NationStates Jolt Archive

“Where there is no law there is no freedom.”- John Locke

Its summer 2012 and the Midwestern section of America is full of upheaval. With the fall of the Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc, its former states have been grasped in the claws of anarchy and violence. When the government failed, the people began to suffer. It did not take long for the sins of men to blanket the country and burn the lives that have been built there. Thousands of people began to quarrel against their neighbors for food and water in the major cities. Bandits began to rob and murder refuges trying to escape the hell of the Metropolitan areas. Sociopaths began raping and murdering at will and no one was there to stop any of this. As the people suffered, no one came to help them. There was no police force to round up the criminals, or quell the mobs. There were no politicians to lay fourth a plan of action. There was simply anarchy, in all of its sinful glory.

Anarchy; however can never last as long as man lusts for power. It was not long after the beginning of the lawlessness that mob bosses, former military commanders, and radical political parties began to come out of the wood work. Across the boarder, those enterprising people began to make use of the unused Soviet Bloc military equipment that lay dormant in warehouses. With this the lawless bloodshed would soon give way to the bloodshed of war. In Major cities and country sides alike, men began to create a new order within the chaos, anarchy would tumble much like the Armed Republic did, and out of its ashes would be a seemingly endless power struggle. Five groups would emerge for the fight, and only one will come out victorious.

In the northern state of Montana a group called “The North West Syndicate” was formed. This rag tag group of heavily armed traders soon was able to take control of the northern half of Montana. There they provided a regular sense of order for the people while being able to conduct their trading business safely. Being relatively simple, this group only wishes to be able to protect its investments. It has no long term goals to expand.

On the boarder of South Dakota and Wyoming, a radical Anarchist group known as “the Black Hills Army” surfaced. Their mission and goal was the keep the nation clean of government and order. They wish the Midwest to remain “free”. To accomplish this, they believe that the Midwest will have to be swept with the force of their Army. All sorts of criminal types have joined its forces. Mostly those who have something to gain from Anarchy and lawlessness.

In the East, another group with substantial military power, named “Unity” had taken control of a great deal of Minnesota land. This group is led by a former Soviet Block military commander named, General Ozzie Vance, or Oz as he is known. His goal for the Midwest is to reunite the states and form the Second Armed Republic, which would then correct the mistakes of the former “misguided” Armed Republic. In retrospect this group is Communist in ideology and wishes to end the “failed” capitalist agenda.

Far south in the state of Arkansas, “Freedom’s Rock” a Pro Capitalist group, has been sweeping through Arkansas and Oklahoma with enormous popularity and support. Wherever they set foot, people begin rushing to join the cause of Freedom. Led by a High Council of 5 former Armed Republic Politicians, Freedoms Rock is believed to be the up and coming government of the Midwestern States.

The last of the “Big 5” groups, is a regional power known as Midwestern Freedom. This group is the brain child of The Armed Republic “National Party” leader, Brendan Marlon. This is a prime example of what a fortune can buy you. Being worth over 83 Billion Dollars, Brendan Marlon was able buy out 4 major Military Commanders, whom he promised high positions in his military. Provided they help him take control of the Midwest of course. Although the power that Midwestern Freedom has, may be bought out, they do not have a shortage of followers. The thought of National pride after this time of chaos is a promising one. Young and old have begun to flock to MWF as they begin their march through the Midwest.

Power is a beautiful thing. Yet when so many people seek it, it becomes something that destroys worlds. The Midwestern region of America is now on the brink of Civil War. These 5 groups now are poised with the power to lift the people of the Midwest up, or destroy them even more. So who will rise from the ashes?


MAP OF THE MIDWEST (http://i461.photobucket.com/albums/qq335/avondalefilms/midwest.png)

OOC: Ok, nobody post yet. Lay, Hirg, I will be sending TG's to you shortly about that start of the rp. Thank you for your patience.

Layartebian Ministry of Intelligence, Layarteb City
Sublevel 10 -- Secure Conference Room -- 19:00 hrs [EST]

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's get started. We are here to discuss the current activity to our immediate west, in the former states of the Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc. As you are aware, the entire country is split and shattered and we have updates on the five principle groups or factions, if you will. We maintained many of our contacts with the former Soviet Blocian lands since their dissolution and our agents are deeply embedded where they can be, the benefit of Soviet Bloc having been an October Alliance member." The meeting was being held for the upper echelon of the Ministry of Intelligence and, in attendance, was the Ministry of Defense and his immediate Deputy Minister. Leading the charge was Anne Charitan, the newest Deputy Director of the Operations. She was tall and thin, a dirty blond who wore sharp business suits and neatly pressed skirts. "We have a new map as well." She pushed a button on her laptop and flashed an image on the digital screen behind her that stood at least fifteen feet wide and twenty feet tall. "As you can see the affected regions are northwestern Montana, Minnesota, Iowa, eastern Nebraska and South Dakota, Arkansas, Oklahoma, southern Kansas and Missouri, and this small area here in Wyoming and South Dakota. What we are looking at here are five, highly organized, highly motivated factions that have both arms and numbers.

"The first group is in Montana, which is labeled 'The Northwest Syndicate.' They are the least dangerous it appears. The weakest, so to speak. They lack the organization of the others and are largely rag tag but they are heavily armed and well fortified. They could hold out, perhaps for some time but not indefinitely.

"The second group is mostly in Minnesota and a little bit of southeastern North Dakota and northeastern South Dakota. They are called 'Unity' and they are a major player in this. Perhaps the strongest when it comes to arms and vying for the same with numbers. They wish to reunite the Armed Republic and all of its former territories and they have a significant amount of the military hardware of Soviet Bloc, nuclear weapons included. We are unsure if The Northwest Syndicate have any but we do know that their controlled territory includes a former missile base. Their leader is a man named General Ozzie Vance, a former general with the Soviet Blocian Army. We have dealt with him before during joint-exercises but unfortunately, his ideals are not the same as the Empire. Instead of capitalism, our good general respects the graces of communism and highly opposes us as we are highly anti-communist. Very dangerous, this group must be closely monitored. Because of their location, we have a good amount of resources as they are near the previous capital of Soviet Bloc.

"The third group, known as 'The Black Hills Army' controls this small territory here in Wyoming and South Dakota. They are very dangerous. Anarchists by mission statement, they are very radicalized and very militant. They are hoping to keep the present situation the way it is, so to speak; although, they do not necessarily appreciate the territorial controls of the other factions but so long as there is no united country, they are happy. Because of their location, they are extremely difficult to fight and they know their terrain well. Their tactics are also borderline terrorism and should they decide to turn their attention towards us, we could be facing a major problem. This is part of the reason we have closed our entire western border here in the Province of Layarteb.

"The fourth group is known as the 'Midwest Freedom' and they control this area here, Iowa, Nebraska, and South Dakota. All bordering Unity territory, which only makes this situation more volatile, especially since it hugs our border. We have forces reinforced near this border area here in Wisconsin and Illinois due to their proximity. They're highly nationalistic and completely opposite the ideals of Unity. We expect these two groups to unleash unholy hell upon each other and when they do, it isn't going to be pretty or comfortable, especially for us. We will have refugees spilling over our borders and that means we will have armed fighters trying to come in as well, trying to use us as their 'safe base' which we will not have. However, we should not turn a blind eye to them. We know that tension exists between them and Unity and that war between the two factions is inevitable. We have to be sure that the outcome is preferable to us.

"The fifth and final group is based in the southern region and they have a significant amount of territory, the most. They are the most beneficial to us. Known as 'Freedom's Rock,' they are a pro-capitalist group and have a wide amount of support and popularity. Their leadership council are all on good terms with the Empire and we have opened up communications to them as well as begun to fund their endeavor with arms and money and other support, logistical and intelligence. These are our boys. We want to support them and we want them to succeed." She concluded as the map behind her switched to a collage of photographs. "These people represent the leaders of these various factions. They all have something to gain from various outcomes and that means the civil war we're about to see must be swayed to our favor!"

Pine Bluff Air Force Base, Greenville, Mississippi
115 miles southeast of Little Rock, Arkansas -- 19:15 hrs [CST]

Pine Bluff Air Force Base was home to the 71st Fighter Wing and it was established as a border outpost during the early years of the Conquests. Home to ten squadrons of fighters and attack aircraft, the base instantly became pivotal to the Ministry of Intelligence's support for Freedom's Rock. Greenville, the town, sat right on the Mississippi River and the Arkansas-Mississippi border was that river. With a population of over 50,000, the town was a major industrial hub for the southwest of the Province of Layarteb. It was away from the Gulf of Mexico and its hurricane threats and it still had full access to the water through the Mississippi. Also, because of its proximity to Arkansas and the friendly ties between Soviet Bloc and the Empire, Greenville was a cultural center too. A massive bridge spanned the Mississippi and connected Greenville to Arkansas. Because of the policies of open borders between the various October Alliance nations, the border outposts on either side were manned but highly friendly.

Now that everything had changed, the border outposts were entirely different. The Layartebian side was now wary of new people on the other side. They had largely closed the border up and down the western face of the Province of Layarteb. Refugees had been turned away multiple times and others had been accepted and flooded into camps where they could be processed. The Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc was a first world nation but it had entirely different standards than the Empire and any refugees coming would have to meet the standards of the Empire if they wanted to stay. As new refugee camps were being erected, more were allowed to come in but only enough to keep the conditions in the camps humane and clean. Despite what kind of a society they came from, a war completely changed a people and turned them into their most primitive forms.

The looming civil war on the other side of the border made most of the residents along the border with the former Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc very uneasy. They watched as elements of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces reinforced outposts and positions all along the border, erecting defenses in case of cross-border attacks, which was highly expected in the north. Wisconsin and Illinois were heavily reinforced, more so than anywhere else.

It was no secret that the Empire was supporting Freedom's Rock. The Minister of Foreign Affairs had made that quite clear very early on and called for an immediate summit between all factions, big and small, within the former Armed Republic, more for show than for any other reason. While support would cross over the border to Freedom's Rock on a rather regular basis, up north, there would be irregular support to the Midwest Freedom faction and much more covertly as well. The close proximity of both Unity and Midwest Freedom to the Layartebian border dictated caution more than it did to the south.

That was simply how it went and that was no surprise either. Going along with such a policy, a C-130J Hercules was preparing to take-off at Pine Bluff Air Force Base, its cargo hold loaded with precious materials. It would join a flight of two F-56A Savage multirole fighters already in the air, armed specifically with anti-radiation and anti-air ordinance, just in case someone encroached upon the flight path of the Hercules. The military forces of Freedom's Rock knew the incoming Hercules and expected it, as well as its fighter escorts. They wouldn't dare try anything stupid, which would only hurt their own cause, which was dependent on support from the Empire. Despite their size and their strength, Freedom's Rock could easily be overwhelmed by a combined assault from the northern groups, should they ally against them. They could withstand the attack for a good amount of time but certainly not indefinitely.

The drone of the four turboprop engines increased in volume as the flight was given clearance for take-off. The pilots pushed up the throttles on the four engines and the aircraft began its push down the runway, lurching as the torque of the engines pulled it down the asphalt at ever increasing speeds until the aircraft was ready to lift off, the pilots pulling back on their yokes when it was. Through their night vision goggles, they watched as the aircraft rose above the runway, the lights down below fading as they gained altitude. They turned off their own lights as they retracted their landing gear and would soon join up with the two fighters circling above, their external fuel tanks depleting in volume and weight. Each one was filled with six hundred gallons of jet fuel, a total of seventy-nine hundred pounds of JP8 jet fuel, complementing the twenty-three thousand, five-hundred, and fifty pounds held internally. They were armed with four AGM-88F AARGM anti-radiation missiles internally and, externally, six AIM-221A Gryphon and four AIM-204B Escape air-to-air missiles externally. In total, they took off with a weight of seventy-two thousand, five-hundred pounds giving them a thrust-to-weight ratio of approximately 0.80:1. They would easily be able to fight off any enemy that might rear its ugly head along the way to the target.

Freedom's Rock Territory -- Little Rock, Arkansas
Southeastern Sector Air Defense Command -- 19:35 hrs [CST]

Freedom's Rock had a sizeable military contingent. It wasn't the largest in the former territory of the Armed Republic but it was well kept and supplied. The Empire contributed a number of advisors and supplies as well to keep the military up-to-date and in tune with its rivals. Because of that, the Empire knew most of the details about their military, something they wanted from the other factional groups, big and small, especially Unity, the pro-communist group in Minnesota. They had the most capable of all of the factions, military-wise, and the Empire had few details on their actual capabilities. What details were to be had came mostly from embedded agents in the area. The same went for the Midwest Freedom faction except that the Empire was beginning to get more details on that group through its covert involvement. Despite helping both Freedom's Rock and Midwest Freedom, the Empire wasn't being counterproductive as both stood for pro-capitalist, right-wing agendas, just like the Empire.

Just south of the city of Little Rock was a major military complex that was both an air force base and the Southeastern Sector command of Freedom's Rock air defense network, which included both long-range and medium-range missiles. The southeastern sector gained its data from a network of phased array radars and infrared tracking systems, which were remnants of the Soviet Blocian military. A network of bunkers sat underneath the complex, which was where most of the information from the air defense network were processed. It was in these bunkers that skeleton crews watched monitors and screens for their radars and infrared tracking systems. This would be the radar tracking station that would pick up the Hercules as it flew towards a drop site in central Oklahoma.

The station picked up the cargo transport the moment it crossed the border. There was no hiding it from even the most outdated radars. Nothing about the Hercules was stealthy and it flew towards its drop point in Oklahoma at an altitude of twenty-four thousand feet, cruising at four hundred miles per hour. At that speed, it covered six and two-thirds miles every minute. Though it had a rather long trip by vehicle, it would make it to the drop point and back in no time. Radar operators commented about the ease in shooting in down, should they desire to light it up with their engagement radars. Thus far, on their search radars were operational, the tracking and engagement radar sets off and remaining hidden, lest an enemy surface.

The staff inside of the air defense bunker was small that evening, a byproduct of the lack of qualified personnel in the services of Freedom's Rock. Unfortunately, because of it, they wouldn't be able to defend against a full-force air attack. The few people would be overwhelmed quite quickly due to sensory overload. They hoped an attack wasn't coming tonight and they were glad to see the C-130 appear on their screens, expecting it for hours. What they didn't see, right away, were its two escorts. The Savages were stealth fighters but because they were carrying external ordinance, they weren't as stealthy as they could be, meaning that they would eventually be detected. They were. As the group flew thirty-five miles south of the complex and its powerful search radar, the fighter escorts, flying eight miles ahead and six thousand feet lower than the Hercules finally showed up on the radar screens.

At first, their very presence startled the radar operators. Sweat began to leak from their pores as they realized that the presence of two, Layartebian fighters over their airspace could wreck significant havoc. What if the Hercules is just the decoy? They thought to themselves. If the fighters were equipped with air-to-ground ordinance, they could drop guided munitions on high-value targets and destroy the entire leadership structure of Freedom's Rock and they wouldn't even know it. They would just have to trust the Layartebians and that wasn't easy to do. Given the history of the Empire and the current state of affairs in the former territory of the Armed Republic, it was hard to trust anyone, let alone the Empire. Commanders within Freedom's Rock, as well as other factions suspected that the Empire had put Vesta rockets within range of their territories and it was true. The Empire had, armed with both nuclear and conventional warheads.

Fuhrer's Office, White House, Hirgizstan City

1900 Hours

The office was spacious and airy, but it felt just a little crowded with five people on the couches in front of the fire place. The ornate piece of 16th Century craftsmanship had probably never been lit in its entire history, the climate on Cape Verde was warm throughout the year. But it gave the room a certain look that was now almost expected of the living and working quarters of world leaders. The Fuhrer himself always thought a room without a fireplace was slightly inelegant.

In any case the neatly stacked logs and wrought iron frame stood silent as mouths talked in hushed, yet respectful tones. As the antique clock in one corner of the room began to chime the wall door opened and the Fuhrer strode in. Everyone stood. The five assembled people included the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Eberendu, resplendent in his black Navy uniform, beaming a smile at the Fuhrer, who he was lucky to count as a friend as well as his superior.

Beside him stood General Calvin Breckenridge, the head of the Border Defense Forces. He was a barrel chested and grizzled man with a sharp buzz cut of brown hair, slowly turning grey at the ears and temples.

The two military men sat alone. Opposite them was the Secretary of Defense and State as well as the Director of the National Intelligence Agency.

Everyone present stood until the Fuhrer acknowledge them and they sat down as he leaned on the edge of his desk, as was his usual place during meetings in his office- either that or pacing back and forth reading something or just listening.

His first question was sharp and directly to the point, directed at General Breckenridge. "Have there been any more attacks on the border?"

Everyone had sat down but out of habit they kept their backs straight and stared at the Fuhrer or their breifing notes. Breckenridge responded in a gravelly voice "Two in the past three hours, minor incidents with no casualties on our side. The first happend up in northern Idaho, exactly three hours ago. More armed refugees trying to make it across. We made it seventy-one dead. Last attack was thirty minutes ago. Someone tried to use an APC to jump the trenches we've dug, it hit a mine. There's been nothing further since I arrived here."

"Okay General, tell me about the progress on our defenses?"

"As you know the trenches, guard posts and loudspeakers are all in place- we are currently rolling out the wire fences and land-mines- that should be completed by mid-night, if not sooner. The contractors are already in place and are ready to start putting the wall into place. The estimates for that is one week for the whole border. I was wondering if some National Guard units might be avaliable to help with that- we could half that time if they were released."

The Fuhrer considered the point and agreed, "Consider it done."

"Admiral- have you had time to review our contingency plans?"

Eberendu nodded but seemed unhappy. "Yes I did, but they never envisioned this many factions or so vast a split. The plans predicted the military would hold on to most of the power and defend against rival factions, notably left wing ones, but I don't think anyone could have predicted what has happend. Our plans are next to useless. However, we are in the process of drawing up a new plan based on the old one and on intelligence we receive daily from the field and elsewhere."

The Fuhrer stood up, "Yes, now intelligence-perhaps our biggest asset in this predicament. How many intelligence assets do we have on the ground?"

The NIA Director naturally fielded this question. "Seventy-five currently, many of them are involved with the various factions and other groups that hold power. Others are staying low to the ground. Some are working with former Soviet personnel who have nothing else right now, none of the factions has any need for such assets, at least not right now. We are developing contacts with the Soviet intelligence community that were lost during the break-up of the Republic. We class them as reliable, but we rely more heavily on our own personnel for confirmation of various things."

“Is there any new information on the factions besides what we already know?”

The Director of the NIA glanced quickly at a file he was holding on his lap before responding. “Yes, we managed to discover that the Soviet’s Militia, their last line of defense, have been holding out in scattered groups throughout the country. They are in very poor shape and cannot hold civilian loyalty like the factions, but in several places they hold strategic assets such as food, currency and nuclear weapons. Several of our assets on the ground are with these groups, several have, however, gone dark over the past twenty-four hours. From what we can ascertain it would seem the factions are now trying to fully stamp out the last vestiges of the Soviet military.”

The Fuhrer solemnly nodded at that. He had a lot of respect for the Soviets and their military. They had forged very close ties within the October Alliance and had co-operated with the Soviets perhaps more than other allies. “Okay, let it be known to our assets that if any organized Soviet military Militia can make it to the border with us, we will let them through. We have to give good men a chance worth fighting for- we should try and salvage some of the Republic’s military- we owe them that much.”

The Director nodded and was excused from the room to make the necessary arrangements. He wondered, as did everyone in the room, whether any of the Militia groups would make it another day, never mind make it to a border crossing.


Omaha Militia Unit, Holt Meat Processing Plant, Omaha, Nebraska

1915 Hours

“So where does the fillet come from?” Corporal Casey Stein inquired of the Militia soldier standing next to him.

Sergeant Jon Rook didn’t know. He shrugged and cupped his hands around his mouth, blowing hot air into them to stave off the cold in the gigantic below zero meat locker.
Looking left and right all he could see were gently swaying stripped cows and pigs, pink and red and wholly unappetizing in their raw form.

A voice from somewhere said softly, “The bottom of the rib-cage. Around there’s where you find the good stuff.”

Stein peered around the carcass that he and Rook were standing in front of. Seeing no-one he shouted back, his breath freezing as it came out of his mouth, “Who said that?”

To their right some of the freezing air that hung in clouds was disturbed as a figure emerged, walking toward them. They squinted until the figure got closer. It was Cal Page, a civilian or drifter or something of the sort whom the militia had picked up fighting off a platoon of Midwestern Freedom ‘soldiers’, if any of those assholes could be called ‘soldiers’.

Page got closer and huddled in beside the two men, looking intently at the dead cow in front of them. Rook pointed at the ribs, “In there?”

Cal nodded. Stein asked, “Were you a butcher or something?”

Page laughed, but it sounded in-human, almost disconnected in the cold warehouse. “Nope, I just like my steak. Nothing like a well done fillet.”

“Amen to that.” Rook chimed. He was about to say something else when they heard the disctinctive whistle of an incoming artillery round.

The three men crashed to the floor where they stood and hoped, as they always did, that whatever was headed their way wouldn’t come down on their heads.

KA-BOOOOM!

It seemed to work. Whatever it was shook the ground they were lying on and the minute the sound died away they were up and running toward the exit. Stein shouted “Here we go again!” excitedly, which he himself found strange, although it was simply the adrenalin rush that made it sound that way.

The three men rushed through the metal door and rolled it closed behind them. Inside the loading bay other Militia soldiers rushed by as everyone got onto the barricades that surrounded the front half of the building, facing the road leading in.

Captain McBride, the commander of the unit, was gesticulating like a man possessed beside a yellow fork-lift, “GET THE FUCK OUT THERE AND SHOOT ANYTING THAT FUCKING MOVES. GO, GO, GO!”

He saw the three men standing by the meat-locker door and immediately started shouting at them, “Rook, Stein- get your asses out there right fucking now or so help me I’ll lock you in that freezer forever. Page, roof-NOW!”

Cal nodded to Stein and Rook as they headed toward the roller doors and out into the darkening night, the crack of small arms fire already picking up pace. Page was armed with a Steyr Scout Tactical rifle and a Ruger GP100 a police officer he’d fought with had given him.

He headed into the back area of the warehouse, through the offices and into a breeze-block corridor that led up a metal staircase to the roof. In front of him was the other sniper, an old hunter with a forty year old Mauser. Everyone called him Cookie. He turned to see Page hustling up behind him and winked before getting a move on himself. For an old guy, he sure could move when he wanted to.

The sounds of heavier gunfire now and stomping artillery echoed off the cold breeze block corridor as the two men hustled down the gangway toward the fire exit. Cookie got through first and sprinted over the tar covered flat roof to the right edge overlooking the barricades below. Page went left.

Tracer fire raked out and in down below, as the militia exchanged fire with the MWF. Artillery smashed its way toward the building, but it never got too close. That was the militia’s only saving grace- the building was fool of very precious, very valuable food. In times of national collapse money would often, if not always, become useless. What was really valued was food, fuel and some selected other items. Gold and precious stones were usually worth quite a bit, but were harder to come by than food.

The MWF knew the building the militia were in was fool of food and they wouldn’t dare destroy it because they needed it badly, like everyone. Unfortunately for them the plant backed onto a sizeable river and an approach from the rear was out of the question-the only way in was the flanks or the front and the militia had those well covered…for now.

As Page slammed into the brick lip around the flat roof he began to check his rifle, to make sure his ammo was were it needed to be and that the scope was properly attached. He loaded around and clicked off the safety.

Very slowly he inched up the wall and leant over with the gun, scanning the scene in front of him. Flares and tracer fire made it easy to pick out the MWF moving forward through the rubble of the industrial estate. He found a machine gunner using the frame of burnt out truck as cover. He put the crosshairs over the man’s mouth and fired on the half-breath before reloading. He found another target and fired again, and again three more times before slowly sliding back down below the lip of the building to reload.

Cookie was still blasting away next to him, the sharp report of the Mauser audible in the din. Page had re-loaded and was about to chamber another round when his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket. He fished it out and opened it up.

He read the message:
COMM 251 ENCRYPT TS
SOVIET MILITARY MILITIA UNITS ARE AUTHORISED TO CROSS HIRGIZSTANIAN BORDER AT CROSSINGS. ALL AGENTS REPORT IN BEFORE ARRIVING TO AVOID BLUE ON BLUE. NEXT TAC REPS AT 0000 HRS.

MSG END

Page folded the phone away before taking a deep breath. He’d have to inform McBride. That would mean telling him he was a Hirgizstanian. There was no telling how that might go-over. But he had over-heard McBride saying he’d been on holiday to Hirgizstan several times, he hoped that meant the Captain was open to the suggestion they could break out West and head for the border…if the MWF didn’t break through the barricades first.

As he leaned over the lip of the building’s roof once more he could see there were a lot more muzzle flashes on the opposing side than there was below. Not a good sign…not a good sign at all.

Fuhrer's Office, White House, Hirgizstan City

1915 Hours

The Director of the NIA returned to find that a round of coffee had been neatly laid out on the glass tables in front of the couches. He was pleased to see the Porters remembered he liked his black with sugar. He nodded to the Fuhrer as he came in, "The message was sent. It may be a while before we know if anyone can act on it."

"Okay," The Fuhrer replied, taking a sip from a mug, unlike the others who used china cups and saucers. He was never one to drink coffee or anything else in such a manner and hated whenever he had to. He was more comfortable with a big mug he could actually grip properly. He turned his attention to the Secretary of State, "Now, is the Layartebian response to the situation in the Republic the same as they report on LNN?"

The Secretary put her coffee down on the table with a clink as the china settled on the glass and the spoon on the saucer. "More or less. There may be some things they haven't got round to revealing. They told us of their plans to support Freedom's Rock down in Arkansas. I personally believe that is a wise move on their part given that they have a longer border shared with territory that FR control."

