Kargucagstan
20-06-2008, 23:21
OOC: This is a separate theater in the same was as the RP "Too Pure an Air" and is closed to everyone not involved in that conflict. Also, Krendakov is often missing so I don't know if he will post. I will try and contact him as I have in the past, but if he doesn't I will RP realistic losses for my forces.
IC:
Kargucagstan-Krendakov Border
June 20th
Field Marshall Bacchus Balthasar, recently promoted following the Mediterranican crisis, stood immobile atop Mt. Stygian, the highest peak in the range that bore its name. Behind him lay the barren rock of the foothills, and in front a sharp drop down to the heat-baked prairies of Krendakov. A single engine civilian aircraft could just be seen on the horizon, rays of the noonday sun glinting off of its polished wings.
“Field Marshall, we are ready to move out.” The messenger passed a data slate to his commander, containing the exact permissions needed to confirm the go-ahead. The officer nodded and adjusted the brim of his cap.
“Very well. Signal the men forward.”
“Sir, right away.” A gust of chill wind swept overhead as the lone civilian airplane was joined by the darting white shapes of the first Fascist aircraft to cross into Krendakov’s airspace, columns of dust rising from the treads of armored columns in the passes far below.
War room of the Headquarters of the Kargucagstani New People’s Party
“Generals, we have received word that our forces are moving into Krendakov as we speak.”
“Excellent,” grinned General Chrysander Alexis as he leaned over the digital map. The red icons representing Conglomerate forces on the map began to move, slowly, as the view was quite pulled back. “Gentlemen,” said Alexis as he motioned towards the map, “as you are doubtless all aware, we have been gradually mobilizing our forces over the past several months in preparation of assaulting Krendakov, amassing a sizeable portion of our potential active military along our shared border. Now, this conflict between the Doomani’s and the Questerians is the perfect excuse for us to move. But why stop there? If we can blitz over Krendakov, divide and conquer, we can make it to the borders of Clandonia in a month or less, for while we are temporarily without the aid of our Nukewealth allies, certain other powers with significantly less scruples are willing to assist us.”
“Such as?” queried Lieutenant General Lykurgaus.
“Thuch az Nuvehcom,” replied the stranger in the room. All of the other men knew each other, but the identity of this last addition to the cabal was unknown. At least until now.
“This is Senvhacanian Tikrenias Vorenzai, representing the government of Novacom.” Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged briefly before the conversation resumed. “Mr. Vorenzai here is with us today to discuss possible reinforcements from his state. Mr. Vorenzai, you have our attention.”
‘Zank yu, Shenerel Elexis.” The Novan clapped him on the shoulder and turned to face the assembled military minds. “I uill be blief. Novacom hathes Clandonia and havs bean luking to atthack it for quite some time. This is ze perfect oppartunety. We are willing to match yur deployment mhan for mhan, plaune for plaune, tahnk for tahnk, guan for guan. If yu march to Warminster then we will be there. If yu should stumble, we will hold the line. In other words,” he paused, “we are here to assist.”
The room was quiet as the men mulled over this information. Finally one of the generals expressed his nation’s thanks and reached for the intercom. The Kyrios must be informed that all was going well. The meeting broke up with cheers of, “To Warminster!”
Media room of the Headquarters of the Kargucagstani New People’s Party
Michael Allen Delphi brushed off his wool greatcoat and adjusted his somber navy tie. He had just got off the phone with his war room and was pleased to discover that little of his pre-prepared speech had to be altered. The lights shone directly in his eyes, but he didn’t flinch. Decades of rule had given him a steel glare and an iron jaw, his craggy features immune to the unyielding eye of the press. The man behind the camera was signaling the countdown until the broadcast began. He held up five fingers, four. Michael stared unflinchingly into the lens, hands placed on the podium sides. Two, one, rolling. “People of the Neo-Fascist Conglomerate of Kargucagstan,” he began, “I bring to you tonight grave words.”
“As of one hour ago, the forces of our Great State began to move against the powerless Communist oppressor on our border. It is not with fear that I say this, no, it is with pride, for I have walked among you for the entirety of my life and I have seen the true mettle of your souls tested, and proven, time and time again! We have faced the onslaught of the world and prevailed, and now it is time to do it once more!” He paused for effect, his fists clenched on the edges of the podium, knuckles white.
“The people of Krendakov will thank us for our valiant sacrifices in the coming weeks and months, for there will be sacrifices, but already our troops are greeted with warmth by the border communities, so long under the thumb of the Godless left. In this time of change we must remember that faith in the State is the only guaranteed means of safety. It is not the timid or the weak that make history, but the strong and the brave, those willing to brace themselves against the tides of evil and, with a flame in their hearts and a song on their lips, to push back, to press the darkness from the realm. It is this sacred task that we do today.”
“This is not, as some would have you believe, a war between pro-slavery forces and those opposed to them. Rather, this is a struggle over the right to rule, whether power belongs with the man in the street or the trained leader. The choice is clear. Some do not see it the way we do, however. Members of our own alliance, the Nuclear Commonwealth, have or will side with the Marxists of Questers, and to these I have a message: The people of Kargucagstan will not force you to change your views, but rather allow you to see the error of your ways in your own time. Those that backstab us, however, we will strike, we will rend. We will march on their farms. We will march on their cities. We will march on their capital. We will march on their graves.” Michael placed great emphasis on this last word, letting it loll off of his pallid tongue, dripping with contempt. “The boots of our men will crush the purposeless ones as we strive to unite our peoples together, just as we are meant to be.” He straightened his back for dramatic effect before once again speaking.
“I will not speak for long, as I know you lead busy lives. Who doesn’t, in these times? But if you remember nothing from this speech but what I am about to say, that will suffice: Have faith in the State, for the State is all that stands between chaos and order. Thank you.” The lights shut off, the room filled with applause, and a smile crept its way across the craggy face of the most powerful man in a country of giants.
