NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC Thread can be found here: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=563916

Postpone it how you will, the axe blade awaits us all;
All your decades of struggling are in vain, barren as a salted field,
For the angels of agony stand beyond the gate, smiling, motionless;
Time will deliver you into their hands soon enough.
Tombs slide, the earth crumbles away, towers fall and palaces burn:
Kings perish, empires shatter and fade.
The world tilts swiftly, and we slide towards the angels of agony:
Their jaws are open, and their hour has come.”

-excerpt from Angels of Agony, by Azrael the Wise (8th cent.)

* * *

Korronis
Three weeks ago

“Mediterranica, gentlemen.”

Imperator Malustar rubbed the growth on his chin as he unfolded his telescoping pointer. The projector at his right showed a satellite image, with political boundaries imposed on top, of the region of Mediterranica. Indicating the eastern side of the region, Malustar turned to his audience, seated quietly in one of the Palace’s countless briefing rooms. There was one important difference, however, between this presentation and the others he had given since becoming head of the Armed Forces: other Gothic nations were represented here as well via webcam, a first for the High Command.

“Unfortunately, we know little about the region. Militarily, it can be assumed that Gothic forces will have the advantage, but the Intelligence Division has so far been unable to obtain anything more than basic information about the various nations. What we have is contained in the booklet we handed out.” Malustar pressed a button that highlighted several different-colored arrows pointing at eastern coastlines. “These are the primary invasion paths. Various Gothic nations will be taking them; the goal is to open many fronts simultaneously and quickly, which will impact the enemy’s logistics and morale more heavily. We should expect progress to be quick, although we recognize that not all of our Gothic partners feel the same way that we do about civilian casualties…” He drifted off, an impatient look coming into his eyes, but caught himself after a second and went on. “The point is, multiple fronts will prevent us from being flanked on the regional scale, take a heavier toll on the enemy’s resources and morale, and allow us to expand from initial gains more quickly.

“The overall commander of the campaign will be Lord Rahvin.” The tension in the room instantly tripled, and those who had the temerity to shoot a glance at Emperor Ishamael saw that he was gripping the arm of his chair with white-knuckled fists, tightening with rage. He, of course, had originally ordered the decision, but as the entire court knew, the Emperor hated Rahvin, and while the man was certainly the best suited for the job, Ishamael didn’t have to like it. “For your foreigners,” the Imperator continued, trying to ignore the crackling tension, “Lord Rahvin Ares is generally regarded as the best military mind in the Empire, and gained fame as the planner and executor of operations against Czardas and Doomingsland. I assure you he is up to the task, and he himself believes in independence of subordinates; you can be sure that he will not abuse the position.”

Lord High General Yataghan cleared his throat before interjecting, "Pardon me, sir, but for the benefit of our...foreign guests...could you explain why, exactly, we are mounting this attack?"

"An excellent question, General," Malustar said, scowling a little. He didn't appreciate being interrupted, and Kregaians weren't used to explaining why they had to fight infidels. "For religious reasons, of course, we Kregaians require no justification to go to war with any nations not friendly to Gholgoth. But this particular target, Mediterranica, has been chosen for several reasons. Gholgoth needs to flex its military muscles to demonstrate to the world that it is not to be ignored; this was achieved partially in the recent conference at ULE City, but it is the opinion of the Emperor that Gholgoth needs to make a military demonstration as well. As a target for such a demonstration, Mediterranica is ideal: we have no close ties with it economically or politically, and captured lands would serve ideally as a jumping-off spot for further...demonstrations. Finally, some Gothic nations are concerned about the well-being of the Mediterranican civilians: the Emperor asserts that intervention here will actually save life, by deterring any aggression against Gholgoth and stifling the conflicts in the region. I trust that answers your question, General."

The Imperator went on for some time, displaying images of foreign coastlines and key enemy targets, but the rest was mere detail. The war machine of Gholgoth would be turning towards Mediterranica, and the mobilization had already begun. Ordered in the greatest possible secrecy, the machinery ran smoothly, since those involved at all levels were experienced in the process. Shipments were hurriedly loaded onto planes, trains, and ships from all corners of the Empire, and then rushed to Korronis, whose transportation facilities were built to handle the strain of mobilization. Unlisted troop trains rushed across Kregaia to the capital, where the soldiers were quartered in a city of barracks near the military docks and war machines were stored in colossal warehouses. The harbor began to draw warships like a light draws flies, sometimes hundreds arriving every day. All across Gholgoth, ships were being assembled, supplies were being readied, and soldiers were being mobilized, in preparation for the strike.

* * *

The day of departure had come: for once the clouds over Korronis were gone and the sun shone down warmly on the thousands of warships assembled in its harbor. The departure of a war fleet was one of the greatest spectacles the Empire could offer: ships stretched off far beyond what the eye could see, sailors manning the rails while countless banners displaying the crimson five-armed cross, the symbol of the Imperium, fluttered proudly in the breeze. In the distance loomed the most massive shapes, the faded silhouettes of the Navy’s flagships, bristling with guns and missile launchers. Aboard the central ship, the Deathmask, High Admiral Ludo Anor stood, watching through binoculars as back at the docks, priests offered a sacrifice to consecrate the fleet and its endeavors. At his left stood Lord Rahvin, who had been smirking all day: this was his hour, and everyone expected it would be yet another glorious triumph to add to his record…which, of course, was another increase in his popularity at the expense of the Emperor. Millions of soldiers, thousands of tanks and guns, and the other necessities of war were tucked safely in the colossal bellies of hundreds upon hundreds of troop transports, preparing for the long journey to Mediterranica.

Ashore, the people screamed in an ecstasy of excitement as the priests completed their prayers; the order was given, and the captives, strapped to sacrificial altars, were quickly dispatched, their blood flowing freely as they gurgled out their final breaths. The Kregaian throngs stamped their feet and roared prayers, screaming to the gods that the mighty fleet should achieve its goal of conquest: the din was unbelievable, but above it all could be heard the fanfares of trumpets, the signal for the great fleet to depart. Slowly the ships weighed anchor, slipping out through the Straits and beginning the voyage west.

OOC: I hate mobilization posts, so excuse the quality.

*********

It took little effort by the Kregaians to sell the war to Lord Dreadfire, who himself had been looking to expand Gothic influence across the globe (by force if necessary), as well as the influence of his own Empire. It was only natural that such an enticing offer would catch the Supreme Warlord's eye, and it was immediately determined that Automagfreek would support its allies in their plans of grand conquest. Intelligence had hastily dug up whatever it could on the ongoing LION/Hegemony conflict and had determined that a swift operation into Mediterranica would likely catch everyone off guard, and with their attentions drawn elsewhere it would hopefully lead to a quick Gothic victory. An easy operation he assumed, and with additional conquered lands under regional authority, allied forces would have a considerable springboard that it could use to launch future operations against foes waiting to be conquered.

The Kregaian commander Lord Rahvin was little known to Freekish Warchiefs, but would nevertheless be trusted to lead Gothic forces into battle. AMF itself would be playing largely a supporting role, taking the most dangerous duties of protecting friendly invasion forces from being flanked or out maneuvered. While Lord Dreadfire had his reservations about trusting his men under an outside commander, he put aside his feelings in the spirit of brotherhood when he concluded that the overall invasion plan was indeed sound. Freekish forces would have to be lead by a competant Warchief who was not afraid of taking orders from someone other than the Supreme Warlord, and Vidimir Breathstealer would fit the bill well.

His armies were well seasoned and had taken part in the invasion of the Kraven Corporation oh so long ago, and though he emerged victorious and was hailed as a hero, he also suffered the single most horric losses in a battle in Freekish history...losing over 100,000 Sentinels from a devastating biological attack. His 32nd Army would be bolstered by the 2nd Sentinel Marine Expeditionary Force, and his fleet would consist of some 2,000 plus ships with additional reinforcements always within a day's sail. The rapid mobilization from the garrisons at St. Freeksburg would would see the city in a state of near chaos as soldiers and support personnel rushed about making final preparations for their journey. Kregaian high command would be kept as up to speed as possible as to the status of the modestly sized Freekish invasion force, which would then link up with Gothic forces for the initial push into Mediterranica.

Sensing that perhaps the war might escalate further than anticipated, Dreadfire's most trusted Warchief by the name of Zander was put on alert and ordered to assemble his forces as well and linger at the outer edge of Gothic territory. Having been through more wars than any other nation in modern history, the Freekish military was not one to leave anything to chance, and thus would not forsake Vidimir in the event his forces required assistance. It was highly unlikely that these forces would be needed anyways, for in the past Vidimir was able to overcome inncredible odds with less resources at his disposal. Dreadfire was also more than confident that the greater Gothic armada would be able to accomplish their tactical and strategic goals easily with few losses, however his lesser commanders were not as optimistic.

It would be some time before the mammoth joint attack force would be ready to hit the high seas, but time was of no concern to any of the Goths due to no public declaration of war or intent, and their Mediterranican foes would likely be blindsided by their assault. However it was still a possibility that they would be detected as they approached the outer reaches of their regional territory, but by that point it would be too late to mobilize a proper defense to full keep the Goths from their waters. This speculation and other scenarios were being run through the Freekish war rooms and discussed heavily by military planners and think tanks, and contingency plans would be put on the board before the first Freekish ship even set sail. It was no simple matter to storm into another region, and a war of this scale would take cunning and proper planning in order to execute.

Vidimir himself arrived in St. Freeksburg several hours after the mobilization order had been given, where his flagship Hole In The Sky had been awaiting his arrival. He was pleased with the progress being made thus far, but before making his way onto his ship he checked with various lesser officers in charge of getting men and material on board and demanded a progress report. Even though the mobilization was taking slightly longer than expected, time would be an asset that the Freeks and Goths would have available to them, and as the organized chaos of preparing men for battle continued, Lord Dreadfire sat patiently and waited for the hour of their departure....

life went on as best it could throughout the Republic.

The imposed government curfews and checkpoints made even the simpelest of tasks a hassle. But such were the times, with conflict breaking out across the region the new government strived to keep the Republic out of the fray and give its people a sense of normalcy.

Still not wanting to throw caution to the wind routine naval and aireal patrols around the Republic and her territories as well as the placing of the Republic's army on high alert.

In a seeming echo from the past city streets were once again walked by men in uniform, the infamous Red Wall was as active as it had been since the first Zambisi conflict, and all but a few border gates were closed, save the Pan Med which remained open and flowing as usual.

The skies above Qiranic were dense with thick black smog. Massive trains snaked through the city into the colossal harbour depositing massive quantities of supplies, equipment, and of course, soldiers. The final Companies of Legios I were finally being loaded up into the Yuzhno Battlegroup, three days behind schedule. Field Marshall Krocoff stood on the bridge of the Cathlong Godtimar, flagship of the Surgkuta Battlegroup, and the Western Battlefleet. He looked out over the huge bay, pocked with military vessel after military vessel. Eight battlegroups were being pulled together for this operation, all from the Western Battlefleet. Three Legions of Artitsan soldiers were already packed up and ready to go; the Third, Fourth, and Seventh. Ninth Legion was to remain in Artitsa stationed out of Juventus AFB.

Krocoff straightened up and walked briskly towards his tactical control centre. A massive digital chart of Artitsa was displayed showing the 5 Battlegroups in the Qiranic Bay staging to mobilize, while the other three Battlegroups sat prepared in Fang Bay outside of the ports of Khabarvosk and Skovograd. If Krocoff was furious, he wasn't showing it. The major delay in moving out came from trying to acquire new C21 Kronos MBT's to replace the older M18A4's in the Infantry Legions. In the end, the dozens of Armoured Companies of Artitsa retained precedence over the legions for the new vehicle proving the whole attempt futile. Not all was lost however as three of the aforementioned Companies were already packed up with the three Battlegroups in Fang Bay.

By the close of the afternoon, the expeditionary fleet should be ready to move out and begin its voyage to meet up with other Gothic fleets. Krocoff would be leading this expeditionary, surprising only in the fact he was over qualified for the job. Having taken part in conflicts around the world including Belem, Bisons, Nianacio, Roach Busters, Generia, and several others. He was the Crown Prince's right hand man, and would be called upon once more.

Chess was widely regarded as a noble game in the Empire, an entertaining and stimulating occupation for a man. Although some, such as General Decevus Ctani, were newcomers to it, etiquette didn't forbid them from matching against experienced players such as the Emperor Ishamael, and chess offered a way for the Inner Court to while away the hours while talking of military or political matters. As General Ctani took Ishamael's knight with a bishop, he glanced at his Emperor and inquired cautiously, "My Lord?"

"Hm?" Ishamael leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, and studied the board.

"I...can't help wondering about the campaign."

"I don't see why." Ishamael started to reach for his other bishop, before pulling back his hand to think some more. "Lord Rahvin is...capable. Even I can't argue with that. His record is impeccable."

"He lost two hundred ships at Czardas."

"He was up against one of the world's best defense systems and taken by surprise." Ishamael scowled. "And in fact, that was actually High Admiral Anor's responsibility. I won't tolerate foolishness, Decevus; you have to admit, Czardas was textbook." As he finished, he moved his bishop to threaten one of the general's pawns, and stared at him.

Decevus was forced to nod in response: Lord Rahvin's innovative and brutal strategy in the Czardaian War had radically changed Kregaian warfighting and was studied thoroughly in every military college in the Empire. Furthermore, the Emperor's move had shifted greater pressure onto his defenses. He leaned back to ponder his next move, continuing absently, "Well, you have to admit, things are going to be different this time. He's in overall command of a massive Gothic force. Several forces, actually; it's a misnomer even to call this a single operation. Can anyone be expected to effectively manage groups so diverse and far apart? The gods know if some of these people even speak English."

Ishamael chuckled. "They speak English. And clearly you didn't read the file, General. Rahvin is overall commander, but that's a vanity position. It doesn't mean anything. I expect the Freeks will have their own front, the Artitsans another, the Skyians a third...you get the picture. We're opening multiple fronts simultaneously, and as you pointed out, such spread-out and large forces are beyond the capacity of any single person to effectively command." His smiled widened as General Ctani moved a pawn, leaving the path open for his knight to swoop in and mate the king. "Don't worry so much, General. We have everything well in hand."

Speaker Drew Haltom stared out the window of his office as the sun rose over the trees and mountains to the east. He had grown accustomed to watching the sun rise in the mornings, even if he never saw it set in the evenings. He turned around in his chair, facing his desk, which was disheveled with various folders, papers, an ashtray, a few empty cans of various soft drinks, and his computer monitor. Through the doorway stepped in his secretary, bringing him the latest document on the coming invasion of the next Gothic target: Mediterranica. She handed the folded piece of paper to Haltom, who promptly opened it, allowing the small map inside to fall to his desk.

"What is it?" his secretary asked, moving a few strands of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear.

"Marching orders. We've got our invasion corridor straight into the Aschenhyrst colony of Islay. I've got to call Spitz and give him the Go Order for the MOB," Haltom said, glancing at the map on his desk.

"Drew," his secretary said, disconcertedly, "why are we doing this?"

Haltom smiled. "Why not, sis?" he asked his sister, Mary-Margaret Haltom, who also doubled as his secretary.

"Because there's thousands of men in the SCAF who are going to be a part of this invasion who have families. What did this region ever do to Sniper Country? Why risk the lives of these good men for nothing?" she asked, almost in a mood of dispair.

"Sis, you are aware that less than ten percent of the SCAF actually has a family, right? Besides, our guys are more than capable of handling this. Not to mention Velkya is going in there with us, so we'll have plenty of protection on all sides. Maybe if we pull this one off, we can restore Sniper Country to the glory it used to maintain back in the day, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Mary-Margaret replied, leaving the office promptly.

Speaker Haltom sighed and turned around to his direct line to CGN Mark Spitz.

"Hey Mark: We're GO for the MOB. Yeah, Pascagoula. Aight," were the few words Haltom mumbled before hanging up the phone.

-----

CGN Spitz received word of the Go Order just as the sun was casting its rays upon AO-101. Immediately, he sent word to the various commanders of the divisions which would be mobilizing at Pascagoula Naval Yard.

It was Mobilization Order 619, and only three Infantry Divisions were being called up, along with one Mechanized Infantry Division and one Aviation Group (although small elements from various other Aviation Forces units would be utilized throughout the mission). The best three Infantry Divisions in the SCAF (aside from obvious Special Forces units) were being mobilized: 2nd Infantry Division, 5th Marine Division, and the 19th Infantry (Airborne) Division. The Mechanized Infantry Division called up for the mission was mainly being mobilized as a support element, and thus the 98th Mechanized Infantry Division was sent the Order. Finally, for aviation assets, the 185th Aviation Group was being mobilized mainly for its ease of deployment capability. The Infantry Divisions would have twelve hours to be mobilized in Pascagoula, while the Mechanized Infantry Division would have eighteen hours to be set up and awaiting transport. It was determined that a large majority of the transportation would be accomplished by sea travel, although the 19th Infantry (Airborne) Division would most assuredly be escorted by air.

With those divisions being mobilized, Spitz called to Anberlin, requesting three teams of SOF-D operators to be placed on standby for the mission. While this was only 36 men, they were most likely only going to be used for FOB security once one was set up. Of course the men of the SOF-D hated the mission, but it would serve as a little sightseeing for a while.

With pleasure, CGN Spitz stood and looked out his window onto Cairns Airfield, awaiting the spin-up of the 185th Aviation Group. It was always a delight to see troops preparing for war.

As the last of the formations entered the vastness of Vruzanazan Plaza the music reached a grand crescendo, the colossal orchestra at the fore of the proceedings rising the pitch of their music, the sun seemed to shine directly down upon the proceedings, the tall statues of Novans Past casting long shadows over the legions, rank upon rank stood at quivering attention, a thousand flags and more flapped in the faint breeze, regimental banners rose to a more austere height. The Ranks of soldiers seemed to go on forever in the vastness of the square, with Tokontu perched upon specialised racks the entire scene was otherworldly, at the front most section of the square, rose the Tower of Destiny, it’s spire reaching for the sky, sprouting many large balconies, the foremost one that faced out upon the square was the focus of attention, the tower itself was flanked by more statuary the two flanking it in particular were particularly grand and imposing, wielding swords at the sky, their garb draped heavily over their sword arm, standing side on, with a distinctly hieratic expression, as the shadows leant further life to their hauntingly real faces.

Upon the Balcony stood many officials, all saluting the forces as they had marched into position Gold Skull Enforcers were interspersed throughout the proceedings, ever vigilant, if they could help it, there would be no repeat of the Trezuz Uprising in which Kukonois had begun his movement, though none would dare attack here, not when there were rumoured to be three million soldiers and associated divisions in the parade, such a display of Novan military might had not bee done for many decades and harked back to the times of Viartnel of the 35th century among others. At the forefront of the officials stood Denteth, before a podium as he saluted out across the square, and as the music reached it’s climax his arm lowered unnoticeably, as he placed both hands upon the podium and clutched it gently, and as the music ended he summed up the square and all of the assembled, a deathly silence filled the air. Flags flapping were the only visible sound apart from birds, the entire square waited with baited breath, not to mention the people elsewhere watching and waiting.

Finally the Suprainister raised his arms slowly as he began to call across the square, “People of Novacom, HEAR ME!” his voice was soft yet forceful, a subtle fire burning behind it, and amplified by the speakers all around, his voice reverberated as the square cheered a single slogan, we hear you, we wait for you, we are with you. “Today is a day of celebration; it is on this day many millennia ago that we were a united people once again. The Diri E I G Ignen were ended that day, and this day only Kukonois final Bastion remains, Citadel, Victory is almost ours once again. The Strength Fervour and devotion of you my people has made this possible, we do honour to our ancestors, and we have proven ourselves once again worthy of our heritage! We have emphasised why we are who we are, Novans people of Novacom!” these last words were almost drown out by the immense cheering from the surrounds of the square which rose to such a volume ti appear to make the very air shake.

From one of the balconie’s of the Tower of destiny the proceedings were being observed upon by Izalien, she had been there for the opening part of the ceremonies, and observing down below her Fiancé Denteth was well into his stride for his speech, turning back as she strode back into her office levering herself down into her high backed chair as she sighed momentarily. A Distal sound echoed through the room up to it’s high vaulted ceiling, Izalien called out a single word as she clasped her hands before her, “Enter”

A Pair padded in through the door, which hissed slightly as it slid closed, as they made their way with typical military efficiency through the vast expanse that was Izalien’s Ministerial Chambers, when they reached her desk they stopped and simply saluted, a very familiar pair indeed, both fairly young, and fairly alike, apart from one had blonde hair and wore a pair of steel rimmed circular glasses. Though as to whether he needed them or not was questionable, and was a favoured subject of argument from the other, who had barely controlled brown hair and mocking eyes.

Izalien summed them up with a quick glance before rising, her hands hung at her sides as she eyed up their pair, “It has been decided,” Izalien curtly stated, thrusting out her right arm hurling a pair of Data Crystals at the twin Srihaculs before her, Sirhacul Otto Vo Kovai Va Kitas and Srihacul Reece Dau Kenzal, the pair caught them with casual ease as they waited for the minister to continue.

Izalien did not wait long as she pressed the formerly outstretched hand against the inset layer of her desk, subtly, lights began to trace around her fingertips “Voice Identification: Minister Izalien Druzenron Jhanhus, display Datacle 9, Kregaian Event 6,” the light on the console vanished as a distant light descended from the high up ceiling and a hologram shimmered to life upon Izalien’s desk.

“Mediterannica,” returned Kitas and Kenzal at once, Izalien gave a tight smile, “Yes Mediterannica, this has been Kregaia’s Pet project for a while, the details of which were made more concrete at the last meeting of the Gothic Lords, as you know this is in alignment with our goals in the region, considering other,” she paused for a moment tilting her head slightly smirking, “problems. I entask you with the Authority you require to pursuer our goals by any means deemed necessary, now go enjoy the remainder of the proceedings.” It was an order not a suggestion as the pair looked at each other before saluting and filing out quickly, as Izalien lowered herself into her chair and rested her chin upon her upraised hands deep in thought.

It had taken a week but the force was assembled, all the usual culprits were in the flotilla as it departed the gargantuan ports of Lozinigral on course for Mediterannica, where prior to arrival it would unite with the other Gothic fleets before again dividing for the first targets. The massive holds of the fleet’s had been loaded stem to stern with supplies and equipment, some of which was just barely out of the testing stages, of considerable note was not within, but without, 6 vessels of an unknown type, evidently a warship, well armed and armoured, but not excessively so for one of it’s size, it seemed to boast a heavy amount of the strange tower’s that the Novans created upon their vessels, and would cause quite an issue for any foe.

It would take some time for the Novans to arrive, however to a nation that had existed for millennia, what but was a few weeks…

If Gholgoth were a family, the Drakonian Imperium would be the rabidly liberal college student who protested everything or said nothing and kept to himself. Of course, if Gholgoth were a family then the family reunion would be ruckus and violently loud affairs full of grizzled war heroes, disgruntled crazy old men, young brilliant scientists, great friendships and camaraderie, and an astounding diversity of opinions.

As the Imperium largely did not take part in the affairs of Gholgoth, its position in the alliance was tenuous at best. Despite several failed attempts to establish claims on Gothic Continent, all had fallen through and the Imperium had no holdings on territory there. Left with a purely diplomatic relationship to Gholgoth, Drakonia's connection was weak. That connection was primarily tied up in the relationship the Imperium held with its neighbor and close ally Tersanctus, for the Imperium had few other embassies in Gothic nations. The war crimes of Automagfreek and Warmaster were well documented, Crimmond was deemed too unstable, and the Imperium had only had rare contact with many of the Gothic nations.

So it was when the Imperium had begun lodging strong protests with the involved government against the Mediterranican Operation that few would have taken notice, if not for Drakonia's past silence in such matters. Those savvy enough to see the change had quickly tied up the diplomatic disapproval in slow processes of discourse less the Imperium do something rash.

After all, the Imperium was well known for its interventionist actions. Drakonia had made a career of "setting right the world's wrongs" under the banner of the United Emirates alliance it headed. Military deployments in East Turkestan, Raem, Al Anbar, and Fyreheart had all been spearheaded by the Imperium. While of course, the Imperium would never deploy against it allies in Gholgoth, the fact that it had taken notice and objected showed a change.

Might the sleeping dragon be awaking, to once again stand on the international stage? Only the keeper of time itself could tell.

Dresden, Thrashia | Main Headquarters Waffen SV

The officer walked through the marble halls of the busy, clerk-filled building with an almost lethal aura around him. Junior officers and attendants fled before him like wheat before a scythe. His knee-high, black-polished boots rang off the floor with a resounding snap after each step. With a set jaw and fiery eyes he seemed more like a force of nature than the commanding officer of the 7th SV Panzer Division of the Waffen SV.

He burst through the doors of an office off the side of the hallway and stalked inside. A small work desk with a lieutenant behind it sat before him. A door of polished and well manicured nalwood stood behind the office clerk. The lieutenant swallowed visibly.

“It’s a p-pleasure to see you Herr General,” the lieutenant stammered. “What can I do for you today?”

“You can damn well let me in to speak with that two-bit, no good, dirty, low down git of a Field Marshal!” General Kurt Heidrich stormed. The lieutenant literally withered under this storm of cursing. A general in the Waffen SV was intimidating enough, but General Heidrich was over six feet tall and large as an ox. His voice was accustomed to being heard over the roar of tanks and explosives. Needless to say he was very scary.

“I don’t think-,” began the lieutenant. However before he could come up with an excuse to deny the general his request without getting his ass chewed to bits the com on his desk buzzed. Sighing with relief for the distraction he pressed the receiver button.

“Yes Field Marshal, what can I do for you?” he asked into the speaker.

“You may allow General Heinrich to enter,” said Field Marshal Wittman in a sardonic voice.

The lieutenant couldn’t understand why the field marshal would let a brute like the general in, but his hands were tied. He answered back an affirmative and then waved the large general in. “The Field Marshal will see you now.”

Without a reply General Heidrich stormed past and opened the doors. He fully expected to see his commanding officer sitting behind his desk with a look of total annoyance and a paper out ready to give him a demotion or perhaps a lecture on what it meant to be a proper officer. However, instead, Field Marshal Wittman was sitting behind his desk with a slightly bemused smile on his face and his hands fitted together sitting on his clear desk. It stopped Heidrich in his tracks and he lost some of his steam for a moment.

“You wished to see me?” deadpanned Wittman.

Heidrich nearly laughed, but then remembered why he’d come. “Yes sir!” He snapped a salute. “I want to know why my men and I aren’t being allowed on this newest mission!? We’re ready! We haven’t had anything happening in a while and I put in for the next assignment months ago! It’s not fair if you allow those prissy Albatross boys in but not mine!”

While the general unloaded a months worth of angst and steam onto Wittman, the field marshal simply listened and smiled.

“You can’t make us stay! I’ll fight it! I’ll drag my large ass onto one of those planes whether you allow me or now! I’ll-.”

“You’re men and you are going,” said Wittman.

“Of course we’re going! I just said that…” Heidrich looked confused for a moment. “You mean you’re really letting us go?”

“Yes. I didn’t inform you right away because I wanted to see your reaction. I wanted to see just how far you’d go to getting this mission and frankly you did better than I expected…though I admit some of those insults I heard from outside…” Wittman said, keeping his face neutral but enjoying the discomfort the general was now in.

He looked sheepishly at his commander. “Well…thank you sir. I’ll be sure to do you proud.”

“Good. You’ll be commanding the men we send. Since we don’t have a full korp ready for combat at the moment, we’re sending in a mock-up in as a battlegroup. “Battlegroup Heidrich” to be exact,” replied Wittman.

“You mean that sir?” asked Heidrich, his eyes getting stars in them.

“Yes. You will have not only your division but also Colonel Eichmann’s grenadiers brigade, Brigadier General Halder’s mech infantry division, and Colonel Hoth’s 1st Brigade from the 23rd infantry, from your own korp. All in all you will have 60,000 men and some 1,200 tanks, 800 assault guns, 740 artillery pieces under your command, and also I am attaching Colonel Steele’s 28th Air Group to assist you with his fighter-bomber group,” Wittman said. He pulled a sheet of paper out from a draw that had all of his orders for Heidrich’s deployment written out.

Wittman handed the paper to the stunned general and smiled. “Good hunting general.”

“Thank you sir!” smiled General Heidrich. He took the paper then snapped his heals and saluted smartly. Without another blustering word or question the bear-of-a-man walked out of the room feeling very happy.

48 Hours Later, Dresden Main Military Airport

Within a series of quick deployments and hurried orders the Support & Supply Commissariat had managed to get all of Battlegroup Heidrich ready to deploy with the 8th Transport Air Fleet which had been entirely activated and put to General Heirdrich’s use. Thanks in part to the burly general’s implacable will and to the preparedness of the air fleets crews, several hundred 'Yarglov' Jumbo High Altitude Transport Planes (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Modern%20Tech%20Thrashia/Polar_Giant__by_vlda.jpg) had been prepped and all of the men and equipment stowed onboard.

By midnight of the transport fleet started its engines and took off. Their destination: Southern Vetalia.



Officer’s Section, Yarglov Transport Plane

“Shit.”

It was a word that paralleled the feelings of all the officers sitting around inside the small room that thrummed with the life of the huge Yarglov engines. There were six men sitting in a small semi-circle around a snap-up table usually used for playing cards. A detailed map of Mediterranican lay on it.

“Indeed,” nodded General Heidrich. “That would describe the mess we’re about to get in.”

Heidrich stood beside the table looking at the five other men from left to right: Colonel Eichmann of the 5th Panzer Grenadiers, Colonel Steele of the 28th Air Group, Colonel Hoth of the 23rd Infantry, Brigadier General Halder of the 2nd Mechanized Infantry Division, and his own adjutant Brigadier General Marcus Olbricht who commanded the 1st Panzer Brigade. It had been Olbricht who said ‘shit’.

“As you know this was a quick muster and deployment. Our objective is to invade and take several key points within the region; and if you couldn’t tell, we’ve only a small amount of resources to do it with at the moment. The regular army is still mobilizing. Only those Waffen SV units that were on field exercises or just getting back from leave were able to be slapped together. So, until a later date gentlemen, we’re it.”

Colonel Hoth whistled. “Big field army we’ve got.” The other officers chuckled.

“What about tanks?” queried General Halder. Halder was the oldest of the men assembled and but by far one of the most energetic men that Heidrich had ever met. He had a tempered fire in him that wouldn’t let anything stop him. “You said ‘armored spearhead’ back when we were still loading equipment. I’m assuming that means my men.”

“Yes to both,” Heidrich nodded. “This is thus far an unknown fact, and you had all better keep your lips shut on the topic, but we shall not be heading into enemy territory straight away. Instead we are landing in a friendly nation’s territory and moving out over land. From what we know of the general area,” he pointed to Southern Vetalia, “the region will not be heavily defended. Our passage is going to be quick and precise. No dicking around to smell the bloody roses.”

Heidrich pointed to the map. “Our main objective is this: the Aschenhyrst canal. With Vetalian help and logistical support, we should be able to reach it in under a week or quicker if what Admiral Reinhall said his fleet can do, can in fact do it.

“We won’t know the lay of the land until we reach Southern Vetalia. I’m expecting their liaison officer or whoever gets stuck having to follow our coat-tails to have accurate geographic information, on top of our own satellite and alliance intelligence.

“And remember: this is the first time that the Empire of Thrashia is taking a major part in a Gothic military operation. While we have our own operational area, we are under the nominal command of Lord Rahvin, and via the alliance Lord Dreadfire. We cannot fail in this task or else embarrass not only ourselves, but our Emperor too.”

Heidrich looked around at them.

“Any questions?”

“Yea,” piped up General Olbricht. “When did you learn to read a map? I didn’t know you could.” The group of officers roared with laughter and even Heidrich found himself laughing as well.

17 hours later, the first of the Thrashian forces began landing at pre-disposed locations all across air fields and military installations in Southern Vetalia.

Vetalia City, Vetalia

Early afternoon sunlight spilled through the wide windows of the Praetorial Office, highlighting the forest of construction cranes and tall skyscrapers that characterized the "reborn" Vetalia City. Praetor Ryzhkov and his personal attache Viktor Sechin were seated at an elaborate table inlaid with a map of Vetalia. A cloud of smoke, produced primarily by the powerful Kalorkanal cigarettes favored by the Praetor, hung over the map not unlike the tropical humidity of the regions it depicted. It did not need mentioning that this map encompassed regions long considered the realm of Greater Vetalia.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir? The Proconsul is a very important official...putting him in such a risky position is not necessarily the best choice. Perhaps one of the Consuls, or perhaps someone from the Interior Ministry..." Viktor Sechin was one of the Old Guard, one of the first members of the National Democratic Party and one who still retained the old values of internationalism and international cooperation that had been swept away in the rebuilding of the armed forces and militarism of recent years.

"No, I want to make this clear that our government is with this all the way. The Southern Vetalian regions have always been particularly supportive of our expansion south, and our country's best military academies are in the region. Not one member of our General Staff is a product of any other region." The Praetor smiled, tapping ashes in to a crystal ashtray. Southern Vetalia was the region that had catapulted him to power, and as their native son he was keen on ensuring their goals received foremost attention in government.

"But what about other regions? The North and Western districts have a lot to lose in the event this situation turns against us, and little to gain from a canal that bolsters the South's influence." Viktor's Northern accent began to resurface along with his raising pitch, further amusing the Praetor as he listened to old sectoral tensions resurface.

"As I've said, the military forces in those regions are highly supportive of our decision. We've ensured that there will be little other option than to comply with our wishes, especially given the extent to which the Free Corps has infiltrated the local political apparatus. I know on a first-hand basis that the Central and Eastern districts support the South, giving us a clear mandate to pursue this plan. Even if there are...problems...we have sufficient force to render them harmless."

"Yes, but the North is the heart of our industrial base. A general strike ther could be-" He cut himself off, knowing full well there would be no general strikes under the rule of the NDPV.

"Now, you know this has been discussed to no end in the Senate and in meetings with the Council time and again. This is not the time for second guessing...in fact, I've already seen to it that the Proconsul is en route to meet with the Thrashians as we speak. Furthermore, I will personally prepare tonight's address to the nation to announce our support of the Gholgothan invasion to ensure there is no chance of leaks..." The Praetor hinted in no small part that he felt Viktor played a role in the mysterious leaks from his office over the past eight years.

"Sir, I assure you there's no-"
"Enough. The matter has been settled and it is now time to follow it through to fruition. In an hour, I will be holding a private meeting with the General Staff to begin mobilization and I expect you to ensure everything goes smoothly. "

"Of course, Praetor." Viktor smiled, carefully concealing his irritance at the Praetor's stubborn support for the move. He walked away swiftly, outpacing the guards at the door and slamming it behind him. Although he considered himself above such childish displays, it was impossible to conceal his frustration at seeing the values of the NDPV subverted. Viktor had his own skeletons and his own history of problems, but there were some times when his latent ethics came through...and this was one of them.

"Strength through security, Praetor..." Viktor repeated the motto of the Free Corps once more to no one in particular before walking silently to his own offices on the Palace grounds.

Chelyabinsk, Southern Vetalia

The Proconsul could almost feel the hot, dry air of Chelyabinsk from within the air conditioned limousine transporting him and his military attaches. It was something you never forgot even after a life spent in the humidity of central Vetalia or the windswept steppes of the north. A small motorcade, heavily secured by the overlapping forces of the Ministry of State Security and Defense, traveled rapidly down the wide and now deserted highways in to the oceanside metropolis.

Southern Vetalia, despite its concentration of military academies and shipyards, was the most lightly defended piece of the Vetalian mainland. This was an appropriately Vetalian move, an attempt to prevent any potential coups by keeping officers and military units safely segregated as well as to prevent any crippling first strikes by hostile forces. A land consisting primarily of rolling grasslands and dry savanna, it was the primary training ground for armored units and mechanized infantry. Now, it was the spearhead for an invasion. A Gholgothan invasion. This reality was concerning to many Vetalians, who still grimly recalled the devastation and losses from Crimm rage, but they realized that the Gholgothan forces were their only hope for realizing the goal of Greater Vetalia, a goal lost with the demise of Vontanas and rekindled by the rhetoric of the National Democratic Party.

Following cursory security checks, the motorcade arrived in the city and was rapidly transferred to armored vehicles for the journey to V. Kosyachenko AFB, the largest base in the region and headquarters for the local department of the Strategic Rocket Forces. Other officials would soon arrive, tasked by the Proconsul to meet with other Thrashian units and coordinate their deployment to other facilities on Vetalian territory.

The Proconsul and his staff emerged from their vehicles, keenly aware of the Vetalian military personnel rapidly moving to prepare their own units for whatever actions lay ahead. An honor guard of Praetorian Guard soldiers, brilliant ornamental Stahlhelme gleaming in the bright souther sun, waited alongside the delegation. It was a formal touch, one which rather uncomfrotably recalled previous such meetings between Vetalian and Londinian delegations in years long past. One only needed to travel to Northern Vetalia to see what that friendship had brought.

Vetalia was catapulting itself in to unknown territory, either to the Praetor's dreams of glory and power under a new order or to the humiliation and destruction of defeat and occupation. Regardless of what happened, it was certain that the face of Mediterranica would change forever. Proconsul Trepov, a career opportunist, simply hoped that his own position would be preserved no matter what lay ahead.

Now, all that remained was to meet with the Thrashians and see what direction this bloody business would ultimately take.

12 Vengeance-Class Dreadnaughts
54 Scythe-Class Carriers
100 Valhalla-Class Ballistic Missile Submarines
440 Metatron-Class Guided Missile Cruisers
420 Babylon-Class Destroyers
240 Scimitar-Class Coastal Assault Ships
450 Piranha-Class Frigate
240 Attila-Class Cruiser
150 Stalker-Class Submarines
600 Blackwasp-Class Amphibious Assault Ships

1.5 Million Imperial Trisagion Army Corpsmen
250,000 Imperial Trisagion Avion Corpsmen

The silent sabre-rattle of Gholgoths invasion of Mediterranica was quietly passed through the nations. Drakonia the sister nation to Tersanctus was objected to 'mindless imperialism', whilst Automagfreek was part of the spearhead of the campaign.

Two extremes that had equally viable points, and the matter was debated amongst the senate. Warhawks lauded the move as a symbol to the world of Gholgoths and Tersanctus' strengths. After the virtual tie with the Kraven Wehrmacht, the world likely doubted Tersanctus.

The proponents for peace were more for the finding of uninhabited lands for the necessary colonization for Tersanctus.

In the end the warhawks won, and the Executor and the Electress both signed into effect the Colonization and Annexation Act of Mediterranica. Fleets were prepared, troops were mobilized, reserves were called up. Tersanctus would go to war, in honor of the Sentinels help at Edmundsberg, and for the Blood Pact.

Divertimenti in E (http://www.mozart-weltweit.de/09a03.wma)

Diminutively, with his eyes closed and his head weaving, the Cenobiarch, Harold Thousis, directed in his mind the High Mass being conducted two floors below where his study was situated. For most of his life there had been one, the airy voices and violins wafted serenades to him by night, and arias by day. It had come to be a part of his office, and his daily affairs and correspondence were often composed to the some of the most precise and beautiful works of history.

He had often considered the fact and relished every morning waking to the strains of what the College Masters would play in the morning. It was not the only orchestration he would awaken; it was by far the more potent one he was drawn to; the thousands of souls, thousands of heavy brows under his temple placating God to wipe their sins away. It was such an unerring force, and though Thousis himself had never been particularly drawn to religion as a child, he had seen the squabbling Church and the weak state and it was all he could have done not to slowly slide up the hierarchy. It had taken him two decades to finally receive the pallum and a further twenty to receive the Holy Staff and Robes of the Cenobiarch.

In his mind it was in the same category as the music below, set on paper and winding from start to finish, perhaps with surprise arpeggios and false ends, but ultimately the score could be traced to one final point. And then there was a finale, some grand crash of instruments or strain of voice and then nothing. This alone was a fundamental ideal of the Church, and Thousis was only too happy to propagate the general feeling although he rarely spoke of it.

“Imminence?” Thousis did not open his eyes and his hand did not miss a beat as it carved through the air, but he nodded in respect to the unknown speaking to him. “Our agents in the west have come across the most shocking rumor which seems to be emanating from a battle group some thousands strong heading east and what we can verify as here. Gothic if origin of course.” No more was needed on the subject, that statement alone confirmed any connotations the Cenobiarch could hold. However it did not seem to concern him in the least; his hand still conducted; his head still bobbed.

“How many do these rumors suggest?” Thousis spoke gently.

“Anywhere from one thousand to ten million, million,” a cardinal, the unlucky messenger checked a piece of paper and nodded, “ten million, million. Yes. The Divine Legion is requesting permission to open an attack once their destination has been confirmed.” Nothing from the Cenobiarch who shook his head with what seemed like pleasure at a well-preformed crescendo. “And what of Vetalia, we must assume those flights were not merely of tourists. Sir, are you listening?”

“Entirely.”

“Sir, they will outnumber us, our forces are spread thin enough. Across the entire world, and though we could withdraw, not without causing distress and breaks in the line.” The emotionless Cenobiarch seemed to cause the cardinal some distress, and he continued to worry at it, like picking at a scab. “They have laid waste to countless nations?”

For a moment Thousis was silent, “Indeed,” his speech seemed to come from a long way away, “And the first nation,” he paused as his hand dove upward, “they laid waste to was their own. One cannot pursue endless war without effects and consequences; no nation can be defined by hate for such a period of time, it may still appeared unified, however it is decrepit, it is weak. Like Rome it is entirely supported by military victory to the point where if it fails to achieve such a victory the one laurel of its government is undone. They are the most powerful nations on the planet simply for being the most powerful nations. One defeat, and I mean one terrible defeat, one embarrassing defeat is all that is needed to topple the Gothic governments. The greatest charge of a government is to provide its people with security, security against both attacks and the unknown, and when that of all their tasks is compromised, then so falls the government. Can you imagine a Gothic Republic? Now that would be a miracle.”

Nothing could have swelled the cardinal’s heart more, nothing amongst the inspirational or high music could have propelled his spirit higher, “You have a plan?” The excitement was palpable on his lips.

“No, not as such, not in specific. However we must humble them and make them human, then the rest of the world may rip them to shreds for us. For the moment the best we can do is shore up the defenses and steel our hearts. Of course our fleets, at the best of times would hardly collapse their lines, and now with the First Fleet at sea against the LION forces we must assume their naval force as generally unassailable from sea, that is without it taking most of the surface fleet with it. At any rate these are not my affairs, my domain lies entirely within the souls of men, so let us prepare ourselves there.” With a flourish the orchestra below fell to a silent halt, and at long last the Cenobairch opened his eyes.
--

Unlike his counterpart topping the clergy the Emperor did not awaken to music, occasionally he was woken by screams or gunfire, but music was a rare event for the little man. Ascending the throne at the age of eleven, he had never had time for a full education nor a father to teach him the role of monarch. So he had trusted his regents and his agents to inform him of situations and arising issues.

Like most of his progenitors he had held his throne, through various shakings and upsets, for the better part of seventy years, and knew the inner workings of his palace to the moods of the Junior Minister of the Fisheries. Though his generations on the throne had generally been considered one of the more out looking in history, there was a certain core about even this most affable monarch, that leant him the natural survival skills which were demanded; and even though he was considered a poor public speaker he had the hallmarks of a feudal lord.

“And Colonel Swenson is sure of this is he?” Two figures clicked their way through the marbled halls of the palace, which, depending on the season, contained heat or clamminess respectively. Now it was freezing cold and both men walked with fur riding coats wrapped about their bone thin frames.

“Yes,” General M.N. Smithy was be three years the Emperor’s senior and was mostly blind, which he easily made up for by being entirely brutal and uncompromising, “Or so he says, although honestly he had been away from home far too long.”

“A fleet of how many?” The Emperor was rather less confident in his tones, where the general spokes as if it was a mere hurdle to be jumped, or for preference flogged, the Emperor took to be a stumbling point.

“He estimates at somewhere around 2500 at least. It’ll probably triple once our recon patrol determines their strength.” The continued to walk in silence until General Smithy ended the gap by running into a pillar. “There was once a time your Majesty when I campaigned with your father, during the civil war, against you as it happens. We were held up in Grathafen as your armies closed around us.” They had continued to walk again with a restraining hand from the Emperor being beaten away with a riding crop every time it was offered forward. “And we laid siege to you. Do you remember?”

“Was I not on the outside of the fortress?” The Emperor was slightly perplexed as the general continued to speak.

“Yeah, you were, and we in the inside. Where I made the acquaintance of Private ‘Hop Along’ Jackson. He saw the best part of the platoon through the winter, but even so we were laying siege to you. I was only a sergeant at the time but I thought while you were here, you weren’t at home minding the Church and your state. Your were on a freezing mountain getting fu-“

The Emperor said more loudly that was necessary, “funned around.” He nodded to a passing priest and smiled sheepishly.

Smithy didn’t seem to notice, “and while you were away what happened? The Cenobiarch had installed himself on the throne as regent.”

“When your regiments were pulled out of that fortress they were devastated, one in ten men was alive.”

“Could be, could be but who fought harder? Means we don’t have to fight them on their terms, means we don’t have to fight them, they’ll fight themselves with enough prompting. Just like you.”

“You dream general,” a wide range of stairs spread before them, and with creaky knees the two began to climb. “And though your dreams are usually sustainable, an attitude of apathy will lead only to our destruction. If Gothic forces take the most obvious route into the region the Waldenburger continent will be the most obvious landing place, and if they proceed to the north their landings will be almost unopposed. I do not intend to commit the navy, and I have assurances it shall not participate in an open and decisive engagement, unless there is a large numerical superiority or if supported by a local military theater. The area around Thule, for example, has two divisions and though we could shift reinforcements easily before they arrive should they choose the easy option and land far from our capital then it is a three thousand mile jog through the desert. If they choose to land here,” he waved his hands trying to encompass the full assortment of defensive measures around the capital and urban heartland, and though Smithy could not see the gesture he nodded slightly.

“And should they choose somewhere else to invade?”

“What concern is the rest of the Union to me. to us?” Smithy waved his hand, “I was stationed at Wiesbaden when the Kampferians bombed us, and the Union did not lift a finger to assist. Let em’, we look after our own, and these Yallakians are certainly not our own. They deny the Church.” Though Smithy was not particularly religious, except for the portions involving sulfur brimstone, however this was always the trump card.

“General!” The Emperor looked genuinely affronted, “They have stood by us so far, and you propose, what exactly?”

“That they continue to stand by us, happy minds are tranquil minds. If we mention one of our church spies picked up this, will they continue to strike Greston, and burn the League or will they set sail for home, and leave our fleets to flounder? We are secure in our deserts and in our mountains, and in our defenses. These securities will however not be sufficient to defeat two rampaging armies, if we cannot knock down one before the other arrives, then perhaps we will maintain our status. What is a little foreign blood to you? There seems to be so much of it about. Leave our allies there peace at least.”

“You fought with my father? The very embodiment of loyalty, he carried two of his officers up a mountain under machine gun fire.. For two days.”

“Yeah, because they were officers, equals you did not see him carrying privates up the hill; I would know. He may have been the embodiment of loyalty, but he was carrying those men on his back sir, on his back under fire sir.” The two walked in silence, the stairs were long behind them and now they were approaching the Emperor’s hereditary bed chambers; his grandfather died in the bed he and his mistress would sleep in; it was a pointless tradition from centuries ago when there was some arcane ritual involved, probably including blood lettings and at least a minimum amount of incense.

“I am sure the Church has a plan; I am sure they are already well into it.” The statement was left hanging; both had been toying with it in their minds, and Smithy, whom the Emperor, despite some occasional disagreements, held in great and regular confidence, and had discussed this very issue on numerous occasions. On one particular portentous night they had, over the brandy, and within well-insulated walls, spoken lightly on the matter, dodging the exact words that had so lingered to be said.

“Your late,” the word was very exaggerated, “father was greatly against the domination of the Church in the palace.”

“Well of course,” both men spoke in slightly louder than was normal tones, “and look what happened to him.” Most of the world believed the late Felix von Waldenburg to be killed by his own forces around Hazergrind, in reality he was living in a mountain top palace waiting out the rest of his days and building connections.

“So fall all enemies of the true faith, it is an undeniable fact, it is a supreme truth, death to the impenitent, elevation to the faithful of God’s elect.”

“There is no denying that general. I think, before I go to bed for the evening, I will write a few letters; there are so many things that must be said general and to so many people. Good night general.” The two shook hands very firmly and for what seemed a few moments longer than was appropriate. Both their eyes, though bloodshot and degraded with age held each other the entire time, neither man could be ashamed, neither could be in the slightest timid of their future.

Inside the bed chambers there was only one light burning, and old gas lamp near the window which too was a tradition, although a much more pertinent one. On creaking ankles the Emperor settled behind his desk and reached for a pen.

“

Damien:

I know not what you are; for the longest time you have been an enigma where paradox does not attempt to tread. I however am quite transparent, and only a man. First I should know with whom I speak, but it is far-gone the times when I have the luxury of a choice in such matters so I will entrust you with what may only be considered equally transparent.

Though it is equally apparent to whom this letter is addressed that such a mode of conversation may be alien, it is of masters, which we must first discuss to proceed. Perhaps it is viewed that the Gothic nations and those in her blood pacts have no master, or force of greater power however this is incorrect. Should your throne be that of the tyrant’s chair, or of the committee, or ordained by God himself, no matter how mighty the king there is one above. Perhaps Ghogoloth is enslaved to victory and warfare? I do not presume to know, however there is always one spark of foreign dominion.

Now imagine if you will a power that does not answer to anyone, or anything tangible; it alone amongst the world has no responsibilities but what it draws for themselves. Such power in the hands of men could be considered frightening, and though your own personage may find it offensive, by far and away more frightening than your little armies assembled. And there too a subject must be broached for though I myself and a great deal of my cabinet have drawn their own conclusions, it is but nature to ask your intents. So between you and I, in the secrecy of our offices, and with the inherent power of the pen between us what have you come to do?

It has never been an Imperial trait, perspective morality, but here, before the storm breaks, I feel I must ask do you come to do good or evil? Of course the wise man interjects that the comparative side of this question is but the difference in view point, but the wiser man must then form some conjecture about the nature of the speculator.

From this office and in the privacy of this letter, I am quite capable of admitting I am vengeful, spiteful, hating, old man. What are you Mr. Dreadfire? If indeed the purpose of these fleets and attacks is for the mere acquisition of land then I have one more thought for you, and should it be for the liberation of one of the new powers from some other then there is a slightly different speech.

The first is of chains, so commonly found around the Waldenburger Empire, and now so scarcely used. One would infer this is due to the natural and abounding social progression of man. Sadly this is not the case. For though there will always be a practical and prudent use of shackles there has been devised a more efficient restraint one which requires no oil to prevent rust, or with weak chains to break. Have you, in your conquests and travels, ever looked into a cathedral and seen ten thousand placating souls; their eyes locked in fear of damnation and their lips moving in silent prayer? Have you in your experience ever felt the ash swirl around you and the tasted upon your lips the fear of a crowd thanking their God that he did not demand their for the crime? Their passion, their fear of the unknown is funneled in their arms and in their hearts and they are already damned by which they seek salvation.

There is a natural progression to this, and I have, over sixty years upon the throne, seen even Gothic power wane and wax, but never, never in three thousand years has this master less power ever been retrained or cowed. It grows on it’s own derived hatred, and the hope of it’s supplicants that it is not them next in the pit, and for that their arms stone all the faster, and their hearts beat up a cadence of war.

Any corresponding army cannot compare with that single fear, and cannot, in all its glories and victories compare to the tantalizing promises and decrees of the Church. Alone it represents a dichotomy of feelings; it is a paragon of human emotions, and though for every heart it mends and every grieving mother it consoles we must look past this and to crimes it commissions and in some cases actively pursues. There is no policeman for the gods, and they act without fear of reprisal, and indeed their laymen on earth are equally sacrosanct.

You must think me a fool to ask you this, but will you do me a great injustice and take from me, which I can least afford to loose? In the past Gothic nations have battled with the Dommani, you know of what it portents and what a nation it can build, fed entirely on misconstrued hate of the unknown, and on the internal self-absorption.

Should a foreign army land on Waldenburger shores it shall, as all invaders of the sacred homeland, beaten back with tooth and claw, arm and sword, however there is a certain limit to troops along the northern front, we believe the High Desert to be an impenetrable shield, and is some respects it is. However there is way, to the heart of the Empire, and to the heart of the Church, an unknown and unused way. I shall say no more, and this shall be entrusted to my most trusted friends, and I pray it will be delivered in the sense it is written. Do me this one wrong, and I never need speculate again in your nature; do me this one wrong and your invasion shall be complete. My generals would content themselves to throw troops at Gothic armies in the hope that enough will survive for the next battle. Come and take the Cenobiarch’s throne; sit upon under the Holy Basilica and hold in your hands the hearts and minds of billions, it is a reward, which few can truly appreciate and must be taken rather than given.

Now let us briefly speak of liberation. For though the previous is my own personal and long desired liberation it is of the liberation of states that I am compelled to pursue. A state must either be destroyed or won over; there is no hope for the moderated tyrant, and though every ounce of rebellion can be beaten out of a population such beatings only induce a more powerful and righteous anger, which eventually amount to the sum of all your fears. Do you know how many Waldenburgers are in Ghogoloth at this very moment, or how many are willing to take the psalms to their meaning and prepare for the afterlife?

Tread carefully for though martial might is at your command you understand nothing of men and already bends and cripples you. Set your feet on the correct highway Mr. Dreadfire or alas there is only so much liberation we can stand. Should your armies set foot in Waldenburg the remaining details will be made available, and we shall see what the day brings. “


By my own Hand:
His Most Gracious Imperial Majesty Wyatt von Waldenburg IV


OOC Assume dated to when all Ghogoloth forces have reached a reasonable point; I might just be busy later on so here it is now.

Atal Amner, leader of No Endorse, strolled across the private garden. Exotic flora from all corners of Gholgoth had been gathered for him and his wife to partake in, from the deepest deserts to the vast forests and plains. Thousands of invisible hands cared for every plant, an army whose sole job was to ensure the perfection of this and all of the grounds nearby. Vast arrays of flowers hung from every imaginable vine, and a fine mist floated down from hidden misters. Truly, for No Endorse, this was as close to paradise as possible.

Atal seemed to float towards a secluded bench built around a moss covered boulder. Presumably fallen from some far-off peak, it must have rested here since long before the garden existed, brooding over the myriad changes in its time. He lay back against the behemoth, ignoring an approaching commander until the last moment.

"Minister Amner, it is time." Admiral Jackson said as he approached, "The other Gothic nations are moving. I've ordered the fleets to rally in Tyria, and I understand the Army is preparing as well."

"Good my dear fellow. Come, sit with me, and enjoy the beauty of the garden." He opened one eye, lazily peering at the military man. "I insist, you simply must. And please call me Atal, we've worked together far too long for such formalities." He gestured about. "These plants have been gathered from as far as possible, the ultimate triumph of Nature's ingenuity and diversity. Is it not beautiful? Here," he plucked a leaf from a tree, "where do you think this plant is from?"

"I confess Mini-I mean Atal, that my expertise has been mostly limited to destroying things..."

The leader laughed and stretched, handing Jackson the leaf. "This is a Muncherian Maple, they only grow about ten to fifteen feet tall. As much as I would like to send you there to rescue our people, it seems we will have to wait. The 'Med,' as the media likes to say, has fallen into just as much ignorance and inability as our old brothers in Muncheria."

Jackson nodded and reclined, leaning heavily on the warm stone. After several minutes of silence, however, he shifted impatiently, making as it to leave. "Atal, I'm afraid that there's much to attend to, and I'd like to ask your leave."

"Certainly my friend." The two stood and Atal embraced him, pulling out the Admiral's pistol and firing twice into the boulder. "Before you leave, however, please summon the groundskeepers," Atal placed the pistol on the bench as he continued. "I'm afraid there is a dead Muncherian and some weaponry that needs disposing of."

Jackson stared at the bolder in disbelief, examining the holes the pistol had left. "How....?"

"Violet always read here, before she died. She kept a notebook hidden somewhere and wrote in it constantly. I think the groundskeepers looked after it for her. She always sat so properly, never leaned against anything as there was nothing to lean against." He walked off, pausing for a moment to say, "And by the way, there isn't any Granite near New Heisen. Meet me in the war room, we're shipping out tonight."

OOC: No problem Waldenburg, we'll fluid time it to the proper moment. And you'll have to excuse this shitty post, once we start shooting my posts will easily double in length.


