NationStates Jolt Archive

Elections Produce Coalition, Black PM

History was made late last night as for the first time in the nation's history, a coalition was formed in Parliament and a black man appointed Prime Minister.

At midnight Mainland Time, the final polls closed. By 4 AM it was clear that the Parliamentary breakdown would be extremely close. Nobody, however, could predict how close it would be.

Both the Liberal and Tory parties won exactly 225 seats, or 45% of the vote. The remaining 50 seats were scattered among Labour, Nationalist, Christian Socialist and Communist delegates.

In response, His Majesty afforded The Honorable the House of Commons Assembled 24 hours to present a Prime Minister candidate. Six hours later, Rt. Hon. Stanley Freeman, MP for Hudson North End, was standing before His Majesty to take the oath of office and kiss hands.

Freeman, a black man originally from Maasailand, has been in Parliament for Hudson North since 2002, when he replaced Jacob Moresby, who was convicted of fraud and embezzlement. Prior to his career in politics, he was a professor at Riverdale University in Riverdale, a medium-sized city 50km north of Hudson. Freeman is 58 years of age, born Ntoros Ole Tome. He took his current name when he converted to Christianity following his parents' death at age 12 and his subsequent adoption by businessman George Howell.

Freeman has yet to fully name his Government, but is expected to have candidates presented to His Majesty by week's end and has stated that he will make an effort to balance the front bench as much as possible between his own Liberal Party and the Tories.

When asked about security, Freeman said that he had every confidence in his bodyguards, but that he had consulted with several foreign contractors at the advice of friends and colleagues.

"I would hope that certain nations have moved beyond their barbaric and antiquated conceptions of what a black man can and cannot do, but all the same I am ready for whatever may come and I will not bow to terrorism or threats," he said in his acceptance speech.

Freeman has inherited one major problem from his predecessor however: the colonization of King Richard Island, which in recent weeks has become the sight of a major clash between Doomani troops and Task Force 14 of the Royal Prestonian Navy. At his speech today Freeman stated that he had no intention of prolonging the fight.

"It is at this time impossible to decisively defeat the Doomani and claim King Richard Island as our own. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the immediate withdrawal of all assets committed to the engagement. It is a sad day when the forces of tyranny triumph over the forces of liberty, but it will be a sadder day still when more lives are lost in an unwinnable conflict," he stated.

Freeman is scheduled to open his first official session of Parliament as Prime Minister tomorrow.

© 2008 Prestonian Broadcasting Group. www.pbg.co.pr/news/politics/electionresults.htm

Prestonia Changes Course
New PM faces tough days ahead
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Orders withdrawal from King Richard Island
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The respected nation of Prestonia has a new Prime Minister and a new Parliament following a highly contested general election that resulted in a perfect split down the middle. The Liberal and Tory parties each control 225 seats within the House of Commons, an outcome that few saw coming. While the remaining 10% are divided between Prestonia's smaller parties, this is nevertheless a first for Prestonia and has led to the formation of a coalition within the House.

The House of Commons convened and shortly thereafter nominated Stanley Freeman to direct Prestonia through the challenges ahead. Mr. Freeman, a man of African descent who flourished despite facing considerable adversity in his earlier life, is a former university professor whose rise through politics began only six years ago. He is a man with strong Christian beliefs, although he generally keeps his views private. Mr. Freeman is the first black man to hold such a position within Prestonian society, and despite lingering racial discrimination and fears that he would be targeted for assassination throughout his political career he has repeatedly refused calls for restrictive security precautions.

The appointment of Stanley Freeman and the outcome of the election in general was heralded throughout the Republic of Ancient Terra as a wonderful example of the parliamentary system in action. Fuku Mitsutarō, Terra's Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, issued a short statement "congratulating Prestonia's new coalition" and "hoping for a continuation of excellent relations between our respected nations". Although neither Prime Minister Talus Karn nor Emperor Kamiya could be reached for comment, aides claimed that both had called to "offer their congratulations to Mr. Freeman".

Although some have expressed concern that such a divided government would be slow to respond in the event of a crisis, others have dismissed these claims; Shigeru Yoshida, a venerable and well-known member of Terra's ruling Liberal Democratic party, had this to say: "The Prestonians have long been one of the most respected peoples of Haven, and if this government is their will then I have no doubt that it will rise to meet the challenges ahead admirably."

These challenges include discontent over the controversial campaign to retake King Richard Island and, unfortunately, the revelation that Terra's own Sugitomo Heavy Industries (NSSE: SUHI) is being investigated for allegations of bribery by nearly a dozen nations, including Prestonia. Reportedly, as much as $14 Billion Terran Credits have been spent "off the books" to secure orders from both governments and prominent civilian corporations. A massive commercial development is currently being constructed in Prestonia by none other than SuHI, who unexpectedly won the contract despite competition from several Prestonian and Multinational Corporations; investigators have cited this as a "likely" incident of bribery, and the slow, over-budget project has been blasted in recent weeks by Prestonia's media. Sugitomo's stock, already reeling from the loss of a key jet engine contract to a Kanagawa Heavy Industries (NSSE: KHI)(Link: KNP-140 (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=13054106)), fell another 6% (22 points) on news of the investigations.

© Heisei 20, Ancient Terran News Network.

Pretoria, Clandonian South Haven

In the colonial capital of the Clandonian Crown Colony whispers amongst the Imperial Staff and Colonial Civil Service had spread to the white population. Across the border only some 200 km's an anthesis to their very way of life and civil society had been born, a negroid as head of the executive in a country that was viewed with a certain amount of suspicion. CSH was a mainly rural colony, a good percentage of all the Empires livestock production was based in the lush tropical lands where once tropical rainforest had stood, now felled with vast grasslands providing grazing material for literally billions of cattle, sheep and pigs along with other animals and rare safaria game like zebra, rhinos and lions. The racial mix of the population was a highly contentious issues, a lot of black farm workers that herded cattle for the rich white cattle ranchers in their villas protected by electric gates, CCTV and armed to the teeth. Years of colonial uprest and black communism had plagued the authorities with cattle rustling and piracy creating a problem. The stern hand of the white man and the Crowns Colonial Forces had resolved much of the problems, the leaders had been disappeared ofand the dark life of the colony much unknown to Clandonians back in the Home Nations, the only notification were the 'Produced in Clandonian South Haven' labels on meat from butchers in the supermarket or shops of Warminster and the county towns across Haven.Now their worse fears had been met, a negro leader in Prestonia could provide a role model for the poor black socialists that moved manure in the fields around Pretoria, to take up arms and attack the white minority administration. Such a deeply conservative region would not take such major change overnight, something would be done.

An urgent message was dispatched, chatter in the country clubs and white only bars and restaurants, Clandonian South Haven was not normal and very different to the Home Lands more likened to Questers than relatively liberal Clandonia and the other colonies. Requesting information from the Foreign Office the Governor General Lord Tatton ordered his own troops and security services to up their alert level, with a considerable level of Clandonian forces in the country some 400,000 men on training for deployment to Cotland to relieve the current RGL garrison he asked Warminster for command authority should the situation deteriorate.

Hundreds of MI6 operatives and Special Air Service personal had been placed on standby and were already preparing to go at RAF Northfield for a HAHO jump, all were trained for the specialist high altitude and high opening jumps that would insert them into Prestonia. Others with more discrete profiles would move in by the land border or fly from Clandonia, their mission to gather intelligence and ultimately terminate the newly elected Prime Minister Stanley Freeman.


Lyme Hall, Southern Home Counties, Clandonia

With a summer recess and some war in a far off place the PM had taken his duty in August to enjoy the remainder of the weeks before the return to Westminster in mid September to enjoy time at his families estate. Enjoying the new hunting season with hunts for pheasant in the woods and grouse on the moorlands in the estates grounds. A urgent phone call interupted the afternoons shoot Sir David was passed the satellite phone that was connected by a secure link to Lord Tatton in his villa outside Pretoria. He sounded faint, unsure if it was the signal or the mans health was risky the Prime Minister listened in.

"Hello Sir, what is this trouble." Asked the PM putting his hand to the other ear and the guns of his family and friends continued on firing.

"News is just coming in of what is effectively 'regime change' in Prestonia, a negroid David for Gods sake."

"Yes, I've just been informed it is of concern but you have two field armies there and four hundred ships off the coast."

"Its not just that, we are picking up a lot of intelligence and there is a concern Prime Minister to the security of the Crown, various black communist cells have been pinpointed in the jungles along the border places so thick that our border patrols can't get through."

The guns fell silent, you could here the sound as the cartridges hit the floor and the Springer Spaniel gundogs ran to collect their masters kill. A light rain had started to fall as the cloud rolled across the moor.

"I've read the intelligence documents this morning, MI6 indicates that our in country agents have assumed their roles and we are monitoring Prestonian communications from the listening post at RAF Northfield in South Haven."

"Prime Minister, I need your authority to authorise MI6 commanders to begin the operation."

"Make it so Lord Tatton."

The PM flipped the phone close and handed it back to his loader as he took up his side by side and loaded two new cartridges and aimed it at the grouse that had been driven towards the group.


RAF Northfield, North Eastern CSH, 100 km's from Prestonian Border

Four RAF C-130J Hercules aircraft were in the large concrete hangers, being loaded with special operations gear, weapons by technicians and load masters. The special operatives were to be dropped in two main places, the first would skirt along the border to land in rural areas in plain clothes to board trains to Hudson awaiting further instructions. The other team would skirt along the coast and drop off the men by HAHO near the Cottish island of Koranger on the Western coast.

At 0300 hours, not long after the official announcement by the Prestonian media the aircraft set off to deploy their packages. For the rest of the Clandonian forces their commanders were ordered to move towards the Prestonian border to conduct safeguarding of the border and also to prepare for a possible humanitarian situation of white Prestonians fleeing across the border to escape the black tyranny. Many soldiers were born and bred in South Haven in their families plantations and ranches, brought up to fear the blecks and kaffirs with many seeing at first hand the problems of race. Black communist uprisings and attacks on white farmsteads, rape, looting and rustling of cattle had scared many for life and if this black nationalist wave spread the land seizures they had feared could happen once again. Elsewhere the eighteen RAF Expeditionary Bomber Wings and Clandonian South Haven Colonial Air Force were placed on standby along with the eight hundred ships of the Royal Navy's Force H that acted as a vanguard for Clandonian assets in the busy lines of communication in the Strobovian Strait.

http://i101.photobucket.com/albums/m44/rosdivan/1152ccab.gif
Their Just Desserts
An editorial by James Wortinger

In a historic occasion, the Royal Dominion of Prestonia, a medium-sized nation noted for its extremely important strategic location on the Strobovian Strait, has appointed its first black prime minister. It is refreshing to see other nations rediscover the ancient truth that all men, regardless of their color or ethnicity, are created in the image of God.