The Fuhrer nodded slowly, looking into middle distance as he considered her point. He nodded while still looking toward the floor. "Yes, I think that's the best decision they could have made and whats more, FR is a flavor of faction we would not be ill disposed toward. However, I believe it is too early in the game to choose sides and we will not. What did surprise me though was the Empire's decision to let in refugees. I know they are controlling the numbers, but I hope I don't need to re-iterate our policy on that?"

He got nods as he looked around the room. Hirgizstanian policy on refugees was simple- 'no admittance'. It didn't matter if the country was a deeply seated enemy or the best of allies, no refugees would be allowed to set foot across the border, and the point had been made hundreds of times already in the Republic's case.

The Fuhrer continued, "At this time, in this case, is there any unilateral actions or interests, besides what we have discussed, that would be worth looking into?"

Admiral Eberendu sat a little straighter as he turned to the Fuhrer. "There are several things we could do that could prove beneficial to us..."

"Such as?"

"I suggest, my Fuhrer, that we use certain factions as 'test subjects' for weapons and for training. The left wing ones, to speak plainly, are entirely expendable- mere targets ready for us to practice one- some of them are very well armed and this would allow us some excellent potential to test new weapons and perhaps tactics if and when the oppurtunities presented themselves."

The Fuhrer smiled. He liked the Admiral- he was one of the finest soldiers and leaders the Commonwealth had ever had- a warrior without measure and a man willing to do anything for his men and his country, even if it meant suffering universal condemnation in every other country on earth. But that was the point- the Commonwealth bowed to no one and would do anything to see its interests protected and championed.

Eberendu had vision, like the Fuhrer, who could also see the potential of using the left wing groups as guinea pigs to test new weapons.

"Excellent Admiral, I'll expect a brief by tomorrow afternoon."

Midwestern Freedom, 18th Battalion, Holt Meat Processing Plant, Omaha, Nebraska

1915 Hours

"Are they awake Major?" A rough bearded colonel asked his subordinate as he looked through a pair of binoculars at the besieged building.

"Yes Sir, the ST-29's aim was at a perfect distance to shock the militia without damaging the precious goods inside." The young officer said, as he stood next to the commander on a building not a half a mile from the Processing Plant. Lt. Colonel Aaron Blythe was a commander in the Soviet Bloc Army before the turn to anarchy. His rough features show that he has been through many close situations and many long battles. He took off his glasses from their resting place on his rather large nose to dust them off. At the ripe age of 45 his sight was just not what it used to be 10 years ago, during the prime of the Soviet Bloc.

Today however, Lt. Colonel Blythe was a new commander and a new task for this very new regime. In its swift sweep from Des Monies, Midwestern Freedom has employed many former SB military commanders for its army. With promises of promotions and large pay, the commanders were easily swayed to MWF's way of thinking. There was not much use for old army officers during times of anarchy. Unless of course you want to work for the Black Hills army, but working with such pigs was not Colonel Blythe's style. Order was his middle name, without it he would be out of a job, therefore he began his support for MWF without any hesitation. Not 2 months from the day he signed on he is cleaning the insurgency in an old processing plant in Omaha Nebraska.

As the artillery barrage came to a close, Blythe ordered in ground infantry supported closely by SIV-21 IFVs. As the soldiers got close to the outside of the factory it seemed as if the sky had opened up with a rain of bullets. The 'resistance' inside began to pour their hearts into and out of their guns as they attempted to hold back the oncoming storm.

"Major, my speaker!" The Colonel called with his hand held forward as if he expected the major to put the microphone in his hand that moment.

"Yes Sir, here it is."

The colonel cleared his throat and began talking into the large speaker that was set up not far from the factory so the insurgence could listen to reason one last time, if they chose.

"Attention, Attention. This is the MWF Army, we are here to claim this great land in the name of freedom and democracy, set down your arms and comply. There is nothing I want less than a blood bath, so again, comply." He said in his rough accent and with a diplomatic tone.

Meanwhile, incase diplomacy was to break down. MWF Infantry had begun to surround the building with armor and a plethora of Infantry armed with a verity of SB weapons that were abandoned after the fall of the government. The origin of the MWF Infantry is former Soviet Bloc soldiers who after the fall of the military were out of a job, along with their commanders. However, money can buy allot of power, and seeing their time had come the Nationalist Party began to buy the service of the commanders who had been based in the Iowa area. Covering the river side of the factory, the MWF Army had pulled out 4 small patrol boats armed with .50 cal’s. With the whole of the area cordoned off, the Omaha ‘Militia’ (if you could call them that) were trapped in the facility. Now they had two choices before them, die in a futile attempt to kill a few MWF soldiers, or surrender and live out their lives in the peace of the new democracy. For Colonel Blythe there was only one choice, win at all costs, whether they are dead or alive.


OOC: Sorry for the shortish and rather crapyish post, I'll have a more in depth post later. Thanks for your patience.

OOC: I changed my times in the previous post to match these so we're all doing this at the same time.

Freedom's Rock Territory -- Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Hercules Drop Site -- 20:15 hrs[CST]

The C-130J Hercules had dropped to just five hundred feet approximately twenty miles away from the drop site, which was a few miles south of Oklahoma City. At the same time, it had slowed down dramatically from four hundred miles per hour, its cruising speed, to just under one hundred and seventy miles per hour, not far from its stall speed. Unfortunately, one hundred and seventy miles per hour was way too slow for the F-56s that circled overhead. They had to maintain a higher airspeed, which meant that the C-130 would be most vulnerable during its entire drop run, which would last ten minutes. That was quite a long time for the Hercules to be left unguarded, especially because of the cargo it was carrying. The Hercules was carrying a single cargo pallet weighing thirty-eight thousand pounds and it was loaded with supplies that ranged from newspapers and food rations to plastic explosive and surface-to-air Stinger missiles, amongst other things. The Hercules was making its run over a long highway just a few miles south of the city in one of the most amazing cargo drops the FR would ever see.

LAPES stood for "low-altitude, parachute extraction system" and it was a marvelous sight for anyone, civilian or military, to see. The method and associated equipment were developed by the Layartebian Air Force in the early 1960s during the Venezuelan Civil War as a method of resupplying forward operating bases while they were under siege. The method single handedly saved countless Layartebian lives and kept more than a dozen firebases operational throughout the war, despite the odds against them. The method was certified for use on either the C-17 Globemaster III or the C-130 Hercules and it was a daring maneuver. It required pinpoint accuracy, a qualified crew all working in sync with each other, and plenty of "reconnaissance" ahead of time. With LAPES, a single cargo aircraft could deliver a single, heavy cargo pallet that could be carrying vehicles or containers without ever touching the ground and without making itself a target for the enemy, whatever enemy might lurk down below.

The stretch of highway chosen was once I-240 but now stood as a lone, rather empty road. Instructions given to FR called for a clear, empty stretch two miles long but the best the FR could deliver was one and a quarter miles of open highway after a bridge, which the C-130 would overfly by only a few feet. An infrared strobe would mark the bridge and from there they would have one and a quarter miles to deliver the cargo and pull up before avoiding another bridge. It would require utter pinpoint accuracy and that was why the most capable and highly qualified crew was chosen for the drop, which would be made along the westbound lanes. In preparation, FR had destroyed three overhead signs that told drivers just where to go. This was war and, for them, it was total war, all or nothing. They pulled up to the highway a half hour before the drop and set up barricades and blocked the roadway with their vehicles. They had removed the signs earlier in the day using cranes and did so hastily, to keep their activity hidden from satellite passes. Construction equipment along a highway was nothing out of the ordinary but the removal of three signs between bridges would arouse suspicion and though it was deep within FR territory, their enemies, if they wanted to, could infiltrate the area. They would know that something was up and they would be cooked if their enemies prevent the drop or worse, shot down the Hercules, which bore Layartebian markings all over it.

The Hercules came inbound without its lights on, lined up on the highway from nine and a half miles to the east and dropped its altitude from five hundred to barely a hundred feet, its speed down to one hundred and sixty miles per hour. From the beginning to the end of the run it would be eleven miles, at an average speed of one hundred and fifty miles per hour, covering two and a half miles each minute, a four and a half minute run from beginning to end. Lookouts with two-way radios stood at the beginning of the run and waited patiently during the night for the Hercules to come and overfly them on its way towards the drop point.

It was a chilly night out and the men were sitting next to their pick-up trucks smoking cigarettes to stay warm. Amongst themselves, the four of them talked, each of them holding an assault rifle. Inside of their trucks they had light machine guns and anti-tank rockets. They had heard over the radio of fighting in Omaha against but they knew few details. They were in the southern sector of FR territory and they were responsible for defending it there and received the regular supplies sent by the Empire. However, most of the supplies they received arrived on trucks. This would be their first airdrop and they would not soon forget it either. They could see the lights of Oklahoma City in the distance and beyond that it was nothing but a black oblivion. Hundreds of miles to the north, MWF and FR lines were shifting. North of that, the Unity faction was planning their own offensives. The men were commenting on that fact when the C-130 buzzed overhead. It came in low, just eighty feet off the deck, at one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Silent until it was upon them, the men instantly hit the ground and looked up at the mythical, invisible beast flying above them. Through their night vision goggles, they could see the C-130 turn onto the highway, its rear cargo ramp lowered and a man standing by the open door, and a red glow emanating from inside. "JESUS!" One of the men yelled as he stood up and watched the Hercules fly away from him, only getting lower.

"They've sure got style!" Another of the men yelled as he picked up his radio and keyed up the transmit button. "Sebastian."

"Mike? Any good word?" A voice echoed from the other end of the radio, just above a small amount of static.

"Yeah. Our friends are here."

"Good! I'm freezing my nuts off over here." He said with a laugh as he put away the radio and watched for the Hercules. He put on his own night vision goggles and looked to the east, where the Empire would be coming from, where the Hercules was. It was only a few minutes of waiting before it appeared on the horizon, a lumbering beast coming inbound slowly, its cross-section all too familiar. "Here we go!" He said as he pushed a button on a small remote. It sent a radio signal, at light speed, to the strobe light on top of the bridge and instantly, it began to illuminate. The remote strobe was a gift from the Empire and it was only visible through night vision goggles. The strobe was small, about the size of a notepad in width and length, and about the same height as a computer mouse. Visible for three miles, the crew of the Hercules picked it up right away and the pilot smirked.

"Guess they see us." The pilot commented as he dropped the aircraft a little lower, to just sixty-five feet. "Alright. Landing gear and flaps. Give me a ten percent increase in thrust."

"Roger that!" The co-pilot said as he pushed down on a few levers and pushed up on another set of them. The first two dropped the landing gear and the flaps. The landing gear retracted out of the bottom of the aircraft slowly and the flaps slid down, lowering the stall speed of the aircraft. As those systems engaged, the co-pilot increased the power to the four engines, countering the effects of the now lowered landing gear, which produced added drag on the aircraft. The pilot watched the airspeed gauge and watched it stabilize at one hundred and fifty miles per hour, the optimum drop speed. The pilot was fully in-charge and the co-pilot would do whatever he said. Only those two men sat in the cockpit. Two others stood in the cargo hold, one standing by the door the other off to the side by a panel. All of them wore headsets, which allowed them to communicate to each other over the noise of the aircraft.

"Prepare for drop." The pilot said into his microphone as he made his final course adjustments and watched the blinking, infrared strobe get closer and closer. "Thirty seconds from start of the run." He said as he eyed the distance to the strobe, which was just over a mile away. The bridge was thirty feet off the ground and that gave him just thirty-five feet of clearance but it was enough. The pilot had all of the charts plotted out ahead of time and he knew everything about the drop run and he had studied it left and right before he took to the skies with his one hundred and fifty thousand pound aircraft.

On the ground, Sebastian watched as the Hercules came towards him. "Wheels are down!" He yelled to the men around him. "What the fuck? Is he going to land?" He yelled as his eyes widened. The cigarette that had been in his mouth had fell out and onto the cold asphalt below. His orders said nothing about a landing aircraft and he knew nothing of the LAPES maneuver. He wasn't a pilot. "Get someone on the line now! He can't land!" He yelled back, thinking that the pilot was actually going to land the aircraft onto the four-land highway. It would have certainly been able to without damaging itself but that wasn't the pilot's desire. As Sebastian fumbled with the radio, his eyes locked onto the Hercules and nothing else. The pilot had put the aircraft into a forty-five degree dive as he came over the bridge and brought the Hercules from sixty-five to just five feet off the ground, maintaining his speed as he did. He would have only thirty seconds to get the cargo out of the aircraft and start climbing before the next bridge, any longer and he and his crew would die on the cold, Oklahoma highway.

"GO! GO! GO!" He yelled as he held the Hercules at just five feet off the ground, moving at one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Inside the cargo hold, the loadmaster pushed a button that deployed a large extraction parachute out of the back of the airplane. It caught the wind almost instantly and the fourth man on the plane, the crew chief pulled down on a lever near the ramp. Instantly, it unlocked the pallet from the floor of the plane. At that moment, the Hercules zoomed by Sebastian and his row of SUVs and pick-up trucks. He held the radio in his hand, unable to do anything but watch the bravado of the pilots as the Hercules roared past him, skimming about the pavement, its wheels hanging in the air, just above the barren asphalt, turning in the wind. He watched as the parachute caught the wind and inflated itself, yanking the cargo pallet right out of the back of the plane, its wheels sliding on the rollers on the floor. It pulled right out of the aircraft and fell instantly to the ground, landing with a bump on the asphalt on its rubber tires. The process took seconds and once the pallet hit the ground, sensors on it immediately began to apply brakes to it, slowing it down safely but not too fast that it would damage the pallet itself or cause it to become off-balanced and flip over, which would destroy what was inside. Once the pallet was safely out of the plane, the pilot immediately applied full throttle and lifted the aircraft into a shallow climb to build airspeed and clear the bridge, which he did with about fifty feet of clearance. From that point on, the C-130 was gone, its cargo ramp raised, and its mysterious cross-section gone into the black oblivion of night.

"What the hell just happened?" Was all Sebastian could muster as he looked at the pallet sitting just a hundred meters away, stopped, its parachute deflated on the asphalt of the highway. Nobody standing there could say anything and they all thought the same thing. It was almost a minute before any of them moved, the silence and stillness broken only by a voice on the radio, MIke's voice.

"Sebastian. We good?" He asked, looking at his watch. To him, it should have been over minutes earlier and he had not seen any fireball on the horizon so he assumed it went to plan. He was too far away to see that the strobe was still blinking too.

Sebastian turned to face him, as if he could see his eyes from over nine miles away when he realized that the strobe was still on, flashing in the dark. "Turn off the strobe." He said as someone did behind him. The strobe went off immediately and Sebastian raised the radio to his mouth. "We're good. You wouldn't believe what I just saw."

"We'll talk about it later. We're rolling."

OOC: Quick thing, MWF is not at War with FR, there has been no conflict between them. Omaha was just a neutral city under the control of a small militia that MWF is fighting.

Omaha Militia Unit, Holt Meat Processing Plant, Omaha, Nebraska

1930 Hours

There was silence for a little while. Eery and un-natural. Silence or lulls during battles could often freak soldiers out worse than the heaviest gunfire. It was a time of greatest danger, when the enemy could either be pulling back or quietly advancing.

Cal Page saw them retreating through his rifle scope but he didn't get his hopes up. Cookie, however, did. "Hot-damn! We got on em' the run like coon's in the headlights!"

Page actually smiled. The old man was no soldier, merely a good hunter. He knew how to stalk and how to shoot from a concealed position but his knowledge about warfare was severely lacking, not a character fault or something to blame him for- it was natural for civilians to think a withdrawing enemy was defeated and not simply re-grouping or preparing for a bigger attack. Page was not opptomistic that it was the former.

"Hold your horses Cookie, this ain't over yet."

He shuffled down the wall toward Page a little, so he wouldn't have to talk quite so loud. Unfortunately the old man's back didn't allow him to crouch down as much as he should have to be under the protecting of the brick wall lip that ran around the roof. Cal was too busy looking out at the barricades and burning fires below to notice, but when he heard the horrendous BOOM of a high powered sniper rifle he instinctively ducked, thinking he was the target.

As he slumped down he was in time to see Cookie's head literally explode upward, forcing his body to lift off the ground a little before slamming onto the groun in a bloody heap, blood pissing out of broken veins and artieries around his lower jaw. In the moonlight Page saw the old man's teeth through the blood and grey matter.

He breathed out sharply as the steam began to rise steadily from the dead body not six feet away. "Rest in peace Cookie, good luck with those deers up there."

Cal didn't touch the body or move at all for a minute. Like a good soldier he had seen the muzzle flash of the high powered rifle before ducking for cover. There was a car park of burnt out trucks across the road from the meat plant- it had come from a corner of it. He knew the place well because earlier in the day he'd killed three machine gunners who'd set up in the nest of ragged metal. He could cover the entire place through a square drainpipe set into the brick wall.

Page shuffled around Cookie's body and slowly lay down, inching forward, very slowly, toward the square opening. Once close enough he pulled his rifle up and placed the barrel just into the opening and looked through the sights.

The burning fires and moonlight picked out MWF soldiers that weren't properly camouflaged. A couple smoked, a very big no-non for night operations, several more were wearing carabiners of brightly colored metal and some simply weren't wearing any camo paint of face camouflage, meaning their skin glowed in the avaliable light.

For the sniper that killed Cookie, what gave him away was the top edge of the big scope. It was reflecting the moon that sat proudly behind the meat processing plant. Once Page had locked onto his target he waited, just observing.

Whoever the sniper was, they were a good shot, but then again it wasn't a great distance from their position to the meat plant. It was also a very still, if very cold, night. The MWF were, Page had observed, made up of former soldiers who were very good at their jobs, while the other people were given training by the MWF, it was done quickly and by the looks of things, poorly.

The sniper hadn't chosen his position correctly, not accounting for the light that would bounce off the scope and show him up. Of course, a camouflage net would easily diminish that possibility but whoever he was, he hadn't thought of that. The sniper was also without a spooter which would make him vulnerable to everything outside the view of his scope. All in all, whoever it was was an amatuer- a good shot but not much else.

Page considered all of this before centering his own rifle scope over the man's slightly visible face and taking up a little pressure on the trigger. He made sure he was comfortable and the rifle was tight before slowing down his breathing. On the half breath he calmly pulled the trigger slowly backward, not in a jerking fashion, but in a slow, purposeful manner so the rifle wouldn't jump. It fired and recoiled into his shoulder. He racked the slide back and sent another 7.62mm bullet into the chamber before looking back through the scope.

The sniper had fallen backward from his position and was crawling into open space, near a fire. Page could see blood erupting from a wound near the neck as he tried to stop it with a hand, crawling forward with the other.

Cal aimed squarely at the sniper's upper spine and fired again. This time he was down for good and Page moved quickly away from the drain opening to re-load.

There was silence again. He stripped Cookie of anything useful, including the old Mauser rifle which had fallen by his side. If he had been able he would have left it, but he and the militia needed all the weapons and ammo they could get.

In the old man's rucksack there was an 1894 style Winchester and boxes of blunt 150 Grain 30-30 ammunition- stuff that could stop a deer dead in its tracks. Page had never used a Winchester against anything but some deer on the odd hunting day. He liked the rifle, but wondered how it would fare against humans. Interested, he slung the two sniper rifles and cocked the Winchester, silently thanking Cookie.

He headed back down to the loading bay in the lull to report in, see what was happening and talk to Captain McBride.

Down in the bay was only the moaning and screaming wounded, being tended to by a former paramedic with an every dwindling supply of anything useful. He nodded as Page went by, the man's eyes dark with despair, fear and exhaustion- his hands covered in days worth of caked blood, glistenting with the fresh.

Somewhere in back he could hear McBride screaming his head off at someone, as he was wont to do. The day they met Page had sized him up as capable, but with no practical experience. That had worried him.

In a gutted office off the main loading bay Page found McBride standing over a helpless looking 18 year old militiaman in fatigues two sizes too big. Cal knew him only as Zack, nothing more other than he was as green as football stadium grass. Standing in the doorway, Page listened as McBride attempted to tear the young man a new one for disobeying orders and cowardice.

"YOU SAT OUT THERE AND DID NOTHING-SHOT AT NO ONE AND PUT YOURSELF AND OTHER MEN AT RISK. WHAT ARE YOU STUPID! THEN YOU TELL ME YOU CAN'T FIGHT AND YOU RUN IN HERE TO HIDE. I SHOULD HAVE YOU SHOT FOR DISSERTION!"

The Captain took a breath. Page however, studied the young man sitting rocking on the ground, his arms around his legs, looking utterly helpess and pathetic. His eyes were focused on nothing...his eyes...Page had seen it before. He remembered now. The 1000 yard stare- shell shock.

It sometimes happend to people not used to explosions, gunfire or other such things. They would either just sit down and become catatonic or would hide and do the same, unable to look at anyone or do anything other than whimper or rock from side to side or back and forth.

Shouting would do nothing- they blocked it out. McBride wiped his brow and was about to start in again when Page cleared his throat and the Captain turned around. "What is it Page...why aren't you at your post?"

"Cookie's dead. Sniper. I got him. Plus, the MWF are retreating, but holding. I reckon they'll be back stronger than ever in about half an hour...maybe less."

"Oh, that your expert opinion Mr. Civilian? I think I'll make my own judgements on enemy movements."

"...Captain-."

McBride cut him off, "DAMN IT PAGE, GET THE FUCK BACK TO YOUR POST! He turned, assuming his orders would be carried out, about to start berating Zack again.

He didn't get a word out as Page grabbed the Captain's arm, merely to get attention, but McBride took it the wrong way and violently shoved Page into the doorframe, pinning him to it by the throat, his face inches from Cal's.

The Captain's forearm was pushing hard into his throat but he wasn't panicking. He could see desperation and frustration in the man's eyes. Page didn't blame him or feel any anger, he merely felt sad for him. The responsibility of all of the men under him- their deaths, and there were many of those, and the fate of those alive, not to mention the entire situation in the former ARSB, all of those things must have weighed on him terribly as he fought for nothing other than survival, hoping to make it through to the next day.

It was easy for Page to reverse the position. He crashed his knee into McBride's balls and then grabbed him in a fairly gentle headlock as his arms jumped away from Page's throat.

He struggled a little but Cal tightened the hold. "Don't struggle. I don't want to hurt you. Just calm down. Calm down and I'll release you. Take deep breaths." He stopped struggling and was released. He merely sat cross legged on the ground, taking deep breaths and trying not to cough.

Cal stood back and flexed his fists, they were a little tight and tingly with adrenalin. “McBride, Zack is suffering from shell shock, shouting isn’t going to do shit. Trust me.”

McBride spat on the floor, somewhat in disgust. “How the hell would you know?”

“Well, that’s kind of why I came to see you. I’m not a civilian and I’m not a Soviet.”

“Well what are you then, Santa Claus?”

“I’m a Hirgizstanian, Grey Fox, part of the Defense Intelligence Agency. I was here working with your own military intelligence units before everything went to shit.”

McBride looked up at Page now, but didn’t seem impressed. “What could that possibly mean to me?”

“I just got a message from our National Intelligence Agency saying all Soviet Militia units can cross the Hirgizstanian border. This could be our way out McBride.”

McBride seemed flabbergasted for some reason. He spat again, “What do you mean ‘our way out’, your not even one of us. You’re a fucking liar is what you are.”

“We’re all in this together Captain. The cavalry isn’t coming to get me. I’m on my own just like you guys. Why do you think I stuck with you in the first place? I’m just as screwed as you are. But now we have a chance, a slim one but it is a chance and that’s all people need in this situation. It may sound impossible, but I’ve been in worse situations. We can make it, but we need to move now. There’s another attack on its way and I think this time we’re not going to be able to hold out.”

McBride seemed puzzled and concerned all at once. “How do we get out of here alive?”

“We swim.”

Command Post, 18th Battalion, Omaha Nebraska

20 Minutes had elapsed since the Colonel had sent his request for the Militia’s surrender, and like most high ranking brass Blythe did not like to be kept waiting. In fact he had grown rather inpatient with the rouges.

“Damn it Major! Are they deaf? Did they not hear my message? Those fools better give up soon before I go a blow their doors down myself!” He said in an inpatient rant.

“Sir, my apologizes, but I have a report from Alpha Company, LT. Johnson, would you like to hear it?” The Major said carefully trying not to aggravate the Colonel more than he already was.

Tugging on the bottom of his blouse in frustration, Blythe replied with a grunt. “Spit it out Major.”

“Sir, LT. Johnson reports that his forward scouts have reported that the insurgence- by their estimate- are around 75 strong, armed with a variety of assault and civilian weapons. From what we can see of their training they must be old Soviet Militia. Unfortunately we do not know locations of the hostiles as of yet, the scout was killed soon after he dispatched one of the insurgents. However, a request for a UAV over flight has been made and we will soon have inferred imagery of the building.” The major read off his handheld device.

“Outstanding, we have been here for 5 hours and we still don’t even know where they are hiding in that bloody shack! Major if you don’t have that report to me in 10 minutes, I will personally shoot you out of that artillery cannon.” Blythe barked at the Major while pointing to one of the M777 howitzers not far away.

“Yes Sir, understood Sir.” He answered as the sweat dripped down his brow. He quickly turned around and rushed towards the command post that was adjacent to the building.

Colonel Blythe continued to watch the factory from his rooftop vantage point. It was not only the major who would be shot out of the howitzer if the insurgency wasn’t broken soon. He himself would be shot out of it by his superiors in Des Monies, and they were even more inpatient about the situation than Blythe.

Front Line Command Tent, Outside of Meat Packing Facility, Omaha, Nebraska

LT. Johnson was a large bulky man known for his tree trunk arms and rough attitude. Being one of the best infantry officers a commander could ask for, LT. Johnson was in a position to advance his career very soon, if only he could break this insurgency. Inside his command tent, he and his subordinate officers poured over intelligence about the insurgence.