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

Vidimir was most certainly not pleased when word came down from the Great Hall that Zander's warfleet would not be held in reserve but instead would integrate itself into the first wave. He was further enraged when he was informed that Lord Dreadfire would be placing Zander in command of the Freekish commitment to the joint Gothic armada, but despite the great sense of disappointment he would continue to serve his Warlord faithfully. Too much was at stake for personal egos to get in the way, for greater glory would arise if the operation was a success and the lands of Mediterranica fell into Gothic control.

The countless weeks of preparation could not be second guessed now, for word had come through the comlink that the giant Gothic fleet would be moving out in their predesignated formations. This was it. The Freekish forces had easily doubled in size with the certain arrival of Zander, and the thousands of brooding Sentinels that serve as the pointed tip of the Gothic spear eagerly awaited their moment. If one were able to look down from the heavens and observe the sheer scale of the unified movement, it would bring pause, many thousands of ships lurched forward through the seas in a massively coordinated effort. It woul appear as if a giant swarm of locusts was departing the ancient lands of Gholgoth, and soon those on the receiving end of their wrath would get the first taste of Gothic might in years.

It would not be too long before the armada would arrive at the outskirts of Mediterranican waters, and mere hours after departing from Gholgoth, pilots from all of the Freekish aircraft carriers met within their respective conference rooms for one of several teleconferences with Zander and Vidimir. Among them was one of the best pilots in Automagfreek, five time 'Ace' Lance Vitek who had seen action in every Freekish conflict since he entered the Air Force some twelve years ago. With a cup of black coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he sat in the back of the conference room and casually listened in on the aerial strategy that would be applied upon entering hostile waters. He found such meetings to be incrdibly boring and he didn't particularly care for elaborate plans and whatnot, for no matter where he flew he was always concentrated on killing enemy pilots.

It would be individual men such as Vitek whos talents would be put to the test in one of Gholgoth's largest operations to date. Others who served aboard Freekish warships and those who would lead on the would be put into a situation they hadn't been in for many years, for in the past large scale invasions such as this were either strictly a Freekish affair, or the operation was overseen by Freekish commanders. Zander and Vidimir however were more than confident in their Gothic allies and the Kregaian commander who would be leading them. They however would make sure that their input was considered for the overall war strategy, and as the ships continued to steam through international waters towards Mediterranica, dialogue between all Gothic commanders would have to be constant in order to assure success.

Chelyabinsk, Southern Vetalia

The military, and in some situations civilian, installations of the city of Chelyabinsk were being tested to the maximum. The Supply & Support Commissariat was working around the clock alongside the Air Force, countless numbers of Yarglov mega-transport groups flying in without pause. It had been a day and a half since the first Thrashian soldier had stepped foot in southern Vetalia, and already nearly 40,000 had been deployed to barracks and rally points all around the vicinity. Munitions dumps, new air fields, mechanical repair stations, and all different assortments of facilities that were required for a proper military operation were going up or just becoming operational. More than 2,000 tons of supplies had already been brought in. Literal cities of crates could be spotted in locations around the countryside.

In the middle of the hurricane of controlled madness that was the typical SOP of such things was General Kurt Heidrich. Ever since his transport had landed he had stayed awake, overseeing the offloading of his men and their equipment. He’d spot on or two he knew by name and face and chat with them, giving them a moral boost or simply passing the time for a few short minutes before some mundane crisis took away his attention. The Waffen SV general was a literal avatar of energy, least that’s the impression he threw off when he was around his men.

Heidrich now sat inside of a hastily put up command tent. Radio equipment, maps, and charts of all kinds were layered around thicker than fog. Junior officers, aides, and the occasional messenger runner flowed around like a hive of bees. Heidrich sat and simply enjoyed not being bothered for a moment. The cup of coffee that was warming his fingers sat contently in his lap. In front of him was a map of the area and as quickly as could be a picture was forming as to the disposition of his forces. Heidrich’s superior, General Stefan Friedrick, commander of the Waffen SV 3rd Korp had had a teleconference with him just a few hours earlier congratulating him on command of the operation as well as some further orders from Field Marshal Wittman and the Emperor. Heidrich had given his commander a quick overview of the deployment.


In Chelyabinsk proper all of Heidrich’s 7th Panzer division had taken up residence, under the nominal command of Heidrich’s chief of staff, Brigadier General Wolf Schliefflen. A further two infantry divisions from the regular army, the 12th and 90th, were also offloading in Chelyabinsk.

Fifty-miles west of Chelyabinsk the Waffen SV 23rd Infantry and Halder’s 2nd Mech. Infantry division were positioned and camouflaged as best as possible, straddling a major highway that passed south and over Vetalia’s nominal southern border. A regular army panzer division, the 38th, under the irascible and ornery old-time tanker General Norman Asher, to whom Heidrich had been forced to have in command in that part of the front much as Halder and Muller had protested once the Regular army had arrived to reinforce the initial Waffen SV soldiery.

A number of Air Force Combat Groups had arrived during the night, a total of 400 plus fighters and bombers, and were quartered in airfields all around southern Vetalia. Since it would be nominally a ground-pounder’s affair, the Air Force was under immediate command of Heidrich.

Together with his own 3rd Korp and the Regular Army’s 30th Korp, he had roughly 160,000 soldiers under his command, with another two Korps coming.


Heidrich rubbed the bridge of his nose and did his best to banish his weariness from his eyes. Clerical work had never been his favourite facet about being an officer. But it was necessary for things to run as smoothly as possible. He took another sip of his coffee and was just thinking of indulging himself in another when his aide-de-camp, Captain O’Neal stepped into the tent and marched up to him.

“Sir, we’ve just received word that Proconsul Trepov is to arrive here within minutes,” he said in a rush, forgetting even to salute.

Heidrich’s eyebrows raised a bit. Things were about to get even more crazy. Sighing to himself Heidrich came to his feet, chugged down the last of his coffee, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He nodded at the eager junior officer. “Very well Captain. Have B Company from 1st Brigade, 2nd Battalion form up for parade ground formation. See if you can find Lieutenant Lawrence and his band. He had forced me to take him and his instrument totting junkies along on this escapade, might as well make them earn their keep.”

Twenty minutes later an entire company of black uniformed Waffen SV soldiers were formed up, rifles at their shoulders, with a military marching band beside them playing the Vetalian national anthem with a gusto that it’s original composer would have no doubt been proud of, or perhaps torn his hair out with tears flowing.

Heidrich and his staff stood waiting and at attention as a large and luxurious motorcade came through the orderly rows of tents and vehicles of the base camp. A nicely designed bullet-proof limo came to a stop and out came several figures. Heidrich immediately spotted Proconsul Trepov. The man had a strong air of confidence around him, a good mark in Heidrich’s book for any leader.

Heidrich marched forward and came to a stiff Thrashian salute, his staff following his example.

“Mein Herr Proconsul Trepov, I am Major General Kurt Heidrich. It’s an honor and a privilege to meet you,” Heidrich said.

OOC: Short and shitty; not much to do until the defenders get alarmed and do something about our presence. Obviously I have to fluid-time this forward for the sake of speed. Also, Gataway, what's the adjective for your nation? Gatian? Gatawayan?

As Lord Rahvin read the deployment summaries for the third time, he could no longer hold back the smirk of confidence that came to him so often these days. The Gothic armadas were substantial, as he planned, and the armies they were bringing with them were rested, ready, and armed to the teeth. Again he glanced at the map he'd had framed in his spacious quarters aboard the Deathmask, showing the path each Gothic fleet was scheduled to take into and through Mediterranica. The military tattoos on his arms and torso seemed to burn with anticipation: they always did when he embarked on a grand venture such as this.

Five or so minutes ago, High Admiral Anor (the only man in the Navy who Rahvin truly respected) had informed him that they were six hundred and fifty kilometers away from the Kregaian fleet's target: Gataway's colony of Pasingrad. He'd already known this, of course: protocol dictated that the Admiral inform him as overall commander of the invasion force, but from the beginning of the voyage, some days ago now, Rahvin had set up both his laptop and handheld computer to constantly display distance and ETA to the target, current rate of travel of the fleet, and maps of both Mediterranica in general (with the locations of the allied fleets marked) and Pasingrad. It also received constant status updates from every ship in the fleet, all courtesy of the BattleNet. If a single midshipman was sent to the brig for drinking on duty, for example, in theory Lord Rahvin could know about it within minutes. He smiled as he glanced at the countdown to the invasion. Information was power.

The aristocrat laid back on his bed and reached for a cigarette. Little for him to do at least until the fleet entered Gataway's territorial waters, and until his troops were landed he might as well relax.

Kara Maddox, President of The Silver Sky, flew through the subterranean hall of a nondescript No Endorsian building while receiving strange looks from Junta generals and office staff. Her shoes made a barely audible tap-tap on the floor as she neared her target. Her hands made a move into the small bag she carried underneath her arm and removed a piece of paper from a folder within it.

After a few more turns here and there she sighted her target walking leisurely towards a doorway at the end of the hall. She increased her pace and when she was within range she made a short jump and crashed into her targets back wrapped her arms around him for a bear hug.

"Hi honey!" Her sweet voice floated into the ears of one stunned Atal Amner.

"Goodness Kara!" Atal exclaimed, patting her arms with his free hand. "One of these days you'll give me a heart attack!"

"Here! Look!" She continued as she held out a photocopied declaration of war for Atal to see. Atal pulled his glasses out and peered at the sheet of paper.

"It only took me a few hours to convince them. I figured you'd want to see them before I joined you in the War Room."

Atal ducked down and gave her a quick kiss. "Well dear, shall we proceed?"

"I suppose we shall." Said Kara as she and Atal walked into the War Room arm in arm.

----

Several huge armadas carrying tens of thousands of troops and covered by tens of thousands of fighters and bombers. The best of the best generals, officers and enlisted men that The Silver Sky has to offer were preparing for what would possibly be the deadliest conflict in Skyian History, surpassing even the billion person death toll in the Nexian War of Succession.

They would join with No Endorsian forces and head to their main target, the Gulf of Ponente.

The Proconsul was greatly pleased by the impromptu Thrashian display, their rendering of the anthem far superior to the rather weak-sounding version that had been the country's official version a mere decade before. That was before the Free Corps and the NDPV finally took the reins and rebuilt the country, of course. Now, the country had embarked on a soundly militaristic path that made such jingoistic displays a proud sign of national strength and vigor.

Trepov returned the salute with a crisp motion indicative of his own service in the Free Corps, the paramilitary organization responsible for much of the "street sweeping" of various "problem elements" of Vetalian society. It was now an elite force comprised of the purest and most dedicated ethnic Vetalians, Vantanians and Londinians. The latter two were somewhat rare these days, but nuclear wars often did that to a people and such events need not be mentioned. The Free Corps was rapidly expanding to meet the new needs of war, with brigades in Quintus, Solenial and newly annexed Pasingrad to be organized in the coming weeks.

The Proconsul began to speak in the drawling Southern Vetalian, a form of Russian similar to that spoken in the Baltic States and one that was the endless butt of jokes among Northerners. His aides immediately began to render it in to German, a linguistic move designed not only to put their Thrashian guests at ease but to facilitate better communication than through English, likely the mutual second language of both nations.

"No, Major General Heidrich, it is an honor to meet you. Our country has had its fair share of conflicts with Gholgoth in the past, but to see our forces cooperating in a major strategic venture is unprecedented!"

The Proconsul paused, a brief smile flashing on his otherwise stern face. His Southern Vetalian conviviality broke through the formalities, betraying years of the political newspeak that dominated his office and showing the amiable yet down-to-business attitude that made the South a hotbed of leaders.

"I sound a little too much like one of our propaganda broadcasts, don't I? You have no idea about the kind of bullshit and ass-kissing that goes on in Vetalia City...however, we are not here to praise our leaders, are we? We're here to discuss the future of Southern Vetalia and to ensure as many of our men come home alive once we have won. If you wish, you may address me simply as Vladimir...I haven't held a military rank in years and it is not our custom to place civilian titles on par with those of the armed forces."

"Before I continue, I'd like to introduce the delegation sent by the Ministry of State to aid your forces in coordinating our forces. These men are members of the General Staff of the Armed Forces as well as the local district commander of the Free Corps, Lieutenant General Vasily Chernenko. His forces are currently involved in the logistical side of things; no doubt you've seen plenty of them aiding in the arrival and deployment of your forces."

The group saluted and warmly shook hands with the Thrashians, another Southern Vetalian custom that reflected the looser, up-through-the-ranks attitude of many military officers from the region. The concept of "sootchestvenniki" or "compatriot", similar to the Australian concept of mateship was strong in Southern Vetalia and nowhere did it reflect itself more clearly than in the military. They were supreme small-unit fighters, capable of showing unprecedented individual initiative and courage, but it came at the cost of a disorderly and often informal attitude towards higher ranks and a general disdain for the docile Northerner soldiers.

Behind the General Staff and Proconsul Trepov, a group of privates, NCOs and armed guards began unloading various equipment from the convoy's other vehicles including a set of large metallic boxes. Each of the heavy, sealed containers held various maps, documents and data regarding the strength, movements, and position of Vetalian forces in the region. This data would give any enemy the ability to severely disrupt military operations for as much as several weeks, knowledge that justified the draconian security measures that had seen them from Vetalia City to Chelyabinsk.

"Now that we've gotten past formalities, Major General, I would like to thank your forces for their swift deployment to the areas around Chelyabinsk. Our forces along the border are considerable, but Yallack and West Ponente could launch a pretty damaging joint attack against us and we'd need all the help we could get."

"Morale is higher than ever, thanks in no small part to the sizable forces you've already deployed, as well as our own successes up norther. Pasingrad has been annexed in to the Empire, Quintus has capitulated, and our forces will soon be sweeping in to Solenial from all fronts. The entirety of the Northern Vetalian Shield will be secure in a matter of weeks, and we will have fully pacified the area in a few months. The bulk of those units, amounting to roughly one quarter of our active-duty personnel, will remain deployed there to ensure our enemies don't try anything to distract us from invading further south."

"I think you have a good outline of the situation, Major General. We will begin transferring these crates" He motioned with his hand to the stack of black, metallic boxes under the watch of the armed guards,"from our possession to yours once you've found a secure place to store them and begin discussing matters in more depth once we're somewhere away from any prying ears or eyes. Within is information you may find quite useful."

He paused , looking at his watch and the clear blue sky above. "It will be the hottest part of the day soon. I think it's time for us to relocate to cooler conditions...the heat in these parts is brutal at this time of day, and no doubt you know the damages tropical combat inflicts on the unprepared."

Chelyabinsk

General Heinrich (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Modern%20Tech%20Thrashia/Blitkrieg_General_Erwin_Rommel_by_k.jpg) was both surprised and pleased by the easy going manner of the Proconsul. He’d met his fair share of palace feather-weights to know the type, and the proconsul had all the hallmarks of a rowdy, iron-assed NCO under his suit. Heinrich smiled and met each of his opposite numbers of the Vetalian military with a firm handshake. They seemed like competent officers and soldiers.

"I think you have a good outline of the situation, Major General. We will begin transferring these crates" Proconsul Vladimir motioned with his hand to the stack of black, metallic boxes under the watch of the armed guards,” from our possession to yours once you've found a secure place to store them and begin discussing matters in more depth once we're somewhere away from any prying ears or eyes. Within is information you may find quite useful."

Heinrich turned to his adjutant. “See to it these crates are taken to Major Dorrel, he’s to put them under close guard near HQ.” Thrashian soldiers took the crates off the hands of their Vetalian compatriots and carried them further into the camp under the close supervision of Captain O’Neal. Heinrich turned back to the Proconsul.

“Well sir, if I have the honor of calling you Vladimir then please call me Heinrich,” the Thrashian general said. “And you’re quite right, the weather is rather hot. If you’ll follow me?” Heinrich motioned with his hand and led Proconsul Vladimir and General Chernenko past the motionless ranks of Waffen SV to a collection of orderly, if busy, tents. They passed through the flaps and into an air conditioned partition where a table and dozens of maps sat. After they all sat another aide of Heinrich’s appeared with a decanter of ice water which was passed around.

Heinrich took a gulp, sighed with pleasure as the cold liquid slipped down his throat, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and set his glass down. He looked over at the Proconsul and grew more serious.

“Now, Herr Vladimir, I need to know just exactly what resources Vetalia is capable of handling for us. I have, now, a total of twelve divisions: six Waffen SV and six are regular Thrashian Imperial Army. That gives me an army group of nearly a million men, not to mention the Imperial Luftwaffe and the Naval forces under Admiral Reinhall which more than triple what land forces I’ve to work with.

“What I will need, after the initial assault even more than perhaps your logistical support will be for the Vetalian army to be the dust pan in this operation. I won’t have the resources to sit and occupy any sizeable chunk of Valeon or Ponente. If you can assure me of that, at least, then I think I have a plan that can give us what we need.”

Rielle, Valeon [Yallak Empire Territory]

The man wore a dirty pair of black shoes, mud having taken its toll on their polished leather hides. His slacks were fairly better off, and his shirt and jacket more so. His hair was parted down the left of his cranium and one couldn’t help but notice that he had the habitual habit of pushing a large pair of spectacles back up the bridge of his nose every few minutes in an unconscious movement of the hand. As far as most suspicious people went, the man certainly didn’t fit the bill. Especially not since he had his darling daughter with him.

“So why exactly are you here in Rielle Mr…Rogers?” the Yallakian M.P. asked.

“Oh, well I read in one of my guide books,” he pushed his glasses up, “ that Rielle had a lovely Old City area and that you could see practically all the way into Ponente from the big hill behind the cathedral over there. My daughter you see, she loves country side – oh!” The man, Mr. Rogers, reached down and stopped his daughter from dropping the cone of ice cream she was eagerly licking. Mr. Rogers smiled and pushed his glasses back up. “She can be a lot to handle sometimes, haha. You have any kids?”

“No,” the M.P. said, obviously starting to lose interest. He handed Mr. Rogers back his papers. They were immaculate, official identification papers. Mr. Jonathan Rogers was a dignified citizen of the Yallak Empire, had a family in Zaresh, train tickets that showed that he’d left Zaresh no more than a week before for Rielle along with his daughter. The man even had a library card for the public library in the colonial capital.

“Here are your papers, you have a nice day sir.” The guard bent down and shook little Sofia’s head in a friendly manner, then stood back up and walked on past, moving his rifle sling back up his shoulder.

‘Mr. Rogers’ stood and watched the Yallak M.P. walk away. He bent down and picked up the little girl and walked on down the street until he came to a smaller side alley. He entered it and made several twists and turns before coming to a door half hidden by a garbage collector. He knocked three times, then twice more after a few heartbeats. A large man opened the door, a pistol disappearing behind his back.

“You’re late sir.”

“I know,” the man said, his friendly manner all but gone, replaced by an ice-cool military demeanor. He removed the glasses, not having an impairment problems with his eyes. “But I was held up by an M.P.” The man led the little girl inside. The big man picked her up and tickled her a little. Sofia giggled and smiled. The big man set up walking up some stairs behind him, shooing her away to go find her mother.

“Any trouble?” the bigger man said.

“No. I got all the details.”

The pair sat down at a little table in the basement. The big man took out a map of Rielle and the surrounding country side. There were markings and small scribbles all over it. Grid lines and numbers indicated ranges and dots and X’s indicated likely avenues of troop movement or vital buildings. The shorter man took out a grease pencil and marked in a few more numbers, dots, and X’s.

“Alright, I’ll get this to the colonel,” the big man said.

He took the map and walked out the back door and into the now darkening alley. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to get outside of town to the surrounding countryside. He entered a copse of fir trees and walked up to on that had a huge knot in its side. With the careful pressure of a knife point he snapped the camouflaged lid off the trunk and pulled out his radio. Using bounce transmissions he sent more information off to Colonel Eichmann.

Special forces unit ‘Albatross’ was earning its paycheck.

OOC: Appologies for the delays. Heres a brief post just to keep things moving.

Imperial Palace, Arrandin, Yallak

Footsteps echoed down the gloomy hallway drawing the attention of the two Imperial Guardsmen stationed outside the door to the Emperors personal quarters. Moonlight shone down through the hallway window, illuminating the polished floors and providing the only light at this time in the cold morning hours, a time when one should not being expecting visitors. With a brief glance the two men lifted their weapons slightly into a more ready position.

The steps grew louder, and soon enough the source of the sound was upon them, a shadowy figure stalking down the corridor. The two guards waited and within moments the stranger stepped into the light beaming down through the window and the veil of darkness was cast aside revealing an alluring woman in her early thirties, dressed completely in black and garnishing a pistol on her right hip. Without pause or hesitation the two guards snapped to attention, lowering their weapons.

‘General Telán, wh…’

The guard never finished his sentence, cut off by the General, Nereïs Telán, head of Imperial Intelligence. ‘I must speak with the Emperor immediately.’

‘Wh…’

‘NOW!’

Had it been anyone else the guards would have pressed their interrogation, after all, as marked by the Imperial Golden Dragon insignia in their unit patches on their uniforms, they were members of the Dragon Guard, answerable only to the Emperor himself, but matters of security were always deemed second to none and if Nereïs were here at this hour then it was likely a matter of security.

Motioning for her to remain outside, one of the guards slipped into the Emperors quarters and after a few moments returned.

‘He will see you.’

With a curt nod the General whisked past into the room. The Emperor was already up, dressed and at his desk leading Nereïs to believe that he had not yet even gone to bed, but that would not be unusual. Even as she was questioned as to her surprise out of hours visit, Nereïs approached the desk and dropped a pile of satellite imagery and reports onto the surface before the Emperor. Without even picking them up or moving the documents an image of a massive fleet was visible and another which resembled the coastline of Valeon and a stapled on report of some sort.

‘Pardon the intrusion, my Lord, but we have a problem.’

Sir, we will be entering Mediterranican waters any moment. Zander nodded casually at the news as he made his way through the bridge. The combined Gothic fleet had been gradually spreading itself out over the course of the last thousand or so miles, with the navies from each country taking their own seperate route. The Freeks and the Kregaians would be charged with defending and then pushing through the northern passage on the far eastern side of the region, and would rely on Vetalia's cooperation in order to advance deeper into the region. The rest of Gholgoth's ships would be tasked with conquering the central and southern outlying territories initially, then moving deeper into the heart of the region.

How can we be sure the Vetalians won't turn on us sir? Chirped a junior officer aboard the bridge. Zander pondered on the question for a second before running a hand through his thickening beard, his mind running though the various scenarios that had been discussed with Freekish High Command before his departure. It's quite simple really; it's not in Vetalia's best interests to oppose us. For one thing, they will be surrounded by powerful Gothic fleets capable of beating them into submission rather quickly. Secondly, the Vetalians are making a land grab across the northern portion of the eastern continent. Had we not decided to invade Mediterranica, the Vetalians would most certainly be punished by their neighbors for such aggressive expansion. They know that if they support Gholgoth that they will be able to keep their conquested lands, and even in the unlikely event we are either drawn to a stalemate or defeated by Mediterranican forces, the Vetalians will be in a powerful positon and not easily pushed around by an inevitably weakened Med force.

Those around him were for the most part in agreement, though it was standard Freekish practice to expect and prepare for any event, however unlikely. It was for that reason the order of general quarters was sounded upon confirmation that indeed the joint regional armada had now entered hostile territory. Attack submarines continued to steam onward and push the ever expanding undersea defensive net forward. Pilots began to take off in swarms and assemble overheard, while AWACS began to actively scan the skies for any unidentified contact. Guided missile ships assumed their positions and prepared to initiate long range attacks should they be met by any hostile fleet before rounding the northern pass and heading into the heart of Mediterranica.

It was also apparant that the Freeks would be sailing by Victoria, the site where a brave garrison of some 2,000 Sentinels died defending themselves while obliterating their foes with nuclear hellfire. As they would soon pass the island, officers from aboard the Freekish ships would stand on deck and salute the barren wasteland as they sailed by, a silent thank you to the brave men who lost their lives serving their Empire and Warlord. It would be a bittersweet moment for some who knew that in this new campaign many more good men would die, and although some doubted the campaign of aggressive expansion, many more saw it as necessary and were willing to sacrifice for glory upon the battlefield. Although the Sentinels would not be taking orders from Dreadfire or those higher in rank than Zander and Vidimir, their hearts and fighting spirits would nevertheless be as strong and resilient as ever...for this was the first time in an age since Gholgoth had emptied her armies upon her foes.

On board one of the amphibious assault ships, a grizzled Sentinel commander made his way into the main staging area below deck and began to address his men who began making initial preparations for aerial insertion into the first landing zones. Dozens of boots clapped together in unison as he approached, and after sizing up those in front of him the Major ordered his men to stand at ease. Here's the word from joint command concerning our battlefield conduct in this campaign: Zander wants to make it clear to all of us that this is not a war of extermination, and thus we will not be engaging in wholesale slaughter as usual. This is a war of expansion boys, we want these Mediterranicans to see light the is Gholgoth and flock to is.

He could almost sense an aura of disappointment amongst the ranks momentarily. Therefore, do not fire upon any civilian infrastructure or personnel unless fired upon. If you are receiving hostile fire from non-uniformed irregular combatants, you are authorized to engage them accordingly as well as any cover they may be using. This includes buildings, bunkers, caves, and what have you, and if enemy combatants fight from or move into any such areas you can and will destroy said structures until the threat to you and your men is eliminated. Civilian casualties in scenarios such as these will be forgiven, but for now we are to minimize collateral damage, understood? The shout of 'SIR, YES SIR!' echoed throughout the entire corridor within the ship, and moments later the Sentinels resumed their task of preparing for battle.

However, the fleet had just crept into Mediterranican waters, and before the mighty Freekish infantry could have their fun, the sailors and airmen would get to draw first blood. Zander continued to receive situation reports every few minutes as to the speed and direction of each allied aramda, for tight communication and coordination would be essential to quickly and efficiently stamp out enemy resistance and pacify the region. The coming hours would set the tone for the entire campaign as to how effectively such a large Gothic deployment could coordinate, and soon Mediterranica and the rest of the world would be in for the most unpleasant surprise of their lives...

On board the fast-attack submarine HRMS Trident, 3000km N/NE of Atlantian Isles colony of Victoria

The Trident`s crew had recieved word just a couple days before of the LION Campaign drawing to a close. The Los Angeles-class submarine had been on long-range patrol harrassing troop and supply ships of the LION alliance and gathering intelligence on possible LION allies when the news had reached them of the peace talks. Their orders called for them to head back to Mediterranican waters and have port call at the nearest MU nation. Six long months the crew had been at sea, deployed in the closing days of the First Pictish War to monitor the activities of the Havenites. The crew all longed for home, they were still over a week from the nearest allied port. The enlisted men were abuzz with thoughts of port call. The seamen bantered on with 'sea tales' of port calls past; drunken debauchery, visits to the local 'professionals' and being hauled of by the SP`s. Life would soon be returning to normal.

The Trident was running at periscope depth, trying to maximize speed while maintaining some stealth. During the day the Trident would run submerged and at nightfall she would suface and run at full speed until an hour before daybreak, when she would submerge again. It was time for the change of the watch, every four hours a couple of junior officers or senior nco`s would relieve the men in the conning tower and take their turn patrolling the horizion. This would carry on until the Trident got closer to friendly waters, when the sub would begin fully running on the surface and continue on until the sub reached port.

Nightfall had occured a couple hours before the watch change and everything appeared normal. Three hours into the watch one of the sailors turned to the other, "Hey, Joe. Look at this." Joe turned, raised his binoculars and asked, "Where?"
"45 degrees right of North, range about 20km."
"Nothing."
"Keep looking, it`s right on the horizon."
"I don`t see anyth... There it is. Holy shit, there`s a lot of ships concentrated right there."
"I`ll get the skipper on the horn."

The comm line on the bridge lit up. "Bridge, This is Commander Fuller."

"Bridge, this is Conn. Ensign Powers here. Sir, we`ve spotted a large concentration of ships. 20 km away and closing. Can you send the skipper up here."

"Skippers in bed, I`ll be right up. Bridge out."

Fuller hung up the comm line and turned toward the conn, "Chief of the Boat, you have the bridge."

Valeon Province Territorial Waters between Valeon and Vetalia

The Imperial frigate moved with as much speed and élan as its turbines were able to give it. Crewmembers sat nervous, holding bandages to gunshot wounds as they checked to make sure that they still had a few more rounds in the clips of their firearms. One ensign looked off the bow of the command tower to watch as the three pirate vessels that had attacked them, bore in for the final blow. The man turned to his captain. “Sir, we’re about to be boarded again. The deck cannon are kaput and the last HMG operator bought the farm. More than fifty crew members are down, either dead or mortally wounded…what do we do sir?”

“The only thing we can do Ensign, we resist to the last. Prepare to scuttle the ship as a last measure,” ordered the stoic captain. He stood precariously, a briefcase hand-cuffed to his left hand. He had to protect them with his life. The future of his nation and that of the Thrashian-Vetalian campaign in Mediterranica depended upon it.

Less than twenty minutes later, the smaller, faster pirate vessels caught up with the wounded frigate. Burly, tattooed men bearing older model assault rifles and machetes swarmed aboard on rope ladders. Crewmen fended them off with a few rifles and service pistols before succumbing to their more numerous foes. In less than a handful of minutes the top deck was turned into a charnel house, blood and in some cases, body parts, covering its surface. Bloody boots tramped down into the bowels of the ship, murderous intent following in their wake.

The ensign sat in the armory, contemplating what he was about to do. He heard more gunshots and the pounding of running feet, a few screams from the dead and dying beyond the bulkhead door. He sat next to the pair of torpedoes with a detached sense of responsibility and existence. He was acting and moving, and yet he seemed to be doing it all in a daze. The small detonator box in his hand seemed to weigh far more than it actually did.

He was brought out of his revelry when a pair of fists began banging on the door. Voices called out, threatening what would happen if it didn’t open. The ensign didn’t even reply. He just looked down at the detonator and caressed the red switch on it. He heard the high-pitched flicker of a blow torch. Sparks began to fly as the pirate boarders began to cut their way through the steel plated door. He only had a few more moments. He had to follow his last order. He owed it to his captain and his country not to let the pirates get a hold of this vessel or what it carried within it.

With a final whine, the blow torch turned off and a strong foot kicked in the metal door of the armory. The pirates looked in just in time to see the ensign flip the small red switch, a detonator attached to a pair of torpedoes sitting in a rack of about twenty more just like it.

The explosion was rather massive. The armory carried a full payload of warheads, missiles, torpedoes, and all the other necessary bits of ammunition that a warship contained. Then it reached the engine rooms and the gasoline tanks, adding more to its hungry flame. Metal and human bodies were torn asunder and flung for, in some cases, miles. Two of the other pirate ships were taken with the frigate, taking them down to the watery depths in a last act of vengeance. The fireball of it could be seen clear across the bay from either side of land.

A body washed up onto the edge of Valeon land that morning. Patrolling soldiers found him and identified him as a captain, his uniform in tatters. But also a metal briefcase chained to his arm. When they cracked it open it revealed a folder labeled “Top Secret.” When taken to a higher officer of authority, whom was able to inspect it, the folder revealed much more. Details and plans for a massive invasion of West Ponente, a drive through the heartland of that country and then south into the southern reaches of Valeon, and perhaps even further. The officer who looked at them knew he had to deliver them immediately to high command.

OOC hah, I'm afraid when battle starts it will be the inverse for me...

With weary and abraded eyes the Emperor peered over a manila folder at his attaché, the brilliant and entirely neurotic Colonel Hanner. The Hanner family had served in the Imperial armed forces for generations, every son put on a uniform at some point and the only point of Hanner women was to breed more an more soldiers. At one point the Emperor had surreptitiously tried to find out how many of them there were in his armies, however had given up after the first three pages of names. They ranged from the suicidally brave, t the thin and thoughtful, and then it turned to Gross Hanner who twitched in his chair and whose eyebrows followed you around the room.

“Why?” The statement had taken some thought and the Emperor spoke it with great stoicism and a weariness that seemed to grow every hour of everyday.

“We cannot be sure, MESA I believe,” Hanner’s neck pulsed with speech and his breath came in little bounds and leaps from his throat, “Is working on the matter, our own assets across the world are rather inert at the moment, and the Intelligence Ministry suggests it stays that way. We were lucky to detect the fleet when we did.”

General Smithy was in the room to although the way he rocked in his chairs smiling the Emperor could not be entirely sure where he truly was. “We have individual reports being filed from the Yallakian, Aschen, and Gatawan governments suggesting fleets are arriving. MESA has confirmed this?”

“Indeed sir it will be a few days but there is indications of their targets, as presented in form seven.” He added helpfully.

“Thank you,” the folder hit the desk with a sullen thump, “you may go. Show the First Lord in at about ten past if you will.” Hanner bowed nervously and departed his walk as erratic as his speech. Though it was something that rarely prayed on his mind he felt a twinge of guilt for the position he put his attaché in, and though his family requested a quite job somewhere out of the cannon fire, at the heart of Real Polatik was hardly better.

“They didn’t take the letter.” Smithy said flatly as he continued to rock on the spindly legs of his chair not opening his eyes.

“Apparently not. Too much to hope for I suppose, we must assume they have another consideration other than the acquisition of power, a specific goal. We must hinder them I suppose. There is a battlegroup that could easily be rerouted to the area and wait in ambush. WIS Thunderer and squadron.” A pen scribbled furiously on the desk as the Emperor’s hands flew amongst the paperwork.

“Why do you think? Why really?”

“They simply do not care about the Church or what it could give them, they do not care. The WIS Thunderer should make them sit up though.”

“Perhaps for a moment and after that?”

“We shall send more ships until the invasion is beat back, until it is possible for us to strike.” The Emperor paused his hand hovering above a sheet of paper, “No, no, no; that’s what my father thought.”

Smithy nodded slightly and stopped rocking, “Your grandfather though he was a thinking man of course he never met you, but I met him. He was very much the same as you though. He was there in the first days of the Great Northern War, before he was killed, and I was only a Corporal of the guard in those days but I remember.” This was all Smithy seemed to wish to say; he continued rocking again and the wood squeaked irritably against the rockers.

“What do you want me to do?” There was no response just continued squeaking until there was a knocking on the door which was quickly followed by the figure of the First Lord of the Admiralty Charles Penio, who flicked his long ape unto a chair and settled beside it with little more than a nod.

“Your Majesty?” Though the comment was polite he could hear the undertones of mockery and surreptitious sedition. “You sent for me?”

“I take it you have seen the new Thousis class?” Wyatt von Waldenburg bit his lip slightly, but thought better of an outburst, it usual did not end well and Penio was at least competent.

“Oh yes,” his faced brightened considerably, “I was at sea trials of the Thousis; amazing piece of work yes?”

“Indeed I believe there is a battleship of this class currently en route to Greston?”

“Originally for the second shelling of Westminster diverted now of course to the Levantian Empire for review, unless…” The phrase was left hanging hinting that Penio would greatly have liked to put the ship though more rigorous trials.

“According to independent reports filed by three intelligence ministries there is a naval presence of as of yet undeterminable size approaching. It’s origins are from within Gothic nations and their supporters, we must assume they are in league with the Vetalians,” the Emperor paused scanning the sentence ahead for any discrepancies. His own spies detected the fleet some time ago and had so far kept that information secret for fear of disrupting the war effort with the League. Now however he must skirt the subject. “We will put to sea and investigate, if you will draft the orders to…”

“Commodore Petz.”

“Really?” Von Waldenburg’s heart sank, “Petz. We gave him another ship.?”

“Yes sir. He is more than capable.” This was true enough, he had graduated amongst the top in his class and had been decorated numerous times, however he had not so far passed the ‘by jingo’ stage of command. This fact weighed upon the Emperor rather heavily as he had not the heart to dismiss the man, however he had lost his previous ship; it was a break in precedence at least.

“Indeed. Yes well, he is to investigate and if needed turn back this unmitigated movement by force of arms.” There was an increased squeaking from the rocking chair and then nothing.

WIS Thunderer; Levantian Empire, Hendonshire

Paint and pennants still waved merrily above the Thunderer as it lifted it’s anchor on sparkling chains. It had been only thee months since the commissioning and everything about the ship spoke of fighting capacity. It was the most expensive ship ever built within the Waldenburger Empire, and moved heavily through the water. Most had compared it to a turtle, which in many ways it resembled; its armor was slightly dished and the belt rose some feet above the deck obscuring most of the bodies of waving sailors. It had been a considerable journey from the Northern waters to the much more pleasant south and it had been surrounded in pomp and circumstance.

The war was over. It spread like wildfire amongst the warships and signal guns lit up the night for some consecutive hours. Currently the list of honors was being drawn up and already another situation was developing.

A small squadron of cruisers was pulling around the bulk of the Thunderer and reducing speed to match the crawl of the behemoth as it’s engines began to warm up. The sun was setting and a internal lights were beginning to flick on, and with the new and so far sterile feel of the ship to it’s crew the first outing seemed as if it were a cruise.

A string quartet played, rather badly, as most of the musicians had been drawn from the crew, and the light drone drifted down to Commodore Petz who swept quickly though a small gathering of fleet officers amongst his quarters. All his windows had been thrown open and a light breeze rippled lacy curtains.

“Commodore,” there was certain amount of nervous laughter from some corner of the party, “we have requested information from the Aschen Royal Navy and are coordinating the enemy,” he paused and considered his words. There was a great deal of information coming now, and though the Lion front was closing up another was becoming vividly apparent, and it seemed there were many new inroads being made. “At least one enemy flotilla. I estimate two days till intercept, and we will of course be out of range of any Imperial support for at least another week. And even then it would be the Fourth Imperial Fleet, reduced in number. Your orders?”

Petz snorted and lightening fast a smile appeared then flickered from his face at another officer passing through his study door. “We do not need support,” he stomped his feet on the floor, “I plan on going to bed in about oh, eight hours, and when I wake up I want to be in cannon range. Of course do not fire without my presence.” A champagne flute disappeared in one slick movement, “Until then enjoy the party.” The Commodore made as if to wade back into the press of men, “Order more caviar too; we’ll be needing it.”

ooc: post coming soon..Thrashia nice mimick of the ww2 overlord plan where the body of an officer washes up on shore with false invasion plans

on board the HRMS Trident, 3000km N/NE of Atlantian Isles colony-Victoria
Commander Fuller scanned the horizion from the conning tower. Earlier the night watch had reported a concentration of ships 20 km away and closing, "Where are these ships, Ensign ?"

"45 degrees right of north, range about 20 km"

"Ah, I see them now. From the size and volume of ships, I`d say it is a fleet of warships. I wonder whose they could be? It`ll be daybreak in a couple of hours, we`ll submerge and hold position. Perhaps we can view the markings on the ships or recognize what 'jack' they`re flying and identify them. I`ll go below and make preparations to dive, notify your relief that they`ll be doing watch through the periscope."

Aye, sir."

In the little time left before daybreak the Trident navigated into a minscule coral atoll. The crew hoped that the atoll might help hide their vessel from active sonar that might be being used by the advancing fleet. Around midday the unknown fleet passed within 5 km of the Trident. The skipper watched carefully through the periscope, Let`s see here, there are Davidson-class battleships and other assorted super-dreadnaughts and troop-ships and carriers that I`ve never layed eyes on before. Come on boys, just a little further." Soon the skipper was looking and the aft portion of the fleet, proudly displayed over the fantails of the warships flew the respective 'Naval Jacks' of the nations whose ships were passing by. "There they are lads,now their colors will reveal them. Let`s see who you are. I see the Freekish ensign, the Thrashian ensign and .......Jesus Herbert Christ, they`re all Gothic. Why the fuck are the Goth`s so far from home? This can only mean one thing, the Goth`s are going to exploit the aftermath of the Hegemonic war to their advantage. Down periscope."
The skipper paced the bridge deckplates for what seemed like an eternity and suddenly he barked out his command decission ," Hold possition until sunset. Then strike out south. Once we`re clear of the atoll, surface and run this boat until the reactor`s in the red. We have to put some distance between us and this fleet and we have to warn the other Mediterranicans. Behold a pale horse. The man who rides him is named is death and hell follows with him."

On board the HRMS Trident, somewhere in the Adriatican Sea
Two days had passed since the massive Gothic fleet had literally 'passed over' the Trident and her crew, alone and outgunned far from friendly waters. Her Captain had decided to allow the foreign armada to pass and then break cover, making a run towards friendly waters and hopefully alerting their countrymen.
With the Gothic armada far over the horizion and the Trident now surfaced and running at maximum speed, her captain hoped he could get a message sent to headquarters before it was too late. The Goth`s had rattled their sabres at the Mediterranicans before. Now it appeared that they were ready to unsheath them.
On the Trident`s bridge, Captain Davies awaited word from his communications chief. "Cap`n, we should be able to get an uplink to our sattellites now."
"Chief, are you sure? We may only get one chance to broadcast our message. If the Goth`s detect our message, our presence will be compromised."
"Cap`n, I`ve got a possitive lock on the signal."
"Send the message."

The Citidel (Aschenhyrst Military H.Q.); Aschton, Aschenhyrst
There was a knock on the door of Fleet Admiral William Long, head of the Royal Navy. "Enter." His aide, Lt. Commander Cooksey, entered the room with a message in his hand, "Sir, this was just recieved over the secure SATCOM. It`s a message from the Trident."
"The Trident, they`re supposed to be either in port or nearing it. Why on earth would they be sending a message to the Admiralty over secure channels?"
"I think you should read it sir."
"Very well."

Immediate attention, urgent
Secure communication
To: Aschenhyrst Dominion Admiralty
From: HRMS TRIDENT
Subject: Gothic fleet nearing Mediterranican Waters
HRMS Trident has made a positive identification of a Gothic fleet approaching Mediterranican waters. Fleet numbers several hundred warships. Last known location was 3000km N-NE of Victoria. Heading 225 degrees S-SW, speed 20 knots. Last contact was 24 hours ago, we are heading for friendly territory at full speed. Awaiting orders.

"God in heaven. Cooksey, have this message forwarded to the Supreme Commander and our attache` at the MUIZ. If this is what I think it is, the allies need to be alerted."
"Right away, sir."


Office of the Aschenhyrst Councillor,Mediterranican Union International Zone
Aschenhyrst MU Councillor, Sir Elihu de Armitage, strolled into his office.
"Good morning, Rebecca."
"Good Morning, Mr Armitage."
"Anything on the agenda today?"
"Not yet, someone from the military attache`s office brought this envelope over for you about half an hour ago. The said you needed to give it your immediate attention. I explained you would be a little late this morning."
" Bless you Rebecca. Damned ambassadorial functions, I`ve got a three-alarm hangover this morning."
"I`ll get you some tylenol."
Armitage opened the envelope and read the meassage forwarded to him from the military attache`.
"Rebecca, cancel the tylenol. Call the clerk at the MU council and call for an emergency session. Get in my file cabinet, the drawer marked W."
"Mr. Armitage, there`s nothing in here except a bottle of whiskey."
" I know, I`m going to need it more than the tylenol this morning."

(ooc: timewise this is a little before the armada enters the region.)

"Arma virumque canto.”
“I sing of warfare and a man at war.”
- Vergil, The Aeneid, Book I, Line I

---

Palais d’Éole, Aquileilia

"So tell me tell me gentlemen and ladies, I assume the Intelligence Ministry has done it’s homework, what is it exactly we are facing?". The King looked down the tables at the faces of his ministers and top military commanders, he showed them only a calm face tempered with a strong resolve.

"It appears Your Highness", spoke Minister Georges Fillon, "a Gothic armada numbering in the millions approaches from the east, they will shortly be in Notre Mer . We also will have to defend oursleves against the Vetalians who will be entering in on the Gothic side of the ring, so to speak".

"Any word from other Mediterranican governments?"

Minister Fillon held a cursory glance over his notes, and then replied "Yes, we've reports of mobilization in Yallak, Gataway, and Aschenhyrst. We also think its safe to say the Waldenburg Empire is also on the move".

"What do we know about these denizens of Gholgoth?"

A rather portly man sitting catty-cornered to Minister Fillon spoke up. "Your Highness unfortunately we have little information concerning them other than they possess great martial acumen. We are working to gather more info as soon as possible".

"Good, what is the status of the roads, runways, and railroads in the Kingdom?"

This time a little old blonde lady spoke up. "The major thoroughfares are being cleared for the movement of troops, citizens, and supplies as we speak".

The King paused and thought for a moment and spoke to one of the men to his right "Admiral I'd like you to send a quarter of the Adriantican Fleet to join with our ships in the Grecalos, the remainders divide between the Gulf and our southern flank, the northern coast, and in the lagoons and the Silver Isles. General, I would like the bulk of our troops to watch the Vetalian border and the north as well as the south of Ponente". To the third man he said, "I want the Harpies to be ready a moment notice...The rest of you know what you must do, and I want hourly updates, dismissed".

The council left their seats to busy themseles with their appointed tasks

The King exited the room last, and headed towards his favorite spot in the Palace, the Tower of the Winds.

Fleet Lord Tiernan Ardghal folded his hands behind his back, scanning over the equipment operators arrayed before him. They had been tracking a submarine for sometime off the bow several kilometers away. Ardghal had contemplated having it removed but it would serve no real purpose.

The HCS. Xavier steamed forth continuing on course to the Artitsan's theater; her support fleet followed in a wide defensive pattern. Kilometers away four other Battlegroups, the Joniahs, Irabhas, Surgku, and Makita were in tow. Plans had changed. Turning south, battlegroups Lebore, Askovo, and Yuzhn moved at flank speed towards Islay. Contact had been made by AWACs and forward patrol SSN's reporting fleet movements by Waldenburg. His only decision remaining was whether or not to launch a preemptive assault on this fleet, or bring them into gun range and slug it out. Both seemed like fine prospects.

Fleet Lord Ardghal hated this chapter of war; the waiting. His admirals had their plans drawn, the men were ready, the weapons were ready. Now they wait to let slip the chains.

Preußmarsch (http://www.marsches.narod.ru/deutsch/Preussenmarsch.mp3)

The shrill of a naval whistle cut the morning silence and the handful of officers aboard the bridge of the WIS Thunderer sprung to their feet. Commodore Petz acknowledged his flag captain with a nod and proceeded to his command chair where he fell with thump. Sailors surreptitiously rearranged their caps wiped the crumbs of breakfast off their jackets.

“Commodore,” a ensign snapped a salute and pressed a paper into Petz’s fingers. “We have reported and confirmed naval presence dozens of ships. We are closing to 100 kilometers, and Captain Hallzammer has ordered that the full ensign be flown.”

The commodore skimmed the paper casually before setting it aside upon a small end table and nodding to another officer who seemed perched on the moment, “Ensign dictate a message to the Gothic Fleet.” Petz closed his eyes and leaned back on lovingly oiled hinges. “Unidentified battle fleet you are in violation of the MU Territorial Supremacy Act and under said articles the Waldenburger Empire reserves the right to detain, arrest or confiscate any people or property involved in the violation of the Act. Halt your current actions and you will be escorted under frigate screen to Hendonshire for detainment. This is your only warning.” After a moment the tapping of keys died and the ensign nodded a confirmation.

“It is away sir. How long?”

“Oh, never mind with that. Beat to quarters, and order forward the frigates. My coat!” The few officers on deck, so lethargic in the early morning, were beaten to movement and claxons began to bleat out the call to arms. Sailors and marines were roused from their tiny beads aboard the Thunderer and across the squadron.

Eventually after a long coat could be located Rudolph Petz walked into the early morning air of the forward deck and sniffed at it’s coolness. The temperature had decreased considerably since last night, but the warm buzz of the cognac still hung heavily on his mind, and a stiff breeze rippled the battle ensign flying hugely above his own standard.

“Commodore!” Somewhere a hastily arranged band struck up a jaunty military march and a ragtag line of marines, their uniforms ruffled, beat up a parade march around the gunrails. It was custom, nobody knew why, the need for a dedicated boarding party, especially on a vessel of this size had become completely redundant, however Commodore Petz took the salute with a considerable amount of pomp, and he felt his chest inflate considerably as the sound of jackboots slapping steel roused his crew. In practical terms the show was more of a nuisance, dashing crewmembers were forced to wait and the line thundered past in parade.

When at least the martial maneuvering had ended Petz turned his attention to the fleet, two cruisers, a countermeasure and dispatch ship, and six frigates arranged in a slowly forming, shallow, inverse vanguard, where the Thunderer anchored the position. Heliograph was the favored version of communication in combat situations, they for the most part could not be recorded and therefore rarely broken, however it was added seconds in the relay of information. Little lights twinkled their messages over the fleet, Petz halfheartedly scanned a few from the WIS Penitent something about fuel rationing, or some such thing.

“Commodore, seventeen points northeast.” A watch officer folded down some binoculars from his eyes, “unless I’m dreaming, I see hulks.”

“I believe,” Petz daubed his bicorn to a passing marine captain, “they are quite real. Captain Hallzammer will close to 40,000 meters and give them a few rounds of the long sixteens. If they wish a duel we shall be more than willing to comply.”

The Island Nation of Miroxia, far the to southeast of the Mediterranican Region, had negotiated for a conditional neutrality with the Tersanctan military machine. There would be no 'invasion' of Miroxian soil, nor dismantling of its sovereignty.

The terms were thus: Tersanctus would be permitted limited use of and construction of military bases, in exchange for protection from MU regional reprisals. These were the terms, and the Expeditionary forces were estimated to be more then enough to bolster Miroxia's defenses, while launching offensives deeper into the region.

The Grand Admiral who was the supreme commander of the entire naval force, Rhalen Abendan was a native Sanctan, denoted by darkish skin and green eyes. Well into his sixties, his slicked back shock-white hair was in place due to years of combing. His face presented wrinkles that counted every year of his experience.

Like many gentleman his age, he took his time, and enjoyed routine. He woke up before the first light of the rising dawn, and was fond of drinking tea on his command balcony, aboard the command Vengeance-Class Dreadnaught ITAS Empress Accanor reviewing his personal copy of the Book. Kungshao Int Invetrea. 'The Wisdom of Kungshao', the core teachings of the Temple. He was a devout Shang Shaoist, and his loyalty to Tersanctus was unquestioned, spending forty plus years in the Armada.

His latest Kreigaian vessel assignment was the pride of the fleet, the most heavily armed capital ship in Tersanctan history, one of five, there were more dreadnoughts of course, around sixty in total, but the armor and armaments on these were still superior to the others.

As the massive fleets moved in gracefully constantly communicating with the others, and with other Gothic Fleets, the conditional neutrality of Miroxia was truly a godsend. The east would fall rather nicely, with a minimum of bloodshed.

So it was no surprise to Admiral Abendan when the message from the Waldenburg Fleet came in.

“Unidentified battle fleet you are in violation of the MU Territorial Supremacy Act and under said articles the Waldenburger Empire reserves the right to detain, arrest or confiscate any people or property involved in the violation of the Act. Halt your current actions and you will be escorted under frigate screen to Hendonshire for detainment. This is your only warning.”

It was a standard message, the likes of which he himself might even send. He smiled as he thought out a reply to his yeoman.

"Tell the gentleman that Tersanctus and the allied Goths are fully within their rights to be here, as we were invited by sovereign nations to their independent shores, and that any attacks on their part will be seen as an act of needless war, and will be treated as such." he said putting his little spin on it. If this worked out, they might even be able to 'justify' the invasion.

OOC: Miroxia was supposed to post a week ago, but this was all worked out with him via TG.

“You know captain, we would be entirely lost without the Territorial Supremacy Act.” When Petz had read through the communiqué and then sent a few probing letters to the Waldenburger consulate, and in turn read those, he had returned to his cabin to flip through a ring binder bristling with legal documents. In chronological order all acts, laws and general reports pertaining to maritime law were doled in the small binder, and with loving fingers Petz flipped to the Territorial Supremacy Act. Most of the page was blank, and there were occasional and carefully lined pencil markings.

“Return a message. An then…” The commodore paused, it was becoming apparent the numbers of the fleet, they would outnumber him in the dozens to one, a prospect, which even such a keen mind as his would baulk at. “Message reads: Your presense is confirmed. Miomorian authorities have approved your destination and intent. However on current course the MU Territorial Act is being violated, and we must ask you to break south immediately, and therefore return to your sanctioned mission. We shall see you down.”

Captain Hallzammer nodded impassively as the message was tapped out to the second battlefleet. “Of course commodore a change of course will not in fact change any violations of the Act.”

“Yes, but they will be under their own steam here and expecting a peaceful trip, if they wish to break from the main battle fleet then that is their own business. We have given them their one warning, and any move towards us, well.” Petz paused. “Get as close as we can and order further radio silence, all communications are to be moved to heliograph from here. Give them the impression that we are silently watching. Pull as close as possible, keep the men to their quarters. We’ll being going fist to fist with whatever they have, if possible pull us into five kilometers, our armor can take the punishment.” It was a fairly well made assumption, a general blanket statement after the coil gun tests at Streinlikstern had proven that the ship could take quite the pounding, and it was generally considered the most shock resistant ship in the fleet. “If the merest hint is made that they are preparing to engage fire. Drone bay is to stand by.” The bridge door clanked open again and Petz peered around to see the great hulks, which were no clearly visible. A few of them outdid the Thunderer in size, and there were hundreds of them stretching as far back as the eye could see, It was a daunting sight, to see so many of your enemy arrayed against you, but it had to begin somewhere, and Commodore Petz was certainly the man to do it.

Joint Skyian-Endorsian Naval Armada
3000km North of The Atlantian Isles

For a few weeks the gigantic armada had been sailing smoothly over the ocean towards West Ponente. Two Skyian Naval Armadas, each over 1500 combat ships, a number which swelled to over 1800 once you added in transport and logistical vessels.

This imposing force flanked the northern side of an equally imposing No Endorsian fleet, they contained everything from attack submarines to ships who housed massive radars to detect incoming missiles and airplanes and even track satellites.

The crews counted themselves as luck that no Mediterranican Fleets had as of jet spotted and attacked them. They had been in a lull for days, but it was about to broken by the thunderous boom of 864 nuclear powered bombers flying over head at tremendously high altitudes.

The Type 1000s, as they were known, were high altitude supersonic bombers powered by nuclear ramjets, much like Project Pluto, they had essentially unlimited range, limited mostly by crew endurance and the need for the maintenance. Traveling at Mach 2 at a cruise altitude of 100,000ft each carried twelve 2500kg glide bombs to their targets, after the drop they were simply turn around and run.

Targets included anything from military airfields and naval bases to anti-aircraft batteries and fuel and ammunition depots, also targeted were power facilities, especially nuclear ones. The bombs ranged from JDAM type penetration bombs to Fuel Air Explosive bombs.

The bombs were launched from nearly 500km out from their targets, the combination of glide wings and small rocket boosters helped them achieve this range. The bombs were guided via GPS into their targets.

10368 bombs rained down on their targets all over West Ponente, about two hundred of them were FAE equipped and used to clear forests for purposes as of yet unknown, the pilots were just under orders to launch and relay the coordinates to their No Endorsian counter parts.

OOC: This is very brief, but I just want to make sure both TSS and West Ponente know our forces have been massing on the border to begin invading the territory overland in concert with the Skyvian assault.

Once West Ponente responds, I'll delete this post and make an IC one for our invasion.

The HCS. Labore opened the bombardment. Her massive guns, twenty-four cannons in 6 turrets launched the 24.5" shells, each the size of a car, in rapid succession. Their courses would be adjusted slightly inflight, but there wouldn't be much to stop them. Shortly after, the Dreadnoughts HCS. Askovo and HCS. Yuzhn joined in with their own identical thunderous assaults. The four battleships in each battlegroup began to set up a screen around their respective dreadnoughts whilst adding in their own 18" strikes.

While each battlegroup had eight destroyer squadrons, only two destroyers from each squadron were loaded out for an anti-surface role. This still meant there were forty-eight destroyers launching their own AShMs at the Waldenburg fleet from such a close range. Many of the cruisemissiles bore thermobaric warheads which would strip the sensors and guidance systems of the enemy vessels... along with any personnel still outside their protected interior. They would have to fight blind.

The frigates in the groups would launch their own AShM's at the opposing escorts providing a frustrating distraction from the SSN's deep below. These vessels served a much more sinister purpose than any other in the fleet. The Waldenburg fleet had made a critical error in moving in so close. The massive 1000mm tubes of the Kristov class SSN's spat forth SD killers... torpedoes designed to literally crack the keel of opposing super-dreadnoughts. Usually it would prove quite difficult and time consuming to be able to actually lay one on target... but this would be far to easy. A dozen or so now headed for the Thunderer. They would see the giants back broken before the day was done.

The cruisers of the fleet broke off directly towards the Waldenburg fleet whilst the Dreadnoughts and their Battleship escorts moved in line astern formation turning to cross the proverbial 'T' of the Waldenburg fleet, seizing the initiative in the surprise attack. Destroyers dipped their MAD arrays scanning for enemy submarines.

