NationStates Jolt Archive

"...It was then, in 710 C.E. that the marriage of King Hasmoneus of the Jewish kingdom and Queen Adiva of the Muslim Kingdom united the two lands. The unity of the two nations persisted, with the Muslims and the Jews slowly discovering a common culture. The new kingdom was given a new name after its founding king- Hasmone."

The city center of Solomon was washed with a cloud of heat as the sun beat down from above. The soft, dark colors of the surrounding houses blended with the bright greens and blues of the merchant's tents. The sounds of children's laughter mingled with the scolding of mothers and the calls of vendors, hawking their wares. the wafting scent of something spicy with lamb drifted through the air, and down the street, causing several passing men to stop and inhale deeply of the intoxicating smell. Two men rode along on bicycles, the tan of the firsts' skin in contrast to the darker tones of his friend's. A group of small and well dressed but rowdy children passed by, shepherded by a bedraggled looking mother in a shawl. Two men emerged from the small mosque at the end of the street, and exchanged nods with two other men passing by, keepahs perched atop their heads. It was an idyllic scene, and one could almost believe it was something out of a fairytale. Suddenly, a rippling boom passed through the square, and that self same fairytale halted. Faces turned instinctively towards the sky as the sound of screaming began to rise. And then, suddenly, fire. In a flash of fire, smoke, and pain, the entire scene had changed. The idyllic city center was ripped asunder. Bodies lay, charred by the blast. Flames licked down the sides of the brightly colored tents, and panic reigned. The screams and cries rent the sky as below, the city center was painted red with blood and flame.

King David III was by no means an imposing figure. He lacked the long flowing beard or menacing stare of his predecessors, and was in fact clean-shaven and had a stare which would make you trust him very much in one of those infomercials that sells 250 piece sets of vegetable slicers. He rocked softly back and forth on the wicker love-seat he loved so dearly, his wife Alima's head resting gently against his chest. Looking out from the balcony on which he sat, he could see the vast economic center of Solomon, the bustling trade center which kept his tiny kingdom going in her economic right. He smiled wistfully, a small part of him longing for the days as a prince, when he could go walking in that city, taking in the colors and sights and sounds of the people he was destined to rule. A gentle wafting breeze passed over him, and the moment would have been perfect, had it not been at that very moment that Aban Burkai, the Minister of Defense, chosen that inconvenient moment to come bursting through the door, panting and out of breath. He was a shortish, balding man, with dark tanned skin and a wild, bushy mustache which would be registered as a deadly weapon in several countries. His breathlessness came from a combination of the 5 flights of stairs he had sprinted up to reach the king, and his general anxiety with the world. Of course, as David's father would say, it was that anxiety that had kept the Kingdom safe ever since Aban had taken office some 25 years previously. And now, he was very anxious, and the look on his face registered that with the king. Rising from the wicker love-seat, he strode purposefully from the balcony, leaving Alima to continue resting peacefully. Following Aban down the steps, David wondered what had happened to cause the man such consternation. But, as the two entered the situations room, the issue became violently apparent.

His name was Chaim Har-Segor. At the age of 42, his hair was showing streaks of gray, and as he clipped his keepah into his hair, he felt that he was maybe growing too old for this. The mirror stared back at him, reflecting a tired face, li.ned with age and marked with liver spots. From behind glasses, two gray eyes stared back, radiating a quiet intelligence, showing a hint of the man who hid behind the facade of someone much older and tireder then he truly was. Behind him, a door slid open, and Chaim turned from the mirror to face two men, both in similarly simple, Judaic garb. He nodded sternly to the first, who spoke with a low, guttural voice. "It has been done sir. Just as you wished it." Chaim nodded. "How did the process go?" The first man responded, his companion remaining stoically silent. "We set up around 7 o'clock this morning. We hid on a rooftop, out of sight. When high noon came around, and the square was filled with people, we opened fire. The mortars were deadly enough- I estimate 7 dead, 20 or so wounded." Chaim nodded, in an almost mechanical way. He turned and switched on the tiny television which sat in the room, and it crackled into life on HNN, the Hasmone News Network. He watched with a detached, emotionless face, the footage of the carnage which had been reeked in downtown Solomon that morning. The fire from the sky, the burned bodies, the crying mothers and sobbing children. The carnage he had ordered to be done. Sighing, he switched the set off. "All, gentleman, is done for a reason. All is done for Adonai, and in the name of Adonai." he turned to face the two men. "Find 3 others, and head for Malechu. Scope out your next target, and Adonai be with you." The two men turned, and left without a sound.