Johnson briefed his officers of the situation. “We have all the entrances to the factory covered, escape is not feasible for the Militia. 3rd Platoon has the Northern entrances guarded tightly; nothing short of a group of tanks would be able escape that direction. To the south we have the 5th and 4th Platoons, so escape to the south is also out of the question for the insurgents. If they feel like a swim is in order, they are in for a big surprise. We have the opposite bank guarded by 2nd Platoon, as well as a group of river craft parked in the middle of the river. 1st Platoon has this side, of the building covered, so we can safely say we have them trapped like rats. However the only problem is getting in and quelling this resistance, our intelligence on the inside of the factory is rather short, the last scout we sent reported 50-75 hostiles inside, however before he could report locations he was taken out by one of the insurgence. Major Smith has ordered a UAV over flight, so soon we will be able to pinpoint their exact locations.”

“Sir, once we have the intelligence, then what is the plan on gaining entry?” One of the Junior Officers asked.

“I just got word that some Valkyries will be coming in to support us.” Johnson said as he held out the report for all to see. The junior officers all nodded at the idea, it seemed that the gears were turning in their favor now.

“Sir Over flight is about to begin!” An NCO announced.

All of the heads in the tent turned skyward as the sound of a Sharpe buzz whizzed overhead. Not long ago a ScanEagle had been sent from the Battalion command post to observe the situation. As it neared the factory, the small infrared camera on the nose of the UAV began filming. Every inch of the factory was recorded, and sent back to the command post over a mile away. Soon, the commanders of the MWF forces would be able to pinpoint the locations of the Militia inside of their besieged fortress.

Fuhrer's Office, White House, Hirgizstan City

1945 Hours

The computer made a low but audible beep as it told the Fuhrer he had a secure email. He was sitting on one of the long couches watching four televisions screens at once while reading over several files. He muted the televisions and walked over to sit behind his desk.

The computer screen was built into the desk itself and covered almost its entire surface with a scratch proof screen. He touched the 'EMAIL WAITING' message and it took him straight to where he wanted to go.

The secure mainframe required a password which he entered and then he was granted access. The email was from Admiral Eberdendu who had obviously just returned to his office at the Pentagon.

Inside the email was the framework for something called OPERATION VENOM. It was not yet a completed file but the abstract and other information were present. It would give the Fuhrer an idea of what the Admiral had in mind when he delivered the completed file the next day.

OPERATION VENOM would essentially use the crisis in the former ARSB as a live training exercise for certain special units and projects. Those already outlined included deployment of Strike Force Lightning personnel, use of the M-400 Badh Catha, deployment of selected chemical weapons. The Fuhrer was sure the Admiral would think of more things they could do across the border to test weaponry, tactics and theories.

Also attached in the email was a DIA External Contact Report from someone in the ARSB calling themselves 'Rocketman'. Whoever it was had been able to make contact via a secure ARSB Intelligence Network device somewhere in Minnesota, deep inside Unity territory. The report, the Fuhrer saw, contained detailed information about Unity bases, equipment and movements as well as a little information on their stated goals.

The problem with contacts like this, the Fuhrer knew, was that they could be enemy personnel feeding false information for whatever reasons, to mis-direct, mis-inform or confuse. That it was coming deep within Unity territory only added to the consensus that the contact was indeed, spreading false information. Plenty of General Vance's men were former ARSB military who could easily have access to their own Intelligence Network devices.

However, the information from the DIA included in the Contact Report confirmed several large Unity movements in the south-east and west of Minnesota. Again, this could simply be a ruse to lull the recepient into a fall sense of belief, but any information was worth anaylazing, even if it was from a suspected enemy. The Fuhrer logged the information in his computer, checked his watch, and decided to retire for dinner. He would likely be up the rest of the night. Running the largest country in the world was not an easy task, nor one for someone fond of sleep.

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

Bloomington, South-Eastern Minnesota

1945 Hours

A checkpoint on I-35 was not a good idea for two reasons: 1. It was exposed to the elements due to being on a rather flat plain outside the city; and 2. It was desserted, making a checkpoint utterly useless.

But Private Andy Kavikon and Corporal Jason Schwarzman didn't dare say-so to anyone else. Unity was a strict organization, General 'Oz' could be a psycho at times, and it translated into his subordinates. Schwarzman and Kavikon weren't really used to all the shouting and berating they were usually on the receiving end of. Both were weedy and lacked stamina and strength but were, at least, decent shots with their SR-55's.

Neither of the two 19 year olds had ever been in the army before joining Unity. They had mainly joined up for the food and the safety, but most of all they were communists, through and through. Like most Unity recruits they were fierce beleivers in the Marxist cause and their vision of the new Soviet Bloc was one true to its long-past original roots as a thoroughly glorious communist utopia.

Schwarzman sat on the edge of a Jersey barrier, wrapped up tightly against the freezing cold night. Even with gloves on and a scarf around his face, he still liked to read whatever chance he got. Even though he knew parts of it by heart, he was reading the 'Communist Manifesto'. For him, a single read through would usually take up most of the time they were on watch. Kavikon paced up and down behind the red striped wooden barrier that sat between two jersey barriers. He would pace from one side of the freeway to the other, twelve lanes, every few minutes. Then he would stop and stamp his feet and maybe light a cigarette.

Both men, having been put on the I-35 Checkpoint every night for the past two weeks, were beginning to get into a routine and were not comfortable with each other. However, neither paid much attention to anything besides their books or trying to keep the chill from making their fingers and toes go numb.

It was with strange puzzlement that they gazed up into the partially starry sky as they heard the sound of a jet engine somewhere in the distance. Unity did have aircraft but so far General Vance hadn't ordered them to do anything other than sit on the tarmac and look pretty for his propaganda outlets. It was effective propaganda, but sending them up would only cause tensions with the MWF or even someone further afield. Vance wasn't ready for that yet. Perhaps he would be, the two men thought, but surely not tonight?

They couldn't see anything in the sky to suggest the jet was getting closer, yet the noise was getting louder every second. They looked for running lights flashing on and off but saw none. Then they tried their radio but were told there were no jets flying and there was nothing on the scope. Then they were shouted at for wasting time.

But still the sound got louder. Then a light from nowhere seemed to illuminate them in the darkness, but it wasn't from above- it was at ground level. They turned and looked down the Interstate only to be blinded by powerful twin Xenon lights and the roar of a jet engine as whatever it was came toward them at blistering speed.

The two men instinctively jumped away from the barrier that crossed the only un-blocked lane of the road and their ears seemed to explode as the thing coming at them got closer. Then, with a clunk and a crunch it burst through the wooden barrier and past them as fast as a small jet down a runway. Both men got a small glimpse of what it was and were thoroughly surprised to see it was...a motorbike...with a flaming jet engine powering it down the road away from them!

There had been someone on it too, someone riding a jet powered motor cycle?

The two men, getting over their shock and their deafness, scrambled to their radio and reported in that a jet powered motorbike was headed down I-35 toward Bloomington. For a second or two there was no reply, but then came the howls of laughter over the receiver. They pleaded to be believed but got nothing but a rebuke.

However, the bike kept going and blasted right through Bloomington at over 300 mph. The Unity personnel in the city were dumbfounded as the jet powered machine roared past their checkpoints. A helicopter was scrambled but whatever, or whoever, it was, was gone before they could even begin to track it.

OOC: The last bit about the motorcyle is just something I'm doing for fun. I haven't decided what to do with it yet, but the rider is the contact known as 'Rocketman', so I'll probably develop it as we go.

OOC: Something small for now if TP or Hirg want to RP an attack or something it's available. I made corrections in accordance with the above request.

Outpost L-WI-0014-A, Wisconsin, Layarteb
Outside La Crosse -- 20:00 hrs [CST]

"Do you know what difference is between a communist and a capitalist lieutenant?" The soldier asked, standing his guard by a machine gun along one of the border outposts in Wisconsin, not far from the Unity/MWF line of control. The soldier was a sergeant, a young enlistee who was just twenty years old. He had been conscripted in when he was eighteen and now he was deciding to do another year, just to get three years of paid education. He wasn't sure yet about a fourth.

"What's that sergeant?" The lieutenant said, expecting some sort of joke to follow. He was standing at the doorway of the outpost, his assault rifle slung over his back, a pair of night vision binoculars in his hand. All of them had night vision goggles on but they only gave limited distance without depth perception. That was unfortunately a short coming to their goggles. If they wanted to see far, they would have to remove them and use actual binoculars or advanced optics. The lieutenant was searching the horizon every six minutes. News of the fighting in Omaha drifted through the airwaves and the soldiers at the outpost had picked it up errantly.

"A communist reads the Communist Manifesto but a capitalist understands it." He joked to himself as he rested his gloved hands on the top of the machine gun. It was an M35A1 Light Machine Gun. Capable of firing up to nine hundred rounds per minute, effective out to a mile or more, the weapon was loaded with a box of two hundred 7.62x51mm ball ammunition. A second soldier, a corporal, stood there as well. He was quiet though, his duty to be a loader and spotter for the gunner. Three other men were around the outpost as well and there were six more on patrol somewhere in the wilderness that surrounded them. Normally, these outposts would have been manned by just four soldiers of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces but now they had between twelve and eighteen, depending on the location. Most of them also had some sort of lightly armored vehicle. For these soldiers it was an M2010A1 Bushmaster, two M2021A1 Fast Patrol Vehicles, and an M2054A1 Cricket. The Bushmaster carried the heavy artillery, which was a single M31A1 15.5x115mm Heavy Machine Gun. The two FPVs carried light machine guns, 7.62x51mm, and the Cricket was outfitted with an M49A1 40mm Grenade Machine Gun. Between the four vehicles, they could move a total of twenty-four men, double how many they were.

The border outpost was standard to all of those along the western border of the Province of Layarteb. Between the actual border itself and the start of the outpost was an eight hundred meter deadzone. The deadzone itself was between two fences, both buried twenty feet into the ground, standing twenty feet high above the ground. Barbed wire had been laid in the ground and attached to the top of the fence and the fence itself could carry an electric current. In all of the years since it had been built, that measure had never been employed but now it was. Inside the deadzone had only been motion sensors, capable of picking up the movement of a small child walking or running. In other places, it was mined but along the border with the former Armed Republic, that option had never been fulfilled. Engineers were already working throughout the night, laying mines in the fields, carefully placing and mapping them but that would take some time. At the second fence, the outpost began. The road was always split into two, two-lane segments, one for going and one for coming. Each segment was protected by two types of barriers. The first were mechanical in nature. Rising from the ground were steel posts that stood up to four feet high and were eight inches in diameter. Made of pure steel and reinforced, they could stop an eighteen wheeler moving at seventy-five miles per hour. After those, Jersey rails, staggered around, prevented a vehicle from driving straight through. They would have to slalom through the barricades at a slow speed to make it through safely. On either side of the road were two emplacements for machine guns and there was the outpost building, a two story, fortified-concrete structure that extended two floors underground as well. Inside of it was a prison, interrogation area, living quarters, communications room, small armory, and a steel vault for classified documentation and for soldiers to make a last stand. Attached was a garage structure capable of holding up to a dozen vehicles, tanks included with the adequate space to perform repairs. The roof could be used for a helicopter landing pad, capable of supporting a Black Hawk or similar-sized helicopter. A clearing behind the building could support larger helicopters. The distance between the second fence and the building was roughly twelve hundred to sixteen hundred meters, three quarters to a full mile. That was a lot of distance for an enemy to cross. Snipers could use the roof for shelter as well as the second floor and there were plenty of areas capable of holding an emplaced anti-tank rocket system.

At night, the outpost was dark. Special tint on the windows prevented any light of a certain color or wavelength from escaping and all light inside was red during night hours. Panels that gave off light did so in discreet manners and that light was never directed at the windows, per say. Cameras mounted at the beginning of the border all through the post gave the watch officer the ability to see if anything was anywhere and motion sensors could alert anyone inside to an approaching vehicle or person. Laser beams, invisible to the naked eye, were running all over the road and, when broken by a vehicle, a small buzzer would sound inside the watch office. It was loud enough that even if someone were sleeping or in an adjacent room, they would hear it. Aside from that, the outpost was pretty simple. The environment was made to allow the outpost to be as defensive as possible and they were well stocked with supplies. Backup could be called in via radio, through the encrypted network, or even over the open airwaves, in a dire emergency.

"That's good sergeant. Pretty amusing." The lieutenant said over the radio. "Keep the chatter low tonight. There's fighting in Omaha."

"Roger that sir. Just trying to add in some humor."

"Understood." The nine people on duty that evening had been on duty for some time. Three people slept while nine were on, thanks to the heightened alert. They had been informed that a small unit of Vesta rockets had been deployed about a hundred miles east of their position and that gave them some comfort. The Vesta was a fearsome rocket and they hoped to see them streaking overhead and into the communist faction named Unity that rested in Minnesota. All of them knew that open fighting would eventually break out between the Empire and the faction but the wait was indefinite.

OOC: Ok, just to clear things up before we go further, if you all agree with this just let me know. heres the low down.

Freedoms Rock- Lay
MWF- TP
Unity- Hirg
Syndicate- Lay
Black Hills- Hirg

That sound good? If so I'll send you all TG's about the respective factions objectives so you have some sort of guide as to the factions intentions.

OOC: Totally fine with me, I wanted the commies and bad guys ;)!

OOC: Totally fine with me, I wanted the commies and bad guys ;)!

OOC: Alrighty, I'm a bit sick right now, so I'll have a post up sometime tomorrow most likely.

B-11B Zeus - "Tarhe 1-1" - 407th Bomber Squadron
25 miles southwest of Bloomington, IN -- 20:30 hrs [CST]

The B-11B Zeus was the modern B-52 Stratofortress. While it wasn't a Layartebian product, the Empire had bought sixty examples to serve as the replacement for the venerable Stratofortress. Weighing in at over a million pounds fully loaded, the Zeus could lift up to four hundred and fifty thousand pounds of ordinance into the air in its three internal bays and six external pylons, which was almost as much as the Stratofortress weighed. The Zeus, a true megabomber, was the heaviest bomber in the world and served in many air forces globally. That was a testament to its sheer awesomity. Each internal bay of the three hundred and seven foot behemoth could hold up to sixty tons of ordinance. Planners in the Imperial Layartebian Air Force found too often that they could fill up the internal bay with bombs, run out of room, and still not reach the maximum weight capacity, which helped to prolong the life of the aircraft since it wasn't stressed to its maximum.

When the Empire bought the Zeus, it had made some changes. The avionics had been completely removed and replaced by Layartebian systems, the defensive tail gun was removed and replaced with ECM equipment, and the war load was reduced in weight by fifteen thousand pounds to four hundred and fifty thousand. The internal bays and pylons were strengthened as well to support the full weight rather than a reduced payload and the bomber was given the designation B-11B, the "A" model being the original Zeus. In total, there were five Zeus squadrons based at Griffis Air Force Base in New York, Saül Air Force Base in French Guiana, Kajana Air Force Base in Suriname, Wabash Air Force Base in Labrador, and Thule Air Force Base in Greenland. The reach of the Zeus was global as it had an unrefueled range of over seventy-five hundred miles and a combat range of thirty-nine hundred miles. Inflight refueling would allow the bomber to fly globally with a payload heavier than most aircraft weighed.

The Zeus's only downfall was its lack of stealthiness. The Zeus was as big a radar target as the Stratofortress, if not bigger, more than one hundred times that of the B-1B Lancer. In addition, it was slow and it was vulnerable to air attack as it carried no defensive armament. It didn't need any though, the Zeus wasn't meant to fly into enemy territory without escorts. It wasn't like the B-4 Magnum, B-7 Incubus, or B-9 Sphinx which were stealth bombers. Even still, those aircraft never entered enemy airspace alone, that was too great of a risk. Electronic jamming, fighters, and SEAD flights all accompanied the Layartebian bombers into and out of enemy airspace. Once the threat was destroyed, the Zeus could pound the enemy with two hundred and twenty-five tons of ordinance, whether it be dumb bombs or guided weapons such as cruise missiles or smart bombs. They could carry any bomb or missile in the Layartebian inventory provided its purpose was air-to-ground and the Zeus even had a missile constructed specifically for it, the AGM-232, appropriately named the "Zeus." That missile was a long-range, cruise missile designed to destroy underground bunkers and other super hardened targets with either a conventional, sixty-six hundred pound, penetrating warhead or either of two thermonuclear warheads in either a tactical or a strategic yield. That missile remained entirely classified and the Zeus could carry just six of the missiles, two per bay, because they each weighed almost fifty thousand pounds. Of course, they had a range in excess of fifteen hundred miles.

The Zeus could also carry one other heavy, long-range cruise missile, the AGM-192 Dreamcatcher. Clearing the bay by just thirty-three and a half inches, the Dreamcatcher was a missile that wasn't specifically designed for the Zeus but could definitely be carried in quantity, twelve to be exact on three rotary launchers inside of the three bays. The Dreamcatcher was designed like the ancient Skybolt ALBM and that was its original purpose, to deliver a high-yield, thermonuclear warhead over three thousand miles away in a very short time with pinpoint accuracy. With a CEP of under ten meters, the Dreamcatcher was more accurate than most ICBMs and far cheaper as well. Subsequent variants of the highly classified missile included a salting option and an EMP strike option. Even a conventionally armed variant was produced that included the BLU-122 warhead seen on the GBU-28C Paveway III, which had the capability to penetrate over twenty feet of steel-reinforced concrete or one hundred feet of earth. The Paveway III was a devastating but heavy weapon, weighing over forty-five hundred pounds. That same warhead was fitted to the Dreamcatcher and, because of its phenomenal kinetic energy, its effects were equally as devastating if not worse. Filled with less than seven hundred pounds of actual explosive, the deadly BLU-122 warhead ensured that nothing would survive, no matter how well armored or buried it was.

It was so that the Zeus took off in the middle of the night from Griffis Air Force Base with a highly important and capable mission. The bomber was loaded with a pair of Dreamcatcher missiles, conventional "D" variants and tasked with a single, important sortie. Given the callsign "Tarhe 1-1," the B-11B from the 407th Bomber Squadron and its crew of three were tasked with flying to a launch point southwest of Bloomington, Indiana and launching their missiles towards a target in northwestern Montana, against the Northwest Syndicate. The Northwest Syndicate was neither a friend nor a direct foe to the Empire but, given the Empire's obvious interest in seeing Freedom's Rock prevail or even merge with the Midwest Faction, the Syndicate was, by proxy, an enemy.

Nestled into northwestern Montana, the Northwest Syndicate was a group composed mainly of traders and "free-roamers." They posed little threat to any faction until the afternoon of the eleventh when an embedded, Layartebian agent, who had been emplaced when the land was the Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc, made a a startling discovery. The Empire had its suspicions that all of the major factions were in possession of nuclear, chemical, and even biological weapons and their access codes from the beginning but confirmation wasn't quick. Freedom's Rock and the Midwest Faction were the first to be confirmed and Unity was strongly suspecting of having many warheads. The other two factions, the Syndicate and the Black Hills Army were suspecting of having some warheads but that wasn't yet confirmed until now. The Syndicate did have nuclear weapons, only eleven warheads in total but they were there and they could be used quite effectively against encroaching factions. Andrew Hunt, an agent with the Ministry of Intelligence had joined his colleague there only days prior and both he and Michael McAdory had finally gotten confirmation of the nuclear weapons in a bunker inside of Kalispell, the capital for the Northwest Syndicate.

Kalispell was a small city that had once been a large military center for the Armed Republic. It was rather spread out and located not far from an ICBM base that had, thankfully, been decommissioned and all of its missiles and warheads removed and destroyed, thanks largely to Michael McAdory and the Ministry of Intelligence months prior. However, some warheads had managed to escape this fate and eleven warheads, each of them up to four hundred and seventy-five kilotons had been securely hidden in a military bunker buried beneath eighty-five feet of earth, in the southern part of the city, fifteen hundred miles away from Bloomington, Indiana. With the coordinates confirmed, the Imperial Layartebian Air Force sprang to action and loaded the two missiles inside the center bay of the large bomber. Now the bomber hung thirty-five thousand feet in the air to the southwest of Bloomington. The coordinates had been entered into the missile's computer system and the missiles were ready to be fired. The final codes were still pending as was the final authorization from the Ministry of Defense. It came at 20:30 hours, central standard time.

It was freezing cold on the ground in Indiana and even colder thirty-five thousand feet in the air when the bomber opened its large bomb bay and the weapon system's officer rotated the Advanced Heavy Rotary Launcher (AHRL) in the bay to the firing position. The first of the two missiles was now pointed downward and below it, thousands of feet below, thin clouds and farms passed by as the bomber hung in the air, cruising at five hundred miles per hour, covering a mile every seven and a quarter seconds. In contrast, the missile would cover over two and a half miles each second while cruising high above the Earth. The bomber crew sat in a comfortable, spacious, fully climate controlled cockpit. On long patrols and missions, a refresher crew was brought along and they could use a small sleeping area to rest. The sleeping area included four bunks, a small refrigerator, a lavatory, and both a hot plate and a coffee pot for cooking warm meals. In a heightened alert state, a single Zeus would stay aloft for over thirty-six hours, refueling in the air as it flew a designated patrol route, most likely armed with nuclear weapons. A crew had to be fully refreshed, rested, and prepared for such a mission and this was obvious to the designers of the Zeus.

With the final codes entered, the weapon's systems officer lifted a plastic lid on his panel and pushed an illuminated red button. Everything else was automatic. He had programmed the entire firing sequence into the weapons system of the Zeus and all he had to do was activate it and the computer would take care of the rest. As ordered, the computer held for eight seconds and then released the first weapon, rotating the AHRL after another four seconds. The first missile fell downward, out of the bomb bay and into the cold, night air. It would freefall for a total of six seconds before its rocket ignited. The mammoth missile was well clear of the bomber when its first-stage rocket ignited and the missile began its flight program. The first step was to completely clear the bomber and, to do that, the missile calculated several things. The first was the speed of the launching aircraft, which had to remain completely constant until both missiles were clear to ensure safety. Moving at five hundred miles per hour, the bomber would travel one mile every 7.2 seconds. After the launch, the bomber would be almost a mile away from its launching point. The missile would fire and propel itself forward until it cleared the bomber by one mile. Then, it would pitch sharply upwards and ascend towards its cruise altitude of three hundred miles, which was over two hundred and ninety-three miles higher than the bomber. There, the first-stage would burn out and disconnect, allowing the second stage to begin the cruise program, which was done at 9,550 miles per hour or 2.65 miles per second. After the cruise program was completed, the missile would begin its terminal descent, speeding up to 15,000 miles per hour or 4.17 miles per second by the time it hit the target, three hundred miles below.

Once the missile's first-stage rocket ignited, it instantly propelled the missile forward at a phenomenal amount of acceleration, over 50Gs. The rocket flame was a brilliant, bright blue and it glowed beautifully in the night sky over Indiana. The missile was moving at over 3,000 miles per hour in a matter of seconds and ascending towards its cruise altitude before the bomber crew could have prepared the next missile. The computer had already done so and waited for a full fifteen seconds after the first missile had been released before it released the second one. The missile ascended towards its cruise altitude in just three minutes and covered almost three hundred miles of its flight. Once at the cruise altitude, the missile was traveling at close to its cruise speed, the second-stage would bring it to its cruise speed and the missile would cover the one thousand mile distance in just six and a half minutes before it reached its terminal descent phase, roughly ten minutes into its flight. The descent would take another minute or two, at most, twelve minutes from start to finish, barely enough time to warm up an old car on this cold, November night.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Other/xagm-192-test.jpg

The bomber would be a hundred miles away by the time the missiles hit, already having turned for home, the crew relaxing. The missiles streaked upwards and towards their target at speeds fast enough and heights high enough that few missiles on Earth could intercept them. Like the Skybolt, they were meant to get to the target fast, hard, and without much warning. Twelve minutes was less than half the flight time it would take an ICBM to travel to its target and though it wasn't as quick as an SLBM, it was definitely a great weapon for a pre-emptive, decapitation strike. That was the role it was envisioned for and that was the role it would fill if it came to it.

On the ground in Kalispell, fifteen hundred miles away, there was little activity. Most of the people were cozy in their warm homes or shelters, waiting for the warmth of the morning sun to venture out again. While it was cold in Indiana, it was beyond cold in the reaches of Montana, where Arctic winds swept down and brought subzero temperatures and wind chills in the double digits. The Northwest Syndicate had a rather fragmented military and the military was generally just a small number of people who had organized into a single militia under the control of a colonel or general, whichever it had been, information was sketchy on them. Most of the populace was armed and the Northwest Syndicate was, in a way, a peaceful state of anarchy. Traders and rovers were the class divisions of the society and they weren't militant. They defended what territory they had and they had little desire to expand unless it meant influence for trade. They would have been just as content with their territory.

The Dreamcatcher strike caught them completely off guard. The two missiles swooped in, fifteen seconds apart, moving like lightning. The first missile's sonic boom alone blew out half of the windows in the city as it soared down its hypersonic trajectory, slamming hard into the ground at the aimpoint, only two meters away from the actual coordinates. The missile's penetrator warhead soared through the earth and right into the bunker, exploding just inside of it as the second weapon came down the now large hold created by the weapon, finding less resistance. This allowed it to penetrate deeper and it went right into the bunker, exploding with devastating effect. The explosions sent a shockwave throughout the bunker and the ground, shaking the small city and destroying the entire bunker, collapsing it into itself. When the fireball rose out of the ground milliseconds later, it lit up the whole city and everyone who were awoken by the explosion and the sonic boom, and there were many, suddenly wondered what it was that had exploded so violently. Militia commanders who knew of the bunker all knew right away that they had been had. Someone had blabbed and told of their nuclear stash and they wanted to know who. Immediately, their eyes went to the newcomer, Andrew Hunt or, as they knew him, Chase Everett.

Omaha Militia Unit, Holt Meat Processing Plant, Omaha, Nebraska

1955 Hours

McBride had gotten himself up and fixed his armor before he inquired, "There are gunboats in the river, if we swim we die, simple as that."

Page smiled, "Not quite. Thats half the plan. The other half involves a lot of explosives."

The Captain looked puzzled and concerned, "What explosives? We only have a few grenades left between us, nothing more."

