to the motor pool, and come meet the general staff.”

“Armored units?” It was the colonel’s turn to look bemused, “weren’t you listening? Eleventh cavalry.” Apparently the armies were few and proud were gathering.

Preparation for Armageddon

Union City, Anagonia
Today, the Chief Governor announced that a new Military Doctrine was to be set in place in defense of Pictish Interests. Previously, Johnny Standford had announced that Anagonia would not be involved in the personal affairs of the Imperium, and the now-proclaimed Med-Crisis. However, recent developments from various MU Nations has obviously disturbed the Office of the Chief Governor enough to begin preparations for all-out warfare.

A spokesperson for the Chief Governors Office represented the Chief Governor at a public meeting today to the Anagonian People. She described in extreme detail that Naval operations across the globe would center around MU nations, and would begin "edging into their territorial waters in order to provoke order." She also went on to explain that the nations Nuclear Stockpile would be set in order for a possible "Armageddon Initiative."

The Grand Congress responded almost immediately. Senator Rocktiv Yukozov from the Republic Member-Province of Nodea Rudav spoke to the public concerning the state of affairs. "I believe firmly that our military will and can destroy all threats to Nova Pictavia," he stated. "However I do not believe we will begin a nuclear attack without proper provocation."

Members of the Military disagree. Admiral Greg Tunbit of the Grand Navy of the Republic responded later in the evening with a rebuttal. "It is common in Anagonian Military Doctrine to deploy One Kiloton Tactical Nuclear Missiles to destroy enemy fleet and land assets," he said. However he went on to explain that he would agree with the Senator from Nodea Rudav on one prospect. "It is not, however, Military Doctrine to lob 500 Megaton Thermonuclear Warheads without provocation. That would take intense pressure from the enemy for us to deploy our actual Nuclear assets."

With so many disagreements on both the Government and Military level, one thing is clear. Anagonia will not, without proper provocation, begin to launch its Nuclear stockpile. It is unclear if the Navy will continue its doctrine of freely using tactical nuclear warheads against the enemy, but with allies far and wide, and military bases now stretching across the globe, it is a common belief that Military Power, and not Nuclear Power, will play a role in the end-game of this conflict.

Should it come to war, of course. E.S. Stanly

The United Republic of Anagonia was gearing for a war that would be impossible to calculate. Such vast numbers of the opposing forces, weighed against the short but powerful numbers of Anagonia's allied nations, could not possibly be placed together and let loose. It was not proper Military Doctrine. Normally, the Military would end conflicts such as these with precise military strikes, of any nature, that would crumble the enemies will to continue. But this was no normal situation, and far from a normal military operation. This was a global world war at the threshold of becoming the War of Armageddon. It would be the war to end all war's, the war to either win, or die from. Entire civilizations could be wiped out, and entire populations would cease to exist.

Such things were on Johnny Standford's mind as he sat behind the Chief Governors desk, in a room resembling the Oval Office of the White House of old. Publicly he was a hardcore fanatic on making the known enemies of the Republic back down. His first victory was the threat of nuclear retaliation against the enemies of Nova Pictavia. It had worked, and they cowered in fear at the prospect of loosing their lives to a possible holocaust. Yet somehow they gained enough bravery to return to the fight, and somehow gained enough balls to declare themselves proper for military action, or something close to it.

The lives of his people had weighed heavily on his soul. Such a conflict had never been engaged upon in all of Anagonia's history. All branches of the Military had been, over centuries of existence, prepared for such a day. And, over the decades, updated to the latest possible technology. But all this was done to prevent a war of Armageddon, not to participate in it. It had worked for so long, especially under the Governorship of Dunan Ruu. But Johnny had been elected now, and he was responsible for giving the go-ahead for a war that could end his people for good.

Anagonia could very well cease to exist.

Yet the response to a threat against Nova Pictavia had sparked open protests and demonstrations. Millions of able-bodied citizens had signed up for various branches of the military. The people loved their Imperial allies, they loved being with them, they loved the culture they shared, and most loved just visiting their new Homeland. The months and possible years with Pictavia had brought with it a fruit of such prosperity that the People were protective of it. They wanted to do anything to protect their country, and the Pictish people that had become their Comrade Brethren seemingly overnight. They wanted nothing more than to survive.

It had seemed like the normal public attitude at first. But when mayors and cities brought petitions to the Chief Governor supporting a possible military action, a vote had been placed before the people. Should they give the Chief Governor permission to engage in the defense of Nova Pictavia? Not surprisingly it had been nearly unanimous. Anagonia must, in any way possible, ensure the survival of their new Imperial brethren. The people were willing to sacrifice much, at the cost of their own beloved Motherland. It was a sight that made Johnny cry in this office, cry so hard his eyes turned red. He hadn't been expecting the People to dictate Foreign Policy so quickly. Next thing he knew Congress had no choice but to support the Peoples Will, and they passed a resolution to effectively give support in currency and supplies to the Military for an extended wartime effort.

And as Johnny sat behind the desk, he watched the flatscreen TV at the side of the room. It was smaller than the Oval Office, but more spacious in the sense that more technological and modern comforts were placed here. On the TV was the Anagonian News Network, reporting from Port Independence near the city of Independence. Iowa Class Battleships, Carriers, Submarines, and everything of the sort in the background. But he wasn't looking at that. He was looking at the crowds of people, waving farewell, possibly for the last time, to their loved ones in uniform.

Johnny had the urge to weep again, to let his tears fall. He had to be strong, however, and purged such emotions from his being. In two hours the Military Cabinet would meet with him, with satellite photos of nearly every MU Nation, and possible routes of invasions and tactics. They would also describe nuclear strike sits, where they would be most effective. They would place before him the most insane proposal of all. To give the order to prepare for one Nation, under whatever Gods it served, to go against possibly hundreds and somehow survive. And then, if not survive, to ensure that each one died a thousands deaths with the power of suns.

The War of Armageddon. The most insane and bloody war of them all. He didn't honestly know if any other national leaders had purposed support, or would support. But what Johnny Standford knew was that they were going to loose entire battalions, fleets, aircraft, and innocent civilians. This war would cost them dearly, should it come to. This war could end them, once and for all. Yet, though it all, one thing, one dramatic event, kept reassuring him.

The people were willing to take the risk. Pictavia was all. Anagonia but a servant of a greater good. They, the People, and their Will, had desired to sacrifice their very existence just to save one lonesome nation, which by happenstance turned out to be the best thing Anagonia could have ever entered partnership into. They would be dying for the purpose and defense of another country.

Johnny stroked a hand through his hair, depression grabbing him. He looked at the TV screen, seeing the Star of David, and the Flag that had been adopted by Anagonia flying bravely in the background of the People. He stared at it for some time, contemplating nothing. The decision now rested on his shoulders, it would be his call, it would be his hands blooded with the lives of millions, possibly billions. Was he willing to take it?

An hour past of this, finally Johnny stood and turned the TV off. He straightened his outfit, business like and professional in texture. A three-piece suit that his wife had bought him, something he loved. He felt the ridges, the texture, and closed his eyes. Then he sighed, and opened them. His mind made up, he headed early for the Briefing room.

Anagonia would go to war. It would be a glorious war. It would be a war not in vain. Before the enemy found their weakness, millions would die under the onslaught, thousands more would be forced to run. They would fear the awesome determination of the United Republic. They would be forced to flee in terror. There would be no surrender, no mercy. There would be no one left living to tell any tales. All enemies of the Pictish would feel the anger, the hatred, and the die-hard resolution of every Anagonian before they found the way to wipe the United Republic off the face of the earth. No matter what, before this war would end, they would crumble.

Anagonia would make them fear the day, make them pay dearly, for when they angered the sleeping Dragon.

ooc: MINE EYES! THE TINY TEXT! X__x

IC:
Salutations Brothers and Sisters of the International Community,

It has come to my attention that there are several rogue factions seeking to illegally undermine the security of the nation of New Pictavia abroad by rejecting an agreement previously signed. This is unacceptable on its own, and represents the inability of those leading the aforementioned factions to stand behind their own agreements.

Any agreement, once put into force, must be honored to the fullest extent of its requirements. Any deviation from such is just cause for the offended faction to initiate hostilities, legitimizing acts of extreme force against the offending nations.

The nation of Akimonad has expressed her consternation with the situation, being somewhat involved with Pictish affairs. As can be imagined, those matters that pertain to the security of the state of Akimonad pertain to the security of the Nuclear Commonwealth as a whole. As such, I wish to state that should the need arise, a state of open warfare could be declared between the several nations of the Commonwealth and the various territories that choose to stand against her.

As a precaution, I wish to let it be known that as Praetor of the Nuclear Commonwealth, I am calling for the several members of the Commonwealth to deploy assets to the region at once. Should there be a need, these assets are to act with extreme prejudice.

-Atal Amner
-Atal Amner
Prime Minister of No Endorse
Arch Leader of the Glorious Military Junta
Senior Director of Muncherian Affairs
High Commander of the Armed Forces
Praetor of the Nuclear Commonwealth
Lord-Protector of New Heisen and Surrounding Lands
King of the Greater No Endorse State
President of the Senate
Duke of Havia
Baron of Aerona
Bearer of the Razor of Ockham
Loyal Advocate of Darwin

“Kyrios, a message from Atal Amner. It has begun.” The aide passed the note to Michael Allen Delphi, grinning as he did so. The Kyrios’ gloved hands gripped the dispatch as he read it. A smile slashed its way across his features as well.

“Very good, send the all-clear.” The aide bowed and walked through the balcony’s glass doors. The Kyrios straightened his dress uniform and stepped back up to the railing. Fascist flags rippled in the wind as the soldiers below locked step and began to march, their arms held out and elbows crooked in salute. Michael returned the gesture as they passed, the sound of iron-shod boots smashing into concrete streets mingling with the cheers of the crowds. 72-ton Rhino tanks rolled slowly behind the first platoon to pass, their barrels raised and rotated to simulate a salute. The parade followed the arrow-straight central boulevard, taking an abrupt turn at the docks as the participants made their way onto the landing craft that would take them to the waiting Skyian transports. The dark outlines of distant escort ships littered the waves of the bay.

“The Commonwealth marches to war,” the Kyrios grinned again.

Valëka, Kirav

Emperor Irasur Seawind was visiting his wife in the Empire's largest city when he recieved news of Anagonia's new doctrine. He went to the balcony of her apartment and looked out over the beautiful metropolis.

Towers, statues, bridges, and church steeples stabbed into the violet dusk sky above the city of six-million souls. Seawind imagined it all gone. The bridges submerged, the famous towers incinerated, and the statues crumbled, with the millions of Valëkans vapourised or crushed. Then the visions flooded his head of the Empire's other great cities. Saar-Forestgreen's iconic streets destroyed, the clock tower of Mistport a shattered expanse of stone and metal. He saw his hometown of Star's Lake as a scorching hole.

Nuclear weaponry was a startling prospect in Kirav. The Empire did, of course, maintain its own small arsenal of KE-made missiles for defence, as well as a complement of Lyran weapons. But they'd never seen use outside of those little atolls in the Pelagic Ocean. The Anagonians were right. The power to destroy entire civilisations in one fell swoop was not to be used lightly. For Kiravians, there was ample reason to fear. They maintained a civilisation and a culture unique to the world. They had their own language, their own calendar, their own measurement system, their own everything. Were armagedddon to come in the form of a nuclear attack, something would be lost that could not be found elsewhere, like killing the last of an endangered species.

However, no fear of ahniallation would deter the Empire from aiding the Picts. The two nations were brothers in war, blood, and sweat. Seawind has already sent orders to Kartika to mobilise the KE Military. In Saar-Forestgreen's military harbour, half a continent away, thousands of men wereboarding ships bound for Mediterranica The Imperial Star few above each vessel, the ensign of the Empire's peace, prosperity, and eminence would also be its emblem of war, and a harbinger of death for the enemy.

Kingston,
Praetonia

The Speaker of the House banged his gavel. "Order! Gentlemen, I will have order!"

The red-faced opposition MP threw down his Order Sheet in frustration.

"Sir!" He shouted, his face growing increasingly red, "I must protest! This is an outrage! An abboration! An inconceivable, irreperable gaffe of the highest order! This is... this is..." while the Honourable Gentleman tried to remember quite what else this was, The Junior Minister From The War Office took his chance to stem his opponent's vitriol mid-flow.

"While the Whig Party may be obliviously content to let these impudent foreign devils make war upon Havenic nations, and spread their interminable and irrelevant conflicts to our trade-lanes, the Tories are not."

The Tory benches began a chorus of "shame!" directed against the "obliviously content" Whigs, to which they were not oblivious and with which they were not content. As the House descended into a raucous tirade of shouting, chants and strange 'battle cries' the older members had taken to hurling out during all of the 'really interesting' debates just for sport, the Speaker started thrashing his gavel once more, struggling not to have it drowned out by the din of four hundred overrought MPs.

The anarchy died down only as the time inched perilously close to the point at which they missed the splending five course dinner in the Members' Bar, and all involved decided that they had had quite enough fun for one day, but not nearly enough to want to risk missing the port.

"If I may bring the debate to a close, Mr Speaker," The Junior Minister began, eyeing the clock at an angle, "There is a clear imperative for action in this case, but even if one is blind to it we must be clear that we are sending only one ship, whose loss would not be much felt by the navy were it to come about. Besides, she has always proved quite reliable in the past..."

Somewhere,
Mediterranica

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Fresh from a successful tour of the Kahanistani rivers, whereupon her impressive array of antique depth charge-firing mortars made quite an impression on the inhabitants of the surrounding cities, PWS Seagull, doer of His Majesty's dirty work, found herself thrust once more into the affairs of a country called Greston and its associates. A little slower and considerably rustier than she had been when she was launched more than half a century ago, the Seagull had nonetheless enjoyed a glorious career in her old age.

As she steamed onwards (and steamed was the operative word, although her engines had also been known to belch significant quantities of unburnt coal dust onto the surface search radar which, as well as being disruptive to radar, had proved highly explosive on at least one occassion) her officers and company were safe in the presumed knowledge that, while the odds were often stacked against here, she always won through in the end.

The lull in Mediterranican activity had drawn many Picts into a false sense of security over the past weeks, however this mistake was not shared by the Pictish government. Debate in parliament raged over the survivability of the Pictish base in East Partha, with many parliamentarians opposing the deployment of more personnel to the region in fear of grave losses in the first few days of conflict. Instead the brigades that resided in the concrete complex were lavishly furnished with all the hardware they could need to withstand an assault until their relief by allies forces: extensive minefields were soon strewn across the colony's perimeter, the complex was extended underneath the hills, the coast was precariously booby trapped with naval mines... Supplies too had been hoarded, with enough rations and ammunition deep within the mountain to sustain the force in a combat zone for far longer than would be required. When the first news reports of Grestonian rearmament arrived in New Pictavia, the fleet was already lying in wait, ready for its role in the bloodshed and carnage to come.




*****

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Unencrypted (Free broadcast)
To: The Imperial Republic of Greston, The Mediterranican Union
Subject: Aggressive actions
Date: 12 May MMVIII

I regret to inform the Mediterranican Union that we will not be paying around ten trillion Universal Standard Dollars in 'reparations', nor will we bow to a collection of inferior races. Since engaging in total warfare with the MU would ultimately be more cost-effective than succumbing to your financial demands, your true intention of sparking conflict has been unsurprisingly revealed to us. Let it be known that any movement and/or assault on sovereign Pictish territory regardless of your believes over legality, will be met with the overwhelming forces of the willing and end in the assured destruction of Greston and the crippling of its allies. Following New Pictavia's admittance into the NukeWealth, our allies will release a joint statement concerning your potential downfall very shortly.

Regards,
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Gaius Kadesh, IP (Imperial Parliamentarian),
Lord Consul of New Pictavia.

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OFFICIAL IMPERIAL TRANSMISSION

TO: Gaius Kadesh, Lord Consul of New Pictavia
FROM: The High Council of Arrandin
SUBJECT: Re: Aggressive Actions

The only inferior race present in this business seems to be the one whose little government cannot even afford a derisory ten trillion Universal Standard Dollars. Fear not though, it need not come to war, the Infinite Empire gives you its solemn pledge that we shall not attack sovereign Pictish territory, so you can go about your feeble existence without concern.
We also promise though, that should you send forces into our region, we will obliterate them to the man and you will wish you had better calculated which of your options truly was more cost-effective.

Yours Faithfully,

Lord Balor,
Emperor of Yallak and its Territories

On intervention patrol with Submarine Group-Wolfpack IV, somewhere near Grestonian waters

The Wolfpack had been following the Praetonian Vessel since it had illegally entered the waters of Mediterranica. As the intentions of this vessel were still unclear, the Wolfpack Commander had issued orders to the rest of the pack to shadow this vessel for the time being. If and when the Praetonians made a hostile move, the pack was in position to strike. If these intruders had come to Mediterranica thinking that the could impose their will on the free peoples of this region, they were mistaken. If they thought that they could do as they pleased where they weren`t welcome, they would pay for that mistake with their lives.

[OOC: OrBat to come in OOC thread]

Lord Praetor Dai Maccan ordered the dispatch of the Grand Fleet as soon as the Grestonian uttered his first few, decisive words as president. The newcomer had effectively thrown Greston out of the frying pan and into the fire, and Kadesh was determined to destroy the regime's capability to strike at the peace keepers currently deployed in Mediterranica, regardless of ''legality'. The fleet flew under Pictish flags, but was part of something far larger, for the fleet sailed with the colours of the NukeWealth and a coalition of allies of a combined strength so rarely witnessed.

*****

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Unencrypted (Free broadcast)
To: The Imperial Republic of Greston, The Mediterranican Union
Subject: War
Date: 12 May MMVIII

You may notice our forces are approaching your continents.

Greston has 'vetoed' our peace treaty, which forms an act of war against The Sovereign Havenic republic and in turn, our allies. We reject all MU monetary demands, thus peace is not restored. By such actions alongside the military build-up of MU nations and Grestonian troops poised at the border, we predict an MU assault against our sovereign territory in Mediterranica and so will immediately move to defend our people. Consider this statement our acknowledgement of a de facto state of war.

Regards,
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Gaius Kadesh, IP (Imperial Parliamentarian),
Lord Consul of New Pictavia.

OOC: Picts asked me for help, so here goes.

Following the Grestonian noise-making and saber-rattling against Nova Pictavia, a close and favored ally of the Realm of Cotland, the Realm decided to take pre-emptive action in order to stop the warmongering and rather rude Grestonians once and for all. Therefore, a flight of forty supersonic Blackadder MSE.2 maritime strike bombers were streaking through the skies at Mach 2, burning fuel like crazy as they moved into the area of operations quickly. Remaining in international airspace throughout the flight within the area of operations, the Blackadders quickly came within range of their deadly payload of LBM.20 Imsdal hypersonic cruise missiles. One thousand kilometers out, never straying within any nation's territorial airspace, the strike group began releasing their weapons.

The Imsdal cruise missiles were hypersonic weapons with a maximum engagement range of 1 200 kilometers, relying on GPS coordinates for guidance, meaning that any electronic warfare efforts against the missiles would be futile. Each Blackadder bomber carried six of these missiles, which had served the Cottish Military with distinction since the mid-1990s, and each missile was designed to attack the same area. The missiles were released at an altitude of 10 000 meters and dropped about one hundred meters before the solid-fuel booster ignited, sending the missiles streaking forward and upward, climbing to 25 000 meters and increasing speed to Mach 3.8, the cruise speed when at altitude. Within two minutes, all missiles had been released and the Blackadders turned back, returning to their bases at Mach 2, confident that the missiles would hit home and cause widespread destruction against the Grestonians.

The Imsdal missiles were moving quickly towards their target, the so-called Union Square base, with quite a bit of spacing between each themselves in order to prevent them from crashing into each other in mid-flight. The missiles would quickly appear on Grestonian radars, showing as moving towards Union Square from the sea and not from Pictish airspace, meaning that they couldn't use this as an excuse for an attack on Nova Pictavia.

A total of 240 Imsdal missiles were moving towards Union Square, of which 200 were of the F variant which carried 140 incendiary submunitions filled with Northick II, an improved variant of the venerable Napalm concotion which was guaranteed to cause widespread fires throughout the base. 30 of the missiles were of the C variant which carried a 317.5 kilogram penetrating blast-fragmentation warhead tasked with penetrating command bunkers, ammunition bunkers, fuel depots and equipment hangars in order to destroy the things therein, and the remaining 10 were the most devious: They were loaded with VX nerve gas designed to kill whoever survived the firestorm that was sure to be created.

As the missiles approached Union Square, the missiles began their terminal dive which incidentally increased the speed of the Imsdal missiles to Mach 7, meaning that any point defense weaponry Union Square might possess would have a very difficult time intercepting the fast-moving missiles. The Imsdal-C missiles were tasked to hit first, followed by the Imsdal-F missiles, which a few minutes later when the fires erupted around the base would be followed by the VX-carrying Imsdal missiles which released their deadly nerve gas payload 200 meters over the base, creating a thick and sticky rain of nerve gas that would burn through any exposed skin and kill every living thing out there. Those lucky(?) few 100 000 Grestonians didn't immediately burn to a crisp would experience that rather uncomfortable feeling of their skin and internal organs melting them to death.

The Cottish strike might seem somewhat brutal, but the choice was between this or thermonuclear weapons. Naturally, the Cottish decided on the thing that would cause the most damage without provoking a direct nuclear exchange.

As the Blackadders moved home, they sent an encrypted message to the Pictish with a copy to the allied forces in the area, especially the PWS Seagull: "Union Square got a little present delivered to the door by us. you're up."

Official Statement of the Directorate of the Military
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The recent bombing of Grestonian controlled territory, most likely done by elements of Haven forces, have forced us to make the following statement:

Theoroshia is in a state of WAR with Nova Pictavia and her allies who choose to help her in this conflict. While this may force us to fight Akimonad, a former ally of ours, and North-Point, a current economic partner of ours, it must be done in the interests of peace and of stopping foreign aggression on Mediterranican territory.

We have dispatched numerous naval battle groups to aid Greston in the defense of their homeland, and more naval battle groups are being brought from the reserves.

Unless the situation is resolved through diplomatic channels soon, this state of WAR will exist until the end of the conflict.

Erik Brandt
Premier of Theoroshia


- - -

OrBat:
Grand Naval Fleet (en route to Greston)

5 x Lancer II class offshore patrol vessels
2 x Warhammer class frigates
2 x Sovremenny class destroyers
1 x Bellerophon class guided missile cruiser
1 x Kirov class nuclear powered battle cruiser
1 x Eagle class aviation cruiser
2 x Kuznetsov class aircraft carrier
3x Akula class nuclear powered attack submarine

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

[TO] The nations involved in the Mediterranican Affair
[FROM] The Neo-Prussian Dictatorship of Kampfers

After much debate on my part, I have decided to make my voice heard within this affair. This whole fiasco has gone quite far enough. The nations of the Mediterranican Union claim that they seek, justice, but how is this so? Their demands are outrageous, and even if the Pictish Imperium wished to comply with their terms, it would be fiscally unfeasible for them to do so. The terms of the agreement between the Pictish Imperium and the Grestonian Republic are legally binding, and they shall not be violated. Let me assure you that the land held by the Imperium within the region of Mediterranica is lawfully Pictish territory, and in that regard, but applied to a greater scope, it is also Havenic territory. These falsified claims you make about the land hold no bearing; no one dictates policy to a Havenite. The use of force to remove the Imperium from their rightfully owned lands will not be overlooked. Rather, you would shudder to think of the overwhelming force that shall defend her possessions.

Time and time again, the nations of this world have made their case against Haven. The Transylvania. The Burnsian Desert. Nova Brittanica. The latter found out in the harshest manner what the power of Haven truly means, her nation receding into the continental shelf. Tread carefully, as your name stands precariously close to falling into this list. As a member of The Nuclear Commonwealth, Kampfers will follow her allies unto the bitter end. With this letter, I hereby permit Task Force: Nuclear Mandate to enter Mediterranican waters to aid in the defense of any and all Kampferians within Mediterranica, be it the Akimondi Enclave in the Londinian Commonwealth, the Skyian Enclave in the Londinian Commonwealth, or the Pictish base in Greston.

[SIGNED]
http://i174.photobucket.com/albums/w107/imdmill/2b753354.png
Fuhrer of the Neo-Prussian Dictatorship of Kampfers
Sovereign of the Neo-Prussian Reich of Großkampfers
http://i174.photobucket.com/albums/w107/imdmill/Richtoff/caad3c2b.png

In addition to Task Force Nuclear Mandate, a large number of submarines began to move out too. There had been threat for nuclear war, and Kampfers wanted to move all of it's assets into position.

OOC: Because at this time I am too busy wiki-ing to write a really long winded post, here are my deployments.

Task Force Nuclear Mandate
A total of 177 ships of the Kampferian Kriegsmarine (a relatively sparing number)
4x Kampferian Kriegsmarine CSBG
2x Ark Royal Heavy Fleet Carrier
2x Triumph Fleet Carrier
6x Sandaken ASuW Battlecruiser
2x Town AAW Cruiser
2x Type 31 ASW Destroyer
8x Type 38 GP Destroyer
2x Kampferian Kriegsmarine SAG
4x Sandakan ASuW Cruiser
4x Town AAW Cruiser
4x Type 38 GP Destroyer
5x Kampferian Kriegsmarine Destroyer Groups
1xTown AAW Cruiser
6xType 31 ASW Destroyer
6x Type 38 GP Destroyer


25 Ohio Class Submarines

OOC:

Nova Pictavia, your in control of my military, as are any allies, especially Krivan. I will be away, of course, due to work. So please, have fun with such massive numbers. :P

Also, note the XCV-1's are NOT using Hydrogen Technology for the purpose of this engagement.

IC:

Official Declaration of War
For the Purpose of Annexing and Destroying all Enemies of our Beloved Nova Pictavia

To all known warfaring parties against Pictish Interests,

Today you shall see hellfire and brimstone set forth upon your pathetic forces. Today, your tiny and puny fleets will be squashed and crumbled into tiny specs of matter. Today, your civilizations will see no end to the destruction our People shall bring upon them. Today, your lands shall become ours, and your people shall become one of us. No mercy shall be shown, no quarter. No amount of begging, pleading, and cries for submission shall be heard. Your children will weep, and we shall not hear. Your wives and women shall cry in terror and pain, and we shall not hear. Your warriors and men shall beg for mercy, and we shall not hear. Our ears are deaf to you now, only open to our Lords in Nova Pictavia.

I, Chief Governor of the United Republic of Anagonia, former Imperial Governor of the Imperial Drekamythian Empire, and blessed by My Lord, Lord Emperor Havok Agamemnon, Wise Emperor of all of Drekamythia, shall therefore set before you the tactics and desires of our United Military to destroy your pathetic wastes of organic matter.

-All enemies of Nova Pictavia shall be declared open targets for Nuclear, Biological, Chemical, and Conventional Attacks. There shall be no mercy.
-All enemies of Nova Pictavia shall be declared open targets for our Grand Army, which shall therefore kill without mercy.
-All enemies of Nova Pictavia shall have their lands made into our own, for your lands blessed by your gods shall therefore forsake you.
-All enemies of Nova Pictavia shall not survive, for this will be a waste of perfectly good ammunition.
-All enemies of Nova Pictavia shall therefore survive only if our Lords in Nova Pictavia see fit to call our protective hand off.

This shall therefore be publicly known as the Imperial Draconic Doctrine, and therefore implemented without hesitation. Civilian, Military, and a combined targets shall be open game. We will not hesitate to destroy your families, your friends, your loved ones. For you show no mercy to us, nor our Lords in Nova Pictiavia, nor any concern for our allies through Nova Pictavia. The only survivors shall be those that fight for the Honor and Glory that is the Imperium of Nova Pictavia, for we are one with her beloved lands.

Die slowly, so we may enjoy your cries of pain.
Johnny Standford
Chief Governor of the United Republic of Anagonia
Commander in Chief of the United Armed Forces of Anagonia

END

200 Miles from Greston

All over the globe, Ballistic Missile Submarine's were being alerted to the Imperial Doctrine, and being made to alert. So secret were their locations that not even the highest admirals in the fleet knew where they were. Such was the case with War, for none could take advantage of spying. Only the Chief Governor himself, and a select few upon the Military Council, knew their locations. And they weren't about to tell. Their nuclear and hydrogen thermonuclear weapons were being brought to armed status, their running going to silent, and their ears open for the signal. Targets had already been fed via secure satellite code, which had been passed between too many military satellites to have been intercepted. Only the most advanced nations would find the signals origin, and the locations.

But that shouldn't be on the mind of the enemies of the Pictish. A massive armada was now heading towards Greston. In the past, short diplomatic messages had been sent and received, and probably two or three trade transports had went and came. It was the case for Anagonia, to open relations by starting initiatives of peace. Yet any feeling that Greston was a worthy ally had submerged with the dark truth of war. The People were not pleased, the Military outraged, the Chief Governor hellfire incarnate. There was to be no mercy, no quarter. Greston would either willingly be annexed, or be destroyed. The allies of Greston willingly annexed, or obliterated by nuclear Armageddon.

At the head, the First Fleet, was the XCV-1 Class Carrier (http://hawk.proboards1.com/index.cgi?board=Military&action=display&thread=28&page=1#49) Anagonia, the first built of twenty five. Flanking her were four BB-61 Modified Iowa-Class Battleships, ten CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers, with five each of the varying DD-963 SPRUANCE-class, DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers, and DDG-993 KIDD-class Destroyers, and five FFG-7 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY-class Frigates for basic defense. Beneath her were eight Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's, five SSN-21 Seawolf-class Attack Submarines, and six SSN-688 Los Angeles Class Cruise Missile Submarines for land bombardment and Covert operations.

Behind Fleet One was two more fleets with exactly the same composition. The only difference being Fleet Four, which would be the main combatant to any battleships fleet. It comprised of ten BB-61 Modified Iowa-Class Battleships, ten CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers, ten DD-963 SPRUANCE-class Destroyers, 15 DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers, eight DDG-993 KIDD-class Destroyers, and ten FFG-7 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY-class Frigates for basic defense. Beneath that fleet was eight Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's and four SSN-21 Seawolf-class Attack Submarines for combating underwater defense and offense threats.

The main invasion force would come after the first four fleets had done the job of correctly subverting and destroying all possible defenses that would compromise a huge land invasion of this size. With plenty of fleets on standby, both on patrol elsewhere in the world and harbored at Outposts and at home ports. The massive air invasion would be conveyed through international military outposts across the globe, and would be comprised of strategic bombers such as the B-1B Lancer's and other varying strategic fighter/bombers should said bases be close enough.

Currently leading this fleet was Rear Admiral Juno Verinez, whom had twenty-three years experience including in the Red Tide engagement and in Cripistan. Her current location was the bridge of the Carrier Anagonia, monitering the feed from the AEGIS Cruisers and Destroyers, and her Hawkeye above. Fighters surrounded Fleet One as Juno concentrated mainly on how to attempt a full-out attack of Greston allied assets, and Greston assets which currently hadn't been noticed by Satellite recon. Her communications were concentrated to Naval Command, which should have communications with allied Navies in defense and offense of Nova Pictavia. She wouldn't have a friendly fire incident, and refused to be responsible for giving permission to kill allied or pictish forces.

Currently, Fleet One was at the head of the three combined fleets. No enemy contacts, no allied contacts. They had about a day or so to go at the selfish speed Juno had ordered. She wanted it to seem as if the Anagonians were being sluggish, or their command efficiency, or perhaps to convey that the Anagonian Navy wasn't taking anything seriously. In truth, she was. As was her Admirals in the other three fleets. Together, they would approach slow until threats had been realized. Together, they would calculate odds. In the end, either way, Anagonia would be seen as either a force to be reckoned with, or a Superpower whom had made the biggest mistake of its time.