Once again, the joys of having an enemy fleet so close would prove themselves. Reaction times would be cut to seconds - the only unfortunate part would be that the Artitsan fleet would not be able to use their heavier AShM's.

The Citidel (Aschenhyrst Military H.Q.); Aschton, Aschenhyrst
As the armed forces of Aschenhyrst awaited word from the Mediterranican Union (MU) council on the allied response to the coming threat, battle plans were being made. Field Marshal Sir James Aschenhyrst de Aschenhyrst (Supreme Commander of Aschehyrst Dominion Forces) called the meeting of the joint chiefs to order. "Fleet Admiral Long, have your forces had any further contact with the Gothic fleet?"
"Last contact with the main body was two days ago, I`ve gotten reports of a small battle group that has broken of from the main force and headed in a southerly direction. This could be a flanking move or a diversionary tactic. Possible targets would include Isthmatia, Islay, Altantian Isles, Faunea, the GLE, Miroxia and West Ponente."
"What is the status of your forces in those sectors?"
" Near Isthmatia we`ve got portions of the seventh fleet undergoing repairs from the war with LION, should be up to full capacity within two weeks. Battleship Hibernia recieved heavy damage and could be drydocked for up to a year. Carrier battle groups Enterprise, Intrepid and Resolve are at full strength and ready to respond.Near Islay, the Fifth fleet was relatively unscathed by the recent combat actions. The fleet is at full-strength of 150 warships and ready to deploy. Several Eradicate-class battleships and Emperor-class battleships were in route from the Homeland to Isthmatia when the hostilities ceased, their current position puts them three to four days from Isthmatia and could be in the Gulf of Ponente on the fifth day. Submarine forces remain scattered, with the heaviest concentrations in the Adricatican Sea in the east and the Hibernian and Zamisanian seas in the west. Wolfpacks are still patrolling the Gulf of Ponente and the Britzkian Reach."
"Sky Marshal DeCamp, what is the status of your forces?"
"We sustained 10% losses of fighters during the LION war on aircraft based in Isthmatia, replacement aircraft and crews can be deployed as early as tommorow. The stratigic bomber fleet has undergone repairs and ready for combat. I need more Exocet anti-ship missiles delivered to Isthmatian bases ASAP, they are currently in short supply. Like our Naval counter-parts, forces in Islay saw little action and are at full combat strength. Pasha forces are at 97% capacity and should be back to full strength by weeks end."
"Excellent, Ground forces suffered 50,000 casulaties and 5000 deaths during the airstrikes on Isthmatia. Replacements have been airlifted to theatre. Islay has full capibilities. 1000 Kraker tanks are being shipped to Isthmatia to replace some of the ones destroyed and to bolster defenses of the canal zone. The canal should still be considered a prime target for any invasion of Isthmatia, the normal protocol for it`s defense shall remain in force unless I give orders otherwise. Until such a time that the council meets and decides to take action or an ally calls for aid, we will concentrate on our own defenses and make preparations to assist nearby allied territories. Meet with your planners and develop contingency plans for all possible scenarios, The Joint Chiefs will meet again at 0700hrs tommorow. This meeting is ajourned."

Officers scanned the decks of various ships amongst the fleet picking out individual men; they seemed not cut from any mold, and the swarthy and pale skinned mixed on quarter decks as longer than was the range of his own ship’s offensive power, There were battleships for every of his own vessels and then some, and then some further.

One vessel, one captain with prudent bearing had kept his eye on the first battle fleet, they seemed to be divided in class and formation, binoculars trained on gun turrets and scurrying crew.

“Message from the Cherubim sir,” Petz nodded and turned his eyes to the designated vessel, a small frigate bobbing about a kilometer to the north. “C U,” he mumbled aloud, “J J Q C.” His lips moved for a while longer. “Under fire?” Half of the Cherubim exploded, her entire aft section being removed as if cleanly cut with a knife, and already what remained of the ship was alternately on fire or being peppered with aluminum or steel shards from it’s now departed rear.

On a general basis Petz had been expecting this and ordered all weapons primed, however the splash of shells beating down around his ship, and the tang of sea water as resulting droplets splashed on his face. Blessedly the air was being cleared by goal keeper and aerial displacement Lüftenshaker rockets meant for clearing super or hyper sonic rockets. There had been considerable problems with the munitions in recent battles, the inclusion of carrier wings had generally caused the frequency wire to vibrate sufficiently to detonate the charge and quite a few fighters had been lost in the name of ‘clearing the sky.’

“Sir! Levi reports torpedoes in the water, no bearing yet, coming right at us though. Pod one reports clear of missiles.”

“EPS thrusters 7, 8, 9,10, put us to bearing 47 degrees NNW. Vanguard is to deploy sonic counter measures and report on bearing, if we are to take it, the bow does. What is the report from drone bay?”

“Six of eight in the air; there’s a shard of aluminum lodged on the landing deck, it’s delayed it indefinitely. Drone Master reports Neurons are in the air however, and have chosen the rearmost battleship in the immediate vacintiy, on approach, ETA till firing time is just over a minute.” The positioning of the fleet meant that though the lead ship, or what had been the lead ship, was perhaps only eight kilometers from the enemy whereas the Thunderer was perhaps closer to ten from the fighting. Captain Hallzammer was passed a scribbled sheet of paper in the codemasters hand, “Alright,” his phrase was punctuated as a ASM exploded mid air to plink shards of metal onto the bridge deck of the ship, “Alright.” The paper was crumpled into a ball and tossed down to the wind, “fire with everything. Everything.”

Incendiary shells had been fit to most of the fast sixers on the deck, and they opened up with a rapid salvo as the sixteen inch guns added a sharp crack every so often. Missiles, and torpedoes were fired as quickly as they could be targeted.

The northern part of the nation had been hard hit, parts of Aix-en-Orge were either aflame and most of the city was without power. Many of the smaller towns were now either burned black or had been evacuated. The once verdant farms, fields, and forests were now burned or burning, the air was thick with cinders that had once been parts of them. The rails had not all been damaged; however travel by rail had been severely restricted by the barrage.

The southern part of the nation was not as damaged, well parts anyways, a large area was without power. The city of Layune had suffered heavy damages and was almost unrecognizable. The capital’s defensive antiaircraft batteries had proved greatly effective, nonetheless Aquileilia was still had been hit in some of it’s residential areas. Thousands were dead or homeless.

Martial law was now in full effect throughout the entire nation, to help ease the overwhelmed local governments. Refugees from the north were directed towards the mountains and countryside while around 200,000 troops and were being moved to the northern border with Vetalia or to the southern provinces. Intelligence had detected large build ups of forces along there. Their sole objective was to crush any attempts of a Vetalian invasion before they even reached the Ponentean border.

To the east, in the Kregortine Lagoon, four Nimitz-class Aircraft carriers belatedly launched 210 Rafale fighters to strike at the Endorsian/Skyian armada approaching the Ponentean coast. From the bases in Saint-Nectaire, bomber and battleship alike set foot in the Gulf to defend their home.

Reports of the Gholgothic attacks had been pouring in across the Republic.

In order to prepare for possible invasion of the homeland all military units had been pushed out from central regions and were within an hour to an hour and a half of responding to coastal invasions.

Where the terrian permitted landings fortifications were built a few miles off the shore as well as the emplacement of anti-ship capable platforms and large elements of anti air and artillery units were positioned to respond to any potential landings.

The artillery pieces went through the task of zeroing in on the beaches leaving craters all along the coast, this site upon approaching the coast from landing craft would clearly instill fear into even the hardest of warriors.

The approaches to these sections of the coast were mined as were the crater ridden beaches themselves.

Republic aircraft now conducted 24 hour rotations over the mainland with thousands of aircraft on alert should they be needed.

Meanwhile in the bay of Ruckinia sat over ninety percent of the Republic's fleet. Here the fleet would remain under the safe net of anti-air and anti-ship platforms which dotted the coasts into overlapping spheres until deemed necessary to put out to sea.

The only deployed forces of the Republic were eight submarines 3 Cadiz class SSBN's 3 Cartagena class SSN's and 2 Ocean II class SSGN's which were stationed in the Courbournian straight.

The Citidel; Aschton, Aschenhyrst
News of the Gothic attacks and invasion fleet swept through the Imperial Dominion like wildfire. The Joint Chiefs immediately place the military on DEFCON 4 (Hostile action in progress) and ordered up the reservists.

Regular and reservist units began deploying towards the coastal areas most likely for a amphibious invasion. Home guard units were activated and mustered in their communities.

A round-the-clock aerial patrol began over the homeland.

Naval assets began deploying; carrier strike groups deployed in the Hibernian, Kymeian and Barot Seas, Battle groups headed towards the Courbournian and Luchamian Straits.
Minelaying vessels began their tedious work of securing territorial waters and possible invasion routes near the colonies.
The reinforcement fleet headed for Isthmatia arrived in the Britzkian Reach.
Two Carrier strike groups and one Battle group sailed into the Zambisanian Sea to bolster the defense on Pasha.
The Sub fleet was given orders to take out any vessel showing hostile intent within 500km of any Dominion lands.

Army and Marine Infantry reinforcements began airlifting to Isthmatia to secure it`s border and assist the Ponentians with the defense of their homeland and the influx of refugees.

Cargoships landed at Niewpoort, Isthmatia and began offloading equipment; first designated as replacement for losses in the LION war, now being readied for another conflict in the region.

Naval and Air assets based around Islay began reconisance missions out 1000km from it`s shores searching for the break-away flank of the invasion force.

OOC: As of now this is simply a place holder. Once Gholgoth attacks I will convert this into an IC post.

Roaring northward, the Rafales that had been send from the carriers in the Lagoon had a simple task at hand. They were charged with clearing the ground for the Ponentean ground forces, and also destroy as many Vetalian utilities as possible. All this was to be done as quickly as possible before they would return to a makeshift airfield to be refueled and rearmed.

Time passed, the fighters flew over the ravaged countryside beneath them. Finally the squadron leaders’ global positioning systems told them they were now flying over Vetalia. The squadrons then split to perform their tasks as quickly and efficiently as possible.
---

Just beyond the Silver Isles, several squadrons of Ponentean ships entered into the Adriatican Ocean from the Lagoons.

Port city of Curco

The city was bustling as news that the Imperial (http://http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=478951&highlight=Hood+class+dreadnaught) was getting underway.

The massive ship dwarfed all those around her, and had been the pride of the Imperial Navy for decades.
Flanked by her two sister ships Vengance (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=10646417&postcount=1326) and Mercy (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=10646417&postcount=1326)
Along with their escort and support vessels.

This supercapital battle group codenamed Tyranny left port under the cheers and waving flags of millions as they headed out to halt the spread of the Gholgothic barbarians. Bound for the courbornian straight they would take up station on the opposite side of the Isthmatian canal. Soon to be followed by the rest of the Republic's navy.

Isthmatian-Ponentian frontier
As news of the attacks on West Ponente spread throughout the region, the Government of Aschenhyrst offered to allow refugees passage through Isthmatia on their way to the Ponentian colonies in the west. The past couple of days a small but steady stream of Ponentians trickeled acrossed the border but overall most seemed inclined to stay behind and attempt to repel the aggressors.

It had taken several days to have the fleet traverse the still-damaged Isthmatian Canal but now nearly two hundred Aschenhyrst warships had entered the Gulf of Ponente. As the Battlefleet moved toward the Adriatican Sea, the Aschenhyrstian and Ponentian militaries were planning their response to the attacks.

Forces in Isthmatia were placed on high alert and fighter jets patroled both the airspace over Isthmatia and the Gulf of Ponente, around the clock. Ground forces finished their preparations for the defense of the canal, still vunerable to aerial attack.

To the west, more warships gathered between Courbounia and the Britzkian Reach. News had arrived that the Gatawan Fleet had deployed and would soon arrive on the scene. Aschenhyrstian and Gatawan forces would be standing alongside each other yet again, as they had done so many times in the past.

The Freekish fleet had broken sharply towards the northern passage that leads into the heart of Mediterranica, and with their Kregaian allies at their flank they would travel through with the blessing of the Vetalian government. Always vigilant, regular patrols from both the skies and below the surface were ran around the clock to ensure that nothing could breach the layered defenses of the fleet, even though they still sailed through friendly waters. Word had reached Zander that the strike against West Ponente was underway from allied Gothic forces, and that Freekish heavy bombers had been dispatched to either assist in the first amphibious campaign of the war, or to help crush any resistance that may be encountered as they slipped deeper into the region. Quintus and Solenial were either in Vetalian hands or were soon to be, and thus it was determined that a landing in that particular theater would be a waste...especially since the Vetalians were being allowed to take whatever lands they desired in return for their cooperation with Gholgoth.

However an obstacle still remained; Greston. It was a sizable conglomeration of islands that would prove tedious to hop across, and intelligence suggested that it may be possible to come to the same kind of agreement with the Grestonian government that was reached with the Vetalians. Mediterranica's overall state of readiness to fight off an invasion as imposing as that of Gholgoth's would be extremely difficult given the recent LION/Hegemony spat, and nations would inevitably be looking out for their own interests once the realization came that the region as a whole would be powerless to resist. Hastily a message to the Grestonians was drawn up from officials on mainland Automagfreek, which would then be sent via satellite to the intended target.

~From the desk of Lord Damien the Destroyer, Supreme Warlord of the New Gothic Empire of Automagfreek~

Greetings people and leaders of Greston.

Without doubt you are aware that a massive invasion force of Gothic origin has entered Mediterranica. Do we bring peace, or do we bring death, you may ask? That question is most easy to answer; we bring whatever you choose. We do not come seeking wholesale slaughter of the entire region, because we believe such an endeavor to be ultimately pointless. Do not mistake this as a lack of fortitude, for we will stand firm against any opposition to the Gothic advance, and those who attempt to defy us will pay the dearest cost.

That is not to say however that there are no positives to be found. The Vetalians, your neighbors to the east, have seen the benefits of cooperation with Gholgoth. They have and shall continue to reap the rewards of their strong partnership with our regional brotherhood, and when this conflict is resolved we shall see to it that they have a large stake in region's future, on behalf of Gholgoth of course. We are offering you, the people of Greston, such a stake in the new Mediterranica. We will see to it that a lucrative partnership if formed between us, and aside from our usual pledge of economic and military aid, we will assure Greston a larger place within their region.

This is an offer that will only be made once. Our fleets steadily approach Greston and will be within range shortly to begin launching attacks should we be met with resistance. All we ask is that our offer be accepted, and Gothic forces be permitted to pass through Grestonian territory, and stage from your outlying lands. We can assure the Grestonian people will be safe from Mediterranican retalliation, for alongside your navy and air force we will have formidable combined might that will be capable of keeping Greston and her people from harm. Additional details and indeed incentives can be reached if you so choose to accept this most generous offer.

The hour draws near, and the length of this war will be determined by the level of resistance we encounter. Make no mistake that Gholgoth will ultimately prevail, but the real issue is how many Mediterranican lives have to be wasted before the killing ends. We would gladly see a peaceful resolution to this conflict, and cooperation between Greston and Gholgoth will certainly assure that fewer people will have to needlessly die. We hope that our offer will be seriously considered.


http://img352.imageshack.us/img352/1818/signson6.png

OOC: Not the best but I don’t get a lot of time with my job…did I mention I hate my job, no?

IC:


Northern Valeon

The explosion had drawn every eye in line of sight to the ocean where flames and smoke bellowed up into the sky. Patrol boats had been deployed to the scene within minutes however there had been little left to investigate and as no Imperial assets or people had been involved, injured or damaged the disturbance was forgotten and left to sink into history with the last of the wreckage.

Morning though had revealed an unsightly surprise - the shredded, bloated corpse of a Captain and his suitcase which had floated ashore during the night. Soldiers of the Valeon Garrison, what equated in international terms to the provinces police force, had pried open the case and found its contents disturbing at best and had immediately taken the case to the nearest Imperial Army Base, which in this case had been one belonging to the 110th Legion. From here the documents had been delivered to desk of the base commander, who at the current time happened to be the Legions General, Arzaan Dylos, who held conference with the officers who had delivered the documents.

‘They were multiple ships involved though and nothing to indicate this was a setup’, stated Colonel Veric. A man in his early forties, Sirius Veric had a rough, light beard which made him seem like just hadn’t shaved in a few days and made him look grim and even slightly scruffy despite his immaculate uniform. ‘There were plenty of fresh bodies, definitely died in the explosion or minutes before it. This merits more investigation to…’

‘Not for us’, interjected the other of Arzaan’s officers, Captain Loken, ‘even if we ignore the seemingly coincidental timing of these plans washing ashore given the fleet which rapidly encroaches on us, then the plans still indicate the invasion will take place through West Ponente. We should send the plans to them and let them act accordingly’.

‘Agreed Captain, If the enemy invades through West Ponente we will have time to act and reposition our forces and if they do not and these documents are lies then we cannot afford to move forces needlessly in advance’. Arzaan picked up the documents on the table and stuffed the pile back into the folder before handing it to Veric. ‘Make sure these reach West Ponente safely.’

‘But we can’t just dismiss this General’, gasped Colonel Veric. ‘This is a serio…’

Captain Loken stopped Veric mid sentence again. ‘You have your orders Sirius, and we have little time so just see to it.’ Despite being six years of age junior to the Colonel, Loken had proven himself an exceptional soldier and leader and he had advanced quickly through the ranks of his Legion until he had even surpassed Veric and now stood as a Captain of the 110th and his General’s most trusted officer.

With a salute the Colonel left, the documents back in their case and held firmly in his grasp where they would remain until they were handed over to the West Ponente military.

OOC: More to come about troop movements and the like later

OOC: Greston is a little bit too close for comfort.
IC:

http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k155/Uiri/seal.gif

TO: Gholgothic Invasion Forces

I am at present aware of your invasion of the region of Mediterranica. Knowing full well the power of your alliance and the fact that Aleos, a member of your alliance, already has troops within your nation, we consider any move against Gholgothic forces. We shall be proceeding to invade Miamoria with military force, and thus saving your forces for more worthy foes. We know the Miamorians very well, and we also know their weakeness is their feudalistic system.

Their peasants are ethnic Uir - like most of the military staff of Uiri. By sharing ethnicity, we would be able to stir up a revolution in Miamoria very easily and thus you shall have no need to waste resources on the island, nor my island. We wish to know the terms upon which this offer will be accepted. Be certain that we are willing to negotiate and that we know that you could just as easily refuse our offer and occupy both of us yourself. We only wish that bloodshed be minimized for in the past our citizens have not taken too kindly to any form of foreign influence.

David Aposon
President of Uiri

http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k155/Uiri/seal2.gif

TO: Miamoria

We are invading and occupying your country. There are to be no if's, and's or but's about it. In the face of a regional war, we have no choice but to protect our national interests and right now this means invading and occupying your nation. Resistance is futile. We can stir up a revolution within your country based solely on freeing our ethnic brothers. There is a reason most countries are no longer feudal. What is more is that even if we stir up revolution, the revolutionaries will still farm cattle and produce wheat for our populace. We have you on a leash. The length of said leash is up to you.

David Aposon
President of Uiri
Samul Humoson
Vice-President of Uiri

OOC: Sorry for the OOC but I'm kind of lost at this point. Who's where? It seems all the action so far has taken place in a relatively small area around West Ponente, which only involves a few nations.

OOC: As I read it, the Freekish fleet is heading towards Greston. Thus, I am responding as I believe best.

The Gulf of West Ponente is under siege. The Freekish and Gothic fleet has met the Ponente home and taken it under siege. The Freekish Fleet has met the end of the Adriatic Ocean and to the entrance of the Mednordian Sea. The fate of the Imperial Republic rests in President Strikers hands. God bless you, God bless Greston - A Mari Usque Ad Mare.

The cold, metronome-like voice of the obviously anxious newsreporter was now commonplace. The populace was being kept out of the know, the out side events and the slow destruction of the reigon were being ignored and were covered up with lies. The contents of the message that had arrived on President Strikers desk were meant to be kept secret but an unnamed department had let it leak to the media.

With every announcement, every frightened news caster anxiously delivering the news, fear spread. The government made a spark and the media simply spread the wild fire.

With such a large blow to the minds of the unknowledgable people, protestors flooded the streets. The streets of Easen were teeming, filled with angry protesters. Protestors flocked around the Parliament Spire, after being lied to by the government the entire nation was in panic, and with panic so did a chaos that ensued. Opposing the hordes were four regiments of the Imperial Overwatch Presidential Guard, they were the only thing that stopped the protestors from flooding the Federal Parliament.

Outside Parliament was not the only place where controversy was taking place. Inside its chambers, hundreds of Senators and Assemblymen were tempestuously screaming about the proper choice of action. An PM from Canterbury called for a decleration of neutrality, and an PM from Lexington called for the Imperial Republic to follow the Freekish Ultimatum and open their ports, to appease the protesters below.

President Jerry Striker, standing on the tower's observation deck, had different plans. He would watch them unfold dispassionately.

12:34 PM, Federal Parliament Building
Easen, Greston

The large, magnificent, wooden doors to the Parliament flung open as a man of short stature raced to the strategic regimental commander. The man handed the commander a piece of paper and pointed at the crowd.

"The President requests that one GNNN group be sent in."

The regimental commander followed in toe, the rows of Imperial Overwatch Presidental Guards (Imperial Reds), which stretched the vincinity of the building, parted in front of the gate to make room for the selected Grestonian National News Network (GNNN) crew to going into the building. The short aid then ran in behind them.

Inside the building President Striker was still standing in the observatory floor. The GNNN camera crew set up their equipment than every television in the nation clicked on. On every private radio, television, and huge screens in the city, the message would play. Every channel and every radio station would give the speech.

This a public announcement from the President of the Imperial Republic, Sir Jerry Striker, it boomed in a monotony tone, the national anthem thundered throughout the nation and Striker began to speak.

"It has come to my attention that a massive Freekish fleet is nearing our homeland. As demonstrated by this fleet earlier, they are not here on a matter of peace. Per Presidential Order 35214, issued an hour ago, I am hereby instituting pro-Grestonian law in this wretched region.

Imperial Grestonian Armed Force will move to attack the Confederacy of Solenial, one of the many scourges that have befaced this region. Furthermore, a state of martial law will be instituted in the Grand Roman Republic of Alogorthia. Dissent will be viewed as treason, and you may ask the extinct populace of the Mediterranican Union International Zone how we deal with treason.

The Gothic Forces thundering towards are lands will be greeted as liberators, and with open arms. Dear Lord Damien, our ports, our supplies, our oil and fuel, are your ports, your supplies, and your oil to use for the remainder of this liberation.

This region has crossed the Imperial Republic one to many times, it has officially become time for the tides to change. This is a war the likes of the Mediterranica has never seen before and I happy to say that we are on the winning side. Mediterranican's, may God have mercy on your souls, for we shall not. God bless you, God bless Greston, God bless Automagfreek - A mari usque ad mare."

12:52, Greston-Solenial Territorial Water Border
Mont-du-Plame, Greston

Field Marshal William Mont-du-Plame surveyed the silver coast of the western border, seeing nothing but the distant coast of the Confederacy of Solenial. He knew that thousands of kilometers away in the fields of the Vetalian-Solenial-Quintus Border there was a massive carnage brought upon the nation by the Vetalians. With such a large distraction, it would be relatively easy to get the Grestonian Army and Grestonian Navy the few miles to the enemy coast.

The entire garrison had watched as the GNNN's newscast had only proven the military's and the government's rumors. The 40,000 man garrison, of course, knew before hand about the strike. President Striker had decided it best for himself to see to every part of the operation and to order the commanders from inside the Federal Parliament. In front of Field Marhsal Mont-du-Plame's transport boat the massive side of the GMNS Mediator floated by. As it came directly in front of the Field Marshal's view, the massive deck guns on the Mediator thundered down upon the Solenial coast.

With that, alarms exploded along the Grestonian line as the entire front prepared to move out. The biggest land and sea invasion in Grestonian history was now underway as untold numbers of missiles from the numerous naval ships sent into the Federal Strait rained down upon the Solenial coast.

Troops, mechanized infantry, tanks, aircraft and other military equipment were ready to over run the coastal city after the allied missiles stopped raining down and the enemy retreated back into the city. The Grestonian's choice of action was quite clear now to the Mediterranica.

1000km's West of Corslack

The IRNV cruisers Sin and Alstard along with the carrier New World and their twelve anti-air and eight anti-submarine escorts held station far off the coast of the Grestonian southern colony, ever since a series of ill meetings between the Grestonians and the Republic's government a cold war had existed between the two.

As such the Republic's government had set about establishing round the clock surverylliance of all Grestonian movements, communications and initiated a number of intelligence gathering operations. As well as keeping a number of projection capable platforms not far from Grestonian territory.


Chancellery Building, Gatawa
The chancellery was abuzz as news of Greston's support for the Ghothic forces trickiled in from the Intelligence Ministry aides filled the hallways running back and forth along the long green marbled floors carrying various reports and updates, the news had caused chancellor Von Elsrider to call an emergency meeting of his staff in order to asses the Republic's next course of action against the newfound threat.

A large stocky man, wearing a solid dark blue uniform, his chest adorned with medals and ribbons began to speak.

"Chancellor, the weakness of the Ghothic forces will be supplies, we must continue unrestricted submarine operations against Ghothic supply convoys, and with the new threat of Greston we must target their ports, power plants, and other methods to slow their ability to produce devices for war."

Elsrider nodded,

"Very well Admiral Etzel. What then would be you're suggested course of action?"
Etzel stood pushing a button on an over head projector then made his way to the front of the room, a map of the region was displayed upon the canvas as Etzel began

"First there is the issue of Corslack, the small grestonian colony could be used to supply assaults from the south, it is vital that this threat be eliminated, luckily our Unkerlantian allies are in the vacinity and we will not have to devote much manpower to that theatre of operations, we do however have a sizeable battlegroup in vicinity to Corslack that is returning from patrols abroad."

Etzel paused to take a drink of water before continuing,

"We have stand off capable weapons and should utilize these first to inflict as much damage as possible striking the fringes of Grestonian territory and launching small ICBM capable submarine attacks against interior targets as these will be undetected until it is too late."

Elsrider nodded again stroking his chin deep in though as to how to handle the situation.

"Very well admiral issue the order, I will expect daily updates as to our operations against Greston."

Elsrider stood to the salute of all within the emergency war room, and departed to make an official statement to the nation

Ultimatum to Greston and Allies
Your recent actions have yet again put you at odds with the rest of the region, your poor leadership and incompetence have placed you in a periouls position, you now have 24 hours to stand down your forces and cease aide to the Ghothic menace or you shall bring upon the suffering of thousands of your citizens

Chancellery Building, News Conference Room

Elsrider stepped out onto the stage as he had done so many times before to the barrage of camera flashes and questions, his black suit fit snuggly over his broad shoulders, giving him a commanding apperance.

"Good day to you all, Citizens of the great country of Gataway, today we have learned that the vile Grestonians have seen fit to side with the Ghothic barbarians, following this I have authorized the use of military force to be directed against Greston and her allies.

I personally have also given the order that no combatants fighting under the Grestonian colors are to be given quarter or taken prisoner, her allies however will be spared this fate.

We will push back the Ghothic horde, we will see the destruction of Greston, we will be Victorious, Strength and unity through the republic."

Bridge of Sin
Alarm bells rang in the early morning hours as men clammered out of their bunks and rushed to their battlestations, the loudspeaker echoed through every corridor of the ship as the captain began to speak

"Assume alert posture 5, state of war exists with Greston, Assume alert posture 5, state of war exists with Greston."

Captain Konrad read alloud the beginning of the transmission he had recieved only moments ago directly from the admiralty.

Konrad then turned to one of the operators seated below him

"Fire coordinates GL 13455 20179, Fire when ready."

The operator quickly set about punching in the given location and seconds later the ship rocked as her VLS tubes came to life firing off a mixture of anti-radiation and cruise missiles 125 in all aimed to hit Corslack's radar centers, airfields, power plants, communication systems.

Gatawan Colony Silvasnia

The small military outpost fort Herald was unusually busy as 12,000 Republic marines began loading craft to be bound for the Grestonian colony of Corslack along with a larger force from their Unkerlantian allies.

3200km's from Serestable

The aerial armada of 32 GL-113 Ank riat bombers along with heavy fighter escort held station in circular patterns as they prepared their attacks against the Grestonian fringes, keeping in line with the long distance first strike approach the air wing would not come close to Grestonian territory..not yet at least instead each Ank riat was outfitted with eighty Tiapan cruise missiles each delievering CEB type munitions.

Upon direct orders from the Air Command the group fired their first salvo of two hundred and fifty missiles towards Serestable, targeting everything from civilan structures to military installiations. In order to combat Grestonian air defense systems a number of decoy warheads were also employed

This was the Republic's way of letting the Grestonians know there would be no mercy for anyone of Grestonian nationality.

Aquileilia, West Ponente

A ragged man stood before Gen. Marcel-Louis Bonnevie, he said his name was Veric, and that he was a Colonel in the Imperial Yallakian Army. He needed to see the General urgently and would see no other subordinates. The contents of the case he carried were scanned and showed no threat to the General. After confirming with Yallakian Command he was admitted to see the General.

“I see you have traveled far to deliver this message, the completion of your task is at hand.” Said Bonnevie

It was miracle Veric had been able to make it this far, across the southern mountains and through the scorched lands of the south.

“This is extremely classified. These documents were found washed up on a beach of Northern Valeon, these are the Ghotho-Vetalian plans of the invasion of West Ponente.

He was right, there were maps, troop movements, and a detailed and timed invasion plans. It called for a massive surge of troops to enter from the north and enter into the heartlands. Such a plan would be devastating…this information was worth more than any gold or precious gem in the King’s treasury. “If this man is not awarded with the Order of St. Stephen, I’ll be damned.” Though Bonnevie to himself, stunned at this sudden good fortune.

“You have done our great country and our great region a great service, I thank you for these documents on behalf of the Kingdom.”

Ministry of State

As authorized by the Republic of Vetalia, the following ultimatum is delivered to the nations of West Ponente and Yallak:

1. Full capitulation to Vetalian forces in the province of Valeon and the mainland territory of West Ponente. The Republic will immediately annex Valeon and will place West Ponente under occupation for the duration of the conflict, with suitable territorial changes to be discussed upon cessation of hostilities.

2. Signing of a non-agression pact with the Republic of Vetalia will be contingent upon the realization of the first point of this ultimatum. The Republic will cease all hostilities against the nations of Yallak and West Ponente upon successful completion of our territorial goals.

3. All prisoners of war under Vetalian control will be repatriated to these territories and the Vetalian armed forces will immediately cease all hostilities against West Ponente and Yallak for the duration of the conflict or ten years, whichever occurs first.

4. All civilian officials of the nation of West Ponente will be given adequate time to emigrate from the nation or to join in the creation of a new Protectorate designed to safeguard southern Vetalian interests.

5. This agreement is binding under international law and any breach of the agreement will be dealt with accordingly.

Further points not elaborated in this agreement will be established during formal negotiations or on an ad hoc basis as required. However, upon successful completion of this ultimatum all hostilities will be halted and a state of peace will exist between the nations of Yallak, Vetalia, and West Ponente.

The governments of these nations are given 72 hours to respond after which point the Republic will deem it necessary to commence military operations.

Signed,
Proconsul Vladimir Trepov II
Republic of Vetalia

How could one man take until he crumbles from under him. The colony of Corslak, a Grestonian Colony placed on the Tre Diux Islands, had taken the brunt of the combined surprise Gatawayan and Aschenhyrstian assualt upon the Grestonian Colonies in the Mediterranica. The center island was almost completelt destroyed, the once magnificent city in it's centre was now a smouldering heap lined with the lifeless bodies of innocent civilians caught outside at the time of the attack. After the attack and what the populace called "Striker's Rage" it was a mandatory requirement that all Imperial Citizens were to be evacuated to the Grestonian Proper or to be revoked of their right to live as a Grestonian.

The order was quickly obliged but then something that the Corslak Crown Government did not expect happened; the Grestonian government abandoned control of the islands and had ceded them off to the Governor, then given emergency powers and the title of Consul. Any form of an army was abandoned and Consul David Wembley was forced to contruct his own militia army, comprised off ex-Corslakian soldiers and their equipment.

Sweat ran down Consul Wembley's brow, mixing with the few tears rolling down his face. Even after years, the tropical heat of Corslak was still difficult to bear, and though the consul loved his new home, the city brought back memories of his family, now cleany vaporized by one of the numerous Aschenhyrst missiles that had collapsed the city Nyquix or pumped with lead from bullets of the paratroopers that landers. He also thought back to the Grestonian proper, where almost the entirety of his populace had been sent, which had sent him the message that had caused him so much pain.

And that was all that was left on the two inhabited island; Consul David Wembley, the Corslakian Crown Government, and the Wembley Army.

It was an extremely silent day, however it was also akward, it was not what someone would expect as their last day on earth. Everyone on the islands had watched in awe and shock as terror happened, Striker had re-opened a state of war with the region by side with the Ghoths and attacking the neighboring Solenial.

"Um, David, your were saying," said the consuls personal secretary, Elizabeth, she was typing up the Consul's Last Will and Testament and was going to send it to the Grestonian Government, but David seemed to nod off mid sentence.

"Ah yes, sorry Liz. As I was saying... ah yes, the remained of my military pay and my income as the crown leader of the Grestonian Colony Corslak is to be transferred to my nephew Tyler Wembley. On the last day of my life, a life that prospered and brought force many great oppurtunities to the Imperial Republic. It is a great shame that such a great life, as good as every other in Corslak, must be wasted so that the Grestonian name can be remembered. I hope that the Ghoths bring as much help to the Imperial Republic as Mr. Striker promises. I just won't be alive to see such a day," David turned to his assistant and asked with his eyes if that was good.

"It's perfect Mr. Consul," David stopped her and began to speak, "Mr. Wembley, we only have a few hours left to live, hopefully that may be prosperous."

"Ok, Mr. Wembley, should I send it?"

"Yes, Liz, send it. I assume you sent yours?"

"No one will remember my life, David. Don't kid." the assistant sighed and looked out the window to the burning streets of Lioux Diux.

"Oh nonsense, Liz, start typing yo-" the capital building, really the best looking office building that could be found, started thundering and shaking as the massive alarm started sounding and the red light's flashed.

Both Liz and the Consul flew from their seat in a minute. They, as did thousands of others, flooded onto the streets and strained their necks to look at the massive television screens which had a fat looking man in an anxious state of mind as he bellowed about how in the western most island, a small village was hit by a massive strike of cruise missiles from Unkerlantum and the Gatawayan Colony.

"The Colony has dreaded this day! The Republic of Unkerlantum is officially an enemy of the Imperial Republic!"

The man on the screen screamed, the news channel then started playing a video taken three minutes ago. It depicted a small, thriving city bustling and living as a massive cruise missile came into view, it came down upon the city and a large dust clap of a mushroom cloud engulfed what was once the city.

"Oh the humanity! May God bless Corslak and may they survive!"

The screen went blank and silent, as did the entire city, the only noise was the noise of hundreds of cruise missiles wheeling towards the cities. The crowd started screaming and dispersing. The first missile hit and knocked the tower with the sceen on it down. The building collapsed upon two others, hundreds were instantly dead.

Flak started filling the skies and anti missile defense systems finally started reeling. Some of the missiles that were bound to cause death exploded in a fiery parade of fire works and explosives.

Consul Wembley ran down the street as people plowed eachother down to find a place to survive. The Consul was half way down the block and near three flak cannons when a third cruise missile hit. Half a block, all the way to the flak cannons where Wembley was, was taken out. The Consul and a few soldiers who only lost a limb or two survived the blast.

"Where is the Colonel!" screamed the consul over the roar of the blast and the screams of injured people.

Consul Wembley looked to see down another block there was more flak cannons, at the head of them was Colonel William Constrast. David flew down the length of the road to the Colonel and nearly knocked him over. The Consul caught his breathe and started squabling again.

"I need the codes! I need yours codes."

The colonel was baffled but the Consul had the emergency powers and by law, however little there was left, the colonel had to give him the nuclear launch codes. The Consul, his assistant, Colonel Constrast, and the Mayor Tyler Stenson were the possesors of the launch codes to the four massive nuclear weapons of mass destruction that Corslak held.

The Consul already had three parts of the launch code and he had to race to find the mayor. When getting his codes he was able to get into the capital building and get to the launch code system, he put in all of the codes and listened as above the roar, the screams, and the panic a countdown was heard.

Tears and sweat trickled down the Consul's face as the countdown struck one.

"God bless you Lioux Diux, A Mari Usque Ad Mare!" The three missiles flew from their pads, two towards Unkerlantum and the third wiped the rest of Wembley Island off the map.

March of the Ever Victorious Third Army Group (http://www.band.afrc.af.mil/shared/media/document/AFD-060313-017.mp3)

Pure snow blanketed the alpine peaks and sun glittered blindingly from hidden drifts. It had been some time since the Palonian Empire had collapsed and, to prevent the ultimate shattering of the country it’s weak Imperial government had sold the slices of the country to foreign powers. War had generally ceased and though skirmishes occasionally took place between the rebellious Republican Army and occupying powers violence had indeed stopped; at least it had done so in some fiefs.

Liech however had not been sold before it had been handed over the Waldenburger government as a compromise with both Imperial and Republican parties; its many halls and mountains were the base of many old fortresses and the insane building projects of Ludwig the Quite Insane. Its people were hard and lived from scratching a living from the hard mountainsides or laboring in the massive copper and coalmines.

The Principality’s borders offered something more than pristine views and sweeping valleys, a clear and firing range style approach to the city state of Hemlichstern, renamed Alesia by the heathen occupiers.

Mountain guns, after the arrival of the Gothic fleet, had been hauled up to the peaks and wrapped in camouflage to supplement the already existing batteries. A few corps of the ‘Ever Victorious’ Third Army Group had been issued winter uniforms and dozens of heavy mortars. Major Hartlieb had been given overall command of 250,000 men and over a thousand pieces of artillery which hung motionless over the city state without orders or official direction.

“Major,” a young officer shook snow off his boots as he tried to knock on the door of the command tent, “we have our orders. At last.” A small square of yellowing paper was waved about before being snatched out of the air by Hartlieb and quickly scanned. “The Imperial Republic,” he spoke slowly, “has declared in support of the Gothic fleet. We, the Office of the Field Marshall 2nd Field Command, have therefore concluded that there is no intent posed by our enemies other than the complete obliteration or subjugation of regional authority rightfully in the hands of the MU. You are hereby authorized to use any amount of force to remove from Paloni and the Waldenburger Continent any foreign presence currently aligned with the Gothic forces or by extension their own allies. Any and all force is authorized against any whom have ever raised arms against the Waldenburger Empire. Waldenburger Vires Et Deus Palma!”

The note was crumpled and thrown to the ground as various pieces of winter ware were assembled and the officers departed the tent to a scene of waiting faces. “Gentlemen,” Hartlieb nodded cursorily to a few key apparently key members “Hemlicstern is to be destroyed.” A cheer went up around the small circle of tents on a windswept crag and was picked up by a nearby battery and spread from there. “If our shells do not kill them the hunger will. If they choose to hold that city it shall be the death of them. This is their one foothold on the continent and we must, at all costs, drive them from it. Fire to affect, we will have some spotters on the ground and aerial surveillance every so often however we are in supply and well above it all. I want forty shells in the air at any given moment and incendiaries issued in tertiary bombardment.” He clapped his hands together warmly, “signal the army, and then to your guns.”

Glittering heliographs signaled the intent and were answered in kind within a few seconds from the batteries arrayed around the various mountain peaks and valleys. “What,” an officer asked as he flipped one of the lanterns on and off, “ is the signal to attack sir?”

“They’ll know.” Hartlieb nodded to an orderly who dashed away down a small slope to where an assembling marshal band had assembled and were blowing on their hands to keep warm. Most of the Army had been drawn from the Mountain Men of the Ibbelsguarder Chain and were accustomed to it. The lowlanders however could be picked out easily with their shiverings and heavy coats.

“The Corp March!” Bellowed a sergeant after a whispered conversation will be played every hour on the hour until the city is surrendered! Corporal of the Guard!” A great deal of shuffling was involved and screaming as the troop was bellowed into line and the instruments prepared. “The Corp will commence!” With a great whine and bellow the bagpipes filled with air and began their drone. Artillery soon followed in roaring barrages from the previously quiet peaks.
--

Throppe on Tyne, the tiny Grestonian province was also to be dealt with. It was a trivial affair, a mere penal colony and feather in certain politician’s caps. Imperialists on the ground from the Old Empire would certainly welcome back the uncompromising rule, or at least a few of them, so it was with little luster that the WIS Saturn, a new Tristan class fast cruiser was dispatched along with a sward of destroyers to shell tiny fief into submission. A force of three thousand marines aboard several transports had been included for a storming of the beaches and securing the capital city of Felterbørne. There was expected to be little resistance and the convoy sailed openly and with colors flying hoping, and expecting to be welcomed by the population.

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The Infinite Empire of Yallak
Official Imperial Transmission


To: Proconsul Vladimir Trepov II, Republic of Vetalia
From: The High Council of Arrandin

My dear Proconsul, the audacity of your little ultimatum is astounding. Did you honestly believe that we would even consider such an action - that you have the power to enforce your demands? Ridiculous.

Even if your insignificant and traitorous nation were threat enough to make us consider this seriously, Valeon is a sovereign nation and it is not our place or right to hand them over to you on a serving platter.

So here is my counter off to you: If you so much as sneeze in our direction without warning I promise you there will be no measure to the speed and brutality with which we will bring extinction upon you. Renounce your part in this conflict and the Infinite Empire will allow this transgression to pass without incident.

Signed
Lord Sollonaal, Supreme Magistrate of Yallak

250km From Corslack

The troops in their landing craft ducked down and covered their eyes as the large flash and looming mushroom cloud spread out from the island. Upon seeing this the landing craft turned heading back towards the main battle group no need to occupy nuclear wasteland, if anything the Grestonians had saved them ammunition as the Republic had already stated its intent to take no prisoners.

Troubling to the commanders of the battle group however was the fact that the Grestonians had so liberally used nuclear weapons.


Chancellery Building, Gatawa

Elsrider looked over the reports of the Grestonian deployment of nuclear weapons on themselves and on Unkerlantum, this led Elsrider to reconsider his take no prisoners policy, which critics had stated was the cause for Grestonian use of nuclear weapons. Regardless Corslack lay in ruin and would be of no use to anyone for millennia to come.

Reports of at least one nuclear strike against Unkerlantum spread through the Republic like wild fire as reports of the death toll rising into the thousands

Official Ultimatium to Grestonian Government

It would behoove you to show more restraint in your use of nuclear weapons. Within the hour a demonstration on behalf of our Unkerlantian allies will take place on Grestonian soil.


South of Oikodia island, Mainland Greston Territory

The IRNV Paladin following the Grestonian Nuclear assault against Unkerlantum the Republic had decided to act on their allies behalf and at 1304the chancellery order 1172 was given.

Captain Herao turned to his second in command, as he lifted the safety cover over the launch buttons.

Simalteanously Herao and lieutenant Fredrickson inserted their launch keys and turned them activating the six icbm warheads housed with the subs launch tubes.

Herao then pressed in a series of launch sequence codes, while Lieutenant Fredrickson entered the second half of the codes.

Seconds later the sub shook violently as four of the ICBM's roared from her launch tubes targeting the cities of Mier, Slyvmyrston, and Aliqua port with their multiple re-rentry vehicles.

It was the hope that showing Striker the Republic would trade blows with nuclear weapons would discourage their further use

Aquileilia, West Ponente

"We have soldiers massing on their southern border, and they have the gall to send us this?"

asked General Bonnevie, in a meeting with the King

"Apparently so, I'm about to send an appropriate response. I believe our Yallakian counterparts have already done the same." said King Louis XIII

--------

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Communiqué Royale Officielle

To: Proconsul Vladimir Trepov II, Republic of Vetalia
From: His Serene Highness King Louis XIII of West Ponente

Proconsul Trepov,

I'm afraid that I cannot agree to these terms you have offered, to agree to them would betray the oath I took when I assumed this office. The time of talk has past, now is the time of action. If you wish to continue this ludicrousness, then at least be ready to suffer the consequences.


Louis Armand Phillipe Ponenté
HSH King Louis XIII
High King of the Sovereign State

Lord Rahvin lounged casually in his quarters, smoking and watching movies, as he had been doing for the past several hours today alone. There was little else to do, after all, as long as the fleet remained in motion. It took little intelligence to see why officers in the Legions often hated the sea: every war meant days at least pent up in quarters before honorable combat, and it was far worse for the Legionaries, with their tiny sleeping compartments. Rahvin didn't hate the ocean itself, per se, as many of his officers did, but there was no doubt that he despised traveling across it. Mind-crushingly dull. He took a long drag and smiled inwardly: smoking didn't relieve all of the boredom, of course. But it helped.

As he exhaled smoke slowly, the intercom crackled on, and an unfamiliar voice inquired, "My Lord? This is Lieutenant Dressen. Are you there?"

"I'm here," he barked.

"My Lord, the garrison of Alesia has come under attack from Waldenburger forces. The city is sustaining heavy artillery fire and is surrounded."

"Why are you bothering me with this?" he growled. "We planned for exactly this eventuality. The troops there have their orders."

The voice on the other end paused a few seconds, before reluctantly replying, "As you say, my Lord. Would my Lord like updates regarding Alesia sent to his computer?"

"He would."

"It shall be done, my Lord. Blood and Honor. Bridge out."

Rahvin leaned back and scowled. The Alesian troops did indeed have their orders; the city they guarded was a large one, true, but the Iron Throne had never cared much about it. A few temples had been built, Kregaians had been shipped in, the government structure had been re-arranged...and that had been that. Taxes and a trickle of tourists had been the only thing exchanged between Alesia and Korronis for a long time. The troops there were a skeleton garrison, and their orders were very simple: remain in the city if you like, retreat to the hills if you must, but hold out as long as you can and cause as much damage as possible. Every man in that city was dead, and they knew it; their job wasn't even to live, or even truly to do damage to the enemy. But they would die honorably, and their deaths would give the Legions something to avenge when they began the invasion. Rahvin took another long drag, his black mood lightening again. The gods willing, the time on this damned ship was running out.

Task Force Isterus, Nuevan Sea
360 miles South-West of Greston

The IYS Soulblighter floated motionlessly beneath the waning afternoon sun in the currently calm Neuvan ocean of Northern Mediterranica. The various smaller vessels of its Battlegroup were arrayed around it and the Karak-class battleship, the pinnacle of Imperial Naval technology and power, sat like a queen bee at the centre of its hive. Through the forward windows of the warships bridge Fleet Commander Minaith could see some of the other battlegroups under his command spread out into the distance and although the sight of any Imperial fleet was a majestic and awe inspiring thing Minaith had seen the same view for the many weeks during which they had drifted around in this same region of water and it had grown tiresome.

‘Another day of floating no doubt’, sighed the commander as he stepped up to the ships main communications console and depressed the small blue button which would accept the incoming call. Above the device a small thirty centimeter high holographic representation of the caller began to manifest and as had been the case every day since the taskforce had been deployed Minaith expected it to be Naval Command informing him to continue holding, so it was to his great surprise when the bluish image resolved into a figure of the Emperor himself. A large grin quickly spread across the commander’s face for the Emperor did not make calls for idle chat and this was no doubt important, and important meant action at last.

‘My Lord’, said Minaith bowing his head, ‘It is an honour.’ Above him an infrared and camera system would allow a similar image of himself and his actions to be generated before the Emperor.

‘Commander,’ replied the Emperor returning the gesture of greeting. ‘No doubt you know why I’m calling so I’ll get to the point shall I?’

‘What are your orders my Lord?’

The Emperor’s smile faded and his voice adopted a grave tone. ‘Greston has betrayed our region to the foreign invaders. The time to act has come.’

============================================

The sun had vanished over the horizon hours ago and night had already progressed into the very early morning but there was more activity among the Imperial Fleet than over the last few weeks combined while weapons were being readied and aircraft prepared for launch.

At just past 1:30 AM in the morning the Empire released its first blow in the war. Gataway had issued a warning and given the Grestonians twenty four hours to submit but there would be no such niceties from the Emperor to traitors to the region. Instead they would find death. The order had been made to lay waste to Greston as a whole and it would be carried out ruthlessly and immediately. While the people of Greston slept, thousands upon thousands of cruise missiles, many with phosphorus warheads, were launched against cities and towns all along South-West Greston. It would be the first of many strikes to follow in the systematic annihilation of the enemy.

IC: Miamorga had been alerted far too many times in the past hours of the night of Uiri's actions towards them. He had people in his personal rooms every waking hour telling him what was happening in the outside. He had thought a lot in the past moments but the most prominent one was whether to attack the invading Uir or to let them into his country without harm to his or their people. He weighed out both instances and decided.

His plan was to let the Uir in and let them into to his country for as long as the war would take place. He couldn't let his people or other nations think he had been invaded if Uiri was even able to invade. So he sent for his messengers. They were to deliver an envelope to Uiri's highest ranking soldier within Miamorian borders. This is what the message said.

"Greetings as High Emperor of Miamoria I do not wish for unessasary blood to be shed for your or my people. Tell your superiors whoever they may be they can come into Miamoria safely and stay for the duration of the war. As long as your soldiers show respect for my people and do not harm any civilians, you may stay without retaliation. If any of my people harm any soldier of yours without any peticularily good reason then report their names to me and I assure you that they will be punished severly. Such punishments for my people harming your soldiers may be years or even life in prison depending on the circumstance.

Sincerely,

HIMH
Emperor Miamorga I"

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TO: HIMH Miamorga I

We shall stay for however long we please. We shall not fire the first shot against your civilians. A soldier is allowed to use self-defense against disobedient citizens of your country. We shall allow your economy to function as before as best as possible. We shall be administering martial law within your country. Should you refuse, we shall show no mercy.

David Aposon
President of Uiri
Samul Humoson
Vice-President of Uiri

--------------------------

OOC: I know its kind of short.
IC:
The convoy - a long line of VBLs and logistical trucks - slowly moved along the O-7, across the Hoyo Bridge on all lanes going into Miamoria, while officers stopped that which was trying to enter Uiri and told people that the south side of the bridge was going to be reversing direction so that a convoy of VABs, VBCIs, LeClerc tanks and other vehicles of the Uir Army could enter Miamoria in order to begin occupation. The first target would be Ronan, followed by Seatrian and then other majour Miamorian cities, followed by the minor Miamorian cities until eventually the countryside would be occupied too.

The soldier to citizen county would, of course, be 1 to 1,000. Uiri could not afford to occupy a nation approximately three quarters its size with more than such a force. The Uir knew that should the administration pose any resistance that a peasant revolution was already in the planning stages. The Uir soldiers chosen were all as pure aborijinal as possible so that the ethnic Uir peasants would sympathize best with the invading force.

Miamorga had yet another messenger burst inot his office this time many hours later. He quickly read it his heart pumping, scared for his people and family that this war was becoming more and more close to home. After he finshed reading he wrote another letter adressed once again to the highest ranking soldier within Miamorian borders in the Uir army. He is what it said.

"It will not be good for the spirits of my people to have laws forced upon them by other nations, allies or not. So if you wouldn't mind we will still put martial law in place but I will be the one to put it in place. I hope through this we will not have to act as if talking to dangerous enemies. As both of us know Uiri is Miamoria's closest ally. I should think their is no need to talk like this situation should be dangerous for either side. All of my citizens know that Uiri is like our brother nation and we will treat your soldiers with hospitality. If you would like we could even arrange places for your army to stay while here. We will be willing to let your soldiers use entire hotels as a sign of our acceptance of your entry here."

Miamorga finshed writing and with a sigh handed the messenger the envelope and told the messenger to move with haste. As the soldier moved out of the room Miamoriga went to visit his wife and child in the more highly secured area of the estatre just incase things went sour.

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TO: HIMH Miamorga I

While we would prefer it if you governed your own affairs, we must assert our military as the ruling force of your nation. Any decision made by our military shall over-ride that of your own national guard or whatever force you shall be using to administer martial law. We thank you for the generous offer of using entire hotels and believe that we shall accept it. We shall mandate that tourists evacuate your country and that other guests staying within hotels leave and shall pass on the bill to you, checking in soldiers. Is there anything else you wish to address?

David Aposon
President of Uiri
Samul Humoson
Vice-President of Uiri

"President!" an aide burst into the office.

"Yes? What is it? A response from Miamoria? What have they said?" answered the official.

"Nothing yet. But Miroxia has...Miroxia has switched sides."

"What?! I thought they had an anti-involvement policy."

"They did until their council voted to switch sides, go into Solenial for the Solens and then proceed to attack Greston."

"So they will start with Solenial and moved westward? Send a message to them. There has to be something we can do. It looks like the Miroxians will choose between the Uir and the Solen."

"Yes, at once."

-----------------

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TO: Miroxia

I regret to inform you that your recent actions, while not agressive against us in any way - Greston is no friend of ours and we do not operate on a 'the friend of my friend is my friend' basis - you have clearly turned against Gholgoth which puts you at odds with us. We do not wis to harm your nation, oh no, but we would like to point out that the winners of a war do not take kindly to traitors.

David Aposon
President of Uiri

The reply to West Ponente was handwritten by the Praetor himself in the looping, almost flowery strokes of Vetalian Cyrillic, and through it a clear note of exasperation and irritation was conveyed in not-so-subtle form. The translated portion, clearly also typed by the Praetor showing the importance he placed on the document was as follows:


The Proconsul of State has notified me that your nation has refused our ultimatum, and I must say that I applaud your determination but seriously question your logic in this situation.

The forces of Gholgoth are unstoppable; indeed, we alone possess sufficient force to rule this continent but our forces do not share in their bloodlust and determination to bring down total war upon our foes. We know this firsthand, either from the six million killed in New Sevastopol or the decaying ruins of our former territories ceded to the Crimm in the aftermath of that war. We also know this because every year we commemorate our fallen allies in British Londinium, whose lands are nothing more than radioactive slag and whose culture exists today only through the dedication of the Vetalian people to preserve its loss.

This nation, in whose trust and confidence I rule alongside the National Democratic Party, has no designs on West Ponente whatsoever. Our expansionism has clear targets, and your nation is not one of them. Our occupation, if you could call it such, would be a temporary measure to ensure our security and to ensure your government receives its rightful status as part of the new Mediterranican Community. The people of West Ponente share Vetalian blood and Vetalian customs, and our people share your customs and blood. The ethnic bonds between us guarantee your citizens only the highest position among the rulers of Mediterranica.

If you reconsider, our forces will immediately begin securing your nation from the chaos already wrought by the enemy's attack and we will immediately begin reconstruction of your nation and treatment of the wounded. Your nation will be rebuilt and restored in exchange for nothing more than loyalty to Vetalia and its allies, and we will take no part in your internal affairs so long as you do not betray that trust.

Reconsider your position, your Majesty, for if we invade we cannot guarantee that Gholgothic wrath will be preempted quickly enough to prevent further devastation. Vetalian occupation is the only path other than collaboration that will preserve your nation, and unless you wish to betray your allies the only honorable choice is to submit to our temporary rule.

I shall give you time to consider this matter further, but I cannot stay the hands of our generals for long. The threat of Yallak is far too great for us to allow this region to remain unsecured.

Regards,
Praetor Vladimir Ryzhkov
Republic of Vetalia
Chairman, NDPV

“Good afternoon field marshal,” a video screen finally kicked to life with a dull static hiss and a spark of power. It was, as Major Hartlieb knew, the very devil to get electricity up here and a wonder to patch through communications, “I hope you are found well?” Artillery rumbled still, as it had for hours above Hemlichstern, every night and day for three days shells had rained down on the city in alternating patterns. Collaborators, for the majority of the population were Waldenburger Catholic to varying degrees of piety signaled success and readjustments as best they could and sporadically.

“Not quite Major,” the face was pale and this as if it had woken up to a breakfast of pickled limes, “Are you aware that Unkerlatum was nuked last night? Grestonian missiles struck; and we understand casualties could be reaching into the lesser millions before the ruble is cleared away.” Field Marshal von Palitz mopped his brow with a gloved hand, apparently the afternoon in Army High Command in the High Desert was considerably warmer than perched upon a mountaintop.

“Surely we have planned a counter attack?” Hartlieb was hardly moved by this news; Waldenburg itself was generally considered safe from this sort of attack and the suffering of foreigners seldom moved the senior staff to much worry.

“Several. All of which begin in the next fifteen minutes however I do not call to bring you news. Report Major.”