"This is a meat processing plant, Captain, there's a fuel and chemicals store here, full of nice barrels of explosive goodies. The way I see it is this: We can' hold out much longer, another hour, maybe less, and then they drive a tank through the loading bay and we all die. But, if we move the fuel and flammable cleaning products they keep in the store, we can light this place up brighter than an Eastasian fireworks factory in a bushfire. They won't get their precious meat and they'll be too distracted or too busy trying to save the food they won't see us slip into the river."

McBride took a few seconds to think over the plan. He was inexeperienced but not stupid, he knew they couldn't hold out very long and he wasn't too enamoured with the thought of last stand to guard a glorified food factory. "How long will it take?"

Page smiled, "Give me two men and with the pallet loaders we'll have it done in twenty minutes. Hold them off until then and we'll be home free."

McBride got on his radio and hollered down the line, "Stein, Rook- report to the Office immediately, double-time."

The two men arrived breathless a few seconds later. They didn't know whether to stare at the comatose Zach, lying in the foetal position on the ground, or the Captain. He said to Page, "I'll leave you to it, then. Good luck."

"You too Cap'n."

McBride left to rally his men for a last ditch defense.

"Rook, Stein, we have work to do."

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

Unity HQ, Bemidji Guild Hall, Minnesota

http://i25.photobucket.com/albums/c88/Karl187/UnityBanner.jpg

General Ozzie Vance was more than pleased with the new banners that hung around and above the city, the gigantic red flags hung from every window and roof-top in a parade of color that was on every street as far as the eye could see.

Vance was more than just a politician and a former soldier, he was now the leader of a movement sweeping south, east, north and west throughout the former Armed Republic, punctuated by the battle-cry of 'YES WE CAN', symbolising the hope and aspirations of the down-trodden, over-looked and over-worked.

Or so the spiel went, the General thought to himself. Like all good travellers of the left, Vance knew it was all bunk and hokum. Aside from a few snappy slogans, some great visual agitation and the general promise of a better, more fair life for all, there wasn't much to the facade. Yet people seemed to believe in it more than anything else. Above all, his movement and his personage had become an 'ideal' to glorify, to yearn for, to fight for.

When the screaming multitudes turned out for his rallies, screaming 'Yes We Can' until they go hoarse, he felt the insurmountable force of the winds of change. There was momentum unbridled now in Unity's sails, gone were the days of existing hand-to-mouth while the MWF picked up all the glory and all the winnings. Unity was now the force to be reckoned with in the former ARSB.

But still, the General couldn't help but feel pleased with himself at having all those useful idiots trying to grab onto his coat-tails, riding the wave of momentum he had generated. Did they really believe Marx and Engels? Did they believe him? Of course they did, he assured himself, they were all too dumb to realize it was all a crock of shit.

Undoubtedly, the General told himself, he'd create what looked like a communist utopia. All the slogans, all the words and pictures and achievements would be there, but it would just be a smoke-screen for the masses.

Vance did, personally, believe in Communism, he was a communist but unlike some he saw it, like Marx and its founders, that it was merely a means to an end- a means to further enslave those the doctrine said were already enslaved- why not enslave them and have them believe they are doing better, are better off and are better treated? Why should the masses be miserable and enslaved- why not lie to them and keep them in chains?

Atop an ST-29 in front of the Guild Hall gates, loudspeaker in one hand, hand-gun in the other, Vance looked every bit the great leader of the rebellion. A scarf billowed behind him in the wind, as did the huge black and red flags. Thousands lined the streets in every direction, many in their Unity uniforms, notable by the red lapels and the black star on their helmets.

The crowd was so loud it made the inside of the General's ears crackle and he could almost feel the earth move as they stomped their feet and chanted 'YES WE CAN! over and over again.

With a raised hand he quieted them, something he loved to do. With great anticipation the crowd waited as he slowly put the mouthpiece of the loudspeaker to his mouth. He licked his lips.

"Thank you, thank you all! Thank you. Today is a great day in the history of our new nation! It will be many years from now when you look back and say to your children and grand-children that on this day, I was here and we changed history. Yes We Can!"

The crowd erupted again and chanted for a minute or so before the General quieted them again.

"We are poised now to strike out at the enemies that surround us. They are weak, corrupt and decadent- we are strong, hardy and determined. We shall prevail. We have the tanks, we have the missiles, we have the weapons, we have the men and we have fate on our side. No longer will we allow our fellow man to live in the capitalist mire where the weak and needy our thrown aside, broken and battered. Its time to put them back together, stronger than ever and strike a blow for every down-trodden, walked on and forgotten person on this continent! YES WE WILL! YES WE CAN!"

The crowd again erupted but this time he talked through them as they quieted down, "We have enemies...yes we do- all good people and good things have enemies...nay, predators! They want to break us, and mould us into robots for the bourgeoisie, for those captains of industry that ran this country into the ground and forced us into the wilderness. But it didn't kill us, and it didn't break us- their folly has made us stronger. Our message of hope and change and a bright, new future cannot compete with any other faction in this great land of ours. They can throw money at us, they can throw tanks and bullets and bombs but they'll never break us. NEVER!"

"The billionaires of Freedom's Rock think they can buy and murder their way out of this mess they have helped put us into. But they won't and can't buy us. We'll destroy them. Yes We Can."

"The MWF think they have the werewithall to scare us and bully us into submission, but it is them who will submit under our boots as we ride roughshood over their bloated carcass. Yes We Can."

"The NWS think they can block all the trade routes and now share the profits, that they can have right of way because they aren't political. Economics is politics and they shall submit or be destroyed. Yes We Can."

"And finally, we face the greatest evil of them all, a scourge the world over and an evil Empire if ever there was one. I am talking of the Layartebians- those smug bastards self assured behind their wall of barbed wire and troops- we shall overcome them with the might of our army and the strength of our resolve. Yes We Can."

"Comrades, this is our time and this is our country and we shall not fail. We shall fight and we shall imrpove and we'll change this damn world for the better. YES WE CAN!"


OOC: Wanna guess who Vance is based on? Couldn't resist!

Meat Factory, Omaha Nebraska

“Sir, Infrared is in! Looks like we have a total of 74 hostiles, spread out around the building.” Major Smith explained to the Colonel while he pointed the positions out on the infrared scans of the building. As he continued his brief he pointed out the clusters of insurgents that guarded the doors and windows of the factory. “It looks like they have the entrances covered; this leaves out entering the conventional way.” Colonel Blythe studied the scans hard, as an experienced leader, he knew that intelligence was an important part of any military operation. “What about this group here Major? They don’t look like they are guarding any entrances.” He said pointing to a group of heat signatures clustered in a corner of the building. “It looks to me Sir like they are in an office of sorts; it could be the leader of the militia and his advisors. This should be one of our priority targets.” Nodding in agreement the Colonel took one last glance at the scans. “What are these? They are to large to be human signatures.” He questioned as he pointed out two rather large heat readings. “I believe those are vehicles of some sort, they look like power lifts.”, “Power lifts? What the hell are they doing with those?” Colonel Blythe said in a seemingly startled tone. “I do not know Sir, but I can safely say that they are up to no good, and we need to move fast to stop what they are doing.” Springing into action, Blythe began to issue his orders. “Major, get on the horn with LT. Johnson, apprise him of the situation, and give him a copy of these scans. Also, are the Valkyrie Teams ready to go?” “Yes Sir, Teams 18 and 14 are prepped and ready to move in on your order.” Major Smith said as he grasped his radio. “Good, tell them to move in.”

Valkyrie Team 18, Omaha Nebraska

The rotors roared on the AgustaWestland AW101 heavy lift helicopter assigned to Valkyrie Team 18, the elite special forces of the Midwestern Freedom. Formally part of a Varity of Soviet Military services, the members of the Valkyrie teams were highly trained in all forms of special warfare. There mission today is not unlike any other mission they have had in their days with the Soviet Bloc. Armed with a number of advanced weapon systems such as SR-90A1 Next Generation Assault Rifle, Daewoo K1, and CZ 527, the Valkyrie’s would have no trouble in outgunning the insurgency. Valkyrie team 18 consisted of 20 of the MWF’s finest, and their task today was to clear the building for ground infantry to move in.

To achieve their task, the Valkyrie team would be inserted onto the factory roof via helicopter and zip line. Once secure on the roof, the team’s demolition expert would plant charges to blow a hole in the roof large enough to let the team enter and do their job. Once inside the Factory they would being to clear the entrances of hostiles so that MWF ground forces could move into the building. It was highly important for the MWF to succeed in crushing this rebellion, and what was even more important was the food inside of the building. This food is a valuable commodity in the Midwest. Within large population centers, food is hard to come by. Without food, work is also hard to accomplish. In effect, this mission was of great priority to the high command, failure was not an option. However, failure is a word that is not in the Valkyrie’s vocabulary, they were in it to win it.

“Alright, we have been given the order to proceed with the mission. Our objective is to secure the factory so that the infantry can come in and do their job. The high priority of this mission is due to the large amount of food stored in this building. We can not let the insurgents get away with destroying any of it.” Lt. Byron Tatton explained to his unit as they neared the target. Tatton is the commander of Team 18 and a former Soviet Bloc Army Special Forces operator. He and his 20 men had been given a big mission and he planned to complete it with the utmost haste. “Sir, ETA to target is 2 minutes.” The pilot of the helo said. The aircrew of the helicopter prepared the zip line on which the Valkyries would exit the helo. The men of Team 18 began to say their prayers of survival in lue of this mission. The priming of weapons and snapping of clips could be faintly heard over the loud noise of the rotor blades. Soon, the AW101 was directly over the factory roof, the first to exit the helicopter would be point man Sergeant Jerrold. He grasped the line in his hands and waited for the order to go. “Go! Go! Go!” he heard in his ear. Before he knew it he was on the roof with his gun pointed forward, wary of any hostiles that might emerge. With less than a minute past, the whole team was on the roof. Not far from them, on the opposite side of the roof, Team 14 had also landed. Lt. Tatton ordered his demo expert- Corporal Morgen- into action. “Let’s go Corporal, get us inside.” Without hesitation, Corporal Morgen rushed over to an area of the roof they deemed the best to set the charges. Once he had set down a pack of C4 on the roof, he rushed back to his team. “3…2…1…” BOOM. The C4 lit up leaving a huge hole in the roof of the building. “Go! Move Move!” The commander cried. The first few members of the team to reach the hole dropped several smoke grenades into the factory, then they dropped a number of lines down to the factory floor. The Valkyries proceeded to drop down the lines with great speed. As soon as the clank of their boots could be heard hitting the deck below, the next person would drop down the line. Not a moment after the teams started to enter the building gunfire from the insurgents erupted. Answering this very rude- but expected- welcoming, the Valkyries returned bullet for bullet.

It was at this time, the teams would separate and complete their assigned objectives. Team 18 began to clear the West and South Entrances of hostiles, while 14 began their work on the North and east sides, as well as the offices that the scans had reviled. With the sound of gunfire growing louder and louder the Valkyries continued to encounter insurgents and they gave them all the hell they had. At a time Lt. Tatton felt safe, he gave the call to the infantry waiting not far outside. “Alright, the situation is coming under control, Insurgent activity is heavy however, be advised.” With that SIV-21 IFVs began to roll in from all sides. The rather large armored vehicles would not have a problem knocking down the doors of the factory under their treads. The IFV’s 25mm SB-APCG-03 main gun was a deadly sight to the enemies of the Soviet Bloc, and now has the same effect on the enemies of the MWF. Anytime a 25mm round pierced through the air, was a time those targeted ducked in cover. No body armor can stop a round that large and that fast, the only thing to do is to lay low and hope you have air support. However, the Omaha Militia had none of that, they only had what few small arms they had. The most reliving sound to the men of Valkyrie team 18 and 14, was the large crash of the IFV’s knocking down the factory doors, and the yells of the insurgents when the saw these armored animals enter the playing field. Soon, the MWF would claim victory here in Omaha, and thus begin its fight for control of the Midwest.


OOC: Sry for not getting back to you Lay, it looks like you have described the Syndicate pretty well. I'll give you room to play with them as you like.

Omaha Militia Unit, Holt Meat Processing Plant, Omaha, Nebraska

2005 Hours

Cal Page watched out of the office window as the roof of the loading bay expoded downward in a hail of concrete and fibre-board. He caught a glimpse of Captain McBride as a piece of concrete crushed him to death. Canisters clinked in afterward and Cal shouted, "GRENADES! HIT THE DECK!"

In the cramped office, Stein, Rock and Page himself jumped to the floor on top of the screaming Zach. They waited for explosions or something...but none came. Instead there was a pop and a hissing sound. They looked up and in the grey smoke haze saw black abseiling ropes drop in through the gaping hole in the roof. Gunfire erupted all around the loading bay.

Page saw his plan fall to pieces in seconds, much like the roof. He unholstered his Ruger GP100 .375 and shouted to the two men lying behind him. "We gotta move, lets go. Head for the store."

The Hirgizstanian was the first to his feet and through the door, followed by Corporal Stein. Sergeant Rook crashed through last and then his torso exploded in a hail of gunfire, slamming him into the outer wall of the corridor outside the office.

Stein's face went ashen white and he seemed rooted to the ground. Page pushed him and fixed his gaze, "Move Corporal, move now!"

He forced Stein up the hallway, as quickly as he could. A soldier in black fatigues rounded the corner and loomed large in front of them. Page fired and sent the MWF trooper sprawling to the ground, grabbing for his chest and screaming.

Rounding the corner he propelled himself and Stein forward to the store, behind a heavy steel door a few feet away. There was another corner just before it and another MWF soldier appeared, this time loosing a vicious burst of rapid fire that cut Stein almost in two. He fell away from in front of Page, who tripped over him.

As he was heading to the floor he fired twice and caught the soldier inn the chest, blowing him backward onto the ground.

And then he was at the door to the store where the fuel and chemicals were kept. In the rising acrid smoke he could just about make out the myrad hazard symbols pasted on it. He opened the heavy steel door and took out his last grenade, chucking it inside.

He then legged it down the outer corridor before hearing a massive, crunching explosion behind him, the force of which blew him forward, sending him smashing into a white painted breeze-block wall.

He sprawled to the ground and just about managed to get himself away despite a hail of withering gunfire that knicked at his heels.

Red painted 'Exit' doors loomed large in front of him, beyond was a short hop across a small piece of tarmac to the river. He'd make it.

Bursting through the doors and into the sweet smelling evening air, he came face to face with several SR-90A1's pointed right at him.

He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly barrelling into an MWF soldier in front of him. A harsh command hammered off the concrete and ashphalt, "DROP THE WEAPON, ON YOUR KNEES!"

He didn't move for a second. But it didn't take long to realize he had no options. He turned around slowly and looked back at the building he'd just escaped. Flames now licked through the roof where he'd blown up the store and he hoped the whole building would be in ashes before sunrise.

"DROP THE WEAPON. GET ON YOUR KNEES. LAST WARNING!" This time he did as he was told and someone came forward, grabbing his wrists brutally and pinning them behind him. He felt the slightly stretchy flex cuffs slide on and then they were pulled excruciatingly tight before he was hauled upright by several pairs of hands.

An Officer, or what he assumed was an Officer, was right in his face. Page sighed and said slowly, and clearly. "I am a Hirgizstanian Intelligence Agent."

Syndicate Capital HQ
Kalispell, MT -- 23:00 hrs [MST]

"I want you to fucking find him and bring him to me! Now!" Colonel Joseph Alanson, the commander of the Syndicate military barked into a phone as he paced inside of his office just two miles from where they had stored their nuclear cache. Now it was burning and everything inside of it was destroyed, along with their biggest bargaining chip. Soon, the other factions would get word that there had been a devastating military strike and that the Syndicate was weakened. They would know that their nuclear weapons were gone and they would know that the Syndicate was defenseless. They would know that the Syndicate wasn't going to be a threat anymore. As Colonel Alanson paced around his office in the middle of the night his anger stewed. His office was located in the main military headquarters for the Syndicate military, which used to be the Kalispell High School. His office was located on the second and highest floor of the high school, which had just forty classrooms, a gymnasium, and an auditorium with a basement cafeteria, which doubled as a fallout shelter. The building was warm and that was good. Syndicate soldiers had boarded up many of the windows and spray-painted the others to keep prying eyes from seeing what was going on inside of it, where close to 2,000 soldiers lived, trained, and worked. Classrooms had been converted to living spaces, armories, and various other essential components of a military barracks.

Colonel Alanson had ascended to head of the Syndicate military quite easily. A former artillery commander with the Soviet Blocian Army, he was the highest ranking officer in the Syndicate faction with prior military experience. The powers that be saw fit to appoint him to the position of military commander and he was given the high school to form his ranks. He recruited anyone who would give him a guarantee that they would fight and he found most of his forces to be high-spirited but with poor sense for military tactics. In mock exercises, he would lose more than 50% of his forces and that wasn't good enough. The only guarantee for the Syndicate's safety was the presence of nuclear warheads and the guarantee that he would use them against an aggressor. His military may have been meager and it may have been poorly trained but they had nuclear weapons and that was enough to make them a fearsome and troubling enemy to anyone, the Black Hills Army more than anyone else. Their terrorist tactics and fanaticism was the biggest and closest threat to the Syndicate. Other factions like MWF, Unity, or FR were concerned with themselves, not necessarily the Syndicate, which posed no threat to them. However, the Black Hills Army, which had spies within the Syndicate, the Colonel knew, were concerned with the Syndicate. The Colonel was stuck between the rock and hard place he hoped to avoid. How did they know? Who knew? The fucking Layartebians! It had to be! The Colonel thought to himself as he paced around.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside of his office, which had been the principle's office at one time. "Sir. I have Michael McAdory here. As requested."

"Bring him in!" Colonel Alanson roared as a lowly corporal outside of his office was escorting the Layartebian agent, Michael McAdory. McAdory had remained in Kalispell, something no one guilty of betraying the Syndicate would do. However, the man known as Chase Everett was gone, missing. Chase Everett was really Andrew Hunt, another agent with the Ministry of Intelligence and an agent who skipped out of Kalispell and Syndicate territory the moment the coordinates were sent. McAdory knew this and he knew what was going to happen the moment those missiles hit. He had been prepared for it and when the Colonel called for him a half hour earlier, he had been as far away as he could, just to delay the time more. He walked into the high school with his M4A1 Carbine on his back, extra magazines tucked into his vest, and his revolver, a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum with a seven-round cylinder and a six inch barrel. He had several speed loaders with him as well, each one holding seven lives and he could make each one of those bullets count. "Michael. I called for you a fucking half hour ago! Where the hell were you?"

"On patrol sir. A few miles south of here."

"Who sent you on patrol? I ordered no such thing!"

"I did myself. After the explosion here I thought that maybe the Black Hills Army was coming. What happened sir?"

"What happened?" The Colonel roared more. Two sergeants joined the three of them in the office, all of them with their weapons in hand. Something was definitely up and Michael slid his hand to his belt, closer to his revolver. "You tell me what happened!"

"Why the fuck would I know?"

"That man! Where is he!"

"What man?"

"Everett. The man from yesterday! Where the fuck is he?"

"I don't know. He's not with me."

"Who is he with?"

"How the fuck should I know sir? He isn't here. I don't know how the fuck he is."

"You are lying!" The sergeants and corporal pulled their pistols and pointed it at him and instantly, Michael pulled his own revolver and pointed it directly in the throat of one of the sergeants. "Put down that revolver now!"

"Like hell I will. What is this shit about? Tell them to lower their weapons now!" Michael was shouting now, his finger on the trigger, his thumb resting on the hammer. "NOW!"

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU WORK FOR?"

"YOU GODDAMNIT!" Michael yelled back as he pulled back the hammer on the revolver. "I WILL TAKE HIM OUT!"

"PUT DOWN THAT WEAPON NOW SOLDIER!" The Colonel roared from the other side of the room, watching the proceedings before him. "WHO DO YOU WORK FOR? WHERE IS CHASE EVERETT? TELL ME NOW!"

"I WORK FOR YOU! I WORK FOR YOU ONLY! I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS!"

"YOU ARE LYING TO ME!"

"IF I WAS LYING WHY WOULD I STILL BE HERE? WHY WOULD I HAVE COME HERE? DO YOU THINK I AM STUPID?" Michael roared back, keeping his revolver steady and level against the throat of the nearest sergeant to him, who knew that if it came to shooting, he wasn't going to come out of it alive. Michael may be killed in the melee but he would be killed as well. The Syndicate would come out with two men down, two men who could help them fight off the Black Hills Army. "COLONEL TELL THEM TO LOWER THEIR WEAPONS NOW! CALL THIS OFF!" Michael yelled back, ready to squeeze the trigger, gain the element of surprise, and attempt to kill the Colonel too. It was possible but he wasn't going to survive, he knew that much when he walked into the high school and when he made the decision to stay back when Hunt departed.

"YOU TELL ME WHERE CHASE IS AND I WILL!"

"I TOLD YOU I DON'T KNOW!"

"LIKE HELL. YOU KNOW!"

"I DON'T KNOW." He continued to say even with the threat of instant death in his face. The Colonel began to think about the situation and thought for a minute, silence filling the air as he thought. The soldiers wouldn't open fire unless he ordered it and he knew that they were itching, that the stress of the situation could cause one of them to fire prematurely. This wasn't going to be a victory, he knew it.

"Stand fast." The Colonel ordered as the two sergeants and the corporal exhaled, slowly pulling back their pistols and stepping back. Michael, on the other hand, kept his revolver in place. "Fine. I believe you. Lower the weapon."

"Sir. This had better not be a trick." The yelling had stopped and Michael pushed the hammer back into place, lowering the revolver but not putting it away, wary of what could happen. "You tell me what happened?"

"Our weapons. Have been destroyed." The Colonel sat down behind his desk, his head tilted upwards as he contemplated the words that left his mouth. "They are all destroyed."

"How?"

"Spies. Everett. What a coincidence. Don't you agree?"

"It's strong."

"Of course it's fucking strong you idiot! He was an agent for the Empire."

"How could you know that?"

"The missiles that struck our bunker and yes they were missiles, penetrated through eighty-five feet of dirt and through our bunker. There were two missiles that struck, each with such force and precision that half of the windows in our city are blown out. Now who do you think has that capability?"

"The Empire."

"Yes. He was an agent with the Ministry of Intelligence. Now you will tell me everything you know about him and you will tell me now!"

"He. We. Served together with the Layartebian Foreign Legion. That's how I know him. We were both special operatives with the Hirgizstanian Army over a decade ago and we hoped to keep serving there. But the Foreign Legion wasn't for us."

"Why?"

"We didn't like serving the Empire. The things that happened. We didn't approve of them."

"Why should I believe this?"

"What reason do I have to lie?" He said as he relaxed his grip on the revolver and put it into his belt. His body language showed comfort, not the anxiety a traitor would feel. "Why would I still be here if I was lying?"

"Why would you? Unless you too were an agent with deep cover."

"Colonel. That's insane." He said with a serious face. "I'm not Layartebian agent or any agent for that matter. I'm here to serve the Syndicate."

"Why?"

"Are you questioning my allegiance?"

"Yes."

"Colonel. I am here because I believe in the sense of freedom that the Syndicate offers. This is the proper 'Social Contract' and it is the proper way to be. I do not believe in politicians who break the same laws they enact and I believe in protection of the moral and good. That's why I'm here."

"What do you have to gain from this then?"

"Freedom. I'm sick of serving masters."

"You serve me."

"A means to an end Colonel. You and I will come out of this victoriously over the Black Hills Army and over the ridiculous nonsense to our east. Maybe not through force but through our own brand of policy and foreign relations. We're no threat to the east and the Black Hills Army are easy enough to beat."

"Easy enough?" Colonel Alanson laughed. He pulled out a cigarette and laughed more as he lit it and offered his hand to the chair in front of his desk. "How do you propose we do this?"

"Well I take it that they'll know about this?"

"Probably already do."

"Which means they're coming for us?"

"Eventually."

"So we take the offensive."

"Are you kidding me?" He said as he pulled out and lit his own cigarette, inhaling in a big drag of smoke and sending it into the air above the room. The Colonel looked at the three soldiers still standing fast behind Michael and nodded to them to leave. The corporal was last out and he shut the door as he left, happy that bullets hadn't been traded in the small, second floor office. "You know we can't fight in that terrain."

"Not as a whole unit we can't."

"You mean as a smaller unit?"

"Multiple smaller units."

"With what purpose?"

"Destroying the living shit out of them. They're disorganized and fanatical, which means that they will fight with their emotions, nothing else."

"And our forces aren't capable of fighting like a professional military unit."

"Not all of them. Round up the top twenty, outfit them with tons of supplies and deploy them in four or five small units. Give them key missions, things to destroy. You were artillery, which means you know where we can find maps. Hyper-accurate maps."

"That much isn't an issue. Supplies. We don't have a lot of."

"There are plenty of organizations out there willing to give away military supplies to see an end to certain things, terrorists especially and that is what they are."

"Who specifically?"

"The Empire."

"The fucking Empire? Are you mad? After the strike they just committed?" The Colonel wasn't laughing or smiling anymore. He was furious with the suggestion to turn to the Empire for support, especially given their recent actions.

"Obviously that act was covert. How the hell would anyone know about it and you know they've got enough going on that they don't want to be known for meddling here."

"Go on." Michael did have a point. "Why would they support us?"

"Because we don't support the Black Hills Army and you know they're afraid of them."

"The Empire fears nothing."

"Maybe not fear but they don't want any Black Hills Army terrorists sitting on their borders."

"That's true. How would we even go about this?"

"Sir. I was in the Foreign Legion. How long do you think before the Black Hills Army are ready to attack us?"

"Two weeks. Tops."

"Give yourself twenty-four hours to think about this and in two days give me a list of what you need. I need that much time."