Juno awaited orders, either from the Pictish Lords whom obviously had control superior to Anagonian Command, or from home command itself. Either way, should conflict arise, the fleets would be a valuable asset.

OOC:

FLEETS IN THEATRE
Two days travel time currently

FLEET ONE
x1 XCV-1 Anagonia Class Carrier
x4 BB-61 Modified Iowa-Class Battleships,
x10 CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers
x5 DD-963 SPRUANCE-class
x5 DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers
x5 DDG-993 KIDD-class Destroyers
x5 FFG-7 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY-class Frigates for basic defense
x4 Supply and Ammunition Ships

x8 Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's,
x5 SSN-21 Seawolf-class Attack Submarines,
x6 SSN-688 Los Angeles Class Cruise Missile Submarines for land bombardment and Covert operations.

FLEET TWO
x1 XCV-1 Anagonia Class Carrier
x4 BB-61 Modified Iowa-Class Battleships,
x10 CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers
x5 DD-963 SPRUANCE-class
x5 DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers
x5 DDG-993 KIDD-class Destroyers
x5 FFG-7 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY-class Frigates for basic defense
x4 Supply and Ammunition Ships

x8 Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's,
x5 SSN-21 Seawolf-class Attack Submarines,
x6 SSN-688 Los Angeles Class Cruise Missile Submarines for land bombardment and Covert operations.

FLEET THREE
x1 XCV-1 Anagonia Class Carrier
x4 BB-61 Modified Iowa-Class Battleships,
x10 CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers
x5 DD-963 SPRUANCE-class
x5 DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers
x5 DDG-993 KIDD-class Destroyers
x5 FFG-7 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY-class Frigates for basic defense
x4 Supply and Ammunition Ships

x8 Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's,
x5 SSN-21 Seawolf-class Attack Submarines,
x6 SSN-688 Los Angeles Class Cruise Missile Submarines for land bombardment and Covert operations.

FLEET FOUR
x10 BB-61 Modified Iowa-Class Battleships,
x10 CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers
x8 DD-963 SPRUANCE-class
x15 DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers
x8 DDG-993 KIDD-class Destroyers
x10 FFG-7 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY-class Frigates for basic defense
x8 Supply and Ammunition Ships

x8 Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's,
x4 SSN-21 Seawolf-class Attack Submarines,

GROUND FORCES ON STANDBY
Invasion not in progress currently

(First Ground Division)
x8,000,000 Anagonian Defense Forces
x500,000 Anagonian Special Forces
x2,000,000 Anagonian Marines
-Troop Support-
1500x M2A3 Bradley Fighting Vehicle

(Second Ground Division)
x8,000,000 Anagonian Defense Forces
x500,000 Anagonian Special Forces
x2,000,000 Anagonian Marines
-Troop Support-
1500x M2A3 Bradley Fighting Vehicle

(Third Ground Division)
x8,000,000 Anagonian Defense Forces
x500,000 Anagonian Special Forces
x2,000,000 Anagonian Marines
-Troop Support-
1500x M2A3 Bradley Fighting Vehicle

(First Special-Forces Division)
x500,000 Anagonian Military Police
x500,000 Anagonian Elite Forces
x500,000 Counter-Terrorism Forces (Gorilla(sp?) Warfare Experts)

Various Ground and Air complements, along with Naval assets, on standby

Incitement of May 15th
Whom The Lord Condemns (http://195.91.169.228/e21/mp3/Messiah-cd2/25.mp3)
Aut disce aut discede

“It is my unaccustomed pleasure to come before you today, perhaps for grave purposes but ultimately for the timely defense of our way of life and manner of living. It has come about, in the last few days and weeks that the Waldenburger Church has become entrenched within the political debacle of the Greater Mediterranica, and of her enemies oversees. The Church, corresponding to the unspoken wishes of the Empire, and of those of her citizens the, silent plurality, which so fervently calls for the eradication of all our enemies. And such enemies, the mighty Silver Imperium, her puppet and slave states across the world, the enchained masses to their abhorrent system of Empire. In the past weeks they have attempted to enthrall the Imperial Republic, they sent their letters, they sent their threats, forget your God, forget your home and submit to the eternal Empire. It was our intersession that prevented the complete fall of the Imperial Republic. Before they stood alone and friendless against the great tide that spread from the black heart of the Pictish Consul. Now, in thwarting the plans of our enemy we have united men under the banner of Christian civilization; we have, hammered from ore the purest steel, which I assure you will taste heathen blood before the year ends.

For these are not new enemies, their likes we have faced, and defeated before, they are the Jews, the Homosexuals, the Muslims, the Communists the very parasites of humanity which have sucked the life blood of the world since it’s conception. Look to the Pictish and see the evil of the Earth. Look to Pictavia for the ruin of worlds, and end of men. In their hearts all wickedness lies, they worship what God has made and nothing else; they are vile and selfish, and unrepentant! They are Godless! Apollyon has been cast down before, again and again we immolate his servants and yet they spread and multiply; look now to the heart of darkness; look to the carcinogen of all evils. They respect no laws, not those bound in love for fellow man, or even by the Holy Covenant itself.

This is why the Aeternus Congredior was enacted, that is why the Divine Legion will act against the evil so propagated by the dominion of the Pictish romp lords. How can a nation of few hundred million rule such an Empire, and command allies so numerous? Through wickedness, through the desecration of the sacred order, these Pictish and their Empire have become tools of the antichrist. What variety of man can do this? None, for we face not honest mankind but the perversion of demons. I promise, with every breath in me we will fight, until the seas turn red with blood and the very sun falls from the sky. We shall close lose the gap, arise my people and end the storm! Awaken sons of the motherland, sons of Christ and throw aside your fears, there can be none as the new dawn rises. The peace of the earth is shattered and good will shall falter before our work is done.

Though for a moment I do not believe we shall ever fall to the enemy, we will never be defeated, if our halls burn and hierarchy topple the fight shall continue in the heart of every Waldenburger, and every Christian across the planet. For if we die we shall rise again, and arise a hundred hotter and a hundred times brighter, we are the Kingdom of Heaven to which there is no equal, we are the dominion of the heart which no man may break. We shall fight until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the Old, and even then we shall fight. Though our psalms may only be whispered in the days to come, they shall be the whisper upon which the downtrodden, wounded rejoice.

It is in this spirit, and in of these times, these times of Gotterdamurung, I call forward the arm of God to break and shatter the enemy, I incite the Christian world to war. Let those who have been accustomed unjustly to wage private warfare against the faithful now go against the infidels and end with victory this war which should have been begun long ago. Let those who for a longest time, have been robbers, now become knights. Let those who have been fighting against their brothers now fight against the barbarians. Let those who have been serving as mercenaries for meager pay now obtain the eternal reward. Let those who have been wearing themselves out in both body and soul now work for a double honor. The glory that is forever, the honor which none may impugn, it goes to the servants of the Church and the Lord, and is forever.

Brethren, we ought to endure much suffering for the name of Christ misery, poverty, nakedness, persecution, want, illness, hunger, thirst, but it is time to look our redeemer in the eye and repay him in kind for all that he has done for us. Look to your hearts, you know this to be true; you know that if we do not stand now we shall kneel forever. So my sons go from this place and build a Holy Sepulcher in every heart rip from the heathen their false Gods and cast them down. The dragon may have been awoken, but St. George never slept, our God has always watched, and more than a smile guided this nation, this Kingdom of Christ. You will winnow them, and the wind will carry them away, and a new storm will scatter our enemies; and in their downfall you will rejoice in the lord whom grants victory, you will glory in the Holy One, and he will grant us peace, Pax Dominum.


In this I promise action, I promise the end of evil, you are the hand of God, the first spear on which to lance out the blight upon our earth. Arise sons of Christ; the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand! For his is the power forever and ever, and in heaven and on earth he reignth omnipotent over all thing, but whom may abide the day of our coming?”
--

It too had taken some time to set in, the Cenobiarch’s incitement to Christians across the world to rise up and defense of their ultimate final goals. And as unusual rain plinked on the silver domed roof of Bastion of the Waldenburger Church, a very small and specific inner circle of the Council of Bishops reclined in the Spartan furniture of the Solarium.

“Do you believe it will be well received, outside of the Empire I mean?” As per tradition a thurible of incense burned in one corner and the Divine Legion hovered behind each chair in the glossy haze.

“No,” sighed the Cenobiarch from a chair, that if an observer was so keen to inspect was slightly more Spartan than the others, “they view our television as insensitive, our radio boring, and our markets below contempt, except when they wish to take our silver or oil, and we are left entirely alone. To this point I have seen no problem in that state of affairs.”

“But now,” the Canonarch, George Patrin, interjected in a low wail, “we are alone in the world.”

“Not quite alone, the foreign diocese certainly….”

“Indeed 50 to 60 billion Waldenburger Catholics oversees, unfortunately once we leave the old Empire they seem less likely to throw their lives away, and turn rather elderly after a certain point. While I would not question the powers of little, old, deaf women, they do not march well.”

“Certainly though,” there was from the crowd oily smoke came the voice of a young man trying not to choke amongst the incense which all the others had grown old with, it was the voice of the persistently young Divine Marshall Andre von Waldenburg “we enjoy superiority in numbers? The Serene Legions number nearly two billion, since my last inspection.”

The Cenobiarch waved an impatient hand which pulled a great waft of affluence towards him, “possibly at home, but half the Serene Legion is not even armed, and there are no officers, drills are organized by veterans who have not seen a change in tactics in thirty years. We have only distributed forty million uniforms, and though I understand the general idea has been taken to with some enthusiasm, it is ultimately misplaced.”

“So what are we left with? There is no one we have made fiends of, and our money is only worth our metals once we leave our own doorstep.”

“This augurs nothing good, your Imminence.” The Divine Marshall echoed the thoughts of all in the room, as on arthritic knees they rose following the lead of their Cenobiarch. “Blood blood and more blood.”

In a whirl of robes the Cenobiarch was upon the young man, whose highborn lineage had won him the position rather than the merits of command ability, “So be it! The Havenites, how many divisions have they got? I will field more.” As usual with a desert storm lightning began to crackle some distance off and the large silver dome of the cathedral acted, as it’s own static force, one shining and powerful dot amongst a great desert. And such a great and stretching desert it was.

--

“Scramble fighters! Launch forward missiles, and frigates into screen,” the Waldenburger flotilla had registered missile fire from the enemy fighters who had zipped overhead some three minutes earlier. The air group of the WIS Indolence was primarily first generation Harriers, slow and unreliable by modern standards but there was nothing wrong with the missile systems, or the auto cannons. Seaborne missiles from the screening frigates were, acquiring targets, and unless the fighters, for their was no positive identity on them they had shot over before and confirmation could be made, but it was only 29 miles to the Grestonian base, and the fighters were now being tracked by an almost incoherent radar officer. “See if we can’t take a few down as they pass, wait till their,” Adalban directed calmly, although even his hands were shaking, “wait till they are past us, if they wish to fight they will have to turn, fire everything we have, and radio back to Blünderburg, it seems we have made contact.”

OOC
Orbat (Grestonian Coastal theater)
1 Forrestral Class Carrier
1 Wasp Amphibious Assault ship
3 Sovremenny class Destroyer
3 Type 22 Frigates
2 Talwar Class Frigates
8 Milgem Class frigates
8,000 Naval Infantry and Marines

Neuvan Sea (Map here (http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii290/Twilight201/Mediterranica-3.png))

SIC:

A relatively unknown fact was that while Theoroshia maintained a small surface fleet, it's submarine fleet was rather extensive. While the Grand Fleet steamed out from the Bay of Ruckinia, where it had been stationed, the navy's 1st, 3rd, and 7th submarine drifted through the ocean towards Grestonian waters, forming a protective shell around it. Their diesel motors allowed them to travel entirely undetected, as they emitted no sound to give away their whereabouts.

And so sixty seven Type 90 Mako A attack submarines, which had been bought from one of the members of the same alliance that they were attacking, silently moved into their assigned positions, stopped, and waited.

OOC: Regional ally of Greston's, I figure I'm entitled to render aid.

http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z259/pertinax201/Insignia/purplelaurel.png

Londinian Official Communique

To: All nations
From: The Consul of the Londinian Commonwealth

The belligerent actions of the Havenic nations are deplorable to the Londinian Commonwealth; she shall not stand for the unwelcome intrusions into her region, nor shall she permit the callous, bloodthirsty Havenic nations an inch of Mediterranican soil. The Commonwealth, therefore, declares its support for the people of Greston, and shall defend her ally to the death to spare Greston the egregious fate that the Londinian people did decades ago.

The Commonwealth announces that it hereby opens its doors to Grestonian refugees, so that they may find safe harbor while Nova Pictavia insists on ravaging Greston. The Commonwealth also announces that it is fully mobilizing to defend its northern ally.

Concurrently, the Commonwealth does not necessarily wish to wage war once more, and would invite members of both parties to the city of Corcyra to negotiate an equitable peace, provided, of course, that Haven is capable of seeing reason.

Sincerely,
William Lloyd Nately
Consul of the Londinian Commonwealth

Overwatch Military Base Oibara
Oickoidian-Grestonian border, near the Aliquantan Sea

Oickoidia, was, by all means, a barren place - windswept, covered with snow, and made interesting only be jagged, tree-covered peaks. For hundreds of years, the northern colony had been a valuable source of the Commonwealth's mineral resources. Above all, though, Oickoidia found its utility as a staging area for military forces; the Ministry of Defence found the tough, unforgiving terrain and climate was far more suitable to secrecy than the welcoming warmth of Deva Victrix.

Tonight, however, secrecy was not the order of the day, but overwhelming firepower. Oibara was a joint services facility, spanning for dozens of kilometers, housing infantry, armour, aircraft, and naval vessels. Oibara was a flurry of activity as the massive armada made its final preparations, as it sailed off to protect Grestonian shores.

Consul Nately had made a special visit to Oickoidia, to see the troops off. There were no eloquent speeches to be made - he needed none. Simple hatred of Haven and a deep, personal resentment for every individual citizen of that region harboured within each of the soldiers made motivating the troops an easy matter. For the most part, the majority blamed Haven, particularly Praetonia, for bringing British Londinium, for making it vulnerable to Automagfreek.

"What have we done?" the consul whispered, standing in the command post, wrapped in a thick trench coat. "I feel as if we've just crossed another Rubicon."

"Sir, if I may say so, we're doing what's necessary," Andrew Crerar, Minister for Defence, replied. "We're protecting our region. If just one Mediterranican nation falls, soon the rest of us will as well. Here, we fight not only for Greston, but for ourselves."

"Fair enough, old chap," the consul said with resignation. "Indeed, fair enough."

OrBat:

2x Davidson-class superdreadnoughts
30x Kensington-class battleships
7x Tempora Heroica-class aircraft carriers
45x Type 45 Destroyers
45x Arleigh Burke-clas frigates
52x Astute-class attack submarines
15,000 naval marines

http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y87/fahooglewitz1077/newAkiFlag.png
Open Declaration

Issued 12 May 70 ACD

To the nations of Mediterranica:

It seems you are wont to wallow in your folly. You seem to believe that you can somehow stand against the might of the Nuclear Commonwealth and its allies.

You would be gravely mistaken.

To this end I issue an Ultimatum to the nations of Mediterranica: Cease and desist all hostile actions and return forces to their home bases within twelve hours.

Should you not comply, the Autocratic Federated Empire and the Nuclear Commonwealth will be obligated to respond with any force deemed necessary to protect the interests of New Pictavia, ourselves and The Silver Sky within Mediterranica.

~Dr. Jules Hodz,
Lord Protector of Akimonad

******
Transcript from Channel 7 News, Free City of Fitzrovia

(The short film clip begins with a female reporter standing some distance from what appears to be military personnel. They are erecting a wall.)

"...as you can see, Akimonadi personnel here in Fitzrovia are erecting walls all around the city. They say that the borders will be totally closed following the outbreak of war in Greston and subsequent supporting gesture by the Londinian Consul. We also have reports that mines are being planted in front of the walls to prevent any sort of attack. Immediately after the announcement of border closings we saw what looked to be fighter aircraft in the air, patrolling the skies and we also saw two large bomber aircraft that were also patrolling."

At this point the military personnel realize the reporter's presence and approach her.

"It seems that war is close to Fitzrovia." she says, being handled roughly away from the area. The camera goes dead.

New Russia, capital of Theoroshia

Akimonadi entrance into the war caused a small problem: they had been former allies in the E.V.I.L. II alliance, and so far relations had been cordial. However, this would have to change, and reluctantly the Foreign Directorate put out this statement:

The republic of Theoroshia is in a state of WAR with Akimonad. All treaties that still pertain from E.V.I.L. II are hereby canceled, and all foreign ties wit Akimonad have been severed. This is a regrettable action, but we are sure Akimonad understands our motives behind this move.

We hope that Akimonad reconsiders it's decision, for Theoroshia has already chosen it's path. We wish our comrades the best, but for now, all ties are cut.

Open Declaration

Issued 12 May 70 ACD

To the nations of Mediterranica:

It seems you are wont to wallow in your folly. You seem to believe that you can somehow stand against the might of the Nuclear Commonwealth and its allies.

You would be gravely mistaken.

To this end I issue an Ultimatum to the nations of Mediterranica: Cease and desist all hostile actions and return forces to their home bases within twelve hours.

Should you not comply, the Autocratic Federated Empire and the Nuclear Commonwealth will be obligated to respond with any force deemed necessary to protect the interests of New Pictavia, ourselves and The Silver Sky within Mediterranica.

~Dr. Jules Hodz,
Lord Protector of Akimonad

http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b23/Yallak/infiniteempirefinal1.jpg
OFFICIAL IMPERIAL TRANSMISSION

TO: Jules Hodz, Lord Protector of Akimonad
FROM: The High Council of Arrandin
SUBJECT: Re: Open Declaration

An interesting statement given neither New Pictavia, yourself or The Silver Sky possess interests within Mediterranica. None the less, if you wish to sacrifice so many of your people for our amusement, we will oblige you.

Yours Faithfully,

Lord Balor,
Emperor of Yallak and its Territories

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

OOC: At work, shite quality, don’t complain

Nuevan Sea, Northern Meditteranica
Taskforce Sea Guard, On Standby

About time, Fleet Commander Zaelen Icali mumbled to herself when one of her bridge officers informed her of the new orders they had just received from the Supreme Commander. Her fleet had been on standby in the Nuevan Sea since it was initially deployed during the begging of this fiasco and they were eager for a change of scenery.

Zaelen quickly read the message and then promptly deleted it and without pause jumped into action issuing an array of order to various officers across the bridge.

‘All ships to combat status immediately, bring us about to bearing N36E, all ahead full.’

Alarm claxons resounded across the fleet calling crewmen to their stations and the waters began to churn as great warships powered their engines. In less than two hours the fleet would be in its assigned position.

An interested statement given neither New Pictavia, yourself or The Silver Sky possess interests within Mediterranica.

OOC: I do hope you're just being ICly facetious.

OOC: I do hope you're just being ICly facetious.

OOC comments in OOC thread for a purpose, okey's >.>

Yallak: An OrBat would be great. And excuse the shoddy post, it's half 3AM here, but all the relevant detail's in it.

Pictish Sovereign Base, East Partha

The attention of Commander Anders was swiftly turned to the Waldenburger naval presence which was increasingly felt by their mobilization against allied Cottish Blackadders. Soon enough, the base's fifteen M270's were loaded with XM31 Guided MLRS rounds choreographed with a "Vigilant" Surveillance Satellite and opened fire. Simultaneously the relatively peaceful coastline of East Partha was lit in the orange glow of the rockets as they illuminated their dense, smokey trails. They fizzed up into the air, each M270 launching twelve rounds a minute with a total of one hundred and eighty rounds every sixty seconds. Each munition carried 200lbs of high explosive, their precision guided nature keeping them true to their targets. Their destination would be the largest ships in the Waldenburger fleet, namely the Forrestral, Wasp and Sovremenny classes

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Official Diplomatic Communiqué

From: The Office of the MU Secretariat, MUIZ
To: New Pictavia et al.

As you have failed to see reason and chosen your own path to destruction, I am left with out any further choice and so hereby declare a state of War between the Mediterranican Union and the Nuclear Commonwealth and the Silver Imperium. May God have mercy on you and the souls of your children now never to be born.


Secretary-General Maran Gherud
Secretary-General of the Mediterranican Union

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v291/Colosseum/Sun_Letterhead_Exports.png
From the desk of Cdr. Ian B. Roberts; Sun International CEO, on behalf of the
Principality of North Point;
To: Where Law Ends Etc. People Involved


HAY GUISE,

North Point wishes to remain neutral in this conflict. We sell weapons to anyone who will pay, so fuck you to anyone wanting to boycott us. :3

Also, we at Sun International offer a quality selection of naval vessels over at Sun International Naval Systems (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=555788)! Don't be a stranger, take funds out of your education and healthcare sectors to finance another huge defense splurge today! In the words of Nicolas Cage in Lord of War, "Guns, grenades, RPGs, yay! Everything goes for free!". Except in our case that should be "Destroyers, Guided Missile Frigates, Battlecruisers, Submarines, Combat Blimps, Patrol Craft, yay! Everything goes for 50% off!"

That's right, folks, you heard correctly! 50% off for all participants; just mention it in your order over at Sun International Naval Systems (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=555788)! Have a nice day, combatants!

-s-
Mr. Ian B. Roberts, Cdr. NPSC
CEO Sun International
Commanding

From the desk of His Imperial Majesty

This communique will be short, but by no means sweet.

The Hryvinian Empire officially declares her intent to stand by her Havenic and Nuclear Commonwealth.

We stand by our Pictish allies in their defense of their rightfully taken land, and will use any and all force necessary to ensure Havenic victory in any coming action.

To the hostile nations of Mediterranica I say this: you will not win. If you fight, you will die painfully and your people will be scattered to the winds. The Empire echoes the Akimonadi ultimatum, and urges the hostile parties in this matter to take it for the good of their people.

To the nation of British Londinium, I have a specific message. History has not shone favorably on Londinian military endeavors in the past. Many times your nation has been beaten, it's will broken and you still insist on throwing power your nation does not have. Consul Nately, I strongly suggest you not stick your neck out for the Grestonian scum lest the guillotine fall upon your people for the second time.

Yours,
HIM Sverre IV
By the Grace of God and Constitution Emperor of The Hryvinians
Prince of Krog
Prince of Hryvin
Prince of Aalsog
Duke of The Hryvinian Congo
Duke of Vinland
Duke of Stettinburg
Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Stettin
Beloved Ruler of The Hryvinian People
Lord Protector of The Hryvinian Fatherland
31st Emperor of The Hryvinians

Official Statement of the Foreign Directorate
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In light of recent talks between Theoroshia and Havenic forces, Theoroshia is declaring a cease fire between it and all nations it had declared war upon. All naval assets are being pulled back towards Theoroshia, and we hope our foreign relations with certain countries will return back to their pre-war state. This decision was not made lightly, but we feel it is in the best interests of the people to pursue this option of peace.

Drivian Falakov
Foreign Director

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Londinian Official Communique

To: All nations
From: The Consul of the Londinian Commonwealth

The Commonwealth is not amused by the threats of nations who hide behind larger powers, nor is it willing to merely sacrifice a sovereign nation to the Havenic cutthroats. She has been more than reasonable in offering to arbitrate a ceasefire between the two sides, and, again, does not wish to see needless lives lost. The Commonwealth asks that both Greston and Nova Pictavia work out their differences amiably for the good of us all.

Nevertheless, and despite Nova Pictavia's warmongering and flimsily-veiled imperialistic overtures, Her Majesty's Government places an equal share of the blame for this conflict on the shoulders of Greston. Effective immediately, Londinian troop deployments to the Grestonian theatre will be placed on hold until Greston attempts to negotiate a peace; if these attempts are made sincerely and still fail, then, and only then, will the Commonwealth intervene.

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Unencrypted (Free broadcast)
To: The Londinian Commonwealth
Subject: Londinian Pestilence
Date: 13 May MMVIII

Do not forget your place, Londinian, for it is below us. The MU demanded over ten trillion Universal Standard Dollars for a cease-fire, which we will not pay, and it is Greston who has 'vetoed' our peace-treary one month later and prepared an assault. War will continue until Greston and all those who seek to stand in our way are nought but dust. I assure you, we will not hesitate to see 'needless' lives lost to achieve the destruction of those who oppose us.

Regards,
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Gaius Kadesh, IP (Imperial Parliamentarian),
Lord Consul of New Pictavia.

Angrepsstyrke Uniform

"Commander, ee-doulbe-ya operator. I think someone's tracking us at bearing 1-5-7, dangerously close."

The relative silence inside the pressurized cockpit of the supersonic Blackadder bomber was interrupted by the aircraft's electronic warfare operator. He had just detected a new series of naval radars lighting up dangerously close, less than one hundred kilometers from their position.

"Copy that. See if you can't jam them. We'll alter course." The pilot and aircraft commander replied as he banked the aircraft away from the new and unknown contacts. On his side, the co-pilot was informing the rest of the raid group to do the same.

"Yes sir."

The Blackadders were moving at 10 000 meters at Mach 2, or 599 meters per second, moving directly away from the unknown contact. For good measure, the raid commander ordered the group to increase altitude to 12 000 meters and to start defensive operations, which entailed dropping chaff bundles and flares in order to fool any radar and/or incoming missiles, and the defensive jamming suite was activated. The unknown contact's radar screens would suddenly see nothing but white snow, hopefully for long enough for the Blackadders to escape.

_____________________
Somewhere in Cotland

"They really believe this crap?" The man asked with surprise, referring to the live intelligence feed of the Waldenburgian religious propaganda the Cottish Intelligence Service had intercepted.

"Yep. With the same amount of fervor as our Doomani friends, if not even more." The second man in the dark room replied, finishing the cigarette before he added, "You know how the Doomani become when they get religiously aggitated."

"Don't even go there. I know."

"Good. Then you know that we have to bring them down a few notches. Let's see how to best do that..."

"Sink their ships?" The first man suggested.

The second man snapped his fingers. "By Jove, that's it! We sink their ships. What better way to let them know they're going to war without God on their side while at the same time protecting our Pictish allies?"

"I don't know sir."

"That was a rethorical question."

_____________________
Angrepsstyrke Whiskey


Several hours after the initial strike on Union Square, Cottish Naval Aviation aircraft were again in the air, flying towards the Area of Operations at supersonic speeds. Another flight of Cottish Blackadder bombers were on the wings and cruising towards the Area of Operations in what the Cottish were now referring to as Operation: Ødeleggelse. The Naval Aviation had been tasked with attacking the two enemy naval groups that had been confirmed by Cottish Radar Ocean Surveillance Satellites (RORSATs) and allied intelligence sources.

Hours prior, three Cottish stealth UAVs had entered the area, flying at 30 000 meters at subsonic speeds, using their specialized sensors to seek out and locate the enemy battlegroups. They knew the rough location where the enemy battlegroups had been an hour ago, as they had been located by RORSATs, and extrapolating an estimated course and location didn't require a nuclear engineer.

The UAVs searched for an hours time before they finally located the first prey, namely the Waldenburgian attack force. The operators back in Cotland snickered when they saw what they were up against - an aircraft carrier of a class that was at least forty years old, escorted by a small amount of vessels. In other words they would have little chance against the Cottish strike.

The group, tasked Strike Force Whiskey after the phonetic pronounciation of the first letter in the word "Waldenburg", consisted of sixteen Blackadder bombers, supported by a flight of eight FA 15E Cardinal air superiority fighters in case of any aerial harrassment. They were after all attacking an aircraft carrier, so it would be logical to assume that they would encounter hostile aircraft. Strike Force Whiskey was laden down with the heavy LBM.62A Kitsj (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=2590). The Kitsj was a highly capable heavy anti-shipping cruies missile with a 450 kilometer range, a speed of Mach 3.5, a 1 000 kilogram penetrating high explosive warhead that was designed to take down aircraft carriers, meaning that they would be attacking the target they had been designed to attack, and a unit cost of $3 million. Each of the Blackadders were carrying two Kitsj missiles externally, as the 11.3 meter long, 5.9 ton heavy missile were too big to be carried inside the bomb bay. The Cottish had tasked only ten of the sixteen Blackadders in the raid to attack the group, with the remaining six serving as a reserve in the event that one or more of the original Blackadders were shot down or otherwise unable to carry out the attack. Those six remained in a holding pattern 900 kilometers out, being out of range for the Waldenburgians while at the same time being able to respond relatively quickly to take out any targets that remained.

This time, the ten Blackadders waited until they were 700 kilometers out before they decended to a mere 50 meters above sealevel, cruising at Mach 1.4, or 476 meters per second, towards their launching point 420 kilometers from the enemy fleet. Above them, the FA 15 Cardinals had seperated into two four-ship formations flying 300 meters above the Blackadders, providing air cover. The Cardinals had been equipped with the LLM.67A Kampspyd (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=2587) medium-range air to air missile, of which each Cardinal carried eight, and two IRIS-T short-range air to air missiles on the wingtips. Any potential hostile aircraft that came within 170 kilometers of the Blackadders would receive a present in the form of a very deadly Kampspyd missile.

At 420 kilometers out, the ten Blackadders released their payloads and abruptly altered course, high-tailing it out of there with chaff and flares being ejected from their respective canisters like crazy and jammers on maximum directed towards the Waldenburgian fleet as their missiles decended further to 12 meters and increased speed to Mach 3.5, moving towards the targets their target database had been programmed to locate and attack. The twenty Kitsj missiles were flying towards five targets, of which two were principal targets. The Waldenburgian aircraft carrier had a total of eight Kitsj missiles flying towards it, while the Wasp had a "mere" six. The three secondary targets - the three Sovremenny class destroyers - had "only" two Kitsj missiles each flying towards them, even through one would be more than sufficient to blow the small destroyer clean in half. The second one was simply redundancy, as multiple missiles attacking the same target would make the point defense weaponry have an even harder time and reduce the accuracy significantly. There was a perfectly good reason why gun CIWS was falling out of favor with world navies, and the Waldenburgian Navy was about to learn it the hard way.
_____________________

OOC: Waldenburg, I'm assuming you're tracking my Blackadders in that early post of yours, so I added a little something in the start of my post. Fluid time is a fun thing :)

It had been a strange serious of events that had led to the situation, one which were all too complex for figure bundling through the damp streets under the loving shadow cast by the spire and knave of the Waldenburger cathedral. It alone had captured the man’s imagination, it was the singular most beautiful thing he had ever seen, it’s elegant stained glass, and pillared halls had convinced. In reflection the Church had been very kind to the man, they had taken him off the street and given him two meals a day, and taught him songs, and shown him things he had never thought possible.

They had even given him a name, he had never had one before, Michael, he liked it very much, The redeemer they told him, a name which cast Satan from heaven. He liked the sound of that very much, and as his stubby legs wound through the damp streets, he nestled in his tattered coat for warmth. The Church had given him a proper one, but he had left it neatly folded on his bed. Once the beggar had served in the military, but had been discharged after being considered not worth the court marshal, and as he stumbled out of his old he had stumbled into a new one. Then he found Brother Friedman, an elderly old man who spoke very quietly, and listened to all the things the man had to say. It was comforting, it was, as close to he could remember, home. Then Friedman had asked him to return the favor as he put it, and now the man was slogging through the streets, coat wrapped tightly around him.