“Sir,” Hartlieb saluted as smartly as was possible in several layers winter coats, “we have fired over three hundred thousand shells to effect sir. The harbor is within our long gun range and any supply ship would have to run the guns to bring supplies. I believe sir that we have them cut off and it is only a matter of weeks if not days until they surrender or if they so choose to starve.”

“Major I do not know if you understand the situation as it is now,” the Field Marshal paused to turn his head off the screen and nod to an invisible figure, “A fleet numbered in the tens of thousands is meandering our waters and the Imperial Navy is to scattered, never mind outnumbered to do anything about it. Our allies have just been hit by a terrible strike and we have confused reports from the Levantian Empire, and from Uiri on their status in the war. We need a victory Major, we need something for the MU to rally to and fight for, and though the concept may be foreign, our armies are not proud to be fighting for the bombardment of civilians. Major you must take the city.”

“Sir, I have one hundred thousand fit Shock troopers and light armor, no air support, no tanks, not gunships sir. What am I supposed to do? Perhaps with aerial support and heavy armor sir, but Liech is a little short of that at the moment.”

“You know,” von Palitz was losing what little color he had by the minute, “that I cannot force your hand it this affair Major; the Emperor has a special interest in you, and though the High Command lauds your caution in most instances we must suggest some sort of assault by the end of the week. We believe you overestimate the strength of their defenses and resolve by a considerable degree, and view your command complement as sufficient to easily take the city, or rather, what remains of it.

“It shall be considered sir.” Hartlieb lied quite casually. He knew of the reputation of Marshal von Palitz from the Ninth Grey War, and though the slaughter had for once no been on the Waldenburger side. Two billion dead still littered the High Desert in places and some said the sand still bubbled in the more remote valleys.

“I have no doubt.” Again the marshal seemed to be distracted by someone off screen and this time seemed rather agitated on turning back there was no mistaking the glaze of rage over his face, “remember Major that the command structure may lie with the Emperor but the regulations lie with me, and I would hate to see something happen to you. Good Afternoon.” With another flicker the screen died and Jacon Hartlieb was left alone with the thundering of his armies.
--

Birds of paradise were evident in the skies where they drifted like elaborate ball gowns through the evening air, or alternatively wandered into the military storerooms and command halls of the Fortress St. Basil perched upon a rock cropping upon the tiny islands which composed The Waldenburger Sawney Islands. It had been some considerable time since their acquisition and the fort had grown a coating of local vegetation so that in nearly faded into the background jungle. It was generally considered one of the more pleasant postings in the Empire and the tropical heat could often be stomached for the lax posting hours and native population who were perhaps more liberal than those at home.

“Would you get that damn thing out of here!” Captain Lehigh slapped his fist down on the table, which startled one of the birds of paradise into biting him under the knee.

“Sorry sir,” a young officer looked up sheepishly as held a plate containing his supper above his head an fought off a bird with the other hand, “I’ll close the window.” Once the room had been cleared and the officers settled there seemed to be a moment of fraternal worrying before Captain Lehigh pulled from his jacket a slim volume of papers which he reverentially set down. “It’ll be war.”

The sentence seemed to carry a certain weight and kept the room silent for some time. “And the orders are?” an officer asked.

“Strike Kriegian assets in the area short range ballistic missiles and propane incendiaries. If they aren’t killed outright they will burn. As I understand it most of the area in question,” the Captain pointed to a wrinkled and water stained map of the islands, “mostly tropical vegetation, at least originally. We have not seen it since the Kriegian occupation, however we must assume. The island is roughly,” he tried to work out from the key the size with his fingers, “seven hundred square miles. Within ten minutes we should have surveillance footage, however command has assured us that approximately thirty missiles will be quite sufficient to render the island a charred ruin. Our forces will be moving to our other colonies to assault where we can. Here however we are to make an example. So Leiutenant if you could follow me, I understand we are targeting as we speak.”

As the Captain stood the table stood and saluted grimly; when one began tossing missiles about it was rarely he who shoots first shoots last and every man at the table was aware of that.

It was in silence that the two men walked across the compound and into the clinging air of the open fortress. It looked as though it was to a beautiful night; at least for some. A kwanza hut with laundry strung from it acted as the missile hub for a small arsenal of scuds and cruise missiles placed so lovingly that from this position, in the midst of the Sawney islands they could strike almost any location. It was only a matter of minutes till the technical staff had confirmed the targeting information and the green light arrived from command. Two keys were inserted into identical slots and turned, “Well,” Lehigh whistled through his teeth as a red button popped up from the control panel, “best of luck Lieutenant.” The button was pushed.

OOC: Please excuse the shortness for an entrance post- cold season has me in its grasp, I'm afraid.

"Gentleman, when the enemy is knocking on your gate with a thermonuclear device, and you have naught but a pickax and two matches, is it wise to fight them?" Andrew McCarthage's sizable fist slammed against the table to emphasize his point. For the past three days, debate had run rampant throughout the senate and military tribunals of the Faxanavian government. And now, after much thought, the new prime minister had come out to have his say. Standing before the imposing face of the senate, many men had quailed in fear, had lept from the stage, fled the room in fear. Andrew McCarthage was not one of these people. He stood unwaveringly before the Senate, hammering his point home.
"It is of the essence that we realize something- the Medditeranican region, as divided as it is, cannot stand against the gothic forces for long. we must bow before a superior threat, and cut Faxanavian losses while we still can." He shook his head, his fingers carving dents in the table. "We hold no great allies in this region- we are not friend to the MU, nor its members. Our only true ally is Greston, and a brave ally she is. To our north, Vetalia has already seen the light, and is using this war to her advantage. Can we not do the same?" The clamor of the Senate filled the rafters as McCarhage stepped down from the stage. After five hours' deliberation, the Senate reached its decision. In a closely tied vote, the nation of Faxanavia made a quiet yet firm decision. No announcements were made, and no press releases sent out. The world would know in a few days time, but until then, the element of surprise was critical. Andrew McCarthage had two letters to write, both encrypted, and both of the highest importance.


http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2397/2694138618_d3ab434443.jpg?v=0
|Official Faxanavian Diplomatic Communique|


To: The Gothic Invasion Forces

To whom it may concern,

The actions by the nations of the region of Gholgoth have been on the minds of the people of Faxanavia for much time. To be sure, we have no great regional allies- nor do we wish to see our nation indentured or our people slaughtered. Therefore, I wish to offer to you a deal. In exchange for not harming Faxanavian forces or attacking Faxanavia and her territories, Faxanavian forces shall stay out of Gothic affairs within the Medditeranican region. Furthermore, you shall be given free reign of Faxanavian territorial waters, and shall be allowed to dock at Faxanavian ports to resupply or rest your ships. We hope that you see us not as an adversary or a threat, but as a friend in this region. I hope that we may profit mutually from a shared relationship, and that you will find the Faxanavian people your friend.

Respectfully yours,
http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/9593/andrewmccarthagesignatuzy4.png
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia and her Associated Territories

The second later was encoded even more heavily, and was short and to the point.

(OOC: If it is ICly impossible for me to know you two are allied- I haven't read through everything to check- I can edit this.)

To: Sir Jerry Striker of Greston, Praetor Vladimir Ryzhkov of Vetalia

Dear sirs,
The Promethian Republic of Faxanavia, after much consideration and thought, wishes to join you in your domination of the Medditeranican region. We are at your service.

Respectfully yours,
http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/9593/andrewmccarthagesignatuzy4.png
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia and her Associated Territories

Minuet in C# (http://www.mozart-weltweit.de/06a05.wma)

Colono, Joint MU Territory:
Above, the heavens, stretching for thousands of miles in either direction and even now clouding over with ominous storm clouds which promised a long awaited torrent. For the moment though stars twinkled down and the sky remained clear and open almost inviting the powers represented at the Consular ball to reach out and snatch them with grizzled hands. And underneath the world continued to shift and amongst old friends enemies arose and spawned; even here amongst the finery and splendid hangings of the Palace of Law in Colono. A light waltz filter onto an open veranda where various dignitaries laughed quietly or alternatively looked out to the quiet sea, which lapped so gently at the sandy beaches.

For the past few hours lesser delegates the MU, administrators of Colono, general hangers on and the wealthy of the area had enjoyed an evening with the company of Starash Akatime the blasé Yallakian administrator and most happily were still upright. By most accounts it was a pleasant evening and the well light halls of the ballroom and surrounding veranda and foyers gave the entire affair a gleaming sheen of austerity and even a desperate elegance. On every conscious lay the weight of the coming invasion and in every heart beat the thought of betrayal or the thought of expansion. Could the Ponteans be trusted with their little shrew ears to the ground? Could the Waldenburgers be seen peering over the tops of their bibles? Every eye in the room, however myriad with other occupation kept at least a vigilant watch for the unusual, if not an overt ear to the ground.

“Administrator?” A portly waiter lumbered to small group of gentlemen on the veranda smoking cigarettes and not saying very much. “There is a telephone call for you sir.” On a small silver tray a cell phone rested and glowed light blue with activation.

“Really?” The response was a little slurred as a martini was making its way down the Administrator’s throat as he reached for the phone and stuck it to his ear. “Yes? What? Oh, the button, thank you.” After a few false starts Akatime fixed a look of bemused concentration on his face, “you say what? How many ships? Are they big ones? Well where did we put our fleet then? Alright, alright.” The phone was closed irritably before the Administrator bowed to his guests keeping his martini at eye level. “Gentlemen there has been some trouble down at the mill. I must attend.” He made as if to walk away before a moment of honesty took him, “The bar will be open and free in about, oh two hours. Save yourself gentlemen.”

Doors closed rapidly on white gloved hands as Akatime strode through a pillared hall leading eventually to his first floor office. He dumped the remains of his martini in a potted plant that had become shriveled and darkened. After a short distance he paused at a bust of Machiavelli, which was set into a small alcove and removed a tumbler. He idly shook it as the last door was opened and nodded politely to General Albert Stotter of the Theorosian exchange and a few assorted officers. “You wished to assassinate my joy? Well carry on.”

“Sir,” Stotter started, “we have confirmed warships approaching at some speed. Miroxian sir.”

“Are they the fun ones?” A small lemon and fruit knife was produced from an embroidered pocket and set to work on the table.

“Um….”

“Never mind. Did we ask them what they want?”

“Well considering they’re coming in with gun ports open as it were and with the confirmed attacks at Randia about ten minutes ago…”

“Ah not the fun ones then.” It seemed the drink preparation was over and glass was put to his lips, “what is our plan of action?”

“Sir we have about thirteen thousand troops and militia of various natures that we can bring to arms. Most of them are Waldenburgers issued with training munitions for exercises, are they’re about thirty miles to the north. We have a few PT boats in the harbor and as many armed skiffs as you can count, “Probably about three the general thought to himself. “There is a proper destroyer in the other side of the island along with two Aschen submarines and a Gatawan cruiser. It will take at least a day to reach here. I doubt they will try naval bombardment; there are too many civilians of too many nations here. I suggest we order them north, evacuate the city, and order what troops we have to take up positions in the hills to the west and scatter about the city in general. The Waldenburgers, whatever they are worth can strike from the north and maybe divide them in two. That is the best we have at the moment sir.”

“How much time have we got?”

“Not enough sir.” Stotter shook his head sadly. “I’ve put in a call to Gataway for a flight of fighters but the enemy fleet will be here faster than we can arm most of the regiments. The Consular Guard might hold them for awhile, we must depend on that.”

“Do it.” The lemon was inserted into Akatime’s mouth and sucked with a loud noise. “Hail the fleet and find out their intent, line it’ll do much good. If they give us a shady answer send the civilians north. If they strait heading the other way, false alarm. Hope for the best eh?”

"...No response as of yet, but I am assured that they will respond soon." The harried looking aid stepped from the room, his briefing of the Prime Minister complete. It seemed unthinkable- a mere two months in office, and Andrew McCarthage was staging a secret war against an entire region. His predecessor, Garret Linsares, had adopted a strict lassiez-faire policy when it came to matters of the Medditeranican. Of course, Andrew reminded himself, Garret was a stark raving lunatic who killed a foreign dignitary and the Arch-Senator, as well as wounding several others. He was completely different- his lunacy was cold and calculating. What was best for Andrew was best for the country, and what was best for the country was best for Andrew. And right now, the country had a major opportunity for expansion. He stared down, almost fixatedly, at the map on his desk. The south-east corner of the Medditeranican region was ripe, it would seem, with possibility. To the south, west and north lay colonies, far from their homeland and ready for Faxanavian conquest. With the quiet neutrality of the nation of Ra And, it seemed there was only one true enemy to contend with first- Unkerlantum, to the west, and forming a barrier to rich Gataway land and conquest of the continent. Of course, Unkerlantum was a formidable challenge. A nation nearly twice the size of Faxanavia, it would doubtless prove interesting in conflict. And, of course, there was all this other land so readily easy to gain...

In the end, a two sided attack was devised and prepared. The first mobilized around 50,000 Faxanavian troops, and prepared to send them south- they would board vast transport ships and deploy to conquer the Gatwayan colony of Silvasnia. A small island, Silvasnia represented a potential enemy threat to the south none the less, and would be the start of the Faxanavian territorial grab.

The second, somewhat more complicated plan relied on the aid of the Vetalians at Pillar and the Grestonians at Corslack. A combined, three-way strike into the heart of Unkerlantum by means of air would soften the already weakened Unkerlantum nation and ripen it for an invasion force from the west. With luck, both strikes would be swift, decisive, and overall victorious.

The King put down the handwritten letter written by the Vetalian Praetor. He sighed and then handed to his leading commanders, General Bonnevie and Admiral Sordeau. The pair read it together quickly before the General said

“Your not seriously considering this?”

“Of course not, we could scarcely call ourselves the “Sovereign State” after this. The people would think we’d sold out to the Vetalo-Ghothic Forces.” Replied the King

“We’ll fight to the last Ponentean.” Said the Admiral
“It’s as if history is repeating itself once again…”

“I’m sorry Your Majesty?” asked the General

“the Tiranid, General, the Tiranid. Except this time we won’t be leaving.”

The Tiranid was an epic poem written the ancient Ponentean poet Voscan about the founding of West Ponente. It gave proof to what the Praetor had written his letter about ethnic bonds. The poem said long ago there was a beautiful land of tall mountains, green fields, and rich forests. It was prosperous until one day it was invaded and brought to ruin by a race called the Halaan, who ravaged villages, salted the earth, and scourged the lands. The people fled to the capital, where they defended themselves and prayed to their pagan gods for deliverance.

After seven long years of fighting, they managed to get rid of the Halaan. As their luck would have it there was a great cataclysm that followed. For days the earth shook and mountains spewed out ash and cinders. Seeing that their Gods had abandoned them, they left the land of their fathers, which promptly sank beneath the waves. They were led by the hero Tiranio and on the way had numerous misadventures while sailing to the land of the West. There they found a new place to call home. They fought with the native Vetalii for a time before finally settling down and making peace. Over the centuries the two races interbred and thus the Ponenteans were born.

The King got a piece of stationary and handwrote a letter to the Vetalian Praetor:

http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii290/Twilight201/seal.gif
Communiqué Royale Officielle

To: His Excellency Praetor Vladimir Ryzhkov of Vetalia
From: His Serene Highness King Louis XIII of West Ponente

Your Excellency,

I thank you once again for your nation’s kind offer, but I’m afraid once more I must decline. The people of West Ponente have no desire to wage war against their Vetalian cousins. This being said, we will remain a sovereign nation and this simply cannot be achieved by being absorbed into this “Vetalosphere”. You say it is impossible to stand against the Ghoths, we say otherwise. The is an old Ponentean proverb that goes along the lines of “One cannot achieve the impossible by surrendering”. Our nation intends to give credence to that phrase. Vive la Ponente Ouest!


Louis Armand Phillipe Ponenté
HSH King Louis XIII
High King of the Sovereign State

To President David Aposon of Uiri
From King Andrew Williams III

We are aware of your invasion of Miamoria. At first we didn't see the whole situation, but now we see clearly we are both working with the Gholgoths. I just have one request: invade the Greclacos Islands and cede them to me. It's part of a bigger plan to ensure victory. You won't be displeased.

-King Andrew Williams III

http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k155/Uiri/seal.gif

TO: HM(His Majesty?) King Andrew III of Miroxia

We are not invading Miamoria. We are occupying Miamoria. We have no choice - fighting Gholgoth would be national suicide, quite literally. We must first eliminate the problem of Nuevo Italia. They are our next target. Afterwards, we are not sure. I wish not to do your dirty work - I have done that once already by taking Miamoria. If your resources are low, 'recruit' soldiers from captured territory. The Grecalos Islands aren't a primary target of ours, however, we would gladly take care of them after eliminating some more...concerning threats.

David Aposon
President of Uiri

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: President David Aposon of Uiri and Prime Minister Andrew McCarthage of Faxanavia

Greetings, gentlemen. I am the commander of Kregaian forces in Mediterranica and the overall commander of the Gothic expedition. Both of you have offered to make deals with us that will spare your own nation from Gothic depredations. This pleases the Emperor, as I am sure it will please all the Gothic Lords: it shows a proper air of respect and understanding, a stark contrast to the reflexive reaction of terror and hate displayed by many nations in the face of Gothic power.

President Aposon, your plans are admirable, but you make no provision for after the war. You are willing to work with us now, and for that I personally give my thanks, but there will be a new order in Mediterranica, and your place in it must be defined.

Prime Minister McCarthage, your offer similarly has one flaw. You ask for benevolent neutrality, but in exchange for sparing your nation you offer to stay out of Gothic affairs, a policy that should be expected from all nations, and to harbor Gothic ships in your ports, which similarly should be expected from any nation that bears Gholgoth any goodwill. Make no mistake, I appreciate the wisdom and good intent behind this gesture, but in simple economic terms, this gives Gholgoth little incentive to consider Faxanavia a firm friend.

To both of you I can make few definite assurances. I command the forces of Gholgoth here, but men in your positions will understand that in such a diverse array of nations as Gholgoth, such a rank amounts to being first among equals, at best. However, I will say this: unless the Emperor commands me to, which I very much doubt he will, I have no intention of attacking either of your nations, and I will ask other Gothic commanders to do the same, at least until Gholgoth as a whole can respond to your offers. The two authorities that govern me, gentlemen, are the Iron Crown of Kregaia and the power of Gholgoth as a whole, and unless they tell me otherwise, I will not harm either of your nations. After the war, we will have ample time to reason together and negotiate regarding the new order in Mediterranica.

Signed,
Lord Rahvin Ares

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: President David Aposon of Uiri and Prime Minister Andrew McCarthage of Faxanavia

Greetings, gentlemen. I am the commander of Kregaian forces in Mediterranica and the overall commander of the Gothic expedition. Both of you have offered to make deals with us that will spare your own nation from Gothic depredations. This pleases the Emperor, as I am sure it will please all the Gothic Lords: it shows a proper air of respect and understanding, a stark contrast to the reflexive reaction of terror and hate displayed by many nations in the face of Gothic power.

President Aposon, your plans are admirable, but you make no provision for after the war. You are willing to work with us now, and for that I personally give my thanks, but there will be a new order in Mediterranica, and your place in it must be defined.

Prime Minister McCarthage, your offer similarly has one flaw. You ask for benevolent neutrality, but in exchange for sparing your nation you offer to stay out of Gothic affairs, a policy that should be expected from all nations, and to harbor Gothic ships in your ports, which similarly should be expected from any nation that bears Gholgoth any goodwill. Make no mistake, I appreciate the wisdom and good intent behind this gesture, but in simple economic terms, this gives Gholgoth little incentive to consider Faxanavia a firm friend.

To both of you I can make few definite assurances. I command the forces of Gholgoth here, but men in your positions will understand that in such a diverse array of nations as Gholgoth, such a rank amounts to being first among equals, at best. However, I will say this: unless the Emperor commands me to, which I very much doubt he will, I have no intention of attacking either of your nations, and I will ask other Gothic commanders to do the same, at least until Gholgoth as a whole can respond to your offers. The two authorities that govern me, gentlemen, are the Iron Crown of Kregaia and the power of Gholgoth as a whole, and unless they tell me otherwise, I will not harm either of your nations. After the war, we will have ample time to reason together and negotiate regarding the new order in Mediterranica.

Signed,
Lord Rahvin Ares

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|Official Faxanavian Diplomatic Communique|


Dear sir,

I am pleased to hear that you have made such a command to your forces, as my intended goal has been fulfilled. However, the question you raise troubles me- indeed, our offer was lacking in terms of more solid compensation for the safety and well being of my people. While you make a good point, I fail to see what it is Faxanavia can offer to the gothic forces to sway her whims. There is no monetary compensation we can offer that could not be doubled by any gothic nation- nor can we offer any land that could not be claimed by your military power. I can happily and willingly offer free trade between our nations, yet I feel that that does not do justice to your requests. Beyond that, all I can offer is the promise that in this new order within Medditeranica, Gholgoth will always find a willing ally in Faxanavia. What more you I can offer I cannot say- if there is something specific that you seek beyond this, you must tell me, for I do not what it would be.

Respectfully yours,
http://img216.imageshack.us/img216/9593/andrewmccarthagesignatuzy4.png
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia and her Associated Territories

Throppe on Tyne, Imperial Paloni

Inflatable and smaller craft darted around the WIS Saturn, which sat undaunted off the coast of Throppe as its smaller partners were pushing towards shore with eager marines preparing to off load. The crew of the ships along with the landing parties nearly outnumbered the population of the tiny fief and it, in the view of the Admiralty was moving men into the area and holding ground. Local security was expected top be low so the commanding officers had forgone the customary bombardment and hoped to endear the population by dropping comparatively few bombs upon their heads.

With what little mechanization that could be afforded for the 3,000 strong column the army was to secure the capital and dislodged the Grestonian governor, then sweep the city and finally the woods, where if needed the naval artillery could provide firing support. It looked as if it would be a day for it.
--

Colono, Joint MU Territory:

“No warships?” A captain asked as he was buffeted violently about the head by a women attempting to carry what appeared to be all her possessions on her back. “They are advancing without screening cover?”

“Apparently not sir. We estimate the first party at around fifteen thousand strong with possible mechanization.” The Consular Guards were a piece of mastery; each nation in the alliance paid a certain amount of upkeep to the MUIZ and through extension here colonies in Colono for one. There were hardly anyone to arm in the joint territories so administrators were at their wits end to throw money into various projects, one of which turned out the Consular Guard which above anything ‘menaced.’

“If they wish to try to land with transports alone well that is their business. I want Armindales 1,2, and 3 to engage and go amongst them; get whatever civilian craft you can and outfit them to intercept and failing that wedge the rudder and set them on fire.” The waterfront was a confusion of commands as soldiers and civilians dashed about their business. The patrol boats were usually kept at a state of readiness and it had been the work of a few minutes to wake the crews and hustle them unto the waiting ships which had, after a small amount of smashing together started at a weak gait into the harbor. Several units of Consular guard had been ordered to move forward and with what passed as heavy weaponry, a few ant material rifles and a grenade launcher were prepared to offer support to the naval attack. It was generally confusing to see such an attack especially without an opening bombardment of MU naval assets at the harbor, but rather a head first dive at the enemy. Perhaps the enemy wished to draw the three patrol vessels, arguably the greatest defense at hand out into the sea of transports that flooded towards the inland; it was a thought that barred some cogitation but no time could be given to formulate a more apt strategy.

OOC Apologizes for shoddy responses working on something else at the moment.
EDIT: This depends if you are in fact moving into to attack, it is a hanging post, if you are moving in then yes we are attacking if not then they are only moving.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: President David Aposon of Uiri and Prime Minister Andrew McCarthage of Faxanavia

Greetings, gentlemen. I am the commander of Kregaian forces in Mediterranica and the overall commander of the Gothic expedition. Both of you have offered to make deals with us that will spare your own nation from Gothic depredations. This pleases the Emperor, as I am sure it will please all the Gothic Lords: it shows a proper air of respect and understanding, a stark contrast to the reflexive reaction of terror and hate displayed by many nations in the face of Gothic power.

President Aposon, your plans are admirable, but you make no provision for after the war. You are willing to work with us now, and for that I personally give my thanks, but there will be a new order in Mediterranica, and your place in it must be defined.

Prime Minister McCarthage, your offer similarly has one flaw. You ask for benevolent neutrality, but in exchange for sparing your nation you offer to stay out of Gothic affairs, a policy that should be expected from all nations, and to harbor Gothic ships in your ports, which similarly should be expected from any nation that bears Gholgoth any goodwill. Make no mistake, I appreciate the wisdom and good intent behind this gesture, but in simple economic terms, this gives Gholgoth little incentive to consider Faxanavia a firm friend.

To both of you I can make few definite assurances. I command the forces of Gholgoth here, but men in your positions will understand that in such a diverse array of nations as Gholgoth, such a rank amounts to being first among equals, at best. However, I will say this: unless the Emperor commands me to, which I very much doubt he will, I have no intention of attacking either of your nations, and I will ask other Gothic commanders to do the same, at least until Gholgoth as a whole can respond to your offers. The two authorities that govern me, gentlemen, are the Iron Crown of Kregaia and the power of Gholgoth as a whole, and unless they tell me otherwise, I will not harm either of your nations. After the war, we will have ample time to reason together and negotiate regarding the new order in Mediterranica.

Signed,
Lord Rahvin Ares

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TO: Lord Rahvin Ares

I am thankful for the acceptance of our offer. I must confess, our plans for after the war were going to be trying to get back to the way things were before the war. I realize that this, of course, is at best a far-off goal. We know that you shall be placing in a new era in Mediterranica. In order to accurately plan what Mediterranica will be like post-war, we should need your post war plans for us and see if we find them acceptable.

David Aposon
President of Uiri

Skyian 1st and 2nd Naval Armadas
3000km Southeast of West Ponente

The ocean was a hauntingly beautiful shade of blue framed by the white froth of the ships wakes cutting like a knife through the glassy ocean. Combatants ranged in size from the 370m Maddox and Garner Class Battleships all the way down to the 160m Sheffield Class Frigates flanked the medium sized supply and troop transport ships while the Jörmungandr Class Attack Submarines prowled the depths.

The time had come for the assault to begin, the West Ponentians had refused the Vetalian Ultimatum and were unlikely to surrender to The Silver Sky and No Endorse. Several thousand ships were steaming through the Adriatican Ocean towards the Gulf of Ponente, the pride of the Skyian Expeditionary Navy, the 1st and 2nd Naval Armadas were ready for a fight.

Satellites had been taking pictures of the island of Imbroli for several weeks, gathering intelligence for the eventual landing, military targets and key civilian targets [docks and airfields] were uploaded into the GPS system.

The first wave of the attack consisted of 240 F/B-177A Barsuk Strike Bombers and 24 E/F-177A Coldun Electronics Warfare Aircraft which were to launch from 2000km out.

The Barsuks each carried 4 AGM-1200 Longbow Air Launched Cruise Missiles, the missile carried anywhere from regular 450kg HE charges for unhardened buildings like barracks or hangars[A versions], BLU-97/B Combined Effects Bomb Submunitions [C version] for taking out formations of troops and armor, to 100kg Hardened Penetrators with 350kg HE Warheads[D version].

The missiles were launched in 4 volleys of 240 missiles, just 5 seconds separated the launches. The first volley consisted of 220 D versions for taking out any military shipping that stood between them and the island, with the Ds were the E versions which had their warheads replaced with advanced targeting and communcations suites, allowing them to re-target the missiles at any enemy ships that appeared in their way, when they fulfilled their mission they were to crash themselves into predesignated targets where a 15kg scuttling charge would destroy the missile.

The second, third, and forth waves consisted of the A, C, D versions, whose targets were located on land, the Ds would attack any shipping still in port and airfields as well as any hardened buildings and defensive bunkers while the As would go after unhardened shelters and the Cs would take out large formations of troops or armor in bases or depots as well as destroying supply and fuel depots. The missiles were similar to the stealth cruise missile deployed by the USA, the low altitude cruise of the missile [60m] as well as the stealth features [ram, faceting, cooled exhaust] would keep the missile undetected until the last second.

The Barsuks and Colduns would then retreat under the umbrella of jamming from the Colduns and the protective screen of F/A-77 Sentinel Fighters and E-2D AWACs.

The attack started with the synchronized turning of the 1st Armada and it's huge Ankaraa Class Fleet Carriers into the wind to help facilitate the launch of the large bombers. After launcher the 1st Armada would turn northwest towards the island while the 2nd Armada would continue west towards the Gulf of Ponente. By now the 3rd Armada had entered the region and was 3000km east of West Ponente.

The Vetalians would be notified of the opening of hostilities in the south and hopefully begin their operations.

Skies over Colono

The Miroxian assault had begun in earnest on the beaches below, they would have made great progress had they not neglected to provide aerial support, flights of strike craft including ten Ank riat bombers with more than two dozen escorts now loomed far above the island, their bomb bay doors opened unleashing some two hundred and twenty sea pike anti ship missiles, targeting the Miroxian fleets battleships


At the same time three dozen LU-12 Canary strike fighters fired off their sea pike missiles, one hundred and ten in all aimed for the numerous transports and battleships of the Miroxian fleet, the range of thee sea pike at 4500kilometers plus kept the fighters and ank riat's well out of range of Mixorian air defenses. The 750kg penetrating high explosive warheads would be more than enough to wreak havoc on the Miroxian vessels.

Sea Pike Anti-Ship Missile (http://http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13287235&postcount=215)

Vetalia-West Ponente Border

"West Ponente has refused our demands, preferring to allow themselves devastation at the hands of Gholgoth rather than safety and prosperity under our administration. To secure this front against hostile action, the General Field Marshal acting under orders from the High Command of the Armed Forces has hereby authorized offensive action against West Ponente..."

The voice was surreptitiously cut off by a swift push of a button and the room filled with silence. The local high command eyed each other for a brief moment before Field Marshal Yezhov spoke.

"We have our orders. Send out the order to execute Case Black. We move immediately."

Within the span of a few hours, the units stationed along the border assembled in to full attack formation and awaited the order to begin operations. At 5:30 AM, the Vetalian Air Force took to the skies and began moving towards West Ponente, their orders to target critical military infrastructure along the border, in particular any military airfields, power lines, aboveground communications lines and identifiable oil refineries. 1,350 fighters, 700 interceptors and 75 stealth bombers were dispatched in the initial wave while the bulk were held in reserve awaiting the mobilization of the West Ponente air defenses.

On land, a continuous salvo from the approximately 7,500 artillery pieces at any known static defenses and other military targets within 30 miles of the border marked the beginning of ground operations. 2,100,000 Vetalian troops, including 300,000 elite Free Corps units and 125,000 Vetalian Occupation Police began moving towards the border, supported by large amounts of armor and mechanized support, particularly in the southern regions where the terrain and condition of infrastructure was already compromised by Skyvian bombardment. On the northern front, the Vetalian Navy's Southern Command moved in to position to commence bombardment of coastal positions, in particular any viable deep-water ports and shipyards, while the Navy's submarine forces moved further offshore to intercept any active naval forces or merchant ships that refused to surrender to the patrols.

As part of that move, a full blockade was to be enforced, ideally cutting off West Ponente from overseas supply and reinforcement. It would take time given the shape and distribution of the coastline to secure, but the goal was to have all traffic halted within two months.

The capture of Miamoria was swift and painless. There were now 288,000 troops crawling the nation - more than one for every 10,000 which was all Uiri could afford at the moment. Sending more would be overkill and yet they could not let the Miamorians govern themselves. Uiri was occupying the country and the citizens better know the situation.

Ronan was first. It was the crown jewel of the small Miamorian Empire. The Jeneral-cef organized the capture of the city himself. He was amused at how the people tried to pretend that nothing was wrong. Soldiers were positioned and they began to go to the other major cities. Capturing was systematic and bloodless - with the exception of the odd dissenter here and there. From the majour cities, the soldiers moved on to the smaller cities.

In the smaller cities word had already spread and there was little if any dissent. The soldiers were imposing the law - rendering local law enforcement essentially useless. More soldiers kept pouring into the nation across the bridge. They kept occupying the cities and the next target was the countryside. It was VBLs which patrolled small country roads and there was hardly a tank in sight.

It was complete. Practically every square kilometre of the country was being occupied by various forms of vehicles - tanks mostly in the cities but lighter vehicles in the country where less resistance was expected due to the essential 'liberation' of the peasants from feudalism. The troops weren't really doing anything other than replacing local law enforcement however.

The Confederate Military was composed of troops from several dozen nations, brought together from hundreds of locations across the globe. They had little of a common ideology, apart from the general ideals of liberal democracy. As such, to bind the different peoples together, the Confederacy relied on the same propaganda tools a more dictatorial organizations would have – focusing on the identity of the General Secretary, Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky.

No expense was spared. At training camps in Gataway, Vizion and Wagdog, where Vizionian, Dacaran, and other soldiers trained under their Allanean (and soon, Vaultian) sergeants to fight and kill, portraits of Alexander Kazansky were everywhere. Recruitment movies for the CJAF featured him. His face was on the Confederate Dollar. And when a soldier did exceptionally well, Kazansky would often reward the man out of his own pocket.

And so, when in military bases throughout Confederate territories, all troops were assembled to view a 'special appearance' by the General Secretary, there was a natural, well-understandable, excitement.

Giant LCD screens were mounted in the centers of military camps and even in the mess halls of Confederate warships. The same message was uploaded to filesharing sites and broadcasted on live television.

Soon enough, Kazansky appeared. He was wearing the black-and-silver uniform of the Fieldmarshal of Allanea, leaning on his sword as he gave his speech. The soldiers listened to him at attention – he felt he should not be sitting as he spoke to them, either.

The entire speech was delivered in a calm, measured, martial done, filled with pride and dripping with derision towards the enemies of the Confederacy.

Listen to me, valiant Confederate troops! Listen to me, brave Allaneans!

As of now, only five carrier battlegroups and 12 strike squadrons are present at our bases in Gataway. 25 Allanean divisions are stationed in Cuzco. Fifty more - in the Tirecean islands, and ten carrier groups of our own. Yet, surprise you as it might, the rest of the Confederate allied navy – five more battlegroups and 8 strike squadrons – are on their way into the region. Twenty Allanean carrier battlegroups are also deploying, assisted by ten escort and ten strike squadrons. Confederate are beign flown into Gataway as we speak

True, our deployment is not very large. True, we are not many in the region, and it may be difficult for those of you already on the fronts to hold the fort against outnumbering Freekish forces. But I have experience of fighting on the same side as Damien Dreadfire. So I'll tell you that you have a giant advantage.

That advantage is simple: Damien Dreadfire is an epic pussy.

Freekish forces travel the world, beating on nations a tenth their own size, yet fearig to confront anybody even remotely close to their own power. Even when they do pick on some third-world craphole, they always ensure their allies take point. Damien Dreadfire is like an overgrown school bully that's been kept back a few grades, beating on the scrawniest kid in the playground – with the help of his mates, of course. Because Damien Dreadfire is an epic pussy.

Back when the Questarians tried to fight the Freeks, they invaded Allanea and some other nations that were allied to them at the time. What did the Freeks do? Did they deploy to the front, to help us defend them? Nah. Of course not. Not a single one of the famed Sentinels deployed as Allaneans bled and died to honor our alliance terms. All we got for our troubles was bravery medals shipped from Automagfreek. Not a single Sentinel crossed swords with a single Questarian. This, of course, is because Damien Dreadfire is an epic pussy.

Then, the Freeks got tired of their well-deserved fame as the world's greatest unbelievable wimps, and invaded Doomingsland – which was at the time outnumbered about three to two in terms population and about 12-1 in ground forces. This was the fairest fight Dreadfire had ever fought. Naturally, these were impossible odds for the Freeks. So they lost and signed an alliance with the Doomani to save face, with Dreadfire, the little whore, hugging Maximus like his long-lost prison husband. Every time when you see that picture of Dreadfire hugging that man whom he swore to kill, who just seconds ago was slaughtering his best troops, remind yourself what a fucking impossible epic pussy Dreadfire is.

Has any of you ever seen Neon Genesis Evangelion? Remember Shinji Ikari, the fucking emo kid? That guy? Well, Shinji Ikari is a towering bastion of manliness compared to Dreadfire. That is how big of a fucking pussy Dreadfire is.

Troops, the Freeks and their allies outnumber us approximately thirty to one. I remind you that we have a trillion rounds of ammo in just one Confederate stockpile. That's three bullets for every man, woman, and child in Gholgoth. I bet Damien Dreadfire just shit his pants hearing that.

Ladies and gentlemen, hear me say this: Dreadfire is an overweight primary school bully with an army, trying to impose his will on the freedom-loving people of Mediterranica. Well, today, it ain't gonna work – Dreadfire has finally found himself an opponent in his own weight class.

Hey, Dreadfire, I know you're watching. Changed your pants yet? Listen up, boy. Should your troops come into Mediterranica, they ain't going to be coming out except in boxes. And your national flag shall be shat upon, and if you insist on fighting us after we sink your invasion fleet, we'll come to your nation, kill the men, fuck the women, and teach the children to play football.

Conversely, you could find to the negotiation table, and I promise you - me and my allies will treat you decently. We will consider you as a human being with some worth, and not as the worthless pussy that sucks off slavers that you actually are. If that worries you, I promise that I allow you to live.

That is all.

May God bless Mediterranica.

And May God continue to bless Allanea.

As Kazansky's face fades out, the Allanean Presidential seal appears, with the words:

This message has been delivered with Allanean Subtlety – better than any other subtlety since 2003.

The seas between Crimmond and Mediterranica were quite full this day. Thousands of ships were departing from the Empire, heading at top speed for their goal.

Approaching the waters of Mediterranica were six carrier battlegroups and an armada surrounding a battleship. The numbers summed almost fifteen hundred, slightly smaller than one would expect. But the power of the Crimm was never 100% surface fleets. There was a force of four hundred submarines approaching as well.

The fleet was apparently planning to cruise North of Vetalia and down into the heart of the region, by their course.


======


A small speech was given by Empress Volsung, who appeared to be on board one of the ships headed towards Mediterranica.

"Greetings Imperial citizens, my fellow Gothic Lords and the various leaders of Mediterranica. I, Empress Sonya Volsung, am personally leading this assault force. Alongside our Gothic brothers and sisters, there is no doubt of victory and no chance of defeat. We will soon be within striking distance of the enemy and when we do strike, the entire region will shake."

She motions for the camera to pan away and look at the fleet surrounding what appeared to be the battleship. Sonya continues as the camera films the fleet. "I know at least one of the nations of Mediterranica will not be pleased to hear that the Crimm are on their way... that nation being Vetalia. And with good reason, as my predecessor promised to wipe their nation from the map, should they trouble us again. A promise I intend to keep, should Vetalia's leaders be stupid enough to test me. Crimmond has not forgotten what you did to us. But so long as you keep playing ball on the correct team, we are willing to set that aside. Instead... we shall give you an example of what would happen to you, on those in Mediterranica who oppose us."

The camera comes back to Sonya as she finishes. "In the words of our first Emperor... 'To have mercy on an enemy is to always have an enemy. Let not one survive.' Strength and Honor, brothers in arms. We shall see you in the bombed out capitals of our enemies."

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Empress Volsung

The war was progressing far better than expected in the eyes of Dreadfire, who had been watching closely every day for new developments. The forces of Uiri had successfully taken the country of Miamoria, the Vetalians continued to enjoy success across their continent in the east, and Gothic might was being unleashed on West Ponente. For now the major tipping point was Greston, who was now being punished by its neighbors for supporting Gholgoth in its quest to bring a new era to Mediterranica. The relentless enemy missile strikes against their mainland would perhaps far more devastating to the morale of the Grestonian people were it not for the arrival of the Freekish and Kregaian fleets. Having been briefed as to the current situation by Grestonian intelligence, Zander ordered that his AWACS were to go active and attempt to buy their new allies as much time as possible to counter with interceptors.

Knowing that the long range missiles being fired from at sea were most likely satellite guided instead of by contour map, high flying Stratosfighter I-E's were dispatched to their maximum ceiling to jam the enemy communications with their powerful electronics package. It was hoped that any physical space based attacks could be avoided for the duration of the war simply to avoid any drastic retalliatory responses from either side, but no option was being taken fully off the table. The attacks currently taking place against Greston were being concentrated in the south west from friendly intelligence briefs, and the Freekish fleet under Zander's command was situated in east Greston; too far away to make much of a difference in terms of physical interception. However the enemy would pay dearly for its assault against the Grestonian mainland, and strikes against the navies of Gataway and Yallak were being drawn up with their Kregaian brothers and regional friends.

A highly encrpyted dispatch was sent to the governments of Uiri and Greston concerning what was now the main tactical front in the war, and the requested involvement of both.

The New Gothic Empire of Automagfreek as well as Gholgoth itself thanks you all for your support during this trying time of transition. As you may already know your commitment to our cause will be well rewarded when this conflict finally ends and peace takes hold, but before we can think that far ahead into the future we must deal with pressing matters. My fleet and the fleet under command of my Kregaian counterpart have now entered Grestonian waters in the east, however we can do little at this time to stop the seaborne assault taking place against Greston in the southwest.

To the government of Uiri; your swift victory in Miamoria is being well hailed, but now we ask that you assist us in keeping clear the Nuevan and Aliquantian Seas. We request that your navy begin moving itself into position so that it can support Greston in driving back the assault that is currently underway, and we request the Grestonians do the same as well. Our combined Gothic force will cut into the center of Mediterranica and strike Gataway and Yallak directly, at which time we are hoping that addidional Gothic fleets will break through the south. We would also like to point out that Nuevo Italia is ripe for the taking, and you may split it between yourselves should you choose to move upon it.

Overall this campaign is going very well, and we will make it worth your while to continue to support Gholgoth. At this time, if there is anything your governments should require, feel free to ask it of us.

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Zander
-Warchief of AMF Forces-

Zero hour was approaching fast, and soon the Freeks would see combat for the first time since the war began. Communication was tight and patrols wide in anticipation for enemy engagement, for it would only be a matter of time before Zander and his fleet was located. It was uncertain wether the Uirians and Grestonians would commit to the naval confrontation that lingered on the horizon, and as a result the Freeks and Kregaians would have to plan their strategy with only their own assets so as not to be found wanting.

With Goths closing in fast from the north, east, and south, it was only a matter of hours before the opposition in Mediterranica began to feel the real squeeze. With rumors of nuclear weapons being deployed and talk of greater escalation, all anyone could do was watch and wait.

Official Communique to Ponentian Government
In light of the discovery of enemy plans to invade your homeland, the Dominion Government has authorized safe passage for any Ponentian citizen wishing to escape the combat zone through Isthmatia towards Ponentian lands in the west. Transportation may be availible at times on Dominion Troop Transports that have been shuttling between the colony and the homeland. In the event of an all-out assault on your homeland, Ponetian military forces Have Permission to cross the border into Isthmatia. The Isthmatian canal has been militarized for all MU allied forces to use in support of the Ponetian war effort. These are the only actions our government can currently take in support of your people.

Deo Vindice

HM Mark II Aschenhyrst de Aschenhyrst

The time to strike was now. Miamoria was under control, Gholgoth had given the go ahead and boatloads of refugees might be heading towards it if the strike was prolonged. Yallak would be expecting a move over sea as their navy was clearly out and about. It was clear that Nuevo Italia was Uiri's target and attacks by Yallak on Greston would hopefully provide enough leeway to attack the larger colony.

A message was sent to inform allies of this development however. The attack on Greston would have to be regarded as a loss by Uiri, at least it had to appear that way. In reality Uiri didn't care about Greston and would actually be delighted if said country had a breakdown of government. The fact that the Grestonians had sided with Gholgoth however, proved that they were perhaps not as dim-witted as Uir stereotypes protrayed. This could eventually even be a turning point in Uir-Grestonian relations.


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TO: Zander, Warchief of AMF Forces

We are aware of the situation in Greston, however we did not intervene due to a lack of expressed wishes for help from the Grestonian government. With the commands coming straight from you, we shall most definetly sink every last Yallakan ship, or sink our own navy trying. Our forces shall be mostly submarines coming from the south-west of the current position of the Yallakan ships. If any air support is required, please, only inquire and we shall send whatever we can.

As for the attacks on the Yallak homeland, I was thinking of going through Nuevo Italia. It is an unexpected move if our goal is Yallak and if they do foresee it, then we just attack their coast on either side. I do believe the plan is fool-proof however it is a matter of whether the resources to execute it are available and whether Yallak has the resources to block it.

The Nuevan and Aliquantian Seas shall be cleared once Yallaks current deployment is under assault. Despite being an island nation, Uiri's navy is not very large and we rely mostly on ground troops which is probably why we were so effective in Miamoria - there was a bridge we could use instead of shipping the troops across.

Our attacks on Nuevo Italia commence now. Attacks on Yallakan ships assaulting the Grestonian South-West are also commencing right away. Are Miamorian soldiers formerly employed in their professional military alright to use or should I rely only on the Uir military recruited from the homeland? The Miamorian military is essentially a ready resource at our command. Uir Callsigns start with Uniform India

David Aposon
President of Uiri

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The troops were setting off now. Subs went under the water, headed for where the Yallakan ships were - off of the coast of Greston in the South-West. SUbmarines would be moving into position, getting ready for a strike. All they could do was hope that the first shots would have an element of surprise. It was going to be a long trip.

Soldiers were off in boats, escorted by two CVBGs, for a different purpose. They were going to invade Nuevo Italia. The first target would the the west. Once the go was given - if the go was given - Miamorian troops would be sent, commanded by Uir commanders, to invade the west. If it wasn't going to be Miamorians then the Uir would send a second dispatch of Uir soldiers. Their primary objective - an airport or an airfield. It would be ciritcal to bringing in more soldiers.

West Ponente-Vetalia Border

"Ainsi il commence. Commence l'opération Aurore."

At the word of the rejection of the Vetalian Ultimatum, Operation Aurora was given the green light. Ponetean ground forces, 400,000 infantry, that had been gathering began crossing over the border into Vetalia. Meanwhile, over in the air, 500 Rafale fighters launched from Aix-en-Orge began moving over into Vetalian airspace to destroy incoming fighters and bombard troops preparing to invade.

The isle of Darunia was also abuzz with activity. Dark Moon City, the nation’s second largest city, was located on the southern shore of the island. It was imperative the island be protected the Northern Adriatican Fleet had been given the task of protecting Darunia and Dark Moon City, submarines patrolled the waters in shifts. Air squadrons on the island were on call if they were needed to join their brothers by the northern border or were needed for Vetalian attack on the island.

----
The King had received a letter addressed to him from the King of Aschenhyrst:

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Communiqué Royale Officielle

To: His Majesty King HM Mark II Aschenhyrst de Aschenhyrst
From: His Serene Highness King Louis XIII of West Ponente

Your Majesty,

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for you kind offer, I’m sure it will be most helpful should we have the need to take you up on it. I also hereby authorize under these circumstances that all Aschen, Gatawan, Waldenburger, and/or Yallakian forces have permission to cross into all Ponentean lands in Mediterranica provided they make it aware to the Ponenteans there. I also restate that all MU allied vessels and aircraft the use of Ponetean ports and airfields. This great act of friendship will not be forgotten by our people. Vive la Ponente Ouest!


Louis Armand Phillipe Ponenté
HSH King Louis XIII
High King of the Sovereign State

-----

Roma, Nuevo Italia

The air was tense and full of anxiety, the nearby northern Mediterranica nations support of the Gothic invasion had made many Nuevo Italians uneasy. Calls had gone out for the defense of their homeland from what they were now calling the “Barbablu”, the ones it was said were coming to raze their homes, rape their mothers, and sodomize their daughters.

The King had addressed the people via satellite in an accented Italian:

“People of Nuevo Italia, I speak to you as your King, a citizen, and a father. Our nation is now undoubtedly in one of it’s darkest hours. We must band together and defend our homeland from those who would seek to destroy us, to defend our homeland from these unwarranted acts of Gothic aggression. We must not be like a single twig that can easily be snapped in two, but rather like a bundle of fasces: strong, durable, and indestructible. I now call on every able-bodied man to come forward and defend this great land, I call on every man, every woman, every child, and every one who call themselves a patriot of this land, Nuevo Italia, to aid in it’s defense, be it from the tallto the small, the young to the old, the soldier to citizen. Lastly, I call on every Nuevo Italian to defend their home, as source of hope for this nation, where some may have lost it. To arms citizens! To victory! Viva Nuevo Italia! Viva Ponente Ovesta!”

Off the northern coast of N.I.

The Royal Nuevitalian Ship Nueva Sicilia was patrolling the coasts to the northwest of Nuevo Italia. It was accompanied only by two destroyers, and suddenly detected a number of ships approaching.

“Unidentified craft, please state your nations of origin and intent.”
-----
“Unidentified craft, please state your nations of origin and intent.”
-----
“Wait ten seconds, then open fire.”
-----
“fire.”
-----

The notice spread to the air bases and nearby ships and submarines

Could their worst of fears have come true?

The Nuevitalian command was not prepared to take chances. If it had been an allied ship wouldn’t they have answered?

150 Rafales and 300 Panavia Tornadoes left Roma headed for the incoming ships. In cities around the nation , militia’s were awakened and assembled, ready at a moments notice to serve. 27 ships with 12 submarines of the Marina Reginale departed Roma’s harbor to aid the Nueva Sicilia’s call.
The fighters were the first to arrive on scene, they targeted the ships and began to fire.

"Capitan, enemy ships. What should we do?" shouted the communications operator.

"Begin to fire. We have to protect the soldiers. Launch the Rafales."

"Yessir."

The CVBG was even more of a hive of activity than usual. Rafales were taking off as soon as they could, the guns were being readied and they had no idea the extent of what they were facing. The CVBG's decided the best course of action would be to call for back-up, another CVBG and a large number of SSBN's. 76 mm fire from 4 Horizon class frigates and 4 FREMM class frigates greeted the enemy ships. 20 mm fire from the aircraft carriers various 20 mm F2 guns also tried to hit the ships. Underwater, one of the SSNs accompanying the CVBGs fired an Exocet missile at the lead ship.

Rafales were being launched as fast as possible. One after another on both aircraft carriers. The aircraft carriers were only planning to launch 50 for the times being - they could risk loosing their fleet to AA fire. The Rafales, once in the air, launched two GBU-12 Paveway II guided general purpose bombs at the enemy ships. The Uir knew that very soon they would be outnumbered.

SIC:
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Official Government Message

To: Mediterranican Allied Forces
From: Supreme Representative Santiago Araneda

My fellow Meds, as you are aware, not so long ago at least two (2) thermonuclear detonations occurred just south of Ra And, the fallout of said explosions will eventually reach our nation, this is my reason to write this message, this war has now, although indirectly, reached Ra And and that is why we offer our help to you, we wont be able to send soldiers since they lack experience in the battlefield due to our long isolationism, and our military equipment is outdated and extremely unreliable, but, there are currently over 5 billion randean citizens supporting the cause, and they are willing to contribute with anything to support Mediterranica.
We have remained silent for a long time, too long, and, although i hoped our comeback would be in better times we cant ignore the fact that this war will affect every single nation on Mediterranica, that is why we are offering our help, as little as it may be right now, we need to stay united in these times of peril or we will vanish in the coming fire.

Long live Mediterranica.

OOC:tired, will check later for spelling mistakes, blablahblah, must sleep.

(ooc: excuse the crappy post.)

Nuevan Sea

The oncoming fleet had been identified as Uir, much to the surprise of the Nuevitalian command. The Ponentean Rafales and Nuevitalian Tornadoes came under heavy fire on their approach to the carrier group, launching their AIM-132s to the air craft now being launched off of the ships. The sky was soon filled with fire.

The Paveway bombs hit the front of the oncoming ships, the Nueva Sicilia was heavily hit, it’s conning tower turned to schrapnel in an instant.

The other ships were quickly approaching to get in range to fire, first on the scene was a sister of the Nueva Sicilia, the Florencia.

Beneath the melee, a Virginia-class sub, the St. De Greco, launched four Mark 48 torpedoes straight into Uir carrier group.

17 Rafales had been launched off of one carrier group but due to the AIM-132s there was no way to launch anymore. The 18th Rafale had been hit by an AIM-132. The other carrier group knew that it couldn't pick up the slack or risk being targetted. Rafales attacked the enemy Rafales with gunfire while trying to launch Paveways at the approaching ships. The Tornadoes would be a bigger problem.

The Mark 48 torpedoes expolded all around the battlegroup, hitting one of the two FREMM frigates of the battlegroup. Its last act was to launch two MU90 tropedoes at what they thought to be the source of the Mark 48's. The other FREMM of the battlegroup fired two MU90's at where they knew the sub was. They just had to hope that the torpedoes hit.

[OOC: If the message from Ra and was coded or whatever, ignore this post. I'll have a military based one up in a couple hours.]

A reply quickly found it's way heading towards the lands of Ra and. Surprisingly, it was from one of the invaders.

Representative Araneda,

The Empire of Crimmond has recently developed an efficient and relatively easy process for cleaning up nuclear contamination, having most recently removed the blight of Chernobyl from the planet, rendering the Exclusion Zone no more harmful than anywhere else on Earth. Once hostilities have ceased in the region, I am sure that the Empire could indeed provide assistance to exposure in your own nation and the removal of any radioactive material from the blast area.

It may seem strange to you that I pause to offer you this assistance... but current strife is no reason to limit future business opportunities. I'm quite sure that some sort of agreement could be reached, once the shooting stops.

http://wikistates.outwardhosting.com/w/images/e/e2/Signaturev.png

Imperial Palace, Heraldstein

Delvius sat calmly in his large recliner at the head of an ornate oaken table dyed black and trimmed with silver.

A glass of scotch and a cigar before him, he idly tapped his fingers on the glossy table top his ever present signet ring beat heavily upon the table and was apart from the occasional mumble the only audible sound in the room.

Around Delvius sat several figures, each dressed in their respective branch uniforms as a small projector descended from the celing of the room and began to display a detailed map upon the wall of the border between Faxanavia and the Empire.

A large stocky man, dressed in a black uniform, a bit too small and adorned with more medals than probably necessary began to speak pointing to the map with a small laser pointer as he did. His voice was rough and somewhat raspy.

"My lord, at present our satellite images have shown that the Faxanavians have sent forces to capture the Gatawan colony of Silvasnia.

Our forces have been concentrating in the west for some time now and we are ready to strike against them here, here, and here."

The general paused briefly pointing to three highlighter areas

"It is my plan to open with a massive artillery strike against Faxanavia and quickly pour troops through the gaps the artillery opens up, a secondary invasion from the isle de Older will land eight thousand marines along the eastern pennusulia while our army pushes in from the north.

With artillery strikes against air fields we will be able to effectively and quickly gain air superiority over the western areas of Faxanavia much of which will soon be within land based air defense systems as they are moved forward.

Six divisions in all we be involved in the first phase of the operation, four actually pushing into the south west of Faxanavia while the other two cover their flanks to allow continued supply flow.

Another Six divisons will then push directly towards central Faxanavia after their elements that attack the flanking divisons expose themselves.

Our Gatawan allies are expected to land twenty thousand plus marines in the north western area near our border and they will assist in the push into Faxanavia's center, forcing them to come to terms and knocking them out of the war."

Delvius' face showed visible stress as the great emperor contemplated his general's plan. Taking a long drag from his cigar and finishing it with his shot.

"Very well general Carius, by the grace of god, and for the glory of the empire you have my blessing."

Faxanavian/Unkerlantian Border

In the days following the outset of war in the region the imperial army had been quick to mobilize and already some six million troops along with large amounts of armor and artillery had been moved towards the border.

In the recent days remember Ferstein had spread like wild fire throughout the Imperial armed forces, Ferstein having been whiped off the map by a nuclear attack, and the men of the Unkerlantian military were eager for revenge.

Young soldiers and old veterans alike waited anxiously in they concealed entrenched positions awaiting orders for their next move.

Today they came, in the early dawn hours the roaring sound of jets and other aircraft thundered across the sky, shortly after a loud thunderous trembleing shook the earth as some eight thousand artillery pieces varying in size from 105mm to 205mm and rockets soared through the sky bound for targets in Faxananvia.

The fighters unleashed their own deadly assault of combined effects munitons and other air to ground attack missiles targeting Faxanavian air fields, radar and communications centers as well as known military positions all along the border.

The war against Faxanavia had begun.

OOC: I'm a little unsure of everyone's location, but I do have the vague idea that there are hostile forces around Greston. If I have just accidentally RP'ed my way through them, please let me know and I'll edit this accordingly.

IC:

It was a little after three in the morning when the long-awaited message finally came; a jarring, annoying, almost painful buzzing sound from hidden speakers in Lord Rahvin's quarters that shook him awake unceremoniously. Cursing, his vision slid back into focus as he heard an irritatingly loud voice calling, "...Lord Rahvin. Are you there, my Lord? This is the bridge calling..."