David was ushered into the tiny situations room by Aban, and the sight that met his eyes caused him to halt. David Aharoni, the mayor of Hasmone was seated there, a look of stunned shock still frozen on his face. There, too, was Hafsa Abasi, the general of the Hasmone army, a look of cold determination on his face. Taking one look at the stunned faces in the room, David spoke. "What happened?" David began to explain, but Hafsa cut him off. "Let me, David." He stood smartly to attention, but David beckoned him to be seated. "No need for the formality here, Hafsa. Tell me what happened." Hafsa relaxed. "Your Highness, there was an attack this morning at a little after noon, in the city center." David's face grew visibly paler as he took in the news. "What sort of attack?" "We don't know who they were." responded the general. "We found several 60 millimeter mortars stationed on a roof opposite the square, and we believe that's what they used." David nodded, stunned by the news. "Have there been any more attacks?" he asked, words choked. The general shook his head. "None have been reported. Whoever has done this, we don't know who or why." Suddenly, the door burst open. An aid rushed in, hair slicked back from perspiration, appearing visibly shaken. Pausing to catch his breath, he managed to wheeze out, "Your majesty... there's been... another...attack...in Adina..." David rose from his chair, knocking it over. "Tell me, what happened?" The aid caught his breath in short gasps. "RPG fire... 2 dead so far, more wounded..." David strode towards the door, but was stopped short by the aids gasped addition. "And your majesty...they're saying...they're saying...it was a different group." David burst through the door, leaving the exhausted aid to collapse into the chair.

The darkness in this room was absolute, cut only by a single, burning candle. This, however, was just the way Khawlah Amir liked it. He meditated quietly to himself, a lone figure in the darkness. Slowly, he rose from his resting position, and stood, stretching slowly in the darkness. Finally, he turned, and stepped out through the door into a long stone hallway. Proceeding down it with the grace and speed of a man going somewhere, he strode briskly towards the door at the end of the hallway. He slid back the lock, and emerged out into a sandy clearing where perhaps 50 men sat arrayed in groups of various sizes. Hands clutched AK-47's, and several sat idlyly polishing their guns as a way to pass the time. Amir stood before them, all eyes suddenly riveted on him. He took a moment to take in the feeling of being in the spotlight, the center of attention, and then began to speak. "My friends, my fellow servants of Allah, you have done well. You who have fought so bravely against our enemy, who have stood against us. But, I say to you, my brothers and friends, are they in the right?" A chorus of nos and boos rang out from the crowd. "We are in the right! We fight for the best of Hasmone! For the best of our country! In the name of Allah!" Cheers and cries of "Allahu Ackbar!" filled the sky. Khawlah smiled, and beckoned three men from the crowd. "I trust it all went well in Adina, then?" The men nodded. "Oh, yes. We found the perfect time to strike, and it all went according to plan." Khawlah nodded, a satisfied look on his face. "Very well. Gather some men and head for Malechu. I want you to prepare for your next attack. Fair well brothers." He saluted them, and turned to walk back inside.