There wasn’t anyone on the street, the time was a dangerous one, and cars or thieves would often leave bodies in the gutter, without taking a look back, at least he had been told. The monk had told him many things, some which made the man angry, or made him cry. And when the Bishop, Dr. Philler had been taken away six hours before by a few strange and dark clad men, two of which the Bishop laid out with a thurible, before he was dragged off. The monk had asked him to repay the favor, within the hour.

It wasn’t a particularly long street but it seemed to stretch on forever, the dim lights occasionally throwing a shadow against the litany that was city life, but wherever the man stopped he could see the reassuring spire of the cathedral behind him. With clumpy steps the beggar rounded a corner, and turned into a more respectable part of town, where the streetlights were closer together and the sidewalks were not paved with litter. Jogging gently over a crosswalk the man stopped in front of the hospital. It wasn’t particularly large or important, but it’s clientele were, in the grand scheme of things, the most dear assets available to the Kampferian regime. Apparently the late hour of the night did not stop children from injuring themselves, as the front lobby was practically swarming with patients and their parents, all half asleep or crying in whatever tormented them. The counter staff seemed to be under siege, and orderlies were standing slightly off to one side almost barring the door to the hospital proper. No good there then.

Wiping his boots on the front mat, as he had been taught by Brother Friedman, the harassed beggar entered the hospital and starred at the sirens and warning claxons activated on the security panels on the wall as he had passed through. His mouth dropped open and he began to stutter, and point to various things around the room, his bewildered eyes searching for some help amongst the shocked faces in the room. His hand darted into his coat as the orderlies began a full rush at the front doors. As the bomb exploded there was no scream of religious vengeance, no bitter sentiment of a man cast aside by society, the man had forgotten his lines and just smiled as the bomb, a shaped explosive packed with marbles, filled the lobby with flying debris and sticky flame, that clung to the falling bodies.

It was said in Waldenburg that those who had no capacity with their hands should run for God, and those without legs should labor for God, but what of those with nothing? Without a mind what use was the body? If you could not labor for the Great God, if all your capacities lay entirely within your soul than the greatest work you could perform was dying for the Glory. When in time the bloody stain was scraped up from the opposite building, the Kampferians could declare it one of their own, and the motive none other than insanity.

[OOC: Ok, presuming your Frogmen somehow make it, which I still severely doubt... Also this post includes the entire Naval strength of the base there's a DDGN and SSN in harbour at East Partha and three Visby Class patrolling the waters]

With the Waldenburger fleet holding position some thirty-five kilometres offshore, Commander Anders had grown more than suspicious. As the MLRS assault on the group commenced, the three Visby class that patrolled the waters around the makeshift harbour were ordered to commence active variable depth sonar. Unlike passive methods, the high-power low-frequency sonar soon located numerous targets moving too slowly and quietly to be torpedoes, but at the same time too small to be ordinary submersible craft.

"Multiple objects inbound, target's submerged"

"Athens, this is base, can you identify?"

"Uhh... Affirmative base, I believe I have an ID on the objects"

The Visby class relayed the relative information back to the mainland, and it became all too clear what exactly was approaching the coastline. The boats soon moved out and approached the naval minefield that surrounded the coast, careful to pick their way through it and broadcast their ID to the smartmines. When they were in range, they engaged buoys which released lethal currents of electricity into the surrounding waters. The Visby class then continued active sonar and thermal imaging (which is highly successful in the cold waters) to track their targets.

Anders, however, could not pass up the chance to sink the Waldenburger advanced fleet as it just sat there. Standing in the middle of the command centre, hands resting on his sides, he glared at the computer screens in front of him that fed the "Vigilant" satellite imagery to him.

"Order the Sparta and Lauren to engage the enemy at maximum range"

The Sparta was a Síanach-class DDGN/DLGN, a ship that comprised the backbone of the Imperial fleet and represented the pinnacle in modern naval technology. Unfortunately the ship was out with the effective range for its electro-thermal cannons and torpedo tubes, however salvos of its two thirty-six cell launchers sped into the northern sky, targeting the fleet with guided missiles. The Lauren, a Nowotny-class SSN followed suit while submerged, engaging its twelve-cell launchers and releasing four 585mm torpedoes and another four 660mm torpedoes capable of traversing the distance between East Partha and the Waldenburgers.

Combined with the Cottish strike and MLRS bombardment, the Waldenburger fleet stood little chance of survival.

Open Declaration to all Nations involved in the Mediterranican Conflict


The Sovereign Imperial Dominion of Aschenhyrst has declared a militarization of the seas when this crisis first flared up a few weeks back. In that time we have mined the seaways up to 500km from our territories, regardless of what may be accepted as international waters. A quarantine zone has also been established witthe same area. Bodies of water affected by these actions include: Adriatican, Barot and Hibernian seas, Corbournian Strait and Gulf of Ponente. Allied vessels seeking passage through these waters must contact either the Dominion Coast Guard or Navy for escort or risk destruction.

Any vessel found entering these waters not bearing the flag of the Mediterranican Union or states allied to it is subject to search, sezuire of its cargo and crew, and forfeiture of the vessel itself. Any vessel that refuses to submit to search shall be terminated with extreme prejudice.

The Isthmatian Canal has been declared militarized, allied relief and military vessels have top priority it is use.

Any aircraft that ventures within 500km of any Dominion lands without proper authorization will be fired upon, no questions asked.

Havenic forces and allies, return to your homelands. The free peoples of Mediterranica shall not kneel to your threats or the minions massed against us. Far too many nations have bowed down to your tyranny and schoolyard bully tactics, we shall not. The people of Mediterranica have drawn our line in the sand, here and no further we have declared. Every hostile action against Dominion forces shall be met with an equal reaction. Any WMD attack against us shall be met with a WMD counter-attack. Any atrocity commited against our civilians or military forces shall be returned ten-fold upon yours.

Benjamin Clark, Prime Minister

Ironically, the first official acknowledgment the Realm of Cotland gave to the conflict in Mediterranica wasn't directly linked to the actions of Greston or Waldenburg, the two nation-states against which the Realm had employed quite lethal force, but to a newcomer in the conflict. The reason why this was at all possible was the fact that no one on the opposing side had actually come close enough to see the Cottish markings on the aircraft, and the Cottish aircraft had maintained a more or less tight radio silence, so neither of the OpFor could be very certain of the identity of those pesky supersonic bombers that had attacked them. They might be able to discern the type of aircraft, but the Questerian-made Blackburn Blackadder MSE.2 had been proliferated to so many different nation-states that it wasn't even funny, meaning that the Cottish could still walk away and claim that they had nothing to do with the attacks.


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Official Statement

The Realm of Cotland looks upon the mining of international waters and internationally used shipping lanes as carried out by the Nation of Aschenhyrst as an act of hostility against the world at large and the Realm of Cotland in particular.

We hereby issue you the first and final warning that should any Cottish merchantman in international waters be damaged or destroyed as a direct result of your actions, the Realm shall consider it as an attack and an act of war upon the Realm and retaliate with the appropriate force.

We urge Aschenhyrst to deactivate these minefields at once and refrain from such folly in the future, lest you'll find that your nation is no longer as sovereign as your nation title proclaims it to be.

You may consider yourselves warned.

Sincerely,
Royal Ministry for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm
The Realm of Cotland

Official reply to the Realm of Cotland

It boggles the mind how one can view our actions as hostility towards the world at large, while participating in overt acts of subjegation aginst a region where your presence is neither wanted or required. These minefields are a part of our defense for what we know to be our sphere of influence. Do not attempt hostilities against us unless you wish to recieve the same actions against you. Return to your homeland under your own free will.

We once supported the peaceful resolution of this crisis, until it became apparent that one cannot reason with evil. This entire affair is less about a Pictish base in Greston and more about knowing one cannot appease a band of thugs. Far too many nations have been bullied and presured into being subjects of Haven and what did they recieve for this, misery and suffering at the hands of a despotic allaince.

The people of the Sovereign Imperial Dominion will not continue to be threatened and harrassed by Havenic forces, we have no desire to be apart of your sphere of influence and we deeply resent the strong-arm tactics that have been used against the Grestonians to gain a foothold in this region. We cannot stand idlely by as the forces of evil massed against this region try to impose it`s will over the free peoples that reside here. As long as someone will stand against you, we will support them. If we have to stand alone against this naked agression, so be it. Any hostile act against the Aschenhyrst people will be met with the same action against whomever commited it. We will never bow down to the likes of you.

"Deo Vindice"

Benjamin Clark, Prime Minister

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Official Communiqué

The Realm is quite puzzled by these petty and rather insulting accusations cast forth by the petty would-be nation of Aschenhyrst, and demands that Aschenhyrst at once produce evidence for these quite baseless accusations, or at once offer the Realm a full and public appology for this insult. Furthermore, the Realm laughs at the logic (or lack thereof) for the highly illegal mining of international waters. However, if this is how Aschenhyrst wish to conduct its affairs of state, then the Realm shall reply in kind. In the immediate future, the Realm may deploy defensive minefields of its own, around and withing Aschenhyrstian harbors and other areas as the Realm sees fit to deploy such minefields in order to ensure its own defense.

Any attempt to infringe on our (by Aschenhyrstian standards) legitimate deployment of defensive minefields will be considered an act of war and be subject to retaliation to the extent deemed appropriate by the Commanders in the Field as duly appointed by His Most Serene and Glorious Majesty the King.

Sincerely,
Royal Ministry for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm
The Realm of Cotland

As the enemy fighters roared over the Waldenburger fleet group, there came a moment of decision, and as the contours of the superior craft shot past the Harriers it was an easy one to make. The surface ships below fired a few salvos of Surface to Air missiles, at the retreating backs, hopefully they could claim at least one kill for the Cenobiarch, and the thirty missiles would hopefully find their pray within time. The more pressing matter was the rockets being fired inland, which the flight group had been made aware of by a frantic Comms officer.

Rockets apparently, when the Comms officer could be calmed down sufficiently approaching from as many as 15 vectors, and approaching quite quickly. Relying on the one ability for which the Harriers had been purchased, the flight snapped around and began to fan out. It was one of the better kept secrets of the Waldenburger military of the fragmentation rockets, which could be built be children, and due to the IDI, some of them were. For the air war however the same variety as had been used in the Maldorian conflict were employed again. Any of the rockets could be set to either a certain distance in the same fashion as the Nazis had constructed their V-2s or be set to proximity and detonate in a cloud of metal and whatever could be packed into the head. One had been reputed to bring down an entire squadron of aircraft, and indeed in testing anything within ten feet of the detonation was devastated. On the other hand it could take dozens of the rockets to bring down a larger aircraft, they were unreliable as hell as the Grand Admiral Sloan noted, and in that was their terror.

In the air now however were not thinking pilots of the swiftest jets but guided rockets, which were only capable of so much, and at the range of which the guiding hand was dictating very single minded in path and purpose. Together the Harriers carried maybe two thousand of the rockets. In a great fanning formation, the Harriers dispersed and fired their rockets in swift streams, blanketing the path of the rockets, with rapidly expanding clouds of shrapnel. Those few that made it through the screening force were easily cleaned up by the CIWS guns on the larger ships, the rockets falling to the radar guided hail of fire. One rocket, through dint of refiring after having been originally down, slammed into the lip of the WIS Indolence which in turn sent nearly two tons of the flight deck raining over the combined squadron, and left the Indolence belching oily smoke. The guided missiles, though slightly more difficult to manage met a fairly similar fate, although three did managed to strike the Indolence, cutting the flight deck to around half of it’s original size and knocking out what usually represented the command bridge.

Through the background of tremendous cheering Adalban flipped on the Comm system and ordered a general attack of the Pictish base, along with the surface vessels to open up with whatever remained in the ships arsenal, despite their intended use, including the Exocets, the Harpoons and anything the fevered missile crews could lay their hands on. Flying low, the Harriers dipped over the waves, their new targets the Visby class corvettes and anything their rockets and cannons could strike along the coast.
--

For the frogmen, whom had been assured a swift and victorious operation were being blown out of the water with startling efficiency. Though at some points the electricity itself was not enough to stop the heart, it was the spark needed to detonate the bandoliers of primary explosives ringing the Naval Infantry. Thirty six of the original forty were killed outright, their packs exploding and hopefully, though the thought was not in the forefront of any mind present, taking out a few sea mines with the amassment of gore. Only four of the men had been spared, two of which had ditched their sledges and were swimming doggedly on for the larger warships explosives in hands and prayers on their still lips. Another two still clung to their rafts and sped, as much as was possible, towards the docks and shore where their second objective was to be carried out.

OOC Torpedoes to be dealt with soon, and Cott I imagine there will be a little break between flights whatever the time lapse, so might as well give you the killing blow in the next few posts, yes?

Any Cottish vessel that manages to penetrate Aschenhyrst waters, especially those internationally recogized as such will be fired upon and its crew executed as terrorists, We have no objections to how you defend Havenic territory but trespass here and pay the price.

Benjamin Clark, Prime Minister

6:00 AM, Anagonian Standard Time

Chief Governor Johnny Standford sipped at his coffee as he looked at the large tactical display at the fore of the situation room. In front of him was a rectangular table, sporting comfortable business-like leather chairs for the occupants. Currently, not including the Chief Governor, there were only three. Grand Admiral Buran Johnson, representing the Navy, pointed a laser pointer at the Satellite Map of Mediterranica. He had been discussing fleet deployments and possible strategies to deal with the Londinium Naval Assets, but considering an Aide had come in per permission and given the message that the Londy's had pulled out for a brief time, the information was placed on stand by.

Buran changed the display to a live feed of the planet from High Orbit, Green dots representing IFF signals tapped into coded frequencies that the Navy used to keep track of submarine assets, so long as they were near the surface. He cleared his throat, gaining a quizzical look from Grand Marshal Robert Yale of the Air Force, and he started to brief the Chief Governor on the nuclear situation. Johnny merely sat back comfortably.

"As you can see we have nearly all Ballistic Missile Submarines either on regular patrol routes, or changing course to International Waters so as to legally fire their nuclear payloads." He pointed towards four around a well-recognized area, "Our Typhoons at sea are on regular patrol near Aztecian waters, whom were notified of the possibility of nuclear launches." He placed the pointer around a wide circle of the remaining assets, "The rest of the twenty-three submarines in the water carrying nuclear payloads are either in contested territories or near the Meddy's waters."

"Are they all prepared for the go ahead?" Johnny knew the answer, but decided it best to participate in some way. Over the past hour, he hadn't said a damn thing. Needless to say, Buran seemed to welcome the first spoken question from the Chief Governor as he nodded, "Absolutely, Mr. Chief. The Imperial Doctrine was well-received by all Naval Command and Control personnel." Johnny grinned, leaning back again as he sipped his coffee some more. Buran continued his portion of the briefing by bringing back up the MU map, Waldenburg-held territory near the far west highlighted. Johnny raised an eyebrow, "So were going to nuke them?"

"Far from it, Mr. Chief." The display seemed real-time at first, but suddenly morphed into a computer generated time-delayed display of current fleet movements and tactics. Buran gazed at the screen before looking back at Johnny, "This portion of Waldenburg territory is a tactical and strategic position for engaging in open warfare with the rest of the region. As you can see, Fleet Two will concentrate from coming up the Kymeia Sea opening, south of this territory, and will concentrate on supporting a superior force role to secure the joining point between the Kymeian and Barot Seas." The display concentrated on Fleet Three then, which passed north of the Territory. Buran gazed at this, then looked back at the other three present. "Fleet Three will concentrate on the northern portion of the Kymeian Sea, seeking to gain a tactical hold there and preventing enemy fleets from approaching from the north."

"What about from the south?" Robert looked unconvinced by this plan, known to be a keen tactician in such matters. He placed a laser point at the area he held mention to. "Anagonian assets are wide open here, and if the Land invasion is to be successful we need every possible route of enemy counter-attack to be put on stranglehold."

Buran nodded, "Agreed, Grand Marshal. That is why the Battleship fleet will maintain a constant patrol between the southern Kymeian Sea and the Randian Straight, providing critical defense against naval fleets and missile choke points."

"What about land assets which could compromise naval Superiority?" Johnny looked from the Grand Marshal to the Chief Admiral, both gazing at him. He then turned to Chief General Vladimir Kerov, whom had stayed quiet during the proceedings. He merely inclined his head in an acknowledging bow, preferring to remain quiet. Johnny respectfully nodded to him, looking back to Buran. "Surely they have gun emplacements and missile bunkers."

Buran Johnson chuckled at the wise observation, motioned his hand as the display went forward a time-frame and made way for Fleet One. "That is where Rear Admiral Juno Verinez will direct all carrier assets to bombing runs and tactical strikes, and will direct all battleship and tomahawk bombardments via Satellite feeds." He grinned, "Also I have given permission to the Anagonian National Space Agency to launch the Buran Shuttle Exploration with the Military Tactical Reconnaissance Payload."

"Ah," Johnny chuckled himself, "that explains everything." He finished his coffee, setting his mug on the oak table, and leaning on his hands. "The MTRP has always played a key role in monitoring live engagements with a shuttles stationary position in orbit." He shook his head, "But that doesn't explain how we will deal with the Waldenburgians."

Grand Marshal Robert Yale stood, Buran taking his seat a few spaces from the Chief General. Robert put up a tactical display of all Military Outposts currently under Anagonian control in the entire world. He looked to his small audience, pointing to three that were near enough. "We currently have air bases in the nations of Greal, Rafaellun, United Human Countries, Imbrinium, Chemelnki, AHSCA, Prycuse, Avalic, Vanteland, and Orbath." He pointed to each respectfully, "Each has a military base in our lands according to the treaties implied. However, only three are in the distance required for our B-1 Lancers and F-111's. Either in distance or tanker range." He pointed to the three, "Prycuse, Orbath, and Vanteland." Robert looked back to the Chief Governor, "These bases are the most completed, and have all armaments required to bombard the Wanderburg territory into submission, allowing a quick and decisive land victory with the aid of the Navy."

"Exactly how far, fuel wise?" Johnny understood the mathematics of tankers adding range, but a base had to be near the launching base to provide adequate range for the tankers themselves, both to get to the fueling point and back home. "What will they be armed with?"

"Yes sir," Robert replied at once. He brought up a computer display, showing the time and distance, calculating fuel costs needed. Obviously having done his homework, Johnny nodded in approval. Robert explained, "Prycuse will be the tanker launch point for both the Orbathian base and Vanteland bases. Since Prycuse is about the maximum range for the F-111's from Orbath, and considering its about half that for the B-1 Lancers from Vanteland, it will provide a pivotal fuel-up point for both aircraft wings. However-" he brought up the Prycuse landing strip "-the F-111's will have to land in squadrons to refuel, so they will be the longest to get to the situation area. Also-" he pointed out the fighter contingent of the Prycuse base "-only the F-22 Raptors have the range needed to escort the bombers half-way to Wanderburg, where the carrier-borne aircraft must provide the rest-of-the-way protection."

"How many aircraft in total?" Johnny thanked an Aide who came in, giving him more coffee, she leaving without word. He sipped his warm brew as Robert replied. "About eighty in total, sixty F-111E's and twenty B-1B Lancers."

"And I suppose the Army will do its thing when Wanderburg is submissive?" Johnny looked to Vladimir Kerov. He replied in heavy Russian, "Affirmative, my good Chief."

Johnny nodded, standing. It was now eight o'clock AM Anagonian Standard Time, gazing at his watch and then looking to the door. "Let's make it happen gentlemen."

One day from Med-Crisis Region

Rear Admiral Juno Verinez gazed at her watch, scanning the flight deck from the bridge. She sighed, having just received new orders from the Chief Admiral concerning fleet deployments. It had been her discretion on how to play it all out, but orders were clear. Wanderburg was to first be bombed, then be taken. Her fleets would provide cover for key choke points in the now-contested waters. Her tactics would be key to making this a victory. Already she had dispatched recon aircraft, usually Joint Strike Fighters with advanced radar finding technology.

Fleet Four had been ordered to point the massive armada, going in first towards the Southern Kymeian Sea choke points where they would discover possible enemy threats. Next to follow would be Fleet One, her fleet, and then the other two fleets would enable the closing of the choke points. Already reports had been received that Air Armada was only eighteen hours off, and would pass six hours ahead to provide adequate time for Juno's fleets to asses the damage. She had been ordered to use her Tactical Nuke supply at her discretion, considering the possibility of mines in and around Aschenhyrst. More than likely she would launch them from carrier aircraft, into the sea to detonate a wide area of mines underneath, and to provide a shock and awe affect.

Sixteen Hours from Wanderburg Bombardment

Eighty bombers now headed for the Prycuse Military Outpost for waypoint checks. Loaded with unguided and guided bombs, two of the aircraft with Nuclear ordinance to be dropped if anti-air fire was serious enough to warrant the death of thousands. Their F-22 Escorts were close, and would detach once the carrier air escorts took positions so they could land at the Prycuse airbase.

7:42 AM Anagonian Standard Time / Union Aerospace Complex

3....2....1....Ignition

The Buran launched upward with the help of the Energia Rocket Launcher. On board the Buran Exploration was an instrument similar to that equipped to the most secret spy satellites. It would make stationary orbit above the Med-Crisis Region, and maintain constant watch with the assistance of the Apollo Space Station when refueling and basic recreation were required for the crew of the Buran. It would take eight hours to achieve the proper orbit, and another two to align and correct the path. One hour later they would achieve stationary orbit, open the bay, and begin to transmit highly detailed images to every allied command station capable of receiving them. Mostly to the High Commanders on ships, in the air, and on the ground. Where, thanks to modern advancements to technology, on the spot changes to tactics and strategies would ensue to counter enemy movements and plans.

OOC:

NEW ADDITIONS
x60 F-111E Fighter/Bombers x2 Nuclear Payload
x20 B-1B Lancer Bombers

The 'Eryx Sound', Skyian Londinium

The city of Eryx and it's surrounding metropolis [100km diameter] had been given to The Silver Sky at the end of the latest edition of the Londinium wars as a result of negotiation between Akimonad and British Londinium. Nearly 5 million people lived and worked within the enclave. They were protected by the 11th Marine Corp, nearly one hundred thousand troops strong along with the 33rd Air Force Division and the 3rd Naval Fleet.

The city had prospered for the few years it was under Skyian rule, it's gross domestic product per-capita nearly matching the national average and on pace to surpass it in the next five years, fueled by trade with nearby nations and the service industry tailored to the service men and women of The Silver Sky.

The military, especially the army, usually maintained a minimal presence within the public eye, providing border security for the enclave but otherwise remaining on their heavily fortified bases, which included deep earth bunkers. However, the situation within the region had prompted an increase in security, SAM batteries were prepared and more extensive border fortifications, including remote turrets, minefields, tank traps and barbed wire/concrete fortifications. The air force began to increase sorties over the enclave and out to international waters.

Soldiers on leave were called up and by now they were all ready for combat. The Skyian Navy was loaded out with what had become known as their Standard "NB" load out, comprising of the usual missiles with a little surprise in some of them just in case things got plasma hot. The fleet would leave harbor soon after provisions were on board with only four Carrier Battle Groups 200km of the city. The other eight were to fan out outside of Londinium waters and patrol for MU forces.

As for military activity elsewhere the First Naval Armada, composed of the First and Second Naval Fleets were underway, estimated time of arrival was somewhere within the next two weeks.

OOC: A few notes. Firstly, I’m glad to see were are progressing now and seem to be getting along. Secondly, I must apologize again for my post quality but I am, as always, at work and must write this in short burst between doing stuff. Finally, and related to point two, I’m unsure at this point whether I will be able to keep up with this RP. I don’t have much of a chance to post during the week.

Nuevan Sea, Northern Meditteranica
Taskforce Sea Guard, SAD Patrol

The Taskforce flagship IYS Tezrian carved gracefully through the swelling oceans for a ship of its size and all around it, the vessels of the Imperial fleet followed in unison as they stalked towards the Greston Coastline. The days sun rose over the horizon, reflecting as a dull red glow from the metallic giants like a herald to the bloodshed that would soon be unfolded throughout Greston, and possibly even other parts of the region.

‘Why do we not fire, Commander?’ questioned the puzzled Captain of the Tezrian, ‘we are well within range now.’

‘Because we have not yet been ordered to do so, my dear Captain,’ Zaelen responded offhandedly. As soon as we do, I assure you that you yourself can have the distinct pleasure of issuing the order to...’

Even as she spoke the words the ships communications officer interdicted with a message from Naval Command. ‘We are authorized to ‘remove the problem which has plagued our region for these past weeks’.

‘There you go Captain.’

Captain Ranus Morou smiled thinly. It never grew old to oversee the complete obliteration of enemies of the Empire. We relative glee, he activated his communicator and issue a fleet wide directive.

‘All vessel are to engage primary target at will. Raise that base to the ground.’

Within moments of the instruction the fleet almost vanished beneath a billowing cloud of smoke and flames as hundreds of sea skimming cruise missile were fired out against the Pictish base. Through the wafting clouds of smoke, fleet carriers launch entire wings of fighters and bombers who move in to finish off any magical sections of the base which somehow survived the first strike.

OOC: For note: I have 225 warships of various caliber closing in on the base position. They are still a bit outside gun range though. Orbat to come later.

“We’ll land here, here and here,” said General ChrysanderAlexis, indicating three locations on the southern coast of Greston. “I want two ‘phract divisions each on LP1 and LP3, one division at LP2.” Lieutenant General Bacchus Balthasar nodded and placed markers on the landing points.

“I would suggest, General, that we split the mechanized divisions evenly among the beachheads, two at one and three and three at two.” Alexis quickly agreed. The Skyian liaison, an officer by the name of Masakazu if Alexis remembered correctly, also voiced approval.

“We will support your landings with naval artillery fire, General.” He had almost no accent at all, a simple but amusing feature about the otherwise unassuming man that all of the Kargucagstanis found unendingly hilarious. It was near impossible to understand most of the Skyians, even those who bothered to learn Greek. The admiral assigned to oversee the two leased fleets was one such Skyian, but everyone assumed that a recording of whatever was being said could be translated for the svelte officer, even now battling politicians on the bridge of a barely-visible battleship. “Once we seize the beachheads what do you propose to do?”

Alexis bent over the map again. “We push forward, of course. We will open a corridor to the Pictish stronghold, divide and conquer and all that.”

“I see.” Masakazu looked concerned. “General, I fear that our guns and aircraft will not be enough to clear that large of an area. It is, after all, many miles to the base.”

“This is true,” said Balthasar. “However, we have received words that our Kampferian allies have something big in the works. Something very big. It should prove to draw away a good portion of the Mediterranican forces. Those that fail to leave the area will fall to your close air support and our boots on the ground.” Masakazu’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he was otherwise nonexpressive.

“What of airbases? Where will we construct them? I don’t know the topography well enough to suggest anything. We can run missions off of our carriers and those of our allies’ fleets, but heavy strategic bombers will not be able to be used.”

“There are airbases in the local area,” Balthasar shrugged, “in Londinium, I think. The bombers can fly out of there.”

“Or they could just continue to fly from Haven, refueling in flight.” The note of sarcasm in Alexis’ voice was not lost. “Another issue we must consider is reinforcing the Pictish forces already embattled. Can we get transport planes to them?” The assembled leaders studied the map for a few moments, occasionally scrolling the screen left or right.

“I think there are too many AA-emplacements for that kind of a deployment. We’d have to have our men hoof it or take out the missiles beforehand.”

“έπακρος! We are not walking, that’s out of the question. I want those defenses taken out before we even get there. Send the word to the forces already in the area. Yallak has fleets between us and the base as well, so we can’t circle north. We’ll just have to destroy them as well.”

“Understood, Sir!” Balthasar crooked his elbow and bowed out of the room. The rest of the meeting was settled in short order and adjourned. The spacious map room on the battleship had begun to feel cramped after five hours. Cool night air washed across General Alexis’ sallow features as he stepped out on deck. The moon cast an eerie shadow from the heavy guns, flicking among the nondescript missile tubes and darkened hatches. Dark shapes moved in the clouds above.

As Alexis looked on, the moonlight revealed the form of one of the missile dirigibles accompanying the fleet. That would be the fascist’s real contribution to this engagement, the zeppelins. Men can do much, he reflected, but machines can do more. With two dozen or even fewer of the missile boats in the sky uncontested air superiority was virtually assured. Of course, they were blind by themselves, but AWACS took care of that. Doffing his drab cap to the silent silver fish above, the general took his leave for his cabin. A wave broke over the bow, washing the deck in Neuvan Sea water.

Sankt Augustin, Kampfers
KIB Headquarters

Sankt Augustin was a cozy town, which made it perfect for the headquarters of the operation that the KIB was. Although Bill Richardson, the Senior Director of Intelligence, was frequently in Kampfers Stadt, Sankt Augustin was not too far away for him to be back the next day. And now, even though the world around them slept, the sprawling complex of the Kampferian Intelligence Bureau was bustling with activity and life. In the large Briefing Room, Richardson and his top officers from each field were discussing what exactly had just happened.

"Officially, Gentlemen, we were not in a state of war, but unofficially the answer is quite obvious. What we just experienced may be only a blip, a random occurrence, the timing being simply a coincidence, or it could be a terror attack by one of our government's foes. We at the KIB have a reputation for getting to the bottom of things like this. By the end of tonight, I want the details put to rest. Never has the KIB overlooked anything that had the suspicions of a terrorist bombing, and we won't start now. The faster you get this done, the faster you get to go home to your families.

"Now, here's the scoop. A hospital in Swisttal was the recipient of a rather unfriendly bombing late this night. Confirmation report states some 600 people were in the building that night, and so far we have 183 confirmed deaths. We also have an unknown wounded. Who the hell hits a hospital? Nonetheless, this bombing has to be uncovered. Here's the camera inside the hospital, lucky for us the security footage didn't warp before the firemen got to it. We've got a positive ID on the face, Kampferian Army, 1976. David Billings is the name. Was discharged for undisclosed reasons, but indications have it that his mental capacity was not up to speed. Could possibly just be a whimsical attack of his own. We'll see.

I want to know everywhere Billings has stayed in the past 10 years, everyone he has come into contact with, where he got the bombs, and if he has any family left. Find that out, and then you'll be finished. I promise it this time."

A chorus of groans came from his subordinates, but they nodded and went quietly to work. For the longest time, nothing appeared. Then, they struck a chord. "Uh sir?" said one of Richardson's agents, motioning him over. "I was looking at his family and their phone records over the past three years. Seems as if his mother had a lot of contact with a church in Swisttal, a Waldenburger one. One of the nations Kampfers has had trouble with during this struggle." He brought up a map of the town and showed the church to Richardson.

"Interesting" grunted Richardson. "Run a Recognition ID Search on the video cameras at that convenience mart across the street. The data should be readily available, much like the phone records were, thanks to the Kampferian Freedom of Information Act. Search the past three days. If anything is up, Billings would have been there at least once or twice."

"Gotcha" came the reply. After a few minutes, he called out to Richardson again. "We got a positive match! Multiple! He keeps entering and exiting the church at odd times. Looks like he might be living there."

Richardson sighed. "That about puts the insanity plea to rest. There is a bigger plot in action here. We can't pin it on the Waldenburgers yet, but things are looking damn tight in their corner." He reached over the agent's shoulder and clicked back to the ID results. "Looks like he went straight from here to the Hospital. There has to be a connection. But would a Kampferian really sell himself out to that level?"

The response came from across the room. A firm "No". Before Richardson could ask for an explanation, he was granted one. "I've dug up the military records for this man. Turns out his intelligence really was sub-par. He wasn't a loony though, hell no. Just not as bright as the average man."