"I'm here," he called back, sleep rapidly falling away as his brain realized the implications of the supreme commander being rudely awoken at this unholy hour. Either they were under attack, in which case the placid quietness that reigned through the ship was incredibly out of place, or they were approaching the critical position, the rough area where land-based enemy attacks became plausible and the fleet itself was within extreme striking range. He rather hoped it was the latter; once the fleet was a few hundred kilometers away, preparations for the ground assault would begin, and it would be a matter of hours before the fleet reached shore. "What is it?"

"My Lord, forward elements of the fleet have entered the critical position. Final preparations for the assault on Gataway are beginning now; protocol dictates that the High Admiral notify you of this. Will you be coming to the bridge to oversee the process, my Lord?"

"I'm on my way," he replied, already changing into the ceremonial armor and robe of the Inner Court, the regalia that was his by right. Impractical and ancient the design might be, but few things made such a powerful impression as a man covered in elaborately-decorated Roman armor.

* * *

It was only a few minutes more before he stood on the bridge, tall and imposing in the ceremonial dress of a High Lord, black cloak hanging around the skillfully-wrought armor, the silver inlay gleaming on his breastplate. Ordered chaos raged around him, the hubbub of the bridge breaking over him like a wave over a sea-washed pillar of stone. Displays glowed and the sound of typing and mouses clicking filled the air. Outside, the seas blazed as bright as day, illuminated by the myriad lights of the core of the fleet. In the distance, you could see the similar lights of other ships, glowing like stars floating on the distant ocean horizon. Rahvin didn't listen to any of the specific sounds; he let all the orders and relayed messages and requests that rumbled in the bridge flow into his awareness, instead of snatching one after another, and his ever-active brain sparked and hummed with interpreted meaning. All ships were increasing readiness: making final checks, running simulations, arming missiles and calculating firing solutions. Aboard the troop carriers, Legionaries were being notified that the fleet had entered the critical zone, although they would be given at least a few hours more to sleep; it would be midmorning at the very earliest by the time they could land. But Lord Rahvin could stand waiting those final few hours, after days of endless dreary boredom. His military tattoos were seeming to burn and itch again; the reappearance of another good omen. Anticipation would make the eventual battle sweeter...and he could wait.

Nuevan Sea

The Rafales were quickly outmanned, to avoid confusion they had begun to attack the ships themselves, launching Paveways at the ships themselves. The Tornadoes were given the task of wiping out the airborn fighters, equipped with their BK 27 guns and AIM-132s. It did not take them long to get fully involved in their duty.

Meanwhile the St. De Greco was struck below the waves, sustaining heavy damage. It was ordered back to the base on Kypros, while 7 of its sisters had finally arrived on scene launching Mark 48s directly at the battlegroups ships.

All Nuevo Italia was alerted and awake, ships and other planes began patrolling the coasts all around the peninsula.

----
Imbrolio, Gulf of Ponente

The island of Imbrolio, like its brothers and sister islands, was a low-lying marshy place. Unlike its siblings, the isand was the only one with a military base. The base had been heavily damaged by the Skyian barage. Out of the 7 La Fayette class frigates standing between the island and the fleet 4 were now resting on the seabed and 3 were greatly damaged. 3 more frigates were dispatched to face the fleet with 20 Rafales launched from St-Nectaire.

OOC Activity?

Dark waves washed even darker sand. A little cove to the south of Granzimmerburg was the intended embarkment point for the Waldenburger Legion, an international force of mercenaries and volunteers to defeat the Goth and their allies. It was an entirely unassuming place for the small flotilla of appropriated civilian ships and military transports. Three hundred thousand grey suited Legionnaires were being ferried from the shore via a swarm of inflatable to individual ships.

“How much longer Captain?” Field Marshall Felix von Napplfplatz stood on a small ridge, wrapped in his riding cloak, observing with his staff the movement of the army.

“Maybe an hour. The armor has already been moved aboard and the most of the artillery is Chukaconian anyway.” A gentle sea breeze blew the usual pall of chemical pollution, which belched from the chemical works inland away from the little inlet. “If the conditions hold we could be across the strait in three days, and landed and quartered on the forth. It is taking some time to deal with the Yallakians and arranging transport.”

The Field Marshall nodded his assent and continued to stare out at the dazzling display of running lights. He had been, up till the declaration of war some weeks ago, an outsider in the military and in Imperial circles. At the rank of colonel it had been a sudden and considerable boon from a lowly clerk to the field marshal, and of an independent command nonetheless. Of course when most of the senior officers shook his hand on the day he received his baton they had looked him squarely in the eye and solemnly shook his hand. Of course they had said nothing. Not so much as a word of warning or consolation. Of course at the time this had meant nothing but now, after viewing the Legion preparing for only a few weeks and seeing the equipment they were given, this was not an army of attrition or indeed high prospects. As, some weeks ago, Felix had determined these were stormtroopers. As sun glinted off their bayonets and scare armor visited the Commander’s Review it became ever more apparent.

Mercenary units had been deployed to a separate army group and were to be flown in when and as needed. After a few nights of sleepless roaming and perhaps more cognac than was strictly appropriate he had settled to the idea. Waldenburg, her old Empires, from which most of the recruits were drawn, had many men and it would hardly be out of keeping for any Waldenburger officer to do otherwise, especially on this precarious situation. The more Goths that died overseas would be additional enemies that did not sully the Homeland or shatter the precarious and fragile economy or social structure.

“Field Marshall, your yacht is signally ready. Shall we?” His aide, a captain Hauptman had apparently been speaking for some time as his cheeks had tinged slightly red and he looked a tad reproachful of being ignored.

“Yes. Radio the destroyer screens to assume formation. Chuckacon, the Old Empire is ready to welcome us back, let’s not disappoint. See that my luggage is taken care of.”

There was a matter of uncertainty in the crossing, never mind the upcoming battles. There were some hundreds of kilometers to be covered, and though enemy scouts would be unlikely, never mind a suitable force to divert the convoy, it was quite a prime target, and the fleet could barely spare a battlefleet at the moment. If the Faxnavians were silent for a day the channel, and the region, would be in stable hands.

All along the beaches the lightly garrisoned forces monitored the incoming fleet with great eagerness. They had been supplied with a large number of hand held anti-air and anti-tank weapons as well as an assortment of mortars and heavy machine guns.

The light garrisons were ment to hold up invading forces, and as such they had set about making heavy fortifications as well as deploying additional mines to the ones already in place, in an assortment of anti-armor and anti-personell.

The crater ridden beaches would soon be covered with hulking pieces of destroyed equipment, and the blood of fallen enemy combatants.

Futher back from the beaches in concealed and reinforced postions some 27,500 varrying pieces of artillery chambered their first rounds of ordance a mixture of HE, WP, and combined effects munitons and then locked in their firing coordinates to their preset targets.

Other systems equipped with anti-air and anti-ship systems went about their own preparations for the coming conflict.

Overhead still further back from the beaches with the waiting armored and infantry units dozens of fighters and strike craft circled their respective air fields in set patrol cycles.

With over 90% of the Republic's forces pulled from the Yallakian border the entire nation was prepared for the coming assault.

At sea flanking the beach approach lanes packs of hunter killer subs lay in wait to target enemy capital ships once they were engaged in supporting the assaulting landing forces.

Things were going better than anticipated, much better. The Goths had now linked up with the forces of Greston and Uiri, and alongside the Kregaian and Freekish fleets had begun a collective drive southward. Zander was now in the best position possible, for he could now make a run directly for Gataway unopposed and have the luxury of having allied fleets within hours of his position. Having informed the Great Hall of the astounding progress made thus far, he began to sail his ships towards the northern reaches of Gataway and prepare for his first ground invasion of the war. The Kregaians would be in a position to support the Freekish ground campaign from the sea and air, while the Grestonians and Uirians would be free to assault Yallak and keep their forces from holding back Zander's attack.

Out at sea the giant Freekish fleet began to move its individual components into their proper place so that they would be fully prepared for a naval battle that was sure to come. Aboard the numerous transport ships sat the brooding Sentinel menace who had waited patiently for months to spill the blood of those who dared to defy almighty Gholgoth, and they began to stir as zero hour began to draw near. Fists of 'Supremacy' class submarines had strayed far from the main body of the warfleet to scour the depths for potential predators and hidden dangers designed to both stall and kill, while many other layers of subs maintained their perimeters in case a threat managed to slip through.

Knowing that he would no longer have the element of surprise, Zander decided that he would actively scan the skies for inbound threats in the form of missiles, fighters, or bombers. He was too far from home to take any chances with his fleet, and his pilots would play a pivotal role early in the campaign and determine wether the Freekish attack would be a success or failure. The high flying 'Stratosfighter II's' skimmed along the upper recahes of their maximum ceiling, while 'Sea Scorpions' maintained altitude much closer to sea level. AWACS had begun to fill the air with radar waves and transmit any data to the linked fleet defenses below, which would then in turn coordinate a suitable counterstrike. Zander's men were well prepared.

The Freeks were still attempting to acquire the location of the Gataway navy through the use of submarines, airborne recon, and space based radar satellites. It would be critial for Zander to fire the first shots against his foes at sea, or at the very least be in a position to properly respond to a enemy salvo before it could do much damage. He was still just shy of being able to fire long range cruise missiles against ground targets at the designated landing zones, and once the barrage began he knew that it would paint a large target on his ships that any savvy commander would take notice of. However he did have another option on table; a long range missile strike from 'Supremacy GM' class guided missile submarines. With satellite imagery serving as their eyes, several subs that had ventured out from the main body of the fleet began to prep their missiles to first fire against enemy radar installations and blind them early.

Upon receiving confirmation from Zander that they were clear to engage, nearly a dozen submarines deployed their encapsulated anti-radiation cruise missiles which would slowly rise to the surface and allow time for each vessel to move away from it in order to maintain a stealth profile. As each missile surfaced the capsule deployed the sea skimming steath cruise missile inside which quickly took to the air and began to hurdle towards designated installations on the ground. A second, third and indeed fourth round of missiles were quickly ordered up and sent forth towards secondary targets such as nearby power grids, fuel and ammo dumps, communication relays, and missile batteries.

The submarines continued to maneuver and fire their payloads until they were ordered to stop for the time being. Zander wanted to gauge the enemy response to the small but surgical missile strike and order subsequent attacks accordingly, for he anticipated the Gataway military to begin shifting assets around to compensate for the loss of radar and communications, if the strikes were successful that is. If not he would continue to attack from beneath the sea anyways while the rest of the fleet drew closer into range, in which case the intensity of the missile attacks would multiply significantly.

Word was also sent to the allied commanders in the area to begin attacks against assets belonging to both Yallak and Gataway if they were in a position to do so. The Kregaians were kept in especially close contact in case their assistance was needed, something which Zander was almost certain he would need at least in some form. The Uirians and Grestonians would be receiving regular updates from Freekish officers concerning their movements and progress related to their attack, and the same would be requested so that Freekish High Command could better understand the organized chaos that was about to unfold.....

General Makris made sure dark blue tie was suitably tight, glancing at himself in the mirror before walking briskly out of his room. Not usually a vain man, the General was seconds away from a video conference with Prime Minister Byrne. In such situations it was best to appear presentable. An impressive four rows of commendations stood out against the crisp charcoal uniform with an impeccable white shirt, the collar emblazoned with 'Central State Navy'. A grey peaked cap held the national crest aloft, as General Makris took the stairs two at a time and finally came to the conference room. The two guards with K29 automatic rifles snapped to attention as he passed, he nodded instinctively and they relaxed.

"Connection live?" he asked as he strode into the room, taking a microphone from a waiting Private and clipping it to his uniform. He sat down at the head of a long steel table, with a large monitor at the other end.
"Yes sir," she replied, "bridging connection in 3... 2... 1..." The monitor came on silently, showing the interior of the Prime Minister's office, with its panoramic view of Alkra City. The main feature, however, was the Prime Minister himself, an imposing grey-haired figure sitting firmly at his mahogany desk. He had not been grey-haired at the start of his term, but his duties had doubled with the Emperor's sudden decline in health.

"Good morning, General," Prime Minister Byrne said agreeably, "I trust that conditions are still hospitable since we last spoke?"
"Of course, sir," said the General, relaxing slightly. "We have just entered the Adriatican Ocean, and will arrive in our theatre of operations within two days."
"Excellent..." he started, smiling with forced sincerity. "You may be wondering why I have chosen to contact you directly... well, I assumed that it would be progressive for me to get to know you, General, seeing as we shall be communicating on a regular basis."
"Sir?" responded the General cautiously.
"From now on you have the authority to contact me directly, without going through the Minister of War. He has enough to deal with right now, we can ease the burden, do you understand?"
"Transparent, sir. I'm sure this is all with his best interests at heart."
"Excellent, I expect an update in twenty-four hours. Until then, dismissed."

Without waiting for a response the connection was terminated, the General removing the microphone and leaving the room immediately. He would head back to his quarters in order to revise the latest reports before the big staff meeting tomorrow. He was on board the CSN Gladius flagship of the largest Agrandan invasion force ever put together. It was comprised of four full-size fleets, and held over one million ground troops for a single purpose: the annihilation of all Mediterranican resistance to Gothic rule.

Through the porthole ships were visible as far as the eye could see, as Aquila II fighters circled like vultures, maintaining a constant air patrol zone to protect the 40 large Cubile class carriers and 120 smaller Cunae class carriers. Lighter aerial protection extended to the 160 Curis class heavy cruisers, 340 Contego class light cruisers and 420 Deleo class destroyers. This protection extended only sporadically to the 810 Falcis class frigates and 800 corvette Cultellus class, but air cover in all zones would severely intensify once the conflict began.

It would be a matter of days before a dark sun rose on the people of West Ponente; from General Makris reading his reports, to a Marine cleaning his K29 just one more time, each one would be the bringer of this violent dawn.

12:03 PM GCST, Grand Alogorthian Hall
Verona, Alogorthia

All that could be heard through the ominous, dark hallways of the Grand Algorothian Hall, the Alogorthian Capital Building was the thunderous foot steps of seven Imperial Ifantry Police units and the Prime Minister of Alogorthia himself, The Rt. Hon. Sir John Gutted. They strode down the victorian style, mahagony carved hall ways until they came upon the grandest of all doors in all of Northern Mediterranica; the door which lead into the office of the Algorothian President, Talbert Orbath.

The grand interior of the Prime Minister's office, with its panoramic view of Verona was visible, the main feature, however, was the imposing grey-haired figure sitting firmly at his mahogany desk, scibbling out notes upon papers he had neglected for months. He seemed to have noted noticed the fact the doors had been completely bashed down and the five AK-104's were trained upon him. He had not yet noticed the three men rushing toward him with angered looks upon their faces.

The gray haired politicians cowered up into his chair, frightened at the fact that two men were slapping cuffs upon his wrists. He looked up to the tall, meek man standing above him; a man with a receding hair line, his hand to lips.

"Deary me, Mr. Orbath, it would seem your term is over," he turned around and gazed off into the distance, taking in the sights of the darkening city, a magnificant city, soon to be Grestonian controlled.

12:17 PM GCST, Movavria
Aortha, Alogorthian-Grestonian Border

Silently across the country side stalked over two hundred soldiers of the Imperial Infantry. All of them, and their best friends, their AK-104 and their Desert Eagle, slowly crawled across the border. Upon reaching the out skirts of the nearest Algorothian town, Movavria, they went prone in the grass and awaited the suppourting artillery to start their fireworks show.

At the front of the lines was Thomas Kissenger, his AK-104 tight to his chest. He slowly crept foward, waiting with baited breathe as he stared at the skies, soon to be lit up. Then his heart was filled with warmth as a red smoke streaked the sky above the troops. They all turned to stare with awe as it crashed down upon the small village.

As two more shells were lobied upon the basically defenseless village, the soldiers rushed it. Thomas and a few nearby troops kicked in the door to the nearest house. Thomas knelt down and skanned the room as his mates scurried around in it. This happened all around the town, in most houses it was the same situation, however in few a few gun shots were fired.

As they drew closer to the center of the town they noticed the towns men had gathered up a resistance to charge the Grestonians.

It was a mistake on their part, the trained infantry tore them apart, drenching their drive ways and side walk with the blood of them men who built it. All around the Grestonian-Alogorthian borders this was happening, Grestonian paratroopers were raiding towns and claiming them for the good of Greston and Ghothic Coalition.

1:34 AM GCST, Main Street
Louing, Alogorthia

"Listen, people of the Grand Roman Republic of Alogorthia! As you may or may not know, the deaths of your countrymen on the country side is growing. This will continue to add if you to not heed our commands," John Gutted stared out upon the large rioting crowd that had gathered. Everyone there than hated his guts.

He stared down upon them ominously, his hatred in his eyes, no sign of remorse in his eyes. Hundreds of Grestonian paratroopers had their guns trained upon the crowd, the rioters thought they were the only ones. However, snipers were placed on almost every building and most of the escape routes were blocked off by more paratroopers plus tanks.

"Your great consul, Mr. Barnestok, has two hours to reply to our ultimatum else this city, and many others will be burnt to the ground. Heed my warnings, a new age has been beset upon Mediterranica, a new age of freedom, and an end to the MU's tyranny."

The few Grestonians in the crowd began to cheer as all the rest screamed. Behind the Head Premier of Greston a Grestonian flag was flung from the main building in the area.

Resistance was futile, however Alogorthians were futile people.

As mobile radar and communications platforms rushed to re-establish areas which had been whipped out during missile strikes a unique opportunity had presented itself.

The missile strikes which were clearly submarine launched depended on stealth, unknown to the Ghothic subs by firing they had exposed themselves to the hunter subs which lay in wait along the beach approaches.

The hunter was now the hunted as several dozen submarines moved to track and intercept the Ghothic attackers leaving the majority of the wolf packs to await the coming Ghothic surface vessels.

All in all the Republic's forces stood fast and weathered the storm they would not give away all of their positions until the Ghothic forces began to land.

In order to prevent continued strikes several dozen anti-satellite missiles were hurridly launched against known Ghothic low orbit systems.


1000km Off the coast of Algorthia

Algorthia an MU member state had betrayed the Union betrayal by anyone would not be tolerated by the Republic. Three ballistic missle submarines sat off the coast and in much the same manner the Ghoths had struck the Republic they would fire their missiles and slip away.

Instead of targeting power plants, or communication relays however the Republic high command had ordered that supply dumps and government buildings be the only targets.

The main target was the Grand Alogorthian Hall. By striking it the Republic hoped it would sway those citizens already upset with the government for folding into riots or better open revolt.

Six missiles rose up from the depths screaming towards their targets as the Submarines slipped back to the depths waiting to strike again.

Not the best of posts but I just needed to get a few things up ICly

Northern Shores of Valeon
Near the City of Rielle
21:04 Imperial Central Time

While the Empire was only just turning in for the night, at what equated to four o’clock in the morning in Valeon, the province was long quiet. The only sound to be heard over the beaches of Northern Valeon at such a time was the periodical swooshing noise as a low wave broke over the sand and the occasional ruffle of the plant life that grew all across the tide dunes. All was not lifeless however, and though at any given time during the day this area may have had a few dozen people scattered around the shore or in the water relaxing in the sun, those who had gathered here in the dark of the morning had a purpose far from relaxation.

‘Sergeant Dras,’ Loken whispered to the man who crouched before him, working on something amidst the sand. The man did not slow in his work or look away but simply acknowledged the Captains call with a quick ‘Sir’. ‘Isn’t that a bit exposed?’

This time the Sergeant looked up at the Captain. ‘No Sir. We’ll cover it up nicely and no one will ever know we were even here let alone buried this thing here’.

‘Shouldn’t there be some up there though,’ inquired the Captain pointing far above their heads to the support beams which ran the length of the bridge.

‘Already done, Sir,’ Dras answered, a large grin spread across his face. Dras Zhirios was one of the best in the 110th Legion when it came to demolitions and he certainly enjoyed doing it, relishing the relatively few occasions when his superiors would order him to blow something to oblivion. ‘They’ll cause some damage but these are the killers,’ he continued, indicating to the device he had been working on earlier, ‘we’ve put them on several of the main pylons so when they go off they’ll shatter the supports and the whole thing will collapse under its own weight’.

‘Carry on then, Sergeant’. Loken gave him a slap on the back and then moved off further along to see how the other teams were going.

At every bridge or tunnel connecting Valeon to Vetalia the situation was repeated. Secretly and silently, all the crossings were wired with more than enough explosives to vaporize each structure so that in the event of attack they could be blown, severing any easy routes into Valeon.


110th Legion Headquarters
City of Rielle
00:22 Imperial Central Time

‘It’s done then?’ questioned Arzaan. He already knew the answer, for his officers, especially his Captains would not return without a task finished, but the question must still be asked else he fall into the realm of making assumptions.

‘Yes, General,’ Loken replied as he crossed the rather bare and open office to the Generals desk. Arzaan Dylos had never been one to waste time on frivolous activities like decorating and his office was an abundance of evidence to that point. The floor was polished timber and contained no furniture save a desk, two cabinets, a table and a bookshelf. The walls were painted a creamy white colour but were otherwise bare save for a window on one covered with a venetian blind and the Legion banner hanging behind the General on the back wall, which in itself was very simple, being completely black with a white diamond in the center containing the number 110. Loken looked back from the banner to the General as he stopped before the desk. ‘Has a time been scheduled for the Operation yet, Sir?’

‘Yes, it will begin very soon, but we will not be participating now it seems.’ The look of disenchantment hit Loken’s face almost immediately. His Legion had initially been chosen to participate in one of the Empires counterattacks to the Gholgoth invasion where they would finally get a change to forge their Legion a true name in the fire of battle but that hope seemed lost now. He began to protest but Arzaan continued talking without presenting his Captain the chance. ‘The Field Marshal decided against deploying any of the Legion currently stationed here because he did not want any drop in our level of readiness. An entirely new force has already been dispatched from Yallak to carry out the Operation. Several Legions will full naval support I’m told and we are to remain here with a watchful eye on the defenses.

Aquileilia

The Royal Family had just returned from mass at the Cathedral of St. Stephen, located farther up on top of Royal Hill. The sun had gone down a short while ago and from there they could see the city was still in darkness. So had it been for a while, and many denizens of the city were starting to get used to it. The King would shortly be meeting with the War Council the palace on the status of the ongoing Ghothic War.

The King arrived at the chambers a short time later. News was mixed.

“Our forces that have entered Vetalia are meeting heavy resistance, for now. The Ghothic Armada is moving closer towards our coasts with every hour. We’ve also detected a new force that has entered the Adriatican Ocean.” Said War Minister Georges Fillon

“Is it Ghothic?”

“We are almost certain. The projected path of the this new fleet is believed to be Northern Ponente. The plans discovered are right.”

The King nodded his head in agreement

“I want bolstered defenses along the northern coast. Begin evacuating civilians from the northern provinces. Things may turn into a warzone and I don’t want innocent Ponenteans caught up in it.”

“Where shall we place the refugees?”

“Set up relief camps around Arlésien.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The Citidel (Aschenhyrst Military HQ); Aschton, Aschenhyrst

Mark II, King of Aschenhyrst, has arrived for a briefing by his joint chiefs on the deteriorating situation in Mediterranica. Field Marshal Sir James Aschenhyrst de Aschenhyrst (first cousin to the king), the Supreme Commander of the Aschenhyrst Dominon Military starts the briefing.

"Your Majesty, nice of you to join us today. Gentlemen, several days ago this office recieved a secure transmission from the Trident, one of our ballistic missile submarines patroling far to the east. The Captain of the Trident reported a large fleet heading towards Mediterranica, this fleet was a multi-national fleet of nations from Gholgoth.

In the following hours reports of Vetalia joining an alliance with Gholgoth surfaced and Vetalia outright annexed peaceful Quintus. In short order, Vetalia attacked our regional ally West Ponente and threatened the Valeon Protectorate. Vetalia has turned ther colony of Pillar into a fortress, enemy forces can strike the homeland with medium range missiles. News surfaced of our blood enemies, the Grestonians, joining with the Gholgothic alliance and their hostile take-over of neighboring Alogorthia. The Gothic fleets have arrived and are entering waters in the central sector of Mediterrancia.

Our allies are either under attack, soon to be attacked or mobilizing for the defense fo the region. The Gatawans have declared a state of emergency and mobilized in preparation of invasion. The Yallakans are mobilizing to protect their colony of Valeon. The Ponentians are fighting for their homeland as we speak and the Waldenburgers have engaged the enemy on the high seas.

So far, we`ve offered to take in refugees from West Ponente and bolstered the defenses at Isthmatia and Pasha. The Canal at Isthmatia is still undergoing repairs from damages recieved during the recent war and will be operating at 50% capacity for an undetermined ammount of time. Most of our larger suface vessels have been deployed to the central sector to provide assistance for region defense. The submarine fleet is following standard procedure and shadowing enemy supply vessels, awaiting orders.

Your Majesty, I have taken it upon my self to call up the reserves and home guard forces. Coastal defenses for the homeland have been bolstered and the secure inland supply bases have been unsealed should an invasion of the homeland happen. What are your orders?"

"James, you seem to have the situation well in hand. I will call for a genral mobilization and declare to our allies and enemies that Aschenhyrst will come to the aid of it`s friends and do all that is in our power to remove the forces of evil now gathering in this region. We will fight to secure our future, one that is free of tyranny and oppression. We fight to secure the future of our nation and our region; for ourselves, for our children and for generations yet to come.

Begin evacuating the civilian population of the coastal areas towards the interior of our nation. The Aschenhyrst section of the Pan Med Corridor is hereby under military control to first speed the evacuation of our civilian populace and thereafter aid in the defensive efforts of our allies. I will have my family join in the evacuation as well, my wife and children will be separated and moved to secure locations throughout the Dominion. If an invasion comes, our enemies shall not end this dynasty in one fell swoop. I will remain in Aschton as long as possible, I do this for the morale of our people and our troops. Do not allow the enemy to do desecrate our sacred homeland, give them no quarter in the defense of our homes. Fight to the last man in defense of the Dominon. Remember your creed, Deo Vindice-God Vindicates."

"Your will be done, my king." The Field Marshal turns to his aide, "Send the message to all units on the secure comm. The minstrel boy to the war has gone."

Lord Rahvin had been absentmindedly twirling a pen for a few hours now, glancing occasionally at the clock at the corner of his display.

Est. ETA:
-Gamma Point: 00:03:54
-Target Region: 05:58:16

He was getting impatient again. And who could blame him? Easy enough to have said a few hours ago that he would wait patiently until the action began, but it was more difficult for a military man passionate about his work to actually do so. Thank the gods Gamma Point was approaching, the pre-arranged point where the actual exchange of fire, aimed at the southern half of would begin. The firing solutions had been calculated, the gunnery computers were updating range estimates every tenth of a second, and the fighters were prepped and ready to go.

Not long now.

00:00:03
00:00:02
00:00:01
00:00:00

"Begin!" he called out, but it was unnecessary. The bridge had already exploded into action, with junior officers conveying orders crisply to other ships. The beauty of it was, much of the arrangements had been made long before. Every captain and bridge crew aboard every vessel knew what they would do upon reaching Gamma Point. For the smaller ships, it meant nothing except continued vigilance, with small packs of submarines or frigates and destroyers prowling beyond the rough 'border' of the formation. However, for the capital ships, it meant the immediate beginning of hostilities.

Fighter squadrons began to take off, hurtling from the flight decks of their carriers, pilots fully rested and alert, their craft armed to the teeth and ready for combat. Arranging themselves into formation, wing upon wing of F/A-104 Balefires rocketed south. Behind them, far more slowly (although escorted by a smaller group of fighters) came a wave of bombers, holds packed with advanced weaponry.

Meanwhile, the dreadnaughts opened fire, launching a withering volley of hundreds of long-range Lepanto advanced cruise missiles at the Gatawayan air defense systems. Runways, AA sites, and radar installations had been identified from space as soon as the entire invasion had been greenlighted, and now the Kregaians would exert every effort to shut as much of the network down as possible. The Lepantos were backed up by a few hundred Pandemonium II ballistic missiles, deadly weapons that not only acted as incendiaries but slammed into their targets at roughly Mach 27, due to both natural and rocket-induced acceleration on their descent.

Missiles hurtled towards their targets, and screened by fighters, the bombers plowed onwards to theirs; and all the while, the armada lumbered south as well, sailing inexorably closer and closer to Gataway.

With the Freeks and Kregaians both commencing long range strikes against targets inside Gataway, the join Gothic/allied coalition was now in a position to essentially crush the heart of the region. The entire campaign thus far was an astounding success; Vetalia had swallowed several of its neighboring countries and taken them out of play, Uiri had decisively taken all of Miamoria with little resistance, Freekish and Kregaian forces had driven deep into the region thanks to cooperation from Greston, and the remainder of the Gothic force was now swinging around the south as well as engaging nations in the center east like West Ponente.

Having seen the great benefit of allying with indigenous forces in order to accomplish their goals within the Med, Damien Dreadfire was prepared to make a final offer to those belligerents that still remained. Those who would join the Gothic coalition would be well rewarded for their efforts, and those who refused would either be crushed or perhaps granted an opportunity to surrender after some time had passed and it was apparent that resistance would be futile.

~From the desk of Lord Damien the Destroyer, Supreme Warlord of the New Gothic Empire of Automagfreek~

I speak to those within Mediterranica who are still attempting to resist the all consuming Gothic force that has thus far taken a sizable portion of your region. By now you have seen the speed at which we have driven into the heart of Mediterranica, and our forces are now poised to sieze any and all remaining hostile territory in rather short order. One must also take note at the number of countries within your region that have seen the light and now stand at our side, those being Vetalia, Greston, and Uiri, for they shall be well rewarded once the dust settles.

The odds of victory against this force are slowly dwindling to zero, and in an effort to spare the lives of countless civilians I make you all an offer, but just this once. Join us, stand alongside us and you shall not only be spared from decimation, but you will reap the benefits that our allies in your region will soon partake of. We offer you a hand in helping the now expanding Vorgothic Empire administer post-war Mediterranica, and we offer you all the benefits that come with being a valuable part of our brotherhood; economic benefits the likes of which you have not seen, military protection courtesy of the Gothic alliance, and whatever else you desire.

Should you choose to stand amongst our ranks as a brother country you will quickly learn that we do not exploit nor belittle our kind, and we can be extremely generous. This is an opportunity that will not come around again, for those who refuse our hospitality will meet a terrible end. I urge those who wish to see this war come to an end and be on the winning side to contact any Gothic Lord immediately, for the tide is about to come in and soon there will be naught but ruin.


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The Infinite Empire of Yallak
Official Imperial Transmission


To: Lord Damien Dreadfire
From: The High Council of Arrandin

I must say that I am daunted by your level of superciliousness. You belligerently charge into this region without provocation or cause and then expect us to bow down to you and believe that because a handful of cowardly curs betrayed their neighbors and their honour at the first hint of a fight that the rest of us will follow suite.

The Infinite Empire has stood for millennia, spans nigh on a dozen nations with a population of well over thirty billion people. We will not be defeated nor shall we join you without good cause. Even now as I write this, those traitors you hold up as an example have seen their last bit of light and are being crushed underfoot of the Imperial military.

You have my answer. Challenge us if you will, but I assure you that if you do there will be no hesitation or quarter in our response.

Signed
Lord Balor, Emperor of Yallak

Official Dominion Transmission
To: Lord Damien Dreadfire

I am appalled by your bravado. You speak of the deeds of your allies as if they had no equals yet where the greatest gains of your allies have taken place, little more than token resistance was put forth by sparcely populated areas. You`ve sought out the most despicible and treasonous nations of Mediterranica to ally yourself with, ones whose loyalties I would question if I where you. You may yet learn why they are the outcasts of Mediterranican society.

You march into this region unprovoked and uninvited, casting forth demands upon the peoples of Mediterranica that no free people could ever sucumb to. How do you think we will react to the choices of "Join me or Die"? You assumed we have no other choices in this matter, that is where you error.

Your ultimatum leaves me with no choice, the Aschenhyrst people will resist you. We have no intention of bowing down before you without putting up a fight, to do so would bring dishonour to every Aschenhyrstian from now until the end of time. The nation is prepared to defend their hearth and home against your countless hordes and to die if necessary.The Aschenhyrst people will resist tyranny to their last breath. If we perish, we perish as free men with our honour intact.

Mark II; Dei Gratia Aschen Omnium Rex, Fidel Defensor, Anirtaki Imperatum

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Communiqué Royale Officielle

To: Lord Damien Dreadfire
From: His Serene Highness King Louis XIII of West Ponente

Lord Dreadfire,

No.
Vive la Ponente Ouest.


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HSH King Louis XIII
High King of the Sovereign State

-------

Château des Vents,
Charlesroi, West Ponente

The King and the Royal Family were evacuated from Aquileilia with other important documents, items, and works of art important to the nation. The final line of defense around Aquileilia had been completed, should things come to that.

The Palace of the Winds, or Charlesroi (shar-LUH-wah), as it was both popularly and affectionately known, was the most magnificent palace in West Ponente, maybe even in Mediterranica and the world. The massive complex had been built in the Rococo style by King Charles IX, an ancestor of the present king, and had essentially bankrupted the Kingdom.

The King walked with General Bonnevie, the newly appointed Supreme Commander of all Ponentean Forces, in one of the grandest rooms of the palace, The Hall of Silver. 25 silver arches were filled with plates of polished sterling silver panels reflected light from windows on the apposing wall. Each of the silver arches alternated a capital of a silver Ponentean harp or swan for the Royal Family. The ceiling was painted with scenes of the glories of kings and queens of old. Silver chandeliers and guéridons further graced the hall. The pièce de résistance, however, sat at the end of the hallway. There lay the great Silver Throne of West Ponente, glimmering in the early morning light.

King Louis felt guilty living such abject luxury while his people were suffering or dying for him and their nation.

“Preparations for defending Aquileilia are complete, Your Highness.” Said General Bonnevie

“How is the situation developing in Imbrolio?”
“I’m not sure how much longer we can hold out if we do not have reinforcements, Sire.”

“We are spread out thin as is, we cannot afford to spread any further.”

“Sire, I have to protest. I think it best for us to hold them at the island rather than let them come to us at the beaches.”

The King thought about it for a moment and then spoke softly, and made a choice he did not want to make.

“Break open the emergency funds, enlist men from the colonies; yes, the Barinokoans, capture the beasts of Loompaland for our use, and you have full authority to purchase foreign equipment and vehicles.”

“Sire..”

“Yes, it has come to that, my old friend.”

OOC: Since Gataway is out of the RP, allow me to BS an end to my attack on him.

*****

After the brief exchange with forces inside Gataway, it was clear that no significant counterattack on behalf of the besieged was being staged...or at least it appeared that way from space based intelligence. It was clear that something was going on inside their country, some sort of unrest or growing discontent that was thus far preventing Gatawayan officials from formulating any sort of competant response to the impending invasion. What this could be baffled Freekish officials, who had been attempting to monitor whatever situation there was in Gataway, but no solid consensus could be reached.

We're not exactly sure Zander, but my best guess is that this war has sparked certain divisions amongst the populace in Gataway. Perhaps their people aren't as fearless as their government would have us believe, and instead of standing firm against a violent Freekish assault perhaps they feel that it is in their best interests to remain neutral.

Zander pondered for a second, scanning the faces of those around the table. This certainly could be, is this how the rest of you feel?

A few assorted officers offered their agreements. The Warchief's personal aide continued to speak. I think we have an understanding, yes. We feel that pressing the attack will simply unify their people and they will put aside their uncertainties for the sake of defending their homes and families. Perhaps if we simply let them sit and wait the suspense will keep them on edge enough for us to envelop the rest of the region, which will in turn cause their government to either sue for peace or forever remain silent in our shadow. They certainly don't appear to have any plans to go on the offensive, so we're not losing out on much by not hitting them right now. Once thing is certain, an attack on Gataway at this stage would result in more negatives than positives, and we should turn our attentions elsewhere.

Zander rose from his seat and glanced at the large map of the region which was gradually falling under Gothic control, and pointed to a set of islands near Gataway that could serve as a valuable staging area in the event that an invasion of Gataway or Aschenhyrst was called for. The Grecalos Islands were under control of West Ponente, which was still under a Skyian siege and whos Nuevo Italia colony to the north of Yallak would soon be under a Kregaian attack. Taking both of West Ponente's holdings would also put increasing pressure on the nation of Yallak, who was already in open conflict against Greston and under threat of invasion from Uiri.

The decision to sack the Grecalos Islands was made later in the afternoon, and all fleet assets were diverted towards the east for the coming attack. Zander was already very close to the islands and would be able to commence long range missile strikes shortly, and after a close satellite scan of the designated landing zones and associated targets it was determined that a ground invasion would proceed a brief but precise bombardment from the sea and air. Sentinels from Vidimir's 2nd Sentinel Marine Expeditionary Force and Zander's 3rd Sentinel Marine Expeditionary Force would be charged with clearing the landing zones and smashing all enemy resistance on each individual island, for they would be better prepared for an island hopping campaign than Vidimir's 32nd Army which was comprised largely of Freeks.

However, special operations forces under command of both Warchiefs would be supporting the Sentinel Marines in their endeavor, the most prominent being the 1st Battalion, 4th Elites of the 17th Special Operations Force. Other lesser known elements would be present in few numbers on the battlefield, who would be tasked with breaking up whatever sizable primary enemy assets that would remain after the initial missile barrage. With their plans drafted, the ships continued to sail towards their target until they finally came within firing range of their long range stealth cruise missiles. As before the attack would be directed at enemy radar and first response assets which would open up the air for warplanes to engage targets on the ground to cover the landing parties.

Missile after missile was sent forth to unleash hell upon the garrisons at the Grecalos Islands, and while Zander was not entirely certain as to the full capabilites and size of the defenders on each island, he would nonetheless play his assault by the book. Refusal to underestimate ones foe was a core principle in the AMF military, and every enemy no matter how large or small was treated all the same; as something that could easily defeat the Sentinel war machine. As such, every single assault was and would be made using full force and every asset available, for the Freeks were not in the business of leaving anything to chance.

[OOC: Just to move things along I'm gonna time warp to my fleet being 500km off your shore]

Skyian 1st Naval Armada, 500km Southeast of West Ponente

The preliminary strike had succeeded in softening up Imbrolio Island for the first assault. The land forces there were minimal and the only opposition so far was from some fighters from the mainland and a few frigates. Imbrolio was neutralized as a threat and the objective of seizing Sainte-Nectaire and its ports could proceed as planned.

The Atal-Class Guided Missile Destroyers, Sheffield-Class Guided Missile Frigates, and Jörmungandr Class Submarines began to fan out while the larger Maddox and Garner Class Battleships and North Point Class Guided Missile Cruisers protected the carriers and assault fleet carrying the troops.

Twenty-four RGM-100A Standard 'Fleet' Anti-Shipping Missiles were propelled out of their tubes by compressed gas before their rocket motors ignited. Their targets would be the last six combat capable frigates between them and Imbrolio.

Another attack consisting of nine-hundred and sixty AGM-1200 missiles from two hundred and forty F/B-177 Barsuk Strike Bombers was launched against military installations in and around St Nectaire, except for the ports, hoping to knock out any fuel and ammo dumps as well as the local military airfields [civilian runways were not targeted as of yet].

To counter the air threat twenty-four F/A-168 Zephyr Stealth Air Superiority Fighters were dispatched, they were loaded out with eight AIM-801A 'Sabre' Medium Range Air to Air Missiles and two AIM-800 'Gladius' Short Range Air to Air Missiles. These craft were incredibly stealthy, their tail-less and rudder-less design along with the use of aero-elastic wing warping and fluidic thrust vectoring instead of the usual flaps, elevators, and rudders meant that they lacked the usual breaks in the surface of the aircraft where mechanical components moved. While this did hamper their mobility a tad it allowed for them to glide through the sky unnoticed until it was too late for the enemy.

Meanwhile the 2nd Fleet moved forwards towards the Aschenhyrst colony of Isthmatia while covering the western flank of the 1st Fleet as it moved towards Imbrolio Island. No attacks were launched against Isthmatia yet, but that would soon change.

OOC: I'm changing targets to Nuevo Italia, like AMF mentioned, cause I think it's pretty clear Gataway has pussed out.

IC: A transmission from the Freekish Warchiefs had confirmed Lord Rahvin's suspicions: Gataway was to be passed up, after all this time and effort, left to itself and ignored like the ugliest girl at the party. He wanted to spit. Ordinarily, he would have had half a mind to continue the invasion regardless of the Gatawayan political situation or the Freeks' opinions, but he was not as hotheaded as the Kregaian officer stereotype. He could deal with the inconvenience and the extra wait. Besides which, the Emperor had called in person not long after the Freekish message was received, making it absolutely clear that Rahvin would turn the fleet to Nuevo Italia or be removed without hesitation, and even Rahvin could not openly defy a formal command from Ishamael. Not yet, anyway.

And so the word went out, and the alert was reduced to normal voyaging status as the fleet moved west. Rahvin vented his frustration by composing a message to the Intelligence Division official in charge of the Mediterranica theater, a letter fairly smoking with invective and, amidst the epithets, demanding he direct all the resources available to providing information for the attack before landfall, roughly four days away at best speed. And after sending the acerbic message, Rahvin retired back to his quarters, got out a bottle of whiskey, and made himself comfortable. Four more days until the trial.

Grecalos Islands
Map (http://i267.photobucket.com/albums/ii290/Twilight201/Grecalos.png)

With the attack on the Grecalos, almost the entire empire was besieged. The formerly idyllic isles were now the latest sight of intrusion. The island’s garrison was reinforced with 20,000 new recruits from Barinoko, much to the displeasure of the Nuevitalians, who formerly had had full responsibility for the defense of the islands. The Freekish barrage rained down setting much of the capital, Pelipolis, ablaze. Throughout the islands, the missiles brought ruin for all. The Ponentean response was to be punctual. The remaining SAM Batteries were poised to fire. 25 Panavia Eurofighters took off from Deketiki Airforce Base and headed for the Freekish Expeditionary force,some armed with IRIS-T air-to-air missiles, others TAURUS KEPD 350 air-to-surface missiles, and others HOPE/HOBSCO missiles. 10 Sea Hawk helicopters took off from the base carrying Rb 12 Penguin anti ship missiles. The aircraft flew from Basilos to over Daxos, 5 fighters and 2 helicopters being lost in the process, and lauched the long range, HOPE, Penguin, and Taurus missiles at the expeditionary force.

The Citidel, Aschton
Field Marshal Sir James Aschenhyrst De Aschenhyrst addresses the Joint Chiefs of Staff
"Gentlemen, this meeting is called to order. For several weeks Gothic forces have been in this region running amok. Their aggression has been unchecked. Their allies victories have been numerous. One of the largest armies ever assembled is poised to strike at the heart of the region. This army could not survive without the aid of the collaberator states in the region. Gothic forces are too far from home to supply by ship alone. Our allies, the Ponentians, have been taking the brunt of this alone. Now is the time to say 'here and no further'. We must strike the enemy supply lines and cripple their means to sustain the offensive. If I may draw your attention to the map. This is the plan, codenamed OPERATION:FREEMASON."

25 Nautical Miles off Pillar
Under the cover of darkness the Sturgeon-Class Submarine HRMS Mendell Rivers surfaces. Crewmen open the hatches on the dry dock shetler mounted on the topside hull. Thirty Special Boat Section (SBS) Commandos begin loading weapons, explosives and laser-targeting equipment onto their Zodiac assault boats. As the submarines crew continues preparing the Zodiacs for launch, the SBS Commander goes over the mission template one final time.
OK, Lads. We insert under the cover of darkness, once we make landfall we divide up inot five man teams. Each team acts individuallly going after its assigned objectives. We maintain strict radio disipline, commmunicate only for targeting or evacuation. When you break radio silence, pull out to your next objective or rally point. Pillar must be neutralized as a threat against the homeland. Good Luck and God-Speed."
WIth their orders complete the SBS troops piled into the Zodiacs and began their journey to Pillar in the darkness.

Adriatican Ocean, 500 Nautical Miles East of Vetalia
Wolfpack Alpha-Seven had been shadowing a Gothic supply convoy for three days. The Wolfpack, comprised of eight Los Angeles-Class Submarines had been tasked with harrassing and sinking as many enemy supply vessels as they could find. Nine other Wolfpacks were patroling the waters from the Vetalian coast to the far reaches of Gholgoth. On board the HRMS Augusta, the Captain spied a fuel tanker in his periscope. " Fuel Tanker, 6000 yards off the port bow. Bearing 60 degrees. Speed 15 knots. I want a firing solution."

Farpoint Military Base, Pasha (20 miles west of Vetalia)
Pasha had been under a siege of sorts since the opening days of the conflict. It`s close proximity to the Vetalian Homeland made resupply next to impossible, all movements of aircraft and ships were visible to the enemy. Aside from the occasional exchange of rockets between the opposing forces, it was quiet. Inside a hardened hanger twenty members of the Special Air Service (SAS) Commandos were undergoing a briefing. " Men, we go tonight. Weather conditions are optimal for a HAHO (High Altitude-High Opening) Jump. Winds are out of the West at 25-30 MPH. With the Jump altitude at 27,000 feet and hopefully jumping from 10 miles off Vetalia`s shores, the prevailing winds could carry us up to 35 miles from the jump zone. That would place us a maximum of 20-25 miles behind the lines. Our objectives: sabotage enemy ammo and supply dumps, provide real-time intel and 'paint' targets of opportunity for our 'smart' weapons to take out. Once we land, we split up into five man fire-teams and begin finding our objectives. Continue the path of destruction into the enemy heartland, then make a 90 degree turn and work our way toward friendly lines in Valeon or West Ponente. The more we destroy, the more we hurt the enemy. Dismissed."
The Commandos boarded an awaitng C-130, the aircraft lumbered down the runway. It took several loops around Pasha to gain the proper altitude before turning toward the Internation Border.
"FIVE MINUTES!" shouted the jumpmaster over the aircrafts propellers. The SAS men began final checks on their gear. THe red light, indicating one minute to jump, came on. The men stood and began stacking near the rear door. "Green Light...Go..Go..Go!" shouted the jumpmaster. The SAS began their HAHO insertion. Missile Lock, incomming SAM`s. Launching Counter-measures!" Yelled the Electronics officer. The commandos saw an explosion where seconds before had been their launching pad. One of the commandos said to himself, " I guess that voids my frequent flyer miles."

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Hospital Ships to Conduct Humanitarian Mission in Mediterranica

Gantrickburgh (AP) -- Kampferian hospital ships KMS Mercy, KMS Grace and KMS Compassion as well as 5 smaller hospital ships embarked today on a humanitarian mission to Mediterranica in support of Kampfers' aims to gain a more positive presence in the international community, Grossadmiral Wilhelm Schassner stated.

This Kampfers' first major deployment of any type of forces outside of Haven in nearly twenty years, and comes at a time were tensions with Gholgoth have been relaxed to lower points than have been seen in ages. The Hospital ships are likely a show of good faith from the Kampferians to the nations like The Silver Sky with whom Kampfers has tried to maintain decent relations with over these troublesome times. Schassner said that by sending these uniquely capable ships to a conflict zone is a way to demonstrate our commitment to restoring relations with the region of Gholgoth and to work together with our friends and partners.

The deployment is being coordinated with several nations and will be carried out in conjunction with non-governmental relief organizations. A number of military and civilian agencies are planning the myriad details that go into a months-long mission of focused medical, dental and civic-action programs to provide humanitarian assistance to nations currently fighting in the Mediterranican region. These humanitarian missions build international relationships and represent a core task in modern naval powers responsibilities to the world. According to Schassner, a nation with the resources of Kampfers "should not neglect its responsibility to the unfortunate nations engulfed in conflict." With missions such as this, the Kriegsmarine seeks to mitigate human suffering, both in a deliberate, proactive fashion and in response to crises.

This mission shows just one aspect of the Kampferian state's efforts to restore relations with Gholgoth following the latest fiascos. Kampfers has also seen cooperation with the Skyian state in supplying the Prestonians with weaponry to defend their nation, and many famous Kampferian companies have joined in a multinational front known as Athena to begin the production of a number of top of the line airplanes designed in collaboration between the groups. One can only speculate about any future plans the Kampferian state may have for patching up the relations between herself and the Gothic powers.

The attack on the Grecalos Islands had been rather successful in the opening hours, and the mammoth Freekish expeditionary force had all but encircled the meager landmass. Stratosfighter II and Sea Scorpion aircraft lingered in numbers in the skies over the Aliquantian Sea and prepared to execute their attack runs against targets both in the air and on the ground. AWACS had spotted the small detachment of aircraft coming from Grecalos which had promptly fired upon the Freekish armada, and immediately the inbound missiles were put in the crosshairs of Zander's fire control systems. Electronic jamming courtesy of Stratosfighter I-E's would attempt to prevent the inbound missiles from locking onto their targets, and Freekish fighter pilots prepared to fire a volley of 'Hellrage' AI guided missiles to intercept whatever they could.

Having been in situations in the past which required them to attempt to intercept several hundred missiles at any given time, the small attack run would be no large problem to deal with for the pilots. Naval crews had prepared their systems to engage any enemy missile that slipped past the aerial outer perimeter with long range interceptors backed by subsequent defensive layers in case the enemy ordnance was not defeated. Having fired their first round of missiles, the Freekish pilots then locked onto their foes via AWACS and fired off a salvo of their own in hopes of knocking them from the skies before they could loose the rest of their payloads. Meanwhile, the intensive naval missile bombardment continued on without pause, and efforts were now being focused primarily on enemy radar installations and air bases to allow their pilots to take control of the skies and secure a quick victory.

The 2nd and 3rd Sentinel Marine Expeditionary Forces had readied themselves for the first of seveal amphibious landings, with nine seperate landing zones laid out on the northwest island. Having loaded into their armed landing craft and circled about waiting for the rest of the Expeditionary Fighting Vehicle's to enter the staging area, the Sentinels sat brooding as the sounds of missiles shooting forth from their tubes and aircraft rushing overhead echoed all around them. The first combat air patrol was in the process of being executed to provide air to ground support for the landing parties as well as to clear out enemy aircraft that attempted to intercept the Sentinel push. The first wave of some 30 aircraft took off towards the center landing zone to begin their attack, at which point they would then branch out towards the adjacent LZ's and make their runs before returning to their carrier for fuel and ammo, and then additional wave of planes would take their place and continue the assault and the process would repeate itself until the appropriate real estate was secured.

With planes stacked at assorted altitudes providing them with cover and missiles continuing to rain in from the fleet, the first wave of ground forces set off towards the coast. While the navy had not yet ventured close enough to provide gunnery support, Zander was more than confident that the initial barrage and the air attacks which were about to begin would have left the enemy's ability to defend seriously compromised. Dozens upon dozens of landing craft and EFV's then started off in formation towards the shore while additional waves of men began to fill staging area. It would only be a matter of time now before the Sentinels would hit the ground for the first time in the war, and commanders aboard the supporting ships continued to monitor the situation closely. Lord Dreadfire would be expecting nothing but complete and overwhelming success, and Zander was prepared to give him just that.

Pussed out of what? I went to the field and AMF won't let Unker rp as me because he's from Haven. Not my fault Gholgoth follows AMF like a bunch of frat pledges.

OOC: Sorry for fast-forwarding to being within striking range, but honest to God, I don't have another "they're getting closer" post left in me.

It had been four long, painfully long days, days filled with expensive cigars and servant girls and whiskey for Lord Rahvin, between the completion of his duties. He was sick of the ship by now, spending as much time as he could outside, regardless of the weather; the hum of the massive engines, even separated from him by deck after deck of thick steel, wore on his nerves and gnawed at him relentlessly, beside the ever-mounting boredom and impatience. The use of the past perfect indicates the fact that relieved Rahvin of his furious irritation: the fleet had finally arrived.

The great Imperial fleet was now within firing range of the coast of Nuevo Italia, at long last only a few minutes away from hurling fiery hell down on the West Ponente colony beyond the horizon. At long last. From the bridge of the flagship to the depths of the transport vessels, where the Legionaries had little to do but eat, sleep, and pray, every man was trembling with excitement that finally the wait was over, and the blood of the infidels would run.

At exactly 1300 hours, the armada opened fire. As SOP demanded, the Intelligence Division had turned its entire attention to marking out targets and feeding them to the fleet; anything visible from space that looked anything like an airfield, or a radar station, or an anti-air emplacement, had been tagged on BattleNet maps of the landing area, in preparation for this very moment. Hundreds of cruise missiles and a few dozen Pandemonium II ballistic missiles arced out, screaming towards the aforementioned targets in Nuevo Italia, aiming to cripple communications and air defense capabilities above all. The guns continued to fire, and volleys of missiles continued to pound the coast, as the Kregaians readied their next assault: hundreds of Balefire fighters were scrambling, launching from the carriers as fast as they could, followed by Behemoth heavy bombers. The great swarm of aircraft split into dozens of smaller groups, organized around groups of three to twelve heavy bombers, with at least one squadron of Balefires escorting each group of bombers. Over two hundred Balefires were still left without an escort, kept in reserve to deal with whatever air superiority fighters the Nuevans scrambled, lurking behind the bombing groups as they separated and flew to their targets.

The vast transport ships, meanwhile, escorted by squadrons of destroyers and missile cruisers, lumbered onwards toward the coast, each holding in its belly thousands of Legionaries and their war machines. In the bellies of the ships, the sound of thousands of men whispering prayers echoed endlessly in the huge hangar from which the landing craft would be launched, and intercom announcements punctuated the murmuring with reminders of the ETA. After week upon week of travel, halfway across the world, at last the Kregaians had come upon their prey.

The Freekish Armada had arrived at the Grecalos with the swiftness and subtleness of a hurricane. The Eurofighters were spotted by the Freekish AWACs quickly. Their missiles were launched, but with their targeting so greatly compromised, almost all failed to hit their targets. Five of the Eurofighters were struck down by the barrage returned by the armada. The squadron leader ordered them to regroup before taking another assault on the ships. Their primary goals were to bring the ships responsible for the current bombardment of the military installations on the islands and airbases out of commission. The remaining Eurofighters came around a second time to deliver the rest of their presents to the Freeks below.

The heaviest of the inland bombing was occurring on Cleos. Already missiles rained down all over the island, from the northeastern cape to the southwestern bays. Incoming fighters were detected. The SAM batteries on Cleos locked on the best they could and fired a volley. All the 27 remaining undamadged Eurofighters on Cleos took off to meet the Freekish fighters. It wasn’t long at all before they were in sight.

All those assembled in the room immediately jumped to attention as Emperor Bhalk entered the room, brilliant red cloak flowing behind him. Every man and woman stood motionless, holding their breath and restraining the temptation to blink as Bhalk proceeded to his chair.

Sitting down he nodded his head, which was met with numerous exhalations as the crowd took their seats. Numerous stacks of maps, charts, folders, and statistics were arranged on the solid mahogany table, the most important arrayed near the head so that Bhalk could quickly glimpse them.

As his eyes darted across the documents his lips opened, addressing all at the table. “So, tell me what you need to.”

A young woman, blouse unbuttoned rather low, pulled out a parchment of paper, the insignia of the Imperial Diplomacy Division emblazoned across the top.

“Well, Sir. As you know, we’ve extended the hand of friendship towards a new secularist state in Egypt, the name of which I can’t begin to venture to pronounce. We’re still waiting on their response, but we anticipate a fruitful alliance to develop.”

Silently nodding, acknowledging the woman’s report, Bhalk fondled a segment of the table to his right. Rapidly moving his fingers across it and pressing down on the wood, he pulled it out, allowing it to swing down – revealing a small mini-bar underneath.

Reaching into the chilled compartment he withdrew an ornate glass of high craftsmanship, placing it on the table as he reached for a bottle of Black Death Vodka.

A younger man, bearing military insignia and seated near the end of the table, pulled out a satellite map of NewFascistWhiteStates.

“AMF forces have engaged Fascist forces off the Fascist coast. Return volleys have been launched and the chaos seemed to be erupting, but there seems to be some lull in the action – inexplicable as of yet, but we’re in ready contact with our Freekish allies to ascertain what’s going on.”

Sliding the wood back into place, removing all trace of a hidden compartment, Bhalk looked directly at one of the more senior naval officers, seated several seats down from him.

“Admiral Fazzone, this is all uninteresting to me. This is mere formalities, the verbal repletion of words I have in front of me. Tell me what I want to know, why we’re really here.”

Fazzone leaned forward, placing his arms on the table as he glanced at some figures on papers held underneath his lower arm.