The sun was hot over Malechu, but the feeling was subdued. The two attacks, first in Solomon and then in Adina, had left an air of sadness hanging like some musty, day old smell. People moved through the streets in quietly, and nobody stopped to chat or say hello. The only loud sound was that of a truck, pulling down the road onto main street. Here were Chaim's men, in to scope out a new sight for their next attack. And, down the street a ways, were the men of Khawlah Amir, on foot, and with guns hidden under jackets. The two were bound to meet if one did not turn, and so it was that dead center of the long high street, the two parties came to a stop. Chaim's men honked their horn, but Kahwlah's men just laughed. One of the men in the truck leaned out of the window and yelled, "Get out of the way, raghead!" The man the insult was directed at swore and began to leap forward, held back by his fellows. A police officer over on the corner saw the scuffle, and moved in to break it up. That is, he moved in until he was the second man draw a lethal looking pistol from within his jacket and aim it at the first man who had done the insulting. Reaching for his radio, the policeman thought he best call for backup.

"We got a couple of 'em sir. In Malechu." The Situations Room was once again filled, and general Abasi was once again briefing the king. "They were picked up by some of Malechu's finest. A copper saw them picking a fight, called for back up, and in five minutes they were surrounded." The king nodded. "We've gotten some information out of them already. Basically, we're up against two threats here. The first one we've got is calling themselves the 'Hasmonean Kahanist Liberation Front'. According to the guys we picked up, they're responsible for the attack this morning on Solomon. Seems they want an all Jewish Hasmone, and they'll do whatever they can to achieve it, it seems." King David nodded, worriedly. "And the second group?" "Aaah. Those are the 'Islamic Hasmone Union'. They're, quite obviously, for an all Islamic Hasmone." The king nodded, gravely. Hasmone was a nation based on a principle of understanding between Jews and Muslims. When there was war, it could rip the nation apart, both metaphorically and literally. "What is the plan to deal with this matter?" The general bit his lip in some agitation. "Well, sir, we're going to have to fight them. But, see, here's the thing. With our current forces, we lack the manpower to handle a rebel forces, never mind two." It was true. The Hasmonean Army numbered just over 500,000 men- they used the most advanced weaponry, and were very well trained, but they were still a small army. It seemed more would be needed to defend Hasmone from its troubles. "Very well. I shall put out a message to the world. We need all of the help that we can get. Dismissed." With a curt nod, he left the room.

|Message of the Judeo-Islamic Holy Republic of Hasmone|

To: Nations of the world
From: King David III, Ruler and Monarch of the Judeo-Islamic Holy Republic of Hasmone

To whom it may concern,
It is with a most heavy heart that I address you today. The nation of Hasmone has been marred by tragedy over the past few days- two separate bombings by terrorist groups within our fair nation. These groups- the Hasmonean Kahanist Liberation Front and the Islamic Hasmone Union- seek to rip Hasmone apart by creating a nation devoid of the unity we now possess. Hasmone is a nation founded upon the principals of Judaic and Islamic cooperation, and these groups seek to undermine that cooperation that we hold so dear. The capability of the Hasmonean army is limited, and we cannot handle on our own two threats of the level which we have faced. Please, I ask you- give us aid so that we may retain our nation's peace and prosperity. We have little to offer in return save for our eternal gratitude towards whatever nation should choose to help us in our time of dire need.
Respectfully yours,

King David III
Ruler and Monarch of the Judeo-Islamic Holy Republic of Hasmone

OOC: Posted with Hasmone’s consent.

For those who knew the Kilrany Empire well, it was not entirely unfair to say that they tended to care little that went on beyond the immediate reaches of the Socialist Federative Republics; the region they found themselves inhabiting. More often concerned with the actions of their neighbours, and having no overseas holdings, it had been easy for them to take on what to the outsider would have looked to be an isolationist approach, but there was always an exception to the rule.

In this regard they’d found one in an unusual place given their history, never known for overt religious beliefs, their own quiet faith had always been under attack by other more organized religions that sought to convert them, but always seemed to fail. It was only in the last century that a quiet understanding seemed to have been reached, and these small minorities of organized religions had been able to take root without fear of angering the local population.