IC:
Kargucagstan-Krendakov Border
June 20th
Field Marshall Bacchus Balthasar, recently promoted following the Mediterranican crisis, stood immobile atop Mt. Stygian, the highest peak in the range that bore its name. Behind him lay the barren rock of the foothills, and in front a sharp drop down to the heat-baked prairies of Krendakov. A single engine civilian aircraft could just be seen on the horizon, rays of the noonday sun glinting off of its polished wings.
“Field Marshall, we are ready to move out.” The messenger passed a data slate to his commander, containing the exact permissions needed to confirm the go-ahead. The officer nodded and adjusted the brim of his cap.
“Very well. Signal the men forward.”
“Sir, right away.” A gust of chill wind swept overhead as the lone civilian airplane was joined by the darting white shapes of the first Fascist aircraft to cross into Krendakov’s airspace, columns of dust rising from the treads of armored columns in the passes far below.
War room of the Headquarters of the Kargucagstani New People’s Party
“Generals, we have received word that our forces are moving into Krendakov as we speak.”
“Excellent,” grinned General Chrysander Alexis as he leaned over the digital map. The red icons representing Conglomerate forces on the map began to move, slowly, as the view was quite pulled back. “Gentlemen,” said Alexis as he motioned towards the map, “as you are doubtless all aware, we have been gradually mobilizing our forces over the past several months in preparation of assaulting Krendakov, amassing a sizeable portion of our potential active military along our shared border. Now, this conflict between the Doomani’s and the Questerians is the perfect excuse for us to move. But why stop there? If we can blitz over Krendakov, divide and conquer, we can make it to the borders of Clandonia in a month or less, for while we are temporarily without the aid of our Nukewealth allies, certain other powers with significantly less scruples are willing to assist us.”
“Such as?” queried Lieutenant General Lykurgaus.
“Thuch az Nuvehcom,” replied the stranger in the room. All of the other men knew each other, but the identity of this last addition to the cabal was unknown. At least until now.
“This is Senvhacanian Tikrenias Vorenzai, representing the government of Novacom.” Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged briefly before the conversation resumed. “Mr. Vorenzai here is with us today to discuss possible reinforcements from his state. Mr. Vorenzai, you have our attention.”
‘Zank yu, Shenerel Elexis.” The Novan clapped him on the shoulder and turned to face the assembled military minds. “I uill be blief. Novacom hathes Clandonia and havs bean luking to atthack it for quite some time. This is ze perfect oppartunety. We are willing to match yur deployment mhan for mhan, plaune for plaune, tahnk for tahnk, guan for guan. If yu march to Warminster then we will be there. If yu should stumble, we will hold the line. In other words,” he paused, “we are here to assist.”
The room was quiet as the men mulled over this information. Finally one of the generals expressed his nation’s thanks and reached for the intercom. The Kyrios must be informed that all was going well. The meeting broke up with cheers of, “To Warminster!”
Media room of the Headquarters of the Kargucagstani New People’s Party
Michael Allen Delphi brushed off his wool greatcoat and adjusted his somber navy tie. He had just got off the phone with his war room and was pleased to discover that little of his pre-prepared speech had to be altered. The lights shone directly in his eyes, but he didn’t flinch. Decades of rule had given him a steel glare and an iron jaw, his craggy features immune to the unyielding eye of the press. The man behind the camera was signaling the countdown until the broadcast began. He held up five fingers, four. Michael stared unflinchingly into the lens, hands placed on the podium sides. Two, one, rolling. “People of the Neo-Fascist Conglomerate of Kargucagstan,” he began, “I bring to you tonight grave words.”
“As of one hour ago, the forces of our Great State began to move against the powerless Communist oppressor on our border. It is not with fear that I say this, no, it is with pride, for I have walked among you for the entirety of my life and I have seen the true mettle of your souls tested, and proven, time and time again! We have faced the onslaught of the world and prevailed, and now it is time to do it once more!” He paused for effect, his fists clenched on the edges of the podium, knuckles white.
“The people of Krendakov will thank us for our valiant sacrifices in the coming weeks and months, for there will be sacrifices, but already our troops are greeted with warmth by the border communities, so long under the thumb of the Godless left. In this time of change we must remember that faith in the State is the only guaranteed means of safety. It is not the timid or the weak that make history, but the strong and the brave, those willing to brace themselves against the tides of evil and, with a flame in their hearts and a song on their lips, to push back, to press the darkness from the realm. It is this sacred task that we do today.”
“This is not, as some would have you believe, a war between pro-slavery forces and those opposed to them. Rather, this is a struggle over the right to rule, whether power belongs with the man in the street or the trained leader. The choice is clear. Some do not see it the way we do, however. Members of our own alliance, the Nuclear Commonwealth, have or will side with the Marxists of Questers, and to these I have a message: The people of Kargucagstan will not force you to change your views, but rather allow you to see the error of your ways in your own time. Those that backstab us, however, we will strike, we will rend. We will march on their farms. We will march on their cities. We will march on their capital. We will march on their graves.” Michael placed great emphasis on this last word, letting it loll off of his pallid tongue, dripping with contempt. “The boots of our men will crush the purposeless ones as we strive to unite our peoples together, just as we are meant to be.” He straightened his back for dramatic effect before once again speaking.
“I will not speak for long, as I know you lead busy lives. Who doesn’t, in these times? But if you remember nothing from this speech but what I am about to say, that will suffice: Have faith in the State, for the State is all that stands between chaos and order. Thank you.” The lights shut off, the room filled with applause, and a smile crept its way across the craggy face of the most powerful man in a country of giants.