“Sir, our military has been highly entertained, what with Manium, Cordensa, and more – we’ve been feeling the stretch. But at this point, that stretch is gone. Save a small force on Cordensa, we’re free to deploy all assets wherever we want. This allows us to turn our attention to the war which our Gholgoth brethren are partaking in.

“We have, as of this second, fully three fleets ready to leave within the hour. Multiple Bellum vessels are ready to depart with them, to carry however many soldiers we may decide to send.”

“Excellent. Let them know we’re ready.”

Imperial Naval Transmission:

…Begin 2VX Encryption…
…2VX Encryption complete…

To:Allied Gholgoth Command
From: Admiral Smith, commander of the 1st through 3rd Imperial fleets

As you know, our military has been harassed and beset by multiple foes. As always, we’ve triumphed. At this time, we’re ready to help with whatever is left to do in this valiant struggle of ours.

However, we’re not fully apprised of the situation. Any briefing would be much appreciated.

Regards

…Ending Transmission…

By the time the enemy planes had been routed an additional swarm of Freekish planes had filled the air in preparation for another round of aerial combat as well as strikes against ground targets. AWACS had detected hostile fighters regrouping in the distance to attempt a second strike against the Freekish fleet, and this time Zander was determined to defeat the attack before the ships would even need to engage. With fighters stacked every few thousand feet, a three pronged aerial offensive would attempt to envelop their foes and trap them in a deadly crossfire of missiles. While this was taking place, several formations of 'Wild Weasels' were preparing to engage SAM sites that had already detected and fired the advancing Freekish air wave.

The decoy plane in each unit was a versatile 'Sea Scorpion Mk.2C', capable of extreme maneuvers and high rates of speed largely due to the fact that it was lightly armed. In support would be a 'Stratosfighter II-E' which specialized in electronic warfare and would use jammers to disrupt missiles in the air as well as the radar from the sites on the ground. Sweeping in from the opposite side of the decoy would be a set of stealthy 'Stratosfighter II's' which would bomb the offending site, while yet another would linger high in the atmosphere to provide assistance in downing missiles that were not defeated by jamming or other defensive countermeasures.

And thus the complex aerial choreography began as it did so many times before, and the Sentinels who were now touching down on the ground roared their approval as their comrades in arms screamed overhead to engage the enemy. Initially there was little in terms of resistance, which came as a welcome surprise to Zander...but orders were to remain ever vigilant and prepare for a protracted confrontation in the event that enemy forces revealed themselves. Calls for surrender were being sent out across civilian airwaves, and Lord Dreadfire himself had informed all commanders that prisoners and civilians were not to be executed without his explicit permission. It was uncertain how well the embattled West Ponenten military would be able to perform while trying to coordinate defensive strategies both at their mainland and on the Grecalos Islands, and soon their territory of Nuevo Italia would be under Kregaian siege as well.....

*****

OOC: Short post, I know. I didn't want to take too many liberties and assume I'm driving inland in case you wanted to put up a defense.

Steam gushed from freshly painted funnels as the First Imperial Expeditionary Squadron plowed through pleasant seas under a gentle April sun. Crewmen lined the deck with nothing in particular to do; a desultory game of shuffleboard had begun under the sixteen-inch guns of the WIS West Wind, but most crewmen were enjoying, for the first time, in many months not being bellowed to battle stations.

Of course the maneuver was a military one but considered of low importance and certainly unlikely to cause a battle likely to have the crew fighting for their lives. A squadron of eight ships, along with two marine regiments, had been deemed satisfactory for the occupation of the largest of the Chausey Isles and tearing down the now suspect Aschenhyrstian military outpost there.

When the announcement had been made of neutrality on behalf of Prince Mark and his government the Admiralty had quickly put together a force to remove this nearest threat to the Waldenburg homeland, and had wasted no time in dispatching the squadron of warships.

Glaring over the horizon, and shrouded in a midmorning mist, the targeted island rose like some great alter from the lapping green waves, and suddenly in converse reaction the crew grew sullen and weighted with internal dialogue.

“All hands beat to quarters!” A loudspeaker shrilled as a somewhat disinterested voice boomed over the ship. “Condition one through the ship. Marines to your boats!” With only a touch of hesitancy the crew swarmed below decks, or into the coning tower, or strapped on their flak helmets and stood ready deck railings to see the boats over the side if needed.

The West Wind was a King George V class battleship, retrofitted in recent years, but ultimately a hulk with sixty years of service and age clinging roughly to her hull. Fresh paint did what it could to hide the flaking rust and corrosion that hung heavy to the bow, and the sleek exterior was somewhat crumpled from damage received almost fifty years ago. Placed in the massive and always growing reserve fleet the missile racks hung haphazardly from the ancient steel exterior.

Figures in dark blue command cloaks swirled from the bridge, striding purposefully to the observation deck where they squinted at the island, perhaps some ten or twelve miles distant.

“Admiral sir. Preparing a message at your order to be delivered.” An ensign saluted smartly and held forward a piece of paper for his senior to inspect. This was done with little aplomb or ceremony and the paper was thrust back quickly, “Fine, send it.”

“Aye sir!” Some time passed as proper frequencies were found and as the radiomen clicked out a short message to the Aschenhyrstian authorities:

“Cowardice will not be tolerated.
Declaration of neutrality voids MU charter.
Chausey Isles to be annexed to Waldenburg.
Must not fall into enemy hands.
Stand down and prepare for arrival.
Opposition will be met with force.
All personnel and civilians
To be paroled and deported to Aschenhyrst.”

When the message had been sent senior officers ordered the motor landing boats to be lowered from the sides and the marines sent speeding on their way inland. Some naval officers and specialists had also been dispatched to dismantle any weaponry about the island itself; soon to be replaced with Waldenburg counterparts.

Wooden skiffs struck the water as anxious officers and ratings clutched their weapons praying profoundly that the Aschenhrystians would simply accept the inevitable bulk of reassuring Waldenburg hanging just over the horizon. The Admiralty wished to offer a soft option before the navy would be ordered in in a full and public invasion.

“Prepare to shell the island,” the admiral muttered on the West Wind; moments later the guns reciprocated and as they turned on their bearings giving off a mechanical scream the Empire began to hold its collective breath over what would possibly spark the war that would envelop the entire Waldenburger people for decades.

Grand Chausey, Chausey Islands Colony

"Incomming radio traffic. It`s a Waldenburger transmission ordering us to lay down our arms and surrender."

"Transmit this message back: Waldenburg Forces will respect the neutrality of Aschenhyrst and immediately leave our territorial waters."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Chausey Islands are a small Aschenhyrst outpost on the western fringes of Mediterranica. Established as an outpost near a planned second major canal , the small terrritory was vastly undeveloped. Grand Chausey, the largest island, recently had a medium-sized port and repair facilty constructed and the 10,000 foot runway at Chausey International airport was designed as a dual-use (civilian and military) facility. The island chain was lightly defended. Most of the military personel were engineers and construction batallion troops, not hardened combat veterans. Minimal Air and Naval assets were stationed there. The 15,000 troops on the Chausey`s were gong to be baptised by fire.

*********
ooc: short post, bringing everyone up to speed about this colony. Wald: fire away.

"Sir messages received," and ensign dashed from the bridge carrying a quickly scrawled note.

"Posturing," responded the admiral in an entirely blase manner; he crumpled the note, "how many wars have been started by such foolish sentiments. Captain I believe we have a job; we have the location of the airbase?"

"Aye sir," a rather more gruff man beside his senior responded shortly and with even less emotion, "awaiting your orders on that score sir."

"Order the WIS Petrarch to fire a warning salvo; give civilians at least a chance to flee, say a minute, and then take out the airfield. Repeat previous message once the shelling is complete. Signal all ships into defensive vanguard, prepare to repel incoming torpedo or attack boats. Stand by all guns." With a flourish of cloak and a stomp of jackboot the officers vanished inside to the bridge. It was a sleepy room, and all the cold exterior, all the rot that ringed the deck did not touch the almost cozy interior. To fight a battle in this room was to fight a battle from the moon, combatants were earthly and unimportant specks. It was a feeling not lost on the admiral who gently eyed the corners of the room and loosened his collar slightly.

"Commence warning salvo," within second of the command being given a half dozen six inch shells were let loose from an escorting cruiser to thud, hopefully harmlessly, into some back land swamp, and reinforce the idea that floating out at sea were high powered killing machines prepared to strike inland.

"That's about long enough." Officers seated themselves for the forthcoming command, "commence firing!" With a great resounding roar the deck guns pushed the battleship backwards in great haste to be away from the high explosive shells that were arching inland. A six inch QF added a staccato pound as it thumped off nearly a dozen shells to finish off the runway, or any surrounding outbuildings. And as soon as it had begun the guns we're quiet, powerder monkeys rushing about through the magazines to feed the hungry barrels.

"Send message again. Addendum: Order civilians to be sent to the West of the island, out of the combat zone. At this point we can't afford a second Amburg."
--

Slightly more apprehensive than their naval comrades the Waldenburger marines sullenly clutched their rifles as the diesel engines powered them towards shore. With any luck this landing came entirely as a surprise and there would be little if any opposition on the beach itself, no fixed positions manned, and no great slaughter and the 2,500 man contingent drew close to shore.

Of few of the more cognitively inclined amongst the soldiery began to wonder just what a naval dirk, a bicorne hat, and an antiquated revolver could do on the part of their officers; and even their own M-16's seemed a little rusted about the butt, or flaked around the muzzle. Introspection though was rarely a survival trait.

The water grew clearer, almost pleasantly so, as if the marines were wading through Caribbean waters; tiny color speckled fish swam below in great confused swarms. And then the first marines were out of their boats stomping through the shallow water and cursing their boots. Shore and the war were upon them.

High Council Chambers of the Imperial Palace
The City of Arrandin, Yallak

Rapturous laughter echoed within the High Council Chamber, the mighty heart of the Infinite Empire, as Lord Baelin read aloud the recent communiqué from Waldenburg to the assembled council.

‘Wait!’ he chuckled, ‘there’s more!!’ Baelin found the words difficult to speak as he started laughing harder at what was to come. Summoning some composure he put on his best Waldenburger impersonation and continued, ‘and offer the voluntary suicide of the Emperor!’

His performance over, Baelin fell back into his chair sliding the copy of the message onto the great table as the hilarity of the note brought tears to his eyes. Across the table General Caracas picked up the paper and quickly skimmed over it. ‘Should I send your acceptance, my Lord?’ he queried, a villainous grin dominating his face.

What the Emperor found more amusing than all else though was not the fact that as far as he knew Waldenburger had lost every war it had fought in recent times, nor was it the fact they had threatened an Empire with a military vastly more powerful in every way than their own, nor that they expected him to kill himself. No, what amused him so much was that it was a church that was making the demands, the same church he had slighted in opening diplomatic relations between Waldenburg and Yallak by refusing to allow them to establish their religion within the Empire. It even occurred to him that this Holy Church had been probably been waiting all this time for just one reason to see him dead.

‘You can send my reply tied to a missile, Caracas.’


Task Force Hereticus
Accolon Naval Base, Yallak

The Accolon docks were not the biggest in the Empire, that honour fell to the Shipyards and naval facilities of Eädhan, but they were a primary base and even from the top of the tallest ship in the port, the rows of wharves and loading ramps stretched out of sight in both directions along the coast. At any time the facilities could house hundreds of Imperial warships and that was certainly the case now.

The entirety of the Imperial Armed Forces had been on alert since the Gholgoth fleet had first been detected on its approach into the region and every ship in the Imperial Navy was now in it home port on standby to be ready to sail at a moments notice. When that notice had arrived it was received eagerly after so many weeks stuck on base without possibility of leave. It had taken but a couple of hours to prepare the Task Force required and even now the last of the soldiers and equipment from the assigned Legions were embarking on the assault vessels and transport ships at the south side of the docks.

Fleet Commander Ekraan Blacke strode onto the bridge of the Virulence in his usual fashion, snapping out orders and demands in a cacophonous tone. Anyone who didn’t know the Commander might think him the personification of his ships name, but those who served under him could forgive his exceptionally cold mannerism because they could be confident in his leadership. Ekraan was an incredible tactician, second only to Supreme Commander Dagon, and despite appearances his crew and their survival were a paramount concern for the Commander.

‘What’s taking so long?’ he demanded, ignoring the salutes offered to him as he passed the bridge officers and moved to his command chair.

‘All ships are reporting readiness, Sir,’ offered a Lieutenant quickly, ‘we are just waiting on the last of the transports to complete loading.’

Ekraan’s icy blue eyes met the officers as she spoke and he could sense growing discomfort as she waited for a response. The Lieutenant was new to his ship had yet to find an adequate method of determining whether Ekraan was angry or just speaking. He made a mental note to squeeze some amusement out of the situation before the new officer figured out that he wasn’t all that menacing for the most part.

‘So get us moving, Lieutenant. We have 18 hours to delivery the Emperors message. I’ll hold you personally responsible if we fail.’

With a gulp, the Lieutenant hurriedly turned to her station and began issuing orders to get the vessel underway. The other crew of the bridge also returned to there duties, grins on there faces as they quietly watched the young Lieutenants efforts.

OOC: Hope there no problems with any of this, I took a few liberties. Please TG me if there are any problems!

Mediterranican Union Council Chambers
Mediterranican Union International Zone

It was truly stunning. The International Zone had been raised from nothing in such a short time and with maybe a little more work it could almost have challenged the magnificence of one of the great Imperial cities like Navarath. So much money had been poured into its construction by nobles or organisations who for some reason or another had something to gain from the endeavour there was practically nothing left to spend it on by the time it was completed.

As usual the streets were fairly quiet. The International Zone had never had a large population and its inhabitants were mostly made up of administrative officials and their families as well as a contingent of security personnel from several nations. The roads were all cobbled but there were only a few cars around and all were parked in the curbs. Only a few pedestrians traversed the walkways and it was likely there were more wildlife out and about than people.

Few Yallakians visited the city, it had been a stretch out of the usual for the Imperial Government to even join the Mediterranican Union so apart from the delegates, Lord Icaelus Meridius, the current Secretary-General of the Union, and his assistant Lord Morvaan Braedin, that had been sent to represent the Empire the remainder of the Government remained content to make all contact with the Union from the luxury Arrandin. That was until the Legions arrived.

As the sun still sat low in sky, dozens of Darkhorse infantry fighting vehicles rolled down the main corridor, called Founder’s Avenue, to the Union Headquarters. Each bore the emblem the 1st Legion. They were but the tip of the spear though and behind and to the flanks came the rest of the Legion who began block by block seize the perimeter of the International zone to ensure that all ways in and out of the city were contained.

The armoured convoy pulled to a stop before the fine marble steps that led to the Council Chambers and a squad of Imperial Shocktroopers disembarked from each vehicle and fanned out to secure the immediate vicinity. General Tarik Sedirae remained with the transports along with several squads of his men and calmly watched the proceedings. At the top of the stairs sat the great etched bronze doors leading into the building and Tarik couldn’t help a small smile creep onto his face as he saw the dead Waldenburger guards slumped against the wall on either side. Who couldn’t admire the work of the Imperial Intelligence division?

‘In position,’ he reported into his comm. device, ‘bring them out.’

In the early hours of the morning, Intelligence Operatives had moved into the city and without raising a single alarm had taken care of the security details in the area and apprehended the Union Councilors from quarters. The black clad operatives now led their prisoners out of the palace and down to the awaiting transports. Tarik knew that operatives were the elite of the elite, but was even more impressed that only eight of them had done the job.

As the Councilors were loaded into transports to be taken back into the Empire, the irony of the situation hit him. This was not the first time such an attack had been carried out on the Union, the first being committed by Waldenburg during the War of the Grand Alliance. But that had been a ploy of sorts, this time it was to ensure that there could be no effective resistance from what was left of the Union.

‘I want a full sweep of the city. Secure everything.’

Grand Chausey
"Sir, incoming transmissions intercepted. The Waldenburgers have ordered we evacuate all civilians to the western shores. Reports flowing in that a first wave of troops has landed."

"Order all civilians to the shelters. Send demolition teams to the airport and port facilities, prepare those facilities for destruction. Order what combat personel we have form devensive perimeters around those targets at a safe distance. If our defenses are breached, those facilities are not to fall to enemy hands intact. Send this message to High Command, Aschenhyrst neutrality violated. Waldenburger invasion force has landed on Chausey Islands. Mounting what defense we can. Request immediate assistance. Broadcast this message on our local frequencies, ALERT, ALERT, ALERT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Hostile forces have landed on Grand Chausey. All personel assume defensive positions. Loop the playback on that message to keep broadcasting for one hour. Men, arm yourselfs."
The command center`s personel began forming up at the weapons room, each soldier was issued an M4A1 Carbine with 240 rounds of ammuntion and a M1911A1 Pistol with 70 rounds of ammunition.



The Citidel, Aschton
"We are recieveing a CLASS ONE distress call from the Chasey Islands. The Chauseys are under attack from the Waldenburgers."

"Notify the Joint Cheifs immediately."

The Joint Cheifs gathered in their conference room to review the incomming messagees and begin formulating a response.
Supreme Commander Field Marshal James Aschenhyrst De Aschenhyrst, Fleet Admiral William Long and Sky Marshal Joel DeCamp began their meeting.

"Land forces in the Chausey are minimal, around 15,000. Mostly Engineers. What Air assets do we have there?"

"Air forces are minimal. Several cargo and tanker aircraft, less than a dozen F-16`s stationed there. The facilities for a larger contingent haven`t been completed yet."

"Damn, Naval?

Port and repair facilities 95% complete. Most Naval personel from Construction Battalions. 1000 Force protection troops on land. One Guided Missile Cruiser, LaFayete, made port two days ago for minor repairs. Our nearest assets are the Carrier Group Enterprise, They are on patrol somewhere to the west of the Waldenburg continent. I`ll order their immediate interception of the invasion fleet."

"Very Well. I must go and update His Majesty of the situation. Dismissed."

Mediterranican Union Council Chambers
Mediterranican Union Internation Zone
7:29 AM


Dawn broke, it was indeed an apt term to describe the sudden chaos that plagued the Waldenburger Home Office several streets away from the Administrative palace of the MUIZ. Yallakian soldiers we’re everywhere, in great armored columns sweeping through the desert streets.

Despite add campaigns and lucrative tax benefits the MUIZ had never attracted the population its administrators wished for, and empty buildings, pristine in polished stone and radiant with glass, stood like sentries along Founder’s Avenue as Yallakian jackboots stormed towards the awe inspiring capital rotunda.

More unfortunately for His Most Gracious Imperial Majesty a plurality of the MUIZ citizens were in fact Waldenburgers, who were in their own way, naturally bureaucrats, and were drawn like fat flies to the glistening MUIZ and its offices and titles. Most of Waldenburg’s senior diplomats were already in custody either taken from their beds, or arrested at the capital, rising early as they so often did to is a misguided attempt at leadership and efficiency. Most of the police force had also been drawn from Waldenburger levies and the station houses emptied, the officers arrested without a shot being fired.

“We should have killed them when we had the chance,” Count Philip de Grass spoke bitterly as he, along with a few sleepy members of his staff watched the enemy slowly move down the streets. He had been promoted almost a dozen places up the MU hierarchy in the last twelve minutes, with one frantic call reaching him as the Chief Inquisitor was arrested in his home, and now he, and the night shift was all that held the Waldenburger home office from an enemy that was only a few streets away.

“How things have changed. So totally… I have received encrypted information from Blünderburg not a few hours ago that Chausey is being attacked and we should expect retribution.” It was in a half dream that they could see the Imperial Dragon being raised above the capital rotunda, and as the morning sun turned the copper roof into a blinding inferno de Grass snapped from his reverie. “How far are we on the destruction of documents?”

An aide jumped and reported nervously, “We began in the office of the Canonarch and the military liaison, we can finish in ten minutes with all secret documents and begin on the sensitive ones within other offices. However we’ve hit a hitch, neither the Ambassador, the Councilor, the Foreign Minister, the inquisitor, or the military have anyone of clearance left to open their respective safes.”

“Can we blow them?”

“This is an embassy sir. We have no such equipment. We have forty Divine Legionaries and patrolling policeman who ran hear when the heard the news, maybe five grenades between them.”

“Then leave them we’ll have to hope for the best. Now here is what I want you to do; the Yallakians will be here in a minute. First order the evacuation of all civilian personnel, any door it doesn’t matter. Then take three policemen, go to my study, empty the drinks cabinet onto the floor and set it on fire, do the same in the Councilor’s office. Go via the kitchens, turn on the gas, then out to the garage. You have the code to raise the door?”

“Yes sir.”

“Get to it then. Don't tell anyone else what's going on.” The Count slapped the man roughly on the shoulder and propelled him off the balcony and back indoors. With one more serene look he caught the glint of a rifle pulling into view. He slipped indoors as well.

The main hall of the Home Office was in entire disarray, civil servants poured for whatever exit they could manage and thousands of sheets of paper rained from balconies, or blew from the cross breezes raised by running feet. A few soldiers were arranging themselves under great polished marble columns or behind fine lacquered, by now overturned, furniture.

“Gentlemen,” the Count took a place on the firing line and pulled a 9mm pistol from his frock coat and leveled it at the door, “As our comrades in Ibbelsguard say, Tulta munille!,” the chorus was picked up by the soldiers as they trained their rifles at the front doors, and other obvious entrance points.
--

Grand Chausey


It came as a surprising relief, or perhaps one of tremendous agitation in such a prolongment of engagement that there was no great rush of enemy bullets as the Marines scrambled up the beech and towards the tree line. Surprise was at least with them, and undoubtedly it would take further time for any sort of defensive line to be mounted, however it was not under the prerogative, or indeed did it match the sentiments of the marine commanders to rush blindly inland. If there was to be an advance it was to be at a creep.

“Sir, and encoded transmission has just be transmitted from the island.” Within the bridge of the West Wind ensigns were falling over themselves in excitement in an attempt to be useful.

A fist slammed down against the command console, “encoded?”

“Aye sir.”

“We must assume that these are military directives which compromise our situation. Open communications, no encryption, standard MU frequency.” A radio speaker was placed to the Admiral’s lips as he paused, ponder for a moment, “All Waldenburger ships will commence shore bombardment in exactly one minute. We suggest all civilians be moved from the engagement zone; collateral damage is not the mission of this engagement. We must restate all Aschenhyrstian personnel will be paroled home, provided they stand down now! You have been warned.” The speaker clicked off leaving the bridge as a shell of silence punctuated with only the echoes of the words spoken by the Admiral.

“All ships. Pick your targets.” There was a grinding of axial gun mounts from about the fleet, “All ships fire at will.”


OOC Feel free Yallak to finish off the Home Office as you please.

OOC: Cheers Wald, jolly nice of you old chap :)

Waldenburger Home Office
Mediterranican Union International Zone

Draen’s section moved cautiously down the street. They had encountered no resistance so far but the empty feel of the city left him not wanting to take any chances. His men kept to the sides of the streets as they moved down and left the road solely for their Darkhorse.

As they came to an intersection, a flurry of activity burst out ahead as dozens of people burst out of the doors to a large building and fled in terror. Draen held up his hand and his men came to a stop. ‘Hold your fire. This place is hemmed in, they won’t get far.’ The Darkhorse also ground to a halt across the intersection.

Behind Draen, the sections Equerry moved up, a map scrunched in his fist. ‘Colonel Ardaos, this is the building. The Waldenburg Office.’

‘Good, get a perimeter up around the block. Second squad with me, primary objective is to secure any documents pertaining to the defenses of Waldenburg or the deployment of its forces.’ He waved his men forward and they moved to carry out his orders, the second squad forming up and following the Colonel as he moved towards the building.

They were almost upon the building when rifles opened fire from inside the shadows of the office and the Colonel took a hit to the chest and was sent reeling backwards to the ground. His men ducked low and moved out of the firing arcs of the doors and windows, helping the Colonel off the road. With a quick inspection Draen was relieved to see that although he had a large chink in his armour the shot had not penetrated.

As the second squad scrambled out of the way, the Darkhorse rotated left with a brief snarl of its engine until it was facing the office building and opened fire with its thirty millimeter chain gun. Hundreds of armour piercing depleted uranium rounds, designed to punch through vehicle armour, lashed out at the building as the vehicle slowly raked the front wall with fire, all other sounds replaced with the metallic rattle of the weapon.

After a good minute of constant fire the chain gun fell silent leaving a quite different picture before it. The ground around the front of the vehicle was coated in empty shell casings and the front wall of the Waldenburger Home Office was almost gone, only a few shattered support beams remained standing amongst the collapsed wall. Through the gaping hole the Imperial soldiers could see that inside was a similar picture, great marble columns had been literally carved in half or shattered entirely and furniture, if it could be called that now, lay fragmented across the floor. A score or more of bodies lay sprawled across the floor or slumped against shell ridden walls or over the broken piles of furnishings. Many had been terribly mutilated by the torrent of fire and were missing limbs or pulverized beyond recognition. A layer of blood coated everything and pooled amongst the rubble into crimson puddles.

Back on his feet Draen noticed now that smoke was wafting down from the second level of the building and quickly ordered his men into the building to secure what they could. Jumping over the remnants of the front wall the second squad moved up to the second level and were shortly followed by the sound crashing noises and gun shots as his men ran into the remainder of the Waldenburger guards. Draen poked around the corpses on the first floor briefly but could find nothing of interest so head upstairs too.

At the top of the stair case one of his men lay dead, but the other half dozen bodies were Waldenburger. To his right a fire burned in an office and two of his men were in there frantically recovering whatever they could before it disintegrated. Draen headed further down the corridor and as he passed other offices saw several more enemy corpses and another fire to his left but each office had at least one of his men inside searching through the piles of documents that hadn’t already been destroyed by the defenders. When he reached the kitchen at the end he found Equerry Ios Odara engaged in a hand to hand fight with the last of the Waldenburger soldiers. The Equerry had the upper hand, his armour preventing the Waldenburger, who had his back to the Colonel, from doing any real damage to his opponent. They had little time to waste however so with a practiced movement Draen grabbed the Divine Legionaries head, wrenched it back and sliding his combat knife from his belt, slit the mans throat, tossing him to the ground as his life slowly drained from the wound. In the silence that followed was when he heard the hissing of the kitchen gas.

‘Take what you’ve got and get out now,’ he yelled through the built in comm. to his men, and then half dragging the Equerry behind him rushed for the exit. The second squad responded quickly and with armfuls of documents and even a small safe, they bounded down the stairs and back out into the street, hitting the pavement only moments before the second level of the building was vaporized by a fiery explosion, the force of the blast sending the last few Imperial to leave the building lurching forwards into the cobbled ground.

‘What did we get?’ he asked as the Legionnaires picked themselves up and gathered around him.

‘A lot of it was already destroyed, Sir, but we recovered a good portion of what was left,’ one of the men answered gathering up the papers from each soldier before passing them over to the Colonel. ‘And I’ll bet that safe has a few secrets inside we were never meant to see.’


Task Force Hereticus
Mordian Sea, approaching Waldenburg

A fleet of such scale hadn’t sailed from the Empire in several years, but then the political situation of the region so close to the Imperial homeland had never been so askew before and the Empire did not wish to enter a protracted war with Waldenburg. No, when the Emperor’s hammer fell it would be a quick and brutally decisive strike. Seven Legions were on route to force a beach head, and with any hope punch straight through the defenses and seize the Waldenburg capital and their Emperor.

On the bridge of the Virulence, final battle plans were being drawn when news of the situation in the Chausey Islands reached the fleet.

‘Are we to render assistance, Commander?’ questioned Lucan Neyldal, the ships Captain. ‘It may be a valuable act to convince Aschenhyrst to join us.’

‘Absolutely not, Captain! Don’t be absurd.’

The captain failed to hide a confused look at the Commanders steadfast rejection of his idea, so Ekraan elaborated further. ‘Lucan, do you think Aschenhyrst would be more likely to make war on Waldenburg if we saved their colony from attack and then requested their assistance, or if we do nothing and let the Waldenburger forces wipe the colony from existence?’

‘Good point, Sir. Forget I mentioned it.’

‘I already did, Captain.’

The officers returned to their work. Within the hour the fleet would be within visual range of the mainland and the attack would commence.

OOC: Didn’t have enough time to write a proper post today so I will leave the actually attacking until tomorrow. Feel free to detect my approach, prepare defence and all that in the meantime.

Swan Lake (http://www.imeem.com/serioussmooth/music/vo8G2FTs/tchaikovsky-swan-lake/)
First Fleet
Outside Waldenburg

The squeak of the captain’s chair swiveling to face the open ocean made the bridge crew of the BMS Oktober cringe – the bellowing of the captain as he dictated a plan of action, though, did far more to unnerve them. In a matter of hours, the Leistungi battle plans for capitulation of Waldenburg had changed drastically, and the commanders on the high seas were still racing to catch up. Orders now came frantically, as entire fleets were repositioned and the massive sixteen-inch guns on the battleships continued to pound targets inland; their targets were unspecified, however, and at this point, it was for psychological effect more than practical.

“The Yallakian fleet is already within missile range – within an hour, they should be within proper range to cover a ground assault,” Captain Ziegler commented, his eyes glancing over the report sent to him by the ship’s communications officer directly from Falkenberg. No messages had been relayed to Leistung through diplomatic channels informing it of an imminent attack, and the hostility of the approaching fleet had yet to be ascertained.

The much-beloved Admiral Fuchs had been rotated back into active service the week prior, life in a quiet corner of the Republic evidentially not quite his cup of tea. Fuchs had been in command of the initial Leistungi expeditionary fleet which, under his command, had routed the extreme southern portion of the Imperial Fleet (though perhaps not as completely as he had thought at the time) and established a beachhead at Stillerhafen. Loved by both the men and by the politicians in Leistung, Fuchs was indeed a rare breed – and just as much of a fox as his name would suggest. His decision to pursue rather than break off from combat early in the war had led to the Federal Republic’s Trafalgar, and overnight he had become a national celebrity.

“Understood, Captain,” he replied from his perch at the front window of the bridge, his characteristic blue and gold sash glinting the sunlight. He turned towards the men and nodded curtly, inadvertently reaffirming their fears that something was amiss. “They’ll attempt either to link up with our forces in blockade, and then move in once the full political situation is made clear, or forge ahead immediately without our support. If the latter is true, we may be ordered to forcibly catch their attention.” He paused for a moment, his eyes glancing over the report again. “They are working ultimately for the same goal as we are – there is nothing to fear from them militarily. They too have been wronged, betrayed by the Church and the Cenobiarch, and we can only assume that they will take the same route in righting that wrong as we did.”

“Then why are we at action stations, Admiral?” Zeigler murmured.

“Better safe than sorry, I suppose, Captain,” Fuchs replied, rubbing his temples as he turned back towards the open ocean.


COMBAT MESSAGE
WARTIME SITUATION

FM: BUNDESMARINE FLEET COMMAND
TO: FLAGSHIP VIRULENCE, TASK FORCE HERETICUS
INFO: IMMINENT ATTACK ON WALDENBURG

PRIORITY 1

BE ADVISED TASK FORCE HERETICUS
VOLATILE SITUATION INSIDE WALDENBURG AT THIS TIME
RECOMMEND FORM UP WITH LEISTUNGI FIRST FLEET AND HOLD POSITION

GOD SAVE THE REPUBLIC

Task Force Hereticus
Mordian Sea, near North-West Waldenburg

The message from the Leistungi fleet was not well received by Commander Ekraan. Even after a couple of minutes since the message was received he was still disgorging an array of unkind remarks regarding the character of the Leistungi command.

‘Arrogant fools. Who are they to question the will of the Emperor?’ he fumed finally, before stalking over to the communications console. The communications officer stepped aside at his approach allowing the Commander to send a terse response.

Encoded Transmission
To: Bundesmarine Fleet Command
From: Fleet Commander Ekraan Blacke, Imperial Navy

Waldenburg has issued threats against the Empire and laid insult at the feet of the Emperor and they will face the consequences of those actions. I am to report to the Emperor when I am in position off the coast of Waldenburg, you have until then to explain yourself or I will proceed as ordered and deal with anyone who stands in my way accordingly.

The armada continued to sail onwards.

Imperial Palace, Aschton
King Mark had just finished meeting with the Waldenburg Ambassador, trying to find out the motives of what was once a staunch ally. The meeting proved fruitless and the cause of the situation was still a mystery to him. The manner in which the Waldenburger`s proclaimed their activities irritated the monarch and he was left with no choice but to order the ambassador and the embassy staff out of Aschenhyrst within 24 hours.
Sinister Rouge troops were assigned to provide security to the embassy and its staff along with escourting Waldenburg citizens to "Safe Havens" in the capitol city. News of the surprise attacks had spread like wildfire through the Dominion and the citizenry was wanting retribution. Rumors abounded of Waldenburger-owned stores being looted and burned.
The miltary ports in Aschton were abuzz with activities as the 2nd fleet continued to make preparations to depart to unknown destinations. 5th Division Royal Marines began loading onto their Amphibious Assault Ships. The troops were certain of one thing, soon they would be spilling Waldenburger blood. It didn`t matter to them if it were in the Chausey`s or in Waldenburg proper, neutrality had been violated and sovereignty had been compromised. It was pay-back time.

Grand Chausey
"I need a SitRep."

"Sir, the port and repair facility has been wired for demolition if the need arises. The control tower and facilities at the airport are wired as well. A battery of 105mm howitzers have been assigned to target the airstrip and are prepared to render it useless to the invading forces."

"Excellent, what is the situation with our combat troops?"

"Sir, 1st battalion has taken up ambush positions along the main road to the port. 2nd battalion is tasked with harrassing the invasion force and drawing them into the ambush. 3rd and 4th battalions have established a defensive perimeter around the airfield and 5th battalion is conducting reconnisance."

"High Command has recieved our distress call and has ordered Enterprise Carrier Group to intervene as they are the closest friendly forces to us. I`m not sure of what other measures are being taken, the invaders know our frequencies and codes."
****************
Along the main road to the port, 2nd battalion had engaged recon units of the invasion force in small hit and run fire-fights. Squad-sized groups would fire and disappear with the invaders in pursuit, only to have another squad engage in close combat. Slowly the invasion force was being drawn toward the ambush site.

On board the carrier, HRMS Enterprise
"Have any long-range patrols encountered the Waldenburg fleet?"

"No sir and we`re still a good two days sailing from the Chauseys at maximum speed."

"Continue aerial reconnisance. Any units making contact are to report to me before engaging the Waldenburgers, unless fired upon. Use of self-defense is authorized."

"I`ll make sure each wave of patrols is instructed of your orders."

A radio message came accross the loudspeakers on the bridge, " Enterprise, this is Sierra-Seven. I have intercepted Waldenburg supply ships, 750 km south-east of Grand Chausey. We have a firing solution. Awaiting orders."

On Mighty Wings (http://boyunglee.com/music/haydn/thecreation/Creation16Onmightywings.mp3)


Blünderburg


It was said by the witches that still lived and worked in the Ibbelsguarder mountain chain, that a name was a powerful thing; a true name was one of the few things that anchored a person to their place, which clearly labeled and defined them, then filed them away. A piece of hair, a toenail was considered only second to learning someone’s birth name, which in less civilized times was a most guarded secret.

There was still an element of security to true names and even the most accomplished and recognized men hid behind false names, Emperor, Cenobiarch, Count, all a litany of security measures from an otherwise uncompromising world that measured all men the same. The mother does not address her baby as ‘son’ and the infant does not address the sun as a ball of exploding gas; when things, when people are given names they are nailed down and thus their preclusions to terror robbed of them.

“… Rationing, refueling, and munitions reports from the Fifth Fleet, which compromise the integrity of the fleet. The Yallakians now know that nearly 100 ships are hugging the coast of the Levantian Empire, without munitions, and running out of fuel oil.” Admiral Sloan droned on in into the list of complaints and a litany of worrisome frettings over the seizure of the MUIZ, and the Waldenburger Home Office, which had the power of the head of state in diplomatic affairs and had thus been well furnished with documents.

The General Staff had been called to emergency secession when the news came that Rupert Fry had been captured by the Yallakians and every man at the table knew that the Foreign Office was a simple excuse for spying. Only the Emperor knew what secrets lay in that man’s mind.

“Leaving our naval assets east of Yallak totally compromised, and our colonial positions likewise situated. Luckily no information on the actual disposition of forces on the Waldenburger continent besides communiqués, which place our Third Army Group as heading south which surely the Yallakians know by now. Which they might as easily have learned from reading the newspapers. There was a copy of the Defense white paper there as well, detailing the theory of defense around the capital rather than the specifics.” A row of generals finally breath a sigh of relief as the most senior naval officer of the country sat down, red in the face from reading his prepared speech.

“Inconsequential,” Minister Grey folded his arms over the table and glared down at Sloan, “what of our codes? Are they intact?”

“There were copies of Naval Codes, Alpha, Beta, and States Codes ‘Sigismund’ all of which must be transferred out of active use immediately. However this does limit our more difficult military codes, so I would suggest minimal communication outside of the continent.” Sloan wrinkled his mustache slightly at the absurdity of the statement struck him, “as situations dictate.”

“What of our armaments and secret weapons projects?”

“The enemy could be in possession of the location of our deployable sea floor mines, and our productions quotas of steel, munitions, warships, oil, coal, aeroplanes and other war related materials by the ten largest contractors for the last year. We cannot know for certain.”

“Are you then telling me that our prime naval defense has been compromised? Not only that but they know precisely how many there are and when our boys will run out of bullets, and the locations of factories and corporate offices of companies producing war materials?”

“I believe I am. It’s possible at any rate.”

A rather more calm voice from down the table interjected in an oily tone that could have easily compressed coal to diamonds if not for its pleasant tones then for the harshness of the words, “was there a list? From the Canonical Council? From the Cenobiarch? A list of names and addresses of a somewhat imperative nature?”

“Your Imminence,” Sloan inclined his head at Cardinal von Schlater, the head of the local Serene Legion and secretary to the Council of Cardinals, “though it is not in the manifest, what is termed the ‘laundry list’ is. Am I correct in assuming that is what you were referring to? Am I to assume the Church spy ring has been compromised on the coninent?”

“I don’t know,” The Cardinal, replied harshly, “I however doubt the Yallakians will be calling at those address with some light hearted mischief in mind.” Schlater paused to fiercely, almost angrily rub his hand, “we do however have 750 Yallakians who were sent to the Waldenburger Legion; we will offer them as a trade for Mr. Fry, and hopefully they will accept that and not probe him.”

“Surely our spies never break? They are filled with the love of God?” A rather forgettable general piped up.

“It’s not our spies I’m worried about; if only we had had more warning, if only we had had more warning…”

From a monitor on the end of the table which clacked with static interference and shimmered as if magnets were being run over the screen and phantasmal image of ISS director General von Solf spoke shakily, “I am to assume Operation Cicero is in effect?”

“It might be too late.”
--


Yallakian Border-Nuevo Italia

Two drones, danced wing tip to wing tip as they darted almost silently between another grove of silent conifers, only just gently shaking the brilliant needles. With a faint hum the electric engines purred only slightly, and only a pinprick of red light that wavered from a forward infrared sensor gave away the two silent hunters as they climbed against gravity and a whipping wind, to gain altitude over another mountain crag.

On occasion the pilots, some many dozens of miles away, and in the apex of their ascent could make out distant Yallakian cities pictured through the frosted peaks of the ubiquitously names Cloudspire; from such a vantage they seemed almost glued to the horizon and so small, so very far removed.

Some less experienced pilots would be prone to introspection however the men behind the controls had flown dozens of sorties, but tonight they had mischief in mind. Passing as ballerinas around almost crystalline peak the two drones began a steep drop into a small glacial valley that sparkled with the lights from Yallakian civilization. Divine now the two Reapers circled in on a small concrete building tucked beside a quick running if icy stream.

No amount of military intelligence had been able to determine what the building was, but a Yallakian flag was flying over it and the Legion had been pushed to make an attack.

Four hellfire missiles were released in quick succession, flying from their pods with a hiss of gas and exploding in a shower of sparks and pillaring flame, and then another and another, which was followed by yet two more for securities sake, before the two Reapers pulled upwards in a sharp bank before flipping and diving away; black as night, and silent as the grave. It might have been an abandoned mining office, a religious retreat; but so long as an enemy flag flew it would be struck down.
--

Grand Chausey

Marine Master Sergeant Tolbert Viddlemann had been tasked with leading his small platoon into the tree line, up a small hillock to report what damage the naval shelling was having on the airfield some two miles distant.

In dark blue uniforms, assisted only slightly by their drab armor, his squad looked as natural as group of tourists outside a bus station, and the sergeant was keenly aware of this. His was the advanced unit in this direction and had the unhappy distinction of having the first casualty when Private Griens spotted an enemy soldier, let loosed a storm of fire, and had most of his face removed by a returning sniper’s bullet. What was more disconcerting was that they had never found that sniper, and for the last ten minutes the platoon had been hiking up hill.

“Squad two dig in here and cover our backs,” he pointed to a downed log covered in grimy moss and lichen, “set up there.” The sergeant pushed forward and applied a set of binoculars to his eyes. Instead of seeing the hell he had expected being rained down on the airfield he was rewarded with the rather less gratifying sight of an enemy engineer’s waistline. Both men smiled for very different reasons.

Viddlemann, in one movement threw the binoculars overhand at a rather sensitive portion of the enemy soldiers anatomy, and before he could rip the pistol from his belt the man had rolled down the hill and away cursing in several languages, and apparently giving the universal signal that killing should commence. Bullets began to fly everywhere.

OOC sorry for some presumptions but I Rp under the ask forgiveness method and if you ever need to shoot a nameless grunt to kick of a story please do.

Figured I’d get everything done in one post. Ive also taken some liberties, so as usually you can TG me with any concerns.

Imperial Palace
The City of Arrandin, Yallak
11:32 PM, Imperial Central Time

If information was power, then Nereïs could have considered herself all-powerful at this moment in time. The documents seized by the First Legion from the Waldenburger Home Office in the Mediterranican Union International Zone had been flown back to Intelligence Headquarters with all haste and as she and a team of analysts had scrutinized the collection it became abundantly clear that there was about as much classified information as she could likely find in her own office. Some of the material was damaged by fire and she could only imagine what other secrets had managed to escape capture but plenty had survived and the Empire would quickly make use of it.

Despite the time of night, The Emperor had demanded a report on her findings within the hour and exactly fifty-nine minutes after that conversation Nereïs had been admitted to the Emperor’s work office by the two Dragon Guards standing sentinel outside the door.

‘My Lord,’ she said bowing her head in the formal style of respect used throughout the Empire.

‘Please, have a seat General Telán,’ the Emperor responded, motioning to the chair on the other side of his large oak desk. As she complied and seated herself in the luxurious and elegant chair she noticed a weary look to the Emperors features but was hardly surprised, regardless of the time he always seemed to be up, seeing to one matter or another. ‘So, what have you learned so far?’

Nereïs lips formed into a large smirk as she answered. ‘Clearly, the Waldenburgers used the International Zone for far more than regional politics. Our teams are still reviewing the material but so far we have found diplomatic communiqués, church directives to the Home Office, documents on defensive doctrines and what even appear to be encryption and security codes. Obviously, they will be taking measures to protect themselves from what they no doubt know that we know now so some of this will be obsolete data before we can make use of it.’

Pausing briefly Nereïs placed two sets of multiple pages of paper that she had been carrying onto the Emperors desk and he picked them up and browsed over them. They were photocopies of the original documents, some severely damaged. ‘That all pales in comparison to these however,’ she continued. ‘The First Legion should be commended for their quick response to the Waldenburgers attempts to destroy these documents. The first is a list of names and addresses all across the continent and is without a doubt a list of Waldenburger contacts and informants, disturbingly enough some are within the borders of the Empire. We cannot say at this point whether is a full registry or only a partial list but in either case detaining these people will be a severe blow to Waldenburger intelligence.’

‘And the other?’ queried the Emperor, looking at the other set of pages. As he glanced through the pages he could see that the bottom third or so of all the pages had been burnt off.

‘That was the most valuable find of all perhaps. It contains details on the disposition and status on at least one Waldenburger fleet as well as all manner of data on supplies and production facilities for Waldenburg’s military.’

‘And where was their god when the First Legion took this,’ the Emperor exclaimed with a quiet sardonic laugh. He handed the list of names back to Nereïs but kept the other copy. ‘I’ll keep this one, I think Dagon can make use of it. I trust you know what to do with that one, General.’

‘Certainly do, My Lord.’


Telún Naval Base
Telún, Western Yallak, Bay of Ruckinia
11:49 PM, Imperial Central Time

Shortly after his meeting with the Head of Imperial Intelligence, the Emperor had arranged a Task Force to head after the Waldenburger Fifth Fleet which the captured documents had revealed were in bad supply off the coast of the Levantian Empire. Sirens blared around the base as personnel were awoken with orders to make urgent embarkation. Waldenburg would likely try to move the fleet from its known location so the Empire would waste no time in reaching them.

Supreme Commander Dagon hurriedly made his way up through the steel innards of the Bloodthirster to the bridge of the mighty warship, and probably the most famous vessel to stalk the waters of the Mediterranican Seas. Under his command the Bloodthirster had crushed opposing navies and civilisations alike. The Kraven Corporation, The Undershi Empire, The Islandic League and the nation Torrontia had all lost fleets or been subdued by forces under Dagon’s command. The bridge crew snapped to attention as he entered the through the main hatchway.

‘As you were,’ instructed the Commander, ‘how long until we are ready?’

‘The crew is making good time, though it will be another ten minute perhaps until the Legion detachments are onboard,’ responded the ships Captain, Urian. ‘Why exactly are we a Legion with us anyway, Sir?’

‘They are coming so that we can capture some of the enemy ships, Captain, and with any luck some Waldenburger fleet officers. Now inform the fleet that each ship should move out to the rendezvous point as soon as they are ready to depart.’


52nd Legion Outpost
Cloudspire Mountains, Northern Yallak

The Monitoring station lay in ruins, and in the arctic conditions of the Northern Empire was already being taken back by the gusting snow. The Fifty Second Legion had been swift to respond when contact went down with the station though and a detachment of troops clad in their white and grey armour were now investigating the ruins.

‘It must have been an aerial attack, there is no way anything could have snuck in on the ground, let alone done this and escaped undetected as well.’ Company Commander Aleris Nyskel was forced to use his armours built in comm. system when communicating to his squad, the winds that had built up since the station was destroyed stole words right from the air as they were spoken.

Monitoring stations like this one were setup all throughout the Cloudspire range. Each one was centred amongst multiple sensor relays that would could use infrared and various othe techniques to detect activity within its zone, this information went back to the monitoring station who could use video feeds and the like to investigate the contact and then transmit all the data back to the main Legion base. It saved having to have men manually patrolling the icy wastes, and inhospitable domain that would likely never see a sane enemy try and invade through.

‘But there were no contacts on the base RADAR, Sir? A long range missile perhaps?’

‘Not likely, it would need to be a pretty advanced missile to hit a station like this up here in all these mountains and who would waste something like that on this?’ Aleris surveyed the scene briefly again, running through the evidence again. ‘No, it’s definitely aerial, and it wasn’t a plane, helicopter or missile. Must be some kind of UAV.

‘But that would have had to have come from Nuevo Italia, Sir?’ responded another of his men.

‘Apparently. All right let gets out of here. Report the following back to base; Station Delta 5 destroyed, both operators KIA, suspected aerial threat - advise deploying teams throughout the mountains with portable air-defense system.' If whatever did this comes back we’ll turn it to scrap.


All Across Central Mediterrancia
Multiple Locations, Aschenhyrst, Yallak, Gataway and Neuvo Italia
4:14 AM, Imperial Central Time

There was a brief moment of flickering light and a small hissing noise as the thermite device liquefied the lock mechanism on the door to a small house in Aschenhyrst. Two Operatives waited on either side, blending into the shadows as if they weren’t even present. When the charge had burned out and the lock had disintegrated, the Operatives let the door swing open and moved inside.

With absolute silence and precision they worked there way upstairs to where their target slept, to where a traitor slept. His wife lay next to him, and both were blissfully unaware of the fact that they lived now only by the good graces of the Emperor.

With a hand signal from the first Operative who remained at the top of the stairs, the second moved further into the room and slinging his assault rifle behind him he removed a syringe from his vest and injected it into the mans neck. After giving a few moments for the concoction to take effect, the Operative lifted the man’s arm over his shoulders and carefully hoisted him from his bed. The man’s wife stirred slightly at the change in conditions but remained fast asleep. Without a sound the Operatives left again, pulling the door closed behind them and moving furtively to their extraction point.

All over the central continent of Mediterranica, other teams of Operatives were doing likewise as the Empire covertly apprehended every person named on the list obtained from Waldenburg Home Office.

Imperial Fifth Fleet
15 Kilometers of the Coast of Rexheim
The Great Levantian Empire

Count von Metter scanned the distant horizon in the morning mist, from his bridge and angrily ground his fist against the deck railing. He had been able to keep his fleet in food and basic provisions by using the crew’s pay and a constant stream of ships boats to ferry supplies from the mainland; nonchalantly pointing to the warships off the coast did something to lower the asking price, however fuel oil was indeed scare, and the village of Tandershire off which the fleet floated was quite deprived of oil derricks or stores.

Gaudy with banners and Imperial standards the fleet had been dispatched almost 18 months ago for a coronation review by the Levantian Emperor, been scheduled for a six month flying the colors, when the War of the Grand Alliance broke out followed shortly by the Gothic Wars, which had precipitated in the Admiralty ordering the fleet to stay put and prevent any enemy action in the south. In the last year the ships had only put into port once, and had spent most time at anchor either illegally poaching on shore, or stripping their now empty supply ships of wiring and electronics to be traded for food, and a scant but weekly supply of aviation fuel.

“Admiral sir,” his aide, who despite military regulation was now sporting a scraggly beard that stunk of ancient meals popped his head around the door; by rank he was a captain, but his insignia had been traded some time ago, and one in every two of his brass buttons was missing, “another warrant for you to sign.” A piece of paper was proffered and signed in sullen silence. Metter had been forced to shoot thirty seamen in the last week who for some reason did not appreciate not being paid in over six months and being on half rations for the last three.

“Any news of the MUIZ?” Metter asked offhandedly as his aide, Captain Odel, retreated back inside.

“Sorry sir, communications are down as you know. But we are still assuming that the Yallakians are on their way; those were the admiralties’ orders.”

“I know,” Metter responded tiredly, “I hope if I keep asking it might just change. I don’t suppose we have any sightings on that tanker from the pickets?”

“Hah! It’s been three weeks since it was deployed from Waldenburg; I doubt it’s coming.” Odel slipped away leaving his superior to mull over the situation. He knew the manifesto in the MUIZ listed his fleet at about 100 strong, and indeed it had been at one point, but do to a rather suspect but cheap oil shipment had crippled three destroyers’ engines, an munitions explosion set by careless crewmen has disabled one of his battlecruisers, and two ships had suffered simultaneous and almost complete mutinies, it left him at 95 combat ships. Of those though 21 had only fumes to run on and not a singled one had more than half of its carrying capacity.

“A thousand miles,” he could take maybe two dozen a thousand miles before their engines died and they were left adrift. “And no ally within 2,500. Odel?”

“Yes sir?”

“How many of our transport ships still have engine capacity?”

“SS Mjolnir, Napoleon, Hegemony, and Faust; have full capacity and are carrying, well a multitude of things, but still intact. Do you wish them stripped?”

“No.” Metter shook his head and rubbed his forehead, “get the fuel hoses, and give them about a thousand gallons each, enough for a quick run.” With one gloved hand the admiral motioned to the WIS Priory, a battlecruiser of modern design and kept in immaculate condition by her captain, “take her fuel for the freighters, then unload all her shells and take them to those four hulks,” he motioned again at four stripped transport ships.

The fleet had weighed anchor in a side inlet within a great spire that jutted out from the Levantian Empire, it was a fairly shallow bay, which had allowed them to anchor comparatively far out to sea, whilst not greatly inflaming the Pro- Grestonian Empire.

“Then removed all the fuel from WIS Rudolph, Pontiff and Vexation, and transfer it to the smaller ships; we’re moving the fleet tomorrow inland further, and we’ll need the additional fuel. Remove their missiles as well and move them in to,” Metter did a few calculations in his head, “…to a depth of about fifteen meters and open the ballast doors.”

“That’ll drop it pretty low but won’t sink it sir, it’ll wedge on the bottom while only half flooded.”

“I’m aware,” Admiral Metter scanned the fleet looking for the conning towers of the patrolling picket submarines, “then send marine engineering teams to demolish the bridge and conning tower. If we can’t keep them, I won’t subject them be enemy prizes. Leave them as armed piles of scrap; consider it payment to Rexheim.”

“Payment for what?” Odel had been holding down the intercom button and the orders were being followed, if by a somewhat sluggish and baffled crew.

“A little bit of real estate damage. Oil up the fleet, there is a small port city, twenty miles east of here, we still have those flags from the Coronation review? Good. Run them up the flagpole in about an hour, reduce the ships before we go, and attach lines to the hulks, we’re taking them with us.”
--

10:32 PM
Primshire, Rexheim
The Great Levantian Empire

Waldenburg support boats had come to this town earlier, before Greston's joining of the Vorgothic Empire, finding it more inhospitable to trade, and less tactically advantageous then a port closer to the ocean, the fleet had dropped anchor some miles out. It was a very odd situation for the Great Levantian Empire, which had a Pro-Gothic Emperor, despite the machinations of the Waldenburger Emperor, which had put the current Levantian Emperor in his place, but the Rexheimer people were vastly in favor of Waldenburger peoples; and were said to resent the Grestonian garrison that now held the town.

Towards the ocean there was no port systems and the town had been overlooked, here however the political situation had denied any progress forward until count von Metter had been forced into a corner.

WIS Viscount led the silent vanguard of destroyers into the city; and behind the column of capital ships held what could be called a blockade formation. Of course they could not as Primshire was situated on a wide deep bay, which could easily have accommodated hundreds of warships, but was home to only a few bulk container ships, and hundreds of fishing vessels. It was a wide-open space where maneuvering was not hindered in any way with the usual shoreline sandbars or jutting rocks.

Levantian coded messages were sent ahead from the Viscount; Waldneburg was still a member and even though unwelcome still maintained the military codes.

“Admiral sir, standing by,” Captain Vilsten radioed to his senior and flickered the heliograph to standing by.

“Commence attack, all ships commence attack.” Simultaneously three missiles streaked from the cruiser; during their time ashore the trading teams had mapped the streets and picked out targets, as was military protocol. Three missiles darted outwards and exploded in the city where three separate power stations were known to be. Two more missiles were launched and demolished the bridge of two container ships on the port.

“Scramble all known Levantian signals and civilian channels. Land parties away!” Rubber inflatable and ships boats hit the water as marine teams, along with naval demolition teams streamed towards shore, to a surely awakening city. About a thousand marines had been tasked to cut telephone lines and interrupt communication in any way possible, while another five hundred were sent to hunt Grestonian agents, both civil and otherwise known to be in the city. Their orders were not unnecessary casualties; the relations of the GLE and Waldenburg were to be strained as little as possible, and hopefully the fleet would be gone before anyone further inland ever knew.

OOC Due to a power sharing agreement Rexheim falls under my general control, while the Empire itself falls under Greston so this should be fine.

Air Squadron Sierra, 750 KM South-East of Grand Chausey
Sierra Squadron had made contact with Waldenburg Supply Ships enroute to the Chausey Islands. Knowing full well that the supplies on these ships would be used to support the Waldenburg invasion of the Chausey Islands, Sierra Squadron had contacted the carrier HRMS Enterprise for instructions.

"Sierra-Seven this is Enterprise, Over."

"Sierra-Seven, Over."

"Seven, we need a quick SitRep before any response will be authorized. Over."

"Enterprise, we have approximately 20-25 ships in the convoy. They are unescorted and traveling at around 15 knots. The ships appear to be fully loaded. Over."

"Sierra-Seven, is your squadron equiped with Exocets? Over."

"Enterprise, half the squadron has Exocets. The other half is set up for Air Combat/Air Support. Over."

"Seven, We`re going to send up Echo and Quebec Squadrons to assist you and finish up what you start. Sierra Squadron has a 'Green Light'. Enterprise, Out."

"Seven, out."
" Sierra Squardron this is Seven, we`ve got a 'Green Light'. One and two, engage the lead ship, then work your way back. Three and four, start at the rear and work toward the middle. The rest of us will provide covering fire and lookout for SAM`s. It`s go time."

Four F-18`s dropped out of the sky toward the Waldenburg ships.
Sierra one and two made a run at the convoy leader.
"Target lock aquired, releasing the eggs." Two Exocet missiles detonated on impact with the lead ship.
Sierra three and four began lining up up the rear ship, " Target lock, missiles away." Two more Exocets detonated on impact.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel, Seven."