Thus it came as a surprise to some that they had recently initiated diplomatic overtures towards the Kingdom of Hasmone, a relatively small nation with a rather significant religious population. It was easy for most to simply dismiss this as a mere ploy to obtain access to the nation’s untapped oil reserves, and while this was in truth no small factor, it was balanced by the peaceful coexistence between the two major religious bodies living in Hasmone, which came as a welcome surprise to the Kilrany, in particular their own royal family, who saw them as a potential friend given this seemingly rare situation.

Starting several months back, it was done quietly at first, with serious attempts at subtlety so as not to draw significant attention from others who might have been seeking the same, or those who might have taken interest and attempted to stake their own claim. It was not as though the Kilrany were against partnering with others for a percentage of the output at a fair price, but they had no desire to see dozens of others descend upon the small nations to make their lives difficult, especially should they be less than willing to take no as an answer.

Regardless of these initial concerns, things seemed to have been progressing well, and their primary representative from the Diplomatic Corps; the forty-one year old Stepan Chkalov, had even managed to lay the groundwork for eventually establishing a proper embassy should a deal be successful. Their offer was ultimately simple, supply technical experts, equipment, help train locals where applicable so both nations could benefit from the new jobs that would be created, a clear willingness to work with others interested in extracting the oil, and an open bookkeeping method to ensure the Hasmone didn’t feel they were being cheated in any way. It was hoped such an approach would enamour themselves in the eyes of the Hasmone and increase their odds of being selected.

What they hadn’t counted on though was the seemingly sudden outbreak of hostilities between two fundamentalist factions that had gone unnoticed by their extremely limited intelligence assets in the region. This quickly left the Hasmone government with more important things to worry about and brought talks to an immediate standstill.

Understandably this annoyed Chkalov, who had felt they had been making good progress towards accessing the oil and establishing permanent diplomatic ties. However rather than seeing this as a complete defeat and pulling out, opportunity was sensed, and Chkalov received some revised orders from the Kilrany Emperor in the hopes of swinging the situation back in their favour after it became clear it wasn’t going to simply blow over.

The easiest of these for Chkalov to carry out was the simple task of offering up military hardware for sale, as not three years earlier the Kilrany had intervened in a war between two of its neighbours, leaving them holding a veritable arms catalog of captured equipment that they would be happy to unload at a low cost. The only potential downside was that all of it was eighties era Soviet Army hardware, generally reliable as far as the Kilrany were concerned, but they found many seemed to have a bias against such pieces despite this.

Regardless, the offer of their sale was placed on the table along with stocks of ammunition for said equipment, which ranged from small arms, trucks, armoured personnel carriers, and even a dozen MI-8MTV-2 helicopters, all available for delivery within two to two and a half weeks. As an added incentive given their lack of knowledge regarding the Hasmone military, Chkalov offered to also supply instructors if required for no additional charge.

As a result of the fact that Chkalov was a seasoned member of the Kilrany Diplomatic Corps; well deserving of his twenty-two years of service, he proceeded slowly in bringing up the second offer as he knew it could often be a sensitive topic. This was of course the offer of direct military aid from Kilrany military personnel.

Often a paranoid people themselves, the Kilrany opted to offer a small force that would not appear threatening to the Hasmone military, but still be in a position to offer support in their operations to restore order. Cautiously this offer was accepted, and three days after the first attack, two Kilrany Imperial Air Force AN-124s sat on the tarmac on one of the Hasmone militaries major airbases containing a company from the 4th Division of the Kilrany Imperial Guard, a light infantry formation mostly specializing in air assault.

-----

Walking past the metallic flank of a secured armoured personnel carrier not far behind her Company Commander, Sergeant Kodasnakova made straight for the early morning light flooding in through the mammoth mouth that was the open rear ramp of the AN-124 she had travelled in for so many hours. Glad to be walking again, she had not been terribly entertained by the books on key Hebrew and Arabic phrases provided during the flight; two languages that rarely found themselves anywhere near the top of the list of those the Kilrany often needed to learn beyond their own native tongue.