“Sir, teams are in. Lt. Tatton reports the insurgency is under control. It looks like we have the victory here tod…” BOOOM, before Major Smith could finish his sentence, the large explosion of the chemicals was heard throughout the city. The meat processing plant was now in a ball of fire. If men and meat were not evacuated soon, they both would be soon overcooked. As the soldiers looked on, the factory began to collapse; if action was not taken soon a valuable commodity in the Midwest would be lost. Lt. Colonel Blythe balled his fist with rage as he watched the fire grow into an inferno before him. “Damn it; get every man in there to save some of the food now!” Instantly, the men of the 18th Battalion converged on the burning building. With the insurgents either dead or capture, they would not have to worry about being shot at, their only worry was being burned alive. Many trips were made by the men of the MWF; in and out they ran with handfuls of meat and food. Huge piles were made safely away from the building. However, much of the food was lost in the fire. Luckily, this was the only factory to burn; others would supply the much needed food to the people of Omaha and the state of Nebraska. As they all looked on, the crimson flames consumed the whole of the building. A few fire Fighters were called in to try and contain the fire. In the end the fire would last over 4 hours, until it to was quelled. Now the battle for the rest of the Midwest would begin.

Command Post, 18th Battalion

Running back and forth, the officers and NCO’s of the 18th Battalion, HQ company were busy coordinating the logistics of troops, prisoners, and food alike in a attempt to finally secure the whole of Omaha. With the resistance finally toppled, Omaha was now finally in peace after all of this time it spent in anarchy. Soon, the people of Nebraska would be able to breathe deeply without fear of death looming over their shoulders. However, for this to happen, everything must fall in place. Food must be distributed in an orderly fashion, troops must control entry into the city, and commerce must begin again.

Lt. Colonel Blythe was standing over a map of the city as he addressed one of his commanders on the radio. “01-02 , I need you to secure posts Echo through Hotel. Keep all traffic off I80 until our troops can secure Lincoln. I want only military vehicles on that road at this time. I also want you to close down state road 6 heading south. Roads from the south are to dangerous to be left open, it’s a hotbed for insurgents down there, I don’t want them up here again.”, a crackle on the radio could be heard before Lt. Johnson confirmed. “Roger that command, Alpha Company is on the move.” With things beginning to settle down, more fresh troops would begin to arrive in the city. The 5th Battalion and support units were scheduled to arrive at 13:00 that day. For this to happen Eppley airport would need to be secured in time for their arrival. “Alright people, lets pack it up, we are moving the command post to the airport in about 30 minutes, make it quick people.” Major Smith announced. As Blythe continued to pour over the maps of the city, a young NCO dressed in olive green utilities walked up behind him. “Sir, I have a message from Lt. Tatton, Valkyrie team 18.” Leaning on the table in front of him, Colonel Blythe turned his head towards the NCO.

“Yes Soldier, what is it?”

“It appears that one of the prisoners captured by Team 18 is claiming to be a Hirgizstanian Intelligence Agent.”

“Is that so? How interesting. Tell them to bring said agent to the airport, and I will meet with him there.”

“Yes Sir.”

The NCO quickly ran back to his radio and sent a message to Lt. Tatton.

“01-18, Colonel Blythe, wishes that you bring the prisoner in question to the airport, he will meet with him there, over.”

“Roger that command, we will be there shortly, over and out.”


One hour later, Eppley Airport, Omaha Nebraska

Eppley Airfield is a commercial airport located three miles from the central business district of Omaha. It is also the largest airport (2,650 acres) in the state of Nebraska. The airport has two concourses consisting of 21 gates. During the reign of the Soviet Bloc, the airport would serve over 4 million passengers a year. The airport has 3 runways, 9,502 ft, 8,500 ft, and 8,153 ft. This makes it a perfect landing site for all sorts of aircraft in the MWF Air Corps. Not long after the 18th Battalion HQ Company packed up their old post they set up their new post inside the terminal of the airport. Ground crewmen were flown in to handle landing operations and air control. Soldiers manned the gates into and out of the airport. Helos began delivering artillery pieces to the west of the terminal and barbed wire was erected around the new Eppley Army-Air Base.

Soon an AgustaWestland AW101 landed at the airfield. Its wheels touching the asphalt-concrete runway ever so gently. As the ground crew gave the all clear, the pilots powered down their craft. The rotors slowly began to stop spinning and the back door was lowered. Stepping out of the Helo, Lt. Tatton and 2 of his men led a handcuffed prisoner towards the terminal. The supposed Agent would soon be meeting with the Colonel so that his true identity -as well as his reason for being in Omaha- could be ascertained. As they entered the building they walked the prisoner up a flight of stairs to the concourse. Walking past the many radio stations, and temporary offices, they continued into an old lounge that was meant for first class passengers. Inside, Lt. Colonel Blythe waited for them behind his desk.

“Come in. It is a rare honor to see a ‘Hirgizstanian Intelligence Agent’ in these parts.”

The Colonel gestured towards Lt. Tatton and his men to wait outside. Once the door closed he began to speak.

“Now please sit down. And do tell who you really are, and why you are really here my friend.”

Unity HQ, Bemidji Guild Hall, Minnesota
0130 Hours

“So the Empire did us a favor then? Were they all destroyed?” General Vance inquired of his 2IC, Colonel Vincenzo.

“As far as we can tell, the Black Hills people seem to think so anyway. They were very happy.”

Vance smiled. He didn’t like the anarchists, but they served a purpose. They could keep the Syndicate tied up in knots for a while, and hopefully weaken them sufficiently so he could merely walk over them at a later date.

Still though, Vincenzo seemed ill-at ease considering they had actually received good news, “Whats wrong Colonel…did something else happen?”

The wiry Italian-Soviet shifted on his feet before responding. “The strike worries me. And our plans for tonight also worry me. The Empire is no wilting flower, if we attack one of their border outposts who is to say they won’t just blanket every city in Minnesota with Vesta’s?”

Vance nodded his head and stood up from behind his oak desk, although it wasn’t really ‘his’. He walked over to a corner cabinet and opened the door to reveal several shelves of expensive alcohol. “Drink, Colonel?”

“Yes sir, Vodka straight if you have it.”

Vance laughed, “Fighting drink Colonel!” He poured Vincenzo four fingers of Russian Standard and a glass of Hawdawgian Malt for himself.”

The Colonel sat down in one of the red leather chairs in front of the desk and sipped at the Vodka.

“I assume, Colonel, that you have never visited the Empire?”

“No sir, I was never given the chance.”

“I lived there for a year during a military exchange. It gave me an insight into a very complex country. But militarily speaking, they are much simpler. Socially they are dense and complicated, fascinating but that’s another story. The thing about the Empire is that they are unseen meddlers in many situations. They provide arms and perhaps do some stealthy work on the side- like the recent strike on the Syndicate. They had nuclear weapons- it was too much of a threat for the Empire to ignore. We, however, are not a threat to them…yet.”

Vincenzo furrowed his brow and interrupted, “But sir, if we attack them- would that not give them proper cause to launch an attack?”

“I’m not categorically saying it won’t, Colonel-”

“Then why risk it?”

“Please, allow me to finish. If they do decide on an attack then we will be prepared. Their Vesta’s are a last option in my opinion- it would be too expensive to use them just because of a few dead border guards. They will likely attack by air another way and we’ll be prepared for that. If by land, we’ll be prepared for that aswell. The Empire is used to dealing with inferior enemy’s, ones with out-dated equipment and poor training. They realize, or they will eventually, that we are not inferior. It is my belief they will not risk a direct attack on us while their border is not quite as re-inforced as they would like and while much of their military is not mobilized. Any attacks will come from the air or by proxy from another Faction. This is their way. It is weak and predictable.”

Vincenzo still seemed concerned, “Then why attack at all- why not wait?”

“For two reasons Colonel. One, to show the Empire they cannot threaten us and two, to score a swift and decisive victory that will show our supporters and the other Factions that we are the new force to be reckoned with.”

The Colonel finally nodded, understanding. He wasn’t happy, but above all he followed orders and there was no need to like them.

Vance swallowed the rest of his malt in a single gulp and then grimaced slightly as it warmed his throat. “Who and what have we got up at Pine City?”

The Colonel brought out a small PDA and used the stick to bring up a few items that he then read off to Vance. “Major Smith Garrett is in overall command, he has ten ST-29’s and twenty ST-39’s, as well as sixty-four Bradley’s and thirty Perentie 6x6’s. We also have two Patriot batteries, ten LAV-AD’s and six Linebackers with Stinger teams. All in all its very secure.”

“Excellent, who is leading the attack tonight and what have we released for them?”

“They have two ST-29’s, two ST-39’s, eight Bradley’s and four Perentie’s- seven platoon’s including a weapons and heavy weapons platoon with 80mm Mortars, AT Launchers and some Stingers. It’s a very strong unit. I doubt they’ll have too much trouble if the Layartebians only have their standard border compliment. The tanks alone should be able to do most of the work.”

“Outstanding Colonel, it will be an excellent victory for us.”

Vincenzo put away the PDA but still remained in his seat, tapping his empty glass nervously. “Anything else, Colonel?”

He looked concerned as he ruminated on something for a second before answering Vance. “There has been something playing on my mind. The Hirgizstanians, to be blunt. I am worried because I hear nothing from them. The Empire has made its initial moves…they have remained quiet. It is unnerving.”

Vance seemed a little surprised at his Colonel. He blustered, “You haven’t heard anything because they aren’t doing anything. They never get involved with anything unless it concerns their bottom dollar or their geographical integrity. Heck, Premier Zhao got shot a few hours ago, a real tragedy, and they have said nothing. I don’t even think their news have reported it yet. Bottom line is, they don’t care. We shouldn’t worry about them.”

“I guess your right General, but I’ve heard some stories about them- that thing in Kazakhstan for example- I mean 15,000 surrendered troops and they just murder them…all just to send a message? Then in the Gulf War…Abu Dubai?”

“What that shows me, Colonel, is that they are mere cowards- unwilling to spill their own blood. They killed 15,000 unarmed men- so what? Its hardly warfare is it? Trust me, they are swine- they will do nothing. The Empire is our biggest worry right now. Trust me.”

Eppley Airport, Omaha Nebraska

The helicopter ride was, mercifully, short. Cal Page had a fear of flying of which he wasn't entirely proud. Many years ago on a base in Colorado during a routine exercise, the helicopter he'd been flying in had crashed due to a simple mechanical fault. The interia, the speed and the screams of the soldiers on board had embedded itself deep in his memory and now, every time he stepped on a plane or helicopter he began to shake and breathe quickly. He could hide it but it still caused his brain to go into overdrive while he tried to get it to work for him instead of against him.

In any case he hadn't been treated terribly badly by the MWF. They probably didn't know that he was the one who'd burnt down the factory. He'd keep that to himself. He reckoned, by the activity at the airport, he was at a major military hub and was probably going to meet a regional commander of some kind.

Of course, he proved himself right when they entered a brightly colored 1st Class Passengers lounge that was now serving as some kind of HQ.

An officer greeted him and told him to sit. Nobody had, so far, removed the flex cuffs that bound his hands together in front of him. He didn't answer the Officers question for a minute or two. He was working out further questions and answers in his head so he was prepared for what was to come.

"My name is Cal Page. I work for a Hirgizstanian Agency, thats all you need to know about that. I'm here because I worked with the Soviets before everything went to shit. Lets also get one thing straight- I'm not your friend- your fella's tried to kill me and a helluva lot of other good men just doing their duty to a country that no longer exists thanks to people like you. So fuck your hospitality and get to the point."

Eppley Airport, Omaha Nebraska

The helicopter ride was, mercifully, short. Cal Page had a fear of flying of which he wasn't entirely proud. Many years ago on a base in Colorado during a routine exercise, the helicopter he'd been flying in had crashed due to a simple mechanical fault. The interia, the speed and the screams of the soldiers on board had embedded itself deep in his memory and now, every time he stepped on a plane or helicopter he began to shake and breathe quickly. He could hide it but it still caused his brain to go into overdrive while he tried to get it to work for him instead of against him.

In any case he hadn't been treated terribly badly by the MWF. They probably didn't know that he was the one who'd burnt down the factory. He'd keep that to himself. He reckoned, by the activity at the airport, he was at a major military hub and was probably going to meet a regional commander of some kind.

Of course, he proved himself right when they entered a brightly colored 1st Class Passengers lounge that was now serving as some kind of HQ.

An officer greeted him and told him to sit. Nobody had, so far, removed the flex cuffs that bound his hands together in front of him. He didn't answer the Officers question for a minute or two. He was working out further questions and answers in his head so he was prepared for what was to come.

"My name is Cal Page. I work for a Hirgizstanian Agency, thats all you need to know about that. I'm here because I worked with the Soviets before everything went to shit. Lets also get one thing straight- I'm not your friend- your fella's tried to kill me and a helluva lot of other good men just doing their duty to a country that no longer exists thanks to people like you. So fuck your hospitality and get to the point."

The Colonel shifted in his black swivel office chair. He brought his hands up in front of him and interlaced his fingers. Before he continued he let out a deep sigh. "I am very sorry that things happened the way they did. However, I gave them their chance; I do not like killing any man. However; when it comes down to the safety of my troops, the well being of the people, and the orders I have been given, I must act accordingly. Now, you have been well taken care of, we regret that you had to be tied up in the middle of this. We only wish to unite this nation, so that fathers and mothers may raise their children in a land were they do not have to fear bandits, rapists, murders, and brigands." his voice began to turn into a more aggravated tone as he continued. "So I am sorry if you do not see my point of view Mr. Page. Now my point is, that the MWF does not want any trouble with Hirgizstan, Layarteb, Rome, Cotland, or any other nation. We only wish for peace. If there is some way that we can work with your government, please tell me."

Eppley Airport, Omaha Nebraska

Page shifted in his chair as he listened to what the Officer had to say. He didn't seem like a bad man and on the whole the MWF didn't seem like the worst faction, in fact they seemed downright civilised compared to some of the things he'd heard from the Militia men, some of whom had fought in the regular military further north.

"Look, I see your point in all this. The fact is I got caught up in the militia by accident really. They saved my ass a few weeks ago from some raiders further south, so I owed them. I reckon I paid my dues to them. The only thing I know for certain about Hirgizstanian policy out here is that we have no policy...yet. I can tell you that there is no way and no how we'll work with communists or anyone on the left, and between me and you- I doubt we'll let anyone like that ever get close to power. But so far, I've heard nothing. I was trying to break out of the factory and head to the border with the militia, no chance of that now. If you give me my phone back I can check in and see whats going on back home, then we can talk again."

Eppley Airport, Omaha Nebraska

Page shifted in his chair as he listened to what the Officer had to say. He didn't seem like a bad man and on the whole the MWF didn't seem like the worst faction, in fact they seemed downright civilised compared to some of the things he'd heard from the Militia men, some of whom had fought in the regular military further north.

"Look, I see your point in all this. The fact is I got caught up in the militia by accident really. They saved my ass a few weeks ago from some raiders further south, so I owed them. I reckon I paid my dues to them. The only thing I know for certain about Hirgizstanian policy out here is that we have no policy...yet. I can tell you that there is no way and no how we'll work with communists or anyone on the left, and between me and you- I doubt we'll let anyone like that ever get close to power. But so far, I've heard nothing. I was trying to break out of the factory and head to the border with the militia, no chance of that now. If you give me my phone back I can check in and see whats going on back home, then we can talk again."

"Ah yes, friendship is a valuable thing out here in the Midwest. I am again very sorry. But I can not change the past; if I could I wouldn’t be here." Blythe paused as he watched Mr. Page. The man looked rather uncomfortable being handcuffed while sitting in an odd position. Blythe waved his hand to the guards outside of his glass office. In came 2 armed MWF Soldiers in green-black digital camouflage. One produced a key while the other stood guard. With a snap and a click the cuffs were unlocked from the mans wrist. With another wave of the hand, the guards walked back outside of the office and took position. Blythe leaned over and opened a drawer in his desk. He then produced Agent Page's cell phone. Before handing it to him, the Colonel looked him square in the eye. "Alright Mr. Page, you can have your call, but it better be to your bosses in Hirgizstan, and no funny business." With that he slid the phone across the desk to Mr. Page.

Unoccupied Territory
West of Cheyenne, WY -- 00:00 hrs [MST]

Eight men stalked the cold, dark, midnight air ten miles west of Cheyenne. They were dressed in black, armed to the teeth, and they walked so silently that it was almost as if they weren't there. To the untrained eye, they might have been ninjas or ghosts and that was just what they wanted to be perceived as, ghosts. Appropriately named, their organization and they, were Ghost Warriors, the secretive, elusive, and highly trained and feared military wing of the Illuminati, the organization stalking the days and nights of the Empire, bidding for the Republic to return. They were the most powerful secret society in the Empire and, quite possibly, the world. They had set into motion, in October 2005, a train of events that claimed hundreds of thousands of lives around the world to change the Empire, to bring it down, from within, like the Republic had fallen, from within. Their goal was the return of the Republic, a new republic, a republic that wasn't going to immoral and corrupt, at least on the surface. The leaders of the Illuminati and their even more elusive and more secretive parent organization, Majestic, sought total control and power of Layarteb and its nearly 6,000,000 square miles and 1.325 billion people around the world. They wanted total control over Layarteb under the guise of democracy, under the guise of a new republic.

The eight Ghost Warriors were heavily armed, armored, and supplied. They had been put into the unorganized cacophony of the former Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc for several reasons. They were there to make contact with the Black Hills Army and seek their support for an expanded campaign against Layartebian tyranny, as they so described it. The Black Hills Army would receive money, arms, and support from the new government of the republic to live out their lives in the unorganized land without interference. The Republic would help them, covertly, to stave off their enemies and that was a big thing for them. They needed it. They could hold out, indefinitely, in the Black Hills for only they knew the terrain well enough to fight in it. However, they didn't want to just hold out, they wanted to expand, to influence other factions, other groups, and more territory. They were a confused bunch, the Ghost Warriors noted but they were all too willing to help.

The Ghost Warriors were also there to locate and procure thermonuclear weapons. The Soviet Blocians possessed many weapons and not all of them had been accounted for, much to the happiness of the Illuminati. They had already procured and detonated one nuclear weapon, on the island of Grenada in 2006, killing close to 40,000 people and setting off a chain of events that spiraled well into their favor. The device was a W80 warhead from a Tomahawk cruise missile, detonated at its low end of 5 kilotons. It devastated Saint George's and its effect was indescribable. They would need more weapons, more for their diplomatic value than anything else. The perfect opportunity arose with the fall of Soviet Bloc, with the dissolution of its military, and with its warring factions.

Since the death and/or capture of teams Fourteen, Fifteen, and Eighteen, the Layartebian government knew about the Ghost Warriors but not enough to get to the Illuminati yet. Because of that, Ghost Warrior teams had their operations modified. Their missions were reviewed, canceled, changed, and moved accordingly, to keep other units from being captured or killed. The Ghost Warriors were elite, highly elite but they weren't on par with their primary enemy, the 2nd Black Operations Group, "Force Thunder," and they knew it. Their leaders knew it. They may not have known the 2nd BOG by name but they knew they were out there, hunting them at every turn and at every corner. When they went to Ushuaia on Tierra del Fuego in Argentina, and brought their terrorism with them they met a new enemy, an enemy they didn't know of yet, an enemy they had yet to face. The enemy wasn't the 2nd BOG but derived from the 2nd BOG. "Force Shadow" was their codename and they were the 15th Black Operations Group. They were meant to fight the Ghost Warriors on their own ground, with their own tactics. The unit that hit Ushuaia had barely escaped alive and they knew it. Now they were in hiding, combat ineffective, the 15th BOG and their seven teams of four men hunting them down like rats. They were counter-terrorism through terrorism and that was what scared the Illuminati and Majestic so much. They had not expected the Empire to go to such measures to fight them and they didn't know how to fight back now. That was what made these eight men so important.

The Ghost Warriors had started with twenty teams. Five had been rendered inoperable, of their forty-men, twenty-four were captured and sixteen were killed. Two others had been killed early on in the new revolution as well. The Ghost Warrior command fielded an additional four more teams and now that Team Sixteen, which had participated in the attacks on Ushuaia were in hiding, on the run, and essentially combat ineffective, they were down to just eighteen teams, eight men on sixteen and seven on two, a total of one hundred and forty-two men. That was one hundred and forty-two against millions. Outnumbered was an understatement and the men knew this. Yet, they fought on, believing in their cause more than anyone would. Some could call them fanatical and they were, by definition but, unlike fanatics, they were in total control of their own actions and emotions. They were elite after all.

The eight men of Team Seventeen differed from the rest in no way. They conformed to the standard of a Ghost Warrior and that was their strength. Former operatives in the Layartebian military, they were elite. They were paratroopers and special forces commandos. Trained in combat from the best, they were the best. Each of them had a specific talent and a specific role within the team. At the front of it was the commander, a man who had served as an officer in his past, a man who knew how to lead and fight, all at the same time. Behind him was his radioman, who was a man that was an expect in communications. Then there was a sniper and his spotter, skilled marksman like none other. There was a man they called a breacher and he was an expect at picking locks and gaining access to anywhere, not that the rest of them didn't know how to pick locks. There was a heavy weapons man and his assistant who could bring heavy firepower down upon any target with precision and even silence. Lastly, there was a technician who was an expert in a variety of things ranging from computer hacking to simple mechanics. Together they were a fighting unit that few could ever match.

When they set off for the wilderness beyond Layarteb's western borders they set off with supplies to last weeks, ammunition to last multiple firefights, and weapons that weren't going to break. Their primary weapon as the AVIR, a Doomani-made assault rifle that had taken the world by storm. It was widespread throughout the factions. Of the eight men, only three didn't carry it. Those three carried specialized weapons for specialized tasks. The heavy gunner carried the ADEC, another Doomani-made weapon, this one a machine gun with the ability to put twelve hundreds rounds into the air in just a minute with precision and power. The breacher carried a Benelli M4 Super 90 shotgun. Lastly, the sniper carried a bolt-action, a Timberwolf Tactical chambered for .338 Lapua Magnum, a round so powerful it could destroy body armor in a single shot. They carried grenades, night vision goggles, and an Equinox Combat pistol chambered in .40 DDI as a sidearm. Additionally, they carried specialty equipment, explosives, and knives. They were an army of one and between the eight of them, they could easily take out a company or more of men with just what they had in their hands.

The eight men had previously been in Black Hills Army territory, making contact and their alliance. Now they sought out their true objective. They left Black Hills territory with their two Eagle IV (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mowag_Eagle) armored trucks and headed straight south, for Cheyenne, or rather to Cheyenne's west. They drove throughout most of the afternoon and evening and arrived outside of Cheyenne just before 20:00 hours, local time. Using GPS, they then drove over rough and unimproved terrain to an abandoned military complex a few miles outside of the city. At one times, the complex had been a storage site for low-yield, tactical nuclear weapons, the kind dropped by fighter jets. The base was largely unknown to most of the people in the world and the Empire didn't know about it either. That was what made it so valuable to the Ghost Warriors. The Black Hills Army knew about it and they had attempted to gain access to it but failed. Frustration with it had led the various groups within the Black Hills Army to go elsewhere for their weapons and that was why they offered the bunker to the Ghost Warriors. It was part of their offering and the Ghost Warriors obliged. The commander of the Black Hills Army didn't suspect there to be too many weapons at the site and with his own acquiring of nuclear weapons, the site's importance became weaker and weaker. Still, he knew about it and only he and so, until now he had kept it a secret.

Eppley Airport, Omaha Nebraska

Page rubbed his wrists to get some blood back into them where the cuffs had cut it off. He had tingling pins and needles in the tips of his fingers. He took the phone and nodded at the Officer as he warned him about trying anything. But Page wasn't stupid.

Cal was actually in a good position. He had made contact with a senior officer in the MWF, and that was pretty good going considering his predicament only several hours before.

He dialled a number from memory in the cell phone and was greeted by a female voice on the other end. "ID Number please."

Page recited his number from memory and got a thanks in reply.
The phone wirred and bipped for a number of seconds as his connection was beamed across the world and back down to the Pentagon in Hirgizstan City, half a world away.

An almost computer like voice answered Page, "DIA Duty Desk."

"This is Calvin Page, 294100, checking in."

"Page...your checking in late, we had you down as MIA. I'm transferring you to General Hayes, please hold." Hayes was the director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, someone Page regarded as good man and a friend.

The MWF Officer looked over some paperwork as Page made the call, only glancing up now and again to check on things.

"Hayes."

"General, its Cal Page, sir."

"Page, shit...thought you were dead son, damn good to hear your voice. Where have you been?"

"The militia unit I was with got wiped out by the MWF and I'm sitting in one of their bases right now looking at one of their senior officers."

There was some rustling on the other end of the line. The General was probably busy accessing various things pertaining to the faction. "Can you say where you are?"

Page looked at the Officer and asked. He got a slow nod in response, considered and not immediate, but still affirmative.

"Yes sir, Eppley Field, the airport in Omaha."

"Wait one, Page."

There was some more rustling and faint clicking on the other end of the line. Then, "I see it now, there's a good amount of activity out there, pretty big operation those guys have."

"Yes sir, and from what I've seen its polished. They're mostly ex Soviet military, they don't seem hostile toward us- for one they've treated me very well. From what I've heard they are very popular and ideologically speaking, they are quite sound. I think they might want something from us, sir."

"I can't authorise that Page, but I can put you through to Admiral Eberendu, he'll want to hear this. I'll conference him in. Wait one."

It didn't take long for the blustery voice of the famous Chairman of the Joint Chiefs to echo down the phone. "This is Admiral Eberendu...thats some fine work you've done Captain." In the military Page was a Captain.

"Thank you sir. I believe the MWF would like some help from us. I'm not sure how that sounds, Admiral."

There was silence for a few seconds, it seemed like longer to Cal who was under the watchful eye of the MWF Officer.

"Well, Captain, from what we know about the MWF I think we can say they are a safe bet. The Layartebians have begun helping out Freedom's Rock and since the MWF don't seem to be at loggerheads with them, I guess we should start up our own little charity operation aswell. You find out what they want and need Captain, then get back to me. I'm sending you my direct line. Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you Admiral."

Page ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief. The MWF Officer was inquisitive already. The Hirgizstanian asked, with a smile, "So what do you need?"