"Copy that, Four. Continue attack."

OOC: I'm going to assume West Ponente is out of the RP due to RL issues. This post takes place after my meeting with Grestonian officials, which will be up shortly.

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


The Freekish fleet under Zander's command had received new orders from the Great Hall; seek out and eliminate Waldenburg resistance and prevent incursion into the Med by outside forces. Easier said than done considering the sheer size of the region, which is why High Command wasted no time in contacting their Grestonian and Vetalian allies and requesting additional naval assistance in locking the Med down. The Kregaian Navy was much closer to Waldenburg then the Freeks were, and thus would be able to provide Yallak with almost immediate assistance. Additional Gothic fleets from The Silver Sky, Novacom, Agrandov, Tersanctus, Artitsa, and No Endorse were also within the Med since the onset of the war and could be called upon at a moments notice for additional support. Freekish stealth bombers that had been idling near Vetalia would be sent in at the discretion of the commanding Warchief in coordination with allied naval forces to harrass enemy vessels with long range anti-shipping missiles and thus stop their hostile advances in their tracks.

Following the declaration of intent from Erid Lor and the hostile transmission sent forth from The People's Freedom, Vorgothic forces not taking part in the looming siege of Waldenburg would attempt to secure the region from outside interference at every possible entry point save for the east, for Gholgoth was continuously sending reinforcements and any enemy would find it difficult to operate inbetween both regions. With Waldenburg also being invaded by Lord Sumguy and Greal, some in the Freekish intelligence community suggested that perhaps elements inside Greater Dienstad were intentionally attempting to encroach on newly acquired Gothic territory for reasons yet unknown. Though exact intentions were unclear, a private transmission was being prepared to be sent to The Macabees, once a NATO ally and what some viewed as the de facto head of Greater Dienstad.

However, the Goths had one potential ace up their sleeve; also invading Waldenburg was a longtime Freekish ally in Anagona. As Zander's and Vidimir's fleets continued to sail on towards the site of the remaining conflict and prepare to engage hostile forces alongside their Gothic brethren, an encrypted message was sent forward to Anagonian General Jackson:

Greetings, friend.

As you may or may not be aware, the forces of Waldenburg have aggressively engaged our Vorogthic brethren in Yallak, and therefore we are honor bound to defend them in every way possible. Therefore we cannot sit idly by and allow Waldenburg to continue to operate in Gothic Mediterranica with impunity, and we apologize for injecting ourself into the current conflict there, but you must understand that we as Freeks will never falter in the defense of an ally.

We understand that Anagonia has no land to call home, and we are most saddened by that. We also understand your willingness to maintain influence within Waldenburg, though we can forsee conflicts of interest looming as we look to consolidate power within the region. Therefore we make you this offer, join our Vorgothic brotherhood and we shall help build you a new homeland, within Gothic Mediterranica if you so choose. We do this with but a few requests; that Gothic forces be allowed their right to retalliate for the strikes on Yallakian assets without Anagonian protest, and that your allies from Greater Dienstad assisting in the "liberation" of Waldenburg pack up and leave immediately following the conclusion of fighting.

We personally are suspicious of their intentions, and we are opening diplomatic channels with The Macabees to ensure that our regions do not come into conflict. But we do hope that you accept our offer, I know our Gothic friends in Greston would be overjoyed to have Anagonia reborn within the Vorgothic Empire, and would be more than willing to lend a hand in constructing your new nation. As a token of good will, once my fleet and the fleet of Warchief Vidimir arrive to defend Yallak from further attack, we will provide you with whatever long range support you require to accomplish your objectives. Our intelligence agencies will also give you as much information as possible to assist in quelling the Waldenburg menace and reducing Anagonian casualties.

I look foward to your response, for the thought of a new Anagonia standing shoulder to shoulder with us as equals in Vorgoth is most exciting.

http://img509.imageshack.us/img509/4861/warchiefne9.jpg
Zander
-Warchief of AMF Forces-

First Fleet
Outside Waldenburg

“Damn it to hell,” Fuchs spat, his eyes running over the Yallakian communication. “If the wind from their fighters so much as blows the helmet off one of our men ashore, I swear to Almighty God…” He trailed off, but the gist of the message was not lost on the men. “Allow them to pass.”

As the ships in the path of the Yallakian fleet parted, their crews still at battle stations, a grudging message was flashed to the Yallakian flagship from the Oktober in Morse code, and a party of sailors was hastily assembled on the flight deck to offer the passing fleet the customary salute to allies. After all, in Admiral Fuchs’ book, the enemy of his enemy was his friend – and the enemy of Waldenburg was his ally.


YALLAKIAN SHIP VIRULENCE

USE CAUTION IN SHELLING [stop]
LEISTUNGI SOLDIERS ASHORE ARE INFORMED OF YOUR ARRIVAL [stop]
GOOD HUNTING

[full stop]

“There is nothing so likely to produce peace as to be well prepared to meet the enemy.” –George Washington

----------

Lightning lanced from cloud to cloud high above in the sky; seconds later the rolling boulders of thunder, grating harshly against the rock upon which they travelled, followed, a hammer on a gong. Rain fell, so many little pellets of water pouring from a weeping sky, thousands, no, millions, maybe even billions, falling from the heavens which sang their woeful lament in a dirge of thunder, of rain falling upon the ground and rooftops rhythmically, of the wind, the gale blowing by and buffeting loose objects, picking up and throwing loose debris, causing the raindrops to travel diagonally on their long yet fleeting journey from the greyed clouds above, obscuring and veiling the Sun, casting their long shadow upon the ground.

Lieutenant General Arthur Undbitr sat on a steel chair, boots propped up on his desk: outside, men hustled to load gear into vehicles and to check weapons and vehicle functionality. He had no part in that: he was prepared, map of Waldenburg’s multitudes of localities ready, and he knew where he would go. Glancing out the window, he gazed to the horizon and lost himself in the reverie of rainfall, drifting back.

The telephone had rung suddenly: he had at the time been reading the open statement by the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and Defence on Waldenburg, and he had wondered who they would send. The caller had told him that it was his Corps, the 21st Corps, the 21st group of 100,000 men to serve the nation militarily. He was to mobilize his men: he was to send them miles west to Calumna to board: they would set off for Blundenburg the day they arrived at the great naval base, home to so many ships of the Eridite Naval Forces.

The telephone rang again, just as suddenly as before, making him start: the cacophonous ring reverberated across the walls, again, again, an unpleasant noise out of place in the white noise of rain falling and men outside working. He swung his boots off the desk and reached over to pick up the red telephone (red! It had to be red! He hated red, it signified blood and anger and emergency, all the things you didn’t want in a fight) and said curtly: “Lieutenant General Arthur M. Undbitr, Commanding Officer, 21st Corps of the Eridite Army.”

The caller was obviously busy, out of breath: in as few words as possible it was conveyed that the mission was called off. It was legit, too: it was the Highmarshal of the Army.

Undbitr scowled, not that George Eltheron miles and miles away in the capitol of Genevia would know that. “Are you sure, sir? We’re not providing aid to Waldenburg? My men are in the process of deploying now sir, we are nearly mobilized. You only called me hours ago.”

It was with a hint of impatience that the Highmarshal replied: “Yes, yes, Undbitr, I’m sure. This was direct from the Prime Minister. She stated that with the blockade it would be highly unlikely you could get through without a pitched naval battle between our forces and theirs, and frankly, it would be probable that one of your units would go down to the bottom, maybe even the entire Corps. We don’t need to go on suicide missions. A hundred thousand men would barely put a dent in the enemy’s advance, the Waldenburgers have quite enough people to fight the enemy themselves. No, what they need is equipment, and they asked for it, 1.3 million EL-3182 Beowulf 12.7mm heavy machine guns. We’re sending that, sir, not you: no, you’re not going overseas. Call off the deployment. And…”

Eltheron paused.

“Sorr- never mind. You got what I mean, Arthur?”

“Yes sir,” the General said stiffly. “Roger sir, will order the men to demobilize now sir.”

“Good. Your Corps isn’t being undervalued, Arthur. I want you to know that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Eltheron hung up, and Undbitr sighed, calling in Major General Kell Bradley to call off the mobilization.

----------

http://i216.photobucket.com/albums/cc18/Brendeani/eriditediplomaticcommunique.png


FROM: The High Republic of Erid’Lor, The United Provinces
TO: The Office of the Monarchy, To Whom It May Concern, Waldenburg
ENCRYPTION: Critical

Per your order we are now shipping 1.3 million EL-3182 Beowulf .50 caliber 12.7mm (BMG) heavy machine guns to Blunderburg. Expect arrival to take place in one and a half months. We will carry armed guards but we would still appreciate the help of your navy in successfully delivering the shipment in spite of the enemy blockade; we cannot spare our own navy ships due to national defence concerns. Thank you.

Yours In Solidarity,
Major Jason Travois
Trade Bureau
Eridite Armed Forces
“In Victory We Trust”

P.S. On the risk of parting from official curtness, I have been instructed by undisclosed superiors to say to you “Good luck against Gholgoth.”


OOC: I’ll do that ship post later when I get close to the Med… i.e. tomorrow, or the day after.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: Lord Rahvin

Another change of plans. Move the fleet immediately to attack Waldenburg; you may consider it the last outpost of significant resistance in Mediterranica, and I want to see it crushed as quickly as possible. It is important, moreover, that you note that other forces are currently engaged in Waldenburg, and Gothic policy is to respect and above all not to interfere with their operations.

The region is being essentially locked down, in accordance with new Gothic policy: no more belligerent forces can be allowed in or out, except perhaps in extreme circumstances which I will not waste time discussing. It is now vital to end the conflict as quickly as possible. Therefore, again, I am directing you to move to Waldenburg immediately, launch a ground invasion while respecting the forces of other nations fighting there, and force a surrender.

Lord Antiochus tells me the Ilium Corporation is extremely interested in investment in Mediterranica. This matches a whole set of rumors that many corporations are also looking to profit after a peace is brokered, and I am considering allowing corporate representatives to observe any such negotiations. In short, there’s a lot of peaceful profit for everybody to be made here, and back here there is considerable desire to see it as soon as possible. Finish up the war quickly.

Signed
Ishamael

* * *

Rahvin didn’t know what to think as he read the letter from the Emperor. New orders from Korronis were often annoying, overriding his own plans already in motion, and indeed this was the case here. Besides which, obviously changing targets from Nuevo Italia to a nation days away was a major inconvenience. On the other hand, for some time now Rahvin had heard mutterings from the generals accompanying the fleet that Waldenburg would have been a more challenging (and therefore interesting) target than Nuevo Italia anyway. An inconvenient blessing.

He called High Admiral Anor from another area of the bridge, where he had been overseeing the strikes on Nuevo Italia, and handed him his handheld computer so that the Admiral could read the new orders. Anor, a man not given to formality or etiquette, quickly scanned the message and swore violently.

“Fuck this shit. Gods fucking damn it. Do you believe this?”

Rahvin shrugged. “Do you feel like arguing with it?”

That shut the Admiral up. You could rage, you could curse, you could smile at the mental image of Ishamael on a noose, but the fact remained that when the Emperor issued an order, you obeyed or you found a bullet between your eyes with alarming speed. Brushing past the Admiral, he found his way over to the Deathmask’s public address system, pushing a button that would broadcast his words on the bridge of every ship in the armada. Taking a deep breath and making sure that not a trace of his own irritation at the change of plans showed in his voice, he began.

“This is Lord Rahvin. I’m speaking now to every bridge of every ship across the fleet, and I’m telling you about a change of plans. The High Admiral is ordering the Deathmask, and by extension all your vessels, to cease fire, and the reason is this: we’re done with Nuevo Italia. I’ve received new orders from Korronis. There are political and economic priorities at work here, as well as Gothic policies, and it’s no longer our duty to flatten Nuevo Italia. We have a new target, Waldenburg, and we’re going to move there immediately. The bridge crew here will be transmitting course data to you when I finish speaking.

“I know many of you are swearing right now. All of you are angry. You were right there, firing away at the heathens, and the Legionaries were this close to finally landing. Unfortunately this new plan means it will be some time before we again are within firing range of the enemy. But I can promise you this. Of all the Gothic nations, we are the closest to Waldenburg, we are going to be making our way there at best speed, and we will be taking the fight to them before any of our other comrades. We will be shooting first. And if there’s one thing Kregaians know how to do better than anyone, it’s shooting first.

“Gholgoth wants peace in Mediterranica. The Emperor wants peace in Mediterranica. And so we will have peace. There are rewards to be had here; back in Kregaia the corporations are lining up to throw money at this place, invest and see some returns, and those nations here that have joined us want to see the rewards of standing alongside Gholgoth. People want to build and profit. And before that can happen, the infidel bastards that want to challenge us need to be shot and stabbed and flayed and sent screaming back to the smoking ruins of their homes.

“The Med needs peace. We will have peace. And we will bring it the best way, the only way, the way Kregaians always bring it: over the corpses of the heathens. It is coming, brothers, following close in our wake: peace through superior firepower.”

Task Force Hereticus
Off the coast of Waldenburg

As the Leistungi ships parted before the Imperial Navy, Commander Ekraan strode away from the communications console, refraining from sending a reply. The Leistungi had put up less resistance than he anticipated and he intended not to ruin the moment of satisfaction with idle and pointless chatter to their fleet, instead he moved across the bridge to the ships Tacops display, initiating the device using the touchpad screen built into the side. The display device itself looked like a pool table of sorts, only it was built from metal and the indented middle of the table was not green cloth but a hard, smooth, white material with the touchpad screen embedded into the surface off the raised edge around it. The display device though was only the interface to the Tacops system, which in its whole was the pinnacle of Imperial computer technology, tied directly into the ships computer core, allowing it to access the full array of high powered radars, sensors and satellite uplinks available to the ship and use the data to track and display everything in a specified combat radius from the ship. As the device powered on, it quickly began projecting a 3D holographic image of the Waldenburger coast and all the ships gathered not far offshore. Ekraan watched quietly as the last of the Leistungi vessels moved aside.

‘Captain Neyldal, order the fleet into position. Have the transport ready to commence ground assault,’ he commanded without taking his eyes from the display. Captain Neyldal nodded a quick affirmation and then began issuing orders around the fleet. Over the next fifteen minutes the Tacops display showed the mass of Imperial ships spread into a semicircular sort of formation barely thirty five kilometres from the coast and the city of Pondderborg just beyond that.

Content that all was now as it should be Ekraan once again took over at the communications console and set the machine to broadcast his message across every frequency so that he knew what he was about to say would not go unheard in Waldenburg.

‘Cardinal Thousis, Cenobiarch of the Holy Church of Waldenburg, you have demanded that the Infinite Empire surrender to you and that our Emperor commit voluntary suicide within twenty-four hours to appease you. It has now been twenty three and half hours and I have been sent to give you a reply so listen carefully.
The Infinite Empire will not surrender to you, nor will we tolerate the spread of your church’s falsehoods through this region anymore. The Emperor sends his regards.’

With that Ekraan resolutely terminated the transmission and without placing the radio handset down, quickly switched the device back to broadcast only on an encoded Imperial frequency. ‘Commence attack, fire for effect, assault craft to waypoint one.’

Within moments the enormous armoured turrets of the Virulence swung around with the whirr of servos to bring the vessels potent twenty six inch guns into line with Pondderborg. With a gush of flame and smoke and the vibrations of the weapons recoil action the first gun fired, sending it heavy payload flying out towards the city. It was followed in rapid succession by the other guns and soon the calm day outside became obscured by drifting clouds of smoke. Across the fleet battleships and cruisers did likewise and would continue to pound the coast and the city for several hours.

Abit short but not much time sorry

Pondderborg
75 Miles Northwest of Granzimmerburg

Unlike the cities of the south, which looked as though the civil architect with a penchant for gingerbread wainscoting and peaked tile roves had been given a budget and let loose, the towns of the North were mostly a light stone; once they had been a sandy dull color but time had bleached them to a more crème color. Houses fell about the narrow streets as if dropped randomly from some altitude, and in a civil engineering nightmare, dipped and towered in whatever fashion the owner desired.

Most of all the houses were airy, large and anyone of any substance, which was indeed most of the population of this city, sported a garden of some size or another. Almond trees were playfully blown about by the constant breeze the blew of the High Desert, which could be found just a few dozen miles to the West and south.

Lush citrus trees, hundreds of years old, hung over the streets and perfumed the air with a most delicate pungency whilst casting a beautiful shade over the cobbled streets. Of course this situation was only maintained after the city had set a minimum income for entrance, and only perhaps 10% of the population actually lived within the city all year long.

Most visitors came to take in the sea, or participate in the big game hunts that took them to the desert to hunt the lions, and the rather terrifying collection of reptiles that managed to survive the furnace that was the day.

There was only one hub of activity, which was the ghastly clashing civic center at the heart of the city, which had been thrown together in the last few years when the Emperor had noticed the large sums of money sitting untapped on the northern coast. Built in grey stone and pounded into the ground, it was considered a blight on the ancient architecture of the city.

Therefore when the first shells began to fall a great number of citizens came out of their houses, nodded a satisfied nod, as the building was reduced to a fine powdered dust; when natural curiosity was sated the screaming began, Ancient frames crumbled to roaring artillery, and street cafes and their patrons were blown to bloody ribbons as artillery shells ripped through the city like a warm wind. It would perhaps be noted by the enemy fleet that no incoming fire was leaving the continent.

“Yallakian fleet! We are unarmed! Cease-fire! We Surrender, oh for the love of Christ! We are unarmed!” Civil servants scurried about the civic center attempting, as was custom in this situation, attempting to save stacks of paper. Essentially the message repeating over the radio was true, a few cutters guarded the harbor mouth against piracy, and there were sufficient rifles to arm a quite sizeable, if somewhat laughable division. “Please! We’re unarmed! We surrender!” It was a rather piteous scene as the subsequent and unavoidable fires began to swallow the wooden frames of the more delicate houses and quickly ignite the lush gardens of the residents; into a thick and lung coating smoke.

There would be no retaliation the citizens knew, not from the sea at least, the Imperial High Command was digging itself in around Granzimmerburg around the already formidable defenses, and would not budge an inch to save the cities of the Rimwald, for fear of exposing the vein of the nation, the Strein river, and her mighty cities.

From the desert though, there always came a warm wind.

--


WIS Perdition
45 Miles off the Republic of Paloni

Acting as the special operations headquarters of the worldwide ISS had taken it’s toll on the vessel; despite its modern design and ample crew strain could be seen on every face, and every joist creaked a little more ominously everyday under high speeds.

“What is the situation Basil?” A slender if somewhat battered staff officer baring no rank insignia asked tiredly as he leaned over a board that had the faintest of light bulbs screwed into various positions about the map. The central continent had very nearly gone dark.

“Sir,” Basil Wiktour had the most unfortunate birth in that he consistently gave the impression that he was leaking from the face; terrible allergies inflicted him constantly and his eyes were bloodshot with agony. Various generals around idly wonder what exactly could ail him so at sea, but never asked the man. “Almost all of our Church agents have been silenced, or have silenced their own communications; we should assume the worst however. State agents are however still intact and we have almost a hundred across the central continent, not including those in Nuevo Italia. However we almost entirely relied on Alpha and Beta codes to communicate with them. They are without their clerical counter parts also to relay the codes of the Church.”

“Is there any way we can communicate?” General August von Brimmond had been a career agent himself, if in somewhat less glamorous times when the most strenuous activity required of him was to do was find a curry take away for the rest of his team.

“Dozens and hundreds but all have their advantages and disadvantages. First off we could send a courier through the Cloudspire to distribute new codes, risk his capture and the rest of our communications. Secondly we could send codes based on Ceno’s cipher, easily broken to those who have studied the book, and day one at the Basilica. Thirdly we could just mail it to them.”

“Mail?” Brimmond asked, only slightly amused.

“As a ‘democracy’ perhaps the Yallakians do not so carefully read the post as we do? We could easily send letters, I would highly advise against electronic devices; with the sheer volume of paper mail being sent and received it would be impractical to search them all. We could rout a letter through Paloni and Gataway and into Yallak with little trouble. Then code them in Ceno’s cipher, if we receive no response from a recognized code name within a few days we could easily drop the new codes.”

With a general feeling around the table suggesting that military operations were not intended to be this simple, General von Brimmond finally spoke, “You know Wiktour… On rare occasion your intelligence is not appreciated.” The general raised a hand to halt the incredulous look from forming on the man’s lips. “Send sixteen and order the remainder to be done in person or by dead drops, Sign them” with faint smile and with closed eyes, “Antonio.”


OOC Erid' Lor! Any time you wish to move I can punch a whole through the blockade. Move as you please. Sorry for the grevious mistakes in the above, as always, but it is late.

Task Force Hereticus
Attacking Pondderborg, Waldenburg

“We are unarmed! Cease-fire! We Surrender, oh for the love of Christ! We are unarmed!” The message was playing through for the third time, conveying the full expression of terror and panic that now gripped the city with every word, but Commander Ekraan had not moved from his position at the Tacops display or issued any orders to cease firing.

‘Commander?’ Lucan prompted, a grave look of concern on his face. Ekraan looked up at the Captain but said nothing though his expression bore that of a person waiting for something and so Lucan spoke again. ‘Should we not cease firing?’

The Commander stepped away from the tactical display as he answered. ‘Time and again enemies have risen against our Empire, Captain, and we have defeated them, but on each occasion we have been merciful and compassionate to these lesser races and so it has only been short while before the next fool rose to challenge us. We cannot deviate from the necessary course of action this time. The Emperor specifically instructed me to do whatever was required to break or annihilate the Waldenburger church.’ Though his voice was calm and devoid of emotion, Lucan could tell that there was an air of disgust about the words that indicated the Commader was not entirely content with massacring the populous of the city.

‘We don’t need to kill them all to prove our point though, Sir,’ exclaimed the Captain, using the commanders uncertainty to his benefit, ‘in fact if we are too ruthless it will make seizing Waldenburg more difficult.’

Ekraan turned from the Captain and walked back to behind the tactical display. Looking down he could see the Imperial ships across the coastline and between them the assault craft bearing the first of the Legions nearing the shore. ‘Very well, the Third Legion is about to land, you may call of off the bombardment.

Coast near Pondderborg, Waldenburg

Assault craft splashed through the low waves as they cover the last stretch of water to the coast. They had not been fired on yet but all reports indicated they were landing but a few hours drive from the heavily defended Capital and all eyes and sensors were on alert. The transports themselves had auto-cannons and machines mounted for defence but they were also escorted in by Torpedo attack boats just to be sure.

The distance cracks and booms of the Imperial Navy’s heavy guns subsided only moments before the first assault craft ground into the shallow areas off the coast, its ramp crashing open when the vessel could get no further ashore. Several more came quickly after it and soon tanks and armoured were disembarking and proceeding to move inland, their first objective to seize whatever was left of Pondderborg. More and more assault craft were coming in behind the first group as the Imperial Third Legion brought the entirety of its strength to bear.

Task Force Kraken
Searching for the Waldenburger Fifth Fleet, West of the Levantian Empire

The half sunken remnants of several Waldenburger Battle cruisers had been discovered barely a couple of hours ago before the Task Force had tracked the Fifth Fleet to its anchorage further up the coast.

After an uneventful trip across the Hibernian Sea, the Imperial fleet had arrived at the supposed resting place of the crippled enemy fleet where they had found the abandoned ships and Supreme Commander Dagon had quickly determined that whoever was in charge of the remnants knew what he was doing. He had initially expected to find the entire fleet at anchor or none of it, but the self sabotaged ships indicated his opponent was likely crafty and was gathering his available resources to prepare some undoubtedly devious last stand.

Pairs of Slaven fighter aircraft had been deployed in a search pattern up and down the coast and it was barely twenty five minutes later that the Waldenburger ships had been sighted again, but twenty miles up the coast in a deep bay. The Imperial Task Force had redeployed in that direction immediately, leaving only a single destroyer behind to scour the sunken vessels and retrieve any data or valuable technology they could find.

And so they had arrived at their present location, the Waldenburger ‘blockade’ now visible on the horizon. Alert claxons sounded across the one hundred and seventy six ships of the fleet and crews moved to battle stations. Orders had not been given to engage though.

‘All ships are reporting they are awaiting your orders, Sir,’ Captain Urian informed the Commander. ‘Shall we engage? Missile systems have firing solutions.’

Dagon shook his head. ‘No, Captain. Inform the fleet to hold here and await further instructions.’ Urian nodded his head and immediately complied flinging orders to different officers across the bridge. Dagon smiled briefly; he appreciated the Captain’s initiative. Urian could be relied upon to see that the ship was in order at all times and prepared to carry out any order regardless of what it might involve.

Dagon moved to the ships communication console and picked up the radio handset setting it to broadcast on an open frequency.

Attention Waldenburger Fifth Fleet, this is Supreme Commander Dagon of the Imperial Navy of Yallak. I request that you stand down immediately and prepare to be boarded. Will you comply? Failure to do so may result in the destruction of your vessels.

Imperial Intelligence Headquarters
The City of Arrandin, Yallak

The room was small and the walls were solid concrete, no windows and only one door made of thick steel. It was one of many identical rooms that comprised the holding cells of sub level seventeen of the Intelligence Headquarters, and it was this room that held the Waldenburger Rupert Fry.

For countless hours Rupert had been left alone in the room, only being visited by a guard once bringing him food and drink. Sleep was but a memory, for the room had no bed or anything for that matter, it was simply a stone cube and had never been intended for prolonged stays. This was a room designed solely to restrain enemies of the Empire before they were interrogated.

Three long hours after he had been interred within the cells, Imperial Operatives came for him, escorting him in an almost pleasant way to an interrogation room; similar in every respect to the holding cell save that this room was filled with specialised equipment. A reclined dentist like chair sat in the centre of the room and Rupert was secured into it. Strange contraptions on portable stands were lined up along the wall and other devices were kept locked in cabinets.

One of the Operatives wheeled one of the stands over that held a sizeable metallic box on its tray, which bore several switches, dials and gauges. With two swift movements the Operative flicked on a switch and turned a small dial around as far as it would go. As the device began emitting a low pitched humming, the man picked up two cables with large metal alligator clips on their ends.

‘Now,’ he said, his voice quiet deep but devoid of any sentiment, ’we are going to discuss the codes used to issue orders to the defensive forces of Granzimmburg and Blünderburg.’ He touched the two clips together causing a spray of sparks and zapping noises upon their connection with each other.

Imperial Intelligence Headquarters
The City of Arrandin, Yallak

Rupert Fry, lounged happily on his stone slab he had once been a tremendously rotund man, and some years ago lost most of his bulk but still maintained folds of skin in odd places that when he walked gave him a most comical look. To compensate the foreign minister had developed a viciousness only conversely matched in his taste for drama and eloquence. He had been instrumental in setting up the Imperial spy network and despite his affiliations had managed even the clerical side for almost a decade.

“You know,” two guards were ushering him down a hall as a faraway smile hung on his face; his eyes scanned every facet of the hallway as he passed. “This reminds me of boarding school, although the food is better.” He was manhandled into a room and very happily slipped into the reclined chair without a word being said, “modest dental torture is the least I will accept,” he began fashioning one his straps until a guard slapped him away and finished the remainder.

With a predictable set of metallic squeaks a metal tray of doubtless, though he could not see them, implements of a dubious nature. “Oh torture…. This is my boarding school! And that makes you Dame Daphne Chimmel. “ All flippancy departed from his voice and in a low malicious whisper he continued, “Amateurs. Talented amateurs at best. You have no idea of what breaks a man; you now nothing of any man, and that will be your undoing. Gentlemen I shall skip the charade of dough-eyed patriotism, and noble speech about the dignity of man, but I will give one piece of advice, from one torturer to another; you have no idea with what powers you assail.” Fry shook his head sadly and turned baleful eyes to the Yallakian man, “the nipples are customary.”
--

Imperial Fifth Fleet
Primshire
The Great Levantian Empire

Anchors were clanking upwards to decks as the fleet began to position itself around the bay and lock missiles on the enemy fleet; which by now outnumbered the considerably outdated Waldenburger ships and cut off any path of retreat back to the sea. This was as Metter had hoped, the morale of his crew was steeled and, a chance of escape, should the fleet be destroyed, was offered by the lines of vehicles in the city that was now flying the Waldenburger flag.

“Yallakian fleet. Admiral Dagon. This is his Excellency Count von Metter C and C, Imperial Fifth fleet. We decline your offer, and I suspect you will decline the traditional luncheon parlay, so I will not bother. However as an honorable combatant there are still civilians that must be evacuated from this area, we are down to the last boatload. You are now tragically in their way from escaping the combat zone. Ten minutes will see them clear.” He clicked of the radio and nodded to a communications officer who flickered the heliograph and signaled six transports to start churning the water for the enemy fleet. Still off the radio Metter smiled grimly, "I will not be the butcher today."

All the ships bore terrible scars and some of them were being towed, but true to course civilians shivered on their decks, covered in blankets and clutching to the rails.

“They are without communications as when we took the city we needed,” the radio hummed for a moment as the Admiral searched for words, “subtlety to take the town without uproar and indeed more intrusions, and naturally their stocks of fuel oil.” Which the admiral noted had been about one fifth of what he dismally expected.

“When the fleet is clear I suspect you shall give the all clear with a cannoned and we shall see where the day goes.” Finally the radio clicked off and the Admiral departed the bridge for the outside world, his enemy had aerial superiority; his fleet, despite its size had no such thing. A few combat and recon drones was all he had, not even a full squadron’s worth amongst the fleet; they were deadly in their way but it seemed the Yallakian’s were spoiling for a more personal fight or they would not have moved too close to his fleet.

“Send word to the ground teams to lay the charges, and stand by to repel shore parties.” This was the point where Metter would discover if he could save even a fraction of his command, or if he would have to, and he dreaded the thought, surrender the saber at his waist to a nation he once called an ally. “That will be the day,” he laughed, “find firing solutions; and tell the engineers to stand-by.”
--

WIS Rudolph
7 Kilometers from the Coast of Rexheim
Currently Grounded

A Yallakian destroyer, a single vessel chugged, through the bay dispatching ships boats to three beached capital ships. It alone was almost the weight of the battleships and looked as ever like a armored dragon, around which flew flies preparing to gorge itself on the kills of the host.

This was all noted by seamen first class Arthur Scrim as he wiggled himself into a slightly less uncomfortable position in his hiding place on board the Rudolph. Of all the crew left stationed on the ship, about a hundred men, he had the unfortunate duty of being slid into a two-meter tall coil of cable on the foredeck of the ship, where he could almost lie down across the bottom but not quite, and now would not wish to as he had been in the hiding place for two days. Now however it looked as though this might be his time for action. “Damn sir!” He whispered into a walkie-talkie strapped to his hand, “they right in front of us and dispatching a third assault boat. They mean to board us.”

From somewhere behind the man a barrel extended a hand and gave a thumbs up. Aerial surveillance had been a problem and the crew had been allowed to move slightly at night and take shifts with those below decks, but a few unfortunates would be rather strained after this day’s work.

“Noted seamen. Have you got a visual on the boat?”

“Aye sir. It’s coming to the… left side by the looks of it. Can’t be certain though. Should I signal the gunners?”

“Hold off! Stay where you are! The Admiral will give us the sign to attack.” Rudolph had been striped of missiles for the simple purpose that they required electric guidance and a bridge to fire with any accuracy, and while the half scuttling of the ships had flooded most of the ammunition bays, and the engine room, each ship still had around twenty 16 inch shells to work with and many more six inchers. There was however a flaw to the plan, only one destroyer had been dispatched to search the ruins; there had been hope of at least a battlecruiser of assault ship but this would have to do. It would still likely suffice for the Admiral’s purpose.

A ships boat, nonchalantly tossed against the side of the ship moved slightly as the two men behind it, manning the quad- 20mm anti air guns swiveled down to the approximate location where the enemy would be putting their assault boat.

“Fire only if we are being boarded, hold off as long as possible; wait till boots hit our deck. Are we understood? “ He was and the crews on the three hulks awaited orders to spring their trap.

750km southeast of the Chausey Islands
F-18`s from the carrier HRMS Enterprise had delivered a crippling blow to the convoy of Waldenburg suppy ships headed for the Chausey Islands. 18 of the supply ships were sunk, with all hands lost. 4 ships recieved heavy damage, 3 moderate damage. The 7 ships left of the convoy were limping back to Waldenburg shores for repairs. This time it was a turkey shoot, next time the Waldenburgers wouldn`t send an unescorted supply convoy. Next time, the Waldenburgers would pay even more dearly.

1500km east of Grand Chausey
The flottilla of troops heading to throw out the invading Waldenburg forces would soon be within striking distance. The Armada consisted of five carrier strike groups, eight Iowa -class battleships, two Davidson-class battleships, twenty fast attack submarines, 25 amphibious assault ships, two Mercy-class Hospital ships, 50 fleet auxillary ships and the retro-fitted (former cargoship) mothership HRMS Warhorse, with her complement of 5 Shield-class stealth torpedo boats. King Mark was throwing a lot of firepower around to keep his claim on an isolated collection of rocks. The Aschenhyrst nation could not afford to appear weak, not with so many foreign forces in the region. Aschenhyrst`s territorial sovereignty had been violated, Aschenhyrst`s stance of neutrality had been violated and the violaters would pay for their crimes.

Grand Chausey
The Waldenburg naval guns had done the work for the construction battalions, the airstrip on Grand Chausey looked like the surface of the moon. A cat and mouse game of sporadic firefights between ground troops had been going on for three days. The Aschenhyrst troops, mainly engineers and construction battallion personel, had been holding the invaders at bay but at a heavy price. Casualty counts ran around 20% and were expected to increase as more Waldenburger troops landed every hour. Already outgunned, the islands defenders would soon be outnumbered. Their commander hoped his garrison could hold out until reinforcements arrived.

Veni Sancte Spiritus (http://www.imeem.com/people/021HyL/music/-XWkzylC/gregorian-veni-sancte-spiritus/)

St. Michael’s Cathedral
Blünderburg, Waldenburg

Sweat dripped off of the hooked nose of the monk, his brown hood obscuring the steel blue eyes beneath. He kept his head down, hands clapped together in prayer, and took position at the rear of a column of similarly clothed clergy members as the scent of incense overtook him. A massive hulk of a man rolled his way down the narrow corridor in the opposite direction, the column shifting slightly to the right as Leopold von Waldenburg made his way to a location somewhere within the tower spires of the Cathedral.

Drescher broke immediately from the group, the other monks barely taking notice as he slipped in behind the monstrous man. The monk’s footsteps on the stone floors matched perfectly with von Waldenburg’s, and neither the Canonarch nor the High Cardinal noticed him as they emerged from a cloister into the corridor, nodding curtly to Leopold as the three of them continued silently towards the High Convocation Hall. Drescher passed a musty, stone-walled shrine where the Palliantus was sipping from a mug of some sort of reddish liquid. As the monk who brought the silver mug and carafe departed his presence, he gave Drescher a swift nod and a tap on the shoulder before bowing his head and continuing.

Four men dressed as inquisitors, grey-black hoods obscuring their faces, guarded the door to the Cenobiarch’s Solarium, delicate rapiers hanging from their robes. They made no movement as the three men passed, but nodded slowly as Drescher approached, the tallest grabbing his arm.

“The signal will come from you, Johann,” he whispered hoarsely, shoving a stiletto into his hand with practiced stealth and ease. “Do not hesitate.” He slipped back into position, folding his hands behind his back and staring at the stone floor as a shadow once again moved over his features. The Cenobiarch’s voice was muffled by the heavy mahogany door, but Drescher assumed that the “inquisitors” (the actual four inquisitors were of course stuffed in a broom closet somewhere with multiple stab wounds) had the situation with that individual well in hand. He jogged briskly to catch up to the three men, Leopold’s rolls of fat making it an easy chase.

The three turned down another bend in the corridor, and with the door to the High Convocation Hall in sight, began to mutter various things about the coming and current war – nothing of value, to Drescher’s annoyance. Five monks stood before the heavy oaken doors, and Drescher turned his head to check the hall behind him. It was fortunately deserted, and the monks stepped forward as the stiletto poked out of his sleeve.

“Leopold von Waldenburg,” the middle man spat, lifting his hood off over his head. The other four followed suit, but Drescher, still hidden by the shadows behind the group, crouched and left his on. “You have been accused of crimes against humanity. How do you plead?” The question was worded as a statement, and the four monks flanking the lead one pointedly removed their daggers, making sure that the grotesque man saw the gleaming blades.

The Canonarch immediately made to run, and the High Cardinal swiveled nimbly on his heels, bolting down the corridor as fast as the aged man could run. Drescher saw his chance instantly, and moved from the shadows of the corridor into the center, catching the man’s body in his arms and sliding the stiletto between his ribs once, then again, and then once more. He released him from his grip and the High Cardinal stumbled backwards, lifting a hand to his chest to see the blood beginning to stain his robes. He stumbled again and his back hit the wall before he fell, blood pooling around him. Drescher glanced to his right to see the Canonarch on the ground, being stabbed repeatedly by four of the “monks”. Von Waldenburg was still unharmed, but had fallen to his knees. Only the words of the Leistungi agent could be heard.

“Scream, Leopold,” he said coldly, wiping the Canonarch’s blood from his dagger with a handkerchief. “Scream, butcher.” A shrill, piercing sound went through the corridors of St. Michael’s, and the agent sliced downward, splitting the man’s neck and cutting the noise off immediately.

Elsewhere in St. Michael’s

The scream was heard by the four inquisitors, and as one they opened the doors to the Solarium, unsheathing their rapiers as the signal was cut off in a sickening gargle which the men heard clearly, even down the long corridor. The Cenobiarch turned immediately, his brow furrowed, mouth already forming into a scowl. Two of the men grabbed his arms while the others stayed his tongue with cold steel. Together, they made for the corridor, the sounds of screams and gargles now coming from every bend, every cloister. The Palliantus emerged from a tiny room clutching his throat, lips trying to form into a scream.

The stairs were difficult to negotiate with the squirming man, but negotiate them they did, and in a matter of minutes the group was atop the easternmost spire of St. Michael’s, the desert wind blowing the black and grey hoods off the inquisitor’s heads to reveal soft faces and light brown hair which could never have come from the deserts and plains of Waldenburg. The four dropped the Cenobiarch on his feet and gestured towards the edge of the spire. He turned, confused, blood dripping out of his mouth.

“Jump.”

Greetings, friend.

As you may or may not be aware, the forces of Waldenburg have aggressively engaged our Vorogthic brethren in Yallak, and therefore we are honor bound to defend them in every way possible. Therefore we cannot sit idly by and allow Waldenburg to continue to operate in Gothic Mediterranica with impunity, and we apologize for injecting ourself into the current conflict there, but you must understand that we as Freeks will never falter in the defense of an ally.

We understand that Anagonia has no land to call home, and we are most saddened by that. We also understand your willingness to maintain influence within Waldenburg, though we can forsee conflicts of interest looming as we look to consolidate power within the region. Therefore we make you this offer, join our Vorgothic brotherhood and we shall help build you a new homeland, within Gothic Mediterranica if you so choose. We do this with but a few requests; that Gothic forces be allowed their right to retalliate for the strikes on Yallakian assets without Anagonian protest, and that your allies from Greater Dienstad assisting in the "liberation" of Waldenburg pack up and leave immediately following the conclusion of fighting.

We personally are suspicious of their intentions, and we are opening diplomatic channels with The Macabees to ensure that our regions do not come into conflict. But we do hope that you accept our offer, I know our Gothic friends in Greston would be overjoyed to have Anagonia reborn within the Vorgothic Empire, and would be more than willing to lend a hand in constructing your new nation. As a token of good will, once my fleet and the fleet of Warchief Vidimir arrive to defend Yallak from further attack, we will provide you with whatever long range support you require to accomplish your objectives. Our intelligence agencies will also give you as much information as possible to assist in quelling the Waldenburg menace and reducing Anagonian casualties.

I look foward to your response, for the thought of a new Anagonia standing shoulder to shoulder with us as equals in Vorgoth is most exciting.

http://img509.imageshack.us/img509/4861/warchiefne9.jpg
Zander
-Warchief of AMF Forces-

Somewhere in the Med

Sailing proudly as one of the last vestiges of Anagonian naval supremacy was the XCV-1 Anagonia Class Carrier (http://hawk.proboards1.com/index.cgi?board=Military&action=display&thread=28&page=1#49) XCV-15 Castle Forge. She had been lucky enough to be stationed overseas during the devastating Ion Cannon strikes against the Anagonian Navy. Truthfully her and her remaining sister ships should be sailing to what remained of the apocalyptic homeland to reclaim it from rebellion and invasion, but they didn't. They never would again if the command to halt Freekian aggression hadn't been recalled. It was a surprise to Luther when the Emperor himself contacted him personally concerning the matter.

General Luther Jackson had just boarded the Castle Forge when the Captain of the ship had personally stopped him for a message from the "last remaining leader of the homeland". At first, Luther was skeptical. He had heard the news like everyone else! Nothing was left, including his family and everyone he cared about. It was grim, preliminary, and based upon a Fiction's news agency. The real reports came later once what remained of the military in the Homeland informed the Confederation Divisions of the happening. There was hope, but not much. It was worthless to return and a direct order to remain at their posts. Luther saw it differently but didn't realize at the time that order, the order to not return, had come from someone he least expected.

It seemed impossible at first that the person on the other side of the secured satellite phone was Havok Agamemnon. Luther didn't want to believe that the Republic he swore an oath to defend had turned into an Imperial Empire within the span of thirty seconds. Yet it was true, harsh reality settling in when Havok spoke the military directive that only Oscar Vladinchi knew. Luther had seen the images of that news crew rescuing the Chief General, had read the report from Military Command about default control to Oscar. Only the Chief General had the privileged to hand down full control of Anagonia to her new leader, even despite an election. The military directive was kept top secret and despite the Democratic appeal of the previous United Republic, only the military allowed those it deemed competent to lead the people it was sworn to protect. When Havok recited the directive word for word Luther was forced to submit to the new rule of his Emperor.

A Democracy destroyed by a madman and an Imperial Empire put in it's place by default. Luther sighed heavily as he gazed at the computer terminal used for outside transmission. The Captain had been gracious enough to allow him the use of his private terminal earlier so Luther could relay a personal message from the new Leader. He was asked about it, the Captain desiring have a glimpse of what the new Emperor was like, but Luther maintained strict command protocol and politely informed the Captain to "screw off" until he was finished. His mind raced as he recalled the conversation earlier.

"General Jackson," Havok had greeted him after reciting the Directive, "I have a special assignment for you and the Grestonian Division. It is one that shall stab our closest allies in the back, but one I am forced to give. You will not approve of it nor will you condone it."

Luther merely responded with a "Yes sir", his thoughts then on the destroyed Republic and possibly his family with it.

"As Emperor," Havok continued, "I will be forced to make these decisions on a daily basis. This will not be the last time I will recite this speech to you. You will be on the verge of disobeying me with every fiber of your being." Luther heard a sigh on the other end, recalling how depressing it sounded. "I understand you were among the Republic's most loyal and an outspoken advocate of the power of the People over government and military. This I do respect. I really do."

"Thank you, sir." was Luther's response. He was getting uneasy, wondering when the real message would come through and the bullcrap of introductions would halt. He wanted to get on with it already.

"Quite," Havok had responded. "Now I need you to disregard everything you hold dear and forgo any belief in the service of what remains of your homeland, Mr. Jackson. You serve me now, you serve what is left. To do this you must betray all your holdings and ideals for the Republic and realize that this Empire will be he darkest time in Anagonian history." There was a silence as Luther's eye's widened at that statement. "Your report on the Freekian response and including your conversations with Freekian leadership was a heartfelt attempt at preserving the Republic's holdings and alliances of previous decades and years. I respect this, Mr. Jackson."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Luther seemed proud of himself for being an outstanding commander in Anagonia's darkest hour. He thought he knew the direction this conversation would lead to. Honestly, he didn't see any other way it would end! Oscar Vladinchi would have undoubtedly encouraged Havok to maintain alliances and disregard hostile aggression. His thoughts and hopes were shattered swiftly when Havok said, "Now it's time to disregard all the bullshit and start thinking about our damn future, General."

"Excuse me?!" He could hear Havok grit his teeth in anger at how Luther had forcefully responded. Truthfully that response was the only thing that came to mind. A second sigh from the other end could be heard, louder than the last time. "I understand your confusion, perhaps your resentment or refusal General Jackson. But I need everyone on the same page here and I need you to support me in this endeavor we have somehow found ourselves in." A moment later, "Please."

It was with reluctance that Luther finally agreed. The plan was laid out by Havok then, a more pleasant tone that seemed confident. Through out Luther constantly responded with "Yes sir" and "I understand" knowing full well the consequences of the promises he had made earlier in time to many nations. Anagonia had indeed gone down a dark path. One full of despair and isolation. The Confederation would crumble probably overnight. Many nations would turn their backs on Anagonia forever. All hope of a world balanced against the evils of power hungry men would forever be shattered by this one act of betrayal and Luther had accepted it. He accepted his new Emperor, accepted the new reality of things, accepted the fact that no longer would Anagonia stand for good and justice. He realized then just how much the madman had stolen from the ideals of a free and just society.

And at the back of his mind he liked it. Finally, he typed his response and sent it on a secure line to Zander.

* * *

Official Secured Communication
From Captain Edgar Hammal
XCV-15 Castle Forge

Secured Communication
Code Twenty-Three-Omega / Directive Four-Sierra-Tango
Transmission acknowledgment of General Luther Jackson

TO: Zander - Warchief of AMF Forces
FROM: General Luther Jackson - Commander and Chief of the First Imperial Division

My dear Zander,

This message will arrive to you and been seen to anyone else who possibly intercepts it as firstly a message of hostile intent and a recitation of previous refusals for Freekian intervention in Waldenburg. As you have found this message you have discovered this is, indeed, not the true message to be received. In either event I apologize for the need for secrecy but the allies of Anagonia would not be overjoyed to see this message I now write to you.

I understand from childhood being taught about Automagfreek. Your people are not one for bullcrap and beating around the bush. Even if this is not so it expresses the humble gratitude that my people have always had for yours. Truthfully all children are grown first knowing the existence of their homeland then that of the Freekians. I understand this means little to you, but it gives foundation to what I'm about to express.

Firstly in accordance with the wishes and will of my Emperor Havok Agamemnon, whom cannot contact you personally due to certian issues and time restraints, I convey a message of goodwill and thankfulness for the offering of support in our time of need. I also convey a sad denial of the request for our forces to participate in the invasion of Waldenburg. Emperor Agamemnon does not wish this to be viewed in any manner other than what it is meant to be viewed as, superficial. I have been ordered to leave the Meddy and return to our homeland and assist in quelling a rebellion. I know this news strikes you as contrary to my description of "having no home" earlier, but it is true. Some of it remains. The Emperor wishes it to remain whole for his new Empire and I wish to attempt to find my family or their remains for a proper burial.

He wishes also for me to convey the desire for the Empire and Automagfreek to maintain relations despite the sudden change of government. As you may or may not know the Republic is dead and Emperor Agamemnon desires to convey apologies at the default leadership he has presented upon Anagonia. At some point in the future he would like to personally convene in council with Lord Dreadfire if it suits your interests to debate the continuation of the Alliance between our two nations. Any further matter of importance he has left to me, and thus begins the second part of the message.

I have been ordered to take the Grestonian Division home as stated earlier. By the Order of the Emperor, I am now among the Council of General's that is headed by Anagonia's previous Chief General. This information is irrelevant to you but important in the fact that whatever I say from here on out represents the entire interest of the Empire. Therefore I simply ask that you heed every word I send to you in this message and know it is sanctioned and authorized by the Emperor and the Chief General himself. As such, my fleets and ground assets will be leaving the Meddy and will not participate in any actions against Waldenburg. We have too few soldiers left, too few of anything left to spare in some fruitless war of expansion. I do not wish to disrespect you by stating the obvious, merely to say that if circumstances were different we would gladly assist you for the betterment of relations between our two nations.

Personally I do not care to get involved in this war, nor does the Emperor. I agree with him on the fact that any nation not undergoing his personal review should be considered worthless until such a time as deemed relevant. This includes, not surprisingly, the nations involved in Waldenburg currently. I have no more interest in this region besides Greston which will, thankfully, remain in the Confederation so long as the leadership of Greston desires. My division must sadly return to our waters and ensure that the war going on there for our very existence is won. I would be pleased if you could convey this to the Greston leadership if possible since I will undountably have little time to contact them muself. I will state with firm actuality that this "review" mentioned earlier does not include Automagfreek as the Emperor and I have deemed your nation a strong ally.

There is little hope for any Anagonian involvement considering what has been mentioned beforehand. However I will convey that the Santheres Division of the Confederation is open for possibilities currently. As this message is being read by you they are receiving word of my divisions departure for the homeland. The Emperor has personally ordered every remaining division to hold fast and protect our holdings across the globe. The only reason we were allowed to fight for our homeland was because of my judgment to halt your expansion by any means necessary. The Emperor saw me leaving my forces to create a wall against you, by any means possible, and thus struck me down. I will state freely that I personally viewed what your doing as it as Imperialistic and Tyrannical. Now, however, this view is all but shattered upon the realization that my nation is Imperialistic. To resist you would go against the Emperor's wishes and be a direct paradox to the Empire in the wake of the Republic. I think you realize that with all respects to you and your people, I have given up fighting against tyrants and dictator's and have submitted to the will of my Emperor. The Santheres Division holds fast to these ideals, admittedly. They have a different view of the Meddy conflict than I and despite the Emperor's wishes would undoubtedly come running to your aid if you somehow gain contact with them. This information will be provided at the end of this message in an attachment.

I realize that I should be desiring closer relation between your nation and mine. I hope that this message, which is somewhat personal in nature, meets these ideals after all the gibberish is looked past. Long communications are of course something I would have never done before and especially to a Freekian. Things have changed now, so have my ideals. My fleet, which was to combat you as stated previously, will now leave you be. I have offered you opportunity for our assistance through another division and will hope you take the offer. I have expressed the Emperor's desire for a continued working relationship between our two allied nations. Finally, I am no longer a General of a Republic. I am, truthfully, broken and submissive to the fact that the era for liberty is dead.

I hope that most of this message makes some sense to you, Warchief Zanter. That you can see the struggle I undertake to continue along my course and new role. In times different I would have stood against you despite my peoples wishes and tried my damnedest to keep you from your expansion. My ideals did blind me then, admittedly. This new reality and world beckons for an investigation and I must oblige to it. Hopefully by some miracle you and I will meet at a diplomatic table and discuss how this entire message sounds like the depressing wailing's of an old man. Thank you for listening to my banter, Warchief Zanter. I wish you good fortune in your war.

With due respect,
General Luther Jackson
Commander and Chief of the First Imperial Division

Additional Attachments
Warchief Zanter,

I took the liberty of contacting General Richard Yong of the Santheres Division and informing him of the changes in the Empire. I believe if you contact him with the information provided in this attachment he will be happy to assist you should anything go wrong or you desire it.

OOC: EDIT
Big freakin edit. Lot's of mistakes earlier.

The Times Are Changing (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgECKj9LSH4)


The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May, 12:51 AM
Waldenburg, Blünderburg
Office of General Ludwig Graf von Slizer

A phone rang. It rang again in the petulant way that only something so technologically useful and necessary could escape with. A groggy hand reached out and fumbled about the accumulating desk furniture until it laid hands on the receiver. After quite a feat of maneuvering it was clutched to the General’s ear, and then clutched to the other ear as the adhered piece of paper was scraped off his face.

“Slizer. Go ahead.” There was nothing on the other end, no ominous breathing that somehow made it worse. “Hello?” Fully awake now, his heart pumping with adrenaline, the general slammed the phone down and fumbled at his desk for something. He had been one of the few survivors of the Konigplatz massacre some weeks earlier and had, to the chagrin of his staff, taken to stringing trip wires across his office doors, and sleeping with a loaded revolver, at his desk rather than at home. His window was open and a slight draft ruffled about the documents and brought a chill to Silzer’s body.

Triumphantly pulling his weapon from the recesses of a drawer he flourished the gun in one hand, leveling it at the door, while another was sent scrambling for a decanter, which he pulled the stop with his teeth and took a huge draft. There came a knock at the door, which was followed by a gentle creak a moment later until a brown robed figure stood outlined against the stoop, hunched and brooding in silence.

“Who are you?” Silzer asked madly waving the revolver; he had begun to see assassins everywhere in the last few weeks and this man certainly fit the bill, though no blatant weapons could be seen.

“Count von Silzer?” The brown figure drifted into the room on soundless feet and stopped about three meters from the general.

“Yes. Who…”

“Commandant of labor camps and advisor to the Cenobiarch?”

“Yes, step back or I will kill you!”

“I’ve come to end you; will you put your pistol down and die with the dignity you never showed in life?”

“No,” Silzer smiled brilliantly as if his statements were the cutting edge of repartee, “not a chance.” He pulled the trigger and instantly regretted it as his hand and most of his arm where removed down to a bloody stump, as the oversized round caught in the chamber pistol exploded. Silzer’s brandy soon followed suit and the man was a screaming inferno within seconds.

“Because I am a kind man, General, and because it is a beautiful evening for the world, I will let you burn, and maybe, just maybe, that will be enough suffering for you to get into heaven. Good night general,” stepping daintily around the door stop and a flailing leg, the brown robe figure produced from an inner pocket a stalk of purple flowers and tossed them to the desk as an afterthought.
--

The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May, 12:55 AM
Tilzenheim Forest

Cold moist breath coalesced in great heaving clouds as Dr. Albert vom Nord rushed through another cusp of pines that shook heavily with yesterdays rain and slapped against his bare legs with a wet and scathing pain. His hunting gear had been torn away and one of his boots was lost in a puddle half a mile back. Every so often the doctor would throw a glance over his shoulder, and as always he could see his pursuers keeping an easy pace with him, striding, not running through the thick undergrowth.

“…For I fear nothing upon this earth, nor the demons of the skies, nor the kings of nations, for I place my trust in God and his prophets, who reign in this world and the next…” The words came in great and uncontrollable heavings from recesses and fragments of childhood, of dusty sermons and childhood memories that blended together and exited his mouth until the words were but gibberings. “…Look to the sky, oh children, look to the heaven’s and see the dominions I have given you to rule; and sit upon earthly thrones under my hand, under my hand, under my hand….”

Parting a thick bush of brambles Albert dashed up a small hill and swiveled his head instinctively to see behind him the three men that had been following him for the last mile. They were as always keeping an easy pace behind him, hands tucked into robes and walking heads down, slowly but gaining distance.

A twisted hawthorn root caught Albert’s foot and pitched him into a holly push that further ripped at his already raw and bleeding skin. The doctor could run no more, after so many years of sedentary activity he was surprised he had made it thus far. In a silence punctuated only with his sobbing breaths, vom Nord stared up at the blanket that was the sky stretched from horizon to horizon, encompassing the entire world, and the thousands that lay beyond it. An uncontrollable tremor shook him, before the tread of footsteps sounded on the wet grass and three face hove into view.

“Dr. Albert vom Nord?” One asked quietly.

The doctor did not respond at first, but rather moved a blood soaked hand to brush a tear from his eye. “Do you think there is a world for everyone of them?”

“Head of Imperial Eugenics and Culture?” The brown robe persisted.

“Probability dictates there is a little sphere of rock orbiting around each one, and through an infinitesimally small chance, a spark of life is created on some, and from that spark a nation, and from that nation everything.”

“By order of the Emperor you are to be silence for your crimes.”

Turning to face his captors now Albert smiled weakly, “Is it such a crime to dream of a better world?”

“When such dreams are thus played out in blood? Yes, yes it is Doctor.” The brown robes retreated from view and Albert could feel and smell the distinct smell of gasoline being poured over his holly bush.

“I commend my soul to God.” A match was applied and the night air was tinged with the scent of holly.
--

The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May 12: 59 AM
The Imperial Free Hospital, Blünderburg

Someone with a truly devious mind had designed the clock in the burn ward of the hospital; in silence it ticked as if cleaving of the seconds of the patients lives, and even in the loudest uproar it could be heard studiously counting down.

Archbishop Cladius Fezwenski had spent a great deal of time studying that clock in the three weeks he had been consigned to his bed, after a rather unfortunate accident involving his office swivel chair. A constant stream of his staff had come to press chocolates and flowers on him, but not once had his daughter shown up with even a scowl.

“…So we’ll double your dosage, and have you our of here in a week. Of course you’ll have the scar for the rest of your life, but it’ll be rather fetching.” A pasty faced doctor whom the archbishop had never bothered to remember his name, scribbled on a clipboard and turned smiling to the invalid. “It seems you have some visitors, I leave you alone, and see you tomorrow Your Grace.” Cladius’ head perked up and swiveled to the door, and then fell back to the pillows when he saw his visitors were not of the feminine persuasion.