"So he had to know what he was doing. You've all read the dossier on Waldenburg. The church is so tightly intertwined to the state that anything they do would have to be approved. Something's up. I'll forward the report on to Richtoff, he'd love to see this. The rest of y'all can feel free to leave."

Kampfers Stadt, Kampfers
In the office of the Fuhrer

The printer whirred, and began to spit out a sheet of paper. Swiveling around in his chair, Richtoff immediately recognized it from the KIB letterhead and snatched it off the rack. Reading over it quickly, many thoughts ran through his mind. "Terrorists. Terrorists in Kampfers. Terrorists now linked to the enemy. Now would be the best time to send a message, and a stern one at that. Yes, now was the time to teach the world a lesson." With that, Richtoff turned to his phone and picked it up. First on speed dial was General Klischten, but he wouldn’t be needed for this. Rather, Richtoff called the head of the Kampferian Luftwaffe. A strike was to be coordinated.

With haste, the flight crews of many a B-22 began to load up. Named the KL-545B Stürmenwolke in Kampferian service, it was truly one beast of a plane. With 60,300 kilo's of ordinance available per bomb bay, and three such bomb bays, one B-22 could inflict a lot of damage. In total, more than 120 number of B-22's would be headed out on this mission. Accompanying them would be 80 EA-6B Prowlers, 215 FGR.1 Storkes, 50 Ku-47D1 Milkmans, 10 EB-15E's, and lastly two E-8 Joint STARS. Each B-22 was filled to the brim: 20 were dedicated to the deliverance of white phosphorus, 70 to delivering incendiary bombs, and the other 30 to bringing in normal high explosive bombs. The conventional bombs would be the first to fall, followed by the incendiary bombs and then the white phosphorus. If the bombs fell as planned, a giant firestorm would consume the city, destroying anything living inside. Once in the air, they would be flying in a layered formation: the Prowlers would comprise the bottom layer, and the Storkes would be on top of them. They were to be followed by the B-22's, and the Milkmen and EB-15E's would ride just above them. The JSTARS would comprise the top and final layer.

Their target was Blünderburg, the cultural center and imperial capital of old of Waldenburg. Each year an untold amount of tourists swarmed through the gates of the city to see the number of attractions it held, and it was especially known for the number of cathedrals it held. It symbolized so much to the citizens of Waldenburg, but it would not do so for much longer. In a nominal sense, it was Waldenburg's Berlin to the Weimar Republic, but soon it was going to resemble Dresden more than Berlin. The planes were carrying a lethal combination for any city, and this strike would put fear into the hearts of the citizens of Waldenburg. Many civilians were sure to die, but if it drove down the support for the war in Waldenburg, it was worth the cost. Besides, the Waldenburgers had shown that they themselves would not play fair. Kampfers was apt to respond on their level. Things were about to get real nasty, real fast. And that didn’t even mention the Kampferian Fleet that was now redirecting itself towards Waldenburg.

War without end
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath
No remorse No repent
We don't care what it meant
Another day Another death
Another sorrow Another breath

- Metallica, No Remorse -

Ah non Credea ah Non Giunge (http://www.elizabethparcells.com/Music/Opera/Ah%20non%20credea%20Ah%20non%20giunge%20Bellini.mp3)

The smoldering wreckage of the hospital, while terrifying in itself brought a grim ripple of satisfaction to the brothers so neatly tucked into the undercroft of St. Ceno’s cathedral. Skulls, which admittedly had been shipped in, gazed down as if their ancestors now smiled on the actions of the Church. As the crisis had evolved some weeks earlier the Holy Church had dispatched two men to join, at the time, in the acquiring of intelligence for the Mother Church. They had been marginally successful, in that they found out, too late, that the Pictish had friends, apparently friends who seemed to multiply from themselves, and so, in that the second man had found his use. Brother Friedman, though his hair had grown grey in the service of God, had never advanced beyond his rank, and his brown robe showed equally the wear of age. It was said though that he could, speak with angels, communicate right through the soul, and rip the truth from your constantly unraveling mind.

In the manner of social progression, to which the Church eventually surrendered after centuries of holding back modernism with one hand, and slapping at the encroaching arms of the more opportunistic foreigners, it had been decided a new fashion of religion had to be formed in order to preempt the morale desecration of the heart of the Empire. So, in the careful, and steady minds of the twinkly eyed, old priests a new version of the drug of the masses had been formulated. What could be won through holy war, could be done through a more subtle approach and while there would always be a place for the ramblings of hermits, wobbling statues, and the tears of Saints, together with Dr. Albin Retirun Brother Friedman had created the department of Experimental Theology, which within a few months had most specifically not surpassed the Inquisition in reputation for brutality or the ferocity with which it hunted down the impenitent. For the Experimental Theologians did not hunt, at least did not track or stalk, but merely waited till the pray took the gun and took it’s own life. Then, all that could be seen was the broom and dustpan, and in the first months the floors were never clean it seemed. It was amazing what was hidden in the mind, what little thoughts crossed the forefront of though at the most inconvenient moments, what little heresies and untruths could be buried.

It was, as the hierarchy agreed the incense that drove the prayers of faithful unto heaven, and Brother Friedman had introduced his theories to increase the number. Tiny plastic discs and vials of peppermint essence could keep most of the ‘incense’ from the priests and choir, but none the less when the sermon finally wound down most of the parishioners came back again and again, and added their coins to the plates, and couldn’t stop smiling for God had entered their life. In Kampfers however, things hadn’t gone to plan, some parishioners had shown up, and the poor had filed through the bread lines, and come out in droves when the beds were available, but the nave built for ten thousand was never more than half full. It seems the wealthy and powerful could not see the rising spire of the Cathedral, could not hear the bells peeling in the midst of the most calm nights, always ringing the eventual salvation of the race.

“They refuse to listen, they won’t even hear us all they want is our money, and out time.” With the Bishop probably dead, and the Cenobiarch cut off from communications control had fallen directly into the faintly wrinkled hands of Brother Friedman.

“Calm yourselves brothers,” Friedman held out a placating hand and waved away a cobweb that seemed to drape the interior of the cathedral, even though the paint on the walls was sparkling fresh. “Billings was successful, which means,” he nodded towards a small patch of wall that looked no different than any other, “Levi 13 has also at least been partially effective.” Dr. Retirun, who nominally headed the program, enjoyed the more dramatic areas of the field, attaching his patients to conductive chairs and playing hell with their mind, Friedman however despised the idea of cellars and chains, when the mind would be the greatest set of shackles that had ever been forged. “This means we are prepared to strike cohesively.”

Silence fell over the few priests and, the small contingent of the Divine Legion who had slipped in earlier as laymen. They were unarmed, for the most part, simply what could be bought off the street, but muscles hung off their arms likes sacks of flour, and it was often noted what they could do with only a small piece of string and five minutes. It was, despite the past day’s actions, the penultimate attempt of forced conversion ever attempted and weighed heavily on the minds of the congregated priesthood.

“Brothers, surely our resolve has not broken? We remain resolute surely? We must proceed. Levi 13, if we are to judge from our sample tests and Mr. Billings’ performance should conclusively damage the Kampferian Regime.”

“What is the risk?” the duty Inquisitor asked from beneath his hood.

“We run short of necessary ingredients, the viscosity is to thick, and we must start the entire program over, two years of work lost, and of course our own deaths should we be caught, but I rather think that would be self explanatory.”

“And should we succeed?”

“All of the Levi line are chemically proven to produce delusions of grandeur, elevated awareness to external stimuli, heightened sensitivity to sound, and light, the loss of depth perception, temporary feelings of euphoria, and until the chemicals have passed through the body, an increase in blood pressure, and serotonin levels. Should it be mixed to the right consistency with the drinking water, from various processing plants across the city and surrounding suburbs, we will have maybe ten million Kampferians very responsive to miracles in a short time. After two hours of populous wide exposure, we call for the hand of God. If we fail, simply an outbreak of the stomach flu to the more feeble of society, no a fitting reward.”

“Has the Cenobiarch been made aware we intend to attack a neutral nation?”

“Indeed, the Cardinal Thousis ordered it himself,” Friedman smoothly lied a task, which his vocation most suited him to. “We deploy in three days, and two hours, starting our assault on the water treatment plants, at no later than one in the morning.”

“There are no more than thirty of us who can fight, maybe a few of the parishioners can be enthralled again, but certainly not to the level necessary to form a tactical unit.”

“Can not a small but faithful band overcome a multitude of the faithless? We know this; we saw the fall of the Maldorians at Cyprus and the overwhelming of the barricades in Paloni? Deo Vidice, God vindicates, and shall smash aside our opponents, stand assured, brothers. Now I know I keep you from your beds, sleep well.” In a long ling the clergy clumped out of the room and to their narrow beds tucked amongst the odd ends of the chilly halls.

Friedman was left alone amongst the skulls of long dead, and now nameless forebears, all of them had lived even dustier lives than their skulls now practiced, everyone of them scribbling away in their little tomes, copying the ‘wisdom’ of ages. For what though, what had it brought them? A small shelf sitting amongst the debris of a dying faith, which no would could bring to end, or salvage from it’s demise. Once their had been an empire forged on faith and steel, now as always standards were sliding. Amongst a dusty cellar in the heart of the beast there was hatched a plan, to give birth to the dream that was inherent in the prospects of religion, the dream of hope, to be forced unto man whether he wished it or not.


OOC Since Jolt seems to have entered it's bad times again at least for me, you will have a Tg shortly Kampf.

Under the Indolence, to the most keen of listener a tiny crackling could be heard, and then the ships jumped into the air, and it’s superstructure began to fail as the arrant torpedo struck amidships and crack the brittle steel, which is some places had simply become patches of rust. With a great scream the ships began to crack along a jagged line splitting traveling up several flights of stair and throwing previously guarded sailors into the roiling seas. A fuel bunker, one of many almost randomly placed around the ship so as not to lead to one great lose of capability burst into an even thicker flame than before, which mixed with the screams of the crew no below the torrent of flame.

Similarly the Wasp had been his although it’s integrity seemed to be holding, it was listing slightly and warning claxons could be heard from it’s foredeck. One frigate had befallen a similar fate, and had not the integrity to withstand the blast, it had least been spared the flames, and it’s descent to the bottom was gentle, with what had not been destroyed by the opening torpedoes was going down in a rather ordered fashions.

Adalban aboard the WIS Indolence, watched as his screens went dead and his own claxons subtly reminded him of the need to abandon. “Damage report?” He snapped to a midshipmen who seemed to be pondering the use of red light when in a combat situation, and rubbing his shins.

“We’re scrap, reactor has gone to emergency shut down, eighty percent of secondary and tertiary generators are also shut down to avoid open currents. If we pressurize and seal now, we can hold together for maybe an hour before the water takes the reactor room, and then I suggest we are somewhere else.”

“Very good, general evacuation, keep what batteries are still available firing, and evacuate all nonessential crew, order Heptarch and the Lucious to send helicopters, I will be on the deck in two.” With one hand the captain grazed the consule of his first command, “didn’t even know you.” His cockaded hat was rammed on, and the crew followed him out of he command bunker, leaving the standard distress and danger warning running on whatever communications were left to the crippled ship.

As the whirling blades of the Seahawk blew the flames down around the flight deck the Captain and some of his more senior crew rushed aboard and banged heavily on the flimsy metal side. “Commander!” the Captain yelled across the tight space of the cabin “alert flight leader Maroon, that he is to do his utmost to protect the surface group, or what remains of it, he had go ahead for the attack. Order the evacuation of the marines and naval infantry from all vessels, and move them ashore it doesn’t matter where but move them!” Keep all batteries firing. Any news of our frogmen?”
--

One commando, after watching his comrades blown to bloody pieces around him, and after swimming a further two hundred yards, activated his electro magnet in an effort to hook to the side of a vessel, he didn’t really care which at this point, simply that there was a hull to latch unto. The explosion, is seem from above, would hardly be representative of the force it had just exerted. Apparently it had been water proof, but is seemed no magnet was forth coming. Around the hull of the ship the familiar red cloud began to form. The Harriers, little known to the broken attack were only a minute out and already picking attack vectors.

East Partha, Pictish Sovereign Base, 7:15 hours
36 Kilometres offshore

The modest Pictish fleet had been tearing through Mediterranican waters for well over a week, and the promise of docking was looking very appealing to its sailors. What they weren't expecting was ten days of no-contact with the enemy in hostile waters, indeed the fleet had no idea of the danger they had nearly faced. Little did they know that at one point, sixty-seven Theoroshian submarines lay in wait for them, or that Aschencryst ships were patrolling much of the southern seas. No, all that the crews were aware of was the numerous threats The Sovereign Havenic Republic had received from the likes of Greston, Waldenburg and British Londinium, but the seas were the naval equivalent of a ghost town.

As the sun began to rise in the cool, northern sky, the clouds that sprawled across the horizon were illuminated in a great fiery-red. The restless sea itself reflected this colour on the odd side of each rise in the water, a beautiful, yet barren oceanic landscape. On the great mast of the flagship Autumn Night, a proud Admiral-class command cruiser, the Pictish flag (http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y154/Retro_1989/CombinedFlag-2.png) and naval jack (http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y154/Retro_1989/FleurFlag.png) fluttered in the stiff, chilly winds. Much of the crew, or at least whomever could be spared, gathered on the decks of the grand ships of the fleet, gazing onto the spectacle below them. For scattered about the sea lay the iron wreckage of the Waldenburger fleet, the great, metal hulls still groaning in the tides. On the horizon, great pillars of smoke could be seen rising from the shoreline. The fighting the fleet had expected had not challenged them at sea, it had occurred here. Commander Ría stood on the bridge, surveying the treacherous bay before them.

"Captain, relay the orders to the fleet. We're moving in, just do it slowly. And be careful"

The ships were reduced to barely a drift as they passed through the jagged hulls of ships, determined to drag the weary sailors to the depths alongside them in one final act of defiance. Overhead, two ACI-73's tore through the smoke towards the fleet, speeding above the flagship and banking sharply to complete a circle. Ría gave a subtle smile, he moved over to the comms station where a secure radio awaited him.

"Hungry Dogs, this is the pack. Do you copy?"

There was a few seconds of static. The bridge crew waited, the anticipation of hearing their brother's voices brimming in the room.

"I repeat: Hungry Dogs, this is the pack. Do you copy?"

Soon a grave, exhausted voice echoed from the speakers. It sounded distant, lost in the static,

"Alpha-male, this is Hungry Dogs. It's good to hear from you"

The crew of the bridge broke out into a rather unprofessional cheer, but Ría let them off with it. In all truth, he wished he didn't have to contain his glee himself.

"Commander Anders, put the kettle on, we're coming for you. ETA three hours. Pack out."

*****

East Partha, Pictish Sovereign Base, 11:37 hours

The majority of the fleet made in into the bay unscathed, mostly from sheer luck. Naval wreckage littered much of the area thirty-kilometres out, while between one and five kilometres lay an untouched minefield. Personnel from the amphibious assault ships and troops carriers were already piling ashore, tanks rolling off gangways and accelerating up towards their separated companions. The commanding officers of the Autumn Night left their beloved vessel to meet the rather harassed looking senior staff of East Partha, their skins blackened with soot and their hair dishevelled. They greeted each other, shook hands and exchanged smiles, and the two Commanders began to walk along the shoreline.

"Anders, how bad did you get hit here?"

The younger man, in his late thirties, looked at the ground as he thought for a while.

"We were waiting for the Grestonians to launch their attack, but the Cottish strike force bet them to it. Then we presumed war to be declared and we engaged the Waldenburger fleet that had besieged us"

Ría looked surprised,

"Your lot did all that damage, with one destroyer?"

"No, I'm afraid not. We exchanged volleys of rockets with the enemy fleet for some time, and indeed the better part of a day passed in this fashion. Then the Cottish returned, and incinerated the entire sea. We've seen no enemy reinforcements ever since"

It seemed Ría and his men had missed the fighting. They always knew Anders would bare the brunt of an assault, indeed many suspected Anders and his couple of brigades would bare the brunt of the entire war.

"What of the Grestonian base? Any activity?" Queried Ría,

"Possibly, Commander, I've sent a few M-3's out on recon, but their base is still burning. I believe the Cottish hit them hard, incendury warheads, maybe even chemical. My people are still analyzing samples the recon elements retrieved"

Both men walked in silence for a while, except 'silence' was perhaps not the appropriate word. For all around them was the roar of fighter aircraft, helicopters and other machines of war as the newcomers mobilized on solid ground.

"Very well, Commander Anders, prepare our forces for an assault immediately. We're pushing north tonight"

As the Blackadders carried out their mission, a special deal had just been finalized in Eeobroht. In a special meeting between the Cottish Defense Minister and the Pictish ambassador, Nova Pictavia had agreed to allow Cotland to establish a base on the disputed territory so that Cottish troops could be stationed in the area in order to ensure that Nova Pictavia wouldn't be left to itself to fend off any foreign aggressors such as Greston and its allies. In return, Nova Pictavia had been granted a very lucrative agreement with CotWep Export Ltd., Cotland's principal military export outlet, with a 75 % discount on any object in the sales catalogue. It was a win-win situation. However, due to the special circumstances, construction of the base would have to commence as quickly as possible if the deal was to be of any use.

Therefore, as the second Blackadder raid were on their attack run, large lumbering transport aircraft were taking off from Cottish airbases, laden with all the construction equipment, supplies and personnel required in order to quickly establish a forward operating airbase. The pilots were perfectly aware that they were flying into a warzone, a fact further emphasized by the fighter aircraft that were escorting them. It had been decided to forward-deploy the 25. Tactical Strike Division and additional support units of the Royal Cottish Air Force's Tactical Aviation Command to the Pictish colony that was under attack, and the safest way of ensuring that all the aircraft reached their destination safely was by sending them all in one go, something which would allow the FA 16A Priest fighters - there were almost three hundred of them in the 25. Tactical Strike Division - to protect the hundreds of aircraft that formed the flying armada. The Pictish had already been informed, and had started to prepare their airbases for the arrival. Until the forward operating base could become operational, the 25. would have to depend on their bases.

The route the Cottish flying armada would follow would take them way outside range of any of the belligerent powers for the majority of the flight, flying far to the north at the very edge of the icecap over the Montbleu Passage and Mednordian Sea before the armada would fly south-southeast, directly down to the Pictish colony that was under attack. It would be a risky flight, but the pilots of the 25. were experienced and well-trained, and the escort was sizable and prepared for any eventuality. The EB-177A Coldun electronic warfare aircraft would monitor the skies and keep their jammers on the ready and a significant portion of the FB-177A Barsuk fighter-bombers had been equipped with anti-shipping missiles in the event of a naval combatant trying to pull anything stupid. Ahead of the armada, a formation of UAVs would fly in a semi-circular pattern in order to scout out anything that lay ahead, thus giving a forewarning to the armada so the appropriate forces would kick in the afterburner and move up to clear the path. The AWACS aircraft would do the same, keeping their powerful radars on to see if any unknown/enemy aerial contact would try something silly. The Cottish expected the flight to arrive within 25 hours, utilizing substantial amounts of aerial refuelling in order to keep the aircraft flying.

Likewise, a small fleet of transport vessels carrying more equipment, supplies, fuel, ammunition, missiles, bombs and more personnel was preparing to set sail from Cotland, escorted by Surface Action Flotilla 35 and Amphibious Assault Flotilla 14, which was carrying the 14. Naval Infantry Division which would provide the ground combat element of the new Cottish base, and if the war had not been resolved by then, the Cottish ground combat contribution. Sailing at a steady speed of 20 knots, the Task Force would arrive within 30 days.

Greston proper was a rapidly closing smudge on the horizon. Lieutenant General Balthasar set down the phone and turned to General Alexis. “Still no sign of enemy forces, General. It looks like it’s undefended.”

“Impossible. Nobody would leave their mainland undefended!” Balthasar shrugged.

“There are reports of Maldorian forces in the area, but that has not been confirmed either. Sir, I recommend we commence the landing.” Alexis paced once, examined the empty coast through a pair of binoculars, and consented.

“All right. But first, I want a ten minute artillery bombardment of the coast. Could be mines or ambushes in the cliffs.” He set down the lenses and made for the bridge’s door. “Also, it turns out that the Pictish base is on an island far to the east, not where we thought it was.”

“Are you serious, Sir?”

“Indeed I am. Those ηλίθιος over in Intelligence really screwed up. The base just got reinforced, though, so we can commit our entire force to this landing.”

“Understood, General.” Balthasar crooked his elbow and ordered the strike. “Let’s smoke these καρντάσης out.”

After having two ships shot from under him Captain Adalban had taken to his last reaming frigate and after having transferred command of all ground forces to the young and keen Colonel Rellard, had retired to his cramped cabin to journey back to the Empire. It was a very uncertain future, perhaps, he had somehow fitted into the elaborate scheme of the Church, had some how performed one of their innumerable directives related to one of their always changing machinationated vendettas against intended slights. Admittedly most of his crew had survived, due to the lapse in time between the enemies’ strikes, there was however nearly two thousand of the Serene Legion laying at the bottom of the sea, and the loss of all but one of his ships could hardly be a merit to his name in the eyes of the ever vindictive War Cabinet.

As his fingers began to toy with the trigger on his pistol, the door snapped open rather rudely to reveal a ensign holding a towel and a small bottle of disinfectant, “Captain? Oh… Um, heh… There is a message waiting for you on the bridge. A pleasure sir,” the Ensign snapped off a salute and backed out of the room with his towel held to his defense. For a moment the Captain considered opening the desk drawer and continuing what he had started. But there too the Church had him, it was a sin, suicide was a sin and the dereliction of duty was a sin, so the Captain eased himself to his feet and slowly stepped out of the door trying not to wrinkle his clothing against the press of men milling about on the bridge. A hush fell over the general din as the Captain squeezed his way aboard through the tiny catch door, there was no salute.

“Captain,” a voice, which had been clicked on from some unseen corner of the ship, “a squadron, the 12th Northern, has been issued orders to come and rendezvous with what remains of Fleet Group Indolent at the enclosed coordinates. There is afoot another invasion of Greston proper, as discovered through communications from the Imperial Republic and confirmed by our own satellites, your fleet group will delay the invasion as long as possible, until the arrival of the First Imperial Spear. His Imperial Majesty had declared his support for the Serene Legions, and Imperial Navy shall soon deploy to halt the invasion. “ A cheer rose up on the deck, and the captain could have done nothing to stop it with a vice squad and air support. “You will endeavor to halt the invasion of our ally and if possible remove all enemy presence from the region. Absolutum Dominium.” The message cut and the crew sprung into action, their flames rekindled by the official declaration of war, from the Imperial Court. The point of conjunction was some thirty miles to the west and south, where it was said the fleet could make landfall within another two hours.

OOC Orbat:
12X Skjold class missile boats
24X Torpedo (ram) hydrofoils (Stealth warship with both a torpedo ram and two above water tubes)

--
IC

As the Naval infantry had stormed ashore they had met with no resistance, this being an allied country, and the enemy being somewhat more concerned with the naval attack. 8,000 men and a sizeable mechanizied unit along with what few helicopters had been saved from the sinking of the Wasp earlier had ended up discarded on the beech. The young Colonel who had been given his first command had eagerly ordered the meet up with the Imperial Horse Guard rumored to be in the area and still active, he hoped possibly there would be a counter attack. And the lance of the Hierophants could taste it’s first blood.

As it was the army was rather dispersed as most of the vehicles were having engine problems with waterlogged engines, and some of his marines were without uniforms, shoes or their rifles. It was a miracle that as many had made it off the floundering fleet as it was. It was equally rumored that the Grand Army was approaching in naval transport, although where that particular one had started no one could guess.

There was however a hint of truth to that rumor, Ajax Sloan, Grand Admiral of the fleet was gathering elements of the First, Second and Third Spear, into a Grand Fleet, which in turn would break up and scour Greston of foreign influence, although for the 8,000 it was a long time in coming.

ooc: I've talked with TSS, so this is all cool :D
IC:
http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii290/Twilight201/m_u_i_z__0.jpg
Official Diplomatic Communiqué

From: The Office of the MU Secretariat, MUIZ
To: New Pictavia et al.

As you have failed to see reason and chosen your own path to destruction, we are left with out any further choice and so hereby declare a state of War between the Mediterranican Union and the Nuclear Commonwealth and the Silver Imperium. May God have mercy on you and the souls of your children now never to be born.


Secretary-General Maran Gherud
Secretary-General of the Mediterranican Union


Break the circle, stretch the line, call upon the devil.
Bring the gods, the gods' own fire,
In the conflict revel.
The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born,
renew the pledge of life's long song rise to the reveille horn.
Animals queuing at the gate that stands upon the shore
breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.
- Jethro Tull, A Passion Play -

A declaration of war was never something to be taken lightly. It required the utmost attention of any national leader, and as such, elaborate systems were in place to ensure that any leader on NSEarth knew as soon as possible that his little slice of dirt was to be invaded by the leader of another slice of dirt. However, that didn't mean that these leaders had to like the system.

Atal Amner lay in bed, the warmth of a slumbering Kara blocking out the cold of the Presidential Palace. He stared up at the black ceiling, content with her beside him. It was a peace he hadn't known since.... since.... before Nova Britannica.... since before Old Lover's Leap and Stumpy Point and Old Heisen Bay and the missile demonstration.... A peace that had eluded him in the weeks and months after. Kara was his only solace since Violet.... but that was long over. He lay quietly so as to not wake her, tracing the faint lines on the ceiling above. Unfortunately, such was not to be.

Suddenly a brilliant explosion of light blinded him; aides and advisers poured into the room in an incredible din. However, seconds later they found themselves once again outside of the room, a scathing command and a pair of flaming eyes hastening their flight. Several minutes later, the pair emerged, their normal impeccable selves. Wake Kara up in the middle of the night? Oh yeah, it was ON.

Within a few short minutes the various fax machines of the world went into overdrive. The Jolt Ordinances of 20XX performed their job once again, and none was more willing to put those aged machines to work than Atal Amner. And this time, he had none other than Kara to co-author.

Salutations Various Members of the Mediterranican Union!

Often observed in our natural world is the struggle of life and death. The ultimate problem of existence, the pure purpose of our genetic material and the source of all our triumphs and tragedies. The triumph of the Salmon reaching the source and reproducing must be tempered by the tragedy of its ultimate death, or by its consumption by a bear. The eternal fights between Pilot Whales and the Giant Squid that shatter the eternal calm of the deep, the endless flight of the Tern across our planet, the glories of nature continue to astound one such as myself. As the lion tears the sick antelope, so shall it die in its time. Its remains serve to rejuvenate the earth, returning all it has gained in life to the source while a new generation of offspring strides triumphantly into a newer brighter future.

Those too weak for this eternal struggle must, admittedly, face obliteration. But this is by no fault of their own. In fact, those that die do a noble purpose themselves, removing their inferiority from the pool of reproduction and ensuring the continuation of a proud breed of ever strengthening beasts, looking on to a new future. All is as the great Darwin said, those who serve to better the existence of the totality will continue. Those who don't shall remove themselves, allowing a strong, proud race to evolve and step forth into a new tomorrow.

There are those that posit that man is somehow separate from nature, but in our quest to conquer it we have given it ultimate domain over our very existence. As such, the aforementioned must be applied to our existence as a whole, the very fabric of our society requires that we do so. Anything else is traitorous to the great tradition of Human evolution and to the immortal sanctity of our minds.

You have declared war against the Nuclear Commonwealth, and such a declaration cannot be taken lightly. As Leaders of the Commonwealth, we have often done our best to ensure that neutrality is maintained - neutrality being the far more profitable position than aggression or defeat. However, the rest of this world is unfortunately beyond my grasp. In recognition of this regrettable fact, the armed forces of the Glorious Military Junta and the Armed Capitalist Republic have always been maintained at a high state of readiness, and we are presently ordering these forces to prepare for an all out war.

However, we do understand that mistakes can be made by non-Havenic nations. Not all factions have advanced to the heights of civilization of those that can be found within our sphere of neighbors. As Leaders of the Nuclear Commonwealth, we will graciously grant thirty six hours for you and your allies to reconsider your positions.

Our requests are generous. We request that the base be recognized, that all forces in the area stand down, and that those nations that have engaged in hostilities against the Nuclear Commonwealth and her allies provide reparations. These reparations are to cover all costs incurred during the short period of conflict such far, and will include munitions expended, lives lost, equipment damaged or destroyed in the theater, as well as a full rebuild of the Kampferian hospital. Failure to consent to these terms within thirty six hours of the transmission of this message shall result in a full military commitment by the Glorious Military Junta, the Armed Capitalist Republic, the Nuclear Commonwealth, and all willing allies. We do not wish to engage in unprofitable hostilities. However, Nova Britannica has taught me what happens when one is lenient. Consider yourselves advised.


Atal Amner
Atal Amner
Prime Minister of No Endorse
Arch Leader of the Glorious Military Junta
Senior Director of Muncherian Affairs
High Commander of the Armed Forces
Praetor of the Nuclear Commonwealth
Lord-Protector of New Heisen and Surrounding Lands
King of the Greater No Endorse State
President of the Senate
Duke of Havia
Baron of Aerona
Bearer of the Razor of Ockham
Loyal Advocate of Darwin

Kara Maddox Amner
Kara Maddox Amner
President of The Silver Sky
Queen of the Greater No Endorse State
Overlord of the Republican Military
Grand Armorer of the Republican Army
Grand Admiral of the Republican Navy
Praetor of Nukewealth
Queen of the Black Hearts Brigade
Governess of Arcis
Leader of the 101st Girl Scout Brigade
Board Member of We Buy It Inc.
Grand Architect of the Skyian Civilization
Mother of Five
Loyal Advocate of Darwin


Across the Junta and the Republic, there was a general call to all military personnel to prepare for war. Planes were readied, ships loaded, and every man, woman, and child steeled for the long conflict ahead. Vast mazes of factories began the process of tooling for total war, following the plans laid down ten years ago. Every factory producing non-essential goods was to be readied for production of military hardware. And as the Nuclear Commonwealth was an alliance assembled out of arms exporting nations, they had gotten exceedingly good at it.

Nearing Mediterranica
Somewhere in the wild blue yonder

The K-4XKP Kondor thundered through the skies, the sound of its massive engines permeating even the seats of the soldiers in side. A small clunk was felt, and the pilot's voice was heard once more over the public address system of the plane. "Well, gent's, refueling has finished. We're moving on to our designated drop zones now, ours will be area B-12. This places us near the northwest corner, so we still have a ways to go."

Their destination was codenamed Aikuchi, or dagger, for it would be a dagger in the heart of Mediterranica. It was the most southwest island of Mediterranica, and as it was currently in an uninhabited state, is would be of prime strategic use for the men of the Nuclear Commonwealth. With possession of the island, the Commonwealth would not only acquire a friendly port of call and airbases, but even more importantly it would put the planes of Tyrandis within range of the whole region.

Map of the Claimed Island (http://i174.photobucket.com/albums/w107/imdmill/RP%20images/nukewealthclaim.png)

Flying in low now, the men could see why this had been designated as their drop zone. The area was low, flat, and sandy: ideal for an airfield. Construction was to commence as soon as they set up their temporary shelters, and it was a small wonder how Kampfers was providing the manpower for this operation. In truth, they weren't. Tyrandis was providing a fair amount of men to the operation, and The Silver Sky would be sea lifting even more in to secure the southern reaches of the island later. Kampfers was handling the landing zones marked "B", twenty two in all, and Tyrandis was taking the "A" zones, of which there were fourteen.