Lt. Colonel Blythe waited patiently for Mr. Page to finish his phone call. It was his hope that through this the MWF would be able to gain the support of the Hirgizstanian government. With that support they would be one step closer to freeing the Midwest. As Mr. Page hung up the phone, the Colonel looked at him with a great deal of interest.

"So what do you need?"

Mentally Colonel Blythe was very surprised at this answer. Could it really be that easy? He sat silently for a moment before he answered.

“Well Mr. Page, I am not in the position to talk with your government, I will leave that up to the brass in Des Monies. I’m sure you are hungry, I will have my boys get you some chow and in the mean time I will get in touch with Des Monies.” The Colonel stood up and beckoned Mr. Page to the door. As they exited the office, Blythe instructed the two guards to go with Mr. Page and make sure he was given a warm meal. As soon as the 2 guard were underway with Mr. Page, Colonel Blythe walked over to the communication officer’s desk. “Captain, I need to get a hold of General Ripley ASAP.” Picking up a black corded phone from his station the captain handed it to the Colonel. With a flip of a few switches, the phone began to ring, and not a moment later a soft female voice on the other line could be heard.

“General Ripley’s office, Sergeant Jones speaking, how can I help you today sir.”

“This is Lt. Colonel Blythe; I need to talk to General Ripley, Priority One.”

“One moment Sir.”

Ring…Ring…Ring…

“General Ripley, what’s your report Colonel.”

The Colonel paused as the excitement inside of him built.

“Sir, you are not going to believe this.”


OOC: I'll have another post to follow up with this one tomorrow, Happy thanksgiving!

Principal Building, Des Monies, Iowa, Capital of the Midwestern Freedom

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2031/2287694038_85bdb65643.jpg?v=0
Principal Building

The echoes of footsteps could be heard walking up and down the cold metal corridor. The modern design was the epitome of new age design. Every surface of the hallway was made of solid metal. The dark grey surface reflected little light; rather it seemed to absorb all the light in the hallway to itself. This made the atmosphere of the corridor very serious, in fact a perfect place to work on very serious matters. What better place to stage a new order? Here on the 35th floor of the Principal Building, the MWF leadership held their meetings, issued their orders, and planned their new government. In the center of all this was a man named Brendan Marlon, former Chairman of the Armed Republic National party and current Chairman of the Midwestern Freedom.

http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/dynamic/imgs/080522/GILF/gabriel-bryne_l.jpg
Chairman Brendan Marlon

Chairman Marlon stood 5 foot 7 inches from the ground and had dark brown hair that was just on the verge of turning grey. The 51 year old man was in excellent shape for his age, this due to his daily fitness routine that he never skipped. The one thing that the people who knew him would say about Chairman Marlon is that he has a very charismatic personality when it comes to issues he believes in. Before the collapse of the Armed Republic, Chairman Marlon was the multi billionaire chairman of the Soviet Bloc Nationalist Party (SBNP). With his charismatic attitude, and seemingly endless coffers, Marlon was an expert at getting what he wanted politically. This proved very handy with the fall of the Armed Republic. Quickly putting his money to good use, Chairman Marlon was able to hire a few more assets in the form of 4 military commanders. Out of jobs and hundreds of troops to feed, the commanders all agreed to join Marlon’s cause. Soon Des Moines was made safe again and thus the MWF was formed. Without any hesitation, Chairman Marlon formed thousands of jobs for men and women across Iowa, giving the people promises of food, and pay to provide for their families. Unlike many other politicians, Chairman Marlon delivered on his promises to the people of Iowa. As the MWF spread, so did the following of thousands of refugees seeking shelter and a warm plate of food. Thus was the calling of the MWF, to give all of the people of the Midwest the chance to raise their families in a safe environment, and the Principal Building was the center of it all, the spire of freedom.

Chairman Marlon did have one secret however, a secret that none but the highest in the MWF knew off. That secret was Abbas Manus Manus (The Fathers Hand); this secret organization was formed with a single purpose, to spread the nationalist agenda throughout the Midwest, thus forming a strong far right government from which it can promote its views throughout the world. Chairman Marlon however was not the leader of this arcane group, that mans name is unknown even to Marlon. Rather this veiled leader is known as Valde Abbas (The Great Father).

This sunny afternoon Chairman Marlon had a secret briefing with Valde Abbas, which was to take place in a room that none but the chairman could enter. Not far down the metal hallway was a door to this secretive room. Chairman Marlon sat his briefcase down that he was carrying and stepped up to an eye scanner which sat on the right side of the door, also positioned below it was a thumbprint scanner. Placing his thumb on the scanner and his eye in front of the other he waited for the security scan to begin. Soon he saw a bright green light pass up and down his retina. A few more moments passed as the computer verified the eye and thumb scan.

“Scan complete, security clearance verified. Have a nice day Chairman.”

With a Sharpe hiss the metal doors to the room opened to reviled another room constructed of metal. No windows, no other doors, one cameras, and only a single black leather chair facing a large screen. Chairman Marlon picked up his briefcase and took a few steps forward into the room. The doors swiftly shut behind him. He walked over to the chair and sat down, his conference with Valde Abbas would begin shortly. For the next few moments Marlon would contemplate what he would say in his report. The moments pasted by quickly however as soon the screen in front of him came to life. Jumping to his feet Marlon waited for the feed to completely connect. Soon a black silhouette could be seen on the screen. This was as much as Marlon was permitted to see, for not even he was allowed to know the true identity of Valde Abbas.

“What is your report Chairman?” A deep voice said. The voice was clearly changed so that yet again the identity of Valde Abbas could not be ascertained.

“Our troops have captured the eastern half of Nebraska. I am told the western half will follow suit in the coming days. Most of the citizens of that area have been moved to safety. Food supplies are lower than we expected, however we have been able to compensate due to the small amount of citizens we have been encountering to the south. Our troops there have been continually pushing southward slowly but surely, little resistance has been found there. However, yesterday our fighter craft came within 60 miles of a squadron of Freedoms Rock fighter craft. That standoff was ended peacefully, however I do not know how long I can keep the peace between Freedoms Rock. If a battlefront is opened there I do not know how long we can last. Already we are strained fighting back Unity troops to the north and Black Hills troops to the west, I need more troops Sir, or I will not be able to hold three enemies back.”

“Do not worry about Freedom’s Rock Chairman, I have that situation under control. They will be of no threat, in fact they may be off some use. I have a man on the inside of their Council. Soon we will enact a plan that will unite the Midwest into one great nation. And the sooner the better for the people’s sake.”

“May I ask what this plan is Abba?”

“No Chairman, the plans of the Abbas Manus Manus are best kept secret, however you will know soon enough.”

“Yes Abba.”

Ring… Ring…
“One moment Abba, it is the secure line, General Ripley.” Beep “General, this had better be important, I am in a meeting with Valde Abbas.”…”They what?”…”What did he want?”…”This is most Intriguing, I will brief Abba on this now.” Beep “Abba, the 18th Battalion in Omaha has discovered something of great importance. It seems that in their attempt to capture a meat packing plant they found a Hirgizstanian Agent, and he has told them that his government is willing to support us in what ever means we need.”

“Excellent, this is the support you have been looking for Chairman, send the agent a list of needs. Make sure that you have the Hirgizstanian government recognize us as the legitimate government of the Midwest as well. Not all power is gained through war, we must send a diplomat to Hirgizstan and begin negotiations. That is all chairmen.”

The screen quickly faded to black. Getting up from his chair, Chairman Marlon quickly walked out the door and down to his office to make a list and have it sent to the agent. The MWF now had a great chance at succeeding this day.

18th Battalion, Epply Airfield, Omaha Nebraska

Lt. Colonel Blythe sat in his leather chair waiting for news from Des Moines. To pass the time Colonel Blythe proceeded to sign daily orders that allowed for troop movements and investigations around the city. Omaha may be under the control of the MWF, but the city still had its problems. Looting was the number one issue at hand. Every day it seemed that the stack of looting reports reached the ceiling in the Colonel’s office. This was on top of the huge piles of supply reports and reports from the outskirts of town. The world was a dangerous place, and there was no rest for those who seek to defend the peace.

Soon Colonel Blythe would get a break from all of the daily to dues. His communication officer soon called for him outside his office. When Colonel Blythe stepped outside, the Com Officer handed him a fax from Des Moines.

“It looks like the list of needs for the Hirgizstanian’s sir.”

As Colonel Blythe took the letter from the captains hand, he took a quick look over it.

To: Fuhrer's Office, White House, Hirgizstan City
From: Chairman’s Office, Principal Building, Des Moines, Iowa

To the great and humble leader of the Hirgizstanian government, I thank you on behalf of the people of the Midwest. Your offer of aid is most appreciated by our government. The situation here is very grim for the people. With cowardly communists to the north and squirming anarchists to the west, we have much need of aid. Day in and day out I see the people of the Midwest suffer due to this unneeded civil war. I hope that through your aid, peace will come swiftly and shortly. Attached I have a long list of supplies that we need. I hope that it is not asking too much of you. Thank you very much on the behalf of my people for your support.

Another thing that I would like to ask of you is that you recognize our government as the legitimate government of the Midwest. This would go so far as jump starting the diplomatic process between our government and the world. If you could do this for us we would be eternally grateful. I hope that soon we will also be able to exchange diplomats to further our ties as fellow nations.

Thank you dear Sir for your time, I hope that this is the beginning of a long and lasting relationship.

[Signed]
Chairman Marlon
Midwestern Freedom

Attachment:

List of Needed Supplies:

Food of Any type
Monetary Assets
Weapons
Medical Supplies
Oil
Appliances for Shelters
Building Materials
Grain and seeds for crops
Doctors
Volunteers of Any type
Generators
Engineers
Military Support
Farming Material
Farming Equipment
Etc.


As Colonel Blythe finished reading the letter he looked up at his com officer. “Make sure that Agent Page gets this Captain.” The captain quickly nodded as he took back the letter.

“Yes Sir.”

Unoccupied Territory
West of Cheyenne, WY -- 00:10 hrs [MST]

The air was still cold and stagnant, even as the eight men drew to within visual range of the bunker, looming like a shadow just an eighth of a mile in front of them. The bunker wasn't big but it loomed ahead of them like the Great Wall of China did. It stood only about forty feet in height and it was painted black. Made of reinforced concrete, the bunker was, at one point in time, impenetrable to aerial bombardment but now, in the era of bunker-busting, superaccurate weapons, the bunker was no longer invulnerable. The Empire could demolish it with a single sortie if they so pleased but it wasn't on the tasking order just yet.

The Ghost Warriors closed to within just fifty meters of the bunker when, all of a sudden, the team commander held his hand up, his fist clenched. The men immediately stopped and he then ordered them to get low, using another hand signal. There was silence from the eight men but not from ahead of them, where the team commander could hear voices. Because the moon was almost full, they weren't wearing their night vision goggles and he heard the voices before he could see them, even in the bright light of the waxing moon. "They better get here soon. I'm freezing." He heard someone complain, that person about forty meters ahead of him, standing at the entrance to the bunker. Who? The team commander thought.

"Yeah, they better get here fast." A second voice chimed in and then he saw where they were. One of the two of them had struck a match and lit a cigarette, giving away his position instantly. "I don't even think that'll keep you warm." The second voice returned, obviously he wasn't the one smoking.

"It'll do something. Listen, what time did they say there were coming?"

"Two hours ago."

"Fuck! Late again." Whomever was outside the bunker, they were definitely there for a purpose. Obviously, they knew about the weapons inside the bunker and whomever these two were, they were guarding the bunker until whomever else was coming showed up, which should have been two hours earlier. Fuck! Just what we need. He held his rifle tight, contemplating whether or not to shoot them but he wanted to know more and shooting them wasn't going to solve that dilemma. "You know they're never on time. What if someone comes?"

"Man who's coming? Nobody's coming. Nobody even knows about this place. It's just a bunker in the middle of no where."

"What about those guys sniffing around base? Those eight." Rat fucks! The commander thought to himself. The Black Hills Army had played him for a fool. "They were pretty heavily armed too."

"They're not coming here. Beeny said he sent them south. Somewhere else. Not here. You know to the decoy site."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Hey look. What's that?"

"Headlights." The first voice said as he threw down the cigarette. The team commander straightened up a little and saw a pair of headlights far on the horizon, maybe a mile away. Shit. Well at least that answers that. He crouched back down and back peddled to his men and motioned for them to come closer.

"We've got company. Something's fishy about who we talked to and what's going on here. We've got two confirmed hostiles here and an unknown in a vehicle approaching from that direction. We're going to see who the hell they are and what they're here for and then we're going to shoot them and get what we came for. Keep quiet, follow my cue." He whispered as the men nodded agreement and went to their positions. They were staggered around so that all eight of them could stand up and shoot at once without firing into each other, everyone having a small sector to watch, the eight of them capable of covering a full 360° circle. With their weapons ready, they waited.

The vehicle was a pick-up truck that revealed four more men as it drew closer. Because of the headlights, the team commander couldn't see who they were or identify any of them but he knew that once they arrived, he would be able to see just who they were and what they wanted. The vehicle wasn't speeding at any speed that was otherwise unsafe but it wasn't creeping towards them either. It came to a halt in front of the bunker and the driver shut off the headlights and the vehicle as he stepped out of it and two men jumped out of the bed. They were all armed. "You're late." The very first voice said as the now six men stood around the truck.

"Yeah. We got caught up. Have they shown yet?"

"Who?" The second voice now.

"Those people sniffing around earlier. They're here for the weapons."

"I thought you said Beeny sent them south?"

"He didn't. They'll be here tonight and they know about this place."

"Who gave them access?"

"Marcello." Every hushed as the man said the name. It was a name that all of them feared. He was a high-ranking man with the Black Hills Army, a devout fanatic who would shoot all of them on sight for disobeying him. "He seems to think that if we give them the weapons, their organization will help us."

"Bullshit!"

"Exactly. That's why we're here. We've got to get the weapons out and booby trap this place and do it fast. If they haven't come yet they'll be here shortly. There's six of us and three warheads."

"Those fuckers are heavy."

"It only takes one person to operate the jacks. If we all work together and load them onto the jacks then we can get them out and into the truck and get the fuck out of here before they show up. It's just after midnight. Marcello doesn't think they'll get here 'til two."

"Two hours?"

"Let's stop standing around and get to it." The man, who was obviously the leader of this small insurrection said as the team commander heard footsteps.

He had to make a decision and he did, standing up and opening fire right away. The other eight men did the same thing, covering their sectors and the eight of them fired just twenty rounds between them, striking all six men before any of them knew what had happened. "I hope one of them is alive." The team commander said as he cautiously approached the six men who were now sitting on the ground, motionless. The men followed, covering various sectors as they drew closer. Carefully, they pulled over the bodies to check them but all six of them were dead, killed instantly during the brief strike, which was purely one-sided. "Shit. Alright hide the damn bodies. We'll use the truck to transport the weapons, then burn it." The eight men quickly dragged the eight bodies into a spot in the thick brush and went to work examining what they had on them. They removed ammunition from their weapons and threw that in the back of the truck, hoping to use it to destroy the vehicle. Any documents they had on them were seized and the men were booby trapped with a few hand-grenades, very carefully.

Then, it was into the bunker. Marcello had given the commander the code but when he entered it into the door he found that it didn't work. "Son of a bitch liar!" He remarked as he decided not to enter it a second time, fearing that a second wrong entry could lock the system. "Get me into this bunker now."

"You got it." The technian of the team said as he pulled around his pack and pulled out an electronics kit. "It won't be simple but I can get in. What was the code Marcello gave you?"

"Four, Two, Eight, Nine, Six, Six, Four, Six, One, One, Pound."

"On it."

Peoria Air Force Base, Peoria, Illinois
Highly Classified ILAF Base -- 01:15 hrs [CST]

Peoria Air Force Base was one of many highly classified ILAF bases around the Empire. It was such because highly classified aircraft operated out of it. Throughout the Empire, these bases housed classified, secret fighters like the F-19 Ghostrider and F-24 Knightowl, which only even flew at night and had only been used in a number of rare occurrences when their security could be guaranteed. Other fighters like the F-25 Firefox never left Layartebian airspace or strayed close enough to a foreign nation where it could be in danger of being seen, visually that was. The F-49 Astraroth was like the Firefox, its mission similar. Then there was the B-4 Magnum, a strategic heavy bomber designed to replace the B-2 Spirit that was also never used during the daylight hours along with the B-7 Incubus, a bomber with a payload many times larger than any other bomber in the world, save for the Zeus. The six aircraft types were among the most classified in the Empire's military and there was a reason that they were usually only deployed to secret bases. Some unclassified bases played home to several of the fighters but the fighters never operated when they could be seen. The ILAF was more than just "cautious" about their operations, they were downright meticulous.

Hidden away inside hangars that were armored, hardened, and led to underground facilities, the aircraft were kept away from the prying eyes of satellites and their pilots were kept under lock and key, they being only the most trusted pilots in the Air Force and the most qualified. Their flights were highly demanding. Inside one such hangar, an F-19C Ghost Rider had been elevated from its underground hangar with its pilot standing beside it, the canopy opened, its engines off, its internal bay doors shut. The aircraft had been fueled and its armament loaded, which consisted of a pair of AGM-88E AARGM anti-radiation missiles and four GBU-56A Special Purpose Guided Bombs, each one built out of Kevlar reinforced cellulose. The explosion of the weapon would annihilate the casing, leaving little to no evidence. Each bomb brought with it 445 pounds of powerful, high-explosive. All six weapons were mounted on a six-pylon rotary launcher mounted inside of its rear, internal bay. Capable of holding up to 10,100 pounds, the internal bay was strictly for air-to-ground munitions only. A smaller, forward bay, was just for air-to-air weapons but it went unloaded. The rotary launcher in the rear of the aircraft was holding just 5,580 pounds of munitions. Adding in the rotary launcher itself, the F-19 was nowhere near its maximum payload, which could easily give it the range it would need to get to the target area and back, without needing to refuel along the way. With an unrefueled range in excess of 1,200 miles with a full payload, the F-19C Ghost Rider would by flying under 1,000 miles for the whole trip there and back with a half payload.

The pilot for this mission was Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Weber, a veteran with the ILAF and with the F-19 Ghostrider. His airframe was among the first to undergo an MLU upgrade that brought the F-19A Ghostrider that he flew up to the F-19C standard. His avionics were modernized, his munitions system updated, his engines replaced, and his airframe strengthened. He had flown only a handful of combat missions since, all at the end of the Conquests, mostly over Venezuela and the Amazonian Republic, dropping guided munitions on key command and control facilities at the onset of the air war in the latter. Now he would be flying to Minnesota, to Unity territory. His flight path took him to two targets, both of them long-range SAM batteries photographed by Layartebian agents only the day prior. LTC. Weber was to fly his aircraft to the target and fire a pair of AGM-88E AARGM missiles at each one, the coordinates uploaded into the missile's GPS computer. The missile was finely tuned to engage and destroy the PATRIOT batteries and would be tasked with destroying not the radar but the command vehicle of the site. The special modification took the better part of the day but now the flight was ready.

LTC. Weber took a final look around his aircraft and was satisfied. The doors to his hangar remained shut and he climbed up a small, attached ladder to the cockpit of the fighter, where he put his mask on and strapped himself into his seat. A flight engineer assisted him and pulled the ladder away when he was set. LTC. Weber sat as comfortable as one could be inside of such an aircraft. In front of him were MFDs and a digital, glass cockpit. At his right was the flight stick and at his left was the throttle, just the way an F-16 was laid out, which was what he originally had flown when he joined the ILAF and graduated from flight school in 1985. Weber's career with the ILAF had been rather mundane since that year. He flew missions during the Conquests, mostly against ground targets. He was credited with just two kills during the Conquests, both coming in 1990 while over Guyana in his F-16C Fighting Falcon. The two kills came six days apart during routine sorties against a power station and a radar site. He had joined the Ghostrider program in 1999 and had since been there. The fact that his career was mundane was just what the ILAF wanted since he would attract little attention and he had no celebrity status.

He lowered the canopy of the attack jet just after he completed his final pre-flight checks and brought the engines up to idle power. He had to wait until a satellite passed overhead and ran out of range before he could proceed onto the runway and timing was crucial. By the time the satellite passed overhead and was out of range, his engines would be idling only for five minutes, enough time to warm them up and let them get used to being turned on as they would now have to be flying for a few hours. While supersonic, the Ghostrider would never go past Mach 0.9, to keep its radar signature down. The pilot would have to do a number of things to keep his radar signature down, which included making gradual and not sharp turns, keeping his active systems off, even though they were LPI, and keeping on a certain flight path at a certain altitude and speed.

With the satellite out of range, the doors to the hangar were opened and LTC. Weber pushed the throttle up a few points, raising the power to the engines, nudging the plane forward. With it, he pulled out of the hangar and taxied towards the runway. It was the only aircraft out of a hangar at Peoria Air Force Base and LTC. Weber had all of its lights off. The aircraft was nothing but a speck on the ground. Its engines were non-afterburning and thus would not make any sort of tellable sign. From the moment LTC. Weber pulled out of hangar he activated the aircraft's IR suppression system, which diluted the engine exhaust with cold gases, like the F-117 Nighthawk. Also, like the Nighthawk, the aircraft emitted a high-pitched whine from the front and low-pitched rumble from the rear, making it hard to detect, acoustically. Flying high above 40,000 feet it would be entirely silent to anyone on the ground and despite it being a near full moon, LTC. Weber would be more than cautious.

He taxied to the runway and held short on the runway while the tower cleared him for takeoff, coming moments later. By then, the satellite was long gone and LTC. Weber pushed his throttle up to maximum and 42,600 pounds of thrust left the rear of his aircraft, pushing him down the runway. From there, he raised his gear and instantly went into stealth mode, climbing up to 45,000 feet where he would fly at just Mach 0.75, below the speed of sound, cruising at 495 mph towards the targets in Minnesota.

Freedom's Rock Territory -- Tulsa, Oklahoma
Capital HQ -- 10:00 hrs [CST]

The Freedom's Rock Council had been called into an emergency meeting. With the expansion of the Midwest Faction and the hostilities in the north it was no wonder that the meeting was called. The former Soviet Blocian territory was now rife with struggle and violence. Every faction was fighting with someone else and within the territory were bandits and criminals from elsewhere in the world. Ghost Warriors from the Empire's Illuminati had entered looking for nuclear warheads to recover for their own purposes and found nothing. They convinced the Black Hills Army to help them reign terror on the Empire but it wasn't looking good for the Black Hills Army as they were being surrounded and pounded by a variety of forces.

The meeting began like any other, with dissent and disagreement on how to proceed. The council was a group composed of eighteen men and women, none of whom saw fit to agree with many of the others. Within the FR Faction there were factions. Inside the council there were three primary groups: those who wanted to remain as they were, those who wanted to fully attack the MWF, and those who wanted to join the MWF. It seemed that, of these three, the latter was winning the day. Time would tell and at the end of the meeting, at the end of the day, it seemed that a union with the MWF was in their best interests. The enemies to the north, the communists, the anarchists, and the opportunists were all threats to FR and they were threats to the MWF too. They had a lot of common interests between them and together, they could wage a successful war against these three remaining factions: Black Hills Army, the NW Syndicate, and Unity.

A week of meetings brought out the best and the worst within the FR Council until one evening when the MWF would win over the FR. The Layartebians had gone to open strikes against Unity thanks to border skirmishes claiming the lives of Layartebian civilians and soldiers. They were funneling arms and money to both MWF and FR at exponential rates but even they were suggesting a union between the two factions. Now the big question was, how would MWF react?

Reed Wallis was a tall slender man of small build; his black hair was combed back over his head and laden with gell to keep it in place. He wore a black suit that was highlighted by his red tie and white under shirt. As Reed walked down a sidewalk in Tulsa, Oklahoma he discreetly snuck into a side ally way. Once out of site from any prying eyes he pulled out a cell phone from a secret pocket in his jacket. The long time Freedom’s Rock council member had a big secret he was hiding from the rest of his organization. In secret he was working for a right wing group known as the Abbas Manus Manus (The Fathers Hand). This group had one goal in mind, to unite the entire Midwest under one right wing government and through it see that Abba’s interests were met in the world. Reed’s mission within Freedom’s Rock was simple. To convince the council to unite with the Midwestern Freedom, a group largely controlled by the Abbas Manus Manus. Tonight, Reed was scheduled to call his boss and report on his progress within the council. His boss would be very pleased with what he has to say.

Reed fumbled with his phone for a bit before he got the number set into his phone. With a deep breath he pushed the green call button and held the phone to his ear. For a few long moments the phone rang before the other side picked up.

“What do you have to report Wallis?”

“The FR council has discussed the issue with much disagreement and bickering, however it seems that a solid majority of the council has decided to go down the path of diplomacy with the MWF.”

“Excellent, this is good news to hear Wallis, I will inform the leaders in Des Moines on the situation. The FR should expect a message soon. Have a good night.”

_____

The time had come for the birth of a nation. Soon the Midwest would unite under one flag of freedom. Yet before this new order could be formed, a great deal of work would have to be done. In the MWF capital of Des Monies, diplomatic staff has been working around the clock to prepare for negotiations with FR. Letters were being written, Teams formed and politicians briefed. The olive branch of this entire endeavor would be an opening message inviting the leaders of Freedoms Rock to join the leaders of Midwestern Freedom in a neutral location between the two faction’s boarders. The people of the MWF hoped and prayed that this message would be received with gratefulness by the other party. Freedom may yet have life in the Midwest.

To: Lead Council of Freedoms Rock
From: Office of the Chairman, Midwestern Freedom

To our humble and great brothers in freedom the Freedom’s Rock. We in the Midwestern Freedom are very concerned about the future of the lives of the people of the Midwest. As such we hope that soon all of the fighting and bloodshed will soon be over for the sake of the lives of those who still have them and in honor of those who have lost them. In the spirit of peace and renewal we ask you all the leaders of the FR to join me in a neutral location between our boarders. Our suggestion is the small town of Gravois Mills, Missouri located equally distant from our two boarders. However, if you feel another location is needed then please let us know. We hope that we will be able to come up with a solution that will greatly benefit the people of the Midwest.