“Look,” Claudius whispered angrily through a half burned face, “I have enough chocolate, flowers do nothing for me, and for the love of Holy Christ if any of you have brought a card…” The tangent was silenced as three men in dark cheap suits materialized at the side of his bead and suck long fold of duct tape over the archbishop’s mouth.

“Archbishop Cladius Fezwenski? Prelate of Canonical law?” Just nod.” The accent from the speaker was so light, so foreign, and so different from the dull Waldenburger monotone; the invalid could not help but respond.

“Good.” Another of the cheap suits murmured, “Now I have just a little story to tell you, it’s short, it won’t take long, I’m sure you have places to go; it’s about a monster. It would hide under children’s bed in a little village and eat them if they were naughty. One day the villagers found out where it lived, and when it slept, and then came for it, and they ate; and the children ate it too, and they smiled when it was dead, and they had no more nightmares.” A rough and calloused hand shot out and gripped the IV bag that hung beside the bed, and applied a great pressure to it.

Cladius’ eyes bulged as his blood began to froth in his veins, while a suit continued to whisper into his ear, softly, in words he did not understand. Vomiting under his gag, the Archbishop raised two fingers shakily in benediction; they were slapped aside.

After a brief check of the pulse all three men straightened their blue and white pinstriped ties, “Salutations,” one man removed a lily from a bedside vase and laid it delicately on the chest of the now dead prelate, “from the chancellor.”
--

The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May 1:13 AM
Imperial Palace, Blünderburg

Sleepy eyes followed the single darting hand as it lay out the plan for the defense of Granzimmerburg, against an enemy landing force. The War Cabinet had been in session for the last thirty-six hours, and every member had devised some chemical or physical contraption to keep them awake; Heinrich Grey of the war office, had built himself a wall of coffee cups around his ornate chair, which straddle the long cherry table along with about twenty others. Most of the chairs were empty at this hour, as most offices were unrelated to the war effort, or like Rupert Fry had been in some way detained; in his case by straps.

“So if the armor can hold these streets here, there will be no issue with artillery bombardment into the center of the city, closing off all these highways to enemy use.” A tactical officer who had no place speaking, or for that matter being so lively at this time of night, rattled on about deployment numbers and, divisional strength. This was his second hour into the speech and still all the War Cabinet could think about was sleep.

A knock at the door jolted everyone back to attention and a petulant voice called from outside, “I have breakfast for the Honorable Ministers.” These was greeted with general enthusiasm and the servant was quickly ushered in to distribute a round of heavy coffee mugs, and lay down a large dish covered with a large silver cover. The servant was quickly dismissed, and the drinks attacked with a ferocity more appropriate for Stuka dive-bombers.

“Isn’t it a bit early for breakfast?” Prein von Steddlehausen asked as he never the less reached happily for the dish and removed the cover. Instead of the platter of meats he had been expecting a grenade lay on the silver dish, garnished only with plastic explosives. To his horror Prein found a string tied to the interior of the dish, and dangling from that, a small metal pin.

“May the archangels take me! ”The widows burst outwards, showering glass down into the street below and once again starting the fine magnolia trees lining the Imperial Boulevard on fire,
--
The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May 1:15 AM
WIS Inconstant Sorrow, Imperial Paloni

“Sir, a torpedo boat baring the ISS standard is hailing us sir, they wish to come aboard.” The night shift ensign was already tapping in the appropriate codes as he spoke to Vice Admiral Thousis situated some meters behind him and morosely tapping the arms of his chair.

“What time is it ensign?” Thousis asked as he gently fondled the Order of Imperial Chivalry tied around his neck; for some reason unknown to the ensign his commander had dressed in his full military regalia for the evening.

“1:15 sir.” The ensign responded distractedly.

Thousis was silent for a moment and bit his lip as he glared at the wall clock that slowly chopped down on his life. He had agreed to the plan, but now that it stood in motion before him, he felt cowed by history, and fearful of death.

“I don’t want to die yet ensign; it’s not my time. I don’t want to die.” Thousis mumbled half to himself as the running lights on the torpedo boat drew close to the starboard side. “This isn’t my time; I don’t deserve to die!” Shouting now Thousis strode to the intership radio and pressed down the button, “This is the Admiral. All hands to battlestations, prepare for action, squadron is moving.” The communications died and with a startled look the ensign stood up.

“Sir..”

“Helm! Flank speed ahead, ten degrees starboard! Ram that ship!” Without hesitation the wooden wheel was spun, the engines thrown to life and the Inconstant Sorrow churned the water into a maelstrom, gave a long resounding blast from its foghorn, the steel prow shattered and crumpled the thirty ton torpedo boat, as if it were made of paper.

“Signal all ships, to head for open seas and await my orders!” Thousis was nearly jumping with an odd cocktail of rage and anxiety, “Gunnery! Put two shells though the WIS Amazon!”

“Sir, I protest!” His captain, after a great deal of confusion had burst into the bridge, and caught Thousis mid sentence, “Those are Waldenburger vessels.”

“Captain,” Thousis turned a bloodshot eye to the man, “I have just had word from Blünderburg, that the Cenobiarch is dead, and a coup is under way in the capital to overthrow the Imperial government. The Leistungi have broken though our First Army Group, and we have been ordered to the capital to defeat the traitors? Do you have issue with these orders?” Thousis threw an eye to his communications officer to dare contradict this.

“No sir!” His captain squirmed under his gaze and attempted as best he could to throw out a salute in his bathrobe.

“Then to your station and prepare the ship for action.” With a deft hand Thousis removed a lilac flower from his collar buttonhole and tossed it to the floor.
--

The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May 1:19AM
St. Michael’s Cathedral, Blünderburg

Warm winds. Great warm winds, blowing the sand of ages through the abandoned temples of dead gods. In front of the Cenobiarch the vastness of the High Desert stretched, and stretched, from horizon to horizon, wrapped in heat, and above all barren of life. A moon hung in the sky casting a pale radiance on the seas of sand, and laid out a path almost to the coast some three thousand miles away.

Even here Harold Thousis could feel the heat, radiating in great and frightening waves from the lolling dunes of the desert. A prickling on his skin was the crystals of sand that blew so dutifully from the West.

“From this tower, I can see the whole world.” Thousis choked out through dry lips. “All those star, all those worlds, all those peoples.” With a backwards glance the Cenobiarch turned to face Blünderburg, a city of billions and saw nothing but darkness and fire; great tangling fires and clouds of smoke that rose from invisible buildings. It stretched just like the desert out and out, but where the gentle sands glowed with in the religious half-light of the moon, it was dark and silent, sullen in smoke and tired with misery.

“And it’s so big! Where is everyone?! Where are the people, where is everyone?!” He began to scream as he clutched the hairs that jutted from his head at every angle and pulled them from his scalp, “ Where are they? I’ve seen them, I’ve seen them all, but where are they now?” His words turned to fragments of words and then into a different tongue all together that spoke in different tones. Then Thousis stopped, smiled at his captors, and took a small step off the tower.

The Holiest of Hollies, The Prophet of God, Hierarch of the Holy Church, robes flapping about his bony knees saw a great many things as he well to the desert floor. He saw angels of both agony and mercy, demons in terrible guise, saints and martyrs dressed in holy raiment stooped below the cross. He saw the beginning and the end, the firmament, and the last glimpse of life in a dark universe. He saw the sum of life, from every new leaf to the smell of rain, and the touch of lightening. He felt the warm winds upon his face, and the hot tears at his cheek. Above all he saw the desert; so vast, so empty, and so alone.
--

The 66th Day of Spring
The Glorious 25th of May 1:52AM
Imperial Palace, Blünderburg

“Thank you general…. Thank you,” Wyatt von Waldenburg set the phone down for the last time, and reclined pensively in his chair. Reports were streaming in from across the Empire and the known world of the joint ISS and Leistungi strike teams had accomplished a 99% success rate, and even from this office the Emperor could see the extent of his plan in the fires that twinkled in the night.

Rubbing his temples with two withered hands the Emperor nodded to himself and calmed his excited breath, “What have I done?” From out the window, for the first time in sixty years, the Emperor could smell the lilacs that graced his private gardens.

Redemption (http://www.imeem.com/akshayne/music/FaLLil_q/thomas-newman-shawshank-redemption/)


"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies."
-Unsourced

Chancellery Building,
Falkenberg, Leistung

A room of champagne, tears, and handshakes marked the end of the Church’s domination of Waldenburg in Leistung; a room of Chancellors, Councilors, Generals, Admirals, and perhaps more than a few over-zealous Lieutenants who had accidentally wandered into the Chancellor’s office that evening. Images of the Cenobiarch’s body, broken and lifeless, his blood staining the desert sands, circulated amongst all the major newspapers in Leistung, and though the stories concerning his demise were all more ridiculous than the last, the Leistungi people made their own inferences – surely their government must have had some part in this tragedy for the Waldenburger Church.

Though the days to come would see more deaths on the front lines, it now seemed inevitable that the Church would be completely ripped from its place of power, and Wyatt von Waldenburg would assume his new responsibilities as the true Emperor of Waldenburg – an ironic change, considering the sixty years he had sat on the throne. Though the secret terms von Waldenburg had set down weeks prior had been agreed to by the Chancellor, the looming threat of Yallakian and Kregian forces, perhaps willing to continue attacking the state despite the coup, had forced the General Staff to revise their plans. Rather than allow the army in Waldenburg to capitulate, the Chancellor would issue orders recalling the now steadily advancing Leistungi army groups to hold position in anticipation of reinforcements. From there, the consolidated army would wait, bide its time, and prepare for the worst-case scenario from within the Waldenburger capital – a secular government which would still be interested in continuing the war, leaving Waldenburg weak for Gothic assault.

News came also that Anagonia would not support or oppose Gothic advances in Mediterranica, eliciting a lukewarm response in Leistung, where the General Staff had been certain that their allies in Anagonia would support them, regardless of current government. Chancellor Ringkampf had paced wordlessly for several hours when the news came in, as he realized that his long-time ally in Anagonia may just have been lost forever.

“The Eighth Fleet has just been reported steaming near Langholme, Chancellor.” Admiral Beckenbauer took a seat next to Ringkampf, a glass of champagne in his hand. “Two million men follow close behind.” There was a pause as the Chancellor nodded. “You’re certain that the Grestonians will not oppose us should the fleet encounter Grestonian ships?”

“You know, Greston was once our closest ally in the Mediterranican region,” Ringkampf replied, almost in a daze. “We fought together, our people knew each other’s languages, our governments exchanged information freely.”

“I’m well aware, sir, but the situation has changed somewhat –”

“Has it, Jonas?” The Chancellor’s gaze now met his, and neither man spoke for a moment. The sounds of the party were lost on them. “The Grestonians simply went astray, Admiral, and now, I think, our paths will converge once again. Do not underestimate the tenacity, the dedication, and the courage of a Grestonian, Jonas, or you will surely find yourself on the receiving end of a bayonet.” Beckenbauer chuckled and took a sip from his glass. “So no, the Grestonians will not oppose us. I am certain of that.”

“Vengeance is a terrible thing, Chancellor,” the Admiral muttered, sighing lightly.

“That it is, Jonas. That it is,” Ringkampf agreed, clinking his champagne glass with Beckenbauer’s and taking a sip.



Hand-delivered message to the Grestonian ambassador to Leistung

http://img211.imageshack.us/img211/4756/officeofthechancellorfk9.gif
To: The Right Honorable Sir Llywelyn Wilton Madoc, President, Imperial Republic of Greston
From: Office of the Chancellor
Subj: The current Mediterranican situation

Mister Madoc, though we have not had the pleasure of a personal meeting, know that I was quite close with your predecessor, and that I have always held a place in my heart for the Imperial Republic as a result of our shared experiences.

We come now to a crossroads – the culmination of all that our two great nations have accomplished in the name of freedom and justice for the Mediterranican region. Your nation and my own, Greston and Leistung, have make mistakes on the road to realization, but I pray now that you have come to the same conclusion I have. The Gothic hordes must be repelled. There is now no denying that fact.

Long ago, Greston and Leistung stood together in solidarity against the forces which would seek to usurp the natural order, and rip away the freedoms we fought so savagely, so earnestly, to secure. I ask you now to stand with us again. Together, we must roll back the tides of tyranny, or the world which our grandchildren will inhabit will not be one worth living in.

There is one thing that is certain, Mister Madoc – liberty is worth the ultimate price. We have in ages past paid that price, and we may yet have to pay it again. I beseech you – stand with us, and embrace the ideals of your forefathers so that that no more may have to die by the hands of Gholgoth. The hopes and the prayers of free men everywhere are upon you.

With humblest regards,
http://img525.imageshack.us/img525/4432/ringkampfta8.png
Gregor Ringkampf
Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Leistung

Task Force:Hercules in the waters off Eire, Northern District of the Chausey Islands
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The Naval Armada now stationed off the shores of this desolate speck of land had sailed hard for three weeks to arrive at its destination. Driven by a sense to avenge a wrong committed against the sovereignty of Aschenhyrst territory, imboldened by the Waldenburger`s dismissal of their nations neutrality and soon to be forged in the fires of battle, 50,000 Royal Marines were ready to begin operations to reclaim their sovereign territory. The Joint Chiefs had devised an island-hopping campaign to remove the invaders from each and every single island in the chain, no matter how small. This territory belonged to the Aschenhyrst nation and the foreigners would not occupy it for long. What was ours would be rightfully reclaimed. Parliament had briefly debated how these actions would be looked upon, given the stance of neutrality the nation had offered to Gothic forces in the region. The general concensus was that we are acting in self-defense and damn the consequences.

0500 hrs, Eire. H-hour
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Ten Wasp-class Amphibious Assault Ships formed up the first wave on the reclaimation of the Chauseys. Aerial reconnisance had revealed the island was lightly defended. Just an hour earlier the big guns of four Iowa-class battleships had fallen silient. The naval barrage had started around 0200 hours and continue for two hours. It was overkill, thousands of pounds of ordinance was targeted on the 3Km by 1Km speck in the ocean.

5Km from the shores the final orders came. LCAC`s began making their way toward shore. Overhead, the skies were filled with Blackhawk and Chinook Helocopters loaded with the Force Recon Battalion. The objective was to put an overwhelming number of troops on the island and quickly overpower the token occupation force. Once secured, Eire would act as a launching pad for continued missions down the island chain.

0530 hrs
Under the last remaining bit of darkness the first ten Chinook helocopters landed on Eire`s highest point. Rising 200M above the island, it offered an unobstructed view of the entire island.
GySgt. Ephraim Pittman led his squad onto land, the first troops to hit the the island. Pittman radioed back to the command ship,"Uniform six-one, this is uniform six-six. The eagle has landed."

"Roger, Uniform six-six. Eagle has landed."

Pittman`s squad mission was to secure the high ground and relay intel to the landing parties. Soon it would be dawn and the LCAC`s would be hitting the beach shortly thereafter.

0600 hrs, half a click from the beach
MSgt William Peters looked over his squad of men. The seas were choppy this morning and the LCAC smelled of vomit as many of the troops were becoming seasick. " Don`t worry lads. We`ll be on dry land soon enough. I know your guts are in knots but even being run through the ringer, I know you can beat the holy shit out of those Waldos. We`ll get them while their still saying their breakfast prayers. Let them pray lads. I`ll tell you all something, before I go into battle I pray. I pray to God, Allah, Buddah, Yahweh and all the other religious head honchos. I want to make good with them all, there are no atheists in a combat zone! "

"Damn the heat, damn the mist, damn the sun, damn the rain and damn Aschenhyrst!" Master Sergeant Tolbert Viddlemann continued on his ten minute tirade against the heavens and his enemy in general; as he came upon the bones of another of his patrols sent out some hours earlier who had apparently been ambushed and now lay face down in a puddle.

The fighting, almost gentle on the first few days of action where the enemy were clearly defined uniforms had degraded into a terrible butchery were both armies were covered in mud from boots to skull and were dehumanized till his men were fighting hand to hand with Aschenhyrstian highlanders who had a strange and entirely too frightening penchant for their machetes.

"Second platoon; hold up." They had not had a confirmed sighting of an enemy soldier for the last day now, but that just added to the sense of fear that perhaps above the nearest creeper there would be a set of smiling highland teeth. Waldenburger officers had resulted to heavy handed responses and the use of napalm to burn away the habitations of the Aschenhyrstian engineers, who were even more deadly when it came to devising the tried and true, if somewhat predictable, pit falls; and chasing anyone remaining into the highlands with artillery barrages.

After delivering a full regiment of naval infantry as well as provisions for a four month campaign and several batteries of artillery and anti-air weapons the naval squadron had slipped away from Grand Chausey, weighing anchor, and leaving only about two dozen small attack craft for the protection of the island chain and the moving of troops. In all truth the waters between the islands were not suited, and certainly not advisable to plant battleships in, where a single hydrofoil could end an entire squadron.

"Down!" The telltale roar of an engine suggested another Aschen flyby, though Chausey itself had not come under any fire yet, it was only a matter of time. Tolbert's squad had grown jumpy and when this newest fighter rolled over one of the more anxious privates fired a quick round of bullets vainly at the plane. This neatly revealed their position, after which a 30 caliber shell found a new home in Private Teller's naval.

This would be the bane of the invasion; only the islands of Grand Chausey and Kensington had more than a single company, the rest having been withdrawn from the smaller islands to fight a growing insurgency.

When the first bombs would strike Eire they would strike a small radio outpost and Corporal Halder and his squad of ten along with a makeshift and slightly crooked flagpole flying the Imperial colors.

OOC Are there any Goths still about? If I didn't make it clear most of the coast, besides the Strein area is quite open. Having been to the sea side before and under the impression that not every square inch of this nation's coast is covered by gun batteries it, in my opinion, is a sound idea.

Storms rose on the distant horizon, lightning flashing from cloud to cloud and its follower thunder shattering the breezy air.

The bow of each ship dipped, roaring into the sea as the great cargo carriers pushed themselves onwards, carrying a cargo to the state of Waldenburg.

It had weeks since they had set off from Erid'Lor on a dangerous quest. A fleet of Very Large Cargo Carriers (VLCC's), now nearing the site of war.

The Bridge

Captain Lee Da-Wang's hand smote the table with such force it hurt. It still did not occur to him how exactly his little convoy of VLCC's, both cargo carrying ships and 'converted' ones was to punch through the blockade of many mighty warships. Goddamnit! This is what I told the higher-ups back in Calumna, but what did they have for a solution? Nothing! I am being sent into the den of lions with only a needle for a weapon, and there is nothing to stop me from destruction.

His XO laid out the map of the locality for him: Waldenburg, Paloni, and the location of the blockade ships based on the intelligence available. It did not help.

"Look, Avery," he said, "I'm not seeing how this convoy is going to make it through. I'm not just not seeing it!"

The XO replied, "Sir, each ship is armed. Even those cargo-carrying ones, which are done are outfitted with anti-aircraft missiles and CIWS systems. Then there are the dummy ships, and then the armed ones with their WeM-30 missiles. We have done all we could to prepare for the firefight which is surely going to come if we run the blockade. There's nothing more we can do, no straits to slip through to hide our passage- they'd all have been blocked off anyway-, no corridor that the enemy blockade is not covering, their ships are too many: this is all we can do."

The Captain gazed at him furiously for a moment, then stated in icy tones, "And it is still not enough!"

Sighing, the XO turned around, his back to the Captain. "Then what would you propose to do?"

"Turn around, head back home. I see no reason to risk my neck, and I would rather a court-martial."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"You heard me XO. Turn around! We're not doing this mission. I refuse to die like this, a paper battering ram to be crumpled against the enemy's iron wall."

Swearing under his breath, the XO lifted the pistol out of his holster quietly, undetectably. "Are you sure you want to do this, sir?"

Cold calculations ran through both men's mind: They both knew what was going to happen. Which side would have the support of the crew, which would determine things? Which side would react faster if it came down to a duel?

The XO spoke first, breaking into the train of thought of each. "Please reconsider this, sir. You say you want to save your neck? Your neck?! You wish to get us all court-martialed for your decision? You wish us to disobey direct orders from high command, to abandon our allies in Waldenburg because you weren't man enough to getg through a blockade before even attempting to run it? You would do well, captain, to remember the soldiers of this country who die in each war and each campaign we wage, who died for their country, who had the courage to do so! Each man on this crew is prepared to die for his country, and fulfil the mission no matter what cost, to help an ancient friend. You would have us turn around, Captain. I say to you this, Captain: No."

He turned around, his pistol now aimed at the Captain's head. I wish it had not come to this. "I am sorry, sir. You are relieved of your command."

The Captain blinked, face whitening with horror at the miscalculation of the XO's will to do this and mutiny. His own pistol still lay in his holster.

"Will you go peacefully, Captain?"

The man nodded.

---------------------------------------------

OOC: Waldenburg, up to you now, and hopefully it won't take so long for me to reply again, sorry about that again.

OOC2: The italics where appropriate was for the Captain's thoughts; the bold was for the XO's.

OOC3: Blech. I've never been good at dialogue. :(

Dunkeldorf, Waldenburg
4,500 Miles from Blünderburg

Sand. It was the one word that haunted those in the Imperial military who had spoken too loudly at drill inspection, had stepped on too many toes, or had generally annoyed their commandants. The High Desert was the favored post of the sadistic bureaucrat for the military types that displeased them, and if the triple digit heats did not bake them, then the sand would grind them to their bones.

“Herr Admiral,” An ensign pulled a set of goggles from his eyes, shook out his mandatory and sweat stained cloak, before clicking his heels before his superior and handing over a communiqué, “One of our C-130s picked of the Eridite convoy, as promised, about 160 kilometers out to sea and approaching slowly. Very slowly ”

Vice Admiral Kraum noticed how red his adjutant’s eyes and face were, and how he swayed on the spot. “Alert the captain’s and scramble the airwing; the Leistungi did not extend their blockade this far south but I believe they have a carrier squadron about 350 kilometers from here; we must be careful; put the squadron to sea and we’ll give them cover.” His aide saluted and rushed out while Kraum flipped through the folder slightly, picking up an image of the admittedly massive cargo container ships that were bearing down on his location.

He personally doubted that there would be any trouble Dunkeldorf was the finally point before the High Desert was generally considered someone else’s problem to the south, the border, and the village had to be kept occupied at gun point to provide for the tiny harbor, which gave its berths to the 15th Imperial Destroyer Flotilla, and a handful of naval recon planes.

Kraum sighed heavily and pulled himself up, beat his hat against the wall to remove the dust and sand, and then sauntered from his office.
--

Slipping silently from their anchorage twelve Type 45 destroyers kicked their engines into a slow glide over the smooth waters. Their paint had been blasted away despite an almost constant scaffolding around them, which now lay abandoned by the deserted pier.

The Admiralty had ordered seven huge unloading cranes to be moved to Dunkeldorf, along with hundreds of motorized transports to carry any unloaded goods or personnel into the heart of the country. It would be a long process, perhaps taking four days to unload the fleet of transports, but security had in this case been placed above speed.

Of course there was opportunity in disaster, one which Admiral Kraum had been made well aware, it would be interesting to see how far the Gothic warships would go to defeat Waldenburg; to interdict her arms shipments.

“Eridite fleet.” Kraum clicked the radio “we are your escort. We’ll form up on you and take you home. Welcome to the continent; to our lovely scrap yard.”

OOC Ugh... Anyway since there seems to be a lack of Gothic participation at the moment there should be little issue in you just making port.

Eire, Northern Chausey Islands
Msgt William Peters and the men of uniform 3-6 (3rd Squad-6th marines) stormed the beach at Eire, Uniform 3-6 were among the first troops to come ashore. Wave after wave of fully loaded LCAC`s were coming toward the shore. Peters began barking orders to his men, "Blakeshaw, take team two up to those rocks and provide covering fire for inbound troops."
" Aye, Sar`n`t !" replied Blakeshaw. LCpl Eliphalet Blakeshaw was 23 and team leader of machine gun team two. From the tiny hamlet of Skibberean in Hibernia Province, he lied about his age at 16 to join the Marines, his life-long dream. He was among the the eldest and most experienced men of Uniform 3-6. Blakeshaw called his men, " Patches, Murph, Whitey. Sar`n`t says we gotta set up a postion up by `em rocks. Murph, you and Whitey take the Bravo. Patches and I will cover you and join you at the rally point. Go!"
Cpl Guilliam (Patches) O`Halleran was the life-long friend of Blakeshaw. He also ran away to join the Marines at 16. Throughout their young lives the two had been watching each others backs. Patches had reached to position and signaled Murph and Whitey to advance, Blakeshaw would be the last man to arrive at the position. Finally it was Blakeshaw`s turn to rejoin his team. 50m short of the position, the familiar sound of a mortar round was heard. "Incoming!" Patches yelled. The mortar round detonated, after the dust settled Patches looked toward the impact site and saw what remained of his lifelong friend. Blakeshaw gasped his last breath, LCpl Eliphalet Blakeshaw had just become the first KIA of Operation: Broomcloset.

Atop Mt. Evermore, GySgt Ephram Pittman`s Uniform 6-6 heard the repot of the mortar and began to search for it`s position. Five more mortars were lauched before the posisiton was discovered. In the brief firefight that insued, Pittman lost three men while the Waldenburg defenders lost five. Uniform 6-6 captured ten POW`s, information obtained from theses men indicated they were the entire garrison for Eire. By 0700hrs, gunfire was no longer heard on Eire. Patrols continued to search throughout the day for more Waldenburger troops, none were to be found. By 1700 hrs Eire was declared to be fully under Aschenhyrst control again, the men of Uniform 6-6 rasied the Aschenhyrst flag atop Mt. Evermore so all troops on the island would know that they had won the first battle of the campaign to liberate the Chauseys.
http://img505.imageshack.us/img505/7580/eireflagraising.jpg
Later that night, Officers and Senior NCO`s reviewed the days events and made preparations to assault Coy Island. The next morning, Engineers would begin landing on Eire to construct a detention facility for the POW`s and begin clearing a make-shift runway so C-5 cargo planes could begin resupplying the operation. Eire would now act as a forward operating base in the coninuing liberation of the Chauseys

Grand Chausey
Of Grand Chausey`s orignial garrison of 15,000 engineers and Construction Battalion personel, only 2500 men were able-bodied enough to consider comnat effective. These men had retreated in the Chausey highlands near the redoubt they had constructed for the regualr army garrison that was to be stationed there. The redoubt, a fortified bunker complex was wel-stocked and provided many needed supplies to the beleaguered troops. The core of the remaining 2500 men were a group of engineers from the highlands of Ulster Province. Ulster has a harsh environment, mountainous and rainy and many of these men had grown up learning how to live off the land. The skills aquired during their youth coupled with the training they had recieved in the military made them a formitable opponant to the occupation forces despite the highlanders not being front-line combat troops. These men lay out countless boobytraps and pitfalls to confound and harrass the Waldenburg troops seaching for them. Machetes, axes and entrenching tools were used as make-shift weapons to silently take out small patrols of Waldenburgers. The psychological effects were more than they could have imagined, battle-hardened Waldenburg forces thought they were fighting the devil himself. Radio communication with outside forces was sporatic at best but the defenders of Grand Chausey had learned of the liberation of Eire and knew that help was on the way. They needed to hold out just a little longer. unknown to the small band of engineers, their guerilla campaign had got the attention of the occupation forces. Waldenburg was drawing nearly all its forces in the Chauseys to deal with this tniy band of men that had buthced so many of thier comrades-in-arms.

Aschton, Aschenhyrst
Sinister Rouge leader, Commander Kern, sat in his office at Rouge Hall going over the daily intelligence briefs. Since the outbreak of hostilities and the expullsion of the diplomatic staff, the Sinister Rouge had been holding thirty members of the Clergy of the Church of Waldenburg at ROuge Hall. Long was it known that the Church controlled Waldenburg and the overseas Clergymen were widely regarded as spies. One report caught Kern`s eye, the monarchy of Waldenburg had thrown a coup against the church. Most of the Churches top leadership cadre was dead or missing, a solution to his problem had been found. Kern sent for his aide Lt. Blalock, " Blalock, The Waldenburgers have rebeled against the church. I believe we can do what has needed done for some time. It`s time to take out the trash."

"Yes Commander. I shall see it through."

"And Blalock. You shoud wear your leather jumpsuit. You know how those Waldo Clergymen are when they see a woman`s...... charms. They become absolutely squeamish."

" You read my mind, Commander." Blalock smiled as she left Kern`s office.

Just past midnight, the clergymen were taken from their cells in Rouge Hall and trucked the five km to the Waldenburg Cathedral of Aschton. The cathedral, a gaudy 13th centurys-style cathedral was widely viewed by Aschton`s residents as an eyesore. The clergymen were led into the cathedral grounds where the were met by Lt. Blalock. Lt. Blalock stood 5'8", blond hair, blue eyes, 38-34-36. She had the looks of the girl next door and the soul of a serial killer. Blalock was wearing a leather jumpsuit that was nearly a second layer of skin, every one of her feminine charms were quite visible for all to see. The clergymen were quite disturbed by her presence.
"You men will dig!" Blalock ordered the clergymen to dig a pit 6' deep by 6' wide by 150' long. "Dig, so you swine will not be thinking impure thoughts of me. You act so pious beneath your robes but given the chance you animals would try to have you way with me."
After nearly 5 hours, the clergymen had finished the pit. Blalock began taunting the clergymen, her jumpsuit was unzipped enough that you could nearly see half of her breasts. Occasionaly, she would begin to cup them as she made provacative suggstions towards the monks.
" Take a good look you pigs, I am the last woman you will ever leer at."
Finally Blalock returned to her professional demeanor and addressed the clergymen, " You are here because you are obsolete. Your own countrymen have cast of the chains you`ve bound them with for so long. No longer will your heathen religion hold sway over millions, no longer will you spies be allowed to hide behind the cross. The veil of secrecy surrounding your witchcraft had been cast aside. You are mortal men and you will suffer the fate of mortals. If I may quote your holy scripture? From dust you cometh, to dust you shall return." As Blalock finished speaking, charges inside the cathedral went off. The 300' tall spire began to implode upon the church, stained-glass window shards pelted the clergymen. Blalock prepared to leave, she summoned one of her troops to bring her steed, a white stallion. She said her final words to the priests, "Behold the pale horse. The man who rides it is named death and hell follows with him." Blalock began to ride way, she turned to a Senior NCO of the Sinister Rogue, "Leave no traces of this cancer."
Sinister Rouge troops opened fire with their MP5 Submachineguns on the priests, within a minute they were all dead. Similar incidents took place accross the Domionion that night as the once powerful Church of Waldenburg coninued it`s agonizing fall from grace.

Sorry about the delays Wald, been a bit busy. This isn’t the best but didn’t want to leave you waiting any longer. I’ll reply to the 5th fleet action when I get another chance.

Legiones Imperatorius III
Pondderborg, Waldenburg

Pondderborg was a mess, rubble and fires common place among the streets, but it was still largely standing and the people could at least be thankful for that because that fact had not been part of the plan before they landed, though that could still change depending upon the reception they received from the survivors. They would know soon enough as the two armoured columns of the Third Legion began advancing into the city.

The commander of the Legion, General Sarhane Chemos, kept a watchful eye on the surroundings from the second Dark Horse vehicle as it plunged towards the city centre. The Legion had not encountered any resistance yet but they would not let their guard down for even a small moment until the entire Waldenburg Empire had been pacified. Behind him came four battalions of the Legion, while the other four entered via another road, and their task would be to secure the city and transform it into a permanent outpost of the Empire from which future operations could be launched.

Sarhane checked his watch and noted with satisfaction that they were running almost twenty minutes ahead of schedule, no doubt due to the cancellation of the naval bombardment which had been meant to level a large portion of Pondderburg. He could only assume that the other Legions would have begun landing operations from Taskforce Hereticus by now given the change in schedule.

‘Captain Vakarian,’ said the General into his comm. unit, ‘secure the perimeter of the city, no one is to leave without authorisation. We are to hold this city until authorised to continue the campaign.’ The last battalion in the convoy began breaking off and moving to comply as the Captain answered with a brief acknowledgement.’

Imperial Intelligence Headquarters
The City of Arrandin, Yallak

The Operatives said nothing and made no attempts to stop the rotund man in the midst of his little speech, but a rare look of amusement crossed their faces. When he was done, the one that held the electric probes stepped in closer to Rupert and clipped one onto the metal frame of device he was secured into.

‘And that is the real problem with the lesser races; you simply cannot understand your place in the world, how insignificant you really are,’ he said as he circled slowly behind Rupert’s head towards the other side. ‘But you will learn.’

He clamped the clip onto the other side of the reclined chairs metal frame and then motioned to the other Operative who flicked the switch on the small generator again and instantly surging electricity was sent down the leads and into the chair, the entire device acting as a conduit to ensure every part of the victim suffered the same agonising pain. Rupert did his best to resist the pain, not allowing himself to scream but the Operatives knew it would not last. They had never, and would never, fail to break an enemy of the Empire.

The generator was turned off after a few seconds, and the first Operative leant in on the chair so that Rupert could see his face. ‘Amateurs you say. That offends me deeply, but you are in the best position to know so I will let you decide at the end of our sessions here.’ He dropped his head down so that his mouth was close to Rupert’s ear, ‘You may know science of torture, but not the art.’

He stood back up and the second Operative flicked the generator back on and searing pain gripped the Waldenburger again. He resisted still with every ounce he could manage but the strain was beginning to show.

‘You know Rupert; this device is my favourite for times like this,’ the Operative spoke again, indicating to the generator. ‘Specifically designed and calibrated to deliver just the right level of current and amperage to create the most pain with the least physical trauma. We can easily do this for days on end while keeping you very much alive and very much conscious.’

From a cabinet nearby, the Operative removed a syringe and bottle, quickly taking a sizeable quantity into the syringe and then injecting it into the Waldenburgers arm. ‘What? This? No, this isn’t truth serum; we won’t be needing that, this is just a little something to increase your sensitivity to pain and help you enjoy the experience.’

‘No thanks necessary,’ added the second Operative as he switched on the generator again and left it running for almost fifteen seconds until they were rewarded with a grunt of pain from Rupert.

As the electric flow was cut off again, the first Operative circled back to the foot of the restraining chair to stand on the opposite of the generator to his partner.

‘Tell me, Rupert, if you’re so knowledgeable, what powers do we assail that are of any significance? What power is there besides that of the Emperor?’ the Operative gave his victim no chance to respond, he continued but his voice lost the calm and pleasant conversational tone he had been using thus far and became immediately overwhelmed by a venom, a barely contained vehemency. ‘That’s correct. This is no other power of consequence. Simple fool! Only now, at the end, do you understand.’

The generator was switched on again. 'You and your kind will pay the price for your lack of vision.’

Imperial Intelligence Headquarters
The City of Arrandin, Yallak

Convulsing and sweating profusely Rupert kept his teeth buried in his tongue until blood surged from his mouth, in an effort not to spill a single ounce of truth. Rolls of fat trembled as time and again he felt the pulse rock through him, until his bones ached, and his muscles were numb from contraction.

“You don’t know,” Rupert muttered to himself as the torturers flicked through their equipment with a practiced efficiency, “what you are doing. Foolish boy,” the words were distant as if being dragged up from a long and dark past, “again, and do it right, or its back in the closet….” After this the words became mumbled and garbled; though the meaning itself was lost to the Yallakians there was an underlying tone of fear; childish fear, not of terrible torture or death, but of silly things like a slapped wrist or a long darkness.

“… The duties or a prince are not to his people but the state under which….” Words came flying in untold bouts without meaning or origin but in great tumbling and unbroken sentences, “three leaves grace a fountain but none fall to the water; the sparrow does not neglect the sky for the earth, God is Great, God is Great, This is what I believe. This is how things were, and this is how all things will be.” Spitting out blood like a somewhat sadistic fountain Rupert collapsed into tremors, unresponsive to any questions. As if separated from his own body he could almost feel his tongue lolling in an unconscious head to repeat a series of numbers ; over an over again despite the most fervent commands of his drifting mind.
--

Pondderborg

Not all the citizens of the city had quite got the handle of civil disobedience, true citizens of the Empire, and had come out on the streets to wave small paper flags. Of course they were Pontean and two years out of date, but a few of the more adventurous and civilly unminded had begun to experiment with a simple up and down motion with several of their now useless gardening implements.

“Captain?” Major Donou asked as he spotted an entirely bemused Yallakian soldier being crown with a ring of slightly charred peonies, “Could I have lend of your pistol?” The item was solemnly proffered. Though the Serene Legion had formally been disbanded it took far more than a pointed letter to removed the arms of the wealthy and entitled.

Donou stepped into the street; he wore only an armband that placed him in the service of the Legion. Taking aim carefully he fired twice at the back of a Yallakian forward guard; he heard the shatter of glass as the bottle of wine the man had been proffered shattered, and seconds later as his knees struck the ground.

“You lot,” he pointed at a group of children mulling about a now somewhat ineffective fire hydrant; they snapped to life at the sound of the voice of authority, “See these cobblestones?” A boot was kicked down at the sand colored stones, “Those are sissy weapons. Captain Hodge,” he motioned to his aide who dutifully dropped an arm full of big game rifles, “if you see a man who looks like that,” Donou pointed to the man he had just shot, “do the same.” With the gleeful malevolence that children can manage twenty or so children, in the pressed uniforms of the local school, bent to pick up rifles, in some cases as tall as they were. “Get to it!” They dashed off happily, as Donou signaled via the use of a red signaling flag to a nearby house that another of the 37, districts reported a resistance was being put up.

“That’s 19 so far Hodge,” Donou commented happily as he pressed a grenade into the hand of a passing woman, “Rather good wouldn’t you say?”

Task Force Kraken
Primshire, The Great Levantian Empire

Admiral! Dagon scowled as the Waldenburger Count addressed him with the wrong rank only moments after he had given his title to the man. ‘Triangulate that signal and let me know when you have a location,’ he commanded sidelong to one of his bridge crew as he listened to the rest of the response.

The Imperial fleet was now holding a score of kilometers from the Fifth Fleet, floating silently around the bay cutting off any exit for the enemy vessels. The enormous battleship Bloodthirster sat as the center of the blockade representing the pinnacle of Yallakian navy technology and power. It was not alone though, several other Karak-class battleships were present among the fleet, the command ships for their respective battlegroups. Around these the cruisers, destroyers and frigates of the fleet were arrayed in a standard attack formation, while the fleet’s carriers remained behind, even now deploying squadrons of aircraft into the skies. The six Waldenburg transport craft were now steaming towards the awaiting armada and as they came onwards the small movement of people could be seen on the decks.

‘That’s an affirmative, Sir, no response to communications attempts with the transports,’ declared the Bloodthirster’s communications officer, confirming the statements made by Count von Metter.

Commander Dagon was not impressed in the slightest by the Waldenburger’s actions. He had given them every chance in the world to live through this but they seem determined to do otherwise. ‘Then we have little choice left to us, don’t we? Order the Eldurth, Kapella and Vorach to sink those transports, they are not to get near this fleet. And where is my triangulation, Lieutenant Vores?’

‘Just got it, Sir,’ replied Vores quickly. ‘I’ve designated the vessel as primary target on the Tacops.’

Dagon glanced over at the Tactical display and saw the ship Vores had determined to be carrying the Waldenburger Count, highlighted by a blue circle. ‘Very good. Signal all battlegroups are to commence attack.’

Within moments the ship began vibrating as the Bloodthirster’s twenty-six inch guns opened fire on the Counts vessel. A dozen anti-ship missiles screamed out towards the opposing fleet as well as the remainder of the Imperial fleet opened up on the enemy with their own weapons.

Dagon picked up the ships communicator and sent a brief response back to the Waldenburger Count even as his attack would be mere seconds from hitting home. ‘It didn’t have to end this way, von Metter.’

Imperial Intelligence Headquarters
The City of Arrandin, Yallak

The generator powered down again and Rupert’s contorted body collapsed back into the chair limp, though he kept spouting out garbage amongst the repetitive series of numbers. The first Operative came to stand over the Waldenburger official against and noted that the man was on the verge of shock, his eyes partially rolled back into his head.

‘Not surprising,’ he mumbled quietly to himself. It had been many hours on non-stop torture. Generally these things would be done much more slowly to prevent any permanent damage to the victim and ensure that every last secret was extracted, but this mission had been deemed far to important to make any delays. The Operative slapped him lightly on the check twice, ‘Evening Rupert. You’ve answered all our questions so we are done here. You’ll be taken to a holding cell now where some food will be brought to you.’

He unclipped the generator from the chair and the second Operative flopped Rupert’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted the man off the chair, half carrying, half dragging him from the interrogation chamber. ‘I’ll send a survey to so you can evaluate our performance too shall I?’ he queried sarcastically after them.

As the pair disappeared through the door the Operative looked down at the data in his hand. He held a recording of the entire event and scrap of paper with the number sequence scrawled on it. He held the key to Waldenburg itself in his hand and would now personally deliver it to the Emperor.

Legiones Imperatorius III
Pondderborg, Waldenburg

East Suburbs
The sound of the two gunshots echoed loudly in the fairly quiet streets. The bulk of the Legions was still just entering the city or was focused on establishing the new field Headquarters in the still standing sections of the Northern Suburbs through which the Legions had entered and already secured, so their was not the constant roar of passing heavy vehicles in this section of the city.

The remainder of the soldier’s squad who had been scouting more of the city were quick to react being all within a few dozen meters of each other and they arrived on scene in time to see the children hefting rifles from a pile on the ground. Sergeant Seran Keler spotted the body lying on the ground not far from them.

‘Zach’s down,’ he exclaimed with the metallic accent gifted to speech through his armours comm. unit, ‘take them down.’

With precision response, the squad brought there weapons up and the silence erupted into gunfire once again, followed swiftly by the screams and squeals of dying and fleeing children. When it subsided the children lay dead and blood stained the cobblestoned ground among the scattered corpses.

‘Someone went into that building,’ he continued, stepping impassively over one of the corpses to where a small girl squirmed on the ground, desperately trying to crawl away as she sobbed in pain. With an arm missing she was not getting very far. Seran leveled his rifle at her head and fired. ‘You two secure the weapons and see to Zach, the rest of you with me.’

North Suburbs
‘It’s spreading, Sir.’ Garrus Vakarian pointed with concern to the site of the most recently reported hostile actions within the city by civilians on a partially damaged map of the city they had been able to retrieve from a nearly destroyed building closer to the centre of the city. ‘No doubt a single group is working behind the scenes to stir up trouble. A suspect is being pursued now from the site.

The Captain scowled as he looked up from the map to the General. ‘This is why the city was meant to be leveled. We have little time to waste with this.’

‘We have no time in fact,’ Sarhane corrected him. ‘We have obtained the codes to the defensive forces at Blünderburg and we must move to make use of them quickly. I’m going to take the Eighth Battalion over tonight to secure part of the line and then we need to move forward with all speed and force available. We can seize their Emperor and their Church leaders and bring Waldenburg to heel in one strike. Take care of this problem as you will, it must be resolved by morning.’

Outskirts of Blünderburg, Waldenburg

The Eighth Battalion, Third Legion had moved out from Pondderborg in the afternoon hours of the day and as nightfall was approaching they have arrived at the limits of the Blünderburg Defences. Sarhane was at the lead as usual, the difficulty of the mission irrelevant.

‘Now we find out if these codes are real,’ he said to the group of officers crowded around him, crouching down to fiddle with an old device that sat on the ground. It was a radio unit that had belonged to the Serene Legion and which Sarhane hope would make the ruse more authentic. He set the device to a specific Waldenburger frequency and then began transmitting the code followed by a very simple order.

Yallakian forces are on approach to your position. You are to stand down and allow passage. Comply with all instructions from their Commanding Officer.

‘Time to go.’ He stood again and the group dispersed to their transports and within minutes the armoured formation was moving again towards the defences.

Fifth Imperial Fleet
Primshire, The Great Levantian Empire

Metter cursed in a stream of fluent Volscilian as Yallakian missiles struck the merchant ships and watched in a mix of awe struck terror, and grudging admiration as Dagon vaporized nearly three thousand civilians, and admittedly nearly 2500 tons of high explosives and shells.

“God damn!” An ensign screamed as the WIS Vanguard was flipped out of the water like a toy boat and tossed nearly a hundred meters before shattering. Luckily the transports had about two kilometers of distance from edges of the main fleet and only a few ships were badly damaged, besides the Vanguard; Metter could judge the damage, if any that had been done to the Yallakian fleet; but he was sure of one things, as his radio officer rolled around screaming on the floor, that electrical equipment would require a few hours with spanner and voltometer to arrange properly.

Metter had never seen a Yallakian fleet, more than a few ships at any of the flag wavings he had attended, and now that he could study the guns on the battleships facing him he wished he had simply slugged it out long range with missiles. Now that his electronics were primarily destroyed from the explosion he was forced into the boxing match he had originally lusted for and now dreaded. “Evasive, actions all ships, Squadron B forward all engines, all batteries commence firing, launch all drones.” WIS Tiger, a Thousis class battleship, a very modern and powerful battleship would begin disgorging its complement of predator attack drones, in total the fleet could put up twenty four of stealthy; guided by satellite link the drones would be generally unaffected by the electromagnetic interference, although it would cut reaction time by quite a lot.

Drones were considered the secret weapons of the Imperial fleet, though they were considered light attacks, and certainly they were, but they were almost undetectable by radar and conventional means, and certainly those traditionally ship bound. They whined silently from the Tiger’s, along with the other drone capable ships, forward drone bays bursting into a sky filling with jets of water and the occasional scream of tortured iron as a shell struck.

Squadron B was a group of destroyers, slim and very quick, capable of reaching speeds of almost fifty knots and were designed for quick runs, which was what they were doing as they threaded through Yallakian fire towards the enemy fleet. Torpedoes were in the water quickly as the Waldenburger captains hoped to catch the bulky Yallakian ships off balance. Tiger on the other hand was the brunt of a great deal of abuse and had caught a singular twenty-six inch shell which shattered her forward and much lauded armor like toffee, sending steel sheets containing into the sky and ripping the hardwood of the forward deck into splinters.

“WIS Maximilian, report!” Metter barked.

“Out of fuel sir,” came a hasty reply, and before any further questions the deck of the heavy cruiser were being eaten by a swarm of angry six inch shells from the enemy.

The Waldenburger forces were returning fire at an admirable rate though and the sixteen-inch guns, the largest in the fleet, were heating up from constant and unrelenting fire.

In turn the drones were just approaching range and firing off their complements of hellfire anti armor rockets, while not particularly effective they were small and fast, and with heavy enough concentration as well as with the pleasant synergy of 20mm cannons pumping down on the decks.

“Do it, we can’t take much of this!” Metter bellowed as an eight-inch shell struck his belt, and smiled slightly as the armored seemed comparatively unscathed.
--

Captain Kreider smiled, as the single Yallakian destroyer was suddenly the center of attention for nine, sixteen-inch rounds fired point blank from the supposedly abandoned hulls left floating now seven miles behind the Yallakian fleet. Six inch QFs followed in a blinding succession as the boats, which Kreider couldn’t see were fired into by quad deck cannons.

“That’s the signal boys, up, up and away.” Sonar perhaps had one flaw that stood out above the rest, and that was it’s inability to differentiate between some close objects; for this Captain Kreider was both lucky and unlucky; for this technical fault he was allowed a great honor, but similarly he had been keeping his crew in the dark, and silent at gun point, for the best part of two days as three submarines stood in the lee of the three ships. Waiting for the signal to move.

Easily breaking free of several loose mooring lines, and the camoflouge tarps over head, Kreider took his ship out and up from the precarious depth of only two meters off the sea floor; even though divers had been sent down to clear the debris, by hand as not to alert any enemy watchers, the subs had to be pushed down deep to avoid a dark impression upon the water.

“U-27,” a marine coordinator from Primshire called over a wireless, “deal with the destroyer, then join U-832, and 47 in closing the trap.” Footage of course of the Yallakians firing on the civilian transports would be worth a hundred ships.
--

Pondderburg

Major Donou stared down at the corpse with his mouth hanging so far ajar in shock it threatened to severely damage his boots. It was a little girl; maybe ten years old missing most of her hand which she played with aimlessly at here feet. He thought ‘corpse’ as the amount of blood surely suggested she would not pull through to the morning.

Donou knelt down and did what he could for her with his service revolver; it was perhaps the risk he would run for arming children but the intrinsic manner in which Imperial Troopers had moved through the streets and fired without hazard or caution startled him.

“This isn’t over,” a cheap disposable camera was produced and the little girl identified, “not for a long time.”
--
Northeast Blünderburg
Nordvonierstrom

“Colonel,” Corporal Smithers was perhaps the most distressing officer in the Imperial Army, as his bright red complexion suggested someone permanently inebriated in good cheer; where in all actuality he was a manic depressant and had a pervasive if strategic odor. It would not strike you all at once, but rather creep about the dugout until it could envelope you. “There is a voice on the wireless?”

“What does the voice want?” Colonel Henders asked irritably to his aide.

“Nothing.”

“Then why is he on the wireless?”

“He has a message.”

“And what is that message corporal?”

“Stand down: Yallakians are coming.”

Henders took a look behind him at the reassuring and glowing red inferno of Blünderburg that literally stretched for thousands of miles of hellish industry and people, “Why?”

“They didn’t say. They’re sending numbers,” Smithers added with uncharacteristic helpfulness,

“Which numbers?”

A white sheet of paper was proffered and the colonel scanned it quickly recognizing the numbers instantly. “Come on corporal we’re taking a little walk.”
--

It was just as well that the defenses were deactivated as the 181 Rifle Brigade blundered through the night as if on a personal vendetta against silence; it took no trouble to find the Yallakians though; and at about two hundred yards to slither into a defensive trench and to study the armored column as some engineers fiddled with an electrical box.

“Are those Goths.” Smither’s asked dully.

“They only have two arms Smithers.” Henders clicked on a radio and whispered into it, “Could we have some spots on Grid 18 Sector 87, Division 1 please.” A moment later two million candlepower lances of light lit up the night and caught the Yallakians.

The 181st rose to its feat, “Now,” Henders yelled in a loud voice, “I hate to make you think we’re unwelcoming, but you sir,” his regiments lowered their rifles, “are my prisoner.” From overhead the sonic boom of the air reasserting itself after a flight of fighter planes soared over could be clearly heard. “I don’t know what type of ass backward country the Freeks conscripted you from; but round these parts it’s considered unadvisable to walk into the most heavily fortified strip of land on the continent. If you would be so good as to walk this way in that little furrow, and stack your weapons alongside; then spread your legs we can save a little time. There is someone, someone important who will want to see you my lads, and you’re going to have to learn to bow.”

Task Force Kraken
Primshire, The Great Levantian Empire

Dagon watched with a graven look as the civilians were obliterated. The Waldenburger Count had sent them to die regardless of his actions, so he was at least content to see that in sentencing them to death himself he had prevented catastrophic damage to his fleet.

The fleet itself was now engaged fully with the enemy, guns blazing constantly. The Bloodthirster had taken several hits already but the small calibre weapons that were arrayed against the Imperial Fleet had inflicted minimal damage to exterior of his seven hundred and twenty meter vessel. The frigates and destroyers in the outer line were not so safe though and several were already reporting damage. Dagon surveyed the whole battle from the Tacops display, each ships in both fleet depicted by the device and little symbols and markings above each one showed the reported status of each ship.

‘Sector 4 has inbound destroyers, order the Apparition[i] to intercept with its escorts,’ he demanded, and was satisfied to see the order being performed on the display moments later as the Khorland-class battleship and its escorting cruisers and destroyers headed off the Waldenburger Destroyer squadron.

Overhead a handful of drones were buzzing around the great battle like flies, but they small rockets could do nought but annoyed the large vessels of the fleet who ignored them while continuing to pound away at the enemy, leaving them for the Air Force to deal with. And deal with it they did. They drones may have been stealthy but the fleets carriers were disgorging entire squadrons of aircraft into the fight the longer it went on and there were now flights of aircraft in every direction.

ASF-37 Slaven fighter craft swooped around the engagement zone, targeting the drones and firing anti-ship missiles at opportune targets. But even this attack was just a distraction from the real hunters that followed. Darkfist fighter-bombers swooped down from the clouds dropping 2000lb guided bombs on the exposed decks of ships and adding to the number of anti-ship missiles being thrown at the foe.

‘Signal the torpedo boats to standby for flanking runs.’

================================================================================

Warning claxons sounded across all decks as the shells slammed into the [i]Iron Lord. Several of the shells impacted across the belt crumpling the side armour and shaking the ship violently, while the rest detonated amongst the upper decking shattering parts of the superstructure and practically vaporising the aft conning tower.

‘Damn it,’ screamed Captain Sejanus as he steadied himself.

Around him his crew frantically worked to evaluate the ships status. ‘Captain, I can’t raise the fleet, I thin….’

‘I don’t care, Lieutenant. Fire back now. We can’t let them fire again.’

Though it had suffered heavy damage and was listing slightly in the water, the ships engines were still functional and the Iron Lord began moving out of the gun sights of the disabled Waldenburg battle cruisers, in turn bringing its own heavy batteries to bear against the enemies turrets.

Legiones Imperatorius III
Outskirts of Blünderburg, Waldenburg

The illumination above showed the quantity of Waldenburg forces around them. Clearly they had walked into a trap and the codes hadn’t been the ones they were after, but it puzzled Sarhane why they hadn’t just opened fire.

The ramp to Sarhane’s Darkhorse armoured vehicles came down and he stepped out into the light. Around him other transports and tanks had squads of soldiers arrayed around them with their weapons raised, prepared at an order to fight the Waldenburger soldiers to the last.

With a wave of his the General signalled some of his officers over and they approached the Waldenburger commander with their weapons lowered.

‘I bow to no-one but the Emperor of Yallak,’ he said defiantly, though he placed his weapon on the ground, motioning for the dozen men with him to do likewise. ‘We will come, but the rest remain here. And mark my words, if anything happens to them there is enough artillery now in Pondderborg to utterly level Blünderburg and everything within twenty miles.’

Northeast Blünderburg
Nordvonierstrom

“Um,’ Henders cast a quick glance to make sure the Yallakians were talking about the same city, “What that one?” He shook his head distractedly, “Naturally you do, yes.” Henders peered between the gap between the ground and his helmet at the boots of the Yallakian commander before standing and giving a sloppy salute.

“Of course. Your men will find it rather difficult with a hundred thousand bullets through their chests so I will trust you. This way please.” Henders, along with two platoons of his storm troopers jogged back with the Yallakians in a tight huddle amongst them to a line of drab military jeeps that lay parked on a winding dirt road that pulled from the city.

Everyone was bundled into the convoy, no more than one Yallakian to a vehicle; shotguns were leveled at their faces in a not entirely unfriendly way. “You are very lucky people, lucky soldiers.” Soon dirt gave way to cobbles and the rambling cityscape that was the capital struck the convoy like a brick wall. It was impossible to tell the size of the city from the one winding and empty street, curfew was well into its effects, but Henders had seen it from the air and knew that the billion inhabitants kept a most impressive cityscape.

“General Smithy has a lot to say about lucky soldiers,” Henders pressed onward despite getting no response from his nameless passenger, “says they have to stick together and shouldn’t let a little thing like a declaration of war get in the way.” Imperceptibly the streets grew wider and the cobbles finer; until with the rumble of diesel engines the jeeps pulled in front of grand stone building with gate guards, who saluted and rushed forward in an enthusiastic attempt to be of some use.

“We’ll take it from here,” A Captain in the dark grey uniform of the ISS spoke confidently as he drew his revolver and leveled it at.

“We have direct orders from General Smithy, “we’ll take them in.” Henders and his storm troopers breezed passed, gallantly holding open the door for the Yallakians; only slightly spoiling the effect by training their shotguns and jabbing them repeatedly in the back.

Inside the building did not match the expectations of the exterior; Spartan plain wood furniture covered most of the available and dusty floor; slightly anachronistically however on almost every inch of white washed wall, there was a hard wood cuckoo clock that all hummed together in a hypnotically rhythmic fashion. “You lucky, lucky bastards. You all lived through it. The Great Tyrhennian War, I never thought I’d see the day.” Henders held open a door that looked nothing different from all the others they had passed.

“Ah, two hours twenty-six minutes late,” a short wrinkled man sat behind a plain wooden desk, a screwdriver in hand as he tightened a stylized German girl to her clockwork base. “I heave message, a few lies, and a few truths for you. Come and listen to them all, and then decide what you want to hear; decide how you want the world to work.”

OOC I should not be writing at this time of night uhgg. We should probably move to the new thread too.