All the said zones would be immediately converted into small airbases, and some eventually expanded into harbors. Even if the war were to end abruptly, Aikuchi would remain the Nuclear Commonwealth's eyes and ears within the region, Nova Pictavia's base, as well as Akimonad and The Silver Sky's Londinian cities not withstanding.

Abruptly, the Kondor began to slow, it's air-brakes fully thrown open. The men gathered their materials together and began to prepare to make their descent. "Two minutes to DZ" came the familiar voice. The time ticked by, and eventually, the doors were thrown open. Man after man began pouring out of the aircraft, taking his time and then pulling his cord, and beginning the slow descent to the earth. Many figured it would be the last of the plane they would see, but they were most definitely wrong.

As they gently floated downwards, the plane continued braking and began a hard u-turn. Coming in low and extremely slow, the plane barely maintained enough airspeed to stay up. The situation was extremely risky, but LAPES (Low Altitude Parachute Extraction System) demanded it. One by one, K120 Rommels dropped out of the back of the aircraft. Glorified Sheridans, these would not be of much use in an actual engagement, but with the limited resources any enemy that managed to arrive in time would have, they would be a godsend. After successfully completing it's passes, the plane once more pulled up and swung around, and this time box after box of supplies was thrown from the back of the plane. A simple supply drop, there was no risk involved here whatsoever. Now finished with their mission, the plane turned to rendezvous with the tankers and the other transports it had come with.

On the ground, the men set about furiously to their task. Most experts agreed that it took approximately a week to build a rudimentary airbase, but these men were out to prove them wrong. Armed with inflating hangers and the tools to construct runways, they aimed to have multiple runways operating by the end of the week, a lofty goal. However, the construction of each additional runway would lighten how long it took to construct the next. This was going on in 36 different locations across the island, simultaneously. One area, however, had received additional drops. This zone, marked B-1, was to be the Nuclear Commonwealth's Mediterranican Command, or MEDCOM. Construction was not only beginning on a runway, but also on structures that would allow communication with the fleets and forces within Mediterranica and the leaders back in Haven.

Nearing Waldenburg
With Task Force: Nuclear Mandate

Pre-battle inspections were being completed. At any time now, a fleet from Waldenburg could challenge the Kampferian array. Armed to the teeth with MLSS-21's and Remlic Ra-32's, these were no easy foes. These were battle hardened Kampferians, men that were promised action but saw none in the months of diplomatic strife between Gholgoth and APOC. Now, however, they were soon to see action. They were willing to follow their country. Even unto death.

In the words of the the great poet Horace, Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

OOC: kind of a friendly note to Waldenburg that I'm ready to engage if he is. Also need a response to the bombing.

[Press Release from the Office of the Lady Autocrat]

Fellow-citizens of our glorious Federation, I am pleased to inform you that I have just outlawed the Mediterranican Union forever. The bombing begins in five minutes.

OOC: I'll make a longer post tomorrow, it's late and I need to sleep.

http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii290/Twilight201/m_u_i_z__0.jpg
Official Diplomatic Communiqué

From: The Office of the MU Secretariat, MUIZ
To: New Pictavia et al.

As you have failed to see reason and chosen your own path to destruction, I am left with out any further choice and so hereby declare a state of War between the Mediterranican Union and the Nuclear Commonwealth and the Silver Imperium. May God have mercy on you and the souls of your children now never to be born.


Secretary-General Maran Gherud
Secretary-General of the Mediterranican Union

[THE NONAGON, NEW SARIS, TARINA ADMINISTRATIVE ZONE, NORTHERN ARALONIA]

A spitting sound was heard from inside the Archon's office, followed by a choking sound.

“Get the medical teams on the line!”
“Archon, are you alright!?”
“Break down the door in three, two, one!”

A splitting sound was heard from outside the Archon's office, followed by a crashing sound.

“AAHAHAHAHA--” The Archon stopped mid-laugh. “Er, hi. What's going on, and why do I hear medical sirens?” She blinked and stared at the guardsmen who had just ruined a perfectly beautiful mahogany door.
“Madam, we thought-”
“What did I say about calling me 'Madam,' Jones?” She sighed and put her tea cup back on the saucer, which really didn't do much, considering the desk was covered entirely in spit coffee, three dollops of cream, seven spoons of sugar
“Er. I apologise... Ms. Hawke. Anywa-”
“Miri! Goddammit, call me Miri!” She sighed and stood up, picking up the tea cup and slamming it onto the saucer. “Hearing 'Ms. Hawke' and 'Madam' and 'Your Excellency' so much makes me feel like I'm eighty years old! Can't you cut me a break for once? Sheesh!” She sighed and facepalmed, then looked up at the gathered guards again. “Anyways.”
“Sorry... Miri.” Jones looked highly exasperated. “We thought you had encountered some sort of... pastry-related... culinary issue?”

Miri shot daggers at Jones. “...come on, haven't you read this press release?” She spun around the LCD on her desk, causing it to fall over. “Dammit!” The guards blanched. “Who the hell designed this technology?!” She groaned highly audibly, causing the guards to turn the colour of sour milk, then righted the screen and pointed it at them, showing the Ponente statement. “You'd laugh too, if you had read this!”

Matter-of-factly, Jones replied simply. “We read it already, yes. And... er, none of us laughed.”
“Your sense of humor sucks.” A slow shift from white to light, light green for the guardsmen's faces. “Anyways. Thanks for caring! But I gotta draft a reply to these bozos. So, uh.” She waved a hand at the door. Er, I meant door fragments. “Shoo!”

Instant dispersal.

It's good to be king. Well, er, queen. Sorta.

Miri sat down, and sighed, before rapidly machinegun-tapping the keyboard to stretch her fingers, and began to write a message by moving the computer's mouse through a slop of dead coffee. ...er, I should clean that.

After a few more clumsy hijinks that, gratefully, will go unnoticed by the press, she managed to drunkenly eke out a reply.

http://img529.imageshack.us/img529/4905/aralonianflagqc8.png
FROM THE DESK OF ARCHON MARIE P. HAWKE
THE NONAGON, NEW SARIS, TARINA ADM.

Let's keep it short, aye? There's no reason to dilly-dally more with words. As members of the Nuclear Commonwealth, the Royal Sovereignty of Aralonia declares its aid to nations within the Commonwealth and allied to said Commonwealth, whether it means via financial or military means. Also, we didn't do anything to you, but hey, if it means a free shot at wiping idiots like you and the people you represent off the map, then so be it.

Your mistake for sacrificing the lives of billions with such idiotic talk.

[signed with a flourish]
Marie P. Hawke
Archon of the Royal Sovereignty of Aralonia
[and all associated titles thereof]


Marie-- Miri, whatever-- pressed a button on a telephone near her.

"Generals! Scramble the bombers and launch the ships. We're goin' to war!"

Joint Skyian-Kargucagstan Armada
SRNS Avalon

Waves broke against the bow of painted metal as the gigantic battleship as it churned through the clear blue sea. It's gigantic barrels look like they were forged in the depths of hell it's self, and could certainly convince someone of that when they were fired.

Long dark shadows danced over the deck of the ship as the sun peeked just over the straight unbroken horizon. The flapping of flags in the breeze and sound of breaking waves added to the sereneness of the scene. Only the fighter jets, F/A-84B, F/A-16Bs and F/A-71Ns broke the through with the drone of their engines as they cruised at high altitude.

AWACs seemingly floated through the bright blue sky as they cruised lazily while tracking for targets, they were joined by SkyTops AWACs Zeppelins who did literally float above the fleet, jointed to specially fitted ships via a tow line. The search for enemies did not stop in the sky though. Beneath the waves submarines prowled the depths around the fleet as frigates towed along sonar systems.

Inside the flagship Armada Admiral Michael Sutherland was busy reading a message relayed from the Third Armada. The Kampferians and Tyrandisans were airdropping in engineers on a deserted island in the southwest corner of Mediterranica. The Third Armada was currently a weeks sail away from the island and charged with providing defense and materials for the construction of large airbases.

What surprise the Admiral most was the fact that the Aralonians were getting involved, they usually sat this kind of thing out or were to late to get to the fight. However, the role the Aralonians played made Sutherland smile, it was right down their ally. The MU Naval personal would soon be spending an eternity in Davy Jone's Locker.

http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii290/Twilight201/m_u_i_z__0.jpg
Official Diplomatic Communiqué

From: The Office of the MU Secretariat, MUIZ
To: New Pictavia et al.

As you have failed to see reason and chosen your own path to destruction, I am left with out any further choice and so hereby declare a state of War between the Mediterranican Union and the Nuclear Commonwealth and the Silver Imperium. May God have mercy on you and the souls of your children now never to be born.


Secretary-General Maran Gherud
Secretary-General of the Mediterranican Union

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To:The Mediterranican Union
From:The Freehold of Mondoth
Formal Declaration
AS it has come to our attention that the nations of the Mediterranican Union have declared an open state of war upon the Nuclear Commonwealth, of which the Freehold is an active member. And Recognizing that our interests, as represented by the Commonwealth are threatened by this declaration, The Freehold hereby pledges it's support, such as can be expedited, to Commonwealth efforts against the Mediterranican Union.

(OOC: That's all for now, will post more when I awaken on the morrow
BL, should have invaded me when you had the chance XD

[ABOARD RANS PRINCE OF ARALONIA, PRINCE OF ARALONIA REFIT-CLASS FLEET MONITOR]

The Admiral impatiently clinked a pen repeatedly against his glass of milk, sighing at the proposition of a war. “Dispatched to join the combined Silver Sky and Kargucan fleet? Very well, it's not as if we have anything better to do with our time here. All those damn representatives wanting to cut down on the navy and air force budgets... as if those thousands of miles of coastline can be so easily defended by men in rafts with punji sticks!” He scoffed at the thought. “Depressing if anything...”

Admiral Daniel Hawking sighed and stared out of the porthole to gaze at the fleet assembled. The new Bodysnatcher-class carriers – now those were a sight to see! Nothing like the older Praetor and Viceroy carriers, horribly ugly and fragile ships they were. Instead, these new types looked like solid machines of war – smarter deck design, improved defensive systems, and even had a profile from above that didn't look like it was about to snap in two if it made a sharp turn. And what a sight it was, all of a sudden! Patrol fighter-bombers, F-a106D models, powering and climbing into the sky off the ramp, flying a CAP around the fleet, just in case anyone dared attack them within land reach of Aralonia.

Beautiful ships – pity they weren't nearly as beautiful as the other ships in the fleet. Like the Prince of Aralonia that the Admiral himself served on. Now that was magnificent. Five turrets-- no, only three now, after the modifications. Damn them! Removing 40% of the warmaking capability in order to fit more missiles. At least it was more stable than before, and a more useful defensive unit. Sunlight glinted off the turrets and structure of another Prince-type battleship, off in the distance, showing off the beautiful lines of the class and its structure, reminiscent to the older, better days of gun combat.

The admiral sighed and shifted his gaze to one of the newer gems in the Navy, a PR-type battleship, so named because all ships in the class were generally inane backronyms of PR, like Progressive Revolution or Pronounced Renegade. At least they had performance and the lines that fitted a battleship, in a package small enough to steam straight through gaps between the monitors that made up the heaviest striking forces in the fleet.

Just then, the old admiral was shocked out of his daydream by an alarm to call for setting sail, throwing caution to the wind, pushing on steam, and cutting onward through the golden-sheened water.

Like steamships of old, an armada steamed off into the distance, into the sunset.

[OOC: ZOMG Calibres! I must be 'techwanking'!]

East Partha, Pictish Sovereign Base, 12:11 hours

ACI-74s flew in groups of two along the border of the Pictish colony, patrolling against any possible threats. With the destruction of the Waldenburger fleet and Grestonian Union Square, a counter attack was deemed the enemy's likely course of action. Soon, one of the patrolling fighters caught a glimpse of the survivors of the Waldenburger fleet scrambling ashore,

"Control this is Smokey, I've spotted possible hostile forces mobilizing directly over our southern coastal border"

"Smokey, Boozer, this is control, can you ID them?"

"Ehhh... Affirmative control, they appear to be Waldenburger survivors, LCAC and helicopters are arriving from their former fleet"

"Good job, continue patrol"

With the enemy spotted, one of the "Vigilant" network was soon directed towards their location. The number of survivors was noted, as was their lack of anti-air, or indeed much equipment at all, and they appeared in no fit shape to fight. Commander Anders arrived almost immediately, analyzed the images before him and began to bark orders in preparation to launch a strike group.

Soon, some thirty F-15Es were prepared for take-off, with a further forty ACI-74s mobilized into the air to cover their approach. The aircraft barely had to go one kilometre into enemy territory at most, and so confidence in the success of the mission grew amongst Ander's command staff. Alongside the air strike was a rapid assault force; a mechanized unit with the mission of crossing the border, surrounding the survivors and executing them before returning home. Anders predicted the assault would take no-more than thirty minutes.

The F-15Es flew hard and fast towards their targets at speeds of Mach 2, slowing considerably as they approached their target in order to release their ordinance. Coming in low, the group then accurately (if the term may be used for the expected spread) released their payload of CBU-97 'Sensor Fuzed Weapon's, a general purpose cluster bomb designed to cover the Waldenburgers' beachhead and eliminate all personnel. The group then immediately returned to Pictish airspace after serving nothing but seconds in enemy territory. The ACI-74s remained airborne in case the ground units required support, however refrained from crossing the border unless they were required to.

Along the coast, three Visby Class sped towards the enemy position and launched their RBS-15 anti-ship missiles at the Waldenburger transport craft and their Umkhonto surface-to-air missiles at the enemy helicopters. Satisfied, the ships turned their attention towards the landed forces and opened fire with their Bofors 57 Mk3s, launching four highly accurate rounds per second at the enemy. Back in East Partha, twenty M270s opened fire with 240 rockets similar to the salvo they had targeted the fleet with before, alongside fire from the M777s that were directed south, cleansing the beach further and obscuring most of the territory in thick smoke and dust. On the ground, some thirty M-3 Arbiter MBTs with thermal imaging advanced directly along the coast when the barrage ended a minute later, while another twenty moved in to flank the enemy from inland ensuring none escaped. With four 9mm Automatic Cannons each directed towards enemy personnel, pummelling the masses of survivors with munitions that tore them in two, the M-3s continued their steady advance. Their 140mm ETC main gun targeting any surviving vehicles, tearing great holes in anything that dared get in their way.

Overhead, the "Vigilant" did its duty to protect its beloved soldiers from harm, constantly scanning any nearby military presences and surrounding area for threats.

Low Orbit - Buran Shuttle Exploration - Active Feed to all Allied Nations

Flight Commander Douglas gazed at the flat-screen display near the bay area. The Digitally enhanced, government issued telescoping optic had went online a few hours before, and was already monitoring all activity within the Mediterranican. The Chief Governor's War Room had tapped into the feed, and digital layouts of the MED with known allied configurations were being processed. Known enemy configurations were specifically targeted and transmitted to the Fleets on the surface. So it was no surprise to Douglas to find out that the Anagonian invasion had been halted for a couple of hours due to bad weather. The planes landed in a nearby Outpost base somewhere beyond Prycuse, and the pilots had rested for untold hours.

By the time they were in the air again, the Optics recognized they bypassed the invasion fleet by a day.

60,000 Feet above sea-level - Air Force Bombardment Armada

Richard Smiths F-111E was equipped with two 5Kt Tactical Nuclear Missiles that were to be used as a precursor to the invasion of ground forces. His aircraft was at the rear, near the second F-111E that flew close to his wings. Both had the same lethal and destructive weapons, but only Smiths aircraft was ordered to use them. They were now entering the danger zone, despite being above the range of most Anti-Air missiles. Twenty miles from the Wanderburg shore, twenty miles from ensuring that each and every corner would be taken and used as a base of operations for Anagonia's impending invasion of the Mediterranican Union.

He gazed out the side port, seeing vast numbers of B-1 Lancers and F-111's flying side by side. All loaded with either 500 pound dumb bombs or more lethal cluster bombs numbering in the hundreds. Basic and ancient weaponry, compared to modern standards. The blessing that this air armada gave Wanderburg was the fact that no advanced weaponry, besides the thermonuclear warheads, were going to be used. It would be easy to evacuate all civilians, if they knew they were coming.

It was currently Twelve O'Clock in the morning, Meddy time. By the time he looked up the air armada was ten miles out from the basic targets. He armed his nuclear payload, as did the other aircraft whom armed their non-nuclear payloads. But Richard was to fire his first, the first volley. He looked to his co-pilot, whom confirmed the arming with his own keycodes. They both gazed at the central screen between the two, checking the orbital targeting data from the Optics. The target had been changed, one missile was to hit a small city, the second one to strike at the heart of what seemed to be a military industrial complex. In truth, it was nothing but a large city, but the pilots weren't to care.

In this way, the nuclear strikes would suffer the enemy to the point of knowing that Anagonia had no strife about killing millions to achieve its goal against a known enemy. Anyone, anything against Pictavia would be layed to waste. Wanderburg would provide an excellent show of force, and prove to this Union of Island Nations that they had indeed made the wrong choice in the matter. That was what Captain Richard Smith thought, and he surmised that everyone else thought the same.

He gazed outward, then at his passive radar system. The armada was fanning out to head towards their targets, to provide the first blow in the round of Armageddon to come. Richard breathed, then nodded towards his co-pilot. He nodded slowly, looking at the targeting and arming display, and then flipping three switches, both requiring a set of codes to confirm. The F-111E rocked as the first 5kt Tactical Nuke launched, then rocked again as the second streaked off in the night. Wing-tips deployed, and they went on automatic. Not being needed here anymore, Richard thank the Gods as he turned his aircraft around for home.

OOC:

Nuclear weapons launched, you can choose to ignore them of course and we'll just go conventional. But, per OOC, this isn't a big nuke bombing. Just a surprise wake-up call pending the bombing to come. I didn't RP it because I'm awaiting your reaction first to the missile launch and the obvious planes incoming.

I'll rp the naval fleets later, after the bombing run is either defeated or successfull.

Every Valley Shall be Exalted (http://195.91.169.228/e21/mp3/Messiah-cd1/03.mp3)

It was under the curving roof and polished arches of the Imperial opera house where the most elegant and currently fashionable members of the Imperial Household held their candid but above all public meetings. Most of the members, though having been in the building while opera was whirring away on the stage, could not recount ever having been to one. On the lace gloves and pressed jackets of the audience was the fate of the Empire decided, and the performance was but a side note. Twice before a fire had started on stage, and a leading bass expired while in the middle of his Recitative, not one head in the audience had turned.

Blünderburg, which clung in a gloomy cloud of industrial smog to the great Aspyer River, was no longer considered a city anymore. It had ceased to be so some time ago, it had no lord mayor, or central municipal administration in, it had long ago been classified a city of cities, where in most societies the laws would weep in a corner while armed militias tread over the fingers of helpless vice squads. In Waldenburg however the situation was different, two millennium of Church rule, had taken the rebellious element out of the population at large, by either genetics or environment a handful of men could keep an entire population in proverbial chains. It was such a potent poison to be inflicted upon a man, he may live his entire life in fear of retributions for one of his sins, and at the end of the day he was on his knees in praise to the Church and it’s God.

And so upon a social structure, where the currency could be pegged on endless salvation an empire had arisen, and under the roof of the Opera House it was maintained by a thousand reaching hands doing business in the one endless resource God could attain. A few of the less entertained patrons noted it was the Messiah tonight, one of Handel’s drearily, long works, usually performed when the cabinet was in crisis, or a crisis was to be created.

--

After the declarations of war, and the bout of words that had followed, the Imperial cabinet had taken consideration of the enemies ranged against them, and immediately ordered the blackouts, which had unfortunately plagued the country some twenty years earlier, to be reinstated. What usually was a fiery haze, the Aspyer river valley had turned to a pit of gloom illuminated by only the occasional light, and carelessly bright car headlights. For once the city was quite, as if waiting for the bombs to come hurdling from the sky. Of course everyone knew that Haven was as likely to put up a fight as voles were inclined to fly, but as the days wore into nights the blackouts returned, and sandbags were filled. No one wished to say the dreaded word; it hopped from tongue to and flitted from ear to ear without ever being vocalized. Invasion. It was on every mind, although anyone mentioning it publicly explained his or her actions to the inquisition sometimes still in one piece if one was lucky.

When, therefore the crowds had lined a the ports of the city to see the war fleet off to combat the Anagonians, the Pictish, and Kampferian battle fleets their had been storm troopers standing two feet behind the last row of the multitude. There was no derision, there never was sedition or derision, in all things the people of Waldenburg acted together, acted as one nation and always, always sands the praises of God until the last breath of life slipped from their body. There was however fear, fear of loss, fear of the coming sorrow, and fear eventually of the ultimate judgment, it was fear that kept Waldenburgers in line, and bombs from the sky were just a rising chord to be added to the litany of evils that surrounded and bombarded the nation everyday. When again the first Kampferian bombs struck the along the Prophet’s way, little thought was given to running from the holocaust.

Once the ear could be turned to listen and the mind made aware, a dull roar could be heard from above and the few police constables around at this time of night, craned their necks momentarily upward and then shrugged and carrier on their way, the Imperial airforce had been flying by for days, and by the sound of it, Marshall Pippin was simply moving another air group to the coast. The more intelligent brand of policeman, which indeed was a rare vessel, would have recalled that quite a few air groups had been sent to the coast, and not moments before a much louder roaring could be heard overhead, like the sound of four flight groups being scrambled to defend the Waldenburger fleet moving to sea. A slightly more intelligent police officer would, after some basic mathematics have concluded that that left two air groups to defend the city. The last man, perhaps officer material, would promptly begin to run.

“Where the hell!” a junior officer screamed as he sprinted, grey faced, through the Central Defense Ministry, “Where are our air groups, where did they go?”

Another more, senior officer was just breaking level with the running man and had pushed down an equally distressed clerk till he caught the man and spun him around, “James! Get a hold of yourselves.”

“Now Brigadier? Now? There are as many as five hundred planes coming this way, and we have no squadrons in the direct are of operations, we detected them earlier, why are we not in the air?”

“Marshall Pippin,” the Brigadier almost shook his junior, “ordered, most wisely that we protect the naval assets preventing a major invasion of the continent, I doubt the enemy carriers nuclear weapons, not this early, what is the most damage they can do? One hundred, two hundred thousand dead at most? Every carrier in that fleet represents a million lives saved later. Anyway we still have two thousand fighters in the area, not to mention the civil defense turrets, and the Serene Legion. It should be noted the SL already has two wings in the air.”

“Two wings of what?”

The Brigadier waved his hands lazily in the nonchalant was officers can when protected from the enemy by twelve feet of concrete, “Planes, fighters, interceptors of course.”

“Of what make?”

“F-104’s, Starfighters,” the general threw up his hands again, “they are all good men, I’m sure they will keep the enemy busy while the pilots are roused from leave, and their beds.”

--

At the hour, and with the Kampferian air group well hidden in general it was difficult to pinpoint any aircraft’s exact locations, so the civil defense relied upon it’s most trustworthy weapon. Overkill. From buildings and bridges and from simple depressions in the ground, the Serene Legion and what of the regular army was on defensive duty ripped open the covers to their batteries. It was very hard to hide the heat produced by so many engines, and though it spread out like a think blanket to the eye of the trackers, the Civil Defense began to open fire with Ack Ack guns, and fragmentation rockets, set this time to distance, and into the heart of the heat cloud. Coordinates were relayed in open channels across the city, no time could be taken to code them, and street by street, block by block, the turrets began to open fire, streaming shells and rockets into the sky, until the need of blackouts became more of a hindrance than a help.

Almost two thousand batteries across the sprawling city were firing like mad into the sky, some just point and hoping that volume would. To the south the first F-35’s were firing their engines and burning down the runway, just as the bombs started to fall, and burst upon the ancient buildings of the nominal capital of the Empire. I later days there was to be a few heads rolling for that nights work, but for the moment everything possible in non guided air defense was being thrown up into the clouds., and the Serene Legion could from their various bunkers and batteries across the cities could be heard singing the downfall of the wicked and the elevation of the downtrodden. Every mountain made low, and every crooked path made straight even in death, in the more proverbial sense, especially as the fires started to burn around the thrones of the mighty.

OOC Kamp feel free to engage fighters at your own discretion in the skies if you so choose, although the fleet elements fighting NP were the Serene Legions and the Imperial Air Force is a different kettle of fish.

FreeHold Broadcast News(FHBN)
"And Now for something completely different, a Man with Three Buttocks- wait... yes, Really!?, Well folks, I've just been informed the man with three buttocks couldn't be here today and so we'll be moving right along to the ongoing Mediterranican crisis."
(Cue stock footage of Nukewealth ships firing missiles)
V.O.: After yesterdays declaration by the National Commission supporting Nuclear CommonWealth actions in Mediterannican, the Defense commission today announced that several Mondothian Airborne divisions would be taking part in joint military operations in Mediteranican with Nukewealth Forces.
The current Mediteranican crisis apparently began as a dispute between Mediteranican nations and Nukewealth memberstate New Pictavia which resulted in armed conflict, and was further escalated earlier today when Mediteranican Nation, and known belligerent British Londinium challenged the Akimonadian mandate in the Free city of Fitzrodia. More on the continuing crisis as it develops.

Camden Bay Air-Base
The base was operating like clockwork, it needed to. With only limited space for the large number of aircraft needed to transport multiple airborne divisions, troops were being organized into plane transportable units as fast as they came in and aircraft were loaded minutes after landing, waiting only long enough to be re-fueled before taking off for the Nukewealth BeachHead on Aikuchi. Along the Way, Mondothian and Allied naval units were waiting with in air refueling aircraft and escorts to ensure the massive investment of airlift capacity would reach it's destination.
OOC: Arrgh, this post took entirely too long to write for how short it is, way too distracted today.

http://img409.imageshack.us/img409/5376/sealmp9.gif

http://flagspot.net/images/k/kh_royal.gif

From the Desk of President Talbert Barnestok of The Republic of Alogorthia

Passed today was a document stating that over 200,000 Alogorthian Corps are being relinquished to Grestonian custody for the purpose of this war. This is in the hopes that our generous gift may stop the warring between these powers and that this bloodbath may come to an end before it starts.

Approved by Prime Minister John Gutted

[i]Time: Some time after declaration of war
Location: Undersea sub pen, somewhere in the Duchy of Isabel

As the captain approached the parade stand, the COB barked to the assembled crew, "Attention to orders, Captain on deck!"

Then, saluting the Captain, the COB reported, "Sir, all crew present and accounted for!"

The Captain acknowledged this and turned to the crew, "Little ducks, there's trouble in Mediterranica. So they called us. And we're going over there and bringing the most lethal killing machine ever devised. We carry more firepower than any ship in the history of the world. For one purpose alone: Keep our country and region safe.

"We constitute the front line and last life of defense. I expect and demand the very best. Anything less - you should've joined the Aerospace Force. This might be our Empress' Navy, but this is my boat. All I ask is that you keep up with me. And if you can't, that strange sensation you'll be feeling in the seat of your pants will be my boot shoved up your ass."

There was laughter as this, although everybody knew for certain that the Captain wasn't really joking.

The Captain continued, "Chief of the Boat!"

COB went to perfect attention and barked, "Sir!"

"You're aware of the name of this boat, aren't you, COB?"

"Very aware, sir!"

"It bears a proud name, doesn't it, COB?"

"Very proud, sir!"

"It represents a fine tradition."

"Very fine, sir!"

"An outstanding battle record."

"Outstanding, sir!"

"In the name of the greatest Empire in the entire world."

"In the entire world, sir!"

"And what is that name, COB?"

"Sunderer, sir!"

"And what do we say?"

Then as one the Captain and COB said the beginning of the ship's motto, "Leave nothing..."

And then the crew roared back, "TAKE EVERYTHING!"

"COB, dismiss the crew."

"Aye, sir, dismiss the crew. Crew, department heads, attend to your departments. Fall out!"

The bugle played the retreat and the crew moved quickly parade stand and followed the gangway onto the ship.


***

Time: Sometime after Anagonian nuclear strike
Location: 15,000km from Greston coastline
Depth: 600m

The Captain looked at his watch and then over at his tactical section, "Guns, call the torpedo room and inform them to load a Tethered Radio Buoy into tube one. Load tubes two, three, and four with torpedoes. Flood all tubes and launch TRB."

The head of the tactical section responded, "Aye, sir, load TRB into tube one and torpedoes in all other tubes. Flood tubes and launch TRB."

"Comms, set decryption to Class 1 Strategic and prepare to receive regular orders."

Comms replied, "Aye sir, set decryption to max and prepare to receive regular orders."

Tactical reported, "Sir, TRB reports narrow-band link with satellite acquired. Downloading orders now."

And then Comms followed it up, "Sir, orders are being received, orders are presently being decrypted."

The Captain nodded, "Very well, send the orders to my terminal once they are decrypted."

"Aye, sir, send orders to your terminal once they are decrypted," confirmed the Comms officer.

The powerful computers of the Sunderer's communications section took almost no time at all to decrypt and send the new orders. The Captain took a moment to read them and then hit the button to bring up the speaker system for the entire ship, "Attention all hands, this is the Captain speaking. The following are our new orders:

"From: Joint Strategic Command. To: Strategic Missile Fleet Four. Subject: Increase Missile Readiness. One: Two NukeFlash events detected. Two: All ballistic missile submarines are to go to MissRead One. Three: All attack submarines will track and target all shipping. Four: Upon order, Strategic Missile Fleet Four will commence General Regional Suppression in support of allied effort. Five: Glory to the Imperium.

"Tactical, prep all missiles for launch. Begin uploading General Regional Suppression targeting solutions to all missiles."

"Aye, sir, prep missiles for launch and upload GRS targeting solutions," tactical acknowledged.

"XO, once this watch completes we will go to Condition Two watch until such time as the order to launch is given or we are stood down from our present Missile Readiness."

The XO nodded, "Aye, sir, set ship to Condition Two upon completion of watch. COB, at 0800 the boat is to be set to Condition Two."

"Aye, XO, Condition Two at 0800," replied the COB.

The Captain nodded as the order chain was completed and then said, "XO, you have the watch. I'll be in my cabin if anything comes up."

"Aye, sir, I have the watch," at which point the XO took the Captain's seat and assumed command of the boat.

Welcher Wechsel (http://www.elizabethparcells.com/Music/InRecital/1981%20Studio/Welcher%20Wechsel%20Abduction%20Mozart%20Mozart%201.mp3)

Like many other cities upon the great and stretching coast Thule, had been given a short name and left at that. The city, had only been imagined in the last 150 years, before Waldenburgers had thought the Great Desert that stretch the country navigable, and the Emperor had order the Industrial Relocation Act which created cities, twenty miles by ten miles miles, with a population of 250,000, a cathedral, two theaters, two banks, and after some time, one airfield. The cities of the coast, like their origins were not joyful places, the population tended to be gloomy and pessimistic, if they had been told they were going to suffer nuclear immolation, they would have nodded and said “typical.” There was a reason why the far flung cities were called ‘border touchers’ with a taste of scorn, they were simply the mines to provide the ore, the rigs to provide the oil, and when appropriate the fields that provided the food for the great heart of Blünderburg.

There had arisen around this system a shell of animosity, and when the first reports had come through of the bombings of Blünderburg, there had been a rousing, but above all quiet cheer from the coalmines of Thule, and then without consideration the picks had begun to swing again and the flow of minerals for the so despised Urban population of Waldenburg began to flow.