A complex language, Kilrany was an odd amalgamation of Latin and Russian, which had long since evolved over the past two millennia since the Roman Occupation of Kilrany. In fact, while some rules had remained the same, any speaker of the original two hearing a Kilrany speak for the first time would have no doubt looked upon them and thought them mentally ill, as nuances had long since developed and slang terms changed.

Fortunately as a result of its prevalence throughout the world, the Kilrany had a tendency to make English an important secondary language to learn; among many others critical to life in the SFR. They hoped this much more common language most of them knew, would help them at least acquire some decent translators should it be required, given their lack of knowledge concerning the primary languages of Hasmone.

Squinting in annoyance and shielding her eyes with her hand and the hood of her uniform as she stepped out into the sunlight, she took in her surroundings as she moved to the right and clear of the ramp with her section hard on her heals. From what she could initially see, the Hasmone airbase was not modern by any standard, but it was well kept, which was still a positive sign as she brought her fully armed section to a halt a dozen or so meters from the aircraft.

All of the 4th Division soldiers were dressed in a khaki variation of the Imperial Guard’s usual Gorka type uniforms, clearly intended for desert operations. As a result of their comfortably baggy cut, the equipment they wore, and their balaclavas, their features were practically indistinguishable, including gender. This was of course a design feature on all Imperial Guard uniforms regardless of operational theatre, as they preferred to retain their anonymity around foreigners; friendly or not.

As their Company Commander went walking up towards whom she assumed to be their liaison with the Hasmone military with several fellow soldiers in tow, her eyes began to adjust to the bright light, and she was able to rely only on her hood to shade her eyes. Like the rest of the unit though, there were no visible features on their uniforms to identify rank or name, so the Hasmone officer would have to take his word that he was Captain Daniil Belyaye; which was of course his actual rank, but not his real name.

Well beyond her ability to hear, she did a quick check on the Russkyan designed assault rifle hanging by its tactical sling before turning her head to look towards a member of her section, and with a somewhat sarcastic tone, addressed the Corporal, “What, no witty remarks for us yet?”

The slightly younger man merely shrugged his shoulders and replied nonchalantly, “Not much to say Sergeant, it’s a freaking desert, hot, dry … this op is going to suck.”

She grunted lightly in amusement, “Good old Arkady, seeing the bright side in everything,” a momentary pause followed before she spoke again in a more serious tone, “but I do agree, not nearly enough greenery for my liking.”

A few seconds later she released a sigh, but it was lost to the sound of one of their eight wheeled Hades APCs rumbling down slowly out of the aircraft. Built by the Kilrany Imperial Arms Manufacturers, it was essentially a slightly larger copy of the BTR-90M with more considerations made for increasing its survivability against mines and other explosives.

There were more aircraft on the way, but they had chosen to stagger the influx of these strategic beasts by two hours so as not to interfere with the regular operations at the airbase, and to allow the first wave time to find an adequate site to set up at. Thus for the next little while, every two hours another pair of AN-124s would arrive to offload the rest of the equipment the 4th Division company would use, along with supplementary personnel which were to range from additional medics, mechanics, and the pilots for their helicopters, which were to come in the last few flights.

-----

It took little more than an hour for six Hades and a pair of six wheeled Ural trucks to shuttle the company of infantry and their initial supplies to a site roughly three kilometers from the airfield itself. Here, still within sight of the hangars and base buildings in the distance, they began the familiar task of digging themselves in, even if they ground itself was anything but.

Keeping it fairly simple, they prepared the ground first with stakes and tape to mark where they planned to ‘bunker’ their tents, which were of a uniform rectangular design capable of comfortably housing twenty men. When these were all marked off, they attached dozer blades to their Hades and used them to do as much of the digging as they could before using entrenching tools to even out the meter deep positions.

As the day drew on and more men and equipment began to arrive via the staggered stream of aircraft, their progress continued at a steady pace as no one wished to tire out the element before the mission had even begun. Overall they expected the job to take them at least another day of work to fully complete, as they also intended to dig several fighting positions around the base as their perimeter, and they still had to accommodate the non-combat personnel who would also be residing in the base with them.