[Signed]
Chairman Brendan Marlon

Freedom's Rock received the message from MWF and they received it in the same mindset they had agreed to join the MWF. The suggestion of a small town in Missouri wasn't met well though. The FR council was wary about Missouri. They controlled the lower portion of it but not necessarily the middle or upper portions and Gravois Mills was in the middle of the state, beyond FR lines. This wouldn't do and instead, FR had a different idea. They wanted somewhere more neutral, somewhere they wouldn't have to worry about an attack. Instead, they went through lines of communication that few knew existed, lines of communication that stretched east, far east, to the Layartebian capital, where, deep underground, in vaults that few knew even existed.

The reply came an hour later and it was favorable to FR who hoped it would be as favorable to MWF as it was to them.

To: Chairman Marlon
Fr: Freedom's Rock Council

We wish greatly to extend our hand to you but we wish for a more neutral venue. Gravois Mills is north of our lines and while secure behind yours, we cannot fully agree to them. Instead, we have contacted a party that is favorable to our union and favorable to our overall agenda. The party is to our east and should you agree, further details will follow.

***********

As Freedom's Rock sent the message, far to the west, a variety of things were happening. The Black Hills Army had duped the Ghost Warriors and they knew it. They sat underneath the ground, deep in the bunker, looking at empty bins and dusty floors. The bunker had been abandoned years prior, long before the end of the Armed Repubic of Soviet Bloc. As the eight men paced around the bunker, looking for anything useful, the team commander thought about how he was going to extract what he needed from The Black Hills Army. An hour later, he and his team would be on their way back to Black Hills Army territory and not loudly either. Instead, they would be going to find Beeny, the man who sent them there.

Freedom's Rock received the message from MWF and they received it in the same mindset they had agreed to join the MWF. The suggestion of a small town in Missouri wasn't met well though. The FR council was wary about Missouri. They controlled the lower portion of it but not necessarily the middle or upper portions and Gravois Mills was in the middle of the state, beyond FR lines. This wouldn't do and instead, FR had a different idea. They wanted somewhere more neutral, somewhere they wouldn't have to worry about an attack. Instead, they went through lines of communication that few knew existed, lines of communication that stretched east, far east, to the Layartebian capital, where, deep underground, in vaults that few knew even existed.

The reply came an hour later and it was favorable to FR who hoped it would be as favorable to MWF as it was to them.

To: Chairman Marlon
Fr: Freedom's Rock Council

We wish greatly to extend our hand to you but we wish for a more neutral venue. Gravois Mills is north of our lines and while secure behind yours, we cannot fully agree to them. Instead, we have contacted a party that is favorable to our union and favorable to our overall agenda. The party is to our east and should you agree, further details will follow.

***********

As Freedom's Rock sent the message, far to the west, a variety of things were happening. The Black Hills Army had duped the Ghost Warriors and they knew it. They sat underneath the ground, deep in the bunker, looking at empty bins and dusty floors. The bunker had been abandoned years prior, long before the end of the Armed Repubic of Soviet Bloc. As the eight men paced around the bunker, looking for anything useful, the team commander thought about how he was going to extract what he needed from The Black Hills Army. An hour later, he and his team would be on their way back to Black Hills Army territory and not loudly either. Instead, they would be going to find Beeny, the man who sent them there.

The High Command of the MWF was most willing to negotiate a meeting place. This would be their token of good will to their FR brothers to the south. As several meetings were called on the matter, and a few last minute details were finalized, the MWF High command drafted a reply to send to the FR.

To: Freedom's Rock Council
From: The Office of the Chairman, MWF

We will be most willing to negotiate the terms of the meeting location. Please let us know as to the information of the neutral location you have chosen, and also please let us know the identity of this third party.

[Signed]
Chairman Marlon

The FR Council responded quite quickly to the MWF request. Favorable to FR's desire to hold the meeting to the east, the MWF would get the location shortly thereafter as well as the time and travel arrangements. The meeting would be held in Illinois, in the dead of the night, in a town named Lebanon, not far east of St. Louis and just north of Scott Air Force Base, where the 5th Air Control Wing was stationed. The hope was to have the meeting on completely neutral ground, under the protection of the Empire. If it was okay, the respective parties would fly and land at Scott AFB and then be transported to the meeting site in Lebanon by vehicle. It would be held in a farmhouse on Charles Trail, just off Route 4. The coordinates, 38°35'13.07"N, 89°48'13.53"W were sent to both parties from the Empire and the situation was handled on their end. Armed guards would close off the street and secure the area around the farmhouse. A contingent of Black Hawks were moved to the base for quick extraction and Air Force pararescue forces were stationed there, ready to act if necessary.

The FR Council responded quite quickly to the MWF request. Favorable to FR's desire to hold the meeting to the east, the MWF would get the location shortly thereafter as well as the time and travel arrangements. The meeting would be held in Illinois, in the dead of the night, in a town named Lebanon, not far east of St. Louis and just north of Scott Air Force Base, where the 5th Air Control Wing was stationed. The hope was to have the meeting on completely neutral ground, under the protection of the Empire. If it was okay, the respective parties would fly and land at Scott AFB and then be transported to the meeting site in Lebanon by vehicle. It would be held in a farmhouse on Charles Trail, just off Route 4. The coordinates, 38°35'13.07"N, 89°48'13.53"W were sent to both parties from the Empire and the situation was handled on their end. Armed guards would close off the street and secure the area around the farmhouse. A contingent of Black Hawks were moved to the base for quick extraction and Air Force pararescue forces were stationed there, ready to act if necessary.

MWF Intelligence Nerve Center, Secret Location, Des Moines Iowa

"Sir, I have just received the coordinates from the Freedoms Rock council message. The satellites that were re-tasked to fly over this area have sent back pictures of a small grouping of buildings. The coordinates put the meeting place just south of Lebanon in a farm house just off the main road. There is another small building about 20 meters from the west side of the farm house, A grouping of three buildings are located just 40 meters to the south east of the farm house." A young Intelligence annalist said as he looked over the photos of the area. Leaning over his shoulder the Director of Intelligence for the MWF studied the photos with care.

"It looks like the meeting location is clear. Forward the photos to the CO of the Chancellors Marine guard."

"Yes Sir."

_________________________________________________________________

With the meeting place studied and deemed secure for the purposes of the meeting. The MWF leadership prepared for the encounter with a series of briefings just before their departure. Discussions ranged from the topics that would be discussed, to the topics they would not discuss. As things began to rap up in Des Moines, the MWF leaderships boarded a C-214 Multi-Mission Transport. With an escort of 2 F-41A/B Multi-Role STOVL Aircraft the transport made its way for the Imperial boarder. Once on the boarder the escorts would peel off and the leadership would prepare for arrival.

Once on the ground in Scott AFB, the leadership was quickly whisked away to the farmhouse south of Lebanon. The very place where the future of the Midwest would be decided.

.:. bump .:.

Today was the day that would be the birthday of a nation. As the convoy neared the small farmhouse in the outskirts of Lebanon, the Chairman and his advisers prepared for one of the greatest days in their nations life. All of the hope of the people of the Midwest rode on this meeting. If successful, all of the pain, and torment the people of their region have endured for the past 2 years would cease to exist. Freedom would endure this day as long as the MWF and FR drew breath.

The large convoy of vehicles arrived at the heavily guarded farmhouse with great speed. As the vehicles stopped in front of the farmhouse doors, security personnel prepared for the drop off of the diplomats. First to step out of the car was the Vice-Chairman, Eliott Cary; he stepped aside and waited for the next person to exit the vehicle which was none other than the chairman himself. Brendan Marlon briskly stepped outside and breathe in the fresh Illinois air.

“Today is a great day Eliott.”

“Yes Sir, it will be.” Eliott replied with a smile as he closed the car door.

Together they walked up the steps to the door of the farmhouse where inside the FR diplomats waited to begin talks. The inside of the farmhouse was quaint and simple. The diplomats sat around a large oak table with a number of wooden chairs set up around it. The 18 Freedoms Rock councilmen all sat in silent wait for the MWF, they to could feel the power of this day and how important it would be. They all stood as the MWF diplomats entered. The Chairman and Vice-Chairman all shook hands with the FR diplomats and introduced the rest of their staff. The Chairman said a few words of thanks to the FR diplomats for coming and proceeding with diplomacy.

“My great friends and comrades, it has been a long two years since the fall of the ARSB. We have all seen many hardships, and many pains endured by our families and out people. We have all strived to make this world a better place for our children. Today is the day that all of this work has led up to, today freedom will claim victory. My proposal to your council is we unify together, in brotherhood, with equality, into one great nation. Our people have endured so much pain, this is what the deserve, the peace and security of a unified government, will we give them that? I think it is our duty, what say you?”

There was a long silence as the Chairman ended his short speech. The FR council all silently discussed this notion with one and other while the MWF diplomats waited with their hearts beating and fingers crossed. After all the fait of their people rode on this deal. One of the FR council members spoke up on the issue.

“So long have I seen this suffering you speak of, so long the hardships have claimed many good men. My hope for us all is we put aside our petty diplomatic lines and that we do this for our people who are ruthlessly slaughtered by brigands on the abandoned roads and highways while they try and get food back to their family. I implore you all to remember the children that no longer have parents due to this calamity. This is the right course of action, and I would like to motion this proposal to a vote by secret ballot.”

“Seconded!” Another council member called.

A moment later small pieces of paper were handed out to all of the diplomats. For the next 5 minutes diplomats pondered to themselves what their decision would be on this matter. Soon all of the votes were in and the counting was begun by one of the Layartebian aids. As he walked back into the room he announce the results of the vote. The air became tense with anticipation as the votes were read off.

“The joint diplomatic forum has voted the following, 19 In the Affirmative, and 4 in the negative. It has been voted in favor of the unification of the Midwest into a new nation.”

Applauses and hoops and hollers could be heard throughout the room as most of the celebrated the birth of this great nation. The Chairman shook hands with the FR council members and congratulated them on the momentous decision.

“I thank you all, today has been a great day in the history of our people. Now we have much things to discuss. Let us all begin in the forming of our nation.”

The process began for the shaping of the government of the League of American States.

West of Saint Croix Falls, Wisconsin
Layartebian-Unity Border -- 07:15 hrs [CST]

Saint Croix Falls was nearly two hundred and thirty miles northwest of Madison, Wisconsin's state capital and second largest city, just behind Milwaukee. Madison, despite being the state capital, was a city of nearly a half million people and they had all been glued to their televisions and radios since six in the morning, when the first attacks began. Saint Croix Falls was right on the border with Minnesota, the town itself on the edge of the Saint Croix River. A tributary of the mighty Mississippi River, the Saint Croix River was spanned by a two-lane bridge that served as the entrance to the Layartebian Empire. A quarter of a mile behind the river edge was an outpost that had, given recent times, been beefed up significantly. The 36th Fighter Wing at Pierce Air Force Base, just fifty miles away had been beefed up with elements of the 305th Special Operations Squadron (3 AC-27C Stinger II light gunships), 602nd Special Operations Squadron (16 MH-6M Little Birds), 603rd Special Operations Squadron (8 MH-60G Pave Hawks), 502nd Space Control Squadron (6 MQ-1B Predators), 3203rd Fighter Squadron (16 A-15A Cobras), and 3802nd Fighter Squadron (16 F-35D Lightning IIs). The air base was a hub of activity as the Predator drones flew near the border, watching Unity troop movements all day and night, every day and every night.

Just before 05:30 hours that morning, while the Predators were exchanging station, Unity attacked. Their target was the border outpost and they hit it hard. Over one hundred and fifty Unity soldiers, entrenched along the river, made their way across the bridge under the protection of mortars and artillery guns, which dropped artillery rounds precisely on the outpost. The first salvo, the most effective, killed eight soldiers: two manning a machine gun, four standing watch by the gate, and two more manning a grenade launcher. The mortar rounds were precise and fell without much warning. As the flames shot up from their impact points and soldiers were thrown about like play toys, their bodies peppered with fragments. Quickly, the border defense forces found themselves highly outnumbered but they held their ground at first, firing back while the armed Predator's overhead circled and cast down images to the air base in Pierce, only fifty miles away. The first Predator, which had been on station for nearly twelve hours, had been armed with four GBU-44A Viper Strike guided bombs. Each weighed just forty-four pounds and contained only two and a half pounds of high-explosives and they were meant for anti-tank missions. Accurate to within just a meter or less, the bombs were quite an advancement in weapon's technology. The Predator pilots watched on their screens as the Unity soldiers closed on the base. Quickly, the bomb coordinates were plotted and the weapon system's officer dropped all four rounds, each one targeted at a specific point on the ground. They struck less than thirty seconds later, exploding with dramatic effect. The four targets selected had been dug-in Unity soldiers and the bombs killed, from first glance, only eight or nine Unity soldiers but let them and the border defense forces know that the eyes in the sky were there. The second Predator was armed with just a pair of Harbinger missiles. Before it could deploy them, Unity struck back.

The Predator was gone before the pilots knew what had happened. There had been no warning and no indication of what happened until flash traffic shot across the encrypted channels at Pierce Air Force Base. The message was clear and it was simple. Unity had deployed fighters and two pair of them had just entered Layartebian airspace and they were being tracked by ground radar in Wisconsin. Identified as two F-63K Tengriy air defense fighters and two F/A-81A Savage multirole fighters, the four aircraft were flying at a supercruise speed of Mach 1.6 at forty-five thousand feet above the ground. The two Tengriy's were acting as escort for the Savages and because all four aircraft were stealthy, sixth generation and above aircraft, they weren't easy to detect, even for the powerful, Layartebian air defense network. The fighters had fired a short-range air-to-air missile at the Predator, an infrared guided missile that exploded just behind the drone. Its camera never saw the missile, which tore the airframe to millions of pieces, which all fell to the earth below. The fighters pressed on, the Savages behind them armed with anti-radiation missiles and guided bombs and their target wasn't very far from the border.

The target was a major radar installation in northern Wisconsin. A very powerful, eleven-story tall, phased array radar was positioned north of Phillips and it had a full 360° field of view. With a range in excess of 3,000 nautical miles, the radar was a crucial part of the Layartebian Air Defense Network. It was also within the protective coverage of an AABMS anti-ballistic missile and Crow surface-to-air missile site. Moving at over seventeen and a half miles per minute, the fighters could cover the distance from Saint Croix Falls to Phillips in just six and a half minutes. Upon detection, the tarmac at Pierce Air Force Base came alive as pilots on alert jumped into their fighters, two F-57A Wraiths, each armed with six AIM-221A Gryphon and two AIM-204B Escape air-to-air missiles. They were in the skies moments later and climbed hard and fast, burning full afterburners. They climbed at maximum effort, scaling 56,300 feet in just one minute, topping out at near supersonic speed. Once there, they accelerated fast, their radars linked to the Layartebian Air Defense Network. The four fighters being tracked were on their screens, ahead of them and they were gaining on them, flying at almost fourteen hundred miles per hour, covering over twenty-three miles per minute. It was unlikely they would get to the fighters before they got to the radar.

It was all in the hands of a single air defense site, located southwest of the radar site. A mobile site, it had been moved from its original position when the Unity threat first arose. Moved at night and kept under camouflage, the site came alive as klaxons sounded there and at the radar site. The fighters were heading there. They were a single group, a small group that was tasked only with destroying the radar site for a larger force to come in, which would attack Pierce Air Force Base, the outpost, and various other targets in northern and northeastern Wisconsin. The Crow site was a large site, meant more to be fixed than mobile but fixed sites were always too vulnerable. The site contained twelve launch vehicles, all M2061A8 Reaver GMLSs. The Reavers each held a single seven-round missile canister that had been elevated as crews yanked the camouflage nets from their vehicles. They kept the netting around the rest of the vehicles and scurried to their vehicles as the operators in the command vehicle selected the targets on their digital screens and tasked a missile salvo of eight missiles. When the officer in charge ordered the launch, a single enlisted corporal, who sat in a comfortable chair in front of a digital display panel turned a dial from its setting on "SAFE" to "FIRE" and pushed an illuminated button underneath it and underneath a plastic cover. Quickly, he yelled back, "Birds away sir!" The single button push put all eight missiles into the air simultaneously, all coming from eight different launchers. The missiles followed a very dramatic and very unique launch pattern. The launcher unit for the Crow was a seven-barreled system that looked like a Gatling gun. Each missile was stored inside of a tube that held it in place. Locking clamps attached to the missile and held it in place while the booster motor fired. Gel fueled, the missile booster roared up to maximum power, being held there for just two seconds. Then, the locking clamps released and the missile accelerated away at +60g's, roaring away from the launchers with a short trail of smoke behind them. As the missiles climbed into the early, morning sky, the launcher rotated to put the next missile at the top position, ejecting the empty, inner tube pneumatically, propelling it a few feet in front of the vehicle. It was dense enough that landing on the ground would not damage it. A reloading system behind the launcher waited though, it would begin reloading the empty tubes after the third rotation.

The missiles were guided by a tri-mode system that used active radar, passive radar, or imaging infrared. It was also coupled to a Home-on-Jam sensor and it had datalinking capabilities. For this mission, the missiles were kept on datalink mode. They wouldn't be able to detect the stealthy fighters until they were much closer and the missiles would do better using their imaging infrared seeker rather than anything else. The radar site directing the missiles, which was the same one that was being targeted by the hostile aircraft, was powerful enough to track them. Traveling at Mach 6, the missiles quickly gained on the fighters, having lofted all the way up to 95,000 feet. The boosters eventually dropped off and the missiles were flying high, hard, and true, each one locked onto its specific target, being directed by the powerful radar down below. The fighters had little idea that they were being targeted and less idea that they were actually being engaged. All eight missiles came without warning and they would track to within just fifteen miles before their infrared seekers took over, locking onto the aircraft based on their heat signatures.

The missiles closed on the four fighters quickly. One pair got to within its fifteen mile mark and their infrared seekers took over, locking onto the Tengriy fighter. With a pK of 0.98 against aircraft, the two missiles were more than enough. Their warheads used hit-to-kill, kinetic energy technology that was enhanced with a seventy pound warhead enhancer, consisting of twelve hundred and seventy tungsten rods, the same kind of warhead the PATRIOT PAC-3 pioneered. Nothing could survive a hit and the Tengriy fighter erupted in a brilliant fireball nearly fifty thousand feet in the air over Wisconsin, disintegrating from it. Another pair of missiles shattered a Savage fighter to bits and pieces but not before it and its wingman launched their own missiles, four AGM-88E AARGM anti-radiation missiles and four air-to-ground missiles. All eight of them were targeted against the radar site, the AARGM missiles targeted against the radar, the other four missiles against it as well. Supersonic, the eight missiles struck the radar and turned it to scrap metal before the next two pairs of missiles could close to within twenty-five miles. They immediately went into automatic mode, cycling through their radars for potential targets. There was nothing to be found on passive or active radar but they did pick up faint infrared tracks. The Unity pilots knew not to activate their jamming, which would bring the Crow missiles down to bear on them and, instead, they initiated maneuvers and tried not to call attention to themselves. They succeeded and the four missiles missed.

A mission success, the two Unity fighters quickly turned for home, unaware that they were being stalked now by a pair of Wraiths, the most advanced fighters in the world. Each one was significantly more advanced than the Raptor, which had been the most impressive fighter in the world at one time. The two Wraiths were tracking the enemy fighters on their own by the time they turned for home and both fighters slowed down to below Mach 1, reducing their own radar signature and conserving their fuel for a possible dogfight that might ensue.

West of Saint Croix Falls, Wisconsin
Layartebian-Unity Border -- 07:25 hrs [CST]

The two Wraith fighters closed on the enemy aircraft, which were supercruising their way out of the Empire. They were elated to have destroyed the radar but they watched as their fellow pilots were blown out of the sky by the Layartebian SAMs. They were lucky to have evaded those heading for them. Taking a different course of Wisconsin than the one they used to ingress put them even closer to the incoming Wraiths rather than further away. Closing at nearly Mach 2.5, the Layartebian Wraiths were, thus far, invisible to the Unity fighters. The Wraiths were a full generation ahead and they carried no external ordinance. Their avionics were much more advanced and they still had the aide of other Layartebian ground tracking stations to vector them in but it wasn't necessary. Twenty miles from the Tengriy and the Savage, they had a good enough lock to employ their Gryphon missiles, which had enough range that its no-escape zone was big enough to encompass the enemy fighters now. Both pilots had locked onto one of the aircraft but not the same one, choosing instead to engage their targets separately to make for a quicker end. This made them more vulnerable but, as skilled as they were, they could handle the danger. The lead pilot locked up the Tengry and fired while his wingman engaged the Savage. The two Gryphon missiles dropped from the ventral bays of each of the fighters and climbed into the sky accelerating to Mach 4. Powered by a gel-fueled ramjet, the missile had a range in excess of one hundred miles and a minimum range of just one quarter of a mile. The missiles each locked onto the enemy fighters quickly and the two pilots pressed on, keeping the enemy fighters locked. As they got closer, closing at nearly twenty-five miles per minute, the Tengry and Savage were able to see the Wraiths and they locked on but it was too late. The two Gryphon missiles and their forty pounds warheads impacted the fighters, giving off a warning on the respective aircraft's RWRs just moments before they hit. The explosions tore the two aircraft to shreds and their pilots had no chance of ejecting.

The battle had only just begun though. In Illinois, outside of the town of Belleveille was another air force base. Home to an air control and a fighter wing, Scott Air Force Base was far from the action. Just outside of the town and the airport, in Lebanon, Illinois, MWF and FR were coming to the conclusion of their meeting when Unity attacked. They weren't on the base itself and they didn't hear the E-9A AWACS, a militarized version of the 787 Dreamliner, take off, roaring down the runway. Quickly, the aircraft climbed to 36,000 feet and made its way for Wisconsin, where its powerful, phased array radar could be put to good use. The AWACS could see for as far as the horizon allowed and that was why the aircraft climbed higher, to 43,000 feet, where the horizon was about two hundred and sixty miles. The powerful radar would be able to track targets flying over Unity airspace and plot their course before they entered Layartebian territory. With more than five hundred miles to fly to the patrol area, it would take the AWACS a little less than an hour to get on station meaning that for the next hour, they were on their own. The two Wraiths would set up a patrol while two more were scrambled to provide additional cover support. Those two would be equipped with a pair of external fuel tanks, giving them extended range. The two Wraiths already in the air would fly until they were low on fuel and return to base where two more fighters would replace them and they would rearm, refuel, and get back into the skies.

By 07:30 in the morning, the firefight had intensified rapidly. The outpost held on thanks largely to the air support provided by the Predators and by several sorties of F-56A Savage multirole fighters. The Layartebian Savages were more advanced than those Unity possessed. Armed with guided bombs and missiles, they swooped over the battlefield and dropped their ordinance on the Unity positions and forced them back but still, the one hundred and fifty man army fought strong and fought hard. With sunlight shining onto the ground, the soldiers in the outpost kept their weapons loaded and returned fire, being resupplied as they fought, holding the Unity forces outside of their lines. Explosions rattled the ground as residents of Saint Croix Falls fled the city, moving eastward, away from the battle zone and away from the attacks. Unity had concentrated only on the outpost and the one radar site but nobody knew if they were going to keep it isolated to military targets. Because of that, the defense forces reinforced positions along the edge of the Saint Croix River and to the north and south of the town, protecting the flanks. With the AWACS available as of 07:05 and four Wraiths on patrol in the skies with another twelve on immediate alert just forty miles away, Unity would be hard pressed to match the Layartebian air superiority that had been established already. In addition, other border outposts along the Layartebian-Unity border had been beefed up with light armor and reinforcements while Saint Croix Falls held on, fighting back, pushing the Unity soldiers into retreat by 08:00 hours.

Nearly three hours had elapsed since the attack began and ended. The Layartebians putting nine men in body bags. Fourteen others were seriously wounded and the radar site north of Phillips was out of commission, its radar completely destroyed. Unity had lost four aircraft and of its one hundred and fifty man fighting force, just sixty-four were going to be retreating, the rest killed or captured as the Layartebians, with the aide of light armored infantry carriers moved forward and over the lines, crossing the bridge and securing the area just west of the river bank. They found some of the Unity men alive but they were all wounded. Medevac'd back across the bridge, they were given treatment, stabilized, and immediately interrogated. The Layartebians had to know more and they had to know it fast, the Emperor had authorized the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces and the Imperial Layartebian Air Force to invade Taylor's Falls, Minnesota, which bordered the Saint Croix River. The operation would begin in just thirty-six hours.

Midwestern News Agency Report

With talks wrapped up and the newly formed government in power. The League of American states has begun its wave of attacks against the Black hills army and Unity. 3 Divisions of the LAS Army have been reported moving north over the Iowa boarder towards Minneapolis to combat Unity ground forces, and back up Layartebian military actions. These forces will be the first wave of a 2 wave process to bring in LAS troops into an active role in the war between these two rouge factions.

On the western front, 2 LAS Marine Corps. Brigades have been sent in to attack Black Hills Army insurgents along the South Dakota boarder. It has been released that a further 10,000 Marines would enter into that arena of combat.

In other news, the newly established LAS congress has begun to write our nations first constitution. This document is planned to be worked on and decided over within the next few weeks. It will be made public as soon as it is ratified.

Who will be our next leader? Well the congress has been working on a bill that will establish the dates on which we the people will go to the polls and vote. This new revolutionary concept for the Midwestern people will be a first for some. Many are very excited about this new democratic system, and are readily prepared to vote for their candidate. That’s all from Des Moines, back to you, the people in America. Good night.

Taylors Falls, Minnesota
Layartebian-Unity Border -- 21:30 hrs [CST]

More than thirty-six hours had passed and the town of Saint Croix Falls had since become a ghost town. Former residents had fled south and east to escape, warned by the government that the chance of a Unity attack was still too great for them to return. They were advised to lock up their homes, take any valuables with them, and head south and east, where shelters were set up for them. The ILDF had taken over the town, set up camp at the local school and soccer field. They reinforced the outpost again and remained on high alert. They had to be on high alert, there was a full brigade of men inside of the town, equipped with light armor, light tanks, light MLRS, and urban combat vehicles. The brigade was there for one purpose and that was to cross the border and invade Taylors Falls, a town of less than a thousand people.