Mandatory blackouts had not been ordered on this remote stretch of coast, is was consider so strategically unimportant, more as the honey with which to draw out the bees, the Imperial air force after parking behind a near cloud bank, would jump out on any attacking force, and despite civilian casualties, usually caught bombers in mid-dive, or dashed unloading ships against the rocks. There however was no squadron tonight, no trap for the insects to be baited with, there was only the city of Thule. There was enough fire in the sky to keep the attentions of the Imperial Air Force away from Thule, in all its carbon-based importance. Admittedly the city had grown since its first streets had been laid and it’s two banks constructed, it now had nearly 700,000 denizens, which to city planners back in Blünderburg was a terrible affront. The waste of prime real estate was shocking.

So perhaps as the first mushroom cloud ripped the roof from the cathedral and scattered it over the course of two miles it was a mixed blessing. To the Thulians however, at least the working variety, who were at least partially protected in the depths of their coal mines, it was a rude awakening from late evening naps or solid reflection upon the state of one’s soul. In any case a pillar of flame lanced up from the heart of the city, and vaporized quite a portion of the main street, sending debris hurtling past an almost a thousand miles per hour, and even the most base item, a tooth brush, a pen, a teddy bear, could take a man’s head off and, according to the few ragged survivors, often did.

Later some said the second mushroom cloud was slightly smaller than the first, some said it was due to the displaced air, some said it was that all that had seen the first mushroom cloud closer were now a small pile of cooling charcoal. Imperial Scientists, after six months of delay, concluded that it’s was a strange world no matter how you looked. But six months was a great deal of time, and the second atomic warhead took but a minute to hit the ground which in turn whipped up wall of sand thirty feet thick and thundering down every crack and crevice that had yet to suffer either the fire or the resulting implosion. With the incorrigible effects of particles in high winds, the tiny pebbles began to mount and eventually the sky was a whirling cloud of grey, and the blood red of dying fires and the smoke of everything that could possibly combust doing so. Some say that a majority of casualties from nuclear blasts are from the after effects, the radiation, the fires, and not the explosion itself. Thule was no exception, and as the sand blew upward on a column of hot air, some of it thundered down a nearby valley and into the coalmines, where it would be found later that the bodies were but bloody stumps, with no discernable human features, and indeed tiny flecks of glass pressed into what remained of their skin.

As was also apt to happen when thousands of metric tons of sand is blown about by a great heat source, a massive charge was built between the ground and the now imbalanced sky. In great arching forks and, in spiraling balls lightning crackled around the city, furiously trying to restore stability and balance. Hundreds of shafts lanced down every second, lightning the sky, with a flashing that added pulsation and bass to the hazy red glow, and booming thunder of a nuclear detonation.

It was at that point of attack the coal bunkers caught fire, with nearly a million metric tons of coal suddenly reaching their point of combustion and igniting lighting once more the great mines of the valley with brilliant and strangely pleasant, at least after that of the attack, illumination.

As the few survivors unwisely popped their heads out of suburban homes, far enough removed from the explosion only to be effected by debris, the bombs started to fall. Rank upon rank of armored soldiers it seemed, iron demons pouring from the conflagration of the sky and slapping down upon the ground it what seemed only an afterthought to the massive and widespread damage. It mattered little how many bombs fell on the city, for it had ceased being a city, where people work, it had become the flaming hell of a hundred thousand men and women, brought on by the arrogance of other men. Waldenburg would rebuild, Waldenburg would seek revenge, Waldenburg, in it’s Imperial might would always strike back weather it be in but a day or a thousand years, time was not an issue, time was but the constraint put on men by other men, the chain to the slave, the farmer to his plow. This life was but a shadow, seen by men fretting their hour, and faced with sound and fury to fight the ultimate ordeal. But a whisper in the night was better than a roar at dawn. Waldenburg would have its vengeance. Or so said the priests, amongst the wreckage later, but it was of little consequence to the sky in which the lightning still flared, or to the ground that still burned. It was of little comfort to Thule.
--

‘Preparing to launch…. Gabriel XVII…. Operations begin in… V IV III II I…. Launching…Readiness is attained…. Ignition is attained…. Thrust is attained…. Velocity is attained…. Elevation is attained…’ The computer gently clicked away as around the bunker the officers spoke in hushed whispers as if in respect for the pilot even now blazing down the runway at incredible and eye watering speeds.

“Poor fool.” One voice came out of the hushed group, “I wonder if he knows?”

“No he doesn’t,” another sighed, “poor man,” he echoed his companion. “When will he arrive?”

“At a speed of 2,500 Kilometers an hour, about 18 minutes to Thule, perhaps five minutes more if the flight has gone to wing. in which case they will be over the ocean.” The SR-72 Blackbird, a slightly modified variant of the original thundered down the runway. Waldenburger aeronautical engineers had spent weeks coaxing just a few more MPH out of the engine stripped it of some of it’s less vital components and added the most important part. The EMP bomb sitting behind the pilot’s seat, and the necessary firing mechanism to detonate the weapon, and with a ten-mile radius, what a weapon. It was one of the pluses of attacking an enemy after the use of nuclear weapons, no one cared or noticed if all the lights were out, the enemy, would not track such movements there would be nothing left, and the opposing pilots could hurtle into the sea.

Some Waldenburg’s joined the Archangels for glory, the honor to serve the Church, and some were chosen to believe that their ejection seat required no electrical charge. And when engines suddenly fail at thirty thousand feet, and whilst traveling at 3000 KMPH, it rarely mattered. Now, as always the plan was to shoot into the opposing flight group at full speed, and when at appropriate range activate the bomb and send the air group, and the luckless pilot tumbling into the ground. It was a tried and tested technique, one that brought back very few heroes, and fewer bodies. Though the High Command had no idea with what protections the enemy had prepared themselves, it was hoped this was the one true arbiter. The Imperial Airforce, with a force of two hundred F-35’s was a further twenty minutes away, and ordered to mop up whatever remained.

End of Day One - Air Bombardment Armada - Returning Home

Richard gazed out the windows of the his F-111, seeing the destruction from the view of the Orbital Optics. A black cloud, full of electricity, bombarded what remained of the city they decimated. It was the city blocking the advance of the Army, and per tactical orders, was obliterated beyond recognition. Now, nothing for twenty miles seemed to stand in the way of the impending invasion. The Optics had detected slight movement in the waters around Greston, but so far no obvious threats to the incoming Naval Fleet seemed to be apparent. His wingman, the other F-111 that had tactical nuclear warheads, had been ordered to fire in strategic locations in the Kymeian Sea. The Optics had detected what appeared to be unnatural formations two-hundred feet from the surface, but at that depth no one could be sure.

The Rest of the Armada, including the B-1's, had done their job with excellence and duty. He looked to his wing-man, "That was fucking beautiful.."

Lieutenant Jason Baron smiled behind his helmet, and nodded as he continued to fly the aircraft. "I'd say we'd made the entire meddy bear's thing a little about what were doing here."

"Think?" Robert laughed, "No, we made them burn to hell."

Sirens started going off, an incoming feed from the Optics. But it was too late. The Optics had detected a fast-moving object heading towards the Armada at incredible speeds. It hadn't, however, had enough time to process the implications before sending the information to the Shuttle crew for analysis. By then, a few seconds at most, it was by far the worst blunder yet to happen in this war.

"Shit! Incoming!" Robert took control and pressed the throttle to Mach speeds, but that was futile at best. The optics started to count.

Sixteen....fifteen...fourteen...

"Holy fuck...get on the com's Jason."

Jason took command of communications, and started a hurried warning to all craft. The Armada split instantly, going every which way, the B-1's faster and more modern than the F-111's, which sucked for Robert. At least the other nuclear F-111 had turned around to start his run. At least he'd make it.

Ten....nine....eight

Jason got off the com's, nodding. What aircraft hadn't made it by now out of a two-mile radius of the incoming projectile would slow down, but again it would be too late.

Five....four.....three

"You told the Chief?" Robert asked as he held on, "You told him about my girl?"

Jason nodded, "I sure as hell did. She'll be fine."

....one....

The sky became bright as day as a sphere of electrical energy impacted twenty F-111's and ten B-1 Lancers, crashing their computer frames, stopping all engines, and making them turn at odd angles as they started to break up. The cries for vengeance resounded over the communications before they were cut off, and suddenly every aircraft impacted by the EMP wave started to break up, slamming into the ocean at inhuman speeds. It would only take seconds for the Optics to attain the direction of the Projectile that had just exploded, considering it was full of thermal heat and the likes. That information would be sent to command, and the order would be given for vengeance.

Nearly half of the Armada had been decimated by a simple device, scrambling the circuits that were meant to counter such an attack. The B-1B's at a five-hundred feet distance fared better, having only one or two engines puffing out. The F-111's were almost entirely whipped out.

0200 Hours, thirty minutes after decimation of Air Armada

Captain Ruth gazed at the display in his F-111, not believing it for a second. The Optics reported that over forty aircraft had been taken out by some kind of electrical bomb, and the resulting wave had taken out two F-111's. He clenched the aircrafts gear as he regarded the situation, hoping upon hope the Naval fleet did its best to enact vengeance. His F-111 was nearly thirty miles from the epicenter of the city bombed, ordered to launch a precautionary tactical nuclear strike in the ocean for the naval fleets safe passage. He wasn't surprised when his communications display beeped, his Co-Pilot gazing at it, then back as he concentrated on flying the old bird.

Ruth tapped the screen, and orders started to file in. Targeting data from the Optics concerning the origin of the EMP bomb. It was an airfield, some miles from anywhere, and the Tactical Nukes were to be programmed for two missions. One would hit the entrance of the Kymeian Sea, between Wanderburg and Swidenstad, the other would be directed towards the airfield.

There was no argument as overriding commands came in from the Situation Room in Anagonia. Obviously the Grand Marshal was at the helm of the weapons, programming data coming in from the Shuttle in orbit via a secure feed from ground control in the United Republic. The F-111 greedily accepted it all, transferring the targeting data to the two 5kt Tactical Nuclear Missiles. And then, minutes later, Ruths hand went to the three switches that were to give permission to launch nuclear ordinances.

He imputed the codes to the first, his Co-Pilot entering the other two. All were flipped. Then, as the Orbital Optics transfered Targeting Trajectory to an orbiting GPS satellite, Ruth pressed the fire buttons on his wheel, the F-111 rocking from the first missile as it shot forward a few yards, banked low to start its run at the airfield, and disappeared at supersonic speeds. Another rock, the second nuclear warhead shooting forward, and banking to make a direct hit in the Kyemian Sea.

Ruth turned his F-111 around then, unsure how far he would make it home. He should have known his fuel would be out by the time he neared any outpost. Thankfully, no Anagonians were ever behind, and his projected ejection point was calculated, one of the Submarines attached to Fleet Four banking away to make a rescue.

First Fleet - 0230 Hours

Rear Admiral Juno Verinez Ordered her fleet to go ahead first, she was nearly twenty miles from the Wanderburg shoreline where the city had been obliterated from the face of the Earth. Her carrier had begun launching Joint Strike Fighters for carrier defense, about six orbiting the fleet, and then began launching F/A-18 Super Hornets equipped with 500lb Bombs to finish what the nukes didn't. They were just launching, about five for a squadron ordered to fly above the cloud and scout for possible targets.

Her Battleships had begun making way to allow broadsides to the shore. They surged ahead of the Carrier, her ten CG-47 TICONDEROGA-class AEGIS Cruisers surrounding the Carrier and providing a nearly unstoppable barrier of defense for the fleet. The destroyers and frigates began surrounding the Cruisers, providing further missile defense. The Carrier would be key.

Out of the five DDG-51 ARLEIGH BURKE-class guided missile AEGIS destroyers, one of four would accompany the Iowa-Class Battleships to provide further missile defense. And four Project 971 Shuka-B Akula Class Attack Submarine's would provide submarine cover. The Seawolfs, would remain vertially hidden under the Carrier fleet, awaiting to surprise anyone.

Per the Rear Admirals Orders, Targeting data for cities within a thirty mile radius of the shore near the destroyed city was inputted into the SSN-688 Los Angeles Class Cruise Missile Submarines. They were behind the fleet, hidden about five miles off from their location, and began immediately to surface to cruise missile depth, and began in unison to launch twenty Tomahawk Cruise Missiles equipped with Scatter Bombs to provide an area of destruction matching that of a cluster bomb, but less severe. These twenty cruise missiles were to impact cities and locations, deemed important, nearby the landing location of Anagonian Forces.

The other fleets would follow soon. Right now, the invasion had begun. The Battleships steamed onward, the two forward guns rearing in anger as they were loaded. High-Impact Warheads would be used for mass casualties. There had to be no survivors. The Carrier would begin launching a number of fighter aircraft to protect the Battleships, already two JSF's were hovering around them.

Lamento in Morte (http://www.elizabethparcells.com/Music/InRecital/1998%20Ponies%20and%20Warhorses/14%20Lamento%20in%20morte%20di%20Bellini%20DONIZETTI.mp3)

A pen dipped slowly and even more cautiously slid it’s way across the paper, contouring to elegant lettering and delicate punctuation, it in itself was a piece of art, and no doubt what it would become would be a weapon of war. Two men, one most emphatically behind the desk sat in silence but for the scrapping of the pen and the occasional chirping of a sparrow beyond the windowsill. The pen continued to dance across the paper, but the Cenobiarch raised his eyes slightly, peering over tiny writing glasses, “How many warheads were fired?”

The other man, who until recently had been sitting as if trying to take up as little room as possible started “Four your Imminence, all made it through to their targets over the course of the day.” Another delicate line was added to the paper, and the Cenobiarch’s visitor seemed compelled to continue speaking, “The Anagonians, for we have now identified them as such, have established a beachhead. Marshall Pippin assures us if we strike now we could probably drive them back into the sea.”

With a jerk the pen ceased writing, and the hand holding the instrument laid it down gently, “at what loss? I don’t disagree, we could wipe them out with a coordinated air strike, but how many of our airmen would die in such an instance? Three hundred may just be enough to drive them from the our shores, and that is three hundred less fighters to be used is more forthcoming operations.”

“Sir! They could land troops,” his visitor seemed outraged that even one foreign boot should stomp of Waldenburger soil. As Marshall of the Serene Legion it was his duty of course, but the tenacity in his voice suggested other vendettas. For a moment the two sized up the other before turning their heads slightly to gaze out of the window at two marching columns of the Imperial Army bright with helmets and banners and the fripperies of war.

“They could, they could land millions and millions of men and march along the coast, or into the heart of the Empire itself, but first,” the Cardinal stood and strode to an ornate map picked out in silver and gemstones and stuck a finger vaguely in the center, “they would have to cross three thousand miles of desert. Oh, they could fly, but there are guns in the desert, hidden guns, and for every plane we then shoot down eighty men go with it and then their armies would be three thousand miles from the coast with no means of supply, other than air transit. In the desert every man needs at least a gallon of water a day to stay standing, and vehicles, that don’t stop from the heat, need oil everyday, and guns need bullets, and horses need feeding. They cannot do anything to us here, they will burn in the deserts or starve in the forests, and it is their choice. If they choose to strike along the seaboard then there will be additional surprises waiting for them in Ulde, of Ruydt, if they wish to play nuclear then so be it, the Serene Legion has been trained in the use of tactical warheads?”

Suddenly the playing field was elevated it had always been Imperial policy to stray from the nuclear course, “Of course your imminence-“

“Good, this morning their submarines began launching cruise missiles at the villages surrounding Thule, there cannot be more than five hundred men in any of them, we must assume, this is to be total war, and the assets of the Church will mobilize accordingly are we understood?”

“Yes your Imminence.”

“Now why did the Anagonians attack the sea, seems rather… silly?”

“I believe they thought we had mines in the area.”

“Were our mines damaged?”

“Not that we can tell, they are securely fashioned to the bottom waiting deployment, resulting EMP might have caused damage but again only up to a portion of the greater field could possibly have been disrupted. The explosion itself may also have caused damage, but in the greater scale, it was minor.”

“Excellent and of the Archangels, and the air force?”

“Runway hit, several bunkers destroyed, luckily all the data was backed up and most of the senior heads survived the attack in the rear bunkers. We are out of Blackbirds however; twelve of them were on the runway at time of detonation. It will be at least four months before the next batch arrives, from the Kleckwerks. It was decided that the attacking squadron be withdrawn and indeed was out of the area and on tarmac again before the enemy ships began their assault.”

“And of Thule?” The Cenobiarch asked quietly.

“Anyone who survived the nuclear holocaust, the fires, the electrical storms, the sand storms, the conventional bombing, an the naval bombardment is either trapped underground or seriously wishing that death was an option.” With a start the pen was again moving across the paper, leaving black lines that promised action and that again the population would be roused, this was just the preamble to a greater document. Throw men to the grinder and the generals would become the enemy, throw women and children and cities to the grinder and it became the most hated vessel to the mind, it was a different incitement to war, one which made the Marshall’s skin crawl.

“You are disgusted Marshall? You think there is a better course of action?” Again the face was that of a calm man dealing with a slightly vexing situation.

“Perhaps our first line of defense should not be women and children, your Imminence.”

“Your predecessor was like you, a man of ideals and forthright thought, a man for all intents and purposes set to make things right in the world. He made a fundamental mistake in understanding his position in the Church however. He believed because he could command two billion men into battle he was powerful.” The Cenobiarch’s head was cocked and his eyes were a declaration of war in themselves, “Do you think you are powerful Mr. Shrike?”

With a thundering bang the door slammed shut behind the Serene Marshall and the Cenobiarch returned to his speech, pondering how long his Marshall would last in this war. He had the makings of an officer, but did he have the cunning of a priest? It would have to be put to the test, soon, and hopefully to the greater benefit, for now the situation must be capitalized on.

--

“We stand against an unprecedented enemy, one who cares not for the sanctity of life, or even of watching eyes, that see his evils in all their blatant fervor. Even now they launch yet more attacks against unarmed civilians, and these are but the puppets, the puppets of the greater regime to be set upon us like dogs. The Pictish menace has been manifested, and in fire, for we are faced with not only the nuclear, yes nuclear immolation of Thule but of an impeding Anagonian invasion, whose feet even now trample the graves of the innocent of Thule and soon the outer Rimwald and the Rimwald region.

I am told the fires still burn in our most outer city, I am told the lightning and bombardment will not cease for some time, and I am told God has abandoned us. I tell them no! We have been put to flame, but it is not for punishment, but for the steeling of the heart. Stand my people, look into the fires that burn and indeed compare them to hell. They are not our fires but the conflagration the enemy sets for themselves. It is the sum of all their stupidity, arrogance, pettiness, fear and maliciousness that will eventually burn them. These are not our fires, though they burn in our homes and ravage our lands they are laid for another.

These are hammer blows that would shatter lesser nations; these are attacks that would cow other nations but not the chosen of God, not us. Let the enemy burn in our deserts, let them drown in our seas, let them all perish for their course has already been set and their die cast. As we proceed from here remember the millions dead at Thule, remember the screams of the dying, and always remember your God, for he vindicates all in the end, our only duty today is to speed their passage, and shatter their resolve.

We will not fight on the beeches or on the streets, but in their hearts and minds, for there their fallacies shall fall away like dust and they shall be stricken down again and again, there they are weak. If we are to wink out in this second in this year, then let the world remember how we did so, as a nation resolved and set to the defense of the everlasting glory. The storm begins, as prophecies unravel, and the enemy masses, but we will remain steadfast. As this war progresses let our battle cry ring in memory and honor of those dead upon the fields of Thule, let us recall the miners suffocated in their shafts, for all the dead and injured to this evil. Let our battle cry resound across the globe, and ring in every heart and home, Waldenburg will not disappear without a stand and will not forget those who have before. For all the dead, for all the vanquished saints, and forgotten martyrs will the first cannon sound. Ravage them my people, ravage and break them!” with fire in his voice and his robes swirling around him, by aide of an electric fan the Cenobirach descended the stairs from the tiny broadcasting room. He pondered the choice of words, not quite as eloquent but he could almost feel the elevated heart beats across the country, could feel the anger and passion building around the capital.

“Most moving you Imminence,” a lesser priest took his cloak and began fussing with the tassels and attachments.

“I’ve had better,” Harold Thousis, the Cenobiarch, kicked off his slippers and padded around the antechamber throwing off articles of the official regalia carelessly onto chairs and the floor. “What of Thule are there any survivors, now that we have had some time?”

“Indeed the local Boy Scout troop was doing a vigil in the catacombs of the Cathedral and were spared the attack, apparently for some badge or another.”

“And how do we know this?”

“The survivors in the catacombs set up semaphore and have been communicating with a so far undamaged village, more a shack but, the man has a radio and has been transferring the communiqués back to us.”

“I see, and there are weapons in the catacombs, swords, and lances I imagine?”

“I can’t imagine a catacomb without any indeed but..”

“Capital, order the boy to charge the fleet at anchor, arm themselves and defend the honor of the nation, excommunication and damnation for the family back nine generations to anyone who refuses.”

“Yes your imminence,” the priest nodded and bowed his wait out of the room. The orders were transferred shortly, and four hundred teenagers burst out of what remained of the cathedral waving swords that had not carried an edge in ages, or a fire poker, or just a rock, and amongst falling bombs they began to charge the harbor. Later their relatives were handed metals, and wept before the cameras for their grandsons, or nephews had been amongst the vanguard. A few however felt wronged, in a few furry built, and in a few it was ready to boil over by the time vanguard had met the enemy.


OOC Mostly we are still mobilizing, you have free range for the most part for some time, but all this foothold is a target. Oh and ignore the more specific details in the speech it is but hyperbole.

OOC: Jolt ate my last post, and then someone might of hacked my account. I dunno, now I'm thinking I screwed up the password. Sheesh...life sucks sometimes on NS

IC:

0632 Hours - Chief Governor's Situation Room

Chief Governor Johnny Standford paced back and forth between the rectangular briefing table and the smooth, darkish brown walls. The only light coming from the flatscreen display at the forefront of the room, displaying the Orbital Optics from the Buran Space Shuttle. Johnny had been here, almost all night alone, his clothes in shambles and not properly dressed about him. It was a nice business suit with too many wrinkles, but Johnny didn't care. He only sipped his morning coffee, provided by the recreation room down the hallway. His hair was in shambles as well, not properly groomed. Five o'clock shadow apparent on his young-looking face.

He had been up thinking about the situation in Waldenburg, about how it was going, about the civilians who had been killed. He had personally authorized the nuclear strikes, and had seen the results. The city of Thune was in shambles, covered by a nuclear storm cloud that hid the destruction from orbit. The EMP Bomb had decimated the Air Armada, only ten B-1B Lancers making it back safely. The base that launched the EMP device was nearly destroyed as well, which gave Johnny only a moments satisfaction.

Perhaps the most interesting thing was the fact that Johnny worried more for the Waldenburgians than he did for his own men. To an Anagonian, death was only the beginning of something greater. The airmen and women whom had died had completed their objective, and from personal experience Johnny Standford knew that so long as the objective was done, Death was welcomed. To the Military of Anagonia, dying in battle was not in vain. It was for the Honor of the People, and the Glory of the Republic for which the People stood for. But even a glorious death was mourned, and no doubt hundreds of families were now crying for their loved ones.

Johnny rubbed a tired hand through his hair, trying at least to make it presentable for the briefing to come up at Seven o'clock. He went to the aft of the rectangular briefing table, rubbing the polished darkened oak as he sat, facing the large flatscreen with the double-doors behind him. The chair was leather, dark leather, and quite comfortable to his aching body. He pressed something on the surface near him, setting his coffee mug down as a smaller flatscreen computer display slowly lifted upright, melded into the briefing table, a flat keyboard making itself known as well for the Chief Governors use. He didn't need the keyboard, the screen was touch sensitive. But he might sometime, which was why the techies fashioned it that way.

The Map of Waldenburg appeared, and Johnny entered a passcode to patch into the Orbital Optics. What had been on his mind all night was the desert laying between the Western Coast, where the Navy had begun bombardment and small landing operations, and the rest of Waldenburg past the desert. There, past the hellhole, was the heart of conquering the beast. Probably the main military and industrial complex lay there, and not the civilian dominated sectors of the western seaboard.

What bothered him the most was the fact that Waldenburg had, as of yet, to launch a counter attack in any shape or form. Besides the surprise EMP assault on the air bombardment force, there had been no true attempt at assaulting the navy. Reports of children attacking the marines that had landed there from the naval fleets had been sketchy, but this was by far not a signal of organized resistance. It seemed more like a sign of desperation, like Waldenburg had no capability to fight. But Johnny, through experience, knew this to be a folly assessment. Every nation used something to gain the advantage in battle, and as Johnny's attention was on the live feed of the desert, he had a good idea of where the Waldenburgian Military might make its first stand.

Of course this was only an assumption. Looking at the tactical and strategical needs of the forces that were going to land in Waldenburg, Johnny knew that Warsaw and NATO equipment tended to be lacking in Desert environments. It would require immense resources to basically get past a fifty mile stretch, and the desert seemed to be both loose and solid sand formations which made for a horrible time of traversing the terrain. This was what made him assume that here would be some kind of surprise, but even that assumption couldn't be found true. The Orbital Optics could only see so much, perhaps seeing a few heat sources from metal during the night time, but only if they weren't totally covered by the sand itself.

He sighed again, taking a sip of his mug. Too much to think about, too much to do. The Invasion Force was nearly prepared to ship out, both from outposts and the Motherland itself. Anagonia was nearly on the other side of the planet, so it took time for anything to get there. Two days travel time tended to get a lot of unexpected results. Until then, the Naval Fleets would be on their own, expect for the occasional transport.

The nearest base was in Greal, and more than likely it would be forced to shut down because of diplomatic reasons. There was a Helicopter Carrier and a few destroyers there, some submarines, enough supplies to construct a forward base of operations there. Only a few hours away. So he gave the order, perhaps too early, to begin the invasion with only a couple thousand of marines. At least the Greal Outpost would be of some use after all.

0725 Hours - Beachhead "Alpha", west of Thule

Colonel Sid Packers held his CZ142 Enhanced Carbine/Rifle (http://hawk.proboards1.com/index.cgi?board=Military&action=display&thread=30&page=1#57) as he watched the oncoming horde of children with swords and whatever else it seemed like possible. He wore the standard Marine Uniform, with Dragonscale armor instead of the weaker version, and was carrying at least fifty pounds of equipment that felt light as a feather to him. His marine detachment came from the Battleship Ender, about twenty or so on the ground now. A CH-47D Chinook from the Rear Admirals carrier Valiant was hovering overhead to land an additional thirty marines, a second Chinook behind with supplies to begin construction on a makeshift base of operations.

What flabbergasted Sid the most was not the fact that the kids were running at them, that would have been normal in any circumstance. Rather, the look on their faces both filled with fear and hatred, carrying swords from a bygone era, ready to kill somewhat unnerved him. He refused to fire on them, rather standing as the horde came closer and closer. Looks between Marines followed, some worried, some wondering what to do. The Colonel was in command, he would give the order, and the blood of dozens of children would be on his hands.

He didn't want that. But it was getting to the point where he might have no choice. He looked to his comrades, loading non-lethals and ordering gas grenades. It was standard procedure crowd control, because in invasions you still had to deal with the People. After he loaded and secured his weapon for fire, he raised it, as did the other nineteen whom had loaded various sidearms and rifles with the same rubber non-lethals. Gas grenades, the same the police use for crowd control, was fired first into the oncoming horde of teenage brutality. Then the rubber bullets started to fire, aiming for parts of the body that would be able to heal after the impact.

Hopefully the teenagers would get the message, and hopefully Colonel Sid Packers wouldn't have the deaths of dozens of children on his hands.

Comfort ye My People (http://www.peabody.jhu.edu/data/27/link/242/Messiah02-Comfort_ye.mp3)

As if from behind, and squeezed between the shadow of a pillar and an ornamented wall, an elderly man stepped and caught the Cenobiarch’s flinging hand,” Your Imminence is exceptionally good, I thought I was impeccably hidden.”

“You were,” The Cenobiarch snatched his hand back and palmed the tiny dagger again, “but there was fenugreek in your lunch. What brings you to the Cathedral, business I assume?”

The Cenobiarch’s would be attacked bowed slightly, his face spoke of thousands of hours under the sun and a hard life, yet his beard was oiled in the fashion of the mountain men of the south, and his eyes twinkled with the perfect content of being able to kill any man who dared challenge that little twinkle, “Always business, His Majesty is becoming impatient and insists we do something.”

“And so he sends for his brother? Most people think you are dead, it could be vitally exposing to walk about.”

“Alexander von Waldenburg was, white, humble, and above all dead, I doubt there shall be problems.” Originally as the succession to the Silver Throne had been brought into question there had been a few midnight scuffles at the palace. Illegitimate brothers had been killed by the dozen that night, leaving only the infant, now elderly Emperor to take the throne. One however had survived, and in a fit of kindness the Emperor had banished him to the desert, with a few hundred retainers, hopefully to die. He had not done so, and on occasion still enjoyed Imperial patronage, and occasionally was called on to do the dirty work of the Empire. Only a handful of men served under him, but most of them had lived in the desert, where no man could walk let alone live, and then their sons had learned, and then their sons had picked up his father’s rifle and kept shooting.


“So we are to return to the days of skulking in shadows, does the Emperor know of the greater plan? Does he remember how many of our spies had to die, and how much money it’s acquisition cost?”

“I cannot,” von Waldenburg’s voice was, despite his apparently rural up brining, rich and urbane, “Imagine for a moment that he does not, you give him too little credit, I hate the man and I come whimpering at his call. Have a little faith your Imminence.”

“Neh..” the two fell into step setting off in an arbitrary direction, “so you are to be the scourge of the desert again, flitting from shadow to shadow dealing out death from your elegantly mustachioed maws?”

“His Majesty has promised my unlimited funding, and we started laying mines, as the Imperial Defense Directive states, many months ago, the desert will swallow them.”

“So then why have you come here? There is only so much I can give you.”

“Absolution, I was promised absolution for this nights work,” Alexander turned his head, and the look he bore actually frightened the Cenobiarch, he had seen anger, pleading or defiance, but never this look of child like fear and absolute conviction. Tears began to well up in the man’s eyes, and his hands convulsed by his sides for some time before Thousis finally took pity on him.

“My son you shall have it, no one questions your patriotism and devotion to the Church, the proper papers will be drawn up tonight.” The two waited awhile as the Prince still clenched his hands together and wheezed heavily on occasion. “Um.. You may leave?”

--

“Right one.. two… three slide left.” In the dim shadow of night one desert nomad slide gently from dune to dune, mumbling in under his breath and on occasion inspecting either the ground or the sky, both of which had settled considerably since the detonation nearly a day earlier now. Anagonia marines seemed to be thick on the ground and the various vessels at anchor, though he personally had not seen them, crowded the seas. Already he had thrown himself to the sand twice as drones of some variety buzzed overhead. It was, at least in some parts of the night incredibly easy to fool infrared or any variety of thermal based sensors, as the sand radiated the heat it had gained in the day into the air, so for about three hours after sundown, it was one of the safest places on earth but after that it became tricky.

For now however the nomad continued to count until he stopped at an arbitrary point and banged his foot against the shifting sands, and was rewarded with a solid clunk. After some digging a door was revealed and after some rearranging of earth the hatch was quickly opened and the figure slipped inside.

“Alexander,” four men rose from around a crude table and managed an even cruder salute, “How was His majesty?”

“Moldering, here put these on,” the man threw his companions a few packages from his pack.

“Space blankets, we’ll stand out like sore thumbs.”

“Other way around, on the inside. We may very well stick out like sore thumbs, but these will reflect 80% of your radiated heat, and if we don’t have them we’ll stick out like,” he waved his hand in the air in a distracted fashion, “just put them on the right way and there shouldn’t be any problem. They keep you warm too.” His eyebrows arched conspiratorially, as his ad hock squad struggled into their suits.