Sadly, this illustrious development has been tainted by the ancient and hidden sin of Haven: Rampant racism. Many nations that, for whatever reason, are held to be in high esteem by many in the Havenic continental cluster, hold to the disgusting, outdated, and, quite frankly, nonsensical notions that one ethnic background, usually Caucasian, is superior to another. Such do we see in the bordering territory of Clandonian South Haven.

Far from congratulations or support, these far removed Clandonians have nothing but revulsion for Prime Minister Stanley Freeman. Bring the subject up in any of the appallingly segregated "whites only" pubs or coffeehouses and the ruling white Clandonians express, nearly unanimously, express shock, horror, disgust, and fear.

Why fear? Prestonia, is, after all, a peaceful nation and the new government, especially as it is a coalition, shows no sign of being hostile to Clandonia or its interests. Yet sources in the Colonial Defense Ministry report the movement of large scale Clandonian military forces towards their border with Prestonia.

This fear is the direct result of the Clandonian belief in their superiority and their oppression of the black populace. This oppression has led to a nasty series of insurgencies and terrorist attacks by members of the black community against the ruling class. Thus, the election of a black prime minister in neighboring Prestonia inspires fear that it may serve to remind their black populace that they too are made in the image of God and have every claim to the same rights and privileges as any other human being, including those who have appointed themselves masters over them. It is, in short, a fear that those they have oppressed truly are human and will respond as mankind typically does to tyranny.

And what part shall we play in this? Certainly we laud the recent Prestonian appointment. But shall we stop there, or shall we take advantage of this opportunity to help increase freedom, human rights, and the progress of liberty within our Havenic neighbors? I submit that we ought to actualize these fears. Let us take hold of our media assets and flood the downtrodden of Clandonian South Haven with news of the success of their brethren and of the opportunities and rights that belong to them. If they must seize and enforce these rights through force, then let us open our armories to them. If the Clandonians insist on oppression, then let them pay the cost of oppression, in their own blood and the lives of their sons. If they will not love their fellow man, then let them fear him; aye, let them fear him indeed.

Presto-Clandonian Border
0330 Hours

"Sarge. Hey, Sarge! What the fuck was that?" Corporal Lance Davis whispered hurriedly to his squad leader, hoping he wasn't the only one to notice the two parachutes dropping out of the sky about 600 meters away.

"Fuck if I know Davis, lemme take a look," the sergeant, a 21 year old man by the name of Sam Morrison said, grabbing his nightvision goggles and activating them. Sure enough, two figures stood out in the meadow below the hill that Morrison's 10-man squad was laying on. The squad was part of the Royal Prestonian Home Guards, or RPHG for short, and this was the last thing they had expected on what was supposed to be a routine field exercise. Nevertheless, they were ready.

"So what the fuck is it anyway Sarge?," Davis inquired in a hoarse whisper, taking his PR91 off safe.

"Bogies. Two of them, by the look of it. Don't know who the fuck they are but one thing's for sure, they've no business here. Davis, take your team down the right side of the hill. I'll take my team down the left. Try to take them alive but don't get yourselves killed. We outnumber them so with any luck and sense they shouldn't try duking it out with us."

"All right, now. Davis, deploy flashbang. When it goes, everyone break. Let's make this fast." No sooner had Sgt. Morrison said this than Cpl. Davis threw his grenade, which emitted a loud bang and blinding light a few seconds later. By that time, the troops were down the hill, weapons pointed at the two intruders. It was up to them to make the next move.

OOC: Your other infiltration will be taken care of in the next post.

The two men were both special operatives, one was a member of 3 Para and one was a Special Air Force officer. Both were in Clandonian Combat 2000 jungle DPM. The SAS officer had a DR-83ML with a LGFM under barrel grenade launcher slung neatly underneath it. The other soldier had a DRS-83 DMR, scoping out in the darkness as soon as they cut their chutes, covering them up in a standard way. There was no real evidence on the parachutes of their nationality, just a general issue advance nylon and polymer made material. The flash bang startled the men blinding them temporarily through their night enhancement goggles. The men had lost their six other comrades, a four man SAS squad with two Para's to provide communications and act as a forward air controller if things went hairy, two had drifted in the high winds and were attempting to locate the others with the GPS trackers.

Scrambling for cover they began firing their weaponry while calling for aid pressing their throat microphones to try and get support from other Clandonian units. The SAS soldier launched a fragmentation grenade while the para pulled out his 20 mm launcher loading a smoke to try and cover their retreat while he laid a trap, an empty dump bag with a pressure switch leading to two claymore devices. The usual Prestonian conscript would easily fall for the cunning work of the Clandonian special forces as they made their retreat into the darkness of the woodland. Meanwhile at base operations at RAF Northfield mission commanders listening in via satellite communications put on alert a RAC-201 Shrike that was scrambled should the pair need air cover along with a pair of ACI.37M Corvus attack helicopters.

The mission could not be scrubbed so early on, a blow to their cover could provide the Prestonians with a legitimate reason to declare war or cause dissent amongst the negroes in Clandonian South Haven.

The Clandonians were evidently well-trained, much to the surprise of the RPHG squad which had took them for regular army. They seemed to be caught somewhat off guard, but quickly recollected themselves and opened fire, wounding three with their fire and grenade shrapnel before collapsing back into the jungle. Morrison considered pursuing them, but thought better of it, realizing that where there was smoke, there was most certainly fire and that fire was probably waiting in the jungle to ambush his men.

"All right guys, form up. We've got 'em running scared but we still don't know who the fuck they are. Time to call in some backup I think," Morrison said to his assembled squad, before getting on the radio to his base.

"Ft. Victor this is Morrison, we just took fire from an unknown source at grid 013 465. They fell back into the jungle and we need a search team out here. Have reason to believe they may be operatives from Clandonian South Haven, over." A few seconds later, the affirmative came back, after which Morrison and his men were directed to return to base. Their fight was over, for now.

5 Minutes Later
Maj. Kevin Reilly cut the speed on his Sopwith Saracen and began circling the area, keeping watch for the AH-64 Apache Longbow helicopter 500 feet below him, which was IR scanning the area for any sign of the bogies. They could not have gotten far in such short time, but with the thick canopy of the jungle obscuring IR readouts and the floor offering plenty of hiding places, prospects of finding the men were slim without people on the ground casing the area.

Fortunately for the Prestonians, there were indeed people on the ground casing the area. Two squads, or twenty men, were responsible for covering the 10 square kilometer grid where it was believed the enemy was hiding. This was a dangerous job, as even with night vision goggles and air support, the thick jungle was a perfect ambush setup. As a result, the search party was moving slowly and deliberately, affording the enemy plenty of time to extract. Time was working against them.

238km From Southampton
West-Central Prestonia
0400 Hours

The Clandonian fireteam assigned to this sector had gotten extremely lucky, dropping in a wide open field far removed from any civilization or military outpost. The wing of Saracens on patrol in this part of the country had just landed, and the next shift was not scheduled to take off for another 30 minutes. The transport did not seem any cause for concern, as most assumed she was heading north to Questers or perhaps Bruxella. A few hundred meters away lay a train track, which if followed south would take the Clandonians toward Southampton, and if followed north would eventually lead to the small town of Slayton, though this was approximately 150km away. With the next train not due for another 20 minutes, the Clandonians would be waiting awhile if they had any thoughts of train-hopping.

Cloyster Coast Military Camp, 3:45 AM

“Battalion Forty-Five! Sudanese Volunteer!” - the commander bellowed. - “Get the fuck up! Get your rifles! To your hangars, go, go, go! Twenty-five minutes!”

And so, within thirty minutes – allowing for the usual feet-draggers – the Battalion, and indeed the entire 1145th Sudanese Volunteer Rifles division was already in its vehicle hangars, standing by their IFVs, bayonets glinting dimply in the light of hangar projectors.

“SOLDIERS!” - the division commander's voice roared through loudspeakers in every single vehicle hangar. - “We have received intellegence data of an increased military threat to our allies the Prestonians. As of three zero zero Liberty-City Time, the nature of the threat remains classified. However, we, and our friends in the 1009th Depopulators' division, have been ordered to deploy to Central Prestonia, to assist our allies.”

He did not say that even as he spoke, the 19th Airborne Division was already in the air, dozens of heavy cargo aircraft travelling across Cloyster bay. He did not say that even as he spoke, 400,000 Clandonians were massing on the Prestonian border.

“Soldiers! We will travel in trains marked as carrying “Medical Supplies.” You will have to remain as quiet as you can possibly be throughout the journey. If you can try and sleep, that'd be fucking perfect.”

Before anybody could digest this bit of information, the Allanean finished his speech:

“TROOPS! TO YOUR VEHICLES!”

Allanean-Northford border, an hour later

There was not much travel between Northford and the giant military base that was the Cloyster Coast Military Camp. There was, however, a symbolic checkpoint, manned by a few Northfordian diplomats, liason personnel, and a few bored border patrol agents.

So there was not much manpower available to search the large green train cars marked MEDICAL EQUIPMENT DO NOT DISTURB. When sniffer dogs barked at the cars, the Allaneans explained it was the smell of medical supplies within. And of course, the stern, white-coated men standing upon the entrances of the cars were doctors and nurses. Really.

The Northfordian checkpoint did not have the manpower, the equipment, or the desire to search the eight long supply trains that passed through in this fashion. And so through they came.

RAF Northfield, Clandonian South Haven

"General, the Prestonians have scrambled aircraft and helicopter gunships to the border area. The forest is thick and its unlikely now with dawn approaching that they will be able to detect them. On the other hand our forces have made landing on the West coast."

"Excellent, what is the news to the East of the Allanean forces?"

"They have mobilised some of what they call 'armed forces', a ragged bunch of over equipped monkeys and have begun moving them through the land border of Northford to either have a go at us or reinforce the Prestoniods. Some sort of medical train or disguise, very cowardly and treacherous indeed sir."


As dawn approached the base and its forces went to an increased level of standby, the Clandonian B-22 Colonial Wing with its 48 heavy bombers that made up the strategic wing and the other strike wings that made up the Crowns Coastal Command in conjunction with the Fleet Air Arm. If the Allaneans did intervene the small colony could be overrun very quickly on land, with the border with Northland there were little in terms of defences due to the friendly relations each country had with each other. The railracks that crossed both nations had little in the form of customs office was much freight was pre-checked and pre-approved.


Clandonian-Prestonian Border 0400 Hours

An hour after insertion and the two soldiers had met up with the rest of their six man fireteam. They needed to get a move on and find transportation and ditch their insertion gear, their weapons had been crafted to fit snugly into regular cases that would be classed as carry on baggage for trains which they planned to get, avoiding tight airport security x-ray scanners and metal detectors that would quickly find their military grade automatic weaponry. Perhaps commender a civilian car, a quick burst of the silenced DR-87M through the side window or to hot wire one in the early hours of the morning would aid their teams progress to the capital.

If their mission was scrubbed a helicopter squadron and parachute battalion was on standby to extract them, if the worst came to the worst they had suicide pills sewn into their jackets... Coming across one of the small border towns the men looked for a older car, easier to steal with the weak locking system and the likelihood it wouldn't have a tracker or car alarm. In the early hours of the morning while people slept the last few hours of the night comfortably in bed before work, muffling the sound of the breaking glass with a flick of the leatherman into the dash wiring the car was theres, a old manual transmission 4x4 vehicle that some Prestonian would find 'gone' in the morning.


West-Central Prestonia

With a clean insertion they would await the train, boarding a slow moving freight train would give them ample time to get their brief right. Crouching on the embankment amongst the weeds hidden by their ghillie gear they awaited the next train that according to the local train timetables would be along in the next 20 minutes, they just hoped no rail maintenance workers would show up that would require a 'take out shot' with their silenced weaponry.

Though it wouldn't be a good start to have a few dead bodies only hours into their insertion...

West-Central Prestonia
0420 Hours

"God I hate running these late shifts, don't you?" 53 year old Thomas Anderson queried his co-pilot, 22 year old Travis Klein, as he took a sip of coffee from his thermos. His train was a part of the Western Prestonia Railways industrial line running between Slayton and Southampton. Iron ore, mined in Slayton, was loaded into cars and delivered to Southampton to be smelted into steel and used by the various industries in the nation, most notably the shipyards. The pace was feverish, and this meant that quite often Thomas or one of his colleagues was stuck running into the wee hours of the morning to feed the foundries in Southampton.

"Eh, I don't mind it much. Gets boring after awhile though," Klein responded to his boss's question. 'We're running ahead of schedule it looks like though," he said, consulting his timetable and the map display before him. "We shouldn't be this far up for another 20 minutes. I think we should cut speed a bit, you know how HQ gets when we muck up their almighty schedule," he said with a snort at the stupidity of a company that punished it's employees for running ahead of schedule.

"Eh, I guess we can afford to slow down a bit," Thomas said, easing off the throttle. No sooner had the train slowed than the Clandonian team boarded, unnoticed by the fatigued crew. They had gotten lucky in that regard, but unlucky in another: this train was bound for Slayton, 300km from Hudson as the crow flies, rather than Southampton, which was only 150km away. Their mission was going to be longer than expected.

Vicksburg, Prestonia
10km from Presto-Clandonian Border
0430 Hours

Herbert Jacobs slept soundly, though his bloodhound was having an uneasy sleep, it's ears picking up even the lightest sounds. Herbert was the owner of a hardware store in Vicksburg, population 20,000, and his old Ford Econoline van would make the perfect getaway car for the Clandonians. Herbert, deep in REM sleep, did not hear the light tinkling of breaking glass, and even if he had been awake it was doubtful he would have heard it, his hearing having been damaged by years in the RPAF working on B-22s. His dog, however, was another story. It's eyes snapped open and he began a low growl, followed by two short barks, waking it's owner.

"What the hell do you want Duke, it's four fucking thirty," Herbert muttered, waking up. Duke, now fully standing, walked over to the window and struck up the most murderous growl Herbert had ever heard him utter. "What is it boy?," Herbert asked, reaching for the shotgun he kept above his bed. Quickly throwing on his bathrobe, he walked outside just in time to see his car pulling away. Herbert, half-wondering if he was still dreaming, shouted "come back with my car you bastards!," followed by a gunshot in it's direction and several strings of obscenities not uttered since his days in the air force before going inside and calling 999 to report his car stolen. Unbeknownst to him, he had given the police their first lead on the case of the phantom soldiers on the border.

20 Minutes Later
"All units, be advised stolen vehicle in the area possibly connected to persons of interest in the border penetration case, over." Police Sgt. Eric Rollins' radio crackled to life with the first action of the graveyard shift. Sgt. Rollins was an officer in the Hamilton County Police Department, and normally on the graveyard, where his duties ranged from the mundane (disorderly drunkenness) to the downright odd (a knife-fight in an ice-cream parlor). Stolen vehicles, however, were not something he had seen much of, being assigned to the fringes of Hamilton County far removed from the big city. "Dispatch, request details on stolen vehicle, over," Rollins replied, on the off-chance he might run into it.

"Vehicle is described as a mid-80s Ford Econoline van, maroon in color, possibly with rear-end damage from a shotgun round. License plate number ECR-978, over," came the response. This surprised Sgt. Rollins, as he had a vehicle of similar description a few meters ahead of him on the highway.

"Dispatch, have vehicle matching the description ahead of me, heading westbound on the A6. I'm gonna go Code 2 and see what he does, over."

"10-4," came the reply, as Rollins turned on his emergency lights and sped up. What happened next was up to the Clandonians Rollins didn't know were in the car he was attempting to apprehend.

A6 Highway, Vicksburg, Prestonia

The driver pressed on the gas as the vehicle zipped along the quiet road, past the stationary police cruiser. The squad leader spun round seeing the lights and sirens approaching them.

"Fuck dibble is onto us!" In his Northern Clandonian voice.

"Fucking wankers." Said his markmans as he moved the rifle to the back of the vehicle, shuffling onto the back seat.

"What do we do now sir, we gota hot car and a fuckload of guns?"

"Shoot him dead, its quiet enough for the old bill to be understaffed and not able to respond quickly enough."

Loading the 7.8x63mm round into the chamber of the DRS-83 designated marksman rifle he fire with his gloved fingers a burst of four shots through the back window towards the police officers upper body and the engine block of the car that was in pursuit of them, hoping to either kill the man or destroy the running machinery so they could escape in time.

The halls of the Sukarus Magnus were as silent as ever. Should you enter this room or that, you would be met by various rituals in honor to any of the multitude of gods worshipped through the Zukariaan religion. Enter the Chamber of the God of War and see a dozen masked men dancing and beating war drums, a lamb being slaughtered. Enter the Home of the Love Goddess; see a hundred men and women in a jubilant orgy.

But once you were past the minor temples, you climbed a set of stair and were met with a gargantuan domed room lined with golden pillars, lovely statues of heroic figures, walls etched with magnificently detailed stories told to Zukariaan children, and at the end of the massive room you saw a 500 foot tall golden statue, the statue that bankrupted Aiur in the second century BC. This was the statue of Sukarus, the namesake of the Zukariaan nation, the chief god of the pantheon.

Sitting at the foot of the giant was the Sukari, a room underneath the golden feet. Inside a small hall was walked through, anyone entering this point was considered to be blessed, or a messenger of the Emperor. A harem of women greets anyone who sees them, and at the end is one last door. Inside is the Library of the Sukarion, the personal study of the most well-read priests and intellects Zukariaa has to offer, the gathering place of the most intelligent minds in all the cities in all the areas of the nation.

Amongst them is the Priest of Sukarus, the most powerful clergyman in Zukariaa. And on this day, the day after the naming of Stanley Freeman as the Prime Minister of Prestonia, a messenger arrived to tell him, for this was a serious matter.

“A bloody negro?!”

“Y-yes, Blessed One,” the messenger was young, a pupil at the School of Divine Art in the southern end of Aiur. He had been sent with written letter because no communication was allowed with the outside world when inside the Library, not unless the Emperor himself demanded the attention.

The outburst might have seemed odd to a foreigner, but the Priest of Sukarus was allowed to say and do almost anything he wanted, as it was believed that Sukarus spoke to him directly.

“You’re telling me truthfully that the Prestonian parliament voted in a negro? Well that’s just unacceptable!” the priest dropped a book he was reading and pushed aside a teenage girl who was fellating him and stood up, ”We’ll have to take this to the Emperor! We cannot allow these people to assault our morality!”

Several Hours Later
Imperial Palace,
Recreational Area

“..come eat out at Doomani Fried Bacon, home of the Magister! Everything’s Better the Doomani Frie-—Earlier today it was pandemonium as several rockets slammed into the Allanean—Nigga do you see me breakdancing?—When was the last time you had your gluteus maximus checked? If you don’t check it regularly, you could die.”

“25,000 channels and nothing to watch,” Emperor Conrad threw down his remote control. He left the room onto his balcony overlooking the Imperial Gardens, where his love of nature was well at home.

He could see a deer foraging here, a wolf circling there, an Elephant crushing a servant there, and near the horizon he could see entire trees rustling as his favourite animal searched for food.

He picked up a rifle and was taking aim for a rabbit when the doors to his living room burst open, revealing the priest’s messenger.

“Bloody hell man, you scared off the rabbit! I should skin your legs you little shit!”

“Sorry your Highness, please allow me to speak first,” the servant got to one knee.

”Go on, go on.”

“The Priest of Sukarus has sent me with a request of war on the Kingdom of Prestonia.”

Conrad’s eyebrow arched, ”Excuse me?”

“Yes, highness. He says the Prestonian election of a negro is a threat to the morality of the Zukariaan people.”

Conrad approached his personal bar and began mixing a drink, ”That’s quite silly of him,” Conrad took a seat, “You can tell him to suck Vulcan’s dick for all I care. I’m not going to waste money on a campaign against Prestonia. If it pleases his Blessed arse, I can send my son to meet with the Negroid and learn about the Prestonian people, but otherwise I’ve got innocent creatures to shoot and maim while I’m still on vacation.”

“You are the Emperor, your word is law,” the servant bowed once more and took his leave.



Imperial Communique
TO: Prime Minister Stanley Freeman
FROM: Crown Prince Stephanos
RE: A Meeting?

Greetings, Mr. Freeman. I bring you congratulation, Prestonoid friend. It is not so often that a historic event such as a negro taking office takes place near our borders! My father, the Emperor of the Zukariaan Empire, requests that I come to visit Prestoniland and meet with you. It is about time we come to understand one another’s cultures, yes? Should you agree I will be on my way in no time at all.

P.S. Pime Taradox would come but he has received an infection from a foreign woman. We are sure you are saddened by this news, but rest assured there will be future visits!

http://www.majhost.com/gallery/Humhum/Yay/ferdinand.png
SIGNED, Crown Prince Stephanos
Crown Prince of the Zukariaan Empire
Blessed Descendant of the Gods

A6 Highway
Vicksburg
0450 Hours

The large-caliber bullets tore through the engine block, putting the vehicle out of commission. While one had ricocheted off the bumper and gone through the window, Sgt. Rollins was not seriously injured. He was, however, extremely pissed off at having lost his perp. After a few seconds of colorful swearing he picked up his radio to report to his dispatch.

"Dispatch, I'm 10-70 on the A6, suspect shot my engine block. Repeat, suspect is armed and dangerous. Get a roadblock and a SWAT team set up ASAP, I'd like to stop this before he hurts anyone else, over,"

"10-4, roadblock ETA 15 minutes, we're sending a wrecker to collect your vehicle," the dispatch replied.

Meanwhile, every police vehicle in eastern Hamilton County that was available, plus two urban assault vehicles with 15 SWAT troops apiece, were en route to the A6; five kilometers of highway on each side would have it's exits sealed and a roadblock would be erected, along with spike strips. The suspect vehicle was now boxed in.

Slayton Station
Slayton
0630 Hours
The train carrying the Clandonian operatives pulled into the station right on schedule. Stepping out of the locomotive, Anderson and Klein turned her over to the station-master while they went for breakfast at the nearest diner.

"Can you run an inspection on that train?," the station master, a 57 year old ex-Marine named Rick Jackson, queried one of the workers. Inspections were not mandatory for freight trains, but Rick had always been a bit paranoid, so whenever he was on duty the inspections were for all intents and purposes mandatory. The junior official, a young man whose name had escaped him. He had not been gone more than ten minutes when a short, rapid popping sound came, followed by a short groan. Instantly, Rick grabbed his P220 Diablo pistol that he kept in his desk and began running back to the car where his man had been shot, not knowing what to expect.

A6, Prestonia

"Christ the old bill is coming down hard." Said McGuiness the squads sniper as he noted the increasing police convoy behind them.

"Shit theres a road block coming up ahead!"

The driver was the squads heavy gunner, his DMG-83 SAW resting by his side. Not knowing what to do they carried on round, with enough ammunition and firepower they could beat the inbred county police and their little cars, they were the best of Clandonia and their mission forbid them to be captured.

The rifleman in the passenger seat grabbed the saw and started firing the automatic weapon into the Prestonian police vehicles that were on the other side of the carriageway.


Slayton Station, 0630 Hours

The soldier finished off the Prestonian quickly, a shot into the head and two into the cheast with the silenced L-23A2 inflicted a swift kill. The Clandonian signalled the approach of another worker with a hand gesture to the others.

"Drop the ****." Whispered the leader into his voice mic, aiming the DR-87 that he had attached with a moderator. He leaned out from the open freight vehicle and fired a burst into the oncoming man.


RAF Northfield, Clandonian South Haven 0700 Hours

"Commander the operation is looking interesting to say the least, I advise we request reinforcement of the colonial troops from Warminster to prepare for Operation Hurricane should the mission fail or our forces are compromised."

Opening the file titled Operation Hurricane marked in red ink with 'SECRET-CLEARANCE LEVEL 12 EYES ONLY' was passed across to the Commander, detailing the plan that had been prepared and approved by the powers to be in the War Office back in Clandonia. Meanwhile the small contingent of troops prepared and trained in the harsh jungle conditions, near 100 % humidity, bugs, snakes and high temperatures. Meanwhile the fleet and the air arm operating the carriers warmed up their jet engines, constantly training and awaiting further orders...

A6, Prestonia

The Clandonians were trapped like rats, and they had to be aware of it. Fifteen-odd squad cars on their tail were driving them mercilessly toward the roadblock ahead of them, where 2 SWAT team urban assault vehicles (which were in fact Strykers with their heavy guns replaced by water cannons) and 30 PR91-equipped SWAT officers stood firm, ready to stop the vehicle at all costs. As the van came into range, automatic fire began streaming in their direction, forcing them to take cover behind the Strykers while they pumped the van full of lead as best they could. With both sides of the road including the median blocked, and spike strips laid anywhere the Clandonians might attempt to force their way through, there was no way out.

Strangely enough, out of either desperation or simply not seeing them, the Clandonians chose to run the median and hit the spikes, blowing their tires while still firing wildly at anything wearing a Hamilton County Police Department uniform. The police, still crouched behind the relative cover of their vehicles, filled the van with lead for no less than five minutes, until finally no shots came back toward them. Hesitantly, a SWAT officer stepped forward, PR91 drawn, to inspect the vehicle. A few seconds later, a thumbs up from the SWAT officer confirmed what the police were waiting for: it was over. Ten police officers lay dead, and a further fifteen wounded, but it was over. Now came the excruciating process of finding out who they were, where they came from and most importantly, what they had sought to accomplish by all this.

Slayton Station

The stationmaster was dropped before he even knew what hit him, rendering his pistol ineffectual. The Clandonians now had their chance to get out of the station, but that was going to be more of a challenge than getting in had been: Slayton Station was attached directly to the iron ore mines, and aside from being massive and confusing was crawling with guards. The North Star Mine Corporation, which owned the mines and the railroad, liked to protect it's investment. Even worse for the Clandonians, they were some 300km from Hudson, and would need to find some means of transportation if they were to carry out their mission.

Executive Mansion
Hudson
0700 Hours

Prime Minister Stanley Freeman had just finished breakfast and now sat down on the leather sofa in the Executive Mansion's sitting room to watch the morning news, as he did every morning. As he was soon to find out, however, this morning was by no means an ordinary one for his fellow citizens of Prestonia. As he turned on the 50" flat-screen television, ticker BREAKING NEWS greeted him. Turning the volume up and beckoning his wife, he listened closely to the broadcast, wondering what could possibly have happened so early to make the national news.

"This just in, we have received reports of a shootout on the A6 Westbound which occurred early this morning in Hamilton County and is reported to have left several people dead. We now go live to the scene with Clark Thompson," the anchorwoman said in an urgent, but composed, voice.

The camera then flipped to a rather handsome reporter who looked to be in his mid-30s, who was standing in front of a large police roadblock. "I'm Clark Thompson live on the scene of what Hamilton County police have told me was a high-speed chase which resulted in a shootout at around 5 this morning. The police aren't giving many details about the chase and shootout due to the ongoing investigation, though they have said Varland Yard is inbound to conduct it's own investigation and that this may be related to another case involving a border penetration. We will have more on this as it becomes available. Reporting live in Hamilton County for PBG Morning News, I'm Clark Thompson."

Stanley, now fully alert, turned off the television and went to get his jacket when he heard his cell phone ring. Picking it up, he noticed it was his Chief of Staff, and answered it in his normal manner.

"Prime Minister Freeman, how may I help you?," he said formally.

"Stanley it's Gordon, change of plans. You're not going to the Commons today, Varland Yard and our High Command have intelligence they wish to share with you regarding that shootout that you'll likely not hear on the news for some time. You're heading to the Defense Ministry under escort, the limo will be there in 20 minutes. Can't say much more right now."

"Right, I'll be waiting." Stanley hung up, and informed his wife of the change of plans before sitting back down and turning on the news, which had now gotten onto the topic of a possible industrial strike.

Twenty minutes later, Freeman's limo was parked outside the ornate Victorian-style mansion that served as the residence of the Prime Minister, flanked by two Humvees. Freeman, taken somewhat aback by this extra security, nevertheless got in and set off to work.

Ten minutes later, he was walking into the Defense Ministry under his usual guard, and entering the elevator that would take him to War Room 7, deep under the streets of Hudson, where he was to meet the brass of the Royal Prestonian Forces for more information on that morning's happenings.

A6, Prestonia

The guns had fallen silent as the squad had taken the maximum amount of lead they could handle, with the 4x4 resting on its side riddled with bullets seeping fuel from the tank, water from the cooling system and the blood of the six dead Clandonians. Piled up on the side with various shell casings and their equipment surrounding the vehicle. As of routine for missions of secret and special importance there was no identifiable trace of the squads origins. They carried no documentation, no dog tags, their clothing was generic and their weapons were Doomani, used by a multitude of nations. There had ammo and guns had no serial numbers, they were essentially ghosts and now that all of them were dead then their identities would never be known...


Slayston Station

"Got the barstard!"

Whispered the soldier into his throat microphone he holstered his pistol, noting the large industrial area. A lot of security for ore smelting, such a cheap and dirty industry would never require tight level security like this back in Clandonia. He and the rest of the team would have to move out of sight hopefully onto a train bound for the capital, they had not know of the bodge up on the A6 and probably never would, as a far as the Clandonian Crown government and military went there were no such special forces even in Clandonian South Haven...

A6, Prestonia
0700 Hours


"Alright people, Varland Yard is in charge now. Get the coroner's van over to the crime scene to collect the stiffs from the local cops, get the area roped off and for God's sake will someone get the damned media out of here?" Special Agent Allen O'Connor barked orders at anyone who would listen as he sipped his coffee. He and his team had been sent over from Hudson to take control of the investigation, given RSIS's thoughts about the identities of the carjackers and their possible connection to the border incident of earlier that morning. This factoid had been omitted from the briefings of most of the local police, and as such the Hamilton County police chief did not take kindly to the intrusion on what he thought was his crime scene.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck do you think you're doing? This is a closed crime scene," the police chief said, sauntering over.