Broken down, each brigade had two regiments, each of which had four battalions of almost six hundred men each. With reservists, the brigade swelled to just over five thousand men. One full regiment of nearly twenty-five hundred men would be crossing the border while the remaining men stayed behind to reinforce the town. If reinforcements were needed, they would come to the rescue. Because each regiment had four battalions, they further had twelve companies, each just over two hundred men, each company holding four platoons of around fifty men. Reinforcements would come in groups of platoon sized men, maybe two if real trouble was necessary. The single brigade had plenty of forces capable of taking the town and holding it indefinitely, especially with air support from the ILAF and from their own branch as well. Several AH-99A Anasazi and AH-103A Cheyenne attack helicopters had been moved to the area of operations along with a few UV-24D Bulldog V/STOVL transports that could act as close air support aircraft if necessary while delivering up to twenty-four men, three squads worth, at a time.

Since the outbreak of the attack, the Imperial Layartebian Air Force kept a vigilant patrol of four Wraiths at all times with a single AWACS flying as well. Now that there was going to be a ground invasion, the AWACS was joined by an E-10A MC2A J/STARS-type aircraft orbiting further behind friendly lines, just as high, where it could use its very powerful synthetic apperture radar to watch for ground targets. Layartebian media joined the military in Saint Croix Falls but they were restricted to a zone five miles behind the front lines, where rear guard units were reinforced and ready to roll forward if their numbers were needed. There, they were kept under strict watch, making sure they didn't wander off and reveal the readiness state of the Layartebian military. At the front lines, the Layartebian military was quite ready. To the northeast of Saint Croix Falls was a small battery of missile launchers, M2061A7 Reavers, each equipped with forty-eight MGM-241 Hurricane missiles, 160mm guided artillery missiles upscaled from the Doomani 140mm Neco missile. Taylors Falls and its rear lines were well within the range of the Hurricane launchers, each one capable of delivering a multitude of warheads and most of the missiles were equipped with APAM or DPICM submunitions, up to seventy-two of the former or one hundred and five of the latter. Between the two types of submunitions, the Unity soldiers and whatever armor they had would have no chance.

The initial strikes on Taylors Falls were to begin as the clock struck 21:30, local time and they would be punishing. The battery of missile launchers would engage predefined targets, several of them and six missile launchers would fire all of their tubes, putting two hundred and eighty-eight missiles into the air, each one of them locked onto a predefined set of coordinates. They would burst open at preset altitudes, dispersing their payloads over the targets, showering them in fragments and explosives. Along with the missile launchers, a few groups of aircraft would fly overhead and cross the border, dropping their own payloads against predefined targets. The flight group would include four Typhoons and four Lightning IIs from the Defense Forces and four Enforcers, four Lightning IIs, and eight Savages from the Air Force. They would be protected by several flights of Wraiths, Typhoons, and Defenders flying high and fast, loaded with air-to-air ordinance only. With the twenty-four strike aircraft inbound under the protection of their escorts, the stage was set, the missiles ready to unleash their fury. Their ordinance would more than crush Taylors Falls and the Unity forces within it.


CBU-103A CEM "WCMD" - 64
GBU-31 (MK-84) JDAM - 40
GBU-38 (MK-82) JDAM - 40
GBU-39 SDB JDAM - 128


The strike force crossed the border a few seconds past 21:30, local time, their targets locked and their orders finalized. Flying at over 20,000 feet, the aircraft were out of the range of any known SAM units to be in the area, which consisted only of shoulder-fired weapons such as the Stinger. With the aircraft coming in from the south and north of the town, it stood no chance and they all released their ordinance on time, sending over two hundred precision guided JDAM bombs and sixty-four cluster bombs flying towards the town. The eerie silence that was over the town that night was shattered moments later when the full force of the weapons detonated. The town was torn to shreds by the multitude of shock waves. The explosions leveled a quarter of the town and hit hard enough to be felt across the border where Layartebian soldiers waited, watching the explosions lift into the sky on the horizon ahead of them. As they hit and the aircraft cleared the area, the Hurricane launchers fired their rockets. All six launchers had been dug-in and spaced far enough apart that they could all launch at once and they did, all six launchers firing all forty-eight of their missiles, emptying their tubes in just twenty-four seconds. The missiles tore into the sky leaving streaks of light behind them, arcing in the sky and accelerating to Mach 2. Weighing two hundred and sixty-five pounds each, the missiles could fly as far as forty-five miles in their lightest configuration or up to thirty-one miles in their heaviest. Their targets were under ten miles away and boasting a CEP accuracy of just five meters, their targets stood no chance. The missiles would hit in mere moments and they did, their payload compartments bursting open at preset altitudes ranging from twenty-four hundred to thirty-six hundred feet above the ground. DPICM and APAM munitions scattered to the ground below, exploding on impact. In just a few minutes, Taylors Falls had been hit by two hundred and eight guided bombs, a combined total of 51,880 pounds of explosives. They were combined with an additional 39,208 submunitions. The town had been left burning, smoldering, and smoking after the brunt of a very minor and very weak Layartebian first strike but it was a punishing strike.

Twenty-five minutes later, as the clock passed 22:00 hours, the second strike came and it was far more tactical. The strike was conducted by a group of two Badger medium bombers and six Enforcer fighter-bombers. Surgical, they had two main targets. The Badgers, armed with fifteen thousand pound JDAMs each moved supersonically against a power station seventeen miles north of the town, dropping their thirty bombs on the target with punishing force, turning out the lights in Taylors Falls and the rest of Unity territory for a few hundred miles away from the powerplant. The six Enforcers, armed with four thousand pound JDAM and four AMESM missiles each attacked the air base where the Unity fighters had originated from days earlier. Under the protection of EF-35E Lightning II EW fighters armed with AARGM missiles and the varying flights of escort aircraft, they turned the airbase into wreckage. The AMESM missiles were directed against a variety of structures at the airfield from the hangars to the munitions storage sites while the JDAM bombs, all twenty-four of them, were directed against the runway and the taxiways.

Taylors Falls, Minnesota
Layartebian-Unity Border -- 22:15 hrs [CST]

The dust and smoke settled over the city from the second wave of bombings. In just fifteen minutes, the Imperial Layartebian Air Force annihilated the powerplant and peppered the nearby airport with enough munitions that helicopter operations would be difficult. Missions were accomplished and the soldiers were given the green light. The first regiment of forces, nearly twenty-five hundred men moved across the border. The four battalions moving across into Taylors Falls did so from three vantage points. One was the main highway bridge that had been the scene of the firefight only thirty-six hours earlier. The other two moved along two ribbon bridges, put into place by the Defense Forces just moments after the first strikes began, all under the cover of smoke. M2050A1 Serpent light battle tanks, with 105mm ETC guns lead the way, followed by M2048A1 Shark IFVs with their 35mm chainguns. A few M2047A6 Arrow tank-destroyers took up the rear and mostly moving into the town was light armored vehicles with some Dingos and Bushmasters, previously retired from the ILA and ILMC, joining them, all equipped with machine guns or grenade launchers. Overhead, the roar of helicopters joined in as a flight of six AH-6M Little Birds and four AH-99A Anasazis buzzed the town at low level, searching for targets. Other helicopters such as UH-60M Black Hawks and UH-96A Panthers joined in as well, using their door guns and, in the case of the Panthers, fuselage mounted rocket pods, to subdue any enemies. At one time, Taylors Falls had nearly two dozen helicopters flying overhead and an additional ten to twenty fighters overhead as well. This was an operation that Unity would feel until their collapse.

The town was quiet, eerily quiet. The minor strikes by the ILAF had been effective but the men knew that the enemy had not been fully deterred from their goals. They were there, hiding, waiting and the soldiers knew it. It didn't take long for all four battalions to get across the three bridges and from there, they fanned out, heading north, south, and west. The armor moved up through the streets along with the other units, in convoy, moving slowly, with their weapons covering every possible direction, the front and rear vehicles taking the front and rear and the middle vehicles the sides, alternating left and right as they went down the row. Any of the vehicles that could be equipped with ERA blocks were but not with ERA but rather inert, non-explosive reactive armor. Not as effective as ERA, it certainly was preferable with troops in close proximity. Each block was the same size as an ERA block but instead of being high-powered, plastic explosives, it was high-density rubber wedged in between two thin, steel plates.

A few minutes after the four battalions were fully across the bridges, the soldiers began moving building from building. It was slow but it was the proper way to subdue a hostile town. They moved in small groups, squads of eight men broken into two maneuver teams of four. Each squad took a building, quickly moving through it, their weapons shouldered the whole time, kicking in doors or blasting them clear off their hinges with shotguns or explosives. The initial searches turned up nothing until one squad brought themselves to the third floor of a building that easily overlooked the whole town of Saint Croix Falls. On its upper floor, the squad found a look out, armed only with an assault rifle, a pair of binoculars, and a two-way radio. Before he could grab either the radio or his weapon, he was pushed to the ground, a boot on his neck, and a rifle barrel in his face. One of the soldiers picked up the radio and reported the frequency back to command. The lookout simply lay on the floor, frightened as the eight men crowded around. "What's the force size?" The squad leader demanded, his pistol out and pressed to his temple. The lookout was a teenage boy, perhaps seventeen, perhaps nineteen, there wasn't any easy way to tell. He was green and frightened and tried his best to keep his mouth shut but the soldiers weren't in the mood to waste time. With his boot, one of the soldiers pushed down hard on the boys neck and he grabbed the soldier's ankle, trying to free it but the soldier's leverage worked in his favor. "How many are there boy and I'll make the pain stop. Otherwise, I'm going to let him crush your neck!" The boy gasped for air as his face began to lose its color and his eyes grew blurry. The squad leader tapped the soldier on the shoulder and he released pressure. Air immediately flowed back into the boy's lungs.

"Seven thousand."

"Seven thousand! Damn boy you better not be lying to me," the squad leader said again as he kept the pistol close to his temple. He cocked back the hammer to show that he meant business. "Seven thousand. Armored support?"

"Yes."

"Aircraft?"

"Yes."

"Hovercraft?"

"What?" The boy was caught off guard but the squad leader had proposed the idea just to see if the boy was reciting a "Yes" to anything he asked.

"Alright. We've got ourselves a prisoner. Tag him and bag him, we'll let rear guard come get his ass. They'll have fun with him in interrogation." They yanked the boy into the air but slammed him back down on his stomach while they used plastic wire ties to constrain his hands. They waited there ten minutes while a Dingo pulled up outside. Three soldiers got out of it and one remained, manning the 15.5x115mm machine gun on the roof. They brought in a black hood with them, covered the boys face, dragged him down the stairs, threw him in the back of the truck, and sped off for the interrogation area a few miles behind the interrogation center. The intelligence was reported and all units operating in Taylors Falls continued their methodical search. The outer lying parts of the town were empty save for the single lookout. There were some booby-traps but not many. Engineers would take care of those as the combat units advanced up the river and to the west, past the outer lying regions. Overhead, a flight of four Bulldogs roared over the river and over the town at over 300 mph. The four aircraft were carrying ninety-six men, all Rangers, part of the 4th Special Operations Group. Their target was the airport that had been bombed by the ILAF and they were to seize control of it and hold it indefinitely from Unity reinforcements as well as to capture any intelligence and aircraft that were on the ground, inside of hangars.

The airport was a few miles west of the town and the four Bulldogs, being V/STOVL aircraft, could easily touch down vertically, drop off the men, take off, and head back home. That was what they would do. Each aircraft held a single 20mm Gatling gun in a nose turret with 800 rounds, a pair of Miniguns with six thousand rounds between the two guns, and four rocket pods, just for support. Roaring in at high speed, just below their maximum, the four aircraft put down at four different parts of the airport and the men jumped out of the cabins quickly, their weapons ready and their night vision goggles on, looking for the enemy. Like Taylors Falls, the airport was quiet, too quiet. Defenses had been set up at the airport but none of them were manned. The Rangers soon found out why and when they radioed back that the airport was empty, completely empty, the eerie quiet over Taylors Falls ceased. The airport had been a trap and a diversion. The Rangers had been drawn to it to secure it when, in fact, the airport was completely empty. All of the ordinance dropped on it was in vain. The hangars were empty, the barracks empty, everything empty. The Layartebians had been duped and Taylors Falls had instantly turned into a hot zone.

Midwestern News Agency Report


With the Marines pressing through South Dakota, the 2nd Division has reached the North Dakota Boarder. Black Hills army troops have been in retreat to strength the defenses in the northern state where they hope to hold out as long as they can. However with the continuing air strikes by League Air Forces and the on-slot of armored units the North Dakota state will soon fall under the control of the American States.

On the Unity Front Army units have pressed far forward, largely do to the fact that Unit is being squeezed to death by Imperial and American troops from both sides. As the Army continues to move forward to begining to see victories.

In other news, the LAS Congress has adopted a Freedom of speech act in the unfinished constitution. This act enables all citizens of the LAS the right to the freedom of speech. This great leap in civil rights was praised by the council today.

OOC: I think I am just going to sum up the rest of the battle in RTL somewhere rather than keep going on it. I'll add Louisiana too.

OOC: Ok thank you, my deepest apologizes, my internet has been down for the past week or two and school has been crazy, I am back though thank you.

The golden dome of the Grand Commonwealth Palace glistened in the rays of the sun on this bright summer day. The flag the newly founded Democratic Commonwealth flew in all its glory atop the dome. The wind gracefully flattered it around showing off its Orange, white and black colors to the thousands of people who had gathered in the Common grounds (name for the large park in front of the palace) to listen to the newly appointed Chairman of the Central Council address the nation. The steps in front of the palace had been converted in to a large stage where 100 VIP seats were set up. In these VIP seats were business leaders, politicians, war heroes, generals, and other notable figures. The orange ticker tape beautifully decorated the area around the stage as the thousands of hopefully face waited for their new leaders to address their hopes. Soon, 9 figures appeared from inside the palace. These 9 figures were the acting council of the American Commonwealth. At their head was the Chairman of the Central Council ,Brendan Marlon, former leader of the Nationalist party, Marlon now was at the top of the new Commonwealth government. He and his 8 peers were the force behind the change that would sweep the Midwest.

With a few steps, Brendan Marlon made his way to a podium which had been erected in the front of the stage. The crowed cheered as he stopped and waved with a big smile to his fellow citizens. As he began to speak, news cameras from around the world began to roll, and the people held there breaths for the first words from his lips.

“My fellow Americans!” the Chairman paused as a great eruption of screams, cries, shouts, hoots, and hollers filled the air.
“It brings me so much great pleasure to say those 3 words, because now, today we are one nation, one American Nation, and we are a great people! The past years have been insurmountably hard for you, my fellow citizens, however through your strength, your perseverance, and your love for one and other, you have survived this oppression! Today myself and my 8 colleagues are together going to present to you the new constitution of the Democratic Commonwealth of America!

The document states the following:

Constitution, Democratic Commonwealth of America

We the People of the American lands, in Order to form a more perfect Utopia, establish Justice, insure domestic peace, provide for the common defence, promote the general pursuit of freedom, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the Democratic Commonwealth of America.

Article I, The Central Council

Section 1, Description of the Council

All Executive, legislative, and Judicial powers shall be vested in the Commonwealth Central Council.

Section 2, the Council

The Council shall be composed of nine Members chosen every eighth Year by the People of the several States through popular vote, and the Electors in each State shall have the Qualifications requisite for Electors of the most numerous Branch of the State government.

No Person shall be a Council Member who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty Years, and been born a Citizen of the Commonwealth.

The Council shall chuse their Chief Council Member and other Officers.

Section 3, Time and Place of Meetings

The Times, Places and Manner of holding Elections for Council Members, shall be prescribed in each State by the Governor thereof; but the Council may at any time by Law make or alter such Regulations.

The Council shall assemble at least five times in every Year.

Section 4, Membership, Rules, Journals, Adjournment

The Council shall be the Judge of the Elections, Returns and Qualifications of its own Members, and a Majority of each shall constitute a Quorum to do Business; but a smaller number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the Attendance of absent Members, in such Manner, and under such Penalties as The Central Council may provide.

The Council shall keep a Journal of its Proceedings, and from time to time publish the same, excepting such Parts as may in their Judgment require Secrecy; and the Yeas and Nays of the Members of the Council on any question shall, at the Desire of one fifth of those Present, be entered on the Journal.

Section 5, Revenue Bills, Legislative Process

All bills for raising Revenue shall originate in the Council. Every Bill which shall have passed the Council, shall, therefore become a Law. In the event of an close vote of 5 to 4 and one the members of the council object to the outcome, the objection will be noted, and a debate will ensue, at which the end another vote will be held.

Section 6, Power of the Council

To borrow money on the credit of the Commonwealth;

To regulate Commerce with foreign Nations, and internally.

To establish an uniform Rule of Naturalization, and uniform Laws on the subject of Bankruptcies throughout the Commonwealth;

To coin Money, regulate the Value thereof, and of foreign Coin, and fix the Standard of Weights and Measures;

To provide for the Punishment of counterfeiting the Securities and current Coin of the Commonwealth;

To establish Post Offices and Post Roads;

To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries;

To constitute Tribunals;

To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water;

To raise and support and Army, Navy, and Air Force;

To make Rules for the Government and Regulation of the land and naval Forces;

To provide for calling forth the Militia to execute the Laws of the Union, suppress Insurrections and repel Invasions;

To provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining the Militia, and for governing such Part of them as may be employed in the Service of the Commonwealth, reserving to the States respectively, the Appointment of the Officers, and the Authority of training the Militia according to the discipline prescribed by the Council;


To make all Laws which shall be necessary and proper for carrying into Execution the foregoing Powers, and all other Powers vested by this Constitution in the Government of the Commonwealth, or in any Department or Officer thereof.

The Council shall be Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the Commonwealth, and of the Militia of the several States, when called into the actual Service of the Commonwealth; they may require the Opinion, in writing, of the principal Officer in each of the executive Departments, upon any subject relating to the Duties of their respective Offices, and he shall have Power to Grant Reprieves and Pardons for Offenses against the Commonwealth.

They shall have Power, to make Treaties, and they shall nominate, Ambassadors, Governors, other public Ministers and Consuls, and all other Officers of the Commonwealth, whose Appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by Law: but the Council may by Law vest the Appointment of such inferior Officers, as they think proper, in the Council alone, in the Courts of Law, or in the Heads of Departments.


Section 7 - Powers prohibited of States

No State shall enter into any Treaty, Alliance, or Confederation; grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal; coin Money; emit Bills of Credit; make any Thing but gold and silver Coin a Tender in Payment of Debts; pass any Bill of Attainder, ex post facto Law, or Law impairing the Obligation of Contracts, or grant any Title of Nobility.
No State shall, without the Consent of the Council, lay any Imposts or Duties on Imports or Exports, except what may be absolutely necessary for executing it's inspection Laws: and the net Produce of all Duties and Imposts, laid by any State on Imports or Exports, shall be for the Use of the Treasury of the Commonwealth; and all such Laws shall be subject to the Revision and Control of the Council.
No State shall, without the Consent of the Council, lay any duty of Tonnage, keep Troops, or Ships of War in time of Peace, enter into any Agreement or Compact with another State, or with a foreign Power, or engage in War, unless actually invaded, or in such imminent Danger as will not admit of delay.

Section 8, Disqualification

The members of the Co unciland all civil Officers of the Commonwealth, shall be removed from Office on Trail by the other council Members for, and Conviction of, Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors.

Section 9, Treason

Treason against the Commonwealth, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort. No Person shall be convicted of Treason unless on the Testimony of two Witnesses to the same overt Act, or on Confession in open Court.

The Council shall have power to declare the Punishment of Treason, but no Attainder of Treason shall work Corruption of Blood, or Forfeiture except during the Life of the Person attainted.

Article II, The States

Section I, Each State to Honor all others

Full Faith and Credit shall be given in each State to the public Acts, Records, and judicial Proceedings of every other State. And the Council may by general Laws prescribe the Manner in which such Acts, Records and Proceedings shall be proved, and the Effect thereof.

Section 2 - State citizens, Extradition

The Citizens of each State shall be entitled to all Privileges and Immunities of Citizens in the several States.

A Person charged in any State with Treason, Felony, or other Crime, who shall flee from Justice, and be found in another State, shall on demand of the executive Authority of the State from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the State having Jurisdiction of the Crime.

Section 3 - New States

New States may be admitted by the Council into this Commonwealth; but no new States shall be formed or erected within the Jurisdiction of any other State; nor any State be formed by the Junction of two or more States, or parts of States, without the Consent of the Council of the States concerned as well as of the Council.
The Council shall have Power to dispose of and make all needful Rules and Regulations respecting the Territory or other Property belonging to the Commonwealth; and nothing in this Constitution shall be so construed as to Prejudice any Claims of the Commonwealth, or of any particular State.

Section 4 - Commonwealth government

The Commonwealth shall guarantee to every State in this Commonwealth a promise of protection of each of them against Invasion.

Article III - Amendments

The Council, whenever two thirds shall propose Amendments to this Constitution, shall call a Convention for proposing Amendments, which, in either Case, shall be valid to all Intents and Purposes, as part of this Constitution.

Article VI - Debts, Supremacy, Oaths

All Debts contracted and Engagements entered into, before the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be as valid against the Commonwealth under this Constitution.

This Constitution, and the Laws of the Commonwealth which shall be made in Pursuance thereof; and all Treaties made, or which shall be made, under the Authority of the Commonwealth, shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any State to the Contrary notwithstanding.

My fellow citizens your constitution!”

A loud standing applause ensued in which lasted 5 minutes in it self. Families and friends embraced each other as they shed tears of joy for this new freedom.

“My peers! The events of these years may be behind us, but their scares remain. Many people just like us are living without a home, and I will now bring to your attention to a few key issues that press on our nation.

The first is the poverty rate in our nation, it stands now at 46%, due to military conflicts, bands of brigands, violent criminals, and all out disaster that ensued after the anarchy. Something must be done for these people, and the council has devised a plan to do such. The combined power of the central council has of now issued nation wide state of emergency, Milita units from each of the states will be called up in an effort to cut down on crime, and help rebuild the local economy and base. We hop to create jobs for all Americans, so that everyone may work for their families and provide food for their tables. Shelters will be set up in every town, food will be provided to those who have none. Medical doctors will be called upon to give medical care to those who need it. In addition money will begin to flow into local jurisdictions to rebuild a sense of strong and supporting government. This will reassure the people of America that the government is here for their own benefit, and that there is nothing to fear in the days to come. For those of you who are starving, we will feed you. Homeless we will shelter you, sick we will cure you.

In an effort to build a safer and securer Utopia, the council has approved the defense budget for the Commonwealth Armed Forces. A budget of 480 Billion Dollars will support the 3 branches and a total of 3 million personnel in the Democratic Commonwealth Armed Forces. Existing ships and ships soon to be built will make up the Democratic Commonwealth Navy which will also consist of over 200,000 personnel, this navy will be primarily for transporting Army and Air force Units abroad. Over two million personnel will make up the Democratic Commonwealth Army, and it is the Council’s hopes that this army will be one of the most elite in the world, with the most intensive training and advanced equipment. Another 630,000 personnel will make up the Democratic Commonwealth Air Force, this air force will be the great arrow in the Commonwealth’s defense of homeland and interests.

While on that note, as deemed appropriate, we the Central Council have declared a state of marshal law in the state of south Dakota, and southern portions of the state of North Dakota. This is due to the large number of insurgent attacks made by remnants of the Black Hills army. Army Divisions will be sent to the area to being a military police of the states. They will begin there hunt for these terrorist and restore order to the area.

On the note of education, a large portion of the government budget will be going towards this area. We hope to have every child enrolled in school in a years time, and we will build 1,000 new schools and colleges within a span of 5 years. Education is the backbone of out nation and we will guarantee that every child gets one. We will hire new teachers and staff members which will also in turn create more jobs in this economy.

My fellow Americans, today has been a momentous day, with the adoption of our new government we will now stand as one true nation, reach our hands up to the sky. We are strong as one, and no one can topple us as long as we stay true to our cause of freedom. We the Central Council will lead you throughout our terms. Elections are scheduled in 4 months for all 9 seats on the council, on that day you all as a nation will be deciding your future, and we are here to guarantee it is bright. Thank you, and God bless.”

"Sir, I have that report on the Democratic Commonwealth of America. Fresh from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs," an aide said, standing in front of the Emperor's wooden desk. He stuck out his hand for it, quietly looking at the aide and at the television behind him, showing the latest news feeds from around the world. The folder was marked "CLASSIFIED" and he put it onto his desk and opened the cover. "Sir." The aide departed with the Emperor saying nothing. A virus had snuck into his body causing him to get a sore throat and, a man of his stature needed to save his voice for when it ultimately counted. Dressed casually and comfortably, he had cleared his schedule, not so much because of his sore throat but because of his appearance. Under the weather and exhausted from it, he did not give the appearance of a head of state. Appearances in the stage of politics, were everything. He couldn't appear weak, especially not now.

The report was favorable. The DCA had formed to the Empire's west, out of the ashes of the Soviet Blocian Republic, once an ally of the Empire in the October Alliance. Now reduced just to Hirgizstan and Eurasia, the Cottish being the last to go because of a widely spreading flu pandemic, rumors of the demise of the Empire were brewing. They were just rumors. The Empire remained strong. The report included a copy of their constitution and the Emperor wasn't unhappy about it either. The Empire had helped the DCA defeat its enemies and now it was hoping to turn the DCA into a trusted ally, especially given their location. With poverty high in the DCA, the Emperor had approved, in a rare move, a major financial aide package costing $32 billion to the government of the DCA to combat the effects of its war torn nation, part of which the Empire was solely responsible for due to its voluntary help. With the remnants of those enemies still at large, the Empire would also offer military and law enforcement assistance too, as well as lucrative contracts to the LDC for arms sales, should the DCA require them.