“Rifles out everyone.” In a hastily assembled line the four men formed up to be inspected by their general who gave a grunt of satisfaction, “right just light mischief tonight, a marine here, a marine there. If there is any trouble we have fifty men along,” he counted quickly to himself, defensive route three with rockets and if it’s not that sort of trouble, go to ground, for all their fancy bling and technology they’ll still be blind on the ground, blind and loud.” With a nod the men pulled into the night still inside their thermal safety window and set to work. It was only thirty minutes until they found the first Anagonia marine skulking in the outskirts of what used to be Thule, gloating of the capturing of Boy Scouts to his companion, and only a further twelve seconds till the man was laying in a pull of his own blood. The level of technology, both in rifle and guidance, and of marksmanship might have turned a few heads, after all the opposing Anagonians had seen so far was the Serene Legions the manner in which the men of the desert moved might have startled them. The intent however was for there to be no start, just a quick death, and then movement. Arranging themselves into the great cracks and crevices formed by the wreckage and debris, which were still warm to the touch from earlier bombings, the five men fanned themselves out, and looked down into the valley of Thule, and took aim.

--

VII Rodenisian Diocese

As various portions of the Empire dissolved into the chaos of war, and from it seemed even the most base parish church parishioners were throwing themselves against the enemy is some way or another. In the same fashion they had been doing for nearly sixty years the same old women came into the Church said their prayers, listened to the mass, and because they were elderly, dropped several coins in the collection plate as it bobbed through the congregation. The war changed nothing here, so it came as quite a bit of a surprise when the Serene Marshall Shrike thrust his way through the door and demanded to be left alone with the bishop, Dr. Kellor, one of the most crumbling and a seditionist who lived through the merits of being to elderly to politely kill.

Rodenisia, after an original scrape with a indigenous population of Buddhists, which the Church won by repeatedly setting fire to the dojo again and again till the message made it’s way across, was an entirely boring place, about as far removed from the center of power one could hope to be. The unwanted members of the clergy had been, for the last half a century been sent there to bore themselves to an early death. Dr. Keller seemed to be the exception however, and now seemed to require the undivided attention of the Serene Marshall, who detained the man for nearly an hour. It would have been slightly more surprising to the keen observer of the encrypted message that was wired from the sleep bishopric in Rodenesia directly to the Grand Republic, and it’s administration arm, and coded in an elaborate and seemingly unbreakable code, at least uncrackable by the standards of those who had been taught by the Holy Church, which frowned upon foreign literature as a whole


“Though it may not be by custom of tradition I write this letter but rather in the moment, in the now, in the present. There are a great deal of things that belong in the past, and do not deserve to sully our state of mind or being, some monsters needed to be destroyed long ago. There is little I need to conceal from you, I have lived as a different man my entire life, different from that which I am, and in that the monster has achieved it’s greatest monstrosity, for which reparations must be made and extracted.

For all my life, for 90 years, I have watched the world weep, and watched it dye inch by inch, and yet I said nothing because, well there in lies the problem. If you will permit me then to tell you a story, a story about abominations and their workings.

There was once a young man, a prince in fact, of royal blood and dignity as the world has never seen, however he was cast out of his house and thrown to the edge of a once great Empire. There was a small forest in which the Prince was placed and allowed to rest before his trials. He was told if he returned he would be killed, and in front, not a mile distant from him was a desert, an insurmountable desert, which no man had ever crossed. It was assumed since he was never seen again, that he had chosen the hard option, the noble option and kept the laws of his people, and had chosen death by heat and starvation and loneliness. It was assumed he had taken to the desert in naught but his armor, and with his sword.

There was, at that time, on the other side of the desert huddling in the lee of a great mountain chain a people so uncivilized that they had yet to find a god, or a religion, or war. And then appeared to them one day, a man dressed in metals of bright luster, of light itself, and armed with, well there was no word for it. It was said it was a miracle although the concept had to be explained to the people first, and they feel down to their knees and worshipped the man dressed in light. He bade them stand and look on him; his was but a man, of no great power other than that given to him to lead his fellow men. And that day a covenant was made, between man and God, so long as man worshipped God and now his workings or creations he would keep his peoples safe and never abandon them, or leave them or leave them without ruler. Within the Great Prophet’s lifetime Waldenburg expanded by an area of two million square miles, and cities and roads sprang to life.

That was two thousand six hundred years ago still the covenant holds strong, still the bonds remain unbroken, after nearly three millennium, we are still with leaders and hegemony. You if you will permit me just one more reminiscent thought, allow me to tell you of a nightmare. A nightmare from which you cannot wake as it surrounds you, and engulfs every aspect of life until the voice within your head can no longer be heard for the torrent of incessant guilt, that is what my story is about. Allow me to tell you of a nightmare in which those who wish to wake are put to the flame, and all those who would oppose this movement are thanking God it is not them on the stake, and yelling all the harder for the purification. Let me tell you the story of thousands of books burnt for their forbidden knowledge, upon the feet of the authors. Imagine this nightmare; imagine for the moment that you cannot wake, and that the only dawn available, the only respite is that of death, and the fear of unremitting hellfire.

I cannot convince you of my sincerity in any other way, I have but one facility left to me, and it is not speaking or writing, it is the ability for me to hope, hope that someday, something will grant my soul rest. See the world through my eyes and see it’s suffering, open your eyes and witness the covenant of the angels. I have but one waning voice, that will soon be snuffed by the Church, but to the prophet that is all that is needed, there is a way across the desert, to the heart of the Empire, to the heart of darkness. Walk the Prophet’s walk, my dear friend."

Signed:
His Grace Dr. Keller Bishop of Rodenesia

OOC I hope you don't mind terribly I killed a nameless marine? If so I'll edit, but if you ever need to advance the story by terminating a nameless guard feel free.

And a message was sent back. Simple, direct, and blunt.

Would you like to come home again? Would you like to see the place where books are sacred, where all are one, where you can die not on stone, but in the bed of comforts? We will find you.

0025 Hours - Sergeant Micheal Dickens - Patrolling the outskirts of Thule

Sergeant Micheal Dickens had been ordered to do a short sweep of the area ahead, since most of it was clouded by the thunderous roar of nuclear clouds. The radiation had subsided a good deal, as most Anagonian nuclear weapons had been tested to the extent to radiate less, providing a more secure way for the Ground Troops with only slightly more than tolerable levels of radioactive activity. He was on a hill, near the deserts beginnings, an ancient rock formation probably from eons past. He remembered his home in Drekamythia, of his faith in the Dragon Gods, how benevolent they were.

He held his M-16, gazing around. The nightly breeze came across his face, himself distracted by the beauty of things. Thule was wasted, but the surrounding area by some miracle had retained some semblance of nature. Tree's dotted, then ended near the desert and where the Nuclear Blast had obliterated things. He breathed the air, surprisingly fresh from the ocean breeze blowing whatever was left of the radiation to the northeast of Thule. He looked up as he heard thunder, lightning striking the ground near him, and his communications came to life.

OpsOne to Foxbat, OpsOne to Foxbat...

Micheal pressed his communications, looking at the sky still. "This is Foxbat, come in Operations."

We've received a message that you might want to see, mind coming back?

"Sure," Micheal Roberts sighed, "Everythings Charlie Lima Echo Alpha Romeo"

Copy, Foxbat. IFF Signal on. Stay safe. OpsOne Out.

Sergeant Micheal Roberts stood there for what seemed the longest moment, and saw something in the clouds. He swore as the lightning struck he saw a winged creature, maybe it was a helicopter. But no, it was something else. He started to walk towards the base camp, then stopped in his tracks as he heard a bone-shattering roar. He gazed up, and he stood still. His eyes went wide, and for the first time in his life he saw it. He truly saw it.

Many times before others from the Draconic Faith had seen them, believed themselves reincarnations, or other such faithful beliefs. It was a faith surrounding a myth, Micheal believed. But always he remained faithful, doing right according to Draconic Law's, serving the People as the protector and guardian, and communing with the spirits as was done in ancient times. He didn't know why he did it, much like a child prays just because he see's someone else do it. But he did, and for the first time he believed Dragons were real.

Flowing down towards him was a scaled beast, elegant in beauty, with wings reflecting the lightning streaking across the sky. The clouds cleared above it, revealing the Drekamythian Constellation of Mythia, the Heaven of the Dragons, and he swore he saw the lands of plentiful gain and wonders just beyond. He couldn't move, not even as he felt the cold steel against his neck. He couldn't respond, not even as he saw the fire in the beasts eyes above him. He couldn't act, not even as he felt his throat being sliced and his life going away. He couldn't do anything. And then, he could do everything.

He looked down just as he saw his body crumble, his puny human form. Other humans had killed it, so silently, so easily. He looked up, the Guardian coming for him. It was his time, and he welcomed it. He didn't look back, not even as the IFF signal silently blinked to the base that his position hadn't changed since orders came.

0100 Hours - Base Camp Alpha - Beachhead "Alpha"

Colonel Sid Packers directed a few Marines to where their supplies would go to. So far, the makeshift tents had been erected successfully, with bunks for the Marines at one end of the base camp, and the operations and medical tents at the other. Sid stood in the Operations, right behind a Marine managing the Communications. Dirt as his boots feet, nothing in here was fancy. Expect the computers and electrical equipment. Sid pointed at the screen. "He hasn't moved, whats wrong?"

The Master Sergeant at the helm of the computer shook his head, "I'm not sure. He just moved a few inches and stopped."

Sid nodded, "The First Sergeant isn't known to wait, and he's the best man to decipher that damn cryptic message from that waldenburgian." He sighed, "Any airborne's available?"

"We have a MH-53E Sea Dragon that was on one of the Battleships," He nodded and understood. "Search and rescue or recovery?"

"Make it Recovery," Sid said in a denied tone.

Twenty Minutes Later

The MH-53E Sea Dragon lifted from near the ground base, having a contingent of heavily armed Marines on board. Among them, Colonel Sid Packers in the co-pilot seat. The loud noise created by the Sea Dragon resonated through the night, and as search-lights found the dead body of First Sergeant Micheal Roberts. He ordered a low-ground maneuver, where the Sea Dragon would hover and allow the Marines to jump out quickly, which it did, which by so unloaded a squad of eight Marines. Sid in the lead he went over to the quite dead body of Micheal.

He looked to the sky. Micheal skin wasn't pale white, like it should be. Its was red. His skin felt odd as Sid felt for a pulse, and found none. His eyes content, and Sid knew that expression from many Marines in battle. Had he allowed himself to be sliced from behind? The evidence, the quick look, revealed someone doing it from behind. Damnit, he should have told Micheal to scout. But Micheal wanted to, volunteered. They hadn't even taken his weapon.

It was then as he stood and readied his rifle that a huge, ungodly wind blew to the northeast. He looked towards the ocean, the lights of the fleet, and the other fleets going to the two sides of the Waldenburg continent in the distance, lit the night. Then he looked towards Thule. Something had to be in that direction. Or maybe it was just the wind, and he looked up to find the Sea Dragon the creator of the wind. He cursed himself for his stupid belief in the Faith. Although it felt like it, it hadn't been what he expected.

He ordered the body recovered, and took three men with him to scout. He also ordered a UH-60 Black Hawk equipped with the door mounting of two M60D 7.62mm machine guns for support, since no gunships were available. The message was important, and command was still trying to decipher it. Micheal was the only one who could had done it instantly, as he somehow had that spark of miracle making. Yet with him gone, the mission would continue. Sid held his rifle, the other Marines boarding the Sea Dragon with the body of First Sergeant Micheal Roberts.

Revenge for the Fallen.

OOC:

Your cool. Just adding a little spice with the POV stuff. You can choose to go along, might add some interesting effects.

A shell was silently clicked into the chamber of the SIG-Sauer SSG 3000, they were new models, with flash and sound suppressors, and made a uniform textured grey that molded into the landscape. There were however a few mishaps already in the night Vormunder, had inverted his new suit and it had caught the light slightly, before he had tucked it back into his outer wear and slit that poor boys throat. It was funny there, the poor fool had just stood opened mouth up till the point where the knife quickly drew across his throat, and he had crumpled to the ground. Though it was not protocol Alexander had watched it, his eyes should have been hunting for enemies, but instead they watched, in a craftsmen like way, approving of the fashion in which his friend dispatched yet another enemy. After so many years, the joy of fighting had lost its tang, and it became just another faceless body. ‘So much the better’ thought Alexander von Waldenburg as marines began pouring out towards the body, from their helicopter.

It was a very tempting shot, all those marines crouched around one body, it would have been so easy to pick them all down, but surely the pilots would have spotted his position, and there is lay a certain brand of trouble best left untouched. As it was the bastard prince had picked as his vantage point an auxiliary ventilation shaft to one of the now smoldering coalmines. Wreckage was strewn everywhere, and every thing was charred, once it became night, pure night, the valley of Thule would once again become a living hell but not for Waldenburgers. With five rifles, and such a hospitable landscape, the task at hand would result in the dream from which the Anagonians would never wake.

The squad of five men had dispersed as much as they could across the suburbs and surrounding country near Thule, and most of them, seeing as the Anagonians were more interested in establishing a beachhead, and capturing the few hold out’s in their cellars before they could do any damage. It was however only a matter of time till the feelers extended to the great stretches of desert to the south., so the moment should be capitalized on.

The issue was pressed as Alexander peered through the scope on his rifle, fixed the alignment and checked what little wind there was to be had in the little cave in which he lay. The vantage was perfect, the settings were perfect, and what of the target? Maybe one of the helicopters could be brought down with a lucky shot, but the prince supremely doubted he could do so, and did not appreciate the risk inherent with such a chance fling of the dice. Blinking slowly to clear his eyes he lowered his rifle to what used to be the port and now served as the disembarking point for hundred of troops and tons of supplies. It was perhaps three kilometers from his position to the dock, and though it was technically possible to make such a shot, again he felt the risk outweighed the odds. With a gentle sigh the prince sighted along his rifle again till he picked out what looked like a logistical worker on his break sitting on a box, and kicking his legs back and forth while puffing of a cigarette. It would have to do for the moment, it was certainly not a high profile or indeed useful target, but one wounded man was worth four medics as the old proverb went.

Alexander checked his watch, there was an old routine one which had been used again and again on the plains of the desert, ten minutes to find a position, two minutes to find a target, and then all members of the squad fired within a few moments of one another to add general confusion to the victims below and spread their forces in a desperate attempt to find one of the gunmen. Twenty two seconds to the first shot, two minute twenty two seconds to the second shot, twelve minutes twenty two seconds till disengagement. With one last look behind him to check his escape route into the coalmines was open, it was, tight but open to his back.

Prickling with a tiny charge that raised the fine hairs upon his arm, and no doubt the hairs of his entire squad, signaled, his watch gave him the first signal, and without hesitation he pulled the trigger.
--

Sun beat down on the tiny garden behind the Abbey of St. Renault, where Dr. Kellar spend most of his days attended by a staff of brothers, who carefully wiped the dribble from his mouth and tactfully checked to see the man was wearing pants. The garden itself was plain, just a few apple trees stuck in the ground when he was a boy, a few rows of the vegetables, a the beautiful Waldenburger Lilies, which turned a dark purple at night, and a light pink during the day. No one had understood the flower, though attempts had been made, but when it was removed from it’s home along the edge of the desert the colors became duller and duller until they ceased to change at all with the waning of the sun.

Bees busily hummed about their tasks, and occasionally one of the monks would come over with a strawberry and gently insert it into the ancient mouth of their bishop. For nearly half of his life, the Doctor reflected as his assistant wheeled him to the shade of one of the trees, he had been an old man. That was unfair, and when frocked by the Church the years hung heavily on the head, and it seemed since his youth he had always been an old man.

“Your Grace?” a young nun approached the chair with a letter, crisply folded and delightfully refreshing to the Bishop. He hadn’t been thinking very clearly for the last two decades, but this he remembered, this was important. “A letter has arrived for you, there is no return address. “ With a bow the letter was deposited and the woman left in a flapping of veils and wimples. The letter was short, but it conveyed everything the man had ever hoped for, in just a few lines it brought all his life to what could easily be it’s satisfactory conclusion, for it was with treason he flirted.

“Your Grace what’s wrong?” The Bishop’s young assistant had rushed forward, a handkerchief already dabbing at the tears welling up under the elderly eyes, “shall I call the doctor.?

I stand now, poor fool, no wiser than I was before; I am called Master, even Doctor, and for these last sixty years have led my flock by the nose--up, down, crosswise and crooked. Now I see finally that we know nothing. Do not call the doctor boy, call me a lawyer!”

“Oh, I see.” It was simply sedition again, simply his ramblings, not worth the time even to listen to none the less right down or take worry from. “Shall I fetch your letter back, it seems to have made it away?”

Coughing slightly from the effort of speech the Bishop waved the boy away, “let it go, but in a few days there will be some men at the door asking to see Dr. Kellar direct them to me, without delay, it is important.”

“Yes Your Grace.”

OOC Rodenesia is no longer with the NS world so you can just burst in. Sorry to hear about your country by the way, I should probably give the password a change too.

Mediterranican Region
The skies above Waldenburg

John Kochan, age 26, was pilot of the Pretty Woman, one of the many Storkes on this long journey. His part had been quiet so far; despite the brief refueling sessions and the occasional sortie, he had been for the most part alone. The only thing that kept him going was his wingman, Allan Wang. Allan had a nice sense of humor, and had kept the two on task during the flight, making the hours somewhat bearable.

John's radio crackled to life, and he expected to hear Allan's voice once again. This time, however, he was greeted by the unfamiliar voice of the AWACS captain. "Mill leader, this is control. You've got two wings of bandits coming in high and fast at roughly 2 o'clock, likely Starfighters. Do you have a visual?"

"Negative sir, we're blind." Kochan said, observing not only the heavy clouds but also the sheer distance between the planes that had been reported.

"Roger that. Move to intercept, you are cleared hot. AWACS is locked and feeding you solutions, do you copy?" the AWACS captain echoed back. His job was simple, and he did it well: to hell with the enemies, and to keep his plane's eyes open.

"Roger, we're committed," Kochan said, giving a thumbs up sign to his wingman. "Closing to range and releasing the Thunderbolts." Kochan strapped on his mask and veered out of formation. Closing in hard, he ran the data about Starfighters through his mind. They were old machines, and he could not remember much from his training, but he did know that they were made to handle missiles with a range of 14 kilometers. "Allan, this is John," he called out. "Keep it to standoff ranges and we'll both make it home alright."

Likewise, across the fleet a number of Storkes roughly equal to the number of Starfighters began moving to intercept. At the range of approximately 200 kilometers, they each released two ATAIM-9 "RAKURAI" (Thunderbolt) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12927244&postcount=24). A chorus of "Fox 4 away" spread through the planes. Roughly one fourth continued forward to deal with what survived, the rest moved back to continue their escort mission.

The Storkes continuing would likely be greeted by the squadron or two of F-35's that managed to get off the ground, but they still had AWACS support, which gave them a tremendous advantage.

The Ack Ack guns and the other munitions tossed the way of the Kampferians did no damage: the planes flew well above their highest range, much less their effective range.

OOC: It was my mistake. Probably a password mistype. Also, what do you mean? Mind if I continue the RP there in Rodonesia? Also, I'm going to assume that part of the invasion force had already landed, if thats okay?

Operation Saving Grace - The Tide Turning

Perhaps the most amazing part of the invasion of Waldenburg was the discovery that billions were mindlessly brainwashed for the benefit of the few. Overnight, the tactical plans for destruction turned into a liberation. It all started with a certain Dr. Keller Bishop, whom so wanted to be free of the senseless onslaught from government control. The best of the best had been sent, Soviet Legion Troopers. Born and bred for battle, literally trained from a young age to combat many forms of known and unknown enemies, they had been the forefront in the Cripistan Liberation, where the State of Guardia still existed because of their silent and devoted duty. Chosen from certain parents, taken usually at age six, and trained there on to be the best killing machines in the world, they still somehow managed to retain a taint of humanity.

It was natural. They were trained for battle, given civilian life after a certain time, then brought back into battle after discovering what humanity was truly all about. Freedom. The choice to do anything that they wanted. But they were never told they had that choice, only that they were the protectors of others Choices. Perhaps this could be seen as brainwashing, perhaps this could be seen as government control, but the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics of Nodea Rudav lived a long history in the United Republic, and was proud to contribute the best special forces known to Anagonia for the purpose of retaining that Republic's existence.

And so two men dressed in casual three-piece business suits knocked on the doors of the Abbey of St. Renault. When an unimportant figure perhaps in working outfit answered, Lieutenant James Triton and his Comrade, a beautiful woman of Asian ancestry by the name of Sergeant Kameko nodded as one, gazing behind dark sunglasses. James, in a professional tone, gazed at the man whom answered their knock.

"Were here to see Dr. Keller," he said slowly. "Mr. Keller has requested our presence."

Beachhead Alpha - Base Camp Alpha

The moment weapons fire started from every direction, and one by one Marines and a poor Technician started to be placed on the casualty list, everyone went into action. Thankfully the Base Camp had worked through the night, and everyone besides the few platoons whom worked overtime the following night was busy doing something or the other. M3A3 Bradley's were roaming about, as with
M443-07 Military Transports (http://hawk.proboards1.com/index.cgi?board=Military&action=display&thread=29&page=1#55) in various construction and defensive configurations, started into action. Soldiers from the Army rushed to the aid of fallen Comrades, while suppression fire from the Bradley's cannons started towards the hills that were believed to be where the fire was coming from. From the Helicopter Carriers out in the ocean was called three AH-1 Cobra Gunships, whose blades roared in anger as they started and headed towards the base camp. Everyone not wearing tank armor was seeking cover behind anything that could stop a bullet.

The only thing that gave away the hint of enemy assault was the unusual number of people complaining that they'd been shot. The Medics, at first, told the lone technician he had nailed himself with the nail gun he had. Then, marines started in saying there was unknown silenced fire from somewhere in the western direction. Thats when everything happened, and when the Base Commander called for the big guns. The Four Battleships still moored near the shore were more than capable of laying down one helluva covering fire display.

That was when, ten minutes after the first casualties started coming in, five minutes after the entire base camp started with cover fire towards the hills, that two minutes after with laser target designators for the general vicinity of the hills, that loud sirens sounding like weather warning sirens started sounding for a period of thirty seconds, as the huge 16-inch/50 caliber gun turrets, three each on each respective battleship, swiveled into position and aimed their trajectories. The Gunships had to wait, for when it sounded, the entire night turned into day as shockwaves from the explosions of the cannons resounded across the lands.

Ka-BOOM-BOOM-BOOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-KABOOM-BOOM-BOOM

The ground shook as if an earthquake happened out of no where, and the sand on the beaches was displaced so suddenly that dust clouds, carried by the shockwaves from the blasts, flew across the base camp. But the most satisfying thing was the explosion, the beautiful explosion that utterly destroyed the hillsides where, in the mishap, everyone seemed to forget that the Colonel and three others where near the vicinity of the blasts.

Hillsides of Base Camp - Colonel Sid Packers

When Sid heard the sirens he nearly shit his pants. He didn't do that, but he swore for the first time he was going to. He signaled his three-man squad to seek cover, and broke radio silence. But by then, it was too late. The night turned to day, the ground shook, wind of hurricane grade flew past him, and the explosions tore everywhere around him. He grabbed the rocky dirt, his Comrades doing the same. They held on for dear life.

The Colonel had heard of friendly fire before, but this was just overkill. If everyone wanted him dead this bad they should have shot him out of the torpedo tubes of the Seawolf he had been on during another invasion long ago. Maybe then he wouldn't be feeling his entire body feel like it was attacked by such heat, he swore he would combust into flames. Maybe then, as the blast waves from the impacts shot him and his Comrades in three different directions, as Sid flew through the air helplessly while loosing grip of his weapon, landing yards away with what felt like every bone in his body broken, maybe then he'd reconsider being a Marine. He groaned, the blasts continuing around him, the ground still shaking...and he looked up to a figure near him as he reached for anything to keep him alive.

OOC:

Leaving his fate up to you. I'm concentrating on this general area to start the story small, then continue. I'm giving you an opening, you decide his fate. :P

Incarnatus est (http://www.elizabethparcells.com/Music/In%20Concert/incarnatus%20est%20Mozart%20C%20minor%20Mass.mp3)

Rodenesia


“Gentlemen, and lady….” The bishop paused for a moment and began moving his lips as if reciting his next line, “call me a sinner but… I covet… something. I do not recall, but I certainly covet something, and you’ve got it my dear.” A pruning finger was waved at a pillar next to where the three Anagonias were standing. Again the Bishop was in the garden, although today an unaccustomed nip had entered the air, and rain looked like it was on the horizon. With one hand the bishop moved his electric chair towards the three and decapitated a tulip in doing so, “I know why you’re here. I have a little something to show you, I wrote a little book once, must have been seventy years ago now, doctoral thesis you see.” He might have been whispering or it might have been his reduced lung capacity, either way the three Anagonians had to draw into the man to hear his trembling words.

In a sudden movement the chair was moving to the Abbey, it’s little electric motor whirring over the cobbled path. “If you will accompany me, I assure you it is an apt use of your morning.” In an intricate pattern and built of years of experience the Bishop pulled the door open while turning and then turned back through the open door. Over the course of two minutes the chair maneuvered it’s way past chanting monks or thuribles or the various other items of religion till they came to a much smaller door, one tucked into a small alcove and seemed to be covered with dust.

“In here please.” Again the door was opened and the chair moved down a slight incline and into a small study area, which seemed so entirely Spartan that it could not have possibly become so by simply having no furniture, instead by having the ornaments of the room removed. Perhaps this though was for good reason as the entirety of the walls were covered with towering bookcases and filled end to end, and what seemed to be bursting with dull and amateurishly bound books. The Bishop however wheeled himself to a much smaller bookcase by the end of his bed, and removed a slim book in red leather.

“It’s home,” there was only a bed a small table, a night stand, a chair and orthopedic footstool in the room so the thought came to mind of home for whom,” the young lady may sit on the bed.” Kellar’s eyebrows arched again, this time at one of her more masculine companions. “Here it is!” A hand was waved about enthusiastically and nearly removed a section of shelving, “MCMXXIV, University of Rodenesia Student Press, Perido Plunum, The Prophet’s walk, by me,” he vaguely pointed to the cover before flipping the volume open to the first page which showed a tomb like door in an old lithograph that may or may not have been older than the author. “Well I am sure you know the story of Wyatt von Waldenburg I crossing the desert and creating the Waldenburger Empire, because I told it to you, but the story does not explain how he crossed the desert, in full armor, without any means of support. The answer is quite easy, and unknown by the Church, and only vaguely in Imperial circles. The Prophet’s Walk,” again the book was opened to another picture this time of a sketch of immensely long corridor, occasionally decorated by indistinct pieces of architecture.

“You see above ground, of course there are flowers you can cut open and suck dry, there are snakes and scorpions, but those appear only by chance, and no man in the hot sun would war or carry his armor for three thousand miles, he would burn to death before he had time to starve, so there must have been another way. The Church believes it’s own story, God gave him power, and that was that the Cenobiarch never looked into it after that, and since my book was published outside the Empire they most likely have never even heard of it. It is my opinion that there is a path under the desert, a great highway, in the upper bedrock, or lower drift that served once as an aqueduct before deforestation and over population caused most of the water to run out. “ After some rummaging Kellar removed a photograph from one of his shelves, “I had this commissioned at great expense to myself, a thermal picture of the high desert, taken in the high noon.” The picture was passed around the room slowly, each man or woman taking their time to look over the details.

“The heat dyes down slightly every two miles in a five by two shaft, and though I have never seen any of these, it is my belief that these small pockets of cold air are. I have enlarged pictures of specific area which conclude that it is not just a slight discoloration but indeed several distinct units.” Those too were passed around from shaking hands. “I have had it looked at, and it is extremely implausible that these are naturally occurring, and more likely used not so long ago in the cultivation of crops or the hydration of cities. I once chartered a car, that took me to the nearest ruins along this hydro line, architecture seemed to be of a style unfamiliar hinting that this line was excavated between three and four thousand years ago, before the advent of the Waldenburger civilization.” The book was closed, although a finger was kept in it at an arbitrary page. “For you see gentlemen I have been there,“ the book was opened, almost snapping the bindings to reveal a picture if a massive stone door carved in a runic language and depicting a large stylized sun, the effect was slightly ruined as the Bishop seemed to be pointing the book slightly to far to the floor, but the image conveyed it’s meaning of massive doors, and things left untouched.

“Of course I have never been inside to composite any sketched, the Emperor is very tetchy about the Rimwald, and has left nearly three million men to guard the region, the lowly priest, as I was at the time, was unlikely to take away a pinecone much less enter what could possibly be a lost temple filled with avenging spirits. I have seen the door, and gentlemen you can see where it comes out.” The small picture with the wells of cool air was passed up again, and the little line lead to where it could only lead in the Empire, directly to Blünderburg. “Blünderburg you see was named after the Blunder Mountain, under which even today rivers and underground channels flow to keep the capital supplied with all important water.” A scholarly light began to fade from the old man’s eyes and he, for the last time folded his book shut, “I cannot imagine the manpower needed, I cannot begin to imagine. It must have taken millions of men dozens of years all digging in different directions, so many must have died.” Two old mans smacked together loudly, “Shall we have some cocoa, I’m told I can’t have tea, it excites me, then we shall talk some more.”

--

Thule

Another sixteen-inch shell passed overhead at some velocity, and the resulting explosion shook dirt around Alexander’s head in his hiding place in the ventilation shaft. This was not how it was supposed to go, there was supposed to be lot of yelling the deployment of snipers, and general confusion, not naval bombardment. When the Anagonians wanted you dead it seemed they did not play around.

All around the hole earth and debris were again flying as larger and larger guns joined in the litany. As the bombardment seemed to be dying down, he heard the sounds of screams and in front of his hole an Anagonian marine had just landed his limbs twisted in uncomfortable positions, around several large rocks.

Alexander’s rifle was down in a second, but just as he was taking aim along it’s barrel, he recalled that his last round, in the clip at least, had been fired some time ago, and he would have to switch magazines or run out himself and finish off the wounded man. Gently the Prince cocked his head, and withdrew his rifle a waiting shoulder. As he departed, sliding his way down the shaft and into the coal mine proper, he held one fingers to his lips before slipping out of sight. Hopefully his squad was also making their timely retreat.

--

Blünderburg

Over Blünderburg the situation degraded quickly, Starfighters, while considered more robust than some early fighters were being swatted out of the air, by both enemy fire, and friendly fire from below. It was considered that the Serene Legion, it it’s capabilities as first responders were essentially as bullet shields until the Imperial air force had taken to wing, tonight however, it seemed there were very few F-35’s in the sky.

“Wings 1-7 you are ordered to engage at point blank range with rockets and cannons, casualties are irrelevant, long live the Cenobiarch!” It was a message sent all to often, in hundreds of situations, but again, was obeyed, as around ninety aircraft barreled into the current cloud bank the Kampferians were occupying and laying down heavy fire with the Lüften Shocker Fragmentation rockets, and twenty millimeters cannons that shredded the sky.

Similarly on the ground longer range ammunition was being brought on line, missiles waiting for locks, rockets were feverishly slotted into pods, and fired where the most recent communications estimated the position of the enemy. Unlike the Serene Legion the few forty F-35’s that were off the ground, were ordered to hand back and pick off any enemy that broke formation in the firefight.

OOC:

Love your music.