"I'm Special Agent O'Connor with Varland Yard. This is our investigation now."

"Since when? I didn't get any memo of the sort," the chief insisted, getting angry now at the fact that his first real action in awhile was being taken by a bunch of federal suits.

"Since we got told to take over this investigation, that's when. You got problems with that, you're more than free to voice them to my supervisor. In the meantime, my team will need all the evidence you've gotten so far,"

"Fine, if you insist. But do keep my boys informed will you?"

"We'll do what we can Sheriff," O'Connor replied.

Twenty minutes later, the coroner for Varland Yard was facing six bodies, all riddled with bullets. Just as he turned to take a sip of coffee, Special Agent O'Connor entered the room and began to speak.

"What've you got Dr. Palmer?," he queried.

"Not much Allen. DNA, prints and dentals have all come up negative. Whoever these people were, they never lived in Prestonia. Also interesting is that on two of these six bodies we've got COD as potassium cyanide poisoning, and take a look at these," Palmer replied, withdrawing four pills roughly the size of a large Tylenol tablet.

"Suicide pills?," O'Connor said incredulously.

"Exactly. Whoever these guys were, it's clear that they weren't amateurs, and didn't want to be taken alive. My best guess is that they're the operatives of some government or terrorist organization, though without anything to ID our John Does we may never know for sure."

"Ballistics get anything off the weapons?"

"Not a thing. Serial numbers were all filed down, weapons all fabricated and assembled in Doomingsland. Garden-variety assault rifles, could've come from anywhere."

"Well, see what you can find in any case. There has to be something of substance."

War Room Seven
Ministry of Defense
0720 Hours

"Prime Minister Freeman, good to see you. Please, have a seat. I assure you we will not be long," RSIS Director Abraham Snow said, taking a seat himself.

"Ok, what's this all about Abe? You call me down here on a day I have several important votes to be present in, and my own chief of staff gets gag-ordered from you. I give you a lot of autonomy but this is pushing your luck a bit," Freeman replied, letting his annoyance show for the first time that morning.

"Mr. Freeman, as you are no doubt aware, this morning a shootout resulted in the deaths of six persons of unknown origin in Hamilton County. What the news didn't say was that around three o'clock this morning two persons matching the description of two of our John Does were observed crossing the border from Clandonian South Haven into Prestonia. May not seem like much, but here's where it gets interesting: the operatives in question were observed coming in via parachute.

In addition, we've noticed the Clandonians moving a lot of equipment around in their colony next to us. All signs point to a large-scale mobilization. Now, taken together we've come up with a hypothesis: the people we intercepted were acting on behalf of Clandonia, and we have sufficient reason to believe that the Clandonian military intends to wage an offensive on Prestonia, for reasons we believe are connected to your status as Prime Minister."

Stanley took all this in for a minute before speaking. "I will not bow to coercion, foreign or domestic. General Oliver, put our military on DEFCON 2 and start mobilizing for a counterstrike. Mr. Snow, up the Civilian Alert Level to Orange on the offchance that there may be more operatives in-country. In the meantime I want daily updates on the situation in Clandonian South Haven. I'm going to try and get an audience with Sistilin and avert war, but it pays to be careful."

"And what of the National Service Roster? Shall we start sending out call-ups?," General Oliver inquired.

"No need yet, we have the current rotation that can be extended if need be. Intel suggests that the Clandonians don't have any more than a million troops in CSH, so with current numbers we should have the upper hand."

"God Save the King, Mr. Prime Minister," Oliver said as he and the rest of the assembled personnel stood.

"No Mr. Oliver, God Save Prestonia," Freeman replied, exiting the room. The next few days would be decisive, for his career and for the future of Prestonia.

RAF Northfield, Clandonian South Haven

With an increase in Prestonian troop readiness and fears of a Prestonian first strike against the colony a request was wired to Warminster and the other Royal Georgian League capitals. With their special forces from the base presumed KIA after some sort of car chase the colony was prepared on a war footing. Clandonian Bomber Command from the mainland began drawing up its plans to deploy the expeditionary bomber squadrons and Force H which was South of the Shanseskian Archipelago. Just after lunch the first units of bombers from the RAF Northern Command arrived with 200 aircraft of assorted bombers and RAC-201 Shrike fighter bombers providing escort. In the colony with a fairly large active population of reservists the Territorial Army orders for call up were delivered just as the Friday rush hour began. Almost a sea of 4x4 Land Rovers in the streets as boys and men alike rushed to grab their rifles and ammunition as they rushed to defend their homesteads and plantations from the from the bleck tyranny across the border from them. Should the soldiers of the Crown that numbered only 400,000 another 800,000 of the white militia would stop any incursion into Clandonian South Haven by the Prestonians.


War looming in Crown Colony as secret Prestonian plan to redistribute Clandonian white farmland to Prestonian negroes is leaked

http://www.warshipsifr.com/media/basrah_cr2_cobra.jpg
Clandonian Helicopter Gunships and tanks have been patrolling the border region now, Warminster fears a strike will occur in the next few hours

From the Warminster City Times
Front Page

Panic struck Warminster this evening as Prestonian armed forces moved to their second highest level of alert readiness as it was revealed by intelligence sources to The Times that with the election of the black Prime Minister Freeman that he aims to end Clandonian colonial rule in the Strobovian Strait area of South East Haven. Prime Minister called an emergency cabinet meeting to discuss the threat of the colony after reports of attack by army intelligence in Clandonian South Haven. A press release from Downing Street indicated that the Sistilin Administration is not willing to negotiate if conflict does arise and promised that if the colony fell then a taskforce would be sent to the liberate it. Clandonian South Haven is home to 20 million inhabitants and is mostly covered in thick jungle, the nutrient rich soils, oil extraction and mining are the main exports which could be restricted if a war developed, this led to shipping insurance prices for Crown flagged vessels increasing at the end of trading this afternoon. The colonial administration ordered callups of the reserve militias to booster defence with such a small military presence the RAF and Royal Navy will be likely called in to support a counter-attack and foreign correspondents indicate requests have been sent to the Royal Georgian League governments for military assistance.

Defense Ministry, War Room 7
Hudson
1200 Hours

"Mr Freeman, this is the zero hour. Do you wish to go forward with the war?" General David Gordon Oliver put out his cigar and turned to face Stanley Freeman, who was sitting across the table from him. The entire High Command, as well as King Richard VIII, were assembled in this NBC-proof bunker 100 feet below the streets of Hudson, where the decisions of war and peace in Prestonia had been made since the 1950s. Now, for the first time since 1996 with the assassination of the previous King and subsequent war with Hogsweat, the top echelons of the military and government were again assembled, with a possible war on their hands.

"No, I do not desire war with Clandonia," Freeman responded in a calm but authoritative voice. "War should always be the last resort. I shall attempt to speak with the Clandonian government. We must make some effort to avert the senseless loss of life on both sides."

At this, the King spoke up for the first time. "Stanley, you know you have my blessing whatever course you take but for God's sake man, show some spine. The Clandonians are massing on the border. Their rag of a newspaper is spewing some nonsense about land redistribution, and they've got every able-bodied man called up to service. It's very likely if we don't strike, they will."

"Even the most irrational of situations can be rationalized. I will request the stand-down of our military from DEFCON 2. I have a press conference this evening in which I will address Mr. Sistilin directly and appeal for peace. If they respond to our olive branch with war, I shall have no qualms about running roughshod over Clandonian South Haven," Stanley replied.

"Very well Mr. Prime Minister," Oliver said. "I shall keep the military at the ready. All we need is your word and Phase One of Operation Rising Storm begins."

"Aye, but in the mean time let us hope cooler heads will prevail, yes?"

Executive Mansion
Hudson
1800 Hours

Prime Minister Stanley Freeman sat at his desk in his office, flanked on the right side by a Prestonian flag. He had given many speeches before, but this would be like no other he had given. This speech would be the most important of his career, for the future of Prestonia depended upon it and upon it's reception. Clearing his throat and shuffling his papers, he began at the signal of the cameraman.

"My fellow Prestonians and people of Clandonia, I wish to address a growing crisis between our nations.

"In the weeks since my nomination to the post of Prime Minister, certain entities have expressed disdain, contempt and in some cases outright hostility at the fact that a man of my skin color, a black man, should hold a position of power within Prestonia. In the case of our border with Clandonian South Haven, this bigotry is most apparent.

"In the past week, our once peaceful and open border has been militarized and locked down. The Clandonian military has been on high alert since my assumption of office four weeks ago. Yesterday, a Clandonian publication in good standing with the public trust stated that I planned to stage an offensive against Clandonian South Haven and redistribute it's farmland among blacks like myself.

"I am here tonight to give my side of this growing crisis, and to shed some truth on a situation clouded by propaganda and old prejudices.

"I do not have any imperial intentions with regard to Clandonian South Haven. I do not have any plans to incite popular dissent against white farmers, however loathsome I find their treatment of their fellow man. I do not desire war with Clandonian South Haven. In short, I desire to continue the peaceful and prosperous relations Prestonia has had with Clandonia for over a century.

"Mister Sistilin, I now speak to you directly. Let us avoid a senseless bloodbath which I sincerely doubt either of us desires. Let us meet, man to man, and work out this crisis with words, rather than bullets. As a symbol of my good intentions, I shall stand my military down to it's previous level of DEFCON 3, and ask that you do the same. Clandonia and Prestonia have much in common: we are brothers in the Kingston Pact, and in the mutual pursuit of personal and civil liberty throughout our world. There is, in my opinion, little reason for our nations to go to war with one another.

"The olive branch has been extended, and will remain so for 48 hours. Mister Sistilin, in the interests of Kingston Pact unity and the continued peace of our nations and region as a whole, I implore you to accept it and work with myself and my government to an acceptable solution to this crisis.

"God Save the King.

Korangar Island
07:59 hrs Eeobroht Mean Time

"Sir, the Prestonians have mobilized. Their military is at its second highest alert level, and war appears imminent between Prestonia and Clandonia. As a result, we've been ordered to BERSTAT-3 and to prepare to execute OPLAN Gray-682. This isn't a drill sir." The voice over the telephone said, a hint of stress visible in his voice, convincing the Admiral in command of the garrison on Korangar Island that this wasn't a poorly timed prank ot exercise.

"Fuck." The Admiral said, making the naked twenty-three year old blonde that sat on top of the naked admiral wonder what was going on. "Okay, I'll be there in half an hour. Make the necessary preparations." He looked up at the blonde. "Better make that an hour."

Korangar Island
10:59 hrs EMT

Two hours after the orders to prepare for war had arrived, the battle staff had all assembled in one of the numerous underground command bunkers that littered Korangar, and the appropriate folders for OPLAN Gray-682, or war with Prestonia, had been withdrawn from the file cabinets and distributed to the battle staff and others that needed access to them.

Mobilization orders had already been drafted up, issued and been received with the regular units, and the warships of the Navy were already heating up their reactors and gas turbines and making ready for heading to sea. Air Force aircraft were already in the air, flying intensified barrier combat air patrols (BARCAP) over and near Korangar Island in conjunction with the Naval Aviation. On the tarmacs, Blackadder MSE.2AEP supersonic bombers and B-22 Zeus heavy bombers were being loaded to the gills with cruise missiles, tasked for engaging the Prestonian coastal defensive and military installations and infrastructure necessary to sustain a field army in that area. In ready rooms, the pilots were being about to be briefed on the constantly developing international situation and what their tasks would be in the event that the Prestonians actually invaded Clandonian South Haven.

For the more radical Cottish brass, the Prestonian mobilization and moves against Clandonia was just proof that having a negro in the Prime Minister's chair was a very stupid idea that would have very dire results, especially if the negro decided to invade Korangar. After all, if the negro could mobilize like that for no reasonable reason, they reasoned, what was to stop him from invading Korangar? It was therefore best not only for Cotland, but also for the people of Prestonia, if Cotland acted preemptively in order to defend its Realm. After all, the best defense was a good offensive.

Korangar Island
1826 hrs EMT

Fifteen minutes after the conclusion of Freeman's speech, the battle staff at Korangar received new instructions. They were to maintain current readiness and to resume preparing for war, but not to take any action unless a. they were ordered to execute the OPLAN by Eeobroht, or b. the Prestonians fired first, in which case the Admiral was ordered to take whatever steps he saw fit to ensure that the Prestonians regretted attacking Cotland. With the new orders received, the Admiral nodded. It didn't seem like war would come just yet. Still, he knew regrettably little about the Prestonian deployments near their west coast, and that was something he couldn't go to war without knowing. Therefore, he dispatched two fighters to test the Prestonian readiness.

Somewhere near Prestonian coastline
Four hours later

The flight of two FA-77A Kovas Havenfighters, each armed with four LLM.67A Kampspyd medium-range air to air missiles that had proven their worth against among others Kriegia off Kahanistan and two IRIS-T short-range air to air missiles inside the internal weapons bay, as well as fuel tanks and reconnaissance pods underneath the wings, was flying at 16 000 meters at high subsonic speeds, heading straight for Prestonian airspace. Due to the external fittings, the stealth features were somewhat compromised, meaning that the Prestonians would likely be able to pick them up on RADAR by now, especially since they were flying straight towards their airspace.

As they came within three nautical miles of the Prestonian airspace, the fighters suddenly banked and started flying parallel with the Prestonian airspace border, keeping a distance of one nautical mile from the border, just like instructed. Now, it remained to see what the Prestonian response would be.

RAF Bolton
10km North of Slayton
2230 Hours

"Shit, are those what I think they are?," Major David Howell, callsign Merlin, queried his wingman.

"Roger, I think they are. You wanna call the tower for this one?," the wingman, Captain James "Apollo" Larson replied.

"Bolton Tower this is Merlin, over," Howell said, as he banked to follow the two Havenfighters. "We have two bogies one mile from our borders, heading due north. Request permission to fire, over."

"Negative Merlin," came the response. "We do not, I repeat do not need to create another incident. You and Apollo are ordered to stay within Prestonian airspace and fly parallel with the bogies. If they cross into our territory, three-strike rule applies. Tower out."

With that, Merlin and Apollo banked their aircraft until they were flying exactly parallel to their Cottish counterparts, waiting to see what their next move would be.

House of Commons,
Kingston

"Mr Speaker."

Sir Arthur Hemmington-Cuefuffle had lived an unimportant, although by no means uncomfortable life. Entering his father's insurance firm at the age of 17, he had risen through the ranks such that by the time he inherited the business he had almost reached the new position by dull merit. Expanding it from the largest such firm in the small, mostly unknown City of Whichaven to the small, mostly unknown Duchy of Wrensham, the firm was acquired after ten years by a large national brokerage to Hemmington-Cuefuffle's immense personal enrichment, and eventually absorbed into the behemoth Imperial Commerical Bank plc., on whose board of directors, among other various industries, he now sat as an amply salaried non-executive.

One of the few noteworthy aspects of his life was his strong ideological opposition to slavery. A reader from almost any other part of the Anglosphere could easily overestimate quite how noteworthy this was, for the general opinion in Praetonia was and had always been vehemently against slavery and racial pseudoscience. Even now, as Questers bowed to what they would have described as 'the inevitable triumph of natural justice and liberty', numerous Praetonian subjects languished in her gaols for, among other numerous less serious offences, the crime of freeing a slave, or even on occassion killing a slave-owner. Hemmington-Cuefuffle was not been among them, content to fight for freedom by means of a standing order for an admittedly not inconsiderable sum paid every year to the League for the Humane Treatment of Humans.

At the respectable age of fifty-five, bored and with little desire to obtain what some might call a 'real job', having devoted so much of his previous life to the enrichment of the insurance broking industry, he had entered the House of Commons to while away the time as a backbencher for the now-victorious Liberal Party. And there he had remained, seemingly without hope of, and certainly without inclination to pursue, promotion in what he regarded as a pleasant little hobby occupation. Up to this point in his life he was, as he had been throughout his life, a kind, respectable and contented man of not incosiderable station, but of absolutely no note whatever to an historian of the times in which he lived.

"I beg to move," With the lesser but scarcely inconsiderable skill of a boardroom politician he had chosen his timing with care. The House was already packed to discuss a Colonial Bill later that day, which concerned the sale of the land South of the settled areas of Praeto-Clandonian Albion, claimed under the sovereignty of the Crown but as yet undeveloped. The television cameras were watching.

Hemmington-Cuefuffle laid his notes down on the Dispatch Box.

"That this House follows the Prime Minister in welcoming in a spirit of kinship the Prime Minister of the Royal Commonwealth of Central Prestonia to his august office, and further deplores all aggression against that country, which has declared for the cause of liberty and justice, and demands that His Majesty’s Government shall commit itself publicly to the defence of that country against all outward aggression, as His Majesty rightly owes to all free nations, and in particular those of the Kingston Pact, and expresses its disgust at the silence with which the matter of Prestonia's future freedom has been treated - by a Liberal government - as foreign troops mass on her border.”

It was a clumsy statement, hamstrung by Parliamentary Proceedure which demanded early day motions contained only one sentence, but the meaning was clear. With opponents spread across government and opposition benches, both sides of the House arose in uproar.

[OOC: plx dont bugger up the war RP as usual and kill my political story arc kthx.]

"Green" Flight, 367. Air Superiority Regiment (Korangar Tactical Aviation)
One nautical mile from Prestonian airspace, north-bound heading

"Green one-two, Green one-one. We've got company. Two contacts, look like Prestonoid Saracens, closing fast. Vector 1-1-6, eight thousand meters." The voice of Green 12, which was the callsign for flykaptein Tim "Super" Feiste's aircraft, crackled over the encrypted communications frequency the Havenfighters used.

"Green one-one, roger, I've got them." Green 11, or Flykaptein Roald "Mega" Vurkse replied from the pilot seat of his Havenfighter. "Let's keep quiet for a little while and see how they react. Make sure you get good images from your pod."

"Copy."

Twenty minutes and a few hundred kilometers of straight and level flying later, Mega was getting bored.

"Green one-one, Green one-two. Let's have some fun with these geezers shall we?"

"Green one-two, copy that."

Smiling, Mega deactivated the autopilot his aircraft had been flying on for the past fifteen minutes and banked heavily to port as he increased speed to supercruise and began manouvering towards the Prestonian fighters, violating Prestonian airspace in the process. Super did the same thing with his Havenfighter, selecting the second Prestonian fighter and beginning to manouver to get in behind the Prestonian fighter. The idea was to prove to the Prestonians that they were superior pilots by getting into position to secure a gunkill. Of course they wouldn't fire unless fired upon, but the Prestonians didn't necessarily know that.

"Heavy Bastard" Flight, 447. Heavy Bomb Regiment (Korangar Long-Range Aviation)

The five B-22 Zeus heavy strategic bombers that made up "Heavy Bastard" Flight were cruising at 8 000 meters, flying at a leisurely Mach 0.6 as they approached their destination, a point of water some ten nautical miles off Prestonian waters that were no more than 300 meters deep, meaning that they could accept the payloads inside the five B-22's bomb bays with no problems. The timing was crucial for this particular mission. The aircraft flew under black-out conditions, with no flashing strobe lights or any radio communications that might give away their position, and flying under cover of darkness.

Each B-22 carried inside its three bomb bays a total of 327 Marinemine-175 (http://i271.photobucket.com/albums/jj146/Eeobroht/marinemine-175v2.png) moored naval mines, set to be deployed to a depth of between two and ten meters, meaning that the five B-22s would deploy a total of 1 635 naval mines in a stretch of water where the Cottish expected the Prestonian Navy to steam through, having based this estimate on three years worth of surveillance and intelligence-gathering. This fact along with the fact that virtually no merchant shipping sailed in this particular area of the Korangar Strait, which was the name the Cots had for the stretch of water between Korangar and Prestonia's western coastline, was the primary reason why the Cots chose this particular spot to mine. The risk of collateral damage was minimal.

Furthermore, by carrying out this mission during the nighttime, and since the objects the Cots dropped were relatively small and thus unlikely to give off any radar reflection of notice, the Cots expected that the Prestonians who were probably watching wouldn't have the slightest clue as to what the aircraft were doing here.

Of course, the Cots didn't expect the Prestonians to agree to this without question, so for defense of the large, lumbering B-22s, six Havenfighters and two electronic warfare variants of the Havenfighter were escorting the five behemoths. The rules of engagement were to fire if fired upon.

As they reached the drop zone, the two electronic warfare aircraft began random jamming in the direction of Prestonian radars as the B-22s descended to one thousand meters, opened their bomb bay doors, and disgorged the naval mines which were designed for this kind of deployment. Falling with the concrete element that would moor them to the seabed first, the mines plunged into the sea where the concrete element sank to the bottom first and embedded itself in the sandy bottom of Korangar Strait. The mines were moored to the seabed through an almost six hundred meter long lightweight yet strong cable, letting the mines hover somewhere between two and ten meters below the waterline, undetectable to the naked eye yet very deadly. If the Prestonian Navy decided to surge to sea, at least some warships would probably sink as a result of the Cottish mining.

With the mining completed, the EW Havenfighters ceased their jamming and the group of aircraft began turning back to Korangar.

Skies over Slayton

"Apollo, bogey on your tail. Break hard right in 3....2....1....break now!" Merlin spoke forcefully into his headset, guiding his less-experienced wingman through shaking the Cottish Havenfighter that had just jumped him, violating Prestonian airspace in the process. Turning to look behind him, he realized that the Cot's own wingman had gotten behind him. Reacting quickly, Merlin broke hard right and led the Cottish fighter through a series of maneuvers including a Split-S which nearly succeeded in throwing the man off his tail. The Cot however was not to be bested, and quickly recovered. A few thousand feet away, Apollo was also attempting to shake his pursuer, with similar results. That kid will make a good flight lead someday, Merlin thought to himself before leveling out with the Cot still securely on his tail.

"You fly quite well, my friend," Merlin said, after switching to a general frequency he was sure the Cot would be able to pick up. "However, I regret to inform you you've violated my country's airspace in the process. You are requested to exit at once, over."

With the first message of three he was supposed to send complete, Merlin and Apollo were left to wait and see what the Cottish response would be.

"Green" Flight, 367. Air Superiority Regiment (Korangar Tactical Aviation)

Mega was slightly annoyed. Even though he had tried every trick in the book and then some over the dark waters of the Korangar Strait, but he still hadn't managed to get into a good firing position behind the Prestonoid pilot. Without saying a word over the open airwaves, he contacted Super and instructed him to follow his lead before kicking in the afterburner and turning away from the Prestonian fighters. After a quick run at Mach 1.4 that increased the distance between the two fighters to ten nautical miles, the two Cottish Havenfighters slowed back down to subsonic speeds and turned around to face the Prestonians again.

Mega smiled as he selected the lead Saracen and switched the radar mode from passive to tracking, something which meant that the powerful radar on the Havenfighter was tracking every move that the Saracen made and relayed that data to the Kampspyd air to air missiles that waited in the internal weapons bay of the Havenfighter. Surely by now, the radar warning receiver inside the Saracen should be making all kinds of noises and warning alarms, alerting the pilot that he was being painted by a FA-77A Kovas.

After a few seconds, Mega finally broke radio silence, transmitting over a open frequency.

"Prestonoid fighter, if this was real, you would be dead now." Mega said in slightly accented English. "And I'm not your friend."

"Lion" Flight, 418th Tactical Fighter Squadron
Skies over Slayton

Merlin's warning systems began going off, letting him know that the plane behind him was painting him for a missile shot. Instinctively, he threw a flare and a bundle of chaff before executing an Immelman turn in an attempt to evade the missile that was almost certainly coming his way.

Surprisingly, no missile came. The Cot was attempting to sweat him, make him do something wrong under pressure. Clearly, his adversary enjoyed playing games, and clearly he was extremely overconfident, harassing a fighter in it's own territory. This point did not sit well with Merlin or Apollo, and the former was quick to voice his displeasure.

"You have overstayed your welcome, Cot, and my friends in the area are not pleased. I think it's time you turned your asses around and went home. We wouldn't want any accidents now, would we?," Merlin said, switching from guns to missiles himself. Through secure channels, he had been relaying his situation to RAF Bolton's tower, which had ordered two more BARCAP teams to he and Apollo's grid. Now, his radar display was showing four more friendlies coming onto the fringes of it's range. Given the Havenfighter's similar radar capabilities, it was highly likely the two Cots saw the reinforcements as well.

As the two other flights closed in, each switched to missiles and began painting one of the two Cots. With each adversary locked on to by three Prestonians armed to the teeth, it was hoped that they would come to their senses and bug out. If not, there would be two dead Cots and one more diplomatic incident for Hudson to explain.

Mega smiled thinly behind the facemask when his own RWR went off, telling him that the Prestonoids had done the same thing to him that he had done to the Prestonoids. It seemed that he had been successful in making the Prestonoid sweat a little. However, the smile turned into a frown when a few seconds later, the RWR picked up being painted by another two fighters, approaching from opposite vectors from the Prestonoid mainland. It seemed the Prestonoids were afraid of him and Super, something which made Mega smile again. He liked the idea of the opponent fearing him.

Opening the communications channel again, Mega said only one word to the Prestonoid fighter: "Cowards." Before switching to the encrypted channel.

"Green one-one, Green one-two. We've got what we came for, return to base."

"Green one-two copies. Returning to base."

With that, the Havenfighter banked to the starboard and kicked in the afterburner on an approximate heading for Gimle Air Station, the largest airbase on Korangar and home base for the 367. Air Superiority Regiment.

The two Cottish fighters had gotten exactly what they came for: A up close and personal review of what the Prestonoids were capable of and their current psyche, as well as the more important part, the exact frequencies and such of their electronic gear and an exact reading on their IR output and radar cross section. Using this information, the Royal Cottish Air Force would now be able to modify the radars and electronics of their Havenfighters to simulate Saracen fighters, and thus cause a lot of confusion among the Prestonian ranks if push truly came to shove. This was a new strategy that had been proven feasable by the Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc's own Havenfighters against Chevrokian Havenfighters a little earlier that very same year, where it had been used to great effect. The Chevrokians had been fooled for long enough for the Soviet Blocians to carry out their objectives. If war came, the Prestonoids would probably be equally fooled.

To: Alexander Kazansky, President, United States of Allanea
From: HM Richard VIII, King of Prestonia
Encryption Level: 10

Greetings, my Allanean friend. It has been too long since we have spoken to one another, and I regret that I come to you under less than optimal circumstances.

As you are no doubt aware, the Parliament of my nation has nominated a black man, Dr. Stanley Freeman, to be Prime Minister, a decision I wholeheartedly assented to as I felt Dr. Freeman was a natural choice and able to unify his coalition government in a way few else could. However, all has not been well in Dr. Freeman's administration of late.

As you may or may not be aware, the Clandonians have taken a strong dislike to a black man administrating a nation which borders one of their colonies. They have begun massing troops on our borders and despite Prestonia's resolve and ability to mass all able-bodied men to the defense of our homeland, I fear the day may soon come when the free and independent Prestonian kingdom perishes from this earth.

The Cots in the west and Clandonians in the East threaten to crush Prestonia as a ripe orange in a vice grip. Our forces are strong, our resolve unbreakable, but unless we are able to secure assistance from elsewhere, we cannot hope to win a prolonged two-front war with possible Royal Georgian League backing.

With this in mind, I come to you with swallowed pride to ask a favor: please Mr. Kazansky, in the name of the liberty and freedom we both cherish, help me save my Kingdom. Any assistance you are able to give, whether it be troops, ships or planes, will be greatly appreciated.

Thank you for your consideration.

Yours in the Pursuit of Liberty,
HM Richard VIII
By the Grace of God King of Prestonia
Emperor of Macao
High Chieftain of Maasailand
Lord of the Commonwealth Realms
Defender of the Weak and Downtrodden
45th King of Prestonia
Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Preston

To: HM Richard VIII, King of Prestonia
From: Alexander Kazansky, President, United States of Allanea

Encryption Level: None.


Greetings, my Prestonian friend.

What madness is this? The Clandonians are planning to betray the KGP – no, in fact have betrayed it by this very notion that a war may be declared over a single man's skin color. The Kingston Pact is based upon the notion of individual liberty - not upon the notion of racist oppression.

The Kingston Pact is bound by the honor of its peoples to the notions of individual liberty, free markets, and peace, and to the collective defense of Kingston pact nations. For a Pact nation to attack another over the skin color of its leader is the filthiest treason, unworthy of the Kingston Pact's flag. By their actions, the Clandonians yet once more prove that they are not a proper Kingston Pact nation yet, but rather a gutless bully, crawling in the shade of its masters. It is a pity the Praetonians are too busy with world affairs to deliver a proper whipping to their leadership.

You need not 'swallow your pride' to ask me for help – naturally, Prestonia, the small, yet free nation, cannot withstand the violent onslaught of the Cots and Clandonians at once. There is no shame in being weak in body – but there is a shame in being a worthless, racist traitor, as the Clandonians are showing themselves to be. As such I beg of you – make your distress public. Send copies of this message to all nations of the Kingston Pact, and I am sure none will deny you help.

In the meanwhile, I am requesting clearance on your airports once more, to assist the moving in of yet another mechanized infantry division by air from the Cloyster Coast. Additionally, I am ordering the delivery to your nation of multiple decomissioned ships that shall be sent over via the gulf that separates our nations. They'll be coming in under Allanean flag, just in case.

Finally, the 2 mechanized and one airborne division that we already sent are there at your disposal. Please inform me as to where you would like them positioned.

Additional aid will be sent out soon, in as great amounts as we can manage.

Yours in Liberty,
Alexander Kazansky,
President for Life of the United States
Liberator of Torontonias
Sword of the Queen
Count de Centreville
Secretary-General of the Confederacy of Sovereign States
Emperor of Greater Prussia

RAF Northfield and HMNB New Brighton, Clandonian South Haven

The listening post easily intercepted the Allanean message, as suspected they were sending un-encrypted communications that would be easily intercepted to lure the Clandonians into a false sense of security. With Clandonian reinforcements hot on their way to the colony and the Imperial Expeditionary Fleet sailing West from the Arctic at full steam ready for if the situation arrose to liberate the colony from black nationalist theft and aggression. The treachery of the Allaneans had been long known and their entry into the Kingston Pact had infuriated the Tory government of Sistilin with its strong realpolitik stance. Sistilin refused to be talked to by a negro and instead ordered the mining of the waters surrounding of Prestonia in a similar manner as the Cottish had done to the West. A flight of B-22's left the airbase minutes after Freemans broadcast denying land redistribution, flanked four pairs of the classified TF-70 "Shukusei' stealth fighters they deployed Marinemine-175 across the small bay separating CSH and Prestonia, just on the edge of international waters and well in range of Prestonian radar and surface to air weaponry. Near by a task element of a Broadsword Class AA Battlecruiser had its sensors tuned to the max observing all sorts of electronic and satellite chatter over the region, her missile banks contained both powerful nuclear AA missiles and anti-satellite weaponry.

The four hundred ships of the Clandonian colonial force from the Imperial Fleet were put to sea and ordered to put sea either to fight the Prestonian navy or the Allaneans, whoever came first into the range of the guns and missiles of the Clandonian Royal Navy would pay a heavy price. HMS Repulse one of the Nelson Class Supercapitals of Force Z and two battlefleets were West of New Tipperary were ordered to head towards Cloyster Coast to assemble bombardment positions and display a show of force against possible Allanean aggression.


RAF Flyde, Northern Clandonia

The remote location of the RAF base was chosen by the Imperial Chiefs of Staff for their new location after the threat that the Allaneans now posed against existing installations and the cities. The other direction of talk was the situation in Praetonia with what could become a vote of no confidence in the current government leading to election. In the House of Commons the ruling Tory party had managed to whip its dissenters into agreement by threatening them with the dirt whips and chief whips alike had collected on them over the years. Sistilin was popular and with fears of land redistribution many white Clandonians were in fear of the 'negro threat' to the old imperial order. General Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett had called together the best of the top brass as he prepared to lead the expeditionary force that would booster the colonies security.

"Prestonian military activity on the border could easily overwhelm our colonial forces. We must hope that the Royal Navy and Air Force can save the day, as I have highlighted before the Crown Army is dangerously small for such a far flung empire."

"Indeed, the army matter is a time for discussion later though. We have two armoured divisions in CSH but the RAF have another transport wing on prep to move more Phalanx tanks and Stykers."

"Jolly good, we shall meet again when I arrive in Pretoria with the Clandonian Expeditionary Force."

The Allaneans, of course, noticed the movements of the Clandonian navy, and their first action was cautious. They took five decommissioned Arsenal ships and pre-programmed a simple path into them. For such a short trip, a maintenance crew would not be required, and the Allanean ships would simply sail towards the Prestonian shore, Allanean flag waving, and automatically drop anchor within view of the shore, so that the Prestonians could take them over – that is, unless the Clandonians shot at them.

In the meanwhile, the Allanean Mechanized division was already setting up to land in Prestonia, and the three divisions that had already arrived were headed to the Prestonian positions near the border. They were ordered to set up a defensive position 300 kilometers wide and six kilometers deep, whereon the Mechanized troops would be supported by airborne and by their own cannon.

~- Official Declaration of the Shansekian Kingdom -~

Regarding the Current Situation in the Central Prestonia-C.S.H Region

The Shansekian Kingdom, after considering the forces at play, its obligations to the Royal Georgian League, and the cause behind Central Prestonia-Clandonia and/or -Cotland tensions, hereby affirms that it will:


Only war with Central Prestonia on a second-strike basis. In case of war, the Shansekian Kingdom will only

Fight on the defensive, and will not advance troops past current Prestonian borders; aircraft and naval units are excepted
Seize Prestonian merchant ships as prisoners of war
Allow Prestonian expatriates in Shansekian territories to flee

Mobilize current marine forces in Clandonian South Haven to approximately one kilometer from the Clandonia-Prestonia border
Mobilize current marine forces in the continent of Southwest Haven in the nations of Cotland and the colonies of Clandonia and Praetonia
Continue to allow trade with the nation of Central Prestonia
Continue to allow citizens of Central Prestonia reside within the Shansekian Kingdom, provided they obtain the proper visa, and vice-versa


The Shansekian Kingdom sincerely hopes that the current tensions can be resolved peacefully and without needless fighting and death.

Colonel David Sanders kicked at a pebble on the pier as the Ro-Ro steamed silently away, only the chop of the propellors indicating that it was moving under its own power. In the past twenty-four hours, his command, the 503rd Colonial Heavy Artillery Division (Reserve), had abruptly ceased to be, at least in terms of equipment. Launchers, reload vehicles, command vehicles, even the Humvees, had gone onto the small convoy of Navy maritime support vessels. He had hear rumors that some of the active divisions had been raided for personnel, asking for volunteers to advise a foreign nation.

Oddly, he still had most of the warheads. Chemical, precision guided, even the ICM rounds had been left behind. Nary a single airfield suppression round had been left, however, nor the spare rockets for the reloads.

http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y87/fahooglewitz1077/newAkiFlag.png
Official Communique

The Autocratic Federated Empire is quite frankly appalled at the apparent intolerance and racism inherent in Clandonia. The internal affairs of Prestonia are none of their business and actions taken by Clandonian are a violation of the sovereignty of the Prestonian state.

We exhort the Clandonians to come to the bargaining table and hammer out amicable terms for a ceasefire before there is more needless violence fueled by hate.

~Division of External Affairs

The attitude in Questers, as opposed to the rest of Haven, was generally pro Clandonian. The Questarian-Clandonian Cultural Society sponsored and created pro Clandonian propaganda but it was hardly necessary; the general feeling of the white public was that this new Prime Minister was a rallying point for Questarian blacks who cried out for real political participation. It was a threat to White Questarian culture, and as usual, there was but one nation in Haven who supported the efforts of Questarian whites to maintain their "white utopia."

The Clandonian Ambassador was summoned to Government House, Jesselton, and was offered a mutual defence pact that would ensure that Questers would fight alongside Clandonia's side if necessary. Handshakes were offered and afterwards the ambassador sat with the Prime Minister and enjoyed brandy and cigars while Questarian blacks returned home from twelve hour shifts in coal mines to their dilapidated and unsanitary homes.

Meanwhile, a pro-Clandonian and anti-Prestonian rally was held in Jesselton, and was mirrored in Kuching and Tawau. Southern Radio Station One played the Questarian and Clandonian anthems at lunchtime while announcing the news. The Strobovian Squadron was put on high alert with much fanfare, news reels of Questarian aircraft carriers steaming into the distance arousing much patriotic feeling amongst 'embattled' Questarian whites.

In the evening, a clash between pro-Prestonian and pro-Clandonian activists occured in Butterworth, with five hundred left wounded and a score, all black, dead. White opinion polls put pro Clandonia feeling at 62% and pro-Prestonian feeling at 33%, with 5% undecided. On the other hand, in black ghettoes widescale rioting occurred and demands by the African Labour Party to support Prestonia in the face of Clandonian aggression were met by the Social Conservative Party attempting, once more, to push legislation to restrict Africans from demonstrating through Parliament. They were of course, defeated, but the feeling was clear: Questers stood with Clandonia and the Royal Navy would fight alongside her ideological allies.

Ebon Tor, Magna Casa, Aequatius Prime

Alexis Castle sat in the quiet surroundings of the Presidential Residence's library as she overlooked the reports from nearly a dozen federal government departments on the growing situation within West Haven between Prestonia and Clandonia. The Aequatian populace had little time for international affairs recently, looking inward at the upcoming election and the uninvited Izistani intrusion of reconnaissance aircraft off the northern coastline, and Castle had yet to make a statement on what was now becoming a likely tinder box for open war.

Although a majority of Aequatians had taken well to their newfound allies in nations such as Praetonia, Willink and Chevrokia and hoped for continued peace and cooperation, it was the backwards nations such as Questers and Clandonia that many had issues with being aligned with, namely for their unreasonably racist policies. However, never would an Aequatian citizen ever agree that the Republic's military should ever be used to change the internal workings of another nation, no matter how reprehensible and loutish the society may be in practice. The Clandonian contempt for Prestonia's democratic choice of government by their posturing and mobilization of forces apparently poised to strike against the mutual ally sickened many Aequatians as national weekly current events magazines, newspapers and internet news sites brought to light the situation in the Western corner of the region. The popularity of the new Progressive Party, born from the ashes of the old Centrists, had brought about a new age for the Republic whose citizens now wished to uphold the concepts of national sovereignty and democracy, and there was talk amongst both the populace and the National Senate for a firm stance on the situation at hand.

Editorials posted online spoke of "the throes of the old ways" within nations such as Questers and the nearby colony of Clandonian South Haven, another likened the Clandonian territory as "lashing out at Freeman in despiration as their systems become unsustainable in the modern age." The Cotlanders received their own share of criticism, debates arose as to how the Aequatian government and AMI Corporation support the sales of defence products to a nation that would so easily turn on the Republic's allies and even a few online postings called for a halt of arms shipments and technical support to the nation. The only nation involved in the affair directly to escape criticism, was Praetonia, at the head of the Royal Georgian League, for MP Sir Arthur Hemmington-Cuefuffle's statement in the Praetonian House of Commons, which received much praise from the National Senate and citizenry alike.

In the following hour, the President went before the world in a live broadcast at the National Senate Chambers. She addressed the situation and the dangers it posed not only to the Kingston Pact alliance but what it did to threaten the stability of the region, "The new world order, in which freedom and democracy stand above all else, is one where international disputes should be handled with diplomacy and tact, not the gunboat and bayonet, between the nations of the Free World with the Doomingslander threat removed from the international community for the time being.

Solidarity. Standing united and ready to defend our nations, and those who would stand with us, against tyranny is paramount to the continued existance of our way of life. To appease the nations of Clandonia and Cotland, who very now threaten the legitimate and democratic government and people of Prestonia, is to abandon all which we hold dear and surrender ourselves to the precedent in which we allow regimes such as Doomingsland, Azaha and Zukaaria to decide the future of the world and enslave us all.

I close with saying this to the free nations of Haven: The time is now, to stand as one, towards the means of staying Clandonian and Cotlander aggression and seek proper resolution to the crisis at hand. I, and the National Senate, endorse the Akimonadi suggestion for a joint meeting to discuss a ceasefire and defined demobilization of forces along both sides of the border."