IC:

James saw within his minds eye the details of the path-way, that it could be wide enough for vehicles, even two at a time perhaps. The tactical and strategic analysis of the hidden water-way made him think on other matters too. The matters of getting out safely civilians, the matters of escaping any undesired defeats, the matters of war, and the matters of peace. Though his mind was concentrated on twenty different things, James Triton managed to keep his smile as he took off his sunglasses, revealing deep green eyes. They seemed inhuman at their gaze, perhaps due to some biological experiments done to the Troopers. Or, perhaps, just genetic. Either way, as James and Kameko sat with Dr. Keller and drank the Cocoa out of generosity, they seemed to not bring anything up.

Kameko had taken her sunglasses off as well, her eyes pure blue. Her hair was tied behind her head in a military fashion, and she presented a genuine smile as James and Keller conversed about various subjects ranging from weather to novels, and everything in between. It seemed that James had the intention of presenting himself in a friendly fashion, which didn't fit the style of man that Kameko had admired decades earlier. But he was the commanding Officer on this operation, and she would not deny his right to authority over any matter.

Finally, as the sun beat down upon the facility in a timely fashion, the garden about them as various individuals under the Abby's care wondered about, the third individual whom seemed casual looking and overly muscular for his own good had retained his sunglasses, and walked behind Dr. Keller as Kameko and James walked by Mr. Keller's side. The morning had progressed according to plan, in so far as was expected of a civilian meeting.

James rubbed his hair, having hints of silver throughout the black. They didn't have Military Haircuts, as per normal regulations. This was as much for the case of the operation as is for the case of Troopers expected to act accordingly in the Peoples environment. Something trained into them long ago, which hadn't left, just to make them seem fitting to normal everyday life. After gazing around the beautiful garden, he sat on a stone bench provided obviously for guests and patrons of the Abby, looking at Keller.

"Mr. Keller, I believe its time we explain why were here in the first place." He smiled, genuine, as Kameko followed suite. "Were here to bring you to Anagonia, and while you have provided information helping us liberate your people, we understand you'd like to see real Freedom." He nodded, "I can give you that, our government can provide housing, perhaps even someone to care for you." He rubbed his chin, "And lots of tea that doesn't get you hyperactive."

Hillsides of Base Camp - Colonel Sid Packers

"Oh God!"

Sid woke up to pain, severe pain. The feeling of a freight train on top of him seemed proper. He could barely move his arms, and his legs were either broken or severely injured beyond use. He started to try to move, but pain so intense shot through his mind that he shed tears. His uniform was partially burned, his face partially scorched, and yet he wondered why he was still among the living. No doubt the blast that sent him flying killed his comrades. He looked at his standard issue marine battle uniform, finding it scorched, finding burned flesh, and blood. Even moving his eyes hurt.

And yet he remembered that face during the bombardment, how he placed a finger to his lips, as if sneaking off, after he tried to kill Sid with an empty weapon. He wondered then what significance that played. He couldn't even think straight right now. His IFF device had been destroyed, literally, and whatever of the device was left strapped to his scorched shirt couldn't be salvaged.

So he faced the horrible facts. He would die here. Not now, perhaps days from now. It was a sad way to go. He was supposed to do so much here, supposed to be part of so much. Those tears turned from pain to sorrow. Marines didn't cry, he tried to remind himself. Not Anagonian Marines. Not us. But he couldn't help it. The sad fact of it all was that he had been undone by his own country, his own brothers.

And he forgave them as he lay there helpless and bleeding, thinking on his life, thinking on what decisions he could have done better, and on what he could have done had he not be struck down.

Beachhead Alpha

After the bombardment, men and women in uniform and of civilian duties were recovered and treated, and equipment was fixed by the huge sandstorm the Battleships had erupted. It was now nearing morning, the sun rising from the east slowly, Helicopters of various types flying around either transporting men and equipment or patrolling. Joint Strike Fighters and Harriers flying in advance towards the desert, then back. No new information had been gained yet by the Operation to discover a way around, a safer way around. So everyone waited, all the while forgetting about their Base's Second-in-Command and crew. The IFF signal had gone off, with all considered he should be back at camp, and no one gave it a second thought.

A makeshift runway for C-130 Hercule's transports had been constructed by equipment, nearly completed beside the makeshift base-camp that was now getting renovations to make it permanent. A makeshift docking area for ships to unload supplies had been constructed too, but that would be refitted later from portable metal supplies to concrete and solid foundations. Perhaps a hundred-thousand troops, equipment, supplies, and military vehicles littered the landscape near and to Thule. Everything was going as planned, with no counter attack expect the early morning sniper incident.

In one particular side, where a portion of permanent foundation for a newer base camp was being constructed, the destiny of a few soldiers had been revealed. They would later find out the information needed to invade the heart of Waldenburg, but that was days off. Now, they talked, conversed, and made ready for the now-classified liberation. Anagonia was being supported by the Drekamythian and Nodea Rudavian economic strengths, and years could follow of occupation. Newer classes of ships were already underway in construction, and were to make welcome in the Meddy waters in several months. For now, however, these three individuals sat beside their M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tank, discussing the days happenings.

Tank Commander Mike Hudson, Sergeant (United Republic Grand Army), sat on the fore of the Tank, the days heat prevented by a large tarp as the ocean winds met to become the deserts wings. Beside him, sitting up from the Drivers hatch, was Tank Navigator Timmy Estabon, Corporal (United Republic Grand Army). On top of the turret sat Gunner Rachiel McKanny, Corporal (United Republic Grand Army), with her brown hair tied back in a professional fashion. All wore their usual military attire, with pistols on their sides, and rifles stored in the tank.

Mike Hudson had a more blunt looking face, like a professional wrestler on steroids, and his figure matched the assumption he could have easily broke bones in a twenty men army. He held himself, however, more in a friendlier fashion. His kind attitude, mixed with his stern ability in command, formed a mixture of likability and loyalty. Timmy Estabon had a narrower face, obviously hispanic, but fluent in english as if born to it. His form was more standard, his abilities coming out more in intelligence and navigation. Normally quiet around other people, his fellow soldiers stationed to the tank he drove were the only ones honored enough to hear and see his openly communicative personality.

Rachiel McKanny looked and talked british. She held an attitude of outgoing formality and adventurous spiriting to the wilderness. Her parents descended from generations of explorers across Anagonia's vast continent, she prided herself in her photographic memory and ability to remember key landmarks that Timmy sometimes missed. Her experience in heavy and light weapons of various grades and types made her invaluable to the crew, and her back-country ways of rigging bullet casings for use created an almost mythical persona around her families history. Her brown hair and beautifully hazel eyes made her the talk of most camps, but never was openly inviting due to her stern personality. Only to the group around her did she allow herself to be seen as she truly was: Curious, Outgoing, and quite cunning about playing practical jokes every now and then.

Sometimes the three would hide away during their off times. It would usually start by Rachiel implying that the two men needed more experience in enjoying the world, savoring Nature. Timmy would usually rebuke by stating the folly of disobeying orders and the possibility of being considered AWOL, going on with ideas on how to remain on the stationed base without causing trouble for himself. Eventually, Mike would pine in his idea that perhaps Rachiel was right, stating that women usually were right, and usually knew how to properly have fun.

This would almost always in Mike regretting his statement about women usually being always right. But he never regretted it, especially now as Mike pinned in to Rachiels idea to escape to the edge of Thule, near the desert, to explore. Which, at this point, Timmy pinned in that perhaps command would be pleased at finding someone taking the initiative, but warning about consequences. All would laugh about it, of course. For the first few minutes no one would do anything. Then they'd start into action.

Which was the situation now, as Mike looked out from the turret hatch and used his binoculars to scan the horizon. Sand behind them as the M1A1's engine roared in defiance at the uneven terrain. Timmy at the helm, driving past possible ditches in the sand, heading towards Thule, or what was left of it. Rachiel sitting below near the turrets loading and ammo storage, watching the displays that showed the outside and quietly admiring her way of always winning in the end.

"See anything?" Rachiels curiosity finally got the better of her as she yelled up to Mike, "Anything the Orbital Optics hadn't seen?"

While the interior of the M1A1 was air-cooled, and had a small storage of food and supplies for human consumption and survivability, Mike whipped his forehead of sweat as the sun somehow managed to make it past the air cooling system at full blast. He sighed, groaning at the heat, then looked down at her from his seat. "Nothing but sand in every direction."

Timmy kept in the interior, where it was cool, and concentrated on the displays that were computer controlled, showing the outside without sand or light interference. Anagonia had made some modern upgrades to the design for crew comfort and survivability, which would have been proper in any military. He heard over the communications system, which was a military mic and earpiece that was standard for crew's of all vehicles. Rachiel obviously ignored her's, preferring the standard vocals while nearly making Timmy go deaf. He gazed outward at the three screens displaying the front and sides of the Abrams, which could be switched to show back or all around view in battle situations. Something caught his eye.

Timmy finally considered it important as he spoke. "Yo, Mikey, one o'clock"

Mike turned his binoculars towards the object, a glint of metal, perhaps something important, buried in the sand. He zoomed in using the electronic features, still nothing. He spoke over the mic. "Rachiel can you zoom in on that?"

Rachiel nodded, going to her gunners seat. The automated loading system that was one of the modifications to the Abrams would take over if she wasn't there. She seated herself, used the electronics on the gunners display to zoom in, and finally sighed in defeat. "Too bright, even for this bucket of bolts eyes."

"Wanna go closer, Capt'n?" Timmy was finally in the mood to explore. Mike chuckled silently, "Bring her in, Number one."

Rachiel rolled her eyes. Boys and Star Trek. It never ceased to amaze her how many recited the lines. And don't even get her started on the vulcan hand gesture.

OOC It sort of grew on me, at first i couldn't really listen to it, but as I needed it for various reasons, some of the incredible stuff showed through.


Gloria Dominicus (http://213.188.106.66/19a02.wma)

Rodenesia:

The Bishop began to nod as if building up steam for some great movement, then he began to shake his head very emphatically and the wheel chair almost started to bounce with his excitement. “You’re going to do it! You’re going to do it! I’m sure you would like me to come to Anagonia and I’m sure, it’s lovely but, I ask you one favor for all that I have done. In exchange, for this information, and anything in the future, let me be there when it happens, let me be there when the Cenobiarch is pushed from his throne, I want to be in Waldenburg for it, I want to tell my departed friends I was there and saw our dreams realized. I will go with you,” his excitement turned to a wheeze, as he began to fumble around the bedside for his few possessions. “right now if you like. I haven’t left this place in six decades, and would like a little freedom for once. Whenever you are prepared take my away, I have been ready for longer than you could imagine.” There was only one bag to pack, one change of cloths, and dozens of books stacked and rammed into the case at any angle. “Will you make me this promise?”

Cogs began to turn around that little room in the most far flung diocese of the Church, tiny cogs that augured the downfall of a great and mighty giant.

Thule:

Simon dashed over the sand his shiny steal coat no doubt catching the morning sun, as his feet slipped and slithered across the shifting ground. It was a bugger to run in and it came undone at the touch of a feather, at night of course the space blankets had been a devious device, but plans had been altered last moment, and to avoid becoming an imprint on a twelve-inch shell, Simon had left his hiding place at full gait and dashed into the desert, towards where he remembered defensive line three to be.

He was taking no precautions in his flight but running at full speed to his support, whatever was fallowing him, constantly reminding himself he was worth so much more alive than dead. It wasn’t much as a comforting thought, as behind him he occasionally could hear whine of a chain gun probing another valley where one of his comrades might have hidden. As Simon threw himself down behind a dune he could swear, if only for a moment he had heard tank treads rumbling over the dunes. Still running, his right hand shot up and ripped the space blanket from his shoulders and tossed it to the light wind hoping that it’s slight movements would confuse any pursuit as to his location. It was a desperate attempt, and after moving about a hundred feet from the slightly dancing space blanket he threw himself to the ground and hoped that the tank crew would not care of one more piece of rubbish floating in the wind. As he lay in the debris his mind began to shift to his comrades, his brother, Felix, was probably dead. Under a small upturned coal cart the man had taken cover and apparently one of the circling helicopters thought that had looked like a good place to hide as well and sprayed it down with two thousand rounds a minute. It had been possible the boy had moved, but ultimately unlikely, and this was however war, and that was never to be forgotten. Though with unusually trembling hands Simon reached for the pistol on his belt, he didn’t know if they would try to take him alive, but he was sure of one thing, he could not outrun an Abrhams. The bolt clicked back on the pistol.

--

Unspecified Location, The High Desert

From high above the drone of turbofans finally announced the arrival of the supply place, one that had been promised nearly a week ago. Like a vulture is search for a place to land it’s load, all it visualized at the given coordinates was sand, miles and miles of sand stretching on for untold lifetimes. To the more perspective and thoughtful pilot this would have been a terrifying prospect, it was at least two hundred miles to the nearest human settlement, you would be dead in seventy, if you had no water. Before the more metaphorical type of philosopher had just stared into it, and eventually needed to be gently propped up when the incredible proportion of the desert hit him.

Such a conundrum had never weighed on the minds of the men of the desert who made their lives amongst the broken rocks and ancient cities, knowing all the secrets and ancient geography of the wasteland. As if at a signal a little flash silver erupted in the desert and flashed twice at the plane, which in turn dipped it’s wings and began to open it’s cargo bay with a roar of claxons. Descent was light and gentle, the rough wind barely effecting the large cargo crates at all as they spiraled to the ground. When they smacked to earth, men appeared out of the dunes rushing at the crates with crowbars and axes, hacking and chopping at the rough wood.

“What has his Majesty sent us?” A commanding figure pushed himself to the front of the smashing horde and peered inside one of the crates, where row after row of smaller wooden boxes were stacked. One was gently pulled out, and small cloth even more gently removed from the side which in bright, clear script read “Harpoon” and in smaller script “This way up.”

It took a moment for the information to spread about the men who eventually paused in their feverish work, this war must be serious, they had never had so much as a RPG before this day, “take them to Thule,” one man shooed his squad back to word, “I imagine there will be a use for them.”


OOC Short one today. Take the Bishop wherever you please. And Yallak asked if he could join on a non military basis, sending adjutants, just short of military intervention? That's okay is it?

Blünderburg

Over Blünderburg the situation degraded quickly, Starfighters, while considered more robust than some early fighters were being swatted out of the air, by both enemy fire, and friendly fire from below. It was considered that the Serene Legion, it it’s capabilities as first responders were essentially as bullet shields until the Imperial air force had taken to wing, tonight however, it seemed there were very few F-35’s in the sky.

“Wings 1-7 you are ordered to engage at point blank range with rockets and cannons, casualties are irrelevant, long live the Cenobiarch!” It was a message sent all to often, in hundreds of situations, but again, was obeyed, as around ninety aircraft barreled into the current cloud bank the Kampferians were occupying and laying down heavy fire with the Lüften Shocker Fragmentation rockets, and twenty millimeters cannons that shredded the sky.

Similarly on the ground longer range ammunition was being brought on line, missiles waiting for locks, rockets were feverishly slotted into pods, and fired where the most recent communications estimated the position of the enemy. Unlike the Serene Legion the few forty F-35’s that were off the ground, were ordered to hand back and pick off any enemy that broke formation in the firefight.
Mediterranican Region
In the skies above Waldenburg

Unfortunately for the Waldenburgers, there would be no chance for them to advance into "point blank range". Under a constant barrage of ATAIM-9 "RAKURAI" (Thunderbolt) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12927244&postcount=24), those lucky enough to advance to within 35 kilometers were promptly met with a ATAIM-8 "TASOGARE" (Nightfall) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12914309&postcount=11) missile. One might find it humorous, to see the endless droves of Waldenburger planes advancing towards the Kampferians and being swatted from the sky, until one noted the horrific loss of life involved. It sparked the question: how far will propaganda drive oneself, and when will self-concisenesses and the survival instinct take over.

In the meantime, the two JSTARS began to pick up RADARS on the ground popping up and attempting to gain locks on the pilots. They synced the necessary launching telemetry to the EA-6B Prowlers who began to drop off their AGM-88 HARM (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AGM-88_HARM) missiles, specifically designed to take out enemy SAM sites. The ones equipped not with missiles but with5 ALQ-99 Tactical Jamming System (TJS) external pods (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AN/ALQ-99) began to target the guided missiles that did launch, and began emitting jamming frequencies immediately. Once more, however, the Kampferians were flying far above the range of anti-aircraft cannon fire and unguided missiles fired from the ground.

Meanwhile, the F-35s would be awaiting the same fate that the Starfighters found: death from beyond visual range. With the AWACS help, the Storkes were able to pick out the fighters from quite the distance. Similarly, since the F-35's had no AWACS support, it was unlikely that they could also target the Storkes. The F-35's had apparently brought a knife to a gunfight, and they were about to learn what a foolish mistake that was. Kampferian pilots began to release another barrage of Thunderbolt missiles at the targets the AWACS fed them. With any luck, this barrage would end with the only result being a GRANDSLAM.

OOC:

Sorry it took so long, had to think of a reply.

IC:

James watched the display of an old man gaining back whatever freedom he lost decades earlier. He wanted to feel happy for him, and he did in some part of his mind, but he had a mission, and the evac chopper would leave without them in the next twenty-four hours if they didn't arrive at the rendezvous point. So he nodded, saying that he would make the promise, and gave a sharp look to Kameko. It was time to leave, time to get the hell out of this place and get this vital piece of information back to the Motherland. The objective was to have this man meet the Chief Governor, and how James would fulfill the promise to Dr. Keller he didn't know.

What he did know was that if Mr. Keller stayed, he'd surely die. That was not in line with his mission objectives. So Kameko and James, and the third Trooper stayed behind Dr. Keller as he followed the lead of his other two Comrades. The Chopper was ten miles distant, where their armor and equipment was. It would take them off the shores of Waldenburg to the Second Fleet's carrier, from there a Chinook specially placed would transport the trio to one of the outlining Outposts, where they would board a civilian airliner that would take them the twelve hour journey back to the Motherland of Anagonia.

But they had to get there first. A truck, standard design pickup for this nation, waited for them outside. As Dr. Keller was guided by the three Soviet Troopers, all of which walked firmly by his side while James kept his belongings in tow, they kept an eye on everyone to make sure no one got suspicious. They would resort to violence to assure Mr. Keller was safely transported.

Thule

The M1A1 sat in idle beside the Space Blanket in the sand, the engine of the tank rumbling quietly as Timmy investigated the blanket, shaking his head. Mike sighed, whipping his forehead while taking his standard issue battle helmet off, pouring some water through his hair, then spitting some out after drinking the rest. Rachiel leaned against the bulkhead of the Abrams, shaking her head at the two, rolling her eyes as she looked around the horizon. Thule, shattered and destroyed, in the distance. The heat creating a fuzzy effect, thankfully none of the three had any lack of water.

Mike looked at Timmy as he investigated the blanket, "Whats the news?"

Timmy shrugged, "Someone had to drop it, probably one of those snipers."

Rachiel gazed, finding foot-tracks through the sand, barely visible. She pointed in the direction they lead. "He went that way."

Mike, not seeing the tracks, obviously look confused. "How do you figure?"

"Cause there be tracks, Cap'n." Timmy pointed at them, Mike sighing as he realized he overlooked something. They all boarded the Abrams again, and it slowly treaded over the soft sand, finding hard points to grab with its treads. The turret swiveled to and fro, the optics of the tank investigating the horizon and where the foot-tracks led to. Eventually, and like from some distant war movie, the Abrams came over a mound and leveled its turret on a position not fifty feet from where it was. Debris of some sort, the Abrams inching closer, slowly now as if expecting some attack.

OOC:

Also, yes, thats fine for you to get support. We already talked, and I approved of it. So its all good!

Viola Quintet K516 (http://qcpages.qc.cuny.edu/~howe/Freshman/Mozart%20Viola%20Quintet%20K%20516%20I.mp3)

Ruydt, Outer Rimwald

In many ways Ruydt was an exact duplicate of Thule, all civic architecture was similar, and the streets were laid out in the same fashion. The same gloom and general cynicism hung over the city like a perceptible cloud, its people going about their duties to the Empire with a sullen distaste for life. Ruydt was however slightly worse than Thule, as it was larger, but much more secluded which is more likely why the eye of the invader had been drawn to hapless Thule. Just under one hundred miles away from Thule and it’s mushroom cloud the citizenry, at first had not understood the concept, but when a few of the more perceptive brought their kin up to date, there was a grim resolve in the air, to resist the invader, and as the Cenobiarch said, let them burn in the deserts. That plan, a massive static defense propagated by the burning heart of the Empire, was perfect for the metropolitan heart of the Empire it however left dangling the coastal and desert cities.

Obligingly the Emperor had shifted the Rimwald Guards IV Army Group from the Rimwald, about thirty miles further down the coast and into Ruydt, which became in a manner of speaking the forward operations base. Just over one million men in total, and thousands of vehicles were stationed around Ruydt, stationed wisely so another nuclear strike would have to stager itself greatly to wipe out the entire unit.

“Major it is a pleasure as always,” over the clink of champagne flutes and the polite laughter and conversation that always permeated such functions, a well dressed, with many feathers and gold braid in evidence, officer approached a much overtly dressed man who leaned gently on a marble railing overlooking the sea. “I did not know you were here, it must have been what two years?”

Jacon Hartlieb saluted lazily, “Six months actually, you were handing out military crosses, slapped me on the back and called me the best soldier you had ever had the pleasure to serve with.”

“Knew it was something like that,” Field Marshall Brian Savant groaned as he shifted his weight to the balustrade, “Sea air agrees with me. I’m not so entirely sure about the salt though,” with one white gloved hand the Marshall made a lazy gesture towards the huge expanse of the Ruydt harbor and cove, where tiny sloops glided silently across the water, and such water, nearly ten miles of salt flats, with salt permeating every inch of land for miles.

“It certainly puts a tang in the air, this however is not my first time in Ruydt, and once you are acquainted with it sir, it becomes familiar.” From behind the two, dancing figures cast their silhouette through the brightly lit halls and onto the city, where the drone of the string quartet was but a distant harassment. “My brother served here, when the Chuckaconians attacked, was killed in that bank,” he pointed to a building that looked no different from any other. “Long time ago now, so please don’t apologize.” To any observer there was informality between the two that did not suit a commanding officer and a staff major, one that would never have been seen in Imperial circles. Jacon Hartlieb however was perhaps the most decorated military officer, having received over twenty five knighthoods at the last count and a list of titles that equally impressed, though when offered instant promotion to Marshall for his actions at the battle of Mintasburg, where he had personally brought down two Chinook helicopters with only his saber and pistol he refused, saying he would take such a offer into consideration when he had earned in. There had, however, arisen an ‘arrangement’ and there was little else said of the matter.

“What do we know of the Anagonians Jacon? I believe you were originally on the team planning the invasion?”

“Yes, though my department was certainly not fact finding, and the natural bias in this situation is,” he waved his hands vaguely in the quickly cooling air, “well their logic is flawed. They are a very large nation with economic hegemony leaking out of their ear holes, but they willingly submitted themselves, to a much smaller nation, one that in the grand scale of things matters very little.”

“Is this the time for an analogy of snakes I believe I have one on me?” the Marshall said wryly, hinting for the Major to continue.

“Apparently there is no hesitation to the use of deadly force to it’s most lethal point, and their mercy seems to be stretched thin enough, I am told they bombed Thule for at least half an hour even after the nuclear strike, and eventually ordered naval bombardment of the city suburbs. We have little hope of understanding such, their paragon is paradoxical, and the morals and eventual goal are equally unknown. There have been several reports filed suggesting the Grand Republic only wishes to use Picitsh connections to slowly consume the nation from the inside, yet I doubt that. There is something we don’t know, and that is something, which can hurt us.”

“For the moment,” a group of other officers, made boisterous off the champagne, stumbled unto the balcony, with a swarm of befeathered women in tow, “ignorance is the least of our worries. I shall see you inside Major, if you can comport yourself to sociability.” As turning the Marshall looked back and spoke again, “And if there is a amazing coup within your heart I have invited an Anagonian to the officers ball, the invitation should be arriving right about now, if the semaphore system is working anyway, you will find out if they are gentlemen at least. A good evening to you major, and a word of advice, a little, don’t try the veal.” With a refined clunk the French doors were opened to the Lord Mayor’s palace, which so pleasantly offered an obliging view of the starching salt marshes and bogs, and in such a fit of hospitality threw an officers banquet the night before a possible attack. It had long been noted that officers of certain class, wish to find a crisis so they may remain refined and cool in the panic. An Anagonian was certainly a panic but fear could always be a boon if directed in the right direction.

--

Thule

Several miles from Simon, who lay cowering in the shadow of a sand dune, the tank had paused momentarily at his blanket and had started moving again, he had perhaps had made a hundred feet on his hands and knees, Alexander von Waldenburg was thinking of his squad. One man confirmed dead, and another two missing more than likely dead. Knee high riding boots were kicked off and thudded against the small table sitting in the outer office of the little bunker. “Who the Hell let the Anagonians have battleships, they probably killed more of their own men than we did,” for a moment the Prince’s mind shifted to the wounded marine he had spared, or more accurately failed to kill, “and we lost three good men.”

Chewing on the eraser of a pencil his adjutant, who had never liked saluting of social rank in general, and since the number of quality secretaries to be found in the desert was a bit scare the issue had been quietly dropped after the first day, “I got the semaphore just a minute ago, it says Simon and Vorunder are still unaccounted for.”

“Cannons rarely take prisoners, if they are not reporting in within the next two hours mark them down as gone, they hardly had enough water as it is.”

“Yes sir,” the secretary stood and without making eye contact began gathering up the prince’s clothing which had been so cast so randomly across the floor, “Some crates have arrived from the capital, and we are waiting till night to move them up, I’m told they are anti shipping missiles, along with some lighter munitions.”

“Fine fine,” the Prince waved his hands disparagingly, the loss of so many men, and on the first day had shocked him hugely, he had never lost more than four on any mission, so this development did not bode well for the future, “I’m sure you can see to it, get them into the mine if possible, let’s see the Anagonians come down there eh?”

“As you say,” a small letter was produced from the desk with a small flourish, “however the Anagonians will be elsewhere tonight.” It was a small card and as the Prince snatched it, the gold lettering glinted off the gas lamps. The Prince read it slowly, then read it again.

“A party?”

“Apparently so, the Anagonians have been promised a one night cease fire should they accept, and of course free passage for their diplomats, and staff officers to Rudyt for the evening.”

“We are throwing a party for the enemy?”

“Apparently it is tradition, I believe in fact the Earl of Ibblestern, while besieged in his castle invited the Cenobiarchs Divine Legion commanders, who were currently on the opposing side of the wall in for his birthday celebration. It was supposed to be a smack o their honor. The Divine Legion brought a cake.”

“What happened?”

“Let us say the cake cut back.” With one hand the secretary grabbed back the letter, “you have been too long a soldier and have spent far more time than is healthy in the desert. Let me take care of this and you rest yourself, we have plans for the morning of course.”

“You are an angel in disguise, a very good disguise,” the Prince yawned suddenly realizing just how tired he really was. “I will take your suggestion wake we in, oh say four hours, I will see these missiles.”

“As you say,” when the prince had left the little office his secretary reclined slightly in his chair and spent a moment twirling his pencil in thought, and reflecting on the power one could obtain by having the letter boxes of important men in his hand. Ideally the man picked up a copy of the semaphore Simon had sent him several minutes earlier, using a small polished mirror handed to every child when they first set foot on the desert. It was one of distress, enemies were chasing him, had nearly caught him, and he requested immediate assistance. If the man could avoid capture for another hour, perhaps things could situate themselves pleasingly.

It was indeed odd how a college educated secretary had come to work for the self styled Prince of the Desert, but when taken in perspective even this was not so odd, when considered that the man had no name. He had been given a number at the department, and a letter W-1, he liked to think of it as important, and it was of course, no Experimental Theologian was useless, all of them had special talents, and all of them had special duties

Less than ten minutes later a solitary mortar shell was fired into Thule, packed with baking power so when it hit the ground it did so in a ten meter tall pillar of white film. Inside, if made slightly illegible was a gilded invitation:

“We would be most honored and obliged if at all possible a senior member of the Anagonian high Command, and his staff would join us at Ruydt House, for a celebration of civility and if the glory of combat. We look forward to your arrival, diplomatic immunity shall be granted to any diplomatic mission, and in the circumstance perhaps a one night ceasefire, the dead must be consecrated in Thule. We are at war but surely we are still gentlemen? There is no need to RSVP, we will carry on with or without your presence. I hope this finds you well in yourself.”

With Regards:
His Excellency Count Sir Brian Savant (OIH) of Fleinisburg CC IV Rimwarld Guards

--

‘Then I shall show them how a Waldenbuger may die,’ exploding out of the dune like a rocket Simon flew at the tank, maybe thirty meters away by now, his pistol laying down complicated firing arcs against the armor. It seemed the crew inside were so startled to be attacked by a man with a pistol that they had not chosen to put a hundred millimeters of steel through him, or hopefully they wished to take him alive. In either case when the pistol had been emptied, a long thin knife was drawn from a sheath, and waved erratically at the approaching armor. Simon said nothing as he ran but simply pumped his legs, hoping for one last kill before the end. Hoping that in a rage of blood he could forget that mining trolley so carelessly riddled with bullets back in Thule. One last kill for the Empire, one last kill for his Prince.

--

Blünderburg

In great pillars of flame the Starfighters were being driven from the sky, their wreckage smashing to the city below where their fuel oil formed flaming patina pushing though even the cloud cover to light up the night. Civil Defense was even now rolling out consecutively bigger weapons, and launching them, some of the larger rockets, based of ICBMs, and more closely resembling V-2's then conventional rockets, were absolutely massive and stuffed with ball bearings that dispersed for hundreds of feet once in the air. As flaming wreckage fell the missiles began to rise, in greater and greater numbers, simply guided on range and guess work from below.

Around the area of combat the F-35's saw little use, as the Starfighters rarely made it to cannon range and those few who did only managed by pinwheeling across the sky as if hit and surrendering all control over their aircraft to luck and hope. This was very representative of the night in general.


OOC Yeah, he said he had, but I just wanted to be sure, hopefully he'll get on soon. You probably know this too, but a whole handful of your puppets just died, can't get at em' still I assume?

Kampf just keep doing what your doing, I wasn't expecting to put
up a fight over multiply posts, so essentially we'll just be rolling out larger versions of the same thing, rockets, aircraft ect.

OOC:

Yo ho ho. This is Anagonia to everyone, including Mr, Waldenburg. I've been busy IRL with changing jobs and dealing with computer problems. I have no idea when I'll be back full force again. Tanara, if you read this, thank you for taking care of things, and I hope to see and/or talk to you soon.

Waldenburg, everything piled on so suddenly I had no time to do anything. Either way, my friends computer is fixed, so I'll try to be on more often, and we'll finish this is style if you want to.

Thanks for not killing me yet!
-Anagonia

Thought we had lost you there! Welcome back and good luck with the computer and the job! If you're still up for finishing this Rp then excellent, I'll see if I can pick up where we were at.

Thought we had lost you there! Welcome back and good luck with the computer and the job! If you're still up for finishing this Rp then excellent, I'll see if I can pick up where we were at.

Sure thing! I suggest we start where we left off, expect perhaps with a newer tone to things. Perhaps like turning the page to a different chapter, if you get my drift.

Either way, I'm up for it! I'll try to be on more, no promises, this job is demanding, but I'll be here!

Thanks for keeping it alive waldenburg. Let's finish it soon.

OOC Not sure I do, but looking back at the last post, it seems the ball is in your court, so take your pick there weather to follow to that